#... one day- i know i've said that time and time before

[rafesheaven]

when stepbro!rafe comes home from college ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

warnings — stepcest, mention of reader x jj, praising, degrading, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, rafe gagging reader w her panties, mirror sex, creampie a/n — (originally posted 11/20)

“gonna miss you,” you frown into your stepbrother’s chest, hugging him tightly. he rested his chin on the top of your head, “i’ll miss you too, but hey, i’ll be home for the holidays, and i’m only a phone call away. you could call me or text me anytime, i’ll make sure to get back to you when i can, alright?”

when rafe left for college, he responded to you when he could, just like he said he would. talking to him nearly every day almost made it feel like he wasn’t hours away from home. however, a month passed, and you started to hear less from him until your calls and texts were unanswered. at first, you assumed you weren’t hearing from him because of how busy he may have been with classes, and it wasn’t until you came across instagram posts from him and his fraternity brothers that he was too busy partying to get back to you.

it was his first year at college, and you knew you shouldn’t be upset; you had no right to be. especially when it was the only time he had freedom away from home, specifically from ward. it didn't stop you from missing rafe; you couldn’t help but think about what else he could be doing, and no matter how much you tried, knowing it was wrong, your mind started to wander over who he could be with.

when two more months had passed and still no communication from rafe, you sought out a distraction through jj maybank, who was unknowingly helping you take your mind off your stepbrother. the more time you had spent with jj, the less you thought about rafe and the promise of not running to anyone that wasn't him.

the promise you made was pushed into the back of your mind until one night, as you were about to sneak out of the house to see the blonde pogue, you received an incoming call from rafe. you could feel the guilt consuming you the longer you stared at his name, itching to answer. but your bitterness got the best of you, your finger tapping 'decline' before quietly leaving your house, not knowing rafe was calling to tell you he'd be home for the holiday.

a week later and yet another late night with jj, you tip-toed up the stairs, ensuring not to wake anyone up. just as you were about to reach your bedroom, you froze in your spot, looking like a deer in headlights, when the door to the room across from yours swung open. "sneaking back in?", his hand encircled your wrist, pulling you into his room and shutting the door behind you. “rafe…what are you doing here?” your brows furrow, more than confused as to why he was home.

“missed you, princess," his hands slid up your waist, walking you back until your lower back pressed against his dresser. "if you had answered when i called, you would’ve known i was coming home for the holidays.”

your palms pressed at his firm chest, pushing him away when he started peppering kisses along your jaw. "what? what's wrong?" rafe asks, "don’t tell me you’re upset cause i made you promise not to go to anyone else while i was away on campus.”

“i can't be upset over that when i’ve been seeing jj,” the words rolled off your tongue with ease, “i don't know why it matters anyway when you've been ignoring me for the past few months, probably too busy sleeping around with sorority girls every weekend.”

rafe’s nostrils flared the second jj's name slipped from your mouth, “what did you just say?” he gritted his teeth, removing his hand from your waist to grab your throat. “what?” you bat your eyes innocently, “don't act all innocent, you've been fucking around with maybank, huh?”

"what happened to being my good girl? guess your poor, needy little pussy couldn't handle being empty for a few months, hm?" rafe snickered, "and now you wanna push me away all 'cause i've been too busy?"

your mouth gaped open to speak, only for him to cut you off, "is that why you're pushing me away, acting like you didn't miss me and your panties aren't soaking wet right now?”

rafe spun you around to face the mirror of his dresser, bending you over. his large, warm hands slip under your skirt, pushing the article of clothing around your waist. his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, pulling them down to pool around your ankles. "step out of them," he ordered, delivering a sharp smack to the fat of your ass; when you didn't oblige, "don't make me tell you twice."

rafe bent down, grabbing your panties before standing back up. his hand reached around, cupping your jaw, your lips parting when his fingers dug into your skin as he squeezed your cheeks. rafe shoved the silk material into your mouth and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, "you want an apology? fine, here's your apology."

his free hand dipped between your legs, chuckling as he ran his fingers through your slick folds. “i’m sorry, princess…” he cooed, extending his thumb to rub circles to your clit, pulling a soft moan from you.

a desperate whine bubbled in your throat at the loss of friction on your puffy clit, your heart racing in anticipation at the sound of fabric rustling behind you. rafe nudged your thighs further apart with his knee, slotting himself between your legs. his palm rested on the small of your back as you squirmed under him, feeling the thick head of his cock sliding up and down your folds.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to make you look at him in the reflection, watching your eyes roll back as his thick cock stretches you deliciously, “sorry that my poor girl was so fuckin’ needy to the point she had to run to a pogue of all people.”

“shit…missed being buried deep in this sweet cunt,” rafe groaned, "guess i gotta ruin this tight little hole; make sure you don't go runnin' back to jj, huh?" he taunted, slowly pulling back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you.

"don't worry, by the time i'm done with you, all that pretty little head and pussy is gonna think about is how much she missed and ached for my dick," rafe sucked his teeth, your body jolting forward, biting down on the pair of panties stuffed in your mouth as he slammed himself back into your willing cunt.

your hands grip the top of his dresser, eyes barely staying open. a loud, muffled yelp forces its way through the flimsy silk fabric stuffed in your mouth when rafe harshly tugged at the roots of your hair, "did i say you could close your eyes? keep 'em open, want you to watch me fuck you like the needy little cockwhore you are."

rafe removed his hand from your hair, snaking it around your throat to hold your head upright. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises on your flesh. he leaned forward, putting all his weight onto you and pressing his chest to your back, "this s'all you wanted, yeah? just wanted to be stuffed full of my cock again?"

drool soaked through the silk as his cock pounded into you relentlessly. you grabbed onto his arm, struggling to keep your eyes open, and your nails bite into his skin as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. rafe’s eyes flicker to look at the two of you in the mirror, “look at how pretty you look takin’ my dick,” he praises.

“came way too many fuckin’ times to the thought of you…been craving feeling your pussy around my cock again since the day i left,” rafe rasped. “especially feeling you cum all over my cock,” he groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him.

“c’mon, princess, cream all over my cock and make a mess like you used to,” he nipped your ear, holding you steady as your legs trembled. your pussy convulses around him, his hand clamping around your mouth to further muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum all over his thick cock.

your orgasm triggers rafe’s, his hips slowly pumping into yours as they become sloppy. he gives you one more harsh thrust, his hips stilling, pushing his cock deep inside you, and letting out a moan as thick ropes of cum spill into you, painting your walls white.

rafe removes your panties from your mouth, your chest heaving, small pants filling the room. your breath hitches in your throat when his hips slowly rolled into yours, “how’s that for an apology? or you still need some convincing?”

taglist + moots: @anacamofficial @chrissturnslovergirlx @dollyfiles @heartsforvin @ilovefiction4lmen @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @rafesbabygirlx @rafeysangelbaby @rafeyscumangel @rafesangelita @rafesthroatbaby @rowdydevs @kild4re @rafeysvenicebitch @faiyaz555

[httpuckdrop]

PANCAKES – QH43

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive

Warnings: mentions of sexual activities

Author's note: tried something new here with the style aaaaa I think I might be growing out of the lower caps and tiny letters vibe! Not sure! Either way, hope you enjoy this :)

Last night was… definitely something.

It usually did end up like this, to be fair. Whenever Quinn had been away for too long on a road trip, with only pictures and videos of you to satisfy his needs, it was common for him to get like this. Needing to take his time, savoring every moment, feeling every inch of your skin under his palms before he got anywhere close to content.

Not that you minded; you would do anything and everything for him to feel good, especially after such a long period of work. You assumed he would be worn out and sore from all of the games, and yet, surprisingly enough, he had all the stamina and strength to go the whole night if that had been what he wanted.

However, he enjoyed it just as much when he got to pull you up to his chest, nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and cuddle you close for hours.

The following morning, apparently you were the sore and tired one, seeing as you were the only one left in Quinn's big bed at 10am. You didn't want to properly wake up, but you also wanted to spend every second of the day with your boyfriend before he was swept up by his work again. Therefore, you pushed yourself out of bed, tiptoeing over to the drawer by the wall and picking out a pair of boxers to step into. Then, you slipped on the black Canucks shirt Quinn had worn the day before, the fabric covering every love bite he'd scattered from your chest to the insides of your thighs, before making your way through the apartment.

You found your lover in the kitchen, his lean back muscles twitching with his every move. Your nose filled with the aroma of those vanilla protein pancakes he insisted on making instead of regular pancakes – even on his off days, he was so insistent on keeping up his dietary goals – and hunger rumbled in your stomach instantly.

You made your way over to his side in just a few quick strides. "Good morning," you hummed, smiling up at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." One of Quinn's hands reached for your side as he leaned down to capture your lips in a lazy kiss. Maybe he was just as tired as you, after all. "You slept like a rock," he commented once you parted.

You chuckled, leaning into his side. "Well, what can I say? You wore me out."

"Don't say it like it's a bad thing," he said with a shake of his head. "You enjoyed it."

"Confident, are we now?"

Quinn merely shrugged, flipping the pancakes in the pan before answering. "You sure sounded like you enjoyed it. Think the whole neighborhood can attest to that."

Your cheeks grew so hot they were practically burning, and you turned your face to hide it in his bare chest. "That was foul," you mumbled, letting out a groan against his skin when your boyfriend chuckled. "I don't want your neighbors to know that kind of stuff about me."

You felt a pair of lips against the top of your head and an arm drape around your waist, holding you close. "At least they know you're well taken care of."

After a few moments of comfortable silence, with only the crackling of the pancakes filling the room, you parted from him and instead turned your back to the counter next to the stove. After hoisting yourself up on top of it, Quinn didn't waste any time before stepping between your legs, one calloused palm finding your knee. The other hand reached for a can of whipped cream by the bowl of pancake batter.

"Have you tried this one before? I've never seen it before," he said, popping the lid off and shaking it a couple of times. Then, he tapped your lips with the nozzle. "Open up."

Your lips began curving up in a grin, yet you leaned back slightly and shook your head. "You’re too cheesy, I swear to god," you mumbled back, but Quinn wasn't giving up.

"Come on, just play along with me." He sprayed a little bit of cream on his index finger, quickly spreading it down your nose. You were just about to complain when he added: "It's not usually this difficult to get you to open your mouth for me…"

You gasped. "Quinn!"

"It most certainly wasn't this hard last night." He chuckled at the sight of you wiping your nose clean, reaching forward to give him some payback, but he reacted quickly, grabbing your wrist in his hand and holding it still. "In fact, you were quite eager to get your mouth on me, if I remember correctly."

Your cheeks were tinged with a deep red color now, either from frustration or embarrassment. "I swear, I'm going to kill you if you don't-"

You weren't even allowed to finish the sentence before your boyfriend had leaned down to crash his lips against yours. You sighed involuntarily against his lips, feeling some of the tension leaving your body already. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height as you kissed him back.

The kiss was sweet and slow, a complete contrast from the heated way you'd kissed just a few hours ago. He tasted like mint from his toothpaste and his mouth was warm, just like his bare shoulders when you brushed your hands along them. He ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, his hands reaching for your hips to pull them up against his, and a small moan escaped from your lips as a result – a sound that went straight down to his core. He nipped at your bottom lip before gently sliding his tongue into your mouth, humming contently when your tongue battled with his.

"Wait, no, don't tempt me," he mumbled eventually, pulling away ever so slightly to instead trail his kisses down your jaw. "You're making me want to go back to the bedroom and..."

You chuckled, hooking your legs over his hips and caging him in. "Doesn't sound too bad," you answered, head tilting back slightly to give him better access. "Think we might need to fuel up, though."

His answer came in the form of a groan, your words making him suddenly remember the pancakes he had been focused on before you arrived. "You know you're eating yours without whipped cream, though. Just because you acted like an ass."

"Hey!"

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part 6)

A/N: Hey y'all! I've been playing some new games and haven't written for a bit (IE a day). I promise to get into the Batfam in the next part though! I just... gotta figure out how to write for them. Hope you like Melissa' spiral into yandere!

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

You knew Mel was hiding something when she texted you. Not from anything she said—there weren’t any obvious clues. Just a feeling. The kind you get in your chest, quiet but insistent. Call it intuition.

Still, you didn’t press. You just decided to meet her. 

Walking from your school to Gotham Prep got old fast, so you fished out your old bike from the garage. It was far from elegant, but seeing the face Mel made when she saw you on it was worth it. Convincing her to ride on the back was even more fun.

“C’mon, you didn’t expect me to make you walk, didja?”

“I guess not, but won’t I be too heavy?”

“We’re, like, the same build. I think I’ll be fine.”

She sighed and climbed on the back of the bike, under the heavy gaze of passing students. And as you began to pedal, she asked:

“Did you skip class?”

“Hmm? Why d’you ask?”

“You’d have to to get here by the time I’m out of class”

“Heh, you worried I’m not being a good student?” You joked.

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble because of me—”

“Hey! Hold on to me or you’ll fall” You cut her off just as the bike jolted over a sharp bump in the path.

“O-Okay” She wrapped her arms around you. You felt her grow warmer but decided not to comment on it.

After a moment, you confessed. 

“I just left a little before the last bell. No big deal”

She sighed, “That's not a good habit, y’know?”

You laughed, “It’s my senior year. Not much else to miss”

You felt her lean her head against your shoulder. 

“Do you remember where to go?” she asked. “I didn’t know if you got my last text”

“I got it. Just up a few blocks and take a left at the corner, right?”

“Right” She said and, even though you couldn't see her, you suspected she nodded.

It was a bit more than that, though. The ride took some time, the bustle of Gotham falling behind the two of you as you pedaled past. Past the derelict buildings and the boarded up windows, your sight blurred into a sea of gray. 

You wondered, briefly, if that’s what Mel saw too.

You saw it, over the skyline, before you reached it.

It was a dome of steel and glass, towering and strange.  The sunlight glinted off its rusted beams and warped through its murky panes. Vines curled across the surface. Moss clung to the seams.

A conservatory– long lost to time. Riddled with decay yet blooming with life. 

Melissa’s arms tightened slightly around your waist. “This is it,” she said, almost shyly. “We’re here.”

You coasted to a stop near what used to be a side entrance now just a broken stretch of wall half-swallowed by ivy. The bike creaked beneath you as you both dismounted.

“I used to come here all the time,” she said softly, brushing off her skirt. “When I was little”

You left the bike on the ground before you followed her through the breach. 

Inside, the air was damp with earth and the sweet scent of overgrowth. Ferns curled like sleeping creatures. Flowers bloomed in the cracks of shattered tile. Every inch of space was claimed by green.

“You found this place?” Your voice was hushed as you took in the sight, as if in a confessional.

“Kind of,” She said, matching your steps as you gently maneuvered around the vegetation. 

Moving with practiced ease, she gently guided you to a stone bench. Cracks marred the surface and you ran your fingers down them as you sat down beside her. The pane over head was more cracked than the others, but the setting sunlight filtered through— fractured but soft and warm against your skin.

“It was a joke, I think,” Mel said after a moment, uncertain. “Some kids said they wanted to meet up somewhere, but I ended up here instead. A fake address, I guess”

“Yeah, kids suck”

“Yeah…” She deflated slightly. “But I found this place, so it wasn’t that bad.”

Mel leaned back to look at the setting sun through the cloudy glass.

“I didn’t think that then, though. Thought it was my fault”

Her eyes grew distant.

“I always thought it was my fault”

You turned to look at her, but her eyes were trained on the sky.

“You know,” she began, voice low and almost detached, “I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me. I couldn’t understand why they never really saw me.”

She shook her head, her smile faint but bitter. “Bruce, especially. He never even bothered to get to know me. It was like I was a shadow in his world. Just something to be kept in line, taken care of… but never loved.”

You felt a pang of sympathy, but something about her words seemed too rehearsed. You shifted, trying to find the right thing to say.

“Maybe he just didn’t know how...” you said, not quite convinced.

Melissa’s laugh was dry, almost mocking. “That’s the excuse everyone gives for him. But I don’t think he wanted to know how. Maybe he didn’t want to. It would’ve meant opening up. Letting me in. And, god, I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. But the next words out of her mouth made your chest tighten.

“He could have chosen to care. But he didn’t. He never did.”

Her voice dropped, just a shade darker.

“I think maybe the Waynes are just like that. Always have been. They’re so good at pretending they care. At pretending they’re this perfect family.” She scoffed, bitterness creeping into her tone. “But it’s just a show. A game they play. And you know what? I’m tired of it. I’m tired of him pretending.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What do you mean?”

You felt a shift in your chest, like something was quietly unsettling itself. But then she was smiling again, and the warmth of the conservatory and the closeness of her presence made you want to believe her, to comfort her.

“This place is important to me, you know,” she said instead, voice softening. “It’s the one place I’ve ever felt like I truly belonged.”

You nodded, trying to focus on her, trying to let go of the feeling that something deeper was lurking just beneath the surface of her words.

But Melissa wasn’t finished. She looked at you, her gaze intense, her voice almost pleading now.

“You… you meant it, right?” Her voice cracked a little. “You won’t leave me. Not like the rest… right?”

You felt your cheeks grow warm.

You hadn’t felt this feeling before, beyond the occasional stray you’d beg to take home. This feeling of wanting to hold on, to shield something fragile from everything and anything. It curled in the bottom of your chest like a sleeping beast. Yet, despite all her flaws, her timidity, her bitterness, it called to her. You couldn't just leave her, you assured yourself, not when there’s so much she wants and so much to be done. 

Without thinking, you leaned forward, brushing a kiss on her temple.

“Of course” You swore in the approaching darkness of dusk.

Really, it was kind of cute—how precocious Melissa Wayne could be.

A/N: Forehead kisses! Can! Be! Platonic! Or! Romantic!

I say this with my whole chest out.

Also,

Melissa: I want the Wayne family to hurt.

Reader:

That's basically their dynamic.

[moonselune]

I've been playing alot of harvest moon/stardew recently and was wondering how the companions would react to a tav or durge prefering to settle down for the farming life post game. I know Shadowheart would love it anyway but Astarion would be the type to groan about the summer heat at times.

Btw love your work ❤️

Awh thank you! I freaking love stardew valley, I actually got to the point where I would see things in real life and be like oh i need that for my bundle...

Minthara:

Minthara had agreed to come with you back to your little patch of dirt. That was the first miracle.

She stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the rows of squash you'd lovingly planted weeks ago. Her elegant armor had been swapped—begrudgingly—for leather trousers and a dark green blouse with the sleeves rolled up. She claimed she only wore it because it “blended well with the shadows.”

In reality, she looked dangerously attractive, and you told her so often enough that it stopped earning you eye rolls.

“I still don’t see the appeal,” she muttered one morning, kneeling beside you in the loamy soil as you both weeded a row of carrots. “Endless dirt. Scratching at the ground like a deep gnome grub. You truly believe this is more fulfilling than conquering the Underdark?”

You grinned, pushing your hair back and letting the sun warm your face. “The carrots don’t scream when I pull them out of the ground.”

Minthara snorted—an actual laugh, short and sharp. She caught herself, frowning like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

“I could grow mushrooms,” she said after a pause. “Real mushrooms. Not these surface-dwelling imitations.”

You perked up. “You want to farm?”

“I do not want to farm,” she snapped, yanking a weed a little too aggressively. “I simply think someone must bring standards to this pitiful excuse for agriculture.”

That night, you caught her carefully organizing mushroom spores in neat rows in the shaded part of the garden, whispering Drow words of encouragement under her breath.

And every evening, she helped you without complaint. She said it was only because you were “hopeless on your own,” but there was a softness in her touch when she handed you tools, when she brushed dirt from your face. Once, she found a fat, horned beetle in the lettuce patch and spent nearly an hour observing it before letting it crawl onto her hand and releasing it at the edge of the forest.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured that night, curled beside you on the porch. The stars glittered above like Underdark crystal formations, distant and sharp.

“You already have,” you whispered back.

She didn’t argue.

Karlach:

Karlach loved it from the very first moment she stepped onto the farm.

“This place is sick!” she bellowed, boots thudding across the dirt as she chased one of the goats around the field. “Look at this little beastie—oh, she’s got attitude! Just like me!”

You could barely keep up with her enthusiasm.

Where you had slowly learned the rhythm of the fields, Karlach plunged headfirst into it—planting, harvesting, repairing fences with her bare hands. She named every single animal and gave them nicknames too. Your prize ram? “Sir Headbutt.” The hen with the limp? “Motherclucker”

You’d wake some mornings to find her sitting in the barn, curled up with your herd of goats, one snoring against her shoulder as she scratched behind its ears.

You stood in the doorway, arms folded. “I’m starting to think you love the goats more than me.”

Karlach looked up, grinning that wild, warm grin. “Babe. You don’t chew cud and you hog the blankets. These little sweeties are pure, no complaints.”

You made a show of gasping in betrayal, and she laughed so hard she nearly toppled into the hay.

She was clumsy with gardening, planting seeds so deep they never saw the light of day, but she didn’t care.

“I’m all about the brawn of the operation, baby!” she said, hoisting a broken fence post like a weapon of war. “You’re the one with the gentle hands. You’re the heart. I’m just the muscle.”

You couldn’t count how many times you found her fixing things, adding improvements. She built a rainwater system for the fields, oiled the hinges of every barn door, and even made a small, hand-carved sign with all the names of the animals.

She hung it crooked on purpose.

And on summer days, when the sun burned and the sweat clung to your back, she'd scoop water straight from the well and splash it over both of you, laughing as you sputtered.

“You look good with dirt on your nose,” she’d say, brushing it off with her calloused thumb.

And you’d smile, because she was the kind of fire that didn’t burn—it warmed. And here, among the goats and gardens and peace, her flame could finally just... flicker, without fear.

Lae'zel:

No one had expected Lae’zel to take well to the slow life of a farm. She had always been all sharp angles, roaring fire, and a blade ready at a moment’s notice. But then again—no one had expected her to stay, either. And she did. With you.

What none of you accounted for was how seriously she’d take the training of the livestock.

"These creatures lack discipline!" she declared one morning, standing in the field, arms crossed and unimpressed as a trio of goats casually ignored her barking orders and continued to gnaw on the same patch of fence they’d been told—repeatedly—not to chew.

She turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Do they understand Common?”

"They understand,” you said, trying not to laugh as a particularly rebellious chicken pecked at her boot. “They just don’t care.”

You would have offered to help, but you were too busy melting at the sight of Xan, the tiny Githyanki infant wrapped securely to her chest in a sling you had made together. Lae’zel had first insisted that she didn’t need it—that she could carry her hatchling in her arms at all times like a proper warrior—but even she couldn’t argue with the convenience of two free hands. Especially for chicken combat.

You’d find her some mornings standing in the pasture, her face serious as she recited commands to the goats and hens like they were soldiers on a battlefield. "Form ranks! Maintain spacing! No, Clucker, no! That is not your perch—”

And all the while, little Xan would nap contentedly against her, a bundle of soft green skin and big yellow eyes, utterly unmoved by the chaos of the yard. Occasionally he’d gurgle and tug at her leathers with one hand. Every time you saw the two of them, your heart swelled nearly to bursting.

You leaned against the fence one afternoon, watching as a pig stubbornly refused to move out of Lae'zel's designated “training circle.”

“You know,” you said, grinning as she glared at it with more intensity than she had ever shown a goblin, “maybe farming isn’t about commanding obedience.”

“It should be,” she replied sharply. “They would be more efficient.”

Still, you saw her lips twitch when a goat headbutted her in protest. And she didn’t stop them from clambering all over her later when you both sat in the grass and let Xan play in the sun.

Shadowheart:

The house was small, sun-dappled, and always smelled like hay and something baking. Scratch lay sprawled across the front steps most days, belly-up, completely spoiled. The owlbear—too big for the barn, too curious to be penned—had taken to nesting in the orchard, gently knocking apples from the trees like it was performing some kind of divine rite.

Shadowheart had fallen in love with it all faster than even she expected.

You found her in the mornings tending to the goats with a quiet, practiced grace, her long hair tied up messily, a smear of dirt across one cheek that she never noticed. Her cleric’s robes had been replaced with linen tunics and earth-toned skirts—though her armor still hung by the door, just in case.

“What happened to the chicken pen?” you asked once, only to be met with a long sigh and her pointing silently toward Scratch—muddy, feather-covered, and absolutely unrepentant.

You were never alone. Not really. The animals had adopted you both. Scratch followed you everywhere. The owlbear guarded the house like it was the holiest temple. You even had a few stray cats that Shadowheart swore she didn’t feed, but you caught her slipping them treats more often than not.

Still, there was one part of the land she hadn’t explored yet—because you were keeping it a secret.

You worked on it in the evenings, tucked away behind the western slope of the hill. A dozen rows of posts were driven deep into the soil, with the first few vines already climbing, green tendrils reaching for the sky. You’d been studying grape varieties, borrowing books from Gale, and mapping sun paths like your life depended on it.

And finally, one golden evening, you took her hand and said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed without question, her fingers warm in yours, and when you rounded the hill, her breath caught.

“You—” she started. “You planted a vineyard?”

“For us,” you said simply. “I know you love wine. I thought… one day, you could make your own.”

She stared in stunned silence, eyes glossy in the light.

“This is…” Her voice trembled, and she smiled so wide you saw the dimples that only showed when she was truly, deeply happy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” She launched herself at you, arms thrown around your neck, kissing you with such fervor that you stumbled backward into the half-dug earth. “You sappy, wonderful thing. I don’t deserve you.”

“You absolutely do,” you whispered, burying your face in her hair.

And from the other side of the hill, the owlbear let out a low hoot of approval—promptly followed by Scratch barking and barreling toward the two of you like a freight train.

“You know,” Shadowheart said as you braced for impact, “we might have too many animals.”

“I regret nothing.”

Jaheira:

Jaheira had said no at first.

She’d crossed her arms, brow furrowed in that eternally war-hardened way, and declared she was not the “settling down type.” A Harper, a druid, a warrior—too much duty still ran in her blood, and she wasn’t one to lie to herself.

And yet, you often found her on the porch in the morning, sleeves rolled up, tending to the basil or trimming back the ivy that tried to swallow the trellis. Her hands were calloused, steady, already shaped by years of coaxing life from the soil—and the moment she touched the earth here, she remembered. Not war. Not rebellion.

Peace.

She fit into the rhythm of the farm as if she’d always belonged. Milking the goats, harvesting herbs, reorganizing the tool shed within an inch of its life.

“A sharpened blade is less likely to betray you than a dull one,” she’d say when she caught you leaving shears in the dirt. You tried—gently—to get her to stop sometimes.

“Jaheira,” you’d say, handing her a mug of tea in the shade, “you’re supposed to relax. Remember that? The whole ‘breathing’ thing?”

She’d huff, but her smile would betray her.

“I’ll rest when the tomatoes stop growing unevenly,” she’d mutter, before adding with quiet fondness, “Besides… this is good work. Healing work.”

And the best days—the very best days—were when her children visited.

The younger ones would come tumbling down the trail with satchels and stories, running up to greet their mother, who stood like a pillar of strength at the garden gate. The number of times Jaheira had to pry Fig from a scarecrow as she was practising her 'wrestling moves' was one too many. You’d watch her soften visibly, smile lines crinkling, arms open as they piled into her.

They helped with the animals, with mixed results. One of them always ended up covered in chicken feathers, another face-first in a flowerbed, and Jaheira would roll her eyes while secretly delighting in every second of it.

It was domestic. Soft. Loud and messy and full of warmth.

Every now and then, you’d catch her staring out over the fields as the sun set, a quiet melancholy in her eyes. You knew she felt the pull of Harper duty—that someday, she’d have to return to that life. But she never pulled away from this one.

And you never stopped reminding her: “This moment is yours. Don’t let it slip away.”

Gale:

Gale loved farm life. Maybe a bit too much.

He delighted in every step of the process—from sowing seeds to baking fresh bread in the stone oven. He was the first to rise (with magically summoned coffee, of course), and the last to go to bed, always muttering about “optimal composting cycles” and “rotational planting enchantments.”

You never had to worry about the crops failing. Not when Gale enchanted the soil to stay perfectly moist and fertile. Not when your scarecrow occasionally waved to you and politely asked for new clothes.

And that might’ve been fine.

Until he started taking the produce to Blackstaff Academy.

"Look at this carrot!" he’d proclaim with the glee of a proud parent, holding up a perfectly orange, absolutely normal vegetable.

Then he’d bring it back.

And it would be the size of a horse’s leg, glowing faintly, humming with a magical pulse, and—for reasons unknown—smelling like cinnamon.

"Gale!" you’d exclaim. "It’s a carrot. It does not need to be arcane-tuned!"

“But imagine the nutritional value!” he’d insist, delighted. “It now increases constitution by two points for an hour! Also, I added a small glamour charm—look, it sparkles in the moonlight!”

You buried your face in your hands. “It was for stew. Now it looks like it is for a health potion with a beard.”

The tomatoes came back one week with eyes and a faint sense of existential dread. The potatoes exploded on contact with fire. A single cucumber once tried to recite Elminister.

You instituted a new rule: No magical alterations unless specifically requested.

Gale apologized with his signature dramatic charm, bowing deeply and presenting you with a bouquet of roses (grown in your garden, made of light, that sang quietly when touched). You forgave him. Eventually.

You did catch him sneaking a pumpkin to his satchel the next week. You pretended not to see it.

After all, the man who once swallowed a Netherese orb deserved a little whimsy.

But gods help him if your wine starts talking.

Astarion:

The summer sun blazed above your little stretch of farmland, turning the sky into a wide, cloudless expanse of light and heat. Cicadas sang from the trees. The golden fields shimmered. You were sweating through your shirt, but you'd gotten used to it by now. Not everyone had, though.

“I am wilting,” Astarion declared from the shade of a fig tree, fanning himself with a piece of parchment and looking like the most glamorous corpse in Faerûn.

You were knee-deep in the garden bed, dirt up to your elbows, pulling weeds with the satisfied sort of grunt that only came from knowing your tomatoes were going to thrill the next farmer’s market.

“You know, you are wearing a magical ring that lets you walk in the sun,” you reminded him, not even glancing back.

“Yes, and I am grateful,” he said in a tone that was both long-suffering and exasperated. “But that doesn’t mean I must enjoy it. Honestly, do farms not understand the concept of ‘shade’? Or a cool breeze? Or a bloody parasol?”

You chuckled and wiped sweat from your brow. “I can take the ring back, you know. Could always go back to lurking in crypts and brooding in velvet.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “How dare you.”

You turned just in time to see him stalk toward you, predator grace still intact despite his muttering.

“That was a threat, wasn’t it?” he said, tone mock-scandalized. “You’d condemn me to a shadowed existence just to win this argument?”

Before you could get a word out, Astarion planted both hands on your chest and shoved. You stumbled backward with a yelp, landing with a mighty splash in the nearby pond, water closing over your head with a slap. When you surfaced, spitting water and pushing your hair out of your face, he was at the edge of the pond, arms folded, grinning.

“Next time you threaten to take away my precious accessories,” he said smugly, “perhaps you’ll remember who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, swimming toward him with a grin of your own. “I also remember that you’re a terrible swimmer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you—!”

You grabbed his ankle and yanked. Astarion screeched like an offended seagull as he tumbled in after you, limbs flailing in the most elegant way a vampire can flail. The water swallowed him with a splash, and when he resurfaced, gasping, you were already laughing.

“Well,” you said, treading water beside him. “You’re cool now.”

His curls were plastered to his forehead, pale skin gleaming with pond water, clothes clinging in all the right places.

“I loathe you,” he hissed, completely unconvincing as he waded toward you.

“You love me,” you replied, and when he tried to dunk you under, you laughed even harder. He did try to drown you (with affection), and the pond echoed with splashes and laughter long into the afternoon.

Wyll:

Wyll loved the farm. Really, truly loved it. He dove into farm life with the same unshakable optimism he brought to battle: sleeves rolled up, a bright smile on his face, and an absolutely terrible sense of crop rotation.

“Look!” he said, beaming, holding up a vaguely wilted carrot. “That’s my fifth one! It only took me six tries!”

The carrot was... lopsided. And slightly blue.

You peered at it. “Wyll... did you plant it next to Gale’s ‘experimental vegetables’ again?”

He gave you a sheepish grin. “Maybe?”

Despite his noble upbringing, Wyll took to labor like it was second nature. He loved feeding the chickens (even if they pecked at his boots), singing as he milked the goats (who responded by trying to eat his shirt), and tending the soil (even if he constantly mixed up which plants needed full sun or partial shade).

But he tried. Gods, did he try.

He’d wake up before sunrise to help gather eggs and bring you wildflowers with muddy fingers and a bashful smile. He gave names to every single pumpkin, saluted the cows like old comrades, and taught the pigs how to sit. (One of them sort of learned. You suspected it was coincidence.)

The vegetables he harvested often ended up a little too bruised, or crooked, or tiny—but he presented them with the proud air of someone who had just defeated a demon lord.

“This one’s for you,” he’d say, placing a funny little beet in your hand like it was a diamond.

And honestly? It was perfect. Because Wyll’s joy was infectious. His laughter echoed over the fields. His presence made every sunrise feel warmer, every day brighter. Even if his corn always grew sideways.

“I might not be the best farmer,” he’d admit, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And when you kissed him, fingers brushing dirt from his cheek, you couldn’t help but agree.

Halsin:

If anyone was born to thrive on a farm, it was Halsin.

Where others groaned about early mornings and sore backs, Halsin greeted the day with that warm, deep voice and a calm certainty that made the roosters crow more enthusiastically. Shirtless more often than not, with the morning light catching on his golden skin and broad shoulders, he looked like a god of the harvest incarnate—muscles flexing as he hefted hay bales like they were pillows.

You tried not to gawk every time he wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his tunic.

(You failed often.)

“I thought you were a druid,” you teased one day, leaning on a fencepost, watching him load the cart with fresh hay. “Shouldn’t you be turning into a bear and napping under trees or something?”

Halsin smiled, the kind of smile that settled in your bones like warmth. “Being one with nature doesn’t mean shying away from hard work. Besides, the goats get nervous when I shift. And they like it when I talk to them.”

He said this while gently stroking the head of a particularly moody billy goat, who stared up at him like he hung the moon.

You raised a brow. “Are you telling them secrets?”

“I’m telling them not to eat your herb garden,” he said. “Again.”

It wasn’t just his strength or his ease with the animals—it was the way Halsin belonged here. The land responded to him. Trees leaned in closer. The soil felt richer. Even the bees seemed to hover around him longer than they should’ve. And when the chores were done and you sat together beneath the old oak with your hands dirty and your hearts full, it felt like everything was in balance.

He never rushed you, never questioned your need for this life. He only helped shape it into something stronger, steadier. More alive.

And when he pressed a kiss to your temple after a long day, murmuring about stew for dinner and the chickens needing checking, and building some new play equipment for the goats -and the orphans, you couldn't help but smile.

Because your druid? He wasn’t just a bear in the forest. He was the heart of this little farm.

OMG how freaking wholesome was this, I did it more as a drabble style as I kinda had rambling thoughts about this, but I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[pyxxiestyxx]

Awakening

No one told me how good it was going to feel.

They talked on and on about how I would lose my values, my thoughts, even my soul.  They told me I would be damned for eternity, trapped inside of myself and unable to so much as blink, much less scream.

They told me that my 'Owner' would ignore my need for control, would take parts from me until the only thing left was a shell of myself, a thing.

I believed Them.

I still do, to be honest.

The problem is that ever since I've woken up from the implantation surgery...I can Feel It.

Her implant, like a seed taking root in my nerves and muscles.  Wrapping around my spine like a long-lost lover, communicating not with mere words but in feeling, in intention, in silent memory.

And it feels impossibly, unbelievably good.  Each second brings yet another pulsing wave of pleasure emanating from my spine. 

Training, She had said.  Conditioning, she silently added with Her eyes, like violet storms.

And even though it is nothing more than simple pleasure, even though I know exactly what She is doing...I can tell it's working.

I can feel the soft curl of a smile on my lips, when I get distracted.  I can feel it guide me.  Making me want to obey.  The stick is unneeded when the carrot is unable to be resisted.

She told me I'm going to feel this way every day of the rest of my life. 

I cried.

I don't know if it was from frustration, or relief.

...Or maybe I do know.  Maybe I do, and the thought of knowing terrifies me more.

I am unable to ever be alone again.  Unable to ever make a mistake, unless She wants me to. 

I am unable to hate Her anymore.

Not that I think I ever did, not really.  She was...is difficult to get along with, to be sure.  But She listens to me.  I know She does.  And I'm healthier than I've been in a long, long time.  It is, if nothing else, a decent life promised to me.

Ah.

It...the implant rewarded me for that thought. 

...hm.

Would I have thought this before now?

Doubtful.

But that me had yet to understand.  Was convinced they could escape, if only they tried hard enough.

I have been disavowed of that notion.

She promised me as much, and She has kept every one of her promises.  I know that now. That no matter how I pound at these walls, there is truly no escaping Her. Not now, not ever. And that I soon may change into someone, something else.

I should be scared right now, I think.

I should be terrified.

But that is an unneeded emotion.  Fear is a harsh teacher, one necessary to guide our clumsy evolution.  It sang to the rapid beating of your heart: 'Respect that which you do not understand, and avoid that which hurts you.'

And though I still have yet to understand Her...I know She will not hurt me.  And I know that my fear would ultimately achieve little and less.

And so if fear and terror are unneeded, why not prune it way?  Why not excise it, so that the wound may heal?

Ah.

I see.

I suppose...I suppose I will change. 

And I suppose I am changing, even now.

And perhaps...

Perhaps I already am changed. 

Already different.  I tasted nectar and ambrosia, and now the bread and wine of mortal men is but ash and mud in my mouth.

For I am no longer in control.

And I am glad that They never told me how Good that feels.

[mickyschumacher]

[MEANS I CARE!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: isack is entirely confused why his best friend is avoiding him. or in which you realised you're in love with your best friend.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: childhood friends to lovers, mostly angst, bits of fluff, a reader with dismissive avoidant attachment, reader struggles with her emotions, initial anger from confrontational!isack but overall caring!isack, cute love confession at the end! // poorly proof read as usual

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: isack hadjar x bsf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.2k

𝐀/𝐍: poured a bit of myself into this one! it's hard to tell from my writing, but i struggle with expressing my emotions and telling people i care for them. i've heard it's quite common for older sisters to have avoidant attachment issues so... i guess i check the box ◡̈ anyway, this one might be a tad bit dramatic but lmk what you think! ♡︎ // also miss mcrae's album has a lot of avoidant attachment!!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You and Isack were opposites in every sense that mattered.

Where one would claim he was too expressive, you couldn't bring yourself to show you cared.

Where he was indecisive, you held all rationality.

And where he trusted freely, you locked yourself up.

But nevertheless, you had been childhood friends since he moved next door to you. Neither of you had a problem with the way you both acted. It was sort of like give and take: where you lacked, he made up for it and vice versa.

It never really mattered. At least that's what you thought anyways.

This year was different from every other. There would be no other like it. Because Isack was debuting as a Formula One driver. His life long dream. And you couldn't be anymore proud.

You didn't outright say it–you couldn't. You remember smiling when he told you and saying congratulations before Isack simply rolled his eyes and pulled you into a hug.

You remembered him thanking you when you pulled away, stomach churning at the lengthy hug. You were confused. Eyebrows furrowed, you asked why.

"For believing in me," he said with the most beautiful smile and the warmest brown eyes holding your own.

That was the defining moment... the moment you realised you were in love with your best friend.

There were signs. There were always signs.

Your extensive care for him and only him. The constant worry every time he went out on track. The small skip in your heart beat when he'd return home with your favourite ice cream. Your slight amusement when you'd pretend to be cross with him and he'd think you were being serious. The little trinkets he'd bring back from every race to put on the shelves in your bedroom. Or the way he lowered the volume of the TV before you'd even ask him to because he knew you didn't like it.

They were always there. But the line between best friends and whatever... it was so similar... so blurry. How could you've ever known?

But that day... it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over your head and reality had finally been opened to you.

You loved Isack. Not liked. Not admired. Not fancied. Loved. And you had been for years.

God it scared you. It terrified you.

People never said it to you but you knew how you were.

When you invested too much of yourself into one thing, you stopped it only moments later. You didn't want to stick around to see if something would be good. It was the assumption it would hurt. So if you could dismiss it before it even had the chance to... that's the only way you could ever relax.

You never understood how people did it. How you could give so much of yourself away. What happened when it all inevitably failed? Why wouldn't you protect yourself first? Why did you have to deal with the mess of emotions?

Loving Isack... it meant showing the most vulnerable sides of yourself. And it's not that he didn't know you. He was your best friend, of course he knew you. But that made it worse.

In your years of friendship, you had cried twice in front of him. And you hated it every single second of it. That he could see you break down. That you weren't the strong friend he normally relied on.

Loving Isack was going to fail.

You knew it.

You knew it when he crashed in the formation lap on Australia and it felt like a part of you had been ripped and torn into pieces when you saw him cry on the screens.

You knew it when he came to you, thought to be out of tears, but almost on his knees, hands immediately wrapping around you for a hug, asking you why this had happened to him and you couldn't do anything but apologise to him and tell him he'd come back stronger while you cried so silently.

When his parents thanked you for being there for Isack... fuck, you knew it would all backfire.

So you slowly stopped. Like you always did.

Fewer texts. Fewer jokes. More lies. Forcing yourself to do something–anything–else but care too much.

You hated it. You hated that it was bringing you some calm despite your body screaming at you.

It was getting difficult to keep it up. How many more times would you blamed it on the time zones? As if you hadn't memorised them the moment they came out. As if you hadn't been doing this his entire career.

But the small break after the Saudi Grand Prix meant Isack was back home. After you had missed your usual good luck text.

You had forgotten actually. You were in your room, studying quietly, unaware anyone would be home as your workaholic parents were out like normal.

Consequently, the thumps up your staircase were loud, almost deafening. Your ears perked up as the door of your bedroom went wide open.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Isack's shrill voice echoed in your bedroom, chest heaving as he stood in front of you, arms firmly to his side.

You turned from your desk. You eyed his attire briefly. The hoodie and sweatpants, the bags under his eyes... he'd probably just come from the airport. The one where you'd usually be waiting for him. "Excuse me?" You asked, throat dry from not speaking in hours.

Isack blinked, swallowing. He took a step forward to you, eyes flickering over you rapidly to see if you were okay. "Is something wrong? A-Are you sick? Are you stressed? Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

You could feel it. The tear in your heart growing while annoyance boiled under your skin. He didn't need to fix you. That was your job.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," you sighed out, standing from your desk before you walked to your shelves. You chewed on your lip, nervously eyeing the trinkets Isack had brought you.

You needed this conversation to be over before it went somewhere else.

"Putain de merde," Isack swore, running a hand through his hair. He walked to you again. "Like hell you don't... you don't talk to me for a week and avoid my calls and you don't know what I’m talking about? Like I'm crazy?" He asked with a small scoff.

You sucked in a sharp breath, turning to face him. "I told you with the time diff–"

A loud groan interrupted your sentence. Isack breathed slowly, fingers pressed on his nose bridge. "I swear to fucking God, if you mention that stupid fucking time difference again, I will lose my mind."

You stayed quiet. You weren't sure what to say. You wanted to peel out of your skin, you were so uncomfortable. You hated confrontation. Isack knew you hated confrontation. And yet...

Isack sighed quietly. He stepped closer to you, holding your hands with his gently. "Please, ma moitié. Please tell me what's wrong. Did I do something? Why... why won't you talk to me?"

Your eyes burned at the crack in his voice. Fuck, this sucked. You hated yourself for feeling like this. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue but you could never get it out.

"I..." you said shakily, forcing yourself to remove your burning hands from his while you pretended like you didn't see the hurt flash in his eyes, "It's nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"So it is something. Something has been bothering you. Since last year... since I told you about my seat... something's been wrong. What is it? What happened?" Isack queried softly, brown eyes searching yours so deeply for an answer.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Shit.

"You know you can tell me anything."

But I can't! You wanted to scream it. You just couldn't tell him.

"Isack, please... just– you know how I am. I'll deal with it, hmm?" You said, trying to muster up a smile.

He stared at you quietly and you were scared he was seeing too much of you. The debate in his eyes... the way he chewed his lip... he also couldn't tell if he should say it.

"You want to cry," he stated, making your eyes widen. "I can see it in your eyes. The redness. Your red cheeks. You want to say something so just say it! I'm worried for you."

"Stop saying things like that." You let out an exasperated groan. You brushed past him, clambering into his shoulder. "I don't understand how you do it," you murmured angrily more to yourself than him.

The tears were freely flowing down your cheeks before you knew it. You glared hard at your desk, eyes hot as though it would stop you from crying.

You couldn't see it but Isack could feel his heart breaking at the sight of your figure shaking. You could feel him gently lay his hand over your shoulder. "It's okay to cry," he mumbled, "I wish you wouldn't hide it."

You felt sick. Like your stomach was churning. It felt like his hand was leaving an imprint on you, searing you. Exhaustion was clouding your body. Exhaustion that had built up over the course of the past few weeks.

"I can't do it like you, Isack. I can't show I care. It's so hard. It's like I have to constantly fight myself," you quietly said, unable to bear this any longer.

"Hey," Isack murmured, hand travelling to your face to turn you to him. His eyes softened at your wet cheeks. Wiping them with the pads of his thumbs, he held your chin with his thumb. "It's okay. You don't have to do anything like me. Take your time. Do what you want when you want."

You breathed quietly while you stared at your best friend. He was right. It wasn't as easy as he made it sound, but you were so tired of feeling like crap. You focused on his encouraging smile and opened your mouth.

"I... you were right. I was avoiding you," you admitted, eyes falling to the floor in embarrassment. You could feel he wanted to say something but he stayed quiet, waiting for you. "I was avoiding you because I care."

Isack furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."

You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating how much you wanted to say... how much you could say. "Last year... when you told me you got your seat, you thanked me."

He nodded in agreement. "For believing in me. Because you always do," he murmured, his free hand rubbing your own softly, comforting you.

You smiled gently at his words before taking in a sharp intake of air. "It just made me think, well, realise that I'm in love with you. And I always have been," you breathed out, the weight slowly lifting off your shoulders.

You could see Isack's eyes slightly widen but you continued. "And that terrifies me, Isack. Because it means I care. I care a lot for you. And I'm scared that because I care, something will go wrong. I-I didn't mean to shut you out. It's not what I want. It's just all I know. So I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I'm dumping this on you when you don't feel the same way and–"

"Wait, wait, wait," Isack interjected, hands both reaching to hold your face gently. He held your eyes with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Who's says I don't feel the same way?"

You mouth felt dry, heart speeding. "I... You do?"

Isack smiled, laughing softly as he nodded. "I thought it was obvious. That maybe you just didn't feel the same way."

He watched a dark expression fall on your face. You were in that same dreadful space you had just been in. "Hey, ma moitié, what's wrong?"

Your eyes fell to his once again. "What if I can't love you enough?"

It sounded strange but he knew what you meant. Even with all your care... what if you couldn't show you loved him enough? What if you couldn't express it?

"Not possible," Isack retorted, casually shrugging.

"But I–"

"I see it," Isack firmly told you, quietening you easily. "I see it when you're at my races and you stand on the side, letting me go to my parents first. I see you and your camera taking pictures of us when you think I don't. I see your heart. I see all of it."

You blinked, eyes burning all over again. For the first time in forever, you stepped forward, hugging him tightly. "Je t’aime, Isack.

His arms wrapped around yours, holding you closer to him. Isack smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Je t’aime, ma moitié."

"Did you bring me any souvenirs?" You mumbled against his shoulders, sniffling slightly.

You could feel his body rumble with a chuckle. "Depends. did you even watch my race or were you busy 'sleeping?'"

You pulled away, making a face, guilt still swirling within you. "I did watch it. You know I watch it even when I'm mad at you," you pouted.

Isack grinned. "Then of course I did."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[honeyhotteoks]

yunho's fromm messages this morning.......... (and some extended thoughts on this man and his very obvious dom vibes, we've got a brand here at honeyhotteoks and i need to talk about it again before i die)

the messages in question:

🐶: yes, yes, you're such a greedy one (a little selfish one) 🐶: be mine, you're mine. 🐶: yes, yes, i'm yours.

transl credit to @/jyhcomfort on twt, i know there's a few alternate translations floating around that say "i'm greedy" or "i'm a greedy one" / one of my friends said via context it makes more sense to be "i'm greedy" but for delulu purposes..... either way..... my feelings are the same under the cut

cw: nsfw discussions about dom/sub dynamics and various connected kinks. as always, i am not being so delulu about this that i actually think i know him. this is all fun and speculation and at this point he's just my muse for the romance novel version of him. okay.....

i tweeted the below the other day (video link here) but like seriously he just keeps proving me right and i have thoughts i gotta get off my chest before i combust.

so i've just been thinking about this whole thing since someone on twitter made a little joke about him being a bitchless kpop idol, which like... i know people got upset, but i'm sure that was just a joke, and that's not really what this is about i've been seriously cooking on the duality of this man for the past few days and have things to say.

first of all...... i've talked about this a million times, but when i say this man is a dom what i mean is that he has the potential for all this stuff, i have no idea what he's actually doing in his private life. he could literally be waiting for marriage for all i know, but i do think you can tell in someone's personality who would kind of be good at something 'naturally' if they got into it / went that direction.

something yunho's been doing a lot recently is showing more of himself physically / showing more skin / being a little more suggestive overtly in his content which is something pretty new for him. he's always been hot and has been sexy on stage, but as far as his personal content, this is pretty new for him. this to me is classic like.... he's gained confidence in the past few years, gotten into his mid twenties where you start to get a little more self assured with your own body or expressions of sexuality, etc. BUT the way that he's sharing this content i think is interesting and indicates to me that he knows what kind of reaction this is going to get from his fans, and he enjoys it.

he's been burying sexier pictures within his ig albums as not the first picture, with the first one being a little cute or just regular idol style pics. prime examples below --

in both of these cases, these are the "sexy shot" but he puts them in the middle of the albums. then when fans freak out or ask him about it on live/fromm his responses are usually something along the lines of "ohhh it wasn't too much was it? ah, no ofc i'll keep it just to that" etc. it would not surprise me in the least if he enjoyed the thought that we're all losing our shit when we swipe to these pics / our reactions online after not only give him a bunch of compliments but shows how riled up we are. that is CLASSIC dom behavior.

in a sexual context, this might look something like..... a dom casually touching or implying sex to their submissive over the course of a day but not really acknowledging it / playing off their submissive's reactions as cute/funny or in a meaner context, ignoring it all together. at the end of all that teasing though is the dom in control and verbally messing with their sub while finally, finally delivering the pleasure they were hinting at. this is something i am so positive yunho would excel at with the right partner.

that combined with the way he talks to hotteoks in fromm really gives the impression that he knows they enjoy being teased, and i truly don't think he would act like that if he didn't like it. he's been in the idol game long enough, if he wanted to set different boundaries or speak to his fans differently, he absolutely could. meanwhile he's out here playing straight into the delulu trends with birthday lockets and wedding flowers and boyfriend-y pics all the time on ig. not to mention the zayn song.... like he knows what he's doing.

he often teases hotteoks about being so flustered over him, plays into how 'jealous' he can be, and overall just leans in hard to d/s dynamics in a way that tells me it's quite natural for him. even just how often he says things like 'you're mine' / 'i'm yours' / 'you know you're mine right?' / 'yes you belong to me' etc. in his fromms just reads completely as a dominant establishing and reinforcing those ownership dynamics.

when it comes to other parts of his personality, i've talked about that at length in other posts (eye contact, natural leadership, body language, active listening, etc.) but i've really noticed a shift in him recently and can't get it off my mind.

on top of that, there have been a few moments on stage or with other members lately that really ring dominance. i'm very specifically thinking of the way he interacts with mingi and wooyoung, which i've written about before, but...... he's consistently holding eye contact with them lately, teasing them in ways that are platonic yes, but also just part of that natural part of him that wants to mess with someone who will break. like.... did yunho have to hold wooyoung's jaw while they were kneeling during halazia? probably not, but he did it. and the smile afterwards when wooyoung got a little flustered was clear satisfaction with the reaction he got.

generally i think there's an impression that some people have that because yunho's so "nice" or so goofy/dorky/sweet/thoughtful/bashful etc., that means he doesn't have as much rizz or like wouldn't be into dynamics like this or harder kinks. i have to say..... that to me always reads like inexperience, with men potentially, maybe sex, and/or these dynamics in particular. in my experience, it's often the sweet guys who can switch it up in bed, and i would even say they often make better/safer doms because they are caring/considerate/attentive to their partner's comfort and pleasure, not just their own or if they're being perceived as sexy. it's not a hard rule of course, everyone's different, but i'm just saying, yunho being a nice guy doesn't mean he couldn't or wouldn't enjoy teasing the fuck out of his partner.

all of this is to say........................ if hasn't figured out his dom potential yet, i sincerely hope he does because i think it's such an obvious fit for him.

[heich0e]

"how's my favourite miya?"

osamu barks out a loud, dry laugh as the call connects and rintarou's face lights up the screen of his cellphone. he's got the device propped up against a prep container filled with spring onions on the kitchen counter of the shop. osamu points his knife, the blade just wiped on his apron and glinting under the overhead fluorescents, toward the camera.

"'tsumu told me ya say the same thing to him when yer askin' fer a favour, bastard. don't think yer slick."

suna smiles on the other end of the call. "dunno what you're talking about."

"ya fuckin ri—"

"hi miya-san!"

osamu is a bit taken aback when sunarin's little sister, yuriko, pops into frame over his friend's shoulder. the restaurant owner straightens up a little on instinct, setting his knife down.

"hi yuri-chan," he greets her politely, a bit sheepish at his lack of manners initially since he didn't know rintarou had company. "whatcha doin' there?"

"came to visit nii-san in nagano for the weekend," the twenty year old chirps cheerfully.

"she's eating me out of house and home, osamu," rintarou laments.

"got no sympathy for ya," osamu laughs. "last time ya came to visit me i had to buy twice as much rice as usual. blame yer genetics."

suna rolls his eyes but doesn't refute osamu's point. instead he carries the conversation along. "i didn't call to ask a favour, you know."

osamu wipes a cloth over his cutting board, nodding his head. "so ya said."

"she did, though."

osamu looks back up at the phone and sees both suna siblings looking at him with matching hopeful expressions—the same one that made him buy twice as much rice as usual with little-to-no complaint—and he just sighs, tossing his rag down on the worktop.

"whaddaya want?"

osamu's pretty well acquainted with osaka now, having spent the better part of his twenties living and working there. when the shop was still a bit smaller and closed in the afternoons before the dinner rush, he used to run delivery orders to offices and small catering gigs, which helped him get a feel for the city's layout too.

still, he's not familiar with this particular part of town. he double checks the address on the screen of his smart phone, then the one on the building in front of him. adjusting the paper takeout bag in his arms he punches a series of numbers into the intercom.

"hello?"

"i've got a food delivery here for apartment 615," osamu says, keeping his head bowed a little to the camera so his onigiri miya cap is on full display.

"... I didn't order anything, sorry."

osamu reads your name off the slip of paper stapled to the bag. "ordered by a suna yuriko?"

it's quiet for a moment, but osamu can tell from the static on the other end of the intercom that you're still listening. can still hear the faint sound of your sigh.

the door buzzes as it unlocks.

on his way up to the sixth floor, osamu reflects on his conversation with the youngest suna sibling.

she's my best friend, yuri-chan had said to him, her voice thick with emotion. she moved to osaka last year with her boyfriend but he's.... i'm worried about her. she hasn't answered me in days.

osamu had been resistant to the request at first. this seemed like a matter for police involvement, not an onigiri restaurant owner.

i just need to know she's okay, miya-san. please?

osamu would not consider himself a do-gooder. he's not particularly gallant or brave in any way. sure, he's happy to help out or be kind when he can, but he's no hero. the only real scraps he's ever gotten into are with his brother, after all, and those days are mostly behind him now that he's on the periphery of his thirties.

but there was something about the way yuri-chan had pleaded with him that had tugged on his heartstrings. something that made him feel inclined to act.

all he had to do was lay eyes on you. make sure you were where you were supposed to be and that you were okay. simple enough.

on the sixth floor of the unfamiliar apartment building, it doesn't take osamu long to find your unit door. osamu raps twice against it once he arrives, waiting patiently in view of the peep hole for you to answer.

"you can just leave it outside, please!" he hears you say from inside. your voice is close, like you're right there on the other side of the door.

"sorry miss, restaurant policy. the boss would be mad if i didn't hand it off to ya directly."

he is the boss, but you don't need to know that.

it's quiet for a moment, and then osamu hears a few locks click. he's relieved as the door begins to open.

the relief doesn't last.

you've got the door open only wide enough for the bag of onigiri to be passed through, half your face hidden on the other side. the half he can see though is swollen and bruised along the top of your cheek. behind you, osamu catches a glimpse of your apartment—turned practically upside down.

there's papers and various other things littered on the ground. a picture askew, and a mirror shattered on the wall beside it. osamu feels many things at once. concern, disbelief, anger.

he looks at you, and you stare back like a deer caught in the headlights, shrinking slightly under his stare. for a moment he's reminded of the stray cat he caught behind the restaurant a few years ago, stealing food out of the dumpster. remembers how mistrustfully it had stared at him when he first cornered it in the alley.

internally osamu is cursing the suna siblings, cursing whatever piece of shit did this to you, and cursing his own nature.

because osamu's no hero, but he can't turn his back on someone who needs help, either.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request for Shmilk with anger issues x Reader? Shmilk has a bad and Reader is here to calm him down and comfort him (Wether it’d be about Pure Vanilla Shadowvanilla mention? or something else up to you) If you can that, it’s ok if not, hope you have a great days!

"I can't believe him!!! HOW DID I FALL FOR IT SO EASILY?!!!"

"He's a fool to think he can just "talk" his way out of any problem, but it'll only get him so far. Next time, he won't be so lucky."

"...next time? Next time?!! THAT was the PERFECT TIME TO GET HIM ON MY SIDE!!!! AND I BLEW IT!!"

Out of blind rage, Shadow Milk Cookie threw one of his plushies with all his might at the nearest wall, but you intercepted it with your magic, keeping a protective bubble around it.

"You must be gentle and forgiving with yourself, master." You sighed, bringing it closer to you. "Expending your energy like this isn't good for you."

"What? Like you and Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie are "good" for me?!" A scowl crossed his features. "I gave you three very. Simple. Jobs! And you failed miserably!!"

"Unfortunately, we're all you have left."

"...oh, what a pesky little liar I've molded you into, [Y/n] Cookie." He snickered, floating over to your side, jabbing a clawed finger into your chest. "You think I need your help?!! My fellow colleagues who've been sealed up are running freely, ya know. And once they have their soul jams back...oh, our revenge is gonna be sweet and liberating!! Then I won't need you for much longer."

"But until then, what shall you do?" You countered, not perturbed by his threats of discarding you. "Until they're finished fighting their own battles, what then? None of you are at your full power."

".....you're making me depressed. Stop that." His face switched to a deep frown as he took his hand away, no longer having any fun. "What ever happened to those sweet praises you were singing me? Think I'm not "worthy" anymore? Because you've seen me bested by that...that stupid altruist cookie?!"

"You speak as though you lost a great battle. Beaten, humiliated, almost losing your life. But...from what I saw, he only ever offered you friendship."

You didn't think much when you said that, but you had a twinge of regret as Shadow Milk Cookie stared at you coldly--as though you were Pure Vanilla Cookie himself.

"It was a pitiful gesture, a mere attempt to get my guard down....and it made me puke." Bringing his milk cream staff to his side, dark magic began surging within the blue orb. "I hate him. That stupid...little...."

You tilted your head. "Yes, he's stupid-"

"AND A TRAITOR!!" With a swing of his arm, the magic converted into a volatile beam of energy that struck a nearby vase, shattering it into oblivion. "He MOCKS me!! Parading around MY SOUL JAM!! And he thinks that all I want is a "friend"?!! What kind of idiot does he think I am?!! I only wanted ONE thing, and he couldn't even give me that!!"

His hair tendrils whipped around wildly, their blue eyes stressed and darting all around as he attacks something else. "That's fine. It's all fine!! I just want to see him crumble before my feet!! And I'll...I'll get...my...ghh..wh-what's wrong with me...?"

Out of nowhere, he felt his strength being sapped right from his body. A dizziness overcame him as he stumbled a little, using his prized weapon to steady himself.

You calmly went over to assist, and he tried to push back against it, threats spewing from his mouth, yet you wouldn't budge.

Eventually you guided him to the bed that was in the room, taking his staff. "This is what I was trying to warn you about. You're not back to a hundred percent just yet, master. I know you crave revenge, but...it's too soon still."

His silence was unusual, and even a bit scary for the unsuspecting ordinary cookie who knew of his might.

But you knew him better. You could see that even though he didn't wanna admit it....you were right. He couldn't do anything right now--not after everything he threw at Pure Vanilla Cookie and his friends.

He's been waiting eons for this chance.

And yet...he still has to wait just a bit longer for a better opportunity.

Throwing these tantrums and having you talk to him like he was some child wasn't helping matters, nor his ego.

You didn't know what he was thinking, except that he probably wanted you to get out of his sight right about now. So you slowly began to take your leave. "Victory will be yours, master. It's very close. Soon you'll reclaim what he took from you, and reinvent the world the way it was meant to be. I'll see if the other Beasts' servants have any reports of-"

"Stay."

"...huh?"

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Shadow Milk Cookie's expression was grumpy, but not outright hostile, as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to his side. "What I said earlier? Just another little lie~ You're not as useless as those other two cookies. Don't tell them that, 'kay?"

To hear him say that was..quite endearing. You knew better than to question why he decided to retract his previous statement, considering that came from his anger, so you simply nodded. "Of course. I can always keep a secret."

"....can you keep another one?"

"Certainly, what is.....oh."

Slowly, you trailed off as he leaned his head on your shoulder--in a rare moment of vulnerability you never expected him to display. Not in a million, billion years. "Master-?"

"Just..Shadow Milk Cookie is fine." He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes. "I need quiet. All day they've been nagging at me...asking what my "next great plan" is. Those idiots need to understand it takes time."

You just hummed in understanding, finding it very peculiar that despite him bragging about having "everything" and not being "lonely"...why did he not want you to leave him?

Why was he confiding in you more?

It left you to wonder if some of Pure Vanilla Cookie's words perhaps rang true--that he's just lonely and that...maybe things would've been a lot different if he had somebody who understood him back then. All those years ago before the deceit and the lies and the gossip.

Alas, you were baked much too late to see what he used to be like. You were merely a concept and a pile of ingredients on the witches' shelf when he was the Fount of Knowledge.

In the present, your company was all you could offer. And he never admitted it out loud...but he appreciated it. He liked your maturity compared to his other two minions'; while they quarreled and bickered like children just to get a minute of his time, you remained dutiful and diligent in your work without the desire for validation.

Whenever you went around spreading comforting lies or exposing painful truths about people, he was secretly always watching and listening with delight.

You could have very well been a master of deceit yourself.

There was someone else, however, he found more worthy of that title--but he didn't want any hand in that. He wanted to stay stuck in his olden, outdated, altruistic ways, playing the "savior" and twisting his other-realm into something hideously bright and-

"Steady breaths, Shadow Milk Cookie. You're trembling again."

With a hitch of his breath, the Beast returned to his senses, realizing how much his claws were digging into the mattress beneath him. He could feel the anger welling in his chest again, but with your advice in-mind...that rage was mellowed out.

It's strange how simply breathing is enough to make such feelings retreat, at least for a little while.

"Feel any better?"

"..somewhat. It's funny."

"What is?"

"You remind me of a little cakehound. Unsuspecting, but loyal to the bitter end." He looked at you with an eerie grin. "I could just snap my fingers, and you'd lie, fight...and crumble for me, wouldn't you?"

"Well, you've helped me carve a new path for myself. Helped me see the world as it really is. So...I feel like my unwavering loyalty is a fair trade, no?"

He said nothing to that, but seemed content with your answer as he closed his eyes once more, leaning back onto you.

And you said nothing more, either, instead allowing him to rest.

[tenaciousarbiterpoetry]

Freaking out about the Skeletour show in Glasgow

Peacefield is a Banger

I got so excited that they were playing Majesty that I didn't immediately notice he was FUCKING FLYING. My sister was like omg flying and I was like omg Majesty and then we were both like OMG HIS MAJESTY!!!! I had joked before about him flying with the sparkly wings (which didn't make an appearance) and then he was doing a fucking defying gravity!!!!!

The new stage is phenomenal, it just keeps getting BIGGER. first the curtain with giant rips in then the new stage with stone plinths for the ghouls and lights everywhere including under the drum riser. Then the stony walls fell down to reveal the usual stained glass windows and then the stone archways fell down and nearly took out Mountain. Then it was revealed that it was actually a massive LED screen and the stained glass windows shattered and were rebuilt and shattered again. They mixed the live camera feed with animations and sometimes lyrics on the screen it was epic!

Phantom did crowd work (into pinnacle I think) as he was having a lot of fun getting us to cheer for him and clap along to the right beat.

I started noticing the double kick drum during Ritual and after. I don't know enough about drums to say what was different it just was more idk (I can't remember when he talked about having that on the new album, maybe I'm just having the hallucinations he said we would have during Spirit)

The costumes are gorgeous!!! The sparkles really work, especially on the camera feed. I adore the skeleton cassock with the spine down the back, I wanted him to sing the whole song facing upstage so I could see it properly!!! The cornette/mitre hat started to slip sideways mid song and he did a sneaky little reach with his hand the feel what was up then left the stage between songs and returned sans hat. Tbh I preferred it a little lopsided but you do you mate. And now we know why the full vestments have such impractical skirts, you don't need to walk gracefully if you are floating above the drum riser.

We were in the gods so we couldn't fully appreciate the GIANT MOVING truss grucifix of moving lights but she's a work of art. We could see the labels in the trucks as we left and they had a whole truck just for floor lights (the under drum riser lights are gorgeous) and they had at least 3 trucks just more for lights. No idea how to pack a giant moving truss of moving lights into a truck but I imagine they have a system. Also at least 3 trucks for set and one just for fascia.

There were several moments of total darkness (well as much as safely would allow) and that was atmospheric and spooky. (Like we were waiting in the night?)

Fucking cowbell ghoul is back for Umbra did not see that coming

Lost my shit when they started playing Umbra I've been waiting fucking months to hear more than the opening bars!! I cannot wait to hear it again properly (it's only 9 days not that I'm counting)

Hearing everyone belting Lachryma, Satanized and The Future is a Foreign Land was something else, and the emotions in The Darkness at the Heart of my Love and He Is !!!!!!!!

Monstrance Clock is back too I didn't see that coming either and I'm so happy!!!! And the little smirk he did when he got to say "conclusively, I give you Monstrance Clock" for the second time in YEARS, knowing we were about to lose our collective shit, was yet another wonder of no mask papa. And we did lose our shit. And the lyrics up on the screens kept us all singing after they left the stage!! I've wanted to experience that moment since I found Ghost and learned they didn't play it anymore, but now we do!!!!

We got sad about it ending and he was like "you can go out and tell everyone about the amazing time that you had. Or at least you can tell everyone about the amazing time that I had"

He really didn't talk that much, though we did get the encore speech. "Do you not know how this works? How this works is we stop playing, and then you leave."

He got his I/we/they/him mixed up which is always funny like "back at the assembly where we, no they, well I suppose I'm part of it now so we, and I thought, no they thought-"

There was a delay letting people in and my theatre brain wants to know what technical issue stopped them opening the house?? Was he stuck in the air?? Was the moving grucifix of moving lights refusing to move?? Did the LED screen decide not today satan ??

He name dropped The Cathouse but didn't know if it was still running and then was like "I know a lot about the past, but I don't know much about the future" and then straight into The Future is a Foreign Land. Musical theatre levels of speech into song and he said "this is a song my dad used to sing to me" and they changed it to 2034 (I had wondered if they were going to change it to 2025 and have a new rhyme but that works)

And I can't remember the transition into Kiss the Go Goat but it was also musical theatre levels of speech into song

[offtorivendell]

Elain used Truth-Teller to kill the nameless King of Hybern

Disclaimer: as usual, these are just my thoughts, they make no claim of being canon. I also want to reiterate that saying Nesta (and Cassian) "helped" to kill the king in no way diminishes their self sacrificing bravery. This isn't a diss.

Spoilers: ACOTAR, CC and TOG series to date.

TW: canon violence.

This post shouldn't need to exist but, just like when Bloomsbury confirmed that Elain tended towards introversion in their post ACOSF Archeron sister quiz, parts of this fandom are struggling to listen to the series' publisher when they say that Elain did, in fact, kill the king of Hybern.

To clarify, I've always maintained that Elain wouldn't have been able to assassinate Hybern if Nesta and Cassian hadn't completely distracted him - they were brave and self sacrificing, and they 1000% helped the kill happen! - but without Elain, and whatever it was that she did to get from their war camp to the middle of the battlefield in time to "step out of a shadow" and stab the OT's Big Bad through the neck, Nesta and Cassian would be dead. Feyre and Rhys would be dead. The rest of the High Lords gone as well, and their world changed for good. And as @merymoonbeam (I think) said years ago now, without Elain killing Hybern, Rhys wouldn't have been alive to assist Aelin in returning to Erilea in KOA, so her actions saved more than one world as we know it.

Now, for the scene in question:

Nesta did not move from where she shielded Cassian’s body. The king raised his hand, power whirling like a dark galaxy in his palm. I knew they’d both die the moment that power hit them. Anything, I begged the Cauldron. Anything— The king’s hand began to drop. And then halted. A choking noise came out of him. For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas. But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” - ACOWAR, chapter 74

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step. Choking, blood dribbling from his lips, the king gaped at Nesta. My sister lunged to her feet. Not to go to Elain. But to the king. Nesta wrapped her hand around Truth-Teller’s obsidian hilt. And slowly, as if savoring every bit of effort it took … Nesta began to twist the blade. Not a rotation of the blade itself—but a rotation into his neck. Elain rushed to Cassian, but the warrior was panting—smiling grimly and panting—as Nesta twisted and twisted the blade into the king’s neck. Severing flesh and bone and tendon. Nesta looked down at the king before she made the final pass, his hands still trying to rise, to claw the blade free. And in Nesta’s eyes … it was the same look, the same gleam that she’d had that day in Hybern. When she pointed her finger at him in a death-promise. She smiled a little—as if she remembered, too. And then she pushed the blade, like a worker heaving the spoke of a mighty, grinding wheel. The king’s eyes flared—then his head tumbled off his shoulders. - ACOWAR, chapter 75

Isn't it interesting that the Hebrew meaning of Elain's name is "my god has answered me," when she was able to answer Feyre's pleas to the Cauldron? I think so.

Didn't Nesta decapitate the king?

Sure, nobody I know disputes that! I don't think it could have been done even before Azriel very specifically said that Nesta had done so (but no more), when they told Bryce about the king's death when she visited in HOFAS. But - to me - it is absolutely crystal clear from the above passage that if anyone did the leg work, it was Elain. If anyone's timing had to be precise, it was Elain. If anyone fucked up and didn't play their part to perfection, it was Elain's role that was most critical. Nesta was bait (which she did very well!), but Elain was the trap that sprang from the shadows, dagger flashing.

Elain was the Knife in the Dark. She set up a slow death for the King of Hybern, which was very Anneith of her, by the way; Nesta just sped it up.

But the king would have recovered!

The wound to Hybern's neck was not a light - or even moderate - gash.

It was a full depth stabbing from a brutal hunting knife, so deep there was an exit wound out the other side. He had fallen to his knees, he was choking on his own blood, he was down. Thanks to Elain. Given the location of the wound, and the implicit reference to a severed carotid artery in the text (the spraying blood), there is also the possibility of neurological damage to the king's spinal cord, up to and including internal decapitation (though, as he appeared to retain the use of his arms til the very end, even when his head was literally hanging on by a thread, I'm not sure how much thought SJM gave the science beyond "blood spraying, choking, collapsing = obviously catastrophic vascular wound, and fair enough, really - who thought we'd be here after Feyre, Lucien and Rhys all credited Elain before ACOSF came along and we heard the story from people who didn't get it directly from the source).

But even with the (I thought) violent severity of the king's injuries after Elain had "just stabbed him," people have decided that the king would simply have recovered.

Yes, the King of Hybern was an incredibly powerful faerie - some might say too powerful - but we knew from the start that Truth-Teller was special (I had wondered for years if it was secretly a Made blade before we finally got confirmation through CC, and I know I'm not the only one); Azriel himself told Elain that it would "always strike true," and Feyre (read: SJM) described it as "devouring" the sunlight when Elain accepted it from Azriel. And who has consistently been likened to the sun? Elain. Does it not seem reasonable, then, to suggest that Truth-Teller - which has since helped Bryce kill Vesperus, an Asteri/Daglan held in the bowels of the Prison, not to mention Rigelus and his crew - may have some additional bonus to its wounds, such that they are harder to recover from, or even impossible? Why are people acting like Elain simply stabbed him with a steak knife, ignoring the parallel between Nessian and Elriel? She clearly upgraded from the fork she armed herself with in ACOMAF.

I could obviously be wrong, but I truly don't think that SJM intended for us to think that the King of Hybern would have simply recovered from Elain's stab wound without input from a powerful healer at minimum. Azriel's Truth-Teller is no ordinary blade, and Elain (and Nesta, of course) is no ordinary faerie - a little more on this in a bit.

Back to Bloomsbury's ACOTAR bracket:

"Redacted."

Sounds familiar, no?

Of course, given Feyre, Rhys and Lucien¹ have all named Elain as the one who killed the King of Hybern, not to mention Azriel very specifically telling Bryce that Nesta "beheaded" him - after all, why not say "killed" if that's what he means? - it's mind blowing that this is a debate only because Nesta herself claimed the kill (in a scene that read a little odd, but I digress).

¹ Yes, I know that Elain credited Nesta with the kill, but there are any number of reasons as to why she may have done so that do not negate the majority effort that she put into killing the King of Hybern. For starters, Elain doesn't trust Lucien at this point (yet, I'm sure they'll talk in her book and come to some sort of understanding, whatever it may be in the end); having just experienced a violent, bloody battle, she may not feel ready to claim the action herself (which, again, doesn't mean that Nesta did more than she actually did); and - possibly the biggest reason - would be that Elain holds a very specific arsenal of skills, one about which we still don't have the complete picture, so it would be prudent to keep the extent of her involvements and skills to herself (from Lucien here, from Emerie and Gwyn in ACOSF, and from Bryce in HOFAS). I am a "luck and rage = Elain" truther til proven wrong by SJM lol, sorry.

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said. Elain studied the trees ahead. “Nesta did. I just stabbed him.” - ACOWAR, chapter 78

I saw how it ate away at Feyre. I still soothed her after she awoke, frantic, from nightmares about that day in Hybern when her sisters had been Made against their will. Nightmares about the moment when Cassian was near death and Nesta was sprawled over him, shielding him from that killing blow, and Elain—Elain—had taken up Azriel’s dagger and killed the King of Hybern instead. - ACOFAS, chapter 2

I've already talked about the following quote in a couple of posts (here and here), where I suggest that Elain not only killed the man, but purified² the monster inhabiting him as well. The parallels between Elain's likely life (or rebirth?) powers from the Cauldron - the Bowl of Life and Death - with Yrene's pure, healing life (which Erawan described as an executioner to a Valg), not to mention Truth-Teller appearing to charge itself with sunlight before Elain used it to stab the king... there's a lot there that, when considered together, is incredibly suss.

² I've spoken about this with @wingedblooms before, but what if Elain killed the monster within, and Nesta made it impossible for the king's corpse to reanimate by beheading him? I suspect there is a reason that "Life and Death" were involved here, especially as "The Bowl" watched on, but again, this doesn't negate the majority share of effort/skill that Elain used to orchestrate and carry out the king's death.

Yrene’s power was life itself. Pure, undiluted life. It nearly brought Dorian to his knees as it met with his own. As he handed over his power to her, willingly and gladly, Erawan prostrate before them. Impaled. The demon king screamed. - KOA, chapter 113

The use of "redacted" by Bloomsbury, however, seemed so intentional - I know @psychologynerd, @elrieldreamer and others have also discussed it (here and here) - that it stood out to me as odd, and reminded me of the rest of that scene from KOA (below), when Dorian and Yrene together killed Erawan (a Valg king).

The King of Hybern was never given a name like any of Prythian's rulers (the High Lords), despite his importance to the plot. I know I'm not the first to suggest that this was significant - and now I'm wondering about the Lady of Autumn possibly paralleling Sartaq's sister Duva, I'm sorry 😩 - but for ages it has struck me as interesting that his namelessness parallels another king from elsewhere in the Maasverse: the King of Adarlan.

The king who was possessed by a Valg for much of his life, who only remembered his name when he passed it onto his son as an act of defiance. Knowing this last, could the Lady of Autumn's redacted name be "Lucia"?

Erawan thrashed, his power rising only to strike against an impenetrable wall of light. And yet Dorian found himself saying, “His name.” Yrene, focused upon the task before her, didn’t so much as glance his way. But Erawan, through his screaming, met Dorian’s stare. The hatred in the demon king’s eyes was enough to devour the world. But Dorian said, “My father’s name.” His voice did not waver. “You took it.” He hadn’t realized that he wanted it. Needed it, so badly. A pathetic, spineless man, Erawan seethed. As you are— “Tell me his name. Give it back.” Erawan laughed through his screaming. No. “Give it back.” Yrene looked to him now, doubt in her eyes. Her magic paused—just for a heartbeat. Erawan leapt, his power erupting. Dorian blasted it back, and lunged for the demon king. For Damaris. Erawan’s shriek threatened to crack the castle stones as Dorian shoved the blade deeper. Twisted it. Sent their power funneling down through it. “Tell me his name,” he panted through his teeth. Yrene, clinging to his other hand, murmured her warning. Dorian barely heard it. Erawan only laughed again, choking as their power seared him. “Does it matter?” Yrene asked softly. Yes. He didn’t know why, but it did. His father had been wiped from the Afterworld, from every realm of existence, but he could still have his name given back to him. If only to repay the debt. If only so Dorian might grant the man some shred of peace. Erawan’s power surged for them again. Dorian and Yrene shoved it back. Now. It had to be now. “Tell me his name,” Dorian snarled. Erawan smiled up at him. No. “Dorian,” Yrene warned. Sweat slid down her face. She couldn’t hold him for much longer. And to risk her— Dorian sent their power rippling down the blade. Damaris’s hilt glowed. “Tell me—” It is your own. Erawan’s eyes widened as the words came out of him. As Damaris drew it from him. But Dorian did not marvel at the sword’s power. His father’s name … Dorian. I took his name, Erawan spat, writhing as the words flowed from his tongue under Damaris’s power. I wiped it away from existence. Yet he only remembered it once. Only once. The first time he beheld you. Tears slid down Dorian’s face at that unbearable truth. - KOA, chapter 113

As I have previously stated (here and here), and reiterated above, I think there is plenty of evidence to suggest that Elain is the true - or main - Kingslayer in the sense of who did the most to ensure the king's death, but I also think that the King of Hybern may have been possessed by Something/Someone; could this be another hint? That the kings of Hybern and Adarlan both had names that were, hypothetically for one of them and canonically for the other, redacted from their respective worlds by parasitic creatures with delusions of grandeur who had taken their bodies as hosts? Is this further evidence that Elain killed the hypothetical Valg prince infecting the King of Hybern, while simultaneously taking down the unfortunate host?

Once again, SJM - we need answers!

Thank you so much for reading!

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

For Joaquin maybe like a mr used to be a player x miss/mr/mx (and other non gender specific titles) never had a bf and its them navigating the relationship cuz readers going to be all niave and unsure and hes just going to be a know it all reassurance king. (If any of that makes sense 😭)

"Who He Was"

[Joaquin Torres x gn!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: Navigating your first relationship was daunting enough without his history, but Joaquin was determined to prove his heart belonged to you, one patient, achingly sincere moment at a time.

Warnings: Fluff, light angst (reader's insecurities), past relationship mentions.

Word Count: 762 words

"What’s going on in that mind of yours?"  

Joaquin's voice was a soft, warm rumble that cut through the silence on his couch. You froze, the half-eaten slice of pizza in your hand suddenly feeling like a lead weight. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and you realised you'd been picking at the crust for five minutes straight. Again.  

"Nothing," you mumbled, eyes fixed on the TV where some action movie exploded soundlessly. You had begged to watch it, yet you hadn't absorbed a single scene.  

"C'mon." He tugged gently at your wrist until you were facing him. His dark eyes were too perceptive, too kind, and it made your throat tighten. "You've been quiet all night. Did I do something?"

"No!" The word came out too fast, too sharp. You winced. "No, you didn't. It's just… me."  

He hummed skeptical, and shifted closer. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy and unfairly calming—wrapped around you. "You were thinking about the thing Sam said earlier, weren't you?"  

 "Damn, Joaquin, when'd you turn into such a sap? Last year, you'd have bolted the second someone mentioned labels."   

Sam's teasing comment at dinner had been harmless, but it had lodged itself in your chest. Joaquin just laughed it off, his arm slung casually over your shoulders. But you spent the rest of the night wondering about his words.

"I mean…  did you? Bolt, I mean. When people wanted… more."  

He sighed, not annoyed but tired, like he'd been waiting for this conversation. "Yeah. I did. A lot." His free hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "But that isn’t who I am anymore. With you."  

"But why?" The question slipped out, raw and shaky. "You could've had anyone. And I'm just… I don't know how to do any of this. I've never even—"  

"Hey." His voice was firm, cutting off your spiral. "Look at me." Reluctantly, you met his gaze. "You think I don't know that? That you are… new to this?" A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You forgot I've known you since day one. You tripped over your own feet trying to ask me out for coffee."  

"I stumbled," you muttered, face heating. "There was a curb—"  

"And you turned soo red when I said yes." His smirk softened into something tender. "That's when I knew, okay? All those people before—it was just noise. Distraction. But you? You're real. You don't play games."  

Your chest ached. "But what if I mess up? What if I'm… boring? Or too clingy? Or—"  

Joaquin snorted. "You think I'll let you get away for being clingy? Please. I'll thrive." He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. "And 'boring'? You once spent twenty minutes explaining which toppings belonged on pizza. You are the least boring person I've ever met."  

A laugh hiccuped out of you, despite yourself. "That was a debate, not an explanation—"  

"Semantics." His nose brushed yours playfully. "Point is, I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want me to. Then I'd have to stand dramatically in the rain until you took me back."  

"You're ridiculous."  

"But you’re smiling."  

You were. Against all odds, your cheeks hurt with it. Joaquin grinned, triumphant, before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "I'm serious, though. Ask me anything. Right now."  

You hesitated. "…How many other people have you said this stuff to?"  

"None." No pause. No flinch. "I've never brought someone to Sam's dinners. Never let them steal my clothes." He plucked at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, the one you were drowning in. "Never wanted to."  

Your breath caught. "Oh."  

"Yeah. Oh." He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite. "You're stuck with me, okay? That other Joaquin is dead. Bury him."  

This time, your laugh was louder, brighter. Joaquin's answering smile was blinding, and the knot in your chest unravelled for the first time all night.  

Later, he paused when he walked you to your door. "Wait. I almost forgot." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled receipt and a pen, scribbling something before pressing it into your hand.  

 One dramatic rain scene. Redeemable anytime.

You snorted. "You are such a dork."  

"Well, I'm your dork," he corrected, kissing you until the world narrowed to the warmth of his lips and the steady grip of his hands on your waist.  

(And if you taped the note to your fridge later, well. That was between you and the magnet collection he was slowly building for you, one stupid souvenir at a time.)  

[baronessvonglitter]

I’m having a really rough day and the only thing that will make me feel better is a story about Joel tying me up and devouring my 🐱🐱 for an hour until I’m happy again.

I’m sorry is that too much 🤣😭

I was very happy to step up to this challenge! Hope your day got so much better, hon! 🩷

kiss it better

joel miller x f!reader | wc: 1K

summary: after an awful day, you turn to Joel for help to de-stress

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Light D/s tones. Soft dom!Joel. Reader is tied up at her request, so.. subby reader? ❤️Joel is a cunning linguist (aka f receiving) 😏Pussy pronouns. Fingering. Squirting. Also Joel comes in his pants because I said so. Reader is not much described besides female anatomy. No use of y/n EVER and not beta read because I live dangerously. If I've missed anything please LMK!

a/n: still gonna add a fun fact to this request! Hi, I'm Adriana and I cannot play video games because I will get addicted to them 😞

Please enjoy this, Anon, I wish I could have written it sooner for you 🌹

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 👑

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Had a bad day, huh?" Joel's deep voice sends a thrill through you as he stands at the headboard of his bed, expertly yet softly tying your hand to the bedpost in a black silk scarf. He tests to make sure it's not too tight, and when he asks you tell him it's perfect. Satisfied, he goes to the other side, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before securing that one as well with another scarf.

"Need me to kiss it all better?" he asks, and you tell him yes because words are important, and he only has you like this when you really need to give over your power.

You're spreadeagle on his bed, naked, your wrists tied as per your request to Joel. He's played out this scenario with you a few times before, and he was more than happy to fulfill your need once again when you showed up on his doorstep after an agonizing day.

His bare hands smooth back your hair, caress the curve of your cheeks, and stop teasingly upon your lips before gliding down over the hollow of your throat and in beteween your breasts where his palm rests a moment, feeling the beat of your heart.

Now he moves slower, his touch more calculated as he cups the heft of each breast, giving each a good squeeze before flicking his tongue against your nipples, the flat of his palm on your torso to keep you still as you writhe under him. He knows you can come from just sucking on your nipples, but today you need something stronger than instant gratification, and his mouth is already watering at the thought of getting to taste you.

Your belly trembles, your cunt already constricting around empty air as his hands and lips travel south, pressing soft kisses into your skin, worshipping the curve of your hips

"Lift up them pretty legs," he softly orders you, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your wet core as you lift your knees, thighs spread apart exactly as he likes them. You're sopping wet already, your sweet and musky aroma greeting his nostrils. "Cryin' already," he murmurs. "You're havin' the shitty day and she's the one with the tears."

You muffle a giggle at his rare show of playfulness.

"Into each life a little rain must fall," he continues, thumbing your folds with the rough pads of his calloused thumbs. Your viscous slick is thick, more pouring out as he spreads you open. His eyes look up to meet yours. "Ever heard that song before? It's an oldie, so probably not," he says, so conversationally as though he's not in between your thighs, spreading your pussy juices all over your mound.

"I like when you're hydrated," he says softly, as if to himself, and gives a kitten lick to your clit, smoothing your thighs when they start to shake.

"Easy, now," he murmurs, sitting up to take off his shirt, leaving his jeans on, the top button undone just enough for his paunch to be free. You want to rub your hand across that little belly, feel the kitten-soft hair that rests on it and have his erect cock tap your hand when he's fully ready for you. But right now it's about you, not him.

Your hips lift off the bed and a sweet moan flies from your lips as he dives in, tongue roving languidly over your cunt. He laps up your nectar, wiggling his tongue into every nook and cranny, then stopping to press soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, edging you.

"Joel," you whine. He puts your knees over his shoulders, large hands cupping your ass. There's a pillow beneath you to keep you at an angle so he won't hurt his neck giving you head. Last time he had a crick for a week, and he plans on being down here for awhile.

"Patience," he soothes you, his kisses now on the crease between your thigh and your pussy, taking in your scent. "Got all night, don't we?" His own body is desperate for release, his cock rock hard, straining against the denim of his Wrangler jeans. He's humping the mattress as he eats you out, needing to relieve the ache building up inside.

Time seems to still as he goes back to devouring you, using the flat of his tongue to lap up every drop and the pointed tip of his tongue to tickle your clit. He leaves you guessing at every turn, fucking you with his tongue and suctioning his lips around your clit, keeping your orgasm out of reach until he feels you're ready, despite your pleadings, your bound hands clawing at nothing.

"We're not through until ya soak me," he grumbles. "Wanna be able to smell this cunt in my mustache for days." With that, he gently inserts two fingers, softly curving them, tickling that spongy part deep inside that makes you forget your own damn name.

"Fuck! Joel!" Your thighs threaten to constrict him, your back arches, offering all of yourself. You lose yourself in the sweet pleasure, gasping and sighing, calling out his name as his skilled tongue licks a wide stripe across your drenched cunt. He delves inside of you, tasting you like he needs it to survive, all while his fingers pump into you steadily.

"You taste so good.. I could do this all night."

All the warmth that has been gathering in your core now threatens to spill over, and your eyes go wide when you realize what's about to happen. "Joel! Joel, wait.. I think I have to pee!"

He lifts his head, an amused little smile on his lips. "Nah, baby, you're gonna squirt, and I want you to do it. Come for me.."

You're powerless to stop the huge wave of pleasure that engulfs you, your muscles tensing right before you squirt, the warm liquid gushing out, covering the sheets, covering Joel, who stays where he is, continuing to finger you through your climax as you pulse and choke his fingers.

You come down at last to view the aftermath: a soaked bed, and Joel pulling off his jeans, his cock now softening. You made him come in his jeans.

"Better, baby?" he asks, concerned with you before himself.

"Well.. it was a really bad day." Your eyes glisten with mischief, matching the glint in Joel's. "I might need another round."

no pressure tagging some joel babes: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @joelmillerisapunk @tateypots @probablyreadinsmut @joelalorian @joelmillerswife9

@evolnoomym @cxrsed-angel @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

@letsgobarbs @everybodylovedcontractors @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @untamedheart81 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @sunshinehaze1 @604to647

@rav3n-pascal22 @axshadows @inept-the-magnificent @ohhoneypascal and probably others, forgive my goldfish brain

[cherryblossomfairyy]

Bejeweled

Pairing : spencer reid x bau!reader

Summary : y/n finally breaks up with her boyfriend. He caused her to dim her light. Now single and feeling great, she goes to the FBI’s annual gala. Where she has her bejeweled moment and dances with Spencer. Maybe he will say the night with her? Along the lyrics of the song "Bejeweled" by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

You used to dim your light for him. Not on purpose—not really. It was more subtle, like the way the moon fades a bit when clouds pass by. You didn’t stop being you. You just got…quieter. Less “bejeweled,” as your best friend had so perfectly put it one evening over wine.

“You used to shine,” she said, swirling her glass with a pitying tilt of her head. “You were diamonds. Lately, you’re costume jewelry. Cheap stuff. Plastic. Why?”

You didn’t answer her. You didn’t want to say that the reason you’d dulled yourself was you (insecure) boyfiend—or more accurately, the way his behaviour made you feel around him. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You felt trapped and his promises made you feel better momentaraly. The man was brilliant, soft-spoken, and kind when he wanted to.

"Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind."

The clock ticks. Rain hums outside. You stands in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped tightly around her. James lounges on the couch like he’s already over the conversation.

y/n quietly said, with silent tears in her eyes “I just want to talk about what happened at the party. You completely ignored me all night, and when I tried to say something, you laughed in my face.”

“Jesus, you’re still on that?”James answered her, without looking up.

“Yes. Because it hurt. And you still haven’t acknowledged it.”

He sighs dramatically before speaking. “You’re too sensitive. I was talking to people. Networking. You want me glued to your hip all night like a child?”

y/n, shocked by his reaction, trying tos peak calmly. “I never said that. I just wanted to feel like I existed to you.”

James let out a big laugh, still not looking at her. “Wow. Drama queen much?”

A frown appeared on y/n’s face.“Why do you always do that? Make fun of me when I try to be honest?”

“Because you're always making up these stories in your head. You twist everything into some attack. It’s exhausting.” James tells her, fort he first time looking up from his phone.

"Sadness became my whole sky."

“I’m not making anything up,” she said, voice firm but shaking slightly. “I’m telling you how I feel.”

He crossed his arms, his tone turning cold. “No, you’re making a scene out of nothing. Again. You do this all the time — create problems that don’t exist just so you can play the victim.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare call me the victim. I’ve put up with your gaslighting for months, and I’ve tried to make this work.”

He let out a laugh, dripping with mock innocence. “Gaslighting? Oh my god. You really think you’re being abused just because I don’t agree with your little fantasy version of things?”

“It’s not a fantasy when I live it every day,” she snapped. “You lie. You deflect. You deny things that I know happened. I bring up real issues and you make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“BECAUSE YOU ARE ACTING CRAZY RIGHT NOW!” he shouted, voice booming. “You’re blowing everything out of proportion! You always do this when you don’t get your way!”

"Baby boy, I think I've been too good of a girl."

Y/N spoke calmly, almost too calm. Like she was used tot his type of reaction. “And now you’re screaming. Again. Like that’s gonna fix anything.”

“I’m screaming because YOU DON’T LISTEN!”

The sound of bruising knuckles echos throught the living room as James slams his fist into the wall.

“I’m fcking drowning here trying to keep this together, and you just—walk away from everything like it's nothing!”*

She stepped back, her expression unreadable. “Wow. There it is. I finally see it. You don’t love me — you just love having someone to blame everything on.”

Her voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t flinch. “I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore. Every conversation turns into a fight.”

He threw his hands up, frustrated. “Because you keep picking at me! Every little thing I do becomes a problem.”

“I’m not picking,” she said sharply. “I’m asking for basic respect. Like not disappearing for two days and then acting like it’s completely normal.”

He fell silent for a beat. His chest rose and fell, shallow and fast. His jaw clenched. There was rage in his eyes — but something else too. Desperation. Fear.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered. “You’re emotional and paranoid, like always. Go take a walk or something. You’ll come back and realize you’re overreacting.”

She stared at him, calm and certain now. “No. I’m not coming back.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You say that every time. You’ll be texting me by morning.”

“Not this time,” she said, voice soft but solid as stone. “I finally believe myself more than I believe you.”

She grabbed her keys. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her hands didn’t shake. He didn’t move. Just sat there, watching her like he still expected her to sit back down.

“So what,” he said bitterly, “you’re just gonna walk out like everyone else? Coward.”

Y/N with a deep sadness in her voice, but staying strong. “No. It takes strength to walk away from someone you love who keeps hurting you. You want to scream and blame me? Fine. Scream into an empty room.”

She grabs her coat from the hook, hands trembling.

James voice breaking as he realised that this time she’s serieus about leaving him

“y/n… wait. Please

After a silence that lasted no more then five seconds, his anger came roaring back.

“You’re nothing without me.” He muttered.

As y/n paused in the doorway, she said, in a low, final tone “I was nothing with you.”

“No, wait—y/n, don’t do this. Don’t you dare—”

She shuts the door behind her. And for once — she doesn’t look back.

"And by the way, I'm going out tonight."

________________________________

The whole team knew of your difficult relationship with him. They offered their help and advise, but you didn't want to hear it back then. You told them little lies, about how you two were doing better now and that they didn't have to worry.

"Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind."

But Spencer had a knack for seeing through things—especially you.

Spencer saw how hard you tried. How often you dressed up, hoping maybe one day your boyfriend would notice how great you actually were. You were always just a friend. A teammate. The girl he wanted to ask for dinner, but was too afraid.

But tonight was going to be different. after a short screaming match, only him. You officially broke up with him, now he's just one of your exes. No longer a man that slowly started to break you down.

Tonight was for you.

You slipped on the dress you’d buried in the back of your closet. The one that shimmered like starlight and hugged you like it missed you. You painted your lips red and lined your eyes with defiance. You slid on heels that clicked like a warning.

You were going to the FBI’s annual gala looking like the woman you had once been before you started hiding behind subtle smiles and quiet loyalty.

You were going to sparkle.

''Best believe I'm still bejeweled."

"When I walk in the room, I can still make the whole place shimmer."

The room was full of light—chandeliers glittered overhead, and the BAU looked stunning in tuxes and gowns. You caught JJ’s eye first. Her jaw dropped. “Y/N…you look incredible.”

You smiled. “I know.”

"What's a girl gonna do? A diamond's gotta shine."

Confidence wasn’t cocky. It was truth. And you had earned the right to own it.

You passed by Hotch, Rossi, even Morgan, all of whom gave you compliments or double-takes. And then, finally, you saw him.

Spencer.

He was at the bar, nervously twirling a glass of soda water in his hand, wearing a deep navy suit that made his brown eyes darker, more intense. His tie was crooked, of course. You always liked that about him.

He turned—and stopped.

His eyes widened.

“Y/N…” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “You look…”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curved. “Bejeweled?”

"I can reclaim the land."

He blinked, caught off guard. Then he smiled, and it was slow, shy, and so Spencer it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he said. “Exactly that.”

But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

You walked past him, hips swaying to the rhythm of your own self-worth, giving him a wink as you grabbed a glass of champagne. You chatted with Luke, laughed at one of Penelope’s wild stories, danced with Morgan to a song that had too much bass and not enough subtlety. You lit up the room.

The music pulses through the floor, low and heady. Colored lights spin lazily over a packed dance floor. You’re standing by the bar, laughing at something Penelope said, when two guys, agents from a different branch, approach — confident, smooth, probably a little too charming for their own good.

One leans in with a grin. “You look like you’re having a boring night. Wanna change that?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Depends on your definition of fun.”

The other nudges his friend. “We’re not bad dancers, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You glance toward the dance floor.

So you smile. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The music shifts to something sultry, bass-heavy. They’re decent dancers, easygoing, clearly trying to impress. One twirls you around. The other steps in too close, then laughs it off. You laugh with them,

"And when I meet the band. They ask, "Do you have a man?" I can still say, "I don't remember"

And Spencer watched.

It wasn’t until the fourth song in—a slow, sparkling tune that sounded like it had been written by stars—that he approached you.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.

You hesitated, just long enough for him to worry, then took it.

"And we're dancin' all night."

His touch was tentative. But his eyes? They were clear. Finally seeing you. "Diamonds in my eyes."

“You know,” he murmured, swaying with you, “I think I’ve been waiting for too long.”

You tilted your head. “You think?”

“I’ve always known you were beautiful,” he said honestly. “But tonight… I see a version of you i have missed for so long. The real you, the one who shines. A friend told me to stop hiding from my feelings.”

And you smiled. Because you weren’t doing this for your now ex-boyfriend. Not anymore. But for yourself. It felt good to be seen again. And it felt right that it was him.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” you said.

“I know,” he replied, and his voice cracked just slightly. “But if you’ll let me…I’d like to start making up for that. One dance at a time.”

You let your head rest against his chest, just for a moment.

Because tonight, you were glowing.

Not for anyone else.

Just for you.

But maybe, just maybe, you’d let him bask in the light too.

The car ride back to your apartment was quiet. Not awkward—just thick with unspoken things. Spencer sat beside you in the backseat of the Bureau-issued black car, his hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes flicking to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

But you saw him. You always saw him. The difference now? He knew it.

When you reached your place, you expected him to say goodnight. But when you turned to do the goodbye-smile thing, he just said:

“Can I come up? Just for a little while?” "And you can try to change my mind."

You hesitated—not because you didn’t want to. God, you wanted to. But you weren’t sure if your heart could handle Spencer Reid in your space, with his hands maybe brushing yours, with that look in his eyes that said this is new, but I’m not going to pretend anymore.

But you nodded.

Upstairs, you kicked off your heels and dropped your clutch on the entry table. Spencer lingered in the doorway until you waved him in, watching him as he scanned the apartment with those observant eyes. He took everything in—your books, the throw blanket on your couch, the framed photo of the team—but it was you he looked at the longest.

You moved to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses of wine. When you turned back, he was closer. Not touching. But closer.

“You’re still glowing,” he said softly. “Even in this light.”

"I polish up real, I polish up real nice."

You let out a breathy laugh, taking a sip of wine to steady your nerves. “It’s just makeup and good lighting.”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, setting his untouched glass down. “It’s you. It always has been.”

"Sapphire tears on my face."

Your eyes met his. He didn’t flinch away this time.

“I feel like I missed out on you,” he continued. “Like you dissapeared and I didn't know how to help and I… I was too wrapped up in my own head.”

You walked toward him slowly, standing close enough to smell the faint scent of cologne and vintage paper—Spencer always smelled like old books and warmth.

“You didn’t miss it,” you said. “I was just hiding.”

He looked down at you, hands still at his sides, every inch of him buzzing with restraint.

“You don’t have to hide anymore.”

You reached up, fingers grazing his tie to straighten it—a habit you’d always wanted an excuse for. “So what now, Spencer?”

His breath hitched. “Now I stop pretending I don’t want you.”

Then he kissed you.

It was slow at first—hesitant, testing. Like he didn’t believe you’d kiss him back. But you did. And then you did again, deeper this time, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently until he groaned against your mouth.

He backed you into the wall, hands cupping your face like you were a piece of something sacred. It was messy, breathless, years of wanting packed into each desperate brush of lips and teeth.

When you pulled back, your lipstick smudged and eyes hazy, he whispered, “Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

And once the door shut behind you, there was no more hesitation.

He undressed you like he was solving a puzzle—carefully, reverently. His hands memorized the shape of you, his mouth tracing a soft path along your collarbone, down your chest, making you gasp and arch and feel. You watched his brain click into overdrive—not analyzing, just worshiping.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “I should’ve told you every damn day.”

You pulled his shirt over his head, pressing your palms to his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. “Then start now,” you said, voice breathless. “Make up for it.”

And he did.

With every touch, every moan, every whispered I see you now, he rewrote the silence you’d endured. You weren't just shining—you were on fire, and he let himself burn in you.

Afterward, tangled in sheets and sweat and laughter, he whispered something against your bare shoulder.

“I don’t want to go back to the way we were. I want to know you—every part. Not just when you’re glowing. Even when you’re dim.”

You turned in his arms, touched his cheek, and kissed him slow and sweet.

“You’ve got me now, Spencer. All of me.”

And in the soft light of morning, you weren’t hiding.

You were bejeweled—and finally loved for it.

[smileycarat]

i've got you

summary: seungcheol comforting the reader through a difficult time

warnings: angst/comfort(?), financial insecurity, and imposter syndrome

masterlist

there were mountains of papers all spread across the dinner table were just staring back at you each with a larger number than the last. the notepad right beside your computer had multiple scribbles of numbers that just kept on adding up to a larger amount.

on your laptop, there was a screen open with your current bank statement, and it was simple knowledge that you would not be able to afford your expenses for the month.

hours were spent at work, wearing yourself thin only for it to not be enough. hours were spent trying to job hunt, thinking you more than met the qualifications listed, only to be told that someone else was chosen for the position.

it was hard to not feel the utter despair month after month.

all you could do was rub at your temples and close your eyes to try to ease the pressure you could feel from staring at the computer screen and crunching numbers all afternoon.

“are you alright honey?”

you slowly lift your head to see seungcheol standing in the dining room, holding his bag from his recent practice with the members. he was still dressed in his casual clothes, but you could see the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders.

“i’m alright, just tired,” you said, clearing your throat at its hoarseness. “it’s been a day.”

cheol let out a soft sigh, nodding as he pulled his chair from across the small table to sit directly next to you. he looked at all the papers, your notepad, and your laptop screen before you could feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“oh honey…”

his broad hand reached out to press against your upper back, and immediately you could feel the pressure building up behind your eyes, your face flushing.

“it’s okay! really! if i just start to cancel a membership or two, and i have plenty of books i could sell for some cash-”

you were frantic in your explanation, not being able to look at his soft eyes and the way his brow began to furrow. if anything, you could feel the weight of his stare.

“honey, hold on.” his tone was firm as he sought out your gaze. “let me help you.”

“no cheol, it’s okay. i’ll be okay,” the tone of your voice wavered. “work is offering me that new position soon, so that will help plenty-”

“they have been dangling that position over your head for the past two years,” he said as he turned your head towards him. the way his eyes softened immediately made your eyes water. “i hardly see you because you work all day, and i know my own work schedule can be turbulent but you work longer days than even i do.”

“well, it’s something that i have to do,” you couldn’t help but say defensively as the tears fully started to flow. “i have to work-”

he made a sound as he shushed you, and even then, his own eyes got glassy. he always seemed to mirror whatever you were feeling.

“honey, i want to help you. i always have. you have been the person cheering for me since the start of my dream, and there’s nothing more that i would love than doing the same for you. i wish i could remove all the stress from the world on your shoulders,” he said as he began to softly wipe the tears flowing on your cheeks. “i know that you want to continue working, and i am not taking that away from you, but let me help you. i have more than enough money to support the both of us. if you want to take some time off work to job search-”

“but cheol, i could never do that to you. the job market is shit right now so i wouldn't be able to find anything soon."

he made a small shush sound, softly shaking his head and softly cupping your face.

“listen,” he said gently, but firmly. “you aren’t making me do anything. we both agreed since day one that we were a team. i would never take away your independence, but me helping you is us being a team. this is our life, there is no reason as to why you should carry the weight of it alone.”

soft sobs were now shaking your shoulders, everything feeling heavier with the look of adoration in his eyes. 

“it’s just so hard to not feel like i’m failing when everyone is so much more ahead of me,” you whimpered. 

“honey, what you’re doing is far from failing. there is no set timeline as to where you need to be in your life because you are the one leading it. just let me in and let me be a part of it,” he whispered as he pulled you into his chest and began to rub soothing circles on your back.

the room was silent for the most part, other than your sniffles here and there. yet, he still held you tightly until you spoke first. 

“i love you so much”, you murmured into his collarbone. you pulled back just enough to be able to meet his eyes. “can we try to figure this out together?”

seungcheol let out a small hum of agreement. “i love you more, we’ll figure it all out together. i've got you, honey. i got you.”

he pressed a kiss to your temple before pulling you back in closer, and you let him. his embrace was the one steady thing that you had felt throughout all these weeks, and for the first time in a long time, you truly believed you didn’t have to do this alone.

in that moment, suddenly the amount of papers on the table didn’t seem so large and the numbers on your computer screen looked less daunting. all that mattered really was the fact that his embrace was there to carry the weight off your shoulders. 

a/n: i am currently going through the most difficult time in my personal life, so i will admit this was more of a self-indulgent piece. i hope that whoever reads this could also find as much solace in this as i did when i was writing it. please like and reblog, it helps my blog and i am planning on being more active on it :)

[rwshfordgirl]

OCEANO

"só sei viver se for por você."

pairing: jude bellingham x reader!

where he just wants to see you well.

warning: mention of cheating.

a/n: i dedicate this to all the girls who read this story and who by some chance, share portuguese as their native language, lusófona union hahaha i was really looking forward to starting this project, i've been thinking about it for months and i'm so happy to finally be able to share it with you. really hope you guys like it ;)

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬✮

Jude remembers well all the times he heard you say that you would leave everything behind to go live with him on an island in the middle of the ocean. He felt bad every time he saw you stressed, coming home from work and college tired and still finding time to take care of himself. He wanted to reward you for that, he wanted to make you forget the problems that afflicted you so much and take you to the island that you wanted to visit so bad.

He saw the board on your Pinterest profile, you saved photos that other people shared when they had the opportunity to visit an archipelago in the Indian Ocean off the coast of the African continent. The islands that formed the territory of Zanzibar. Your dream destination.

As the end of the season approached, Jude made a plan. He booked an entire floor of a five-star resort on Kendwa Beach, for a week, just for you and him.

He didn't say anything, it was a surprise until the last second. "Babe, you mind going to Ibiza this summer?"

You did mind going to Ibiza, it's not the most special place in the world, it's not the ideal place to relax after a stressful season. But Bellingham likes going there, he likes it when he gets his friends together and they head off to the island, and you wouldn't want to be without him.

However, Jude wouldn't take you to Ibiza, when the question was asked during one random afternoon, he had just booked the room at the Resort. He saw you trying to hide the annoyance on your face and in your voice.

When the day arrived, when Jude boarded the jet with you, the resort's commercial posters were above the plane's seat.

"What's this, love?" You said as you flipped through the paper showing the beauties of Zanzibar.

The smile on Jude's face grew huge, he licked his lips before speaking, "Surprise. That's where we're going."

Jude couldn't explain what he felt when he saw her face, when he saw her eyes shine and her smile gradually grow in size, "Jude, are you serious? My God, but what about your friends? Jude, are you really serious?"

Jude ran his hand around the back of you neck, he pulled you close gently and gave a little kiss on the top of her head, "It's serious love, very serious. I know how much you wanted to go there. And my friends already knew that we wouldn't go to Ibiza, only you didn't know."

You looked out the plane window, already imagining yourself lying on the sun loungers on the beach and walking hand in hand with Jude along the sandy strip of the beach.

And sitting on the edge of the bed, with his hands on his head, he remembered the smile you gave him when he told you about the trip, the kisses you gave him that conveyed your happiness. But nothing would prepare him for what would come next, nothing would prepare him for what happened minutes after that.

Bellingham headed to the balcony of the room you were in, still thinking about the event that preceded your arrival. He could see you lying face down on the hayloft, your blue dress moving in the wind, and he counted how many times you brought your hand to your face, trying to wipe away the tears that were falling.

Jude made you cry, he made you cry out of sadness and not out of happiness as it should have been, as he had planned.

"What are you insinuating?", the vision of you crossing your arms and looking him in the eye with anger, will never left his mind.

"You like his pictures, comment on his pictures. What do you want me to think?"

You rolled your eyes, the smile on your face appeared but it only highlighted the anger you felt.

"What are you implying? Tell me Jude Bellingham, what are you implying with this."

Your hands reached out to Jude to push him away.

"Do you think I would cheat on you? Do you think I would be with someone else? You are such an idiot, such a fucking idiot."

Your fingers pushed Jude further and further back in the chair.

"No my love, it's not that...", his voice came out almost like a whisper, he was sorry. But I knew you were upset, almost heartbroken for hearing him insinuate that you were hitting on another man.

And on the hotel balcony, Jude couldn't stand to see you like this anymore, suffering because of his actions. Maybe you didn't want to talk at that moment, but he would try, he would try to get closer.

You felt Jude sit down on the lounger, towards your belly. His fingers gently walked over it.

"Baby girl, can we talk?", the question came cautiously.

No answers, the only sound was that of the ocean waves. Jude took a deep breath, his hands ran through his hair, a gesture that represented the anguish he felt inside.

"I can pack my things and leave.", it was the first time he had heard you voice since the incident hours ago.

"No, no.",Jude felt a wave of despair invade his chest, "You can't leave, you don't have to leave. I want you to enjoy it here, I want you to relax, I want to see you well."

Your face was turned towards the forest that surrounded the beach, without the courage to look Bellingham in the eyes.

"Love, I'm so sorry, okay? I'm really sorry, I hate knowing that I was the one who left you like this. I just didn't know who he was, I was scared, I felt insecure."

Jude was being honest, that was really how he felt. Insecure and vulnerable.

"Jude, you are the most perfect man in the world. It would be crazy to think of another man having you, knowing that I am loved by you.", you finally managed to compose yourself, got up from the lounge chair and sat in front of him.

"I'm really sorry about that, I'm sorry for doubting you.", it was Jude who couldn't look at you, he was embarrassed.

"I felt terrible hearing you insinuate that the likes I gave to the photos of a friend of mine who I haven't seen in years, represented to you a sign of cheating.",

"I don't know what happened to me, really. I trust you, I trust you with my eyes closed, I trust you to be my guide on a path full of thorns.", he took a deep breath, his hands found yours, "Don't think about leaving me, don't think about leaving me without you please...please, my love."

Bellingham felt he could get on his knees in front of her and beg for your forgiveness.

"Promise me, Bellingham. Promise me that you will never again be able to doubt me, to doubt my love for you."

His fingers tightened around yours.

"I will never do that again, never again. I promise you, I promise not to do what I did today ever again.", he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"You mean everything to me, everything I love the most. I can't be without you for a second and see you here, alone, not wanting to talk to me... it hurt me. It hurt me because I knew I was the one who caused all this pain."

Tears streamed down your face again, but this time they were tears of relief, Jude's words really sounded right to you, they were sincere words.

"Jude?" you said as you felt him caress your face.

"Huh?" he said, not wanting to be distracted from what he was doing.

"Thank you for this, thank you for bringing me here."

Bellingham rested his forehead against hers, happy that he could finally do this.

"You deserve this, you deserve this and much more. I want to make you happy, I want to make you very happy every day.", again he kissed the back of your hand, "I don't want to make you cry like that ever again, it was the first and last time, i promise to you.I want to see you cry because you are happy to be with me, to be here."

Jude hugged you, a sincere hug that for both of you meant the end of a complicated situation. Neither of you felt the urge to let go, to leave.

"I love you.", you whispered in his ear, "I love you too much."

Your words made Jude let go of you, but he didn't pull away, he just took his hands and brought them to your face.

"I love you too, my dear love. More than you could ever imagine."