#He's the one I want to drown in happiness

[thepleathersfine]

AAAAAAAA you’re so nice man😭 you’ve been such a great friend and I love love love seeing your art. I don’t know how you manage to stay motivated with the amount of new stuff you’re always putting out. Thank you <3333 (Also putting my husband in a tupperware and shaking it violently)

Ahem

@bred-toaster My pookie schmookie my bestie my every Pinterest post reminds me of you my I die a little inside when I notice I picked up one of your mannerisms. Bred, my first friend, my enemy. Maybe the last face I ever see (hamilton) we’re literally what killed the dinosaurs (you know that one) 🫶 I heart you and let it be known I found out about chappell roan first☝️and no this was not an elaborate plea for Odin’s brother to appear in my room at exactly 2:13 A.M. I literally don’t know what you’re talking about.

@arborpoo Boyfriend. I looooove yooooou <33333 just letting it be known that I finished your valentines gift. You’re so lovely, I hope you know that. Working on our aus has been so great. Ngl watching you be all silly and creative is very much what made me fall for you (along with 1000 other things.) Looking back I never expected any of this, I couldn’t have imagined you’d become so incredibly important to me. I’m so lucky to have you. Also currently absorbing Zy, no, you can’t do anything about this. He’s doomed to a good happy ending. (Oh and atlas bell drowned last night.)

@brick-678 hi ellis. You’re mean but silly so you’re here. In lieu of a proper appreciation post I considered writing a bunch of inspirational quotes in commemoration of baby ellis’ art. But ehhhhh wtf are you doing for sam though. Wild that my DAD asked if you were doing anything for valentines before I even considered it. Especially since I deadass have asked everyone else???? You and sam need to do more pdfs or whatever, and I swear if you say you’re broke again I’m gonna cry. Anyway your ocs are silly, if we could go back to poking Esme with a stick that’d be sick.

@bennyben117 I’m terrified of your disc pfp. Also tell adam I say hi

@arborpoo Hi yes you again this is for my brother husband in Christ, Ze, cause he doesn’t have a tumblr I’m aware of. I just wanted to say when I mention him to my dad he gets jumpscared

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

Just thinking about Fratboy!Jaehyun... who yes, of course he knows his birthday is on Valentine's Day, but that doesn't mean he's not going to ask you, his girlfriend, to be his valentine. He doesn't care that it's his birthday all that much because at the end of the day, he still wants you to feel special and loved.

So on February 13th, he comes home from his classes with a pretty bouquet of roses in his hands and a card with some cheesy pun and a smile on his face. Who would have guessed that the former fuckboy of Nu Chi Theta would be so excited to be in a committed, loving relationship and excited to ask his girlfriend of over a year to be his for a day that was usually all about him?

He comes into the frat house, sets his backpack near the staircase and finds you sitting on a couch far too dirty and unworthy of someone as precious as you and simply smiles. He loves how comfortable you are in a house that was once drowning in testosterone, you made it better for everyone.

"Sweetheart," he starts, entering your line of sight, "I know Valentine's Day is a little different for us, but I still wanted to ask, like I have before, if you'd like to be my valentine?"

You pout at Jaehyun with pure and utter affection, "Baby! I'd love to!"

Jaehyun leans down to press a kiss against your lips and hands you the bouquet and the card, "perfect, we can celebrate the day after tomorrow-"

"Well, I didn't finish," you reply awkwardly, "Haechan kind of already asked me to be his valentine..."

Jaehyun's face falls, "tell me you said no."

"Baby," you whine, cupping his face, "he's one of my best friends!"

"And I'm your boyfriend! Hello?! You can't be another guy's valentine on my birthday!"

"Well, it's not like we'll be going on a date or anything! We're just making each other valentine's baskets and that's it," you explain, pressing what you hope is a calming kiss against his lips.

"But it's my birthday," Jaehyun protests with a pout.

"Exactly, my love, so you know I like to treat you on your birthday. I'll spend the night tonight, tell you happy birthday right when the clock strikes midnight, we can put some of these flower petals to good use, and I have a special surprise for your eyes only," you whisper huskily, eyes dark while you trail soft, teasing kisses up the side of Jaehyun's neck.

He feels himself melting against the stained cushions of the couch, finding that in this moment he would say yes to anything you say or ask. His eyes fall shut, enjoying the feel of your soft lips against his sensitive skin while one of your hands finds its way under the worn cotton of his t-shirt, nails trailing over the pale skin of his abs. You smirk against his skin as a shiver runs down his spine, he's so pliable and docile in your hands when he's like this.

The make out session, foreplay, teasing— whatever, is interrupted when you both hear a sing songy, "oh, Sweetheart!"

You pull away from you boyfriend with a confused pinch in your brows. It comes as a surprise to both you and Jaehyun when you find the Jaehyun's core frat brothers walking toward the two of you all holding beautiful flower arrangements in their hands, your favorite snacks, and stuffed animals.

"What is going on?" Jaehyun breathes out, eyes zeroed in on his frat brothers with a matching look of confusion on his face.

"Sweetheart," Yuta starts.

"Will you," Johnny carries on.

"Be our," Jungwoo continues.

"Valentine?" Mark finishes off.

"God, another 7 guys to share you with?" Jaehyun breathes under his breath before turning his attention to the guys, "you guys know she's my girlfriend, right?"

"Jaehyun, she's frat sweetheart. This is literally the least we can do," Doyoung explains with a look that leaves no room for complaints.

And Jaehyun can't even find it in himself to complain, not when he sees the look of pure joy and the tears of happiness in your eyes as you go down the line and hug your friends one by one while accepting the gifts. He's so in love with you.

a/n: trying out a bit of a different format here

[grandline-fics]

hello can I request Luffy for true loves kiss for ur valentine's event? ur prompts are super cute btw!! I literally was stressing over which character to pick for this prompt 😭

DESCRIPTION: True Love's Kiss- The moment they realise they're in love

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 1,046

A/N: This was also requested by @destynelseclipsa. I hope you both like what I came up with for this one and that it's to your liking. Thank you for the request and Happy Valentine's day guys

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

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When the Strawhats docked at the island that morning the crew became confused about being told they wouldn’t be allowed to enter properly just yet. The explanation given was that there was a festival being prepared in the city’s centre for the evening and it would be too difficult to get everything ready in time with outsiders getting in the way. Most of the crew understood and settled in for an afternoon on the ship. Luffy, however became all but impossible to control. Knowing there was a city-wide party just hours away from happening left him a ball of frantic energy just wanting to sneak into the city centre and take a peek at what was to come.

Nami had been yelling at him to behave and just be patient, with Zoro and Sanji holding him firmly in place under the navigator’s instruction but still they struggled. If Luffy wanted to break free he would. You knew it was only a matter of time before he broke, with Nami soon following suit so you decided to get ahead of things to ensure everyone had a good time at the festival. 

Getting up from your seat you approached your Captain and boyfriend. Even with your steps being casual against the Sunny’s deck and muted over the sounds of Sanji, Zoro, and Nami’s yelling, the second you drew near Luffy’s head turned immediately towards you and his dark but bright eyes fixed on you. Anything the others were saying, were completely drowned out by this point as he smiled happily at you.

“You can go peek if you want, Luffy but it’ll just be boring. There won’t be any cooked food ready at this point and maybe a couple stalls built.” You explained with a shrug. “If you want to see that you can just go to Franky and Usopp’s workshops and see what they’re working on right? Or we could stay here and see if Sanji would make something to tide us all over before the festival?”

Sanji jerked when Luffy effortlessly pulled out from his and Zoro’s hold. He glanced at you and quickly grinned, anything to keep Luffy content enough to be patient and even better if he had a hand in it, it would earn him more favour with Nami. “Yeah. How about a pre-festival feast?”

The island they’d found themselves and now got to fully see was bursting with life and colour. Everyone was so cheerful, infectiously so. Luffy grinned broadly as he took in the sights and sounds overwhelming his senses in every direction. Now he was glad he listened to you and stayed on the Sunny until it was time to attend the festival. Keeping one hand firmly linked with yours, he hurried from one stall to the other taking in as many games, food, and possible trinkets to buy. Through it all you grinned at his enthusiasm, soaking up the radiant positivity and excitement that Luffy brought to the already joyous atmosphere. While Luffy was buying another local delicacy to try, Chopper called your name. You told Luffy you’d be right back and hurried over to the doctor to help him pick what to buy from a souvenir stall. Immediately Luffy pouted and watched you across the street. 

“Oh I know that look.” Luffy turned to see the old man in front of the stall he was at. His confusion grew when the man grinned broadly. “That’s the face of a man in love.”

“Love?” Luffy repeated, a hint of hesitation in his tone. Quickly he glanced your direction again. Yes you were both in a relationship but love was a new topic. “What makes you think that?”

“Not think. Know.” The old man clarified with a soft laugh and shake of his head. “That hopeless, lost look you got now even when they’re so close. Besides I’ve been watching you two since you got here. It’s obvious you’re in love with how you look at them. How they’re the only thing that matters above all else.” Luffy blinked at the explanation and looked over at you again, unable and unwilling to stop the smile shaping his lips when you waved him over to join you. At the smallest beckon you gave him Luffy was already moving, needing absolutely to be as close as possible. Now with the old man’s words in his head Luffy began to consider it with more seriousness than he would have without the prompting. He truly couldn’t be without you. But did you matter more than anything else? 

“Luffy! Careful!” You spoke suddenly with widened eyes. You were hurrying towards him to meet him halfway. He blinked in surprise to see you leaning down to pick up his hat from the ground. In his movements and the busy city streets, the tied rope keeping the straw hat around his neck had come undone and it had fallen. He hadn’t even noticed it was loose. He didn’t even realise or felt it had fallen. You had occupied his notice completely and even seeing it had been missing from his person for just a few seconds didn’t bring him nearly as much agitation as you leaving his side had done. 

His hat, his defining image and greatest treasure truly did matter less to him compared to you. Luffy smiled when you settled the hat firmly on his head and secured the rope to make sure it didn’t slip again. Meeting your gaze Luffy was struck with the confirmation that what the old man had pointed out to him was obvious. He knew people called him clueless sometimes but in this moment he fully agreed with him. “I love you!”

“For saving your hat?” You ask with a smile. Your boyfriend was a lovable and affectionate guy so you took his statement with a carefree smile. You only froze when you saw Luffy’s stare on your face was stronger and more serious than anything you’d seen before. His declaration wasn’t one being said thoughtlessly. He meant it with every fibre of his being and it shocked and warmed you instantly. Your lips parted and your took a breath before staring at him with just as much love as he was giving you. “Love you too, Luffy.”

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TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs

[fangdokja]

hi! i wanted to know if you were willing to share the manhwas you used for your yandere banners 😓 (i need more manhwas to read,,)

Me: Shiz. All of the otome game ones…?! Wait…. Or all of it…?!

Me: …

Me: Very well.

Me: *knowing I did not save shiz. I was literally just searching for character designs on Pinterest*

Note: I haven’t read majority of these manhwas, because none of these men are my type, or they remind me of myself. So yeah… just be warned I don’t know if the story is good or not. Also majority of these works are not male yandere manhwa. Just manhwas in general, mostly otome isekai ones. Arrangement of manhwa lists according to the banner art are always from left to right.

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

Manhwa Names: I Have Become The Hero's Rival

Yandere! Isekai! Knight

♡ Sub Story. In his eyes, your defiance isn’t strength—it’s foreplay.

Headcanons 1 : Light’s Last Lament (General)

He was a knight of light… until you turned his world dark.

Manhwa Names: How To Get My Husband On My Side

Yandere! Neurosurgeon

Drabbles

You’re a Pervert, and He’s in Denial.

Your Idea of Flirting? A Box of Body Parts.

“I’d love to get inside your head.” He thought you meant emotionally.

Manhwa Names: How To Live As An Illegal Healer

Yandere! Otome Game

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Crown Prince, Archduke, Supreme Mage, Demon King, War Hero, Master Thief, Enemy Spy, Demon Assassin

Drabbles

How do you escape a yandere harem? Asking for a very distressed friend (me).

How to Turn ‘Till Death Do Us Part’ Into a Very Literal Situation.

"Romance is a garbage genre, but if I have to play, I might as well do it on easy mode."

The love interests were bad. The backup plans are worse.

One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

Headcanons 1 : How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) (General)

I hate it here.

Manhwa Names:

The Villainess is a Marionette

I Tamed My Ex-Husband's Mad Dog

I Have Become The Hero's Rival

No Place For The Fake Princess

I Became The Wife Of The Male Lead

When Fate Finds Us

Obsidian Bride

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

Manhwa Names: Roxana

Yandere! Stardom

♡ Characters Included. Yandere! Fanboy, Producer, Rival, Hater

Drabbles

A love letter: from a guy who’s watched every movie, probably knows your underwear size.

Rivals, fanboys, and haters all agree: your fanfic is a masterpiece… in the worst way.

Your most devoted fan writes smut better than published authors.

Capitalism By Day, Cock Worship By Night

AO3 Writer: “I just wanted to write smut.” | Society: “No, you leaked classified info.”

Manhwa Names:

A Not So Fairy Tale

Falling For Danger

Debut or Die

Divorce Plan / Divorce Strategy

Yandere! College! Bully & Loser

Oneshots

The worst part? You’ve stopped trying to fight it.

Novella 1 : Torn Between Us

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

Manhwa Names: Dreaming Freedom

Yandere! Ex-Boyfriend & Cheating Bitch

Drabbles

“You disobeyed me. Again.”

“Miss me?”

“Pray I don’t snap. Because if I do, you won’t survive it.”

Novella 1 : Friction & Fire

She wasn't looking for love, but love wasn't asking for permission.

Some truths are better left buried.

Manhwa Names: I'm Dating A Psychopath

Yandere! Stepfather & Stepdaughter

Novella 1 : Paternal Privilege

He’s your family, but he doesn’t act like it.

🔞Pleasure in every strike, pain in every kiss.

🔞In the end, love is both their salvation and their damnation.

🔞His love is suffocating, but she’s forgotten how to breathe without it.

🔞Love shouldn’t feel like drowning, but he’s the only one who can save her.

She fell, but not by accident. He made sure of it.

Manhwa Names: Your Throne

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[eobe]

Happy Valentine's Day to you all 🥰✨ARC trooper Echo CT-1409 is CT-1402 today and he's coming for you 😽 Get SHOT! 😎💘

Big shout-out to @lonewolflupe's wholesome Valentine's event 💘 Spread love, send messages, melt and drown in sugar, because you're the most loving and supportive community I've never dared to dream of 🥰

A close up, why it’s Echo, the targets and the inevitable ramble below the cut… 🏹

I always get grumpy and blushing when too much pink, glitter, candy and stuff, but deep inside I can't help myself and yield cuteness overload dopamining 🫠✨

ARC trooper Echo is on duty for this day and he won't do a job without the best and most badass gear! ✨😈 He even borrowed himself a winged sky trooper jetpack and Omega’s bow, but only because he can 😎✨ But Maker, he's allowed, he deserves and it's Echo! 💕

Have a closer look. I never did lighting like this before! 🤩 I don't know if it's accurate – I just thought and tried to imagine of how materials would reflect, how much and where and in which angle 🤯✨

I had fun and some frustration figuring his pose! First, he's with the jetpack, what to do with the legs?

Second, as I'm an archer myself, I wanted to give him a good archer posture, but he has a scomp too! +50 skill, +50 difficulty, +100 badassity. Good thing he can hook in this bow-ring of the Zygerrian design and I'm aware that there are many little inaccurate things to find, but I'm still a drawing Padawan, not a master 😂🫶

Third, angles. Can‘t tell what it is exactly. Something worm's eye view, little mortals on the ground looking up to sweet doom coming down from the aurora skies 🤩✨🧡❤️🩷💜✨

But I‘m actually a proud little drawing Padawan looking at this artwork at all 😱 Echo, you're worth the hours. Fandom, you even more. Get ECHOed, cuties 🫶 And everyone, who sees this! 💘

My headcanon, why it has to be Echo:

(Domino Squad at the Barracks)

Echo: No! NO, I don’t want to! Hevy: Vod, it HAS to be you! Echo: This just... isn’t fair! Droidbait: What‘s your problem, brother – I can’t do it, I‘d manage to get shot with this myself! Cutup: And besides that you‘re not as half as cute as Echo! Echo: (teeth gritted) hrrr… shutup cutup! Fives: Echo, they’re right AND you’re the only one around who has the number CT-140... Echo: (interrupting) YOU are the one who always echoes that were NOT our numbers, not me! Why don't YOU be named "Echo", huh? Fives: (handing Echo the Cupid bow, doing huge puppy eyes) Vod – yes, we‘re not numbers, but being Cupid CT-1402 is actually a good thing and... not matter any numbers, you're just the best of us all. 💕🏹 Cutup: … And you really can’t hand this Droidbait! All: Shut up, Cutup!

Targets, that volunteered 😎💘:

@eclec-tech – Writing owl twin, always having a spicy caf for me, managing to inspire me into colorful dimensions and owling with meee 🧡✨ @clonethirstingisreal – My warmhearted friend, always encouraging 🥰🫶 @vrycurious – One of my most supportive out of the box thinking moots 🤩🫶 Targets, that kind of volunteered 💞👀:

@returnofthepineapple – Sweet Piña 🍍🥰 'STOKED' hehe! @freesia-writes – Cute! 😻 Side eying too loud in the reblog 👀 @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf – Hot chick calling me bb 😽🌹💋 @523rdrebel – hehehe 😏 'can't wait' @littletroggo – Cute moot doing cute art and also ‘can't wait' 🥰✨ @cw80831 – Most proper tagging support! 🤩✨ Targets, that are locked in my crosshair 🤪💞✨:

@ghostymarni – Sweet vod 💗 Queen of Chaos, holding my beer 🍺💘 @wings-and-beskargam – Chaos twin vod 💙🫶🩵 endlessly patient and giving, lovely soul 💘 Targets, that won't get away 😎💘✨:

@lonewolflupe – Double tag, double target, double shot 🤩🏹💖💘 Get ECHOed thoroughly 😏💞🦾 Thank you for everything – you KNOW what I'm thanking you for and will never stop being thankful 🥰 🫠

@foxwithadarkside – no words needed but anyway 😎🏹✨ Muse, art collab witch, badass, quality talk, thank you 💘😽

General volunteering targets: @bixlasagna @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @groguandthebadbatch @ladylucksrogue @spaceyjessa @morerandombullshit

[cosmiclily]

chapter nine: the edge

wc: 2.8k

notes: next chapter will be the interview that i mentioned a couple of chapters ago!!! pls send some questions to our fellow rock stars

Apparently, sex was, in fact, a fantastic creative exercise—or at the very least, an excellent incentive for spitting out lyrics. Once you figured that out, the entire process of choosing lyrics, organizing tracks, and brainstorming ideas became a hell of a lot easier.

Writer’s block? Fixed with Vi’s hands gripping your hips, her mouth marking a trail down your stomach.

Frustrated over a melody that wouldn’t click? Easily solved by the way she pressed you into the mattress and pulled sounds from your lips sweeter than any song you’d ever written.

Tension from long hours in the studio? Well… she had a very effective method of dealing with that.

Of course, you weren’t oblivious. You knew exactly what Vi was doing—using you as a distraction, a way to keep from drowning in whatever emotions those songs dragged back up. You knew she was using you to not think about her. Caitlyn.

But when Vi held you like that, when her fingers tangled in your hair, when she bit down on your neck just enough to make you shiver, when she touched you exactly the way you needed to be touched? None of that mattered. Not even a little.

And, honestly? It was a great way to de-stress.

The long nights spent cramped in the studio became more bearable when you knew you could go home and have Vi all to yourself.

It was like having a place where the weight of the world could just melt away. You got to pull her closer, scratch, bite, and touch every inch of her as if she was yours to do with as you pleased.

And the memories were almost addictive. Every time the pressure of the studio, the deadlines, or a fight with someone built up, you could close your eyes and retreat to your happy place.

“We’re almost finished here,” Archie said, barely looking up from his tablet. “Mark was talking to me about promotions, interviews, appearances—the whole deal. So clear your schedules.”

You sat back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied sigh. For the first time in months, the studio didn’t feel like a pressure cooker. No one was snapping at each other out of frustration, no one was sulking over failed ideas, and—most importantly—no one was on the verge of throwing their instruments against the wall.

The hard part was finally done.

You’d recorded a couple of solid tracks, and almost every song you wanted for the album was ready. The weight that had been crushing your shoulders for months had finally eased, letting you breathe a little easier.

“Finally,” Jinx groaned, throwing herself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “If I had to listen to one more version of that last chorus, I think I’d start hearing it in my dreams.”

Ekko smirked, tuning his bass idly. “You say that like you don’t already.”

Jinx pointed a finger at him without lifting her head. “Shut it, time boy.”

Vi chuckled from her spot by the drum set, twirling a drumstick between her fingers. “Admit it—you’re gonna miss all this once we’re done.”

Jinx peeked up at her with a lazy grin. “I’ll miss driving you crazy. That part was fun.”

You shook your head, laughing, before glancing back at Archie. “So, what’s next?”

Archie scrolled through his tablet before giving you all a pointed look. “Now? We get ready to *sell* this thing. That means promo shoots, interviews, maybe even a live session or two.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, try not to look half-dead for the cameras, alright?”

You snorted. “No promises.”

“Great. Love the enthusiasm,” Archie deadpanned before turning back to his notes. “Now, let’s talk deadlines…”

He turned his tablet to us, displaying his calendar.

“This month, we’ll be finishing the recording, and the producers will take care of the rest. Next week, we want to shoot some pictures for the cover and also do some introductions for your channel—you know, fan stuff,” he rushed through, glancing up at us, his finger hovering over the screen. “And we want to do an interview, answering questions from your fans, and some general stuff.”

He continued explaining the calendar details, but you couldn’t help but notice the way everyone else’s faces seemed to blur into confusion. You weren’t the only one who was a little lost in the whirlwind of the plans. With everything that had been happening in the studio lately, the reality of the promotion process felt like a whole new beast to tackle. The recording was one thing, but now there were public appearances, live sessions, photo shoots, and interviews to manage too.

Vi, sensing the shared hesitation, shot you a quick, silent look across the room, one brow arched in that familiar, unspoken question. Is this what we’re really getting into?

You couldn’t help but grin and shrug. “Fan stuff, huh? Sounds… fun.”

Jinx leaned back in her chair with a loud groan. “Wait, wait, hold up. So now we’re gonna have to look good for the cameras too?” She ran a hand through her messy hair. “I mean, sure, we look good, but I’m not exactly camera ready.”

Ekko chuckled, clearly amused. “Jinx, I think the camera is going to need a lot more than a filter to handle you.”

Jinx shot him a glare. “If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not working.”

Archie’s face was a mixture of professional concern and barely-contained amusement. “Look, I know this is a lot, but we’ve been working for this moment. The album’s almost ready, and now we need to give people a taste of what’s coming. You want them to care, right? Then we have to make them care.”

Vi, ever the voice of reason, raised her hand, leaning forward to address the group. “We’ve been locked in here for months. It’s time to show the world what we’ve been working on. Let’s just get it over with, yeah?”

There was a brief silence, followed by murmurs of agreement. Everyone seemed to acknowledge the inevitable.

“Alright,” you said with a deep breath, sitting up straighter, “let’s just get this done. We’ve made it this far.”

Archie nodded, satisfied. “Good. So, here’s the schedule for the next two weeks. Let’s get moving on it.” He handed out the specific tasks and assignments, detailing each member’s role in the upcoming photo shoots, interviews, and other appearances.

As he wrapped things up, the room fell into a quiet hum of anticipation. This was the next phase—one where the music wasn’t the only thing that mattered anymore.

──────────────────────

You were paired off in twos to film a short introduction video for yourselves and the album—Vi and you, and Ekko with Jinx. Archie gave you the freedom to choose where you wanted to film and what you could talk about (as long as you stuck to the schedule, of course).

Vi suggested filming at your place, claiming “the plants give off a nice vibe.” You didn’t argue—if it made things easier, you were all for it. So, to your apartment you went.

As you both stepped inside, Vi kicked off her boots near the door while you tossed your keys onto the table, the familiar clatter echoing in the quiet space. The apartment felt weirdly calm compared to the chaotic energy of the studio. But now came the hard part—figuring out what the hell to do for this video.

“So, what do you think we should do?” Vi asked, her voice casual as she wandered over to your living room, eyeing the plants like they’d give her the answer.

You trailed behind her, chewing on the inside of your cheek. What could you film that would actually reflect your energy without coming off as too much… or, worse, boring?

“Honestly? I’ve got no clue.” You flopped onto the couch, sighing. “Ekko and Jinx are doing some painting session or whatever since they’ve got that in common. But us?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “What do we do? Besides, you know…” You trailed off with a smirk, your mind flashing back to Vi's very creative methods of stress relief.

Vi chuckled, flopping down beside you and tossing her legs over your lap. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s exactly the vibe Archie’s looking for.” She shot you a teasing grin. “Though I’m sure it’d get us a hell of a lot of views.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, not trying to get us banned off every platform before the album even drops.”

Vi leaned back, staring at the ceiling in thought. “Okay, so… no painting, no X-rated content.” She tapped her fingers against the couch rhythmically. “What about something simple? Like us just talking about the songs, the process, you know?”

You made a face. “That sounds kinda… stiff. Everyone’s gonna do that. I mean, sure, we talk about the songs, but there’s gotta be something more us in it.”

Vi was quiet for a second before her eyes lit up. “What if we do something more casual? Like, we’re just hanging out, talking shit, maybe playing some old tracks and reacting to them?” She grinned, nudging your shoulder. “You know, let people see the real us—chaotic mess and all.”

You laughed, the idea settling in your mind. That actually sounded like fun. “Alright, yeah. I like that. Maybe we can even throw in some behind-the-scenes clips? Like the time Jinx nearly set the mic on fire?”

Vi burst out laughing. “Or when Ekko tripped over his own bass cable and tried to play it off like nothing happened?”

The two of you were already in stitches, the tension from earlier melting away. This felt right—natural, fun, and totally you.

“Okay,” you said, standing up and grabbing your phone. “Let’s set this up before we lose the vibe. You grab the speaker, I’ll get the camera.”

Vi gave you a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

In no time, your makeshift filming set was ready. You grabbed some snacks, adjusted the lighting just enough to look effortless, and set the camera to start recording.

You both introduced yourselves, diving into the story of how the band came together. It felt natural, almost like reminiscing with an old friend rather than filming something for fans.

“At first, it was just the two of us,” Vi said, pointing between the two of you with a grin. “We were messing around, trying to figure out our sound. Then my younger sister decided to be extremely annoying while we practiced—always yapping about how two people weren’t a real band. Eventually, she dragged Ekko into this mess, and, well… here we are.”

You laughed, the memory still vivid. “Oh, I definitely remember the first time Jinx quite literally dragged him into that old room at school—the one we used for practice. She barged in, shouting about how Ekko had a garage we could use, and how she had all these brilliant ideas.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah! I remember that. Poor Benzo looked so displeased with a bunch of teenagers making a racket in the back of his shop. I’m pretty sure he aged ten years in that first month alone.”

You both laughed, the camera kept rolling, but for a moment, it didn’t even feel like it was there.

As Vi continued talking about the process of creating the album—how the songs and lyrics meant so much to all of you—your mind began to wander. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful she looked, sitting there comfortably, her voice steady and confident as she spoke to the camera. The black hair dye had almost completely faded from her hair, leaving the natural pink vibrant and bright against her skin. Her hair had grown out a bit, just enough that it curled slightly at the ends, and you found yourself fighting the urge to reach out and drag your fingers through those soft, messy locks.

Your eyes traced the freckles scattered across her cheeks, the way they bridged her nose, delicate and familiar. And her eyes—God, her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she was passionate about, like the music, like this. It was the kind of sparkle that pulled you in, made you want to listen to her forever, just to keep that light alive.

It was almost like…

Oh.

Oh.

No, no, no, no.

You were not catching feelings. That was impossible. This was supposed to be casual—just fun. You both knew that from the start. So what the fuck were you thinking?

Panic tightened in your chest, a cold, sharp edge to the realization sinking in. You were spiraling, and you barely registered Vi’s voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Hey,” she said, her brows furrowed, concern softening her features. “You good? Do you want to take a break?”

You blinked, trying to pull yourself out of the fog. “Huh? Sorry, what was the question?”

She tilted her head, studying you carefully. “Are you okay? You look kinda out of it.”

Your heart was still racing, but you forced a tight smile. “Yeah, that would be great.” You stood up from the couch, barely meeting her eyes as you made a beeline for the bathroom.

Once inside, you shut the door behind you and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping its edges like it could anchor you to reality. Your reflection stared back, wide-eyed and flushed, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

This is NOT happening. You mentally shouted at yourself, trying to shake the feeling off. *You’ve known her for years. The moment you start sleeping with her is the moment you catch feelings? Seriously?*

You turned on the tap, splashing cold water onto your face, hoping the chill would snap you out of it, wash away the thoughts clinging to your mind. But as the water dripped from your chin, pooling at the edges of the sink, the tightness in your chest remained.

Staring at your reflection, you whispered under your breath, “Get it together.”

But no matter how many times you repeated it, the weight of what you were feeling didn’t budge.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping out of the bathroom. The moment you did, you saw Vi in the living room, methodically packing up the filming equipment. The casual ease with which she moved, like this was just another normal day, only made the knot in your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice sounding steadier than you felt.

Vi glanced up, pausing as she turned off the camera. “I think we’ve got enough material for today—maybe even the whole video,” she said, her tone light but tinged with something softer, more careful. “I can see you’re tired. I’ll come over tomorrow, and we can go through the footage, see what we can use. For now, you should rest.”

Her words were simple, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips wasn’t. It wasn’t just the usual smirk or playful grin—it was something else. Genuine concern. And that look … it hit you like a sucker punch.

Because all you could think about was how easy it would be to want this every day. To have her not just in fleeting moments, not just in casual touches or hurried nights. But fully. Completely. The idea burrowed itself deeper into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like vines.

“Yeah,” you forced out, your voice quieter than before. “That sounds good.”

Vi gave you one last glance, like she wanted to say something more, but instead, she just nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder before heading for the door. The soft click of it shutting behind her echoed louder than it should have.

And then it was just you. Alone.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty room, expecting some sense of relief to wash over you. But it didn’t. If anything, the silence made it worse.

You should’ve been able to crash the moment she left, but sleep was the last thing your body wanted. You were confused, frustrated—mad at yourself, mad at her, for making you feel this way. Your body felt heavy, physically exhausted, but your mind was running on overdrive, replaying every glance, every touch, every word she’d said.

You sank onto the couch, rubbing your hands over your face.

You’d told yourself from the start—this was supposed to be casual.Just a way to blow off steam, nothing more. But somewhere along the way, those lines had blurred, and now you didn’t know how to pull yourself back from the edge.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter ten

taglist: @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @vaebear @wicked-laugh @baylegend6 @nomarksonelegance @antobooh @80saturn

[lethalchiralium]

Happiness [27]

Indigo. 4.8k. You're just trying to get a grip on reality, drowning in your mind with only yourself to save you. That is until a friend throws a life jacket, all while ignoring Simon as he flails too.

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The sheet and blanket were almost too hot for you as you rolled around in Mellie’s nursery, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. An old quilt from your aunt covered you, the pillow from your bed soft against your pounding head. 

You had yelled at Simon. You’ve never yelled at Simon. Never wanted to, never thought you had to - but it had been done. The worst part of it was thinking that it could have helped, but looking at his hurt expression only made you feel worse. 

You haven’t seen him since. Soap brought your dinner up to the temporary bed you fashioned, next to Mellie’s crib. Mellie’s little hand still poked out in your direction between the slats, even though she had fallen asleep hours ago. You’d spent a while just holding it between your fingers as a way to ground yourself. You were home, standing guard at the window they got into the house initially, just like you had the first few nights you had come home a month earlier. You almost rebroke your fingers when you slammed it closed, and kept hitting it until Price pulled you away. He was the only person who could. You would hit anyone who got close and crumble when your daughters were in sight. A wounded and rabid woman.

You were somewhat thankful the nightmares didn’t start until right before Mellie’s birthday. The small blessing left enough time to get her readjusted as best you could, enough time for your hands to lose the casts and stitches. It wasn’t long enough for you to push the swarm of howling monsters in your head. You were drowning with no lighthouse in sight. Sleep evaded you, a fickle friend that lured you in with promises of safety and comfort, only to wake up shrieking and having to be restrained before you redecorate the room with your blood. 

Forced separation was said to be good, give both of you some time to cool off and recuperate. Simon asleep in your bed, you laid on the nursery floor, unable to doze or relax. 

You kissed Mellie’s baby fingers. She snored in response as you raised to your feet and wrapped your blanket tightly around yourself. Finding sleep was not as feasible as you wanted it to be, so escaping to the snow outside felt like a new freedom. A new view through your broken lens. You took a deep breath as you entered the hallway, your gaze ended up on your bedroom door - it was shut, no outline of light underneath. Simon was asleep. A sigh escaped you and you sucked in another breath, attempting to follow your therapist’s advice. You descended the staircase while thinking of things that calm you.

The fish in your therapist’s office was a gentle thought, the blue light and shimmering scales as bubbles floated to the top. A distraction, one you used often to ignore topics you couldn’t speak on. You tried to envision the moonlight on your living room floor as the water, the shadows that danced as the fish, and you were the bubbles that led to the surface - outside.

The garden door creaked as you pushed it open, he only glanced at you before he tapped his cigar on the side of the ash tray and looked back at his phone.

“What’re you doin’ awake?”

The suffocating presence that was John Price made you shrink for just a moment, just as you slid by him to sit in the empty porch chair on the other side of the table. “I didn’t…I just wanna go outside for a second.”

Price glanced at you before he sighed and tucked his phone back into his coat. You were sure he was about to take you back upstairs but he moved the cigar back to his lips, his muscles as taut as stone.

“Heard your spat earlier.”

Constellations hung like garland above your heads. You only looked up at them for a moment. Grey clouds dotted the atmosphere, almost as dense as the fog in your head. The therapist - Marli, you think - says it’s normal. Post traumatic stress disorder comes in all sorts of ways. You can go through Monday with a smile and be completely normal; Tuesday, you’re locked in your closet and going through panic attacks, one right after the other. You had remarked that it was more like going from the slow to the fast lane in free for all traffic, everything passing by in colorful blurs. 

“Sorry.”

A tap to the ashtray and a chuckle that sounded more like a soft roar. Price murmured, “Don’t be. The boy needed a smack on the head and you needed to let some of that anger go.”

“I know.”

It’s all you know, truly. Empty images outlined with hazy feelings rot your brain until they develop into high resolution replays of every moment you spent in the basement. Routine was key - you washed your face to keep yourself awake, held Mellie every time they entered the basement, and quietly pulled at the loose bookshelf until it popped out, your only salvation. Routine kept you sane then, Simon’s voice guided you with knowledge he’d taught you long ago, and fear ran rampant like a rat in a cage. At least it felt more free than you do in your own house, your birdcage made of brick and mortar. Three operators worked in your basement to uncover the rest of Lloyd’s operation and God knows what else, meanwhile they assisted Simon in taking care of you. In the shadows loomed four guard dogs, jaws snapping and hackles raised but their bellies still shown to you.

“John?”

“Yes?”

Your thumb rolled your wedding ring around your ring finger, the (gold/silver) diamond ring spun several rotations as your eyes settled on the English Oak tree. Gaz had been practicing his throwing knives earlier before he got scolded by Simon. You didn’t care much, just rolled over on the couch and pretended you couldn’t hear him. You thanked your lucky stars he didn’t sound like Lloyd, but out of the corner of your eye, he might as well be his father’s spitting image.

Fuck him. Fuck him, fuck them, fuck everything.

“Lloyd’s dead, right?”

There was a moment of silence, but you could see the man beside you nod.  “Yes, he is. He’s long gone.”

“And none of his shitheads are alive?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Okay.” 

“I’ve got ya, Missus, we’ve got ya.” John turned his head, shouting, “I’ve got her!”

There was rushed Spanish from above, your eyes focused on the gray clouds above you once more. An inkling inside you wondered what they would feel like; nothing? Or little pin pricks against your skin? Maybe like the snow you’ve laid in for who knows how long. 

“Melody, Melody…”

Something warm was wrapped around your front, reeking of pungent cigar smoke, and you just wanted to fall away from it. The warmth felt like fire, a thousand needles into your freezing body, even as you try to embrace it. The crystalline tears that map your cheeks fall into the snow below, your eyes focusing on your husband’s friend, your children’s godfather. His face contorted into panic, something you felt was rare for the captain. He spoke into a radio - you couldn’t make it out over the sound of your pounding head. 

Only your daughter’s name came from you, Price’s face escaped your vision as your eyes rolled back to the sky again, watching something float above you. 

You don’t pretend you could keep your consciousness, even as Price kept yelling at you to stay awake. Even as you felt clawing hands at your chest, your head, your hands - you blinked again and it wasn’t Price above you, but Lloyd. His bludgeoned face fading in and out, going from the lifeless look to the enraged one he had the night before you escaped.

You shook the memory away, your neck creaked in defiance. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“And I’d say that’s okay, given the circumstances.”

“I yelled at Simon.” 

The ashtray clinked against the table as Price settled his cigar on it. “And he deserved it. Simon can handle a lot more than you may think.”

“That may be true, but that still doesn’t mean I enjoy hurting him.” The few ornaments that hung from the fence glimmered from the moonlight, little dots pranced around on the snow like ballet dancers - delicate and slow-moving like you. The wind whistled, your eyes followed the dance as your stomach tensed, then your chest cracked open, your feelings and heart spilling,  “It makes me sick to look at him, his…his face, it’s…”

“You gave him a few good shiners.”

“He looks so much like Lloyd and I can’t- I can’t get myself under control and understand that he’s dead. He’s dead and I- and Simon would never do that to me. He would never. I know he wouldn’t, I know he couldn’t, but I still look at his face and I…” The words almost turned to ash on your lips, and only a whisper followed, “I think I’m scared of him.”

“I could lie to you and say that it’ll go away, but it won’t. It’ll morph into somethin’ else, sure, but what happened to you…it stays forever. You’ll be afraid, for now, but you’ll persevere. We’ve seen you do it before. And it’ll be rough this time. There’s nothing like your abuser’s face being so close to you all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“Imagine how Simon must feel to wear both his and your abuser’s face.” John hummed for just a moment, a slow drag of his cigar as the chair clicked when he pushed back. “Give him some grace, Missus, but do not give him more than an inch. Your bleeding wounds matter more now than his healed ones.”

A friend, lending a hand or extending a branch with growing olives. His resolve to save your family and protect it almost felt like your own was fierce, like gnashing teeth and growls heard from miles away. Yet, he was the other side of the coin. While you laid your neck bare to protect your family, he fought with every tooth and nail he had, just like Simon. A friend. A confidant. Family. His right hand man, and now yours.

“Would it…” The tears on your face felt bitter, now that you tuned back into your body. The tingling in your nose, the pounding in your head, the weakness in your voice, “Would it be bad if I asked him to wear the mask?”

“Couldn’t hurt you.”

“Mellie’s…Mellie’s scared of it, but I…”

“Need it?”

A tremor in your bleeding heart and a sigh as you now found yourself staring at your hands. Rough, leather-like, raw with dark pink lines that covered your knuckles like a drawing. A sick, beautiful sketch. “Yeah.”

“Just tell him.”

“I can’t.”

John rustled in his chair, the smell of sweet tobacco hit your nose. “So you shouted. So what? You hurt his feelings, you lashed out, and you’re upset about it. He’s not going to ignore you for having feelings for once.”

Excuse me? Your head whipped up, cracking from the sudden movement as you met John’s eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

He huffed a chuckle through his nose, the smoke from the cigar reaching for the stars. “I mean that you are docile, at best. You coddle yourself and your husband because you don’t like to be angry. It’s an ugly monster and I’m sure you’ve experienced someone’s anger towards you before, right? Your mum? Dad?”

Your face heated with embarrassment as you realized you sometimes forgot his rank. A captain, a man who can dissect humans down to their very soul with one glance, and use it against them if need be. The dagger pointed straight into your pupil, ready to slice the delicate membrane to dissect everything in your brain.

“And you didn’t want that for your kids, so all you do is put your husband on a pedestal and be a docile little plaything because you don’t want your children to be exposed to those ugly emotions like you were. Am I close?”

You didn’t answer, your tear-filled stare was the only response. 

“Thought so.” He leaned forwards onto his knees,  “Missus, there’s great benefits in communication. You and Simon have your marriage worked out well, but the situation has changed. You have changed, Simon has not. Whatever happened in that cabin has killed a part of you.”

“John-“

“I can see it. You’re like a caged animal in that head of yours, and you have no emotional outlet. A couple mom friends, you haven’t spoken to your parents since before Mellie was even a thought-” How the fuck- “Hell, you barely even speak to your brothers.” 

A flame of rage ignited in your ribcage, your own teeth gnashed as you snarled, “That's an invasion of privacy!”

John’s look was firm, unwavering and harsh. Almost as if he was reducing you with his gaze, the blaze began to shrink. “No, I’m profiling and protecting you. You’ve isolated yourself and refuse to show any negative emotion because you don’t believe you have them. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not about to coddle you like they do. Answer the question.”

Knife pressed, slicing layers into your brain. Methodical. Deliberate. He’s a friend with an iron grip that broke the olive branch, he’s a mad man in a war hero’s body.

“Yes.”

“As much as you hate it, take it out on Simon. He can handle it.” Another drag, the smoke dissipated quickly. Your eyes met the garden door to see if there was any unwanted attention, but there was no shadow, no Winnie coming to ask for a glass of water. Alone with your friend, the man dissecting your life with a single train of thought. “I’m not sure he would ever think less of you. We sure as hell don’t.”

“You might after my session on Thursday.”

Out of the corner of your eye, John’s face steeled. “And what does that mean?”

Healing knuckles tightened. “I’m telling my therapist what happened. Again.”

“And you think I’m going to give it to Simon to read.”

“No, I…” The tears on your waterline spilled again - quick, almost as if they were never there. “Yes.” Don’t lie and pretend everything’s okay to the man who saved your life. He saw what you had done. “I don’t want anyone to read it and think less of me.”

“Missus, do you know what we do for a living?”

“No.”

“We- Are you serious?”

“Simon doesn’t tell me anything about it. I know better than to ask.”

He paused, your eyes moved to your hands again. Keep going back to things that ground you like the fish tank in Marli’s office. The pink lines on your hands, the pain in them, the disgust you feel when you remember beating Lloyd and smiling. You killed a man and smiled, and you are trying everything to stop it from eating you alive. John continued, “Do you think I’m a good man?”

“Yes, I do.” You have never been given a reason not to.

“Do you think Simon’s a good man? Gaz? Soap? Alejandro? Rudy?”

“Yes.”

“We kill people for a living.”

“Isn’t that just the military anyway?”

“No. We are Special Forces. We kill multiple people every mission. Folks who had families, lives outside of their work, but we still killed them. We kill mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, all in the name of world peace. But we also kill purple that the government just has a plain ol’ distaste for.” Fish tank, pink scars, pain, fear, terror, nausea - fuck, your eyes screwed shut as you squeezed your hands. “You killed your father-in-law. So what? You protected your child from being bloody trafficked, and you thought we’d think less of you? Come off it. The man deserved what came to him,  and you deserved to kill that man-”

Defend yourself. Fear, terror, nausea. Fish tank. Ornaments. Scars. Anger, hatred, terrified, even as you cried now, you still mourn the loss of life that was dealt by your broken hands. “He was still a human being, even if he-”

“The man who took you and your daughter away from your husband was a virus, a disease, and he needed to be put down.”

Your attacker needed to be put down, but you still killed someone.

“I’m not…I’m not you. I can’t…He was still alive. He hurt me and-and was a bad man but he was still alive.” A rough gasp came from you, the tears felt like the shield and cross you couldn’t help but bear. “But he deserved it. Deserved everything I gave him for-for trying to take my babies away from me. And I’m a bad person for liking being the person who killed him.” Roughly, you clawed at your eyes and ripped the feelings away before you placed your hands in your lap again. 

His chair creaked, but you couldn’t look away from your hands and the imaginary blood that covered them. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re not bad. You’re traumatized, injured, and paranoid because of what you experienced at his hand.” You’re not like him, your friend. You’re not like Simon, even though you had thought you understood so many parts of him. You don’t understand the praise, the fear, the truth. “I’m proud of you for killing him. You protected your family. You took away your family’s abuser.”

“Attacker.”

“Sorry, attacker.” Silence fell like bird wings, the wind whispered against your cheek and shivering was your only option now. John cleared his throat, the ashtray clinked again. “I know you’re upset at my decision with keeping Simon away until you were safe, but it was to protect you. Simon’s… Simon isn’t your husband behind the mask.”

“Yes, he is.”

John’s lips pressed into a thin line, your gaze turned down to your hands that ached like no tomorrow. Pink scars, jagged fingernails. “It couldn’t hurt to ask him to wear the mask, and he might for your comfort, but don’t expect him to be normal.” Silvery scars covered yours as John patted your hand with his own, and it wasn’t lost on you the way his voice softened and cracked, “He was once Lloyd’s prey too.”

•••

“Hey, you need anythin’?”

Simon’s voice scared you, your head darted up from the book in your lap. His head was poked into the room, a hand on the door, and he looked tired. “Yeah. Can you…come in here?” 

You closed your book and placed it on the little table next to the rocking chair as he shuffled in and sat in front of you. Your eyes glanced towards the slightly open nursery door and your shoulders slowly declined. Escape was directly in front of you, the baby in her crib and it’s a quick grab if you need to-

No. No, stop it, it’s Simon, he’s Simon. 

Pressure began to build on your throat, dryness raked its claws too and you suddenly found it hard to meet your husband’s eyes. The hot splash of shame in your body made your eyes dart down to your hands that sat limply in your lap. Shame because you couldn’t understand your feelings, because everything you have told Simon caused him pain. Shame because this was the one thing you thought you could never ask.

“Can you wear the mask for me?”

His breathing faltered for just a moment, and if you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t have noticed. In your peripheral vision, his hands were settled at his sides, but had curled into fists. It was then that shame reared its ugly head and fear roared loudly. What was he going to do? He wouldn’t hit you, but how do you know? How do you know that you can trust yourself with Simon anymore? That he won’t hurt you like Lloyd did?

Your eyes flickered to his fist, the balaclava bulked the side of his sweatpants. The one with the print, you hoped. Skull plates tend to be awkward when shoved into pockets, don’t they? Does it get hot when he wears it? Is it itchy? Has to be when he has his beard. He shaved it before he left, before you were taken, before you were-

“Why?”

The way his voice strained made your stomach instantly squeeze. Red alert, alarms screamed in your head, you had overstepped. You’ve done it before, but…he could do so many things to you if he wanted. 

“I’m- I’m scared.”

He could be just like Lloyd, he could grab you by the throat here and take every ounce of trust you have in him and destroy it. He could be a monster too. He was a monster, and you knew it this whole time. You just refused to believe that Simon could hurt anyone.

The fist that squeezed against his side grew whiter every second. It wasn’t purposeful, the way you moved back, away from your husband and the possibility of what pain could be created by his hand. Gone were the nights you let him touch every inch of you without fear, gone were the days you could be jumpscared by your husband without fearing that he’d hurt you. He’s killed so many people, but his list of enemies was still longer than the whole length of Manchester. He was other people’s nightmares and once your favorite daydream, and now you sit here in front of him, praying he wouldn’t lay a hand on you too.

“I can’t.”

Even if his hand did not move, your heart was still ripped out of your chest. Your teary eyes darted up to his face, his piercing eyes drilling holes into yours. Tears escaped quickly, your own hands baffled at your sides. “Why not?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

Monster. He was a monster and he stood in front of you like a well trained dog - Simon and Ghost bled into one being instead of their strict divide. Panic began to bubble in your chest, shame screamed as fear cried. 

Your husband growled through gritted teeth, “Because I will not let you hide from me too. Do you understand?”

The sob that left your throat was like a prisoner escaping, unwanted and quiet. You could do nothing more than hang your head, your hand pressed against your mouth as you tried your best to stay afloat next to your screaming emotions. Even if Simon Riley, a man you truly believed was good, wasn’t a monster before, the way he just broke your heart made you afraid of the dark. 

•••

No one had seen him all day, but he knew you could hear him. He was cleaning the bedroom, folding laundry he hadn’t had the chance to. You’re upset and it’s his own fault, but shame was a powerful feeling. The mask sat heavy in his pocket as he zipped up Mellie’s onesies, folded them, and placed them into her laundry basket. He’d have to go back in soon but he wasn’t sure he could face your sobs again. His heart squeezed in agony with every beat, his own tears silent as they fell onto every piece of clothing. 

He wanted to put his hand through the wall. He wanted to scream, bring his father back to life and kill him again; he wanted everything to go back to normal where the monster was still in the shadows and all he was to you was a husband. Your Simon. He didn’t miss the fear in your eye, in your body, when he came close to you. It was like a neon sign flashing above you. But he didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know how to show you that he would never lay a hand on you, or the kids.  That he would never raise his voice to control you. The only thing that kept you calm was your baby, and Price, the ever-calming figure and leader. In some way, Simon was jealous, and angry that John could easily talk you down, but he also understood. You knew he was the one who rescued you, it created some strong bond, just like the one he has with his captain. A savior with a bad smoking habit, one who had an affinity to talking down scared Rileys. 

He nearly folded another sweatshirt of yours from the basket. You’d only been wearing comfortable clothes, stuff easy to get in and out of because of your back. The doctor said you’d bruised your ribs and pulled a few muscles during your tumble down the cliffside. It was hard enough trying to get you to stop carrying Mellie around, so he wasn’t going to fight you on wearing warmer things like sweatpants or a thicker sweater. There were so many cogs turning in his head, panic and anger buzzing in his fingertips. There was too much to do. Laundry, bathe you, pick Winnie up, grab groceries, ask John when he’s able to beat the shit out of the lackeys they captured in the cabin where they held you. They had good hits to their heads, he’d seen the pictures - they were still knocked out cold by the time Rudy had apprehended them. He had praised you endlessly for it, fighting just how he told you to. Dirty and as fast as you could. But he still couldn’t get the look of your face out of his head, the way you cowered in fear every time he was even in the room. Simon was well aware of how much he looked like his father from a distance, but he looked so much like his mother up close. The softness of his face in the places it counted - cheeks, smile, eyes, even the myriad of scars on his face changed the way he looked.

It didn’t matter. He can’t change the darkness that has you trapped.

In a way, he has you trapped. The thought almost made him throw up on your jumper. 

Yet, there’s an insatiable need to understand what happened. To pry open your head and watch your memories like a movie, understand why you decided to fight Lloyd instead of running, why you didn’t take a gun from the table near the door in the cabin, why you refuse to be left alone without Mellie. As much as it would destroy him, it would still help you. It would tailor his drive to help you and the baby. 

Simon also wanted to know exactly what his father did to you in the cabin. The nitty gritty details. The withering bruises and the mental wounds you refuse to speak on. He just wanted to understand, but he also didn’t. He didn’t want to know if…if the worst happened. Destroying the house would be too hard to resist. A rampage wouldn’t be enough, he needed everyone responsible to be killed by his own two hands. Pressure beneath Ghost’s fingertips, the feeling of hard bone and pulsating arteries as he ripped jaws out of socket or twisted a neck so violently that the whole base could hear. And if something had happened to Mellie, the entirety of the Russian Mafia would be up in flames by the end of the week. 

Can you wear the mask for me?

He rested your jumper on your stack of clothes, his thumb brushed against your university’s logo. You were still working on your degree, you were watching every sports game and cheering like you were in the arena, the last time Simon was home before you were taken from him, ripped from the sanctuary he so carefully built. Sanctity of his home was sacred to him, a little corner of Manchester he made his own, somewhere he could hide and protect his family. Ruins lay tainted in his hands by the one person he hated the most. 

The report was long, as to be expected with a spouse and child of his rank being kidnapped. They got a barely intelligible recollection of the events from you, but all he could hear was you repeating, “Nothing happened. Nothing like that.” in a shaky voice. Your husband hasn’t heard you lie before, but you were lying then. He knew you and it tore him apart to hear you cry in that recording, and to hear you cry now. 

You would never ask me to do that for you if nothing happened in that cabin.

Simon wiped the tears from his face with a rough hand and stood, pocketed his phone and left the laundry on the bed. Winnie would be done with school soon, he needed to get groceries, but all he wanted to do was curl around his girls and keep them safe in his arms. 

As he passed the nursery, he paused as he heard you softly talking to Mellie. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the door, let alone knock. He kept walking. 

[fairestwriting]

headcannons about idia who’s head over heels in love with yuu ever since the orientation ceremony (he’s such a dork your honor)

Of course they get closer over time as the story progresses ^~^

also I just wanted to say your works r so cute and unique along with how you write them!! You truly do capture the essence of the characters even when the stories r pretty short or even just simply headcannons lol <3

wahh thank you sm 🥹 i really love the characters and writing them in situations…. it makes me happy to hear people think im portraying them well

𐙚 Idia Shroud

It’s not like he’s never had a crush on anyone before, he’d usually recognize the feeling pretty quickly even. But, that pretty much instant feeling of being drawn to this one specific stranger in the crowd, that’s definitely something new. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fixated on you right off the bat, flustered like you’re not multiple feet apart and don’t even know each other’s names. Idia’s heart races even more, being almost too late to realize he was staring at you before you glance towards him. Sure, you’re a cute stranger, but that sort of “crush at first sight” thing only belongs in cheesy dating sims and such, as far as Idia knows.

”Aah, that’s it, this school finally made me lose my mind”, he thinks, once at the ceremony, then again when your face shows up in his thoughts later. He hadn’t even heard you speak, and yet… He finds himself overthinking every bit of that non-interaction, one half of his mind firmly telling him that he’s being a weirdo for doing that at all, near completely drowned out by his worries over whether you caught him staring at you like an idiot. If this was really a crush, and not a really weird case of crossed wires, he’s probably already ruined everything for himself, right? Not that he’d have a chance otherwise—

He almost manages to get over the whole thing when the stars decide to align to laugh at him, and you two end up talking. What exactly led up to it? If you asked him how, he’d hinestly have trouble remembering. Did you end up visiting his dorm, maybe even joining his club? Did you two run into each other in the halls, anime meet-cute style? You introduced yourself, and he somehow managed to respond appropriately. Maybe he was on his phone, looking at something related to a game he likes, and you just so happened to play it too…

And it’s a known fact that the one thing that’ll get Idia to forget his own anxiety for a moment, is being prompted to talk about his interests— Whatever it was that you brought up became the thing that miraculously tied you two together. You end up exchanging contact information, both too invested in feeding each other’s excitement for a second.

…Then, after you walk away from each other, it hits Idia that he has your contact information. Looking back on it, he feels like that must have been insanely lucky of him. Probably months worth of dream cards pulled from limited banners. At this point, there’s no way to deny his feelings to himself, incomprehensible as they might feel. Maybe he could dare to think he has a chance, considering you two have an interest in common… And it’s always much easier for him to talk to people over text.

That’d be getting ahead of himself, though, he thinks, the debate heavy in his mind as he proofreads his text asking if you want to play that game with him anytime soon. He covers his own eyes when he hits send, his hands feeling shaky down to the fingertips. You could send the most unremarkably polite response, he’s still going all crazy over it, even alarming Ortho with the noise he makes when he almost falls off his chair.

You play together, somehow it turns into a routine thing. You start exchanging texts, greeting each other in the halls. Idia has no idea how life just dropped that on his lap, even though he starts to feel more comfortable around you, it’s always still a little surreal. There’s always that persistent fear that he’s going to ruin everything somehow, but as much as his lower moods make him want to withdraw, he never goes through with it, a text from you arriving just in time to snap him out of the trance— Really, you must be magic, or something. So much that even if it all turned out to be a spell, he doesn’t think he’d even mind it.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

���Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

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@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @impala-dreamer

[ekingston]

the gay fanfic problem: he sees him. For a moment i thought it was going to be about the lack of 'she sees her'. But no. Typical.

you said that there's good ways to work around the 'actual' problem he mentions, and now that you've mentioned it, i don't think i've ever been confused reading your fics who's doing what! Do you have any tips or advice you could share :)?

xxx adoring reader and wannabe writer

GRAND, EXCELLENT compliment for a writer who adores not only sapphic love scenes (of which I agree there SHOULD be more) but also group dialogue and very, very long sentences. I'm going to be insufferable about this one for DAYS.

And speaking of being insufferable: I do have tips! As always, grain of salt, etc. I may know the rules but I really enjoy breaking them, and I'm sure I've done it in ways that have annoyed some readers.

Which makes for a decent segue to my first (and most important) tip: don’t be afraid to annoy your readers. Fanfiction is one of the least filtered forms of media. No one can keep us from writing (and, thanks to AO3’s user policies, sharing) whatever we want, however we want. We should take that seriously! If sprinkling your work with sparkly descriptors like ‘the ravenette’ makes you happy, you absolutely need to keep doing that! Also, let’s face it—if you share your work online, somebody at some point is not going to like it. You can’t appeal to everyone. Trying to is just going to suck every bit of joy out of this whole endeavour and ultimately burn you out. JUST WRITE IT THE WAY YOU WANT TO.

That being said, you asked for practical tips. I put them below the cut. Because I can never keep anything short, apparently.

1. When in doubt, just use your characters’ names. Even when you feel you’re overdoing it. You’d be surprised by how easily names blend into the background. My fics are full of instances where I use the same character’s name seven hundred times to make it clear who I’m talking about. You just didn’t notice! (Unfortunately you’re probably going to start to, now that I've pointed it out.)

2. This is an actual rule: pronouns (tend to) refer to the most recently mentioned character or noun.

This is why, instead of having to write

Lena winks at Kara. Kara blushes. Kara knocks over three glasses when Kara stares too long at Lena’s neckline

we can write

Lena winks at Kara. She blushes. She also knocks over three glasses while staring at Lena’s neckline

without making our readers wonder who we’re referring to. So that’s how I personally roll, unless:

an action requires emphasis;

it flows better with the rhythm of my prose;

I’ve started another paragraph, and there are multiple characters using the same pronouns in the scene;

there’s only one character in this scene, but I just realized I haven't said their name for, like, the third paragraph in a row.

3. Phrasing! There’s about a million different ways to structure a sentence or paragraph. Knowing how to shuffle words around is a skill that comes in particularly handy when two or more characters using the same pronouns are involved and you feel you’re drowning in a sea of ‘she’s.

Kara blushes when Lena winks at her. She also knocks over three glasses, staring hard at Lena’s neckline.

4. Strengthen your characters’ voices, mannerisms, moods and motivations.

If you know your characters well and you’ve done the work to make sure your readers know them too, we should be able to tell which one of them you’re talking about when describing a scene.

__ winks at __, smiling—pleased with herself—when __ blushes and promptly knocks over three glasses, her eyes glued to the neckline of __’s dress.

If you’ve sufficiently established their dynamic, your reader should be able to tell who is doing what from the context you created. This is also where writing a very close third person POV kind of feels like a cheat code: when your narrator's voice is the same as your main character’s, your reader will start unconsciously assuming you’re referring to your main character when you’re not specifying otherwise.

When you keep the above in mind, navigating additional characters is like learning how to braid with four, five, six etc. strands, it just gets easier every time, and things like

Lena looks at Kara. Nia sighs. Kara and Lena both look worried. Nia knows Kara still isn’t sure about Nia’s plan, and Lena doesn’t trust Nia’s instincts either. Nia can’t blame them. She is new to their world, and Kara and Lena haven’t had a chance to get to know Nia yet. “Please,” Nia says. She just needs a chance to prove to Lena and Kara that her instincts are usually correct.

can become

Nia huffs when Lena and Kara share a worried glance. “Please,” she insists, growing more agitated with every second that ticks by. She knows she hasn’t earned their trust yet. She knows she can’t count on Lena to come to her aid the way she would if this was her world. But she’s not going to change that by letting them call all of the shots. She needs this win, needs to help, needs to prove to them that her ‘instincts’ are—at least usually—correct.

A final note regarding descriptive nouns:

The reason I personally dislike when writers refer to characters by their hair color or job title is that it makes their characters sound like complete strangers to each other. In my opinion, Maura wouldn’t kiss the detective unless it’s an AU where they’ve just met during a kiss-in protest and Jane is a nameless woman with a badge. And if you’re making Lena shiver at the touch of the older woman’s hand, I’m picturing gray hair & the last person I’m going to think you’re referring to is Kara. Queen Rhea maybe, after the mask has come off and you’ve established that Lena feels she can no longer refer to her former business partner by the name she gave her because it too was likely a lie.

Anyway: unless it’s done as a gimmick or a joke (humor would be, like, its own entire book compared to the chapter that is this ask response), I personally use descriptive nouns only when they specify a relationship & come with a possessive adjective, like 'her sister', 'her girlfriend', 'her assistant'. These emphasize connection rather than alienation, which is what I feel happens when neutral terms are used to avoid referring to characters we're supposed to know by name.

FYI, did you know it used to be extremely common for femslash (F/F fanfiction, for those of you who never owned a walkman) to be written in second person POV, avoiding this issue entirely? The fact that these days it’s used almost exclusively for the self-insert genre is a tragedy. we used to be POETS. I cut my fanfiction teeth on second person POV and it will never not feel like home to me. All of my notes for YMHW were in second person, and I'm surprised some didn’t sneak into the final version.

[alwayzadorbs]

Good afternoon you lovely Ray of sunshine! I absolutely love how you write, and wanted to know if you could write Lucifer with a chubby MC who is insecure about herself. Please and thank you.

Yes, YES I CAN! dont worry shattered, I'm chubby too! hopefully, this can make us feel a bit more comfy in our own skin :D. you're beautiful no matter how you look! And Lucifer agrees :>

Rating: Fluff (A smut version is in the works.)

Let's be clear, Lucifer doesn't care how you look. He's Not some lowly demon that judges other people(or demons) for something as shallow as weight. However,, that doesn't mean he can't love every inch of you. So when he opened the door to your room and saw you looking at yourself in the mirror with sadness, he knew he had to do something to help you.

"Mc, why are you worrying about something like that?" He frowned, embracing you in his arms. "You know I'll still love you regardless of your figure, right?"

"I...I know that I can't really explain it. I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin, I suppose." You sighed, going more into depth about your feelings.

"I didn't know that's how you felt, I'm glad you told me. What can I do to make you feel better? or at least, what can I do to comfort you?" He said with a sympathetic tone

"I'm not sure, I don't know if there's anything you can do."

He pulled away from the hug, "Let me Take care of you, sometimes you need to do some self-care" He sat you down, before saying "I'll be right back, stay here." and leaving the room

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

A few minutes later, Lucifer came back in holding a cup of hot liquid, the aroma wafting into the air. It smelled like your favorite tea, He had remembered which one you liked best.

"Here, I thought you could use a cup. You always bring me a cup of tea and remind me to take care of myself, It's your turn now." He smiled, feeling your weight shift, Lucifer sat beside you.

"Thank you, It really helps" You smiled, already feeling a bit happy

"Don't thank me yet, because I'm not done." He laughed "I brought face masks, I confiscated them from Asmo just now."

"Wait, Just now? So you took his face masks, that's what you're saying?" You laughed, setting the cup on your nightstand

"Oh, he won't mind. Let's watch a movie, What do you want to watch?" He said, sitting back down next to you

"Here, I'll put it on, hand me the remote," you said, gesturing for the remote, before a thought crossed your mind "Hey, Lucifer are you gonna wear a face mask too?" you smirked

He sighed, rolling his eyes "I suppose I don't have a choice when you use that tone."

"I was hoping you'd say that!" you laughed

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Later, you found yourself pinned to the bed by Lucifers arm. He was drowning you in snuggles, head resting on your shoulder. you couldn't ask for a better outcome, you were praised and saw Lucifer wearing a face mask, he really did love you.

Enjoy this lovely video I found

[nottivagos]

see, i can flood the inbox but then i worry "oh no.... so many ideas and notti is drowning in happiness." YOU SEE, WE SHARE THE SAME BRAINCELL!! I WAS WORRIED WE DO only because how many ideas we share. I'VE DROPPED THREE IDEAS IN A ROW and also the stalker!carlos, i can't drop more.... at least right now. maybe after you release two writings, i will drop the rockstar!danny, which i am GLAD it's messy because my idea was messy for them; it could be potential for their beginning of their messy affair 👀

COWBOY DANNY but also think about him AND cowboy!carlos fighting for reader's attention 👀 reader is just there, enjoying the show.

-blushing bun anon🐇

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: 🐇ANON, WE NEED TO BRAINSTORM THIS MESSY AFFAIR BECAUSE I NEED IT BIBLICALLY.

“that boyfriend of yours is a right character, isn’t he?” rockstar!danny taunted lightheartedly as you’d just gotten off the phone with your boyfriend. your facial expression was sour— tired, even as you gritted your teeth at his comment.

he was supposed to pick you up 30 minutes ago. hell, he was supposed to be your plus one to this stupid awards ceremony. it was another award you’d accepted without your boyfriend’s support or presence. it was tiring. and now here you were, lounging around the outside of the fancy hotel foyer where the event had been held like an idiot.

“he’s just busy, that’s all,” you muttered with a small huff. you then glanced at the rockstar as he brought a cigarette up to his lips, followed by the faint crackle of his cheap lighter. he took a well-deserved drag with a smug smirk. he revelled in seeing you like this. the pretty popstar princess with her pink panties in a twist.  

“yeah, ‘cause busy means refusing to support his own partner’s career,” he replied with a sarcastic snort and an unamused mutter. 

“he’s just busy with his own career, alright?” you bit back, “we’re both as stressed as each other at the moment.” you hated that danny knew how to get under your skin. it’s like he had you all worked out, how to get on your nerves so easily to the point that you wanted to snap and ruin your career there and then so you could give him a taste of his own medicine. 

sometimes you wished he’d just lose the cocky rockstar persona for two minutes and not be a jerk who underneath the snarky comments and degrading pet names actually cared a lot for you.

“sounds to me like you’re just makin’ excuses so you can pardon his behaviour, pinky.” he said so casually again with another drag of his cigarette. he silently offered you the smoking stick, to which you swatted it away like a bug. “suit yourself, princess,” danny mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders.

you knew he was just trying to be caring. but god, did it annoy you. it didn’t help that the paparazzi were like vultures, as stories had started to flood the headlines that you’d started an affair with the rockstar. unfortunately for you, interviewers had become more persistent with their questions surrounding the matter, and it surely didn’t help that danny’s response when he was asked was, “if we were, why should it fucking matter? if i’m being frank with you, i’d be a better match than that idiot she’s with right now. i mean, missing your girlfriend’s achievements purposefully because you’re too insecure and jealous of her popularity? talk about a maturity issue.”

“yeah, well,” you sighed, resting your back against the brick wall. “it’s not like you’d be any better. especially as you’ve got this reputation for smashing guitars and screaming into a microphone whilst also swearing like a sailor for a living.”

that back-handed comment made danny’s blood boil. the cheek and the audacity was crazy and baffling to him. his jaw tensed slightly, as he silently blew out smoke with a little agitated grunt.

the silence was palpable as cars sped past on the bustling road in front of you. but god, was it satisfying. “what?” you jabbed a little cockier than usual, “didn't like that, did you, danny?” you teased, the anger and annoyance seething from him.

at that moment, something in danny just snapped. his hands came to press against both sides of your head, caging you in as you stood with your back still against the cold brick. your eyes widened slightly at the intensity of danny's body language and the tension between the both of you, breathing hitched as a result.

danny flashed a wolfish grin as he watched you go quiet. “not so cocky now, are you, princess?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “i bet it would be a little bit different if you were screaming my name whilst underneath me, wouldn't it?” his voice dropped an octave lower as his mouth ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning over the burning shell. “maybe i should take you back to my hotel right now and fuck you. that'll teach you not to have any cheek with me, won't it? it's not like that lousy boyfriend of yours is coming any time soon anyways.”

your cheeks burnt a harsh crimson. gulping the lump in your throat, your eyes glued to danny's intense doe brown gaze. heat pooled to your core with excitement at the thought. your insides fluttered with giddiness. it was so wrong, but felt oh so right. if it ever got out, your precious career would be over, but there was just something about it that was intoxicating to the thought.

and that's why you let him take you by your wrist in that moment, before he fucked you stupid in his king size bed in his penthouse hotel room all evening whilst your boyfriend had no clue where you were <3.

like rockstar!danny? fancy sending me an ask in my ask box so you can be added to my notebook! - notti <3

[bradleysass]

Happy Valentines Day from TSoTS James <3 - wc: 1.5k

Regulus wakes up drowning in red.

His first thought is that something is wrong—there’s too much of it, bleeding into every corner of the room. His breath comes slow and shallow, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight flickering along the walls. Roses. Roses everywhere.

Not just scattered petals, not just bouquets. They drape over the furniture, coil around the bedposts like creeping ivy. A grotesque shrine built in his honor. The air is thick with their scent, almost nauseating in its sweetness.

And then he sees James.

Perched at the foot of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with a lazy sort of patience. He looks… content. Like he’s been waiting.

Like he knew this moment would come.

"Good morning, love," James murmurs.

Regulus' throat is dry. He swallows, shifting, only to realize he’s not quite free to move. Silk ribbons, matching the shade of the roses, wind around his wrists, tying him loosely to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt. Just tight enough to remind him that he’s supposed to stay.

His pulse spikes. "James—"

James tilts his head, studying him, unbothered by the sharp edge in Regulus’ voice. "You were tossing in your sleep. I thought you might hurt yourself," he explains, casual, as if this is normal. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

Regulus exhales, slow and measured, biting back the instinct to snap. That never works with James. He only smiles when Regulus fights, delighted by the pushback.

So he shifts tactics. Keeps his voice even. "James, untie me."

James hums, dragging a hand through his hair, disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it all night. "But then you’ll leave," he says, almost pouting. "And it’s Valentine's Day."

The way he says it makes Regulus' skin crawl. Not because James sounds angry—if he were angry, Regulus could handle that. But he isn’t. He’s smiling, warm and affectionate, like a lover presenting a well-thought-out gift.

Regulus tugs at the ribbons, testing them. "You know I hate surprises."

James leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "And you know I hate when you act like you don’t love this."

His fingers ghost over Regulus’ cheek, tracing the curve of his jaw. It’s so soft, so unbearably gentle that Regulus’ breath catches.

James notices. Of course he does. He always notices.

"You’re shaking," James murmurs, dragging the pad of his thumb over Regulus' bottom lip. "Is it fear? Or excitement?"

Regulus doesn’t answer. He can’t. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know anymore.

James leans in, his mouth brushing just beneath his ear. "You can be honest with me," he whispers. "No one worships you like I do. No one knows you like I do."

Regulus presses his lips together, unwilling to give James the satisfaction of a reaction.

James only laughs. "So stubborn." His fingers drift down, ghosting over Regulus' throat, lingering there. "But you stayed, didn't you? You always stay."

Regulus could fight. Could kick him off, rip the ribbons apart, push past him. And yet, he doesn’t move.

James notices everything. The slight tremor in Regulus’ breath, the way his fingers twitch against the silk bindings, the way his eyes dart toward the door before snapping back to him. Regulus isn’t a fool—he’s calculating, measuring the distance, weighing his chances.

James loves that about him. Loves the way Regulus' mind works, the way he’s always trying to stay three steps ahead. But today, there’s no need for strategy. No need for escape.

James has already won.

He moves slowly, deliberately, reaching into his pocket. The flick of a blade opening makes Regulus' breath hitch—but James doesn’t touch him. Instead, he presses the tip of the knife to a single rose lying on the bed between them, slicing through its stem with surgical precision.

The rose crumples, its petals falling apart beneath James’ fingers. He picks up one, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger before pressing it against Regulus' chest. Right over his heart.

“Do you know why I love Valentine's Day so much?” James muses, his voice a slow drawl, lazy but charged. “Because it’s the one day you let me have you without a fight.”

Regulus' jaw tenses. "I never let you have anything."

James smirks. "Then why are you still here?"

Silence.

James lets the weight of the question settle between them, watches as Regulus flicks his gaze away, stubborn, refusing to acknowledge the truth. He’s predictable like that. Beautiful in his defiance.

James drags the knife down, not touching skin, just close enough that Regulus can feel the air shift with it. He trails it along his collarbone, watching for any sign of panic.

There isn’t any.

"See?" James whispers, voice honeyed with devotion. "You're not afraid of me."

Regulus doesn’t answer. But James doesn’t need him to. He can see it—Regulus’ pulse jumping just beneath his jaw, not in fear, but in anticipation.

James smiles, pressing the handle of the knife into Regulus’ open palm.

"Go on," he murmurs. "If you really wanted to, you could stop me right now."

Regulus’ fingers curl around the handle. Tight. Knuckles going white. For a brief, flickering second, James wonders if he will. If he’ll drive it through his ribs just to prove a point.

But he doesn’t.

He never does.

Instead, Regulus drops the knife. It clatters against the sheets, and James watches his fingers flex, like he’s angry with himself for letting go.

James exhales, pleased.

"That’s my boy."

He leans down, brushing his lips over the corner of Regulus’ mouth, barely there. Regulus doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away, but James can feel the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Desire and hatred are the same thing sometimes.

James releases the silk bindings with ease, unwinding them from Regulus' wrists like he’s unwrapping a gift. Regulus stays still, waiting, breath slow and controlled. When James is finished, he leans back, watching him expectantly.

Regulus could leave.

James won’t stop him. He never does.

And yet.

Regulus stays.

Of course, he does.

James smiles like he knew it all along—like he never doubted for a second that Regulus would remain right where he left him, tangled in the scent of roses, the silk ribbons slipping from his wrists like an abandoned promise.

Regulus’ breathing is steady, measured, but James can hear it—that barely-there hitch when he moves, the way his fingers twitch against the sheets like he’s resisting the urge to do something reckless.

It’s intoxicating.

James reaches out, fingers brushing over the inside of Regulus’ wrist, where the faint impression of silk still lingers. A ghost of control, fading too quickly for his liking. Regulus watches him, unreadable, but James knows him too well. Knows how he holds himself too still when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t feeling anything at all.

“You should run,” James murmurs, voice light, teasing. “You should leave while you still can.”

Regulus doesn’t move.

James exhales a soft laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

He leans forward, sliding a hand into Regulus’ hair, tilting his head back just enough to expose his throat. He watches his pulse jump beneath his skin, feels the sharp inhale Regulus takes as he presses his lips just below his jaw.

"You hate me," James whispers against his skin. "Don't you?"

Regulus says nothing.

James drags his teeth down the curve of his throat, just enough to make Regulus tense beneath him. "Say it."

Regulus exhales sharply. "I hate you."

James hums, pleased, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the spot where his teeth had been. "Liar."

His hands trail lower, fingertips tracing the line of Regulus’ ribs, pressing in just enough to make him shiver.

"You hate that you love me," James continues, voice a hushed, reverent thing. "Hate that no one has ever known you like I do."

Regulus clenches his jaw. "You're delusional."

James smiles. "Maybe."

He reaches for the discarded knife, slow and deliberate, watching as Regulus’ gaze flicks to it, tracking his every move. James brings it up between them, twisting it between his fingers.

"Maybe I am," James muses. "But you're still here."

He presses the flat of the blade against Regulus’ palm, letting him feel the cold steel. "So tell me, love," James murmurs, voice dangerously soft. "Are you going to kill me this time?"

Regulus doesn't take it. Doesn't push him away.

James tilts his head. "No?"

He exhales, dragging the knife up the length of Regulus' arm, slow and featherlight, not enough to break skin, just enough to make him aware of it.

"You know," James murmurs, pressing his lips against Regulus' temple, "if you asked me to, I'd let you."

Regulus stays silent, but his fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles going white.

James laughs softly, closing his eyes as he breathes him in.

"You'd miss me too much," James whispers, lips brushing against Regulus' ear. "Wouldn't you?"

Regulus doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t leave, either.

And James knows.

Because James is terrifying.

And James is beautiful.

And no one has ever loved Regulus quite like this.

And no one ever will.

@leeny-leens @plasticfishies @accio-sriracha

[kizuovarius]

Obey Me! But you're breaking up with them

My friend wanted to know what I thought, so I decided to write this. :]

Lucifer- It hurts his ego, but it hurts his heart worse, especially if you've been together long/ it's his fault. To make things worse, he drowns himself in work and doesn't smile as often. It only gets worse when you're in the human realm.

Mammon- At first he acts like it doesn't bother him, maybe he even seems glad, but when you fully move on, he'll beg you to come back and be a crying mess. If anyone else is the reason you left, he'll go as far as to fight them head on. If it was his fault, he drowns himself in more debt until he realizes material value doesn't compare to love, and that he misses your touch.

Levi- He instantly starts self deprecating and saying he knew this would happen, that he's just a horrible Otaku unworthy of love. He won't come out of his room anymore, and will not trust anyone else easily again. There will be at very least a solid month or two after that he doesn't come out of his room, even for the bathroom. He has a stock of food, and uses it.

Satan- This depends. If it was an argument that led to the breakup, he thinks back and dwells on it. If it was violence that pushed you away (especially out of fear), he will probably break down alone in his room, making sure no one sees. The anger turns to sadness and sorrow, even going as far as to turn to Edgar Allen Poe and questioning his existence. Not even pranking Lucifer could make him happy. He misses you endlessly, and writes love letters.

Asmo- Contrary to some belief, Asmo is still attached to all his old lovers unless they have wronged him. But, this is different, this is **you**. So, he starts to get a little cranky, and restless at night. Not sleeping because he can't cuddle you leads to a break out on his skin, which leads to him being even more upset. He buys bottles of your perfume/cologne/shampoo to get your scent again.

Beel- Beel doesn't know why you've broken up with him, and tries to get you food to say sorry. If you refuse, it will be the first time in a very long time that he couldn't finish the food for you. Probably the only time he won't be able to fix his feelings by a distraction. Every time he goes to places you visit, he misses you and thinks to call, before second guessing and talking to Belphie instead.

Belphie- When you tell him he's half asleep, but then looks shocked and sits up pretty quick. He'll ask why and then try to come up with a solution, only to eventually be left. This gets worse when he remembers you're Lilith's descendent, and he knows Lilith left him, too. Talking to Beel is out of the question, he doesn't want to bring his brother down with him no matter how much Beel worries. In doing so, he chooses to sleep it all off. In his dreams, you're still with him.

That's all I got, lmao. Have a good one!

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Could you do reader being super busy on valentines and thinking sweetheart!anakin forgot about it and came home upset just to see the living room decorated with valentines decor and candles then later after they eat the dinner anakin made, they cuddle and watch romcoms and reader tears up from the overwhelming love pretty pleaseeee!!!

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

ANAKIN SKYWALKER doesn’t get the hype. He never has.

All week, the world has been drowning in Valentine’s Day propaganda—tacky heart-shaped balloons, overpriced bouquets, too sweet themed chocolates, desperate men running around last minute to prove their love.

It’s ridiculous. It’s performative.

If you love someone, you should show them that every day. At least that's how he was raised.

If a man really loved his girl, he should show her every single day, every single hour, every minute, every second.

And he did.

In every little thing.

When he woke up before you and made your morning coffee just the way you liked it. When he pulled you against his chest at night, tucking your head beneath his chin because he couldn’t sleep unless you were close. When he kissed your temple absentmindedly while passing behind you in the kitchen. When he memorized every tiny detail about you—the way your lips parted slightly when you focused, the way you always did a little spin when you were happy, the way you got this certain look when you were about to be stubborn.

So no, he didn’t need Valentine’s Day. But… he knew you secretly loved it.

So, here he is—pacing through the dining room, hands on his hips, eyes flicking over every last detail to make sure everything is just perfect. Because if there’s one thing Anakin Skywalker is going to do, it’s make sure you’re loved. Properly. Every damn day.

You weren’t expecting much this year. Anakin has made it very clear how he feels about Valentine’s Day. And honestly? You agreed with him.

You love how he loves you—every day, in a hundred different ways.

The way he never lets you open your own car door. The way he keeps a hand on your back when you walk through a crowd. The way he rubs your feet without you having to ask, even when he’s tired himself. How he drags most of the grocery bags, not wanting you to have the heaviest. How he knows every single little details of your life, in a good way

So no, you don’t need a big Valentine’s Day thing. You have valentine's every day, if you were being honest

So when you step through the front door and see the house bathed in candlelight—warm, flickering red wax dripping from every available surface—your breath caught in your throat, heart stopping working just for a second, eyes widening to make sure you're not dreaming.

“Ani?” you call softly, stepping inside

And then you smell it.

Rich tomato sauce, garlic, fresh basil—your favorite Italian dish. Your favorite.

You follow the scent to the dining room, and—oh.

He’s standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the table like he didn’t just turn your whole world upside down. Warm glow created by the candlelight caught in his golden curls, in the soft blue of his stupidly beautiful eyes.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, yet there’s still, always, something soft behind it.

He pushes off the table, moving towards you with that unfair grace of his, like he’s already got you figured out. Like he knows you’re two seconds from melting.

His hands are warm when they slide over your waist, pulling you in close—chests flush, foreheads nearly touching.

“You know how I feel about today,” he murmurs, and you nod, hands curling over his biceps.

“But.” His nose brushes yours. “You love it.”

Your heart did a flip of shy happiness

“And I love you.”

Oh. Oh.

“I love you every damn day,” he says, and then—finally—he kissed you. Slow, deep, deliberate.

Like he's proving his point.

Anakin pulled back with a grin. “C’mon,” he said, intertwining his fingers with yours and leading you towards the dining table. “Made your favorite.”

Your eyes widened. Sure enough, an entire Italian feast was laid out by candlelight—fresh pasta, warm garlic bread, a bottle of your favorite wine already uncorked.

Your chest burned with love. Tears ready to spill out of your eyes

“You did all this?” you whispered.

“Course I did, baby.”

And when he pulled out your chair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before taking his own seat across from you, you realized—

Maybe he did love you a little extra today.

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[httpsserene]

Mechanic LS18

🧾 the policy states: cuties don’t pay! Letters C & V ❤️

#3k vday celly

🧾 the policy states: cuties don’t pay! — send me a driver and two (2) letters from this nsfw alphabet !!!

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𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭: 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 fem!biack!reader x lance stroll explicit content under the cut.

[ 𝐜𝐮𝐦 ] — where/how do they like to release? can they manage multiple times or do they need a break?

lance likes to risk it; he’ll stay deep inside of you until the very last moment before pulling out and cumming on your chest. it doesn’t matter if he’s fucking you raw—if he’s wearing a condom, he will pull out to tug it off and stroke himself to completion on your pebbled nipples. lance knows that the urge he has to finish on your boobs is probably the textbook definition of a fetish but, at least he doesn’t make you spit or swallow when you give him head—unless you like the way he tastes. the sight of you wiping a finger through his cooling spend on your chest and bringing it to your mouth to suck it clean always succeeds in having him chub up for a second round. however, his next orgasm is nearly dry, his cock only managing to pulse out a pitiful amount of cum—and, he’s going to need a long break before he even thinks about the idea of a third.

[ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 ] — how loud they get | what sounds do they make? do they prefer quieter or louder sex? do they need background noise (music, porn, shows, etc.) ?

lance is closer to being quiet during sex. he’s not a talker, maybe he’ll praise you or moan a few expletives but it’s always done under his breath. a faint, “fuck, you’re so wet,” or a low, “shit, you feel so good.” a lot of his sounds are choked or muffled grunts and groans, noises that bloom deep in his chest but die before they slip from his lips. lance’s sounds are hushed so he can hear your noises better—he’s strongly motivated by your whines of his name and breathless moans. if you want to put music on in the background, he’s fine with it, as long as it’s not loud enough to drown out your cries. there’s been a few times he’s stopped in the middle of sex to turn down the music because he couldn’t hear you clearly.

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.