#but that was always a stretch to begin with

[beloveds-embrace]

The day begins like any other.

You wake up to the soft sound of the morning breeze rustling the curtains, sunlight spilling into the room in gentle golden streams. John is already gone, leaving only the faintest trace of warmth in the bed beside you. It’s no surprise- he’s a man of duty, all of them are, always rising early to tend to matters of the estate. But as you stretch and let out a soft sigh, you have no idea the storm you’re about to stir in his household.

You dress yourself today, in one of the lighter gowns Kyle had set out for you the night before. It’s soft and flowing, another gift from Simon, a delicate ivory fabric that catches the light and makes you glow as if spun from sunlight itself. You think nothing of it- it’s a comfortable gown, one that’s perfect for the warm weather of today. You fix your hair, a few strands left free to frame your face. It’s a simple look, practical even.

But it is enough to absolutely ruin them.

John is the first to catch sight of you.

You find him in his study, poring over letters and documents, glasses perched low on his nose. The moment he looks up, his quill halts mid-stroke, ink dripping onto the parchment below.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches. You don’t see the way his eyes darken as they sweep over you, lingering far longer than they should on the soft curve of your throat, the swell of your breasts just barely visible through the gauzy material of your dress, the delicate shape of your collarbone begging to be kissed.

“… My Duchess,” he greets, voice low and strained.

You smile, unaware of how the simple gesture strikes him like a bolt of lightning straight through his chest. “Good morning, John. I didn’t mean to disturb you- I was just going to the gardens.”

His jaw tightens. God, you’re beautiful. Ethereal. Untouchable, almost, and yet here you are- his wife. His to hold, his to cherish, his to adore. The mere thought of it makes his heart pound painfully in his chest.

You’re so sweetly oblivious, so utterly trusting. You lean over his desk, pointing at one of the letters as you ask about estate matters, and all he can focus on is the faint scent of roses lingering on your skin and the warmth of your breath against his cheek. He aches to pull you into his lap, to ruin that pretty dress and leave you breathless and marked, but-

“My Duchess,” he rasps again, standing abruptly. You blink up at him, startled. “Don’t linger in the sun too long. I shall see you later.” It’s the only warning he can give himself before he brushes past you and leaves the room, his restraint hanging by a thread.

Kyle finds you next, standing in the rose garden with a soft smile as you hum to yourself. You’re radiant, the sunlight catching in your hair and making you glow like some goddess of nature.

He was supposed to be bringing you tea. Instead, he stands there frozen, tray in hand, just watching.

You turn and catch sight of him, greeting him with that bright, lovely smile that never fails to make his heart lurch. “Kyle!”

He clears his throat quickly, straightening his shoulders and bringing the tray over, though he’s painfully aware of the warmth creeping up his neck.

“My lady,” he murmurs, setting the tea down on the garden table and pouring for you. His hands are steady, but his mind isn’t.

He barely hears you as you speak about the roses, about the arrangements for the next gathering. His thoughts are clouded by the way you keep brushing your hair behind your ear, the gentle tilt of your head as you sip your tea, the way your lips press together so sweetly.

You lean forward suddenly, reaching to brush a leaf off his shoulder, and Kyle stiffens. You don’t notice.

“You’re always taking such good care of me, Kyle,” you say softly, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He only nods stiffly, stepping back quickly before he does something utterly improper.

Johnny is the worst of them.

You come into the kitchen around noon, asking him for a small snack to hold you over until dinner since you had a small lunch. He’s elbow-deep in flour and dough, sleeves rolled up and shirt slightly damp with sweat, but the second he sees you standing in the doorway, his brain completely short-circuits.

“Johnny?” you call again softly, stepping in.

He drops the spoon that’d been near, cursing as he scrambles to pick it up and then cursing again because his hands are now dirty. Yet- his eyes keep flicking up to you- how you look so soft and delicate in the kitchen’s golden light, how the dress hugs your figure and makes it so damn hard for him to focus.

You laugh at the sight of him like this, and the sound is like honey poured straight into his veins.

“Sorry, m’lady.” he says, voice rough, but you’re already stepping closer.

“It’s alright.” You reach past him to grab a plate, and he just about groans aloud at the way you brush against him, soft and warm and plush and utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.

“Johnny?” You look up at him, eyes so wide and trusting.

“Yeah?” He barely recognizes his own voice.

“You’re staring.”

He chokes, turning back to wash his hands as quickly as possible. “Sorry, m’lady. I’ll- uh- I’ll make something quick for you, promise.”

You only smile, sitting down at the counter and watching him work. He feels your gaze like a brand, burning into his skin, and he has never been so grateful for the long apron covering the very obvious evidence of his distraction.

And then there’s Simon.

You don’t even realize he’s there, watching you from the shadowed corner of the room as you flip through the books in the library. You hum softly to yourself, trailing your fingers over the spines, your dress shifting with every movement.

Simon feels like a beast barely kept on a leash. He’s gripping the edge of the shelf so tightly his knuckles have gone white, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

He wants you. Needs you.

You tilt your head to read a title, exposing the curve of your neck, and his breath catches. He imagines what it would feel like to press his lips there, to hear you gasp as he holds you close-

And then you turn and spot him.

“Simon!” You smile, moving toward him without hesitation, and he’s utterly undone.

“Hello, darling.” he murmurs, low and strained. Knows that he if lifts his hand to cup your cheek, his fingers would be trembling.

“I was just looking for something to read.” You say, so casually, so obliviously, as if you aren’t standing there looking like every single one of his fantasies come to life.

Simon only nods, forcing himself to step back before he does something he can’t take back.

By the time evening falls, the tension in the house is unbearable.

John’s jaw ticks as he watches you lean over the table, in a private dining room just for them, laughing at something Johnny said. Kyle’s eyes darken when he sees how your fingers brush against Simon’s as you pass him a dish. Johnny keeps flexing his hands as if he’s trying to resist the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap.

They’re all desperate, wound tight, and utterly at their limit.

And you- blissfully unaware- just keep smiling sweetly at them, unknowingly fanning the flames.

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[summertimesadnessirl]

Healing from who's perspective?

Certainly not yours, as it turns out.

Certainly, before the people you tried using the power on were healed, they didn't think so, either.

But now they earnestly go forth and proclaim that everyone must be healed.

You develop the habit of not laying hands on anyone.

You don't answer your phone.

You often here knocking, late at night, but no one is ever at the door, when you check. You had the pipes checked and there's nothing wrong with them. You tried sleeping on the couch, the knocking moved to the bedroom. That's all right. It's only a manifestation. Manifestations cannot harm you. You start wearing earplugs to bed.

Years pass.

Maybe on the other side of the door, everyone is healed now.

Maybe you are the only one left.

It's getting harder and harder to tell from the media you consume.

Maybe that's for the best.

There's still that prophecy you don't understand. If the power of healing turned out to create- those people... those things, you have to remind yourself not to say, over and over...

It's not fair to call them that. They're still people.

They claim they're so much happier now.

But the prophecy about... giving birth to a new era?

Not a chance. Not after you've seen what the power of healing brings.

In a few more years they begin to stop the postal service. You can no longer order things in the mail. Your delivery service for local groceries has always placed things in strange ways, called or texted or knocked even when the delivery was no contact. You rarely order milk or fish, you buy a gripper tool, you stop ordering from the places that sell plastic bags.

It's inconvenient. But it's better than the alternative.

The next year, the power goes out for about a week and a half in winter. You have a lot of candles in storage, you spend a week in the bathtub, huddled there under every blanket you own. You get up every few hours and get one of the solar panels from the windowsill in the kitchen during daylight and use it to run the space heater til the battery runs dry, then repeat.

It's all right..

The last day, the day it's finally over is a quiet one. It has been a long, long time. You lost track of the years, maybe after 6? Has it been that long? Your eyes are different. Your face. Aging, or just lack of direct sunlight? Or the nightmares?

There's no one to impress.

You lie in bed stretched out, enjoying the cool radiating out of the wall leeching into your flesh. It's an unreasonably warm morning. You can hear a bird outside your window. You're relaxed, comfortable, down to the last heartbeat. You know it is the last one.

You are unclear of what the consequences of defying this God are in the afterlife. It's hard to scam dead people, and of course you stopped reading about it after- no. This is your last thought, now.

Let's make it a good one.

Your alarm goes off. There, that's such a nice song, isn't it?

You started a scam religion for a quick buck. You begin to panic when your fake god was actually a real forgotten one awakened from new worshippers, declared you it's high priest, and granted you the power of healing.

[enderlovez]

out on the couch

Spencer Reid x Reader WORD COUNT: 1300+

Summary: You and Spencer have an argument, and in the heat of the moment, he says something pretty hurtful.

Content Warning: arguments, it's winter and cold, hurtful words, guilt

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The argument starts over something stupid. It always does—not to say you fight with Spencer frequently, but when you do, it's always over something ridiculous.

Maybe it's the way he corrected you on something small—some minor detail that really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe it's the way you left your coffee mug on the counter instead of rinsing it out immediately.

You don't even remember the specifics. All you know is that it escalated fast, the frustration mounting between you like a growing storm.

"I don't understand why everything has to be a debate with you!" you snap, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Spencer's jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not debating you. I'm just pointing out that—"

"That I'm wrong?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended it to be.

"No, I—" He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You're twisting my words again, Y/N. You always do this."

That does it. His tone is clipped, dismissive, and it slices through you like a hot knife. Your chest tightens to the point of pain as you glare at him, trying to hold back the sting of tears.

"Right," you say bitterly, your voice trembling. "I'm impossible to deal with, aren't I? That's what you're thinking."

It's cruel of you to say. Even in the moment, you know it's wrong. Spencer's eyes flash with irritation, and before you can take back the words, he says the one thing he shouldn't.

"You said it, not me."

The room goes quiet.

It's not the loud kind of quiet (you know), where tension hangs thick and heavy. It's the hollow kind (you know that, too), the kind that presses against your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your lips parted in shock, but no words come out. He doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he's too stubborn to back down.

Instead, he turns on his heel and storms off, his long legs carrying him into the bedroom. The door shuts behind him, not quite slamming but still loud enough to echo in your ears.

You stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he stood. The weight of his words lingers, heavier than the argument itself. You swallow hard, the ache in your chest growing as the tears you'd been holding back finally spill down your cheeks.

But you don't follow him.

Instead, you grab the old throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and curl up on the sofa. It's not comfortable—the cushions are firm, the blanket thin, and the chills of winter seeps into your bones—but you can't bring yourself to go into the bedroom.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

In the bedroom, Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The anger that had burned so hot just moments ago is gone entirely, snuffed out like a candle. What's left is the cold weight of regret, pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

He knows he shouldn't have said what he did. He knows it was cruel, unnecessary, and completely unfair—especially when he could see the beginning of an apology on your face.

But at the time, it had felt like the only way to defend himself.

Now, with the argument over and the silence settling in, all he can think about is the look on your face when he said those words. The way your shoulders sagged as if weighed down, the way your eyes widened just slightly, as if he'd struck you.

The thought makes him feel a little nauseous.

He waits for you to come to bed, his heart sinking further with each passing minute. The silence stretches on, broken only by the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the corner.

You don't come.

Maybe at some point in his life, he'd have been grateful for the quiet. But now that he's spent almost every day with you when he's not working, listened to your quiet ramblings, it feels more suffocating than comforting.

You're comforting.

Finally, he gets up and steps into the hallway. The dimmed light from the living room spills into the darkness, and he follows it, an unfamiliar discomfort swirling around his stomach.

When he sees your curled up on the couch, trembling slightly, his chest tightens painfully.

You're lying on your side as to stay on the narrow sofa, your knees tucked up to your chest, the thin throw blanket doing nothing to shield you from the cold. He can see the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your body is curled in on itself, as if trying to make yourself small.

The sight breaks his heart.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stir, blinking groggily as your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, the hurt in your gaze twisting the knife of guilt in his chest.

"What're you doing out here?" he asks, kneeling beside the couch.

You shift slightly, your voice quiet and trembling when you finally speak. "I figured you wouldn't want me in the room."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

There is nothing on Earth that could make him not want you around, not even a silly argument. Nothing that could convince him to keep you at arms length for more than a few minutes.

His breath catches, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. You don't flinch, but you don't lean into his touch like you usually would, either. The hesitation in your posture is enough to make his broken heart ache.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "That's not true. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. I... I never should have said that, I promise you're not impossible to deal with."

You don't respond, your gaze dropping to the blanket. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to find the right words. His hands somehow find your face, thumbs wiping away the dampness still there.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. You're not impossible. You're—God, you're everything to me..."

For a long moment, you don't say anything.

Finally, you sigh, your voice barely audible. "It d-didn't feel like that earlier."

Spencer's shoulders slump, his head bowing as shame washes over him. "I know," he whispers. "I was awful to you. I don't have an excuse, but I... I can't stand the thought of you feeling like I don't want you around. Because I do. Always."

You look at him then, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. "It's hard to believe that when you say things like that, Spence."

"I know," he says again, his voice breaking. "But I'll spend every moment for the rest of my life making it up to you, if I have to. If you want me to."

Your lips press together, and for a moment, he thinks you're going to push him away. But then you shift, sitting up slowly and letting the blanket fall away from your body. You lean into him slightly, nose pressing against the top of his head.

"Come here," he says softly, holding his hand toward yours.

You hesitate, but eventually, you take it. He pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in his embrace as if he's afraid to let you go. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away the lingering chill.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his lips brushing against your hair. "I'll do better, I promise."

You rest your head against his shoulder, the tension in your body slowly melting away. "Please... just don't make me feel like that again."

"I won't," he vows, holding you tighter.

He'll never let you feel like this again—like you're less than enough. Like you're not everything and more to him. Like he doesn't want you around. Like he doesn't love you. Never.

And as he carries you back to the bedroom, his arms never leaving your frame, you let yourself believe him.

[lieslab]

I love you

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Summary: When the public finds out you're dating your boyfriend, the fans have a lot to say.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 4.7K

A/N: I have to admit, to whomever requested this, I made this a lot more fluffy and lighthearted than I was originally going to. Some of these are a little more serious than others, but I layered a few jokes in, so I hope it makes you laugh. No matter if you date a k-pop idol or not, some opinions of people are just that; opinions (stupid and irrelevant) Live your best life and do what makes you happy <3

_ _ _

Chan: 

“I could really use some inspiration,” Chan called over his shoulder. “So if you find yourself growing bored or getting cold or-” 

“Not interested,” you mumbled. You took another sip of your drink and continued scrolling through your phone. You didn’t bother to look up when you responded. 

Ever since Dispatch released a photo of you and Chan, the fandom was in shambles. Half of them were defending you and the other half was planning ways to end your life. Chan told you to ignore what people said, but it was about impossible to ignore when your social media accounts were being bombed every few seconds.

Every refresh sent new hate tweets and every time you opened Instagram, you were tagged in more and more photos. You had to turn off your Insta comments because they were flooded with hate. Ever since it happened, you’d been glued to your phone. Every new hate comment was another chip at your heart. 

Chan was sitting at his laptop and working on stringing the vocals of another song together. Most of the song was being arranged by another producer, but he wanted the beginning to sound a certain way. Chains clanked, a certain whistle sounded, and then the bass dropped. 

He’d been working at it for over an hour and he was expecting you to come curl into his lap like you usually did, but as time went on, you stayed behind him on the studio couch. He tried to focus, but it was driving him insane, he just wanted you for five minutes. You were too busy with your nose in your phone to notice. 

He finally shut his laptop, stretched his arms above his head, and he let out a groan. He leaned back and kicked his feet to push him away from the desk. At any time, you’d take notice, rush over, and practically jump on him, but you didn’t. 

He waited five seconds and then ten. Thirty trickled into forty and then he scraped his foot along the floor to face you. “Okay, what’s got you so obsessed that you can’t even look at me? You’ve been on your phone for so long. Did you find someone else to replace me?” 

You finally glanced over at his voice. Your head slightly shook and you hesitated, but clicked your phone off. “I haven’t, but maybe you should find someone else to replace me. The fans are saying that you’re out of my league.” 

“Those that are saying that aren’t my fans. Those are cunts that will-” 

“You can’t call your fans cunts, Chan.” 

“It’s the Aussie way!” 

“It’s the way to get your ass in trouble if management hears you.” 

“And that’s why they’re not here and it’s just us.” He opened his arms and sat back in his chair. “Come here. Come give me the love that I deserve. Let me love you.” 

Your face softened as you stared at him. His hands clinked as he made grabby hands in your direction. “Come on! You know you want me. You want me soooo bad.” 

“You’re a child, I swear.” You let your phone lay, placed your beverage on the coffee table, and headed over to him. 

He giggled, wrapped his arms around your waist, and jerked you onto his lap. You barely had time to understand it before you were straddling his lap. He cooed and squeezed you tightly as he slightly rocked back and forth in the chair. 

“Who’s the cutest of them all? You are. Who’s the prettiest and the best? You are.” 

“You’re talking to me the exact way you talk to Berry.” 

“And that’s why I know that you secretly love it. You always get cuteness aggression when I do that, don’t you?” He reached up and gently squeezed your cheeks in his hands. A baby voice slipped out and his dimpled smile grew. 

You couldn’t help, but burst into laughter as the tip of his nose bumped yours and he gently tickled the sides of your torso.  _ _ _ 

Minho: 

“Are you praying or meditating?” Minho asked as he joined you at the breakfast table. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast was sat down in front of you. “You should finish quickly, preferably before your food gets cold.” 

Your hands were clenched tight and you sat straight up in the wooden chair. Your nostrils flared as you sucked in a deep breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth. Your eyes remained shut as you finally spoke. 

“I’m sending out a message to whatever grand and divine divinity is listening out there.” 

“That’s new for you.” He grabbed a fork and scooped up a pile of yellowed eggs. “So enlighten me, what made you find religion at seven in the morning?” He took the bite and began to chew. 

“May God give me the strength to not tell Minho’s fans to sit on my middle finger and swivel.” 

He stopped chewing and his eyes grew wide. Your own eyes opened and met him. For a brief moment, the two of you held eye contact. It was quickly ruined by Minho’s bubbly laughter turning into a choke. Bits of half-chewed scrambled eggs hit your face and your look of disgust only made him laugh harder. 

He swallowed the remnants, grabbed his napkin, leaned over the table, and wiped the moist bits away. “I’m so sorry, but you shouldn’t have said that while I was chewing. You could have waited until I swallowed.” 

“This is their fault too.” 

“What could they have possibly done to make you so enraged at this early in the morning?” 

“One of your so-called fans went viral on TikTok. Take a guess as to why that was.” Your arms crossed over your chest and you scowled. 

“Why?” 

“Because they lurked on my Instagram and found a post that I posted two years ago. You know how I regularly volunteer at the animal shelter?” He hummed softly. “Well, they found that post and they found the caption where I admitted that I was a dog person!” 

“And?” 

“They’re ripping me to shreds for it! They’re claiming that we’re not compatible because I’m a dog person! Who does that? And they’re all on TikTok like-” Your voice grew high-pitched as you began to mock the comments that you recounted in your head. 

He stared at you and a fond smile appeared on his face. Too engaged in your discourse, you didn’t realize how silly you sounded. You went on and on and on until he stopped you. “Are you done yet?” 

You huffed and threw yourself back in your seat. “Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

“Definitely a dog person. If a cat person was in your situation, we just would have posted photos with more cats to piss them off more.” 

“You’re not helping.” 

“I didn’t ever imply I was going to help the situation. That’s called comedy. I might go on Bubble and agree with them. What about that?” 

You glared at him and all he could do was chuckle. Without missing a beat, your middle finger went up. “Sit and swivel.”

“You first, sweetheart.” 

_ _ _ 

Changbin: 

“And you know what they say,” Changbin whispered as his eyes drooped. “A chicken breast a day keeps the muscles swole and slay.” Half asleep, his words turned into utter nonsense. 

Meanwhile, your hands were on your cheeks in the bathroom attached to your bedroom. With the door wide open, you weren’t really paying attention to his words. You were focused on pulling your eyebrows up and pushing your nose down. 

“Changbin?” 

“No, Hyunjin hasn’t bought me my diamond ring yet.” 

“Huh?”

He blinked and jerked upright in bed. His sleepy eyes found you leaning against the bathroom door frame with a frown on your face. “What did you say?” 

“I called your name. Do my facial features look weird to you? Ever since the news broke about us dating, they keep calling me ugly. That’s the one prominent thing they keep commenting on.” 

You glanced back to the bathroom mirror with a deepened frown. “Are my eyebrows the issue?” You stepped back inside, stood to the side, and sighed. A finger brushed down the slope of your nose. “Maybe that’s the issue?” 

“No, Felix, you can’t crawl in my muscles and live inside of them forever.” 

Your eyebrows narrowed as you jerked your head back to the room. Changbin’s head tipped down to his chest and his messy black hair sat in every direction. “What did you say about Felix?” 

He groaned, his head jerked up, and he rubbed his eyes. “What about the fans?” 

“They keep calling me ugly.” 

“WHAT?” He kicked and scrambled, nearly tangling within the blankets trying to get up. The sound of a loud thud sent you running back to the entrance to check on him. 

When you peered around the frame, he was pushing himself off the floor. “No, no, no!” Both of his fingers wagged as he marched in your direction. “I won’t stand for that kind of nonsense! Ugly? Maybe their personalities are ugly and just plain RUDE.” 

“But they keep-” 

“Nuh-uh.” He placed a hand on your hip and spun you around to face the bathroom. “I don’t care what they say. They’re not dating you and that means that their opinions are irrelevant.” 

He bent down and scooped you up. Your arm went behind your head and you allowed him to carry you back to bed. He bent down, pulled down the blankets, and gently laid you down. “The two of us are going to bed because we’re sleepy and you know what?”

“What?” 

“When people are sleepy, the opinions of others start to matter.” He pulled the sheet over you and then a blanket. “We don’t like when that happens, do we?” His head shook. “No we don’t, so we get some sleep.” 

“Are you gentle parenting me, right now?” 

 “Shush.” He patted the top of your forehead fondly and added another blanket. Another blanket was followed by a final blanket and he stood back to take in the scene. 

You were covered up your chin with all the heavy bedding. He nodded, walked towards you, and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “And what do we do when we’re sleepy and the opinions of others start to affect us?” 

“We go to sleep, I think.” 

“Do you know why?” 

Your head shook. 

“Because we don’t take criticism from people that we’d never go to for advice. That includes meaningless conversations online from faceless accounts. Sleeping also helps reset the brain, so when we can wake up, we can feel fresh and rejuvenated.” 

“I like that quote.” 

He hummed, walked around the bed, and crawled next to you. A hand shifted beneath your back and he tugged your body against his. “I like that quote too. Now please, go to sleep.” 

“What’d you say earlier about Hyunjin not buying you a ring yet?” 

“Shut up and sleep.” _ _ _ 

Hyunjin: 

“Babe, it’s not that serious.” 

Your heart clenched at the words and you swallowed the hurt in your throat. You stared at the phone in your hand, clicked it off, and gently laid it off to the side. Hyunjin just got home from work and all day, you’d been dealing with the aftermath of your relationship leaking to the public. 

Horrible and terrible things were being said about you. You tried not to let it bother you, but things tended to be taken to heart. A few videos were leaked by fans who stumbled upon you and you and Hyunjin were in an argument over something stupid. The fans caught it on tape and since then, you’d been called a variety of curse words under the sun. 

“Do you think I’m flawed for taking things too seriously?” You asked after a wave of silence broke between you. “Because even your fans agree, just by one video, that I take things too seriously.” 

On the other end of the living room, his face fell. “I didn’t mean it like that. The argument that we were having, they don’t understand that we banter like that all the time. Just because you view life through a different lens, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.” 

He pushed himself from the recliner and headed to your end of the couch. “I’m sorry for acting like it’s nothing. I’ve just learned that most fan discourse is to be ignored. They’re always assuming or seeing things that aren’t really there. It’s an endless void and if you let yourself drown in it, you’ll be miserable.”

“I didn’t consider that you’ve never dealt with issues like this before.” He plopped down beside you and tugged you into his lap. “Whatever they say and whatever stupidity that they come up with, it doesn’t define you. I wouldn’t be with you if I hated you.” 

“Their opinions are irrelevant and a lot of what you’re hearing, it’s anger from their own insecurities. You were meant for me and that’s just how it is. I’m not meant to live a life following the opinions of others and neither are you.” 

“My opinion was the right opinion,” you mumbled. “I just don’t see how they could agree with you over a stupid idea.” 

He playfully scoffed. “Nuh-uh! Mine was the right one.” 

“Who doesn’t like eggplants?” 

He groaned and threw up his hands in disbelief. He shoved you back towards the arm of the couch and threw himself onto his back. “BECAUSE WHY WOULD YOU? Were you born sick?” 

You’d keep fighting him about this topic, not necessarily because you loved eggplants, but because you liked watching his theatrical reactions. 

_ _ _ 

Han: 

“Okay, you’re not talking and it’s really starting to freak me out. What more do you want from me? Honey? You’re not chatting like you usually do.” 

“Yeah, I know.” You shrugged and let yourself relax against the porch swing. The metal frame had a canopy above it and the two of you were enjoying the last tendrils of the setting sun.

Milky pink, soft blue, and a dusting of fireball red swirled around the sky. Han was crisscrossed in his socks while he talked about his day. Usually, you’d be piping in with comments or asking him questions, but today, you just occasionally hummed. 

You focused on the sky and you let your feet gently sway your body back and forth. He continued rambling and rambling and rambling. Usually, the two of you bounced from topic-to-topic, but when you didn’t utter a word after his third story, he frowned. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

“Mmhm.” 

“Then why aren’t you talking? Are you mad at me?” 

Your eyes found his and your head shook. “No, I just thought you might like it better if I was quiet for once. I don’t always need to be saying things and interrupting your conversations. We always change directions and I thought it’d be nice for you to finish a story without you being distracted.” 

“But I love when the conversation diverts elsewhere and we talk about other things before coming back. It’s really fun and I like it.” 

“Do you really or are you just saying that to make me feel better?” 

He pushed himself to sit up and let his legs fall to the ground. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“Your fans think I’m too loud and too much. I guess I got worried that maybe you think that too. I get so happy and excited to talk to you. I don’t mean to be so loud, but I–” 

“Don’t ever apologize for existing loudly. I love knowing you exist and knowing that you want to interact with me. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day, so please never stop.” 

“You mean it?” You whispered softly. 

“With my whole entire heart.” He leaned closer and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes slipped shut and you let your body relax. When he pulled away, his eyes twinkled beneath the fading rays of sunlight. “Can I do that again?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” 

He grinned and leaned forward to kiss you again. 

_ _ _ 

Felix: 

“Babe! Babe! Babe!” Felix burst into your room beaming. “I did it! I did it! I’m not bronze anymore! I finally got a higher rank!” 

Your eyes widened and you spun around in your gaming chair. On your head, your headphones sat on your ears and your microphone was on. You shot Felix a look of panic and his face fell. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. 

Dating the love of your life was easy, but it was harder when you earned your living by streaming gaming content and Felix was an idol. With such public lives, the two of you weren’t sure how to break the news. Felix wasn’t even sure if his company would allow it, so when he found a significant other, he just never told them. 

Awkwardly, he grimaced and backed out of the room. Your eyes squeezed shut as you internally cursed and spun yourself back to face the ongoing livestream. 

“IS THAT FELIX FROM STRAY KIDS?” 

“If the fans don’t kill you first, jyp will.” 

“Holy FUCK, when did that happen?” 

“And if I said that never happened and the stream glitched?” You laughed nervously and tried to play it off. Your eyes went back to your game and you tried to breathe and not panic, but it wasn’t working. 

It didn’t help that when you glanced over, the chat was being filled with hate. People were fuming about you having a significant other. Others were fans of Stray Kids and they were pissed off that you of all people were dating their favorite idol. 

“So how about we talk about something else? Like how you guys have been doing or literally anything else?” You forced a laugh, but it didn’t help. More and more comments were rolling in. 

When you caught wind of more hatred, you blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. Not to mention, the level you were playing, your character kept dying. Too shaken up by the events, your fingers weren’t as quick as they usually were. 

After about five minutes of torture, the door to your room flung open and caused you to jump. You glanced back over your shoulder to find an angry Felix striding into the room. Before you could stop him, he pulled your chair away from your camera set up. 

“Okay, that’s it, it’s me.” He got on his knees, so he was in the camera frame. “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t be mean to my significant other in the gaming chat. They’ve worked so hard to get to this point and I don’t think it’s fair that you’re making this about me now.”

“Felix, you don’t have to-” 

“Do you know how hard it is to date a gamer when you’re stuck on bronze?” He continued. 

“You should date someone with a real job.” 

Felix read the comment and frowned. Without missing a beat, he responded. “And I think you should get a real life instead of hiding behind a screen with a Skibidi Toilet profile picture.” 

You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, reminding him that he didn’t have to do this. He reached up, gently placed his hand on top of yours, and squeezed you back. He didn’t have to do this, but he wasn’t going to let you deal with the masses alone. 

He thought the Skibidi Toilet meme was stupid, so it felt like knocking down two birds with one stone. 

_ _ _ 

Seungmin: 

“Are you going to take a break anytime soon? You’ve been busy for the past few hours and I told you that I was going to take you out to dinner.” 

“Could you give me another hour?” You glanced up from your spot on the floor. In your hand, a screwdriver and in the other hand, you were holding a shelf of a smaller book shelf that you were trying to put together. 

“Um…” Seungmin’s head tipped and he frowned. “Yeah, I guess. Did you get a burst of inspiration or something? You’ve been working in this room the entire day. You stripped the carpet, you put in those hardwood sections that I told you I’d help you with. Now,” he gestured to the bookshelf, “you’re building furniture.” 

You shrugged, “I just wanted to get our room prepared. It’s harder to move between an apartment and a house if the rooms aren’t ready, so I thought I’d just spend the day fixing it up.” 

“But…” 

“But?” You echoed. 

He wanted to point out your short attention span and tell you that this certainly wasn’t like you. He wanted to ask if you were okay or mentally unwell, but you looked bored by the conversation. Your eyes continued to wander back to the instruction booklet to make sure you were placing pieces together properly. 

“Never mind, just call me when you’re ready and we’ll go.” 

You watched him spin around and leave. Your attention went right back to the bookcase. Ever since you caught wind of his fans calling you lazy, you were forcing yourself to be more self-disciplined. 

Seungmin did it with such ease. Even when he didn’t want to do things, he pushed himself harder. Maybe that meant staying longer to learn a dance or it meant taking extra vocal lessons. Perhaps, it was just spending extra time in the recording booth to nail vocals. Seungmin seemed to get the whole self-perseverance thing, but you were different.  

Tasks were more difficult for you to get through. Having a short attention span didn’t help and oftentimes, you found yourself getting distracted or doing other things. Motivation was hard to come by for you. You were trying to work on self-discipline, but it was a long process. 

You were dubbed lazy by Seungmin’s fans after Seungmin made a light-hearted joke in the interview. He called you a homebody and joked that you were like a lazy cat, constantly curled up somewhere and not doing much. It never truly minded Seungmin and it was just a joke, but when the fandom heard it, they weren’t happy. 

They didn’t understand how someone with so much go could date someone with such little motivation. It worried them and the lighthearted joke rolled into an entire hate train. Comment after comment was plastered on your feed. 

Since then, you were trying to make yourself seem useful. You ignored the short attention span of yours and forced yourself to keep going. This was day one of what you had internally dubbed your new life. 

A shriek a short while later sent Seungmin rushing back to the room you were in. You were there with a hammer and gripping your thumb while you cursed up a storm. He rushed to your side and gently grabbed your hand. 

“Let me see it. What happened?” He pulled your now red and throbbing thumb away from your other fingers. 

All you could do was hiss in pain. It took a few seconds before you could admit that you accidentally slammed your thumb, with the hammer’s head, while driving a nail into the side of the wood. 

“Can you bend it?” Worried eyes found yours. 

“I don’t even want to attempt to do that. It hurts so bad, I wish I was kidding. I can physically feel it swelling up.” 

“Let’s put the restaurant on a rain check right now and let’s get you to the doctor.” 

He pulled you up by your good hand and led you into the living room. It was there that he helped you slip into your shoes and began tying the strings. You watched him with a frown on your face. 

“This is so stupid,” you mumbled, feeling mortified about everything. “Your fans were right and so were you. I have an awful attention span and maybe all I’m really good for is laying around and being lazy.” 

He glanced up at you with a raised eyebrow. “You haven’t seen that your fans are hitting me with hate, have you? You made that joke last week and now I’ve become a failure in their eyes.” 

“I have a lot to say about that, but I think we need to get you to the emergency room. Do you think the doctor will IV you? Maybe if I take a photo of it and ask for prayers, they’ll think you’re dying and then they’ll feel awful.” 

“That’s incredibly petty.” 

“Yeah, well, nobody gets to bully you besides me.” 

_ _ _ 

Jeongin: 

Jeongin’s arms reached out for you and then you dipped down. You ducked away, spun around, and began to talk about your day. Jeongin’s face puckered in displeasure, but he didn’t fight it. 

“How was your day?” You asked once you were finished. 

The two of you arrived home at the same time, just like usual. Your days were polar opposite, but it always led to different conversations. You were pretty stationary at your job, but Jeongin was constantly on the move. 

“It was okay.” He reached out for your hand, but you tugged it away when you saw him reach for it. “The guys and I screwed around like usual. We started to learn a new dance and I think by the end of tomorrow’s practice, we’ll have it fully down.” 

“That sounds amazing. You guys are really good at learning dances so fast. I don’t think I could ever do something that quickly. It takes me a few days to get the dance moves down.” 

He hummed and reached out again, but once more, you ignored his outstretched hand and you side-stepped it. When you did it again, he finally reached out, grabbed your hips, shoved you forward, and then shifted you. When he was finished, you stared at him with wide eyes. 

His hands remained on your hips and he pinned you against a living room stand. Your throat pulsed as you swallowed a loud gulp. His eyes met yours and they narrowed. 

“What?” You finally uttered as you squirmed beneath his gaze. “What are you looking at me like that for? What did I do?”

“Are you playing dumb right now, or are you being serious?” 

“Huh?” “You won’t let me touch you. I’ve tried to grab you a few times and you keep wiggling away, like you don’t want to be touched. Did I do something wrong yesterday?” He gently squeezed your hips. “I don’t know what I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…” You trailed off, not sure if you should tell him or not. 

“You just what?” 

“That video that leaked the other day, the fans think I’m too clingy. I don’t want to seem like I’m suffocating you. I know that you’re not so huge on skin-to-skin contact, but I also didn’t realize just how much I do it.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something just because I like it. You’re allowed to have boundaries in this relationship and if I’m clinging to you and touching you way too much, then I-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” 

Your words halted immediately. Under the scrutiny of his stare, it was getting harder to stay still. You sucked in a deep breath and his fingers squeezed your hips once more. 

“I know I’m allowed to have boundaries, but I’ve learned to like your touch. I don’t mind it if you’re constantly touching me. If you’re laying on me, curled around my arm, or just holding hands, I’ve learned that I really like it.” 

“Are you sure?” You whispered. “Because truly, if you don’t like it-” 

“I never admit it because of the guys,” he finally admitted. “If I admit that I don’t mind your skinship, the guys will be all over me. It’s already bad enough that the seven of them still view me as a helpless teenager.” 

A smile cracked at your face. “It just means that they love you, Innie.” 

“And I love them, but I also love being grown and being independent. Now enough of that, where’s my hug? My evening kiss? I’ve had a long day and I’d really like to be touched.” 

“Words of a pervert,” you mumbled beneath your breath. 

“What did you just say?”

“Spoken like a true perv-” 

He cut you off by pulling you towards him and connecting your lips.

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[kirammanswifey]

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

[cambriancrew]

I really enjoy the drawing process. It's meditative for me, especially inking and coloring. The beginning parts can be a little frustrating, trying to get the sketch right so the fun part can begin, but once that's done it's pure contentment.

Writing is similar. I hate sitting down to write and trying to figure out how to start. So I don't - I start with stretches. Warm-ups. Writing down the gist of what I want to write about. Then by the time I'm ready to start, I've got the writing equivalent of a sketch to go by. And maybe I decide the writing equivalent of the posture is off, or that I want to add more detail here and change this piece to that, but overall, the process is relatively easy and enjoyable - coming up with really good words and them flowing out of me. I love flow states. And being plural (bunch of people in the same body and brain, including some who started out life as characters) adds to that joy - it's not just my words, but all of our words, working together and creating something wonderful together. It's a beautiful process.

And yes, the finished product is wonderful to behold. And we love sharing it - I've always described myself as less a writer and more a storyteller, and you can't be a storyteller without thinking of your audience. I love telling people about what we've made and getting their reactions. It doubles that joy.

But if we didn't enjoy the process we wouldn't do it at all.

Lots of artists lately talking about burnout and how they no longer find the process fun and enjoyable.

And I'm over here like........you guys EVER found that enjoyable?? Was I supposed to???

It is not fun to do the work itself. It's never crossed my mind that it could be. Having something finished is great and I can't stop making things but the process required to have made something is just arduous tedious labor. you do it for the result alone, not the hours of sitting still staring at the same surface.

It must be awesome to ever be capable of enjoying a form of "work" 😕

[rafedaddy01]

Nanny y/n riding rafe in reverse cowgirl

Rafe has his eyes closed so he doesnt see his wife standing in the door

But y/n does

Shes always hated his wife so she decides to have a little fun with it

Asking rafe questions like "am I tighter than your wife?"

"Do you want to get me pregnant?"

"Isnt my body so much better than hers"

Smiriking at his wife the whole time

And riding rafe as hard as he can

-

Your arms slide around his neck, drawing him closer as you sink down slowly, taking him in to the hilt.

His fingers dig into your hips, a low groan escaping his lips as your pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper.

His eyes flutter shut, his head falling back as a wave of pleasure overtakes him.

You hold your breath, your body stilling as you adjust to the sensation of him stretching and filling you completely.

You begin to rock your hips, slow and deliberate, your eyes locked on your boss's face. His brows knit together in bliss, his mouth slightly parted, his chest heaving with every breath, the sheen of sweat accentuating every curve of his body.

Once you find a steady rhythm, a sly smile curls on your lips as you decide to switch it up, teasing him with slow, deliberate movements.

You pull away from him, a playful glint in your eyes, before turning around, offering him a new angle to admire.

You wiggle your little ass before plopping right down where you were before.

Rafe lets out a deep groan, his head tipping back further, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure overwhelms him.

That’s when you turn around and spot Rafes wife in the doorway. And idea pops into your head as you speak, “am I tighter than your wife” you grind down as rafe answers yes.

Her eyes are filled with rage and that only drives you further as you continue asking him questions like does he wanna get you pregnant and asking if your body is better than hers. Which of course Rafes groans and moans yes’s too.

Rafes eyes open as he feels your pussy clench around him.

That’s when he spots her too, but it’s too late. He’s moaning and cursing, “fuck, fuck, fuck” as he cums deep inside your pussy.

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10 @writingroom21 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @obxrafeandjj

[monster-effer]

Syntribation Pt. 2 | Research – Sylus x reader

Summary: Sharing your fears with Sylus led to this. You are out of your element, but is that such a bad thing? Content: MDNI, explicit smut, syntribation, creampie, reader and Sylus are dating, fluff (2.1k wc) A/N: Uhh the brain worms really took a hold of me while I wrote this. I hope y’all enjoy this ride! <3 Part 2 to this requested by @ononpetitecroissant

Sylus is an adaptable man. He is skilled at analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of any challenge he faces. When you, his wonderful partner, shared the fear that held you back, Sylus resolved to help you quell said fear. But first he needed to see what made you tick.

You are a beautiful sight as you lay bare in his bed. Sylus sits in a chair near the bed so he can see everything that is about to unfold. The soft music playing in the background added to the sensual atmosphere.

It is difficult to restrain himself as his eyes sweep your figure. He feels his cock hardening in his pajama pants and you have not made a move yet.

He can practically see you overthinking from where he sits. But he is in love with you in any state. You have all of this attention.

He swirls the dry red wine around in his glass and takes a sip before settling back into the chair.

“How are you feeling kitten?”

Your already pounding heart increases its tempo when his smooth voice breaks you out of your inner turmoil. It was your idea to help him “research” syntribation. But currently you were regretting your horny brain for making such a quick decision.

You feel awkward, out of your element. You have never done this in front of another person and the performance anxiety was getting to you.

You lick your dry lips and take in a small breath as you shift around on his silky sheets. “I feel a little nervous,” you say shakily.

You turn your head to the side to meet his eyes. “But I still want to do this, just give me a moment.” You hear Sylus hum softly in agreement.

Although it is always dark in his bedroom, you close your eyes to center yourself. Then you take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. After repeating this a few times, you feel your heart rate lower to a normal pace. Next, you stretch out your limbs before settling back into the sheets.

‘I can do this. I can do this. I can this,’ you repeatedly tell yourself before you feel hyped up enough to continue.

Your eyes remain closed as you begin to straighten out your legs and slide them close together. When your legs are as close together as they can be you start tensing and relaxing your thighs.

The familiar tingly pleasure ripples through your body as you begin to hold the tension in your muscles for longer periods of time. You alternate between swaying your hips side to side and back and forth as your thighs tense, which only adds to your pleasure.

You can feel your clit pulsing from the pressure caused by your thighs. Eventually you add in pulsing your pelvic floor muscles.

Beads of sweat form on your chest and temple from the effort you’re putting in. The addictive pleasurable feeling is almost unbearable. A slight tremor takes over your thighs as you feel yourself approach your peak.

Knowing that Sylus is watching you do something so private turns you on as you descend further into a lusty haze. You feel feverish as you take in choppy breaths. Your legs are starting to get tired, but you won’t stop until you cum. You want to cum for him.

Thoughts of this morning permeate your thoughts. The passionate kiss you shared after your confession is in the forefront. That’s what led to all of this.

Now you are vulnerably on display for him. Tensing your muscles to the point of fatigue. All so you can show Sylus how you lose control and come undone.

You can only tense your muscles twice more before crying out in ecstasy. Every orgasm is different, but one element stays the same. The sense of satisfaction that flows through your veins while your pussy repeatedly clenches and releases. It feels like you’re floating on a cloud. You melt into the cool sheets of the bed.

Once you recover from your orgasm you open your eyes. Your gaze trails over to Sylus who is still sitting in his chair.

‘He looks delicious’ is your first thought.

His erection is practically ripping through the seams of his pajama pants. The wine glass he was drinking from is abandoned on a side table. And Sylus is leaning to the left with his head resting in the palm of his hand.

The intensity of his gaze feels like it is searing your body. And his lips are holding a sinful smirk. Sylus chooses not to speak for a beat, feeling comfortable within the tension filled bedroom. When he’s committed your debauched image to memory, his eyes finally meet yours.

“I hope you didn’t tire yourself out already kitten.”

Before you can reply, he lifts his pajama top over his head. Then he slides his right hand down his stomach before reaching into his black pajama pants. An audible gasp leaves your mouth as he pulls out his cock and languidly begins to stroke it.

You watch him touch himself for longer than you’d like to admit. “I have plenty of energy left” you reply cheekily.

“Good,” Sylus murmurs. “Because I need to see you do that a few more times before I sink myself into you.” He continues to slowly stroke his cock that is slick with his own precum.

“Oh,” is all you can utter as your clit throbs sharply.

Sylus chuckles darkly as he briefly stands up to slip off this pajama pants. He spreads his long legs apart and goes back to stroking himself. He nods his head at you, encouraging you to continue.

Time passes by in a blur. Your mouth is parched by the time you recover from your third orgasm of the day. Your legs feel like jelly, and it is a struggle to catch your breath. The slick from your pussy is dampening the sheets below you. And you have more sweat covering your body than before.

Sylus was not expecting this when he questioned you this morning. He doesn’t know if he has blinked since you began.

You are a seductress. The subtle ways you moved your hips was hypnotizing. How you tensed your muscles and held your breath made him salivate. He has been edging himself as he watched multiple orgasms crash through your body.

You are captivating. He yearns for you. And Sylus has an idea of how you both can get what you need.

He rises from his chair and takes the short walk to the bed. The bed shifts as he climbs on straddles your body before leaning down for a kiss.

His warm cock is dragging against your tummy as he melds his soft lips into yours. You moan weakly and reach your hand down to touch him. Sylus grunts and pulls away from the kiss as your hand wraps around him. A few, teasing tugs from your soft hand is all he can take before he has to stop you.

“Just curious. Can you tense your muscles the same way while lying on your side?”

You bite your lip as you understand what he’s really asking. A tentative sense of warmth engulfs your heart. Although your muscles are tired you are not a quitter.

“I may be able to pull that off,” is your breathless reply.

You roll over onto your right side, resting your head on a pillow. Sylus lays down right behind you. You feel him rut his warm cock against you.

“Do you want me to fill you up, kitten?”

You whine as he teases you. “I need it so badly Sylus.”

His breath is warm on your neck as reaches for your breast and starts massaging it.

You feel like you’re losing your mind. Your aching pussy is sticky and wet from each of your orgasms. Your clit is throbbing. All you can do is fantasize about having his thick cock inside of you.

Sylus shifts on the bed and pushes his cock into the space between your thighs. He grinds it back and forth against your wet slit and your breath hitches when he bumps against your clit. Once he feels coated in your juices, he notches himself against your aching entrance and begins to press forward.

It is a big stretch. It helps that you are relaxed from your orgasms, so any pain you experience is mild. And the dragging sensation of Sylus entering you makes your mind go blank.

You feel overwhelmed by how deep he’s reaching inside of you. He seats himself to the hilt and lets you both catch your breath. When you get accustomed to his length, you straighten your legs and begin to tense your muscles.

Sylus groans lowly into your ear as your pussy grips him. You begin to wiggle your hips forward and backwards as you intermittently tense your muscles. You feel Sylus’ right arm wrap around your waist. Then he begins to thrust into your aching pussy. Together, you find a tempo that drives you both wild.

You don’t have the brain capacity left to describe the sensations wracking your body. Despite the music playing you can still hear the unmistakable squelching sound each time he rocks back into you. Although it is harder to squeeze and tense with something inside of you, the pleasure is still there. It feels like a fun challenge.

You tense as Sylus’ cock bumps into your spongey g-spot. A desperate, high-pitched moan leaves you as you feel your pussy begin to quiver. What you thought to be an impossibility is becoming reality.

You’re going to cum.

Sylus huffs behind you as he starts to pick up the pace. With how tense your body feels, he knows you are close to cumming. It becomes his sole mission to bring you to a new height.

He peppers kisses on the exposed parts of your neck and coos at you. “You’re doing so good sweetie. Just focus on clenching for me.”

In your pleasure drunk state you have no choice but to listen to him until you are frighteningly close to the edge. You hold your breath as you clench your pelvic floor muscles as hard as you can.

“That’s it,” Sylus says as he grips your breast and swirls his fingertip around your nipple. He can feel you almost push him out of your pussy from the intensity of your clenching. You whimper out his name as you flutter and cream around his cock. Your body shakes weakly as you drown in pleasure.

“Just like that,” Sylus whispers worshipfully as he continues to fuck himself into your pussy. Your wet, tight heat is pushing him to his limit and his balls begin to tighten up.

With a sense of desperation he asks, “Where do you want me to finish kitten?”

You are in your own world right now, starting to feel overstimulated from his cock dragging against your sensitive walls. “Inside me please” you reply weakly.

Sylus feels unstable from holding back so long. After a couple more thrusts, he lets out a deep growl as he releases a copious amount of cum inside your hole.

You lay there stupefied. It feels unreal that you were able to orgasm during sex. After so many failed attempts and damaged self esteem from your past relationships, you’re struggling to process what just happened. Everything you thought you knew about yourself and sex just flew out the window.

Your body is beyond tired and you can already feel the muscle soreness setting in. When you get carried away like this, the soreness you experience the next day brings a smile to your face. Because it serves as a reminder of the fun you had.

Tomorrow, the soreness will remind you of a few things:

Your first time with Sylus.

Your first time orgasming during sex.

Your desire to do this again, very soon.

Sylus interrupts your daydreaming when he says “You were breathtaking. Thank you for trusting me with this.”

He slowly pulls his softened member out of you and helps you lay down on your back. Then he begins to massage your thighs. He loves the sight of his cum dripping out of your body. It feels dangerously addictive.

“Thank you helping me feel safe enough to,” you reply tenderly. You pause before continuing.

“I think we should conduct follow up experiments to make sure today wasn’t an outlier. But I’m worn out, so let’s nap please.”

Sylus smiles at you before kissing your temple. “Let me clean you up first. Then we can do whatever you want.”

[lowkeycasanova]

but she told me i can nail her sh*t

zoro x afab!reader

warning: smut

He licked his lips, panting and letting his head fall back. Eyes fluttering and jaw tight as you bounced your ass on him, his cock rock-hard inside of you.

"Damn" you heard his whisper. As you continued to ride him, he let out a grunt from deep within his throat. You smiled, as you loved when he was even the slightest bit vocal, giving you reassurance and confidence.

His large hands found their way to your thighs, then hips, then slightly cupped your ass, around your back, and up your waist and ribcage. Zoro was obsessed with how your body felt and wanted to explore...caress every inch.

For a while, he complied, letting you do all the work at your own pace. The tension in his muscles betrayed him from how much he wanted to move. And maybe it was the way you tugged his hair or the deliberate roll of your hips against his, but his patience snapped. With a low growl, his hands gripped your waist firmly. Before you could react, he shifted beneath you, lifting you up and bending his knees so that he could buck his hips properly.

You gasped, your body tense for a moment as you were surprised with the sudden change.

"My turn." he said, his voice low and rough with a smirk tugging at his lips. There was a fire in his gaze and you felt something pulsate between your thighs. Your control had been thrilling but now it was time for him to take over.

He begins to fuck you. Hard. His momentum starting of fast and then stabilizing. The sound of skin slapping and your little yelps was almost enough to get him off right then and there. Your breast bounce in his face like they're begging for attention. After a few moments, he sets you back down so you two can gain control of your breathing. You let out a small laugh through your thin breaths, fluttering around him, and just as it begins to even out, his hips are bucking you upwards again. His stamina is something to be reckoned with.

His hands move all the way up to your jaw this time, cupping your cheeks as he rails you. It feels so good. He feels so good but you're like putty in his hands. Your hips seemed to have locked up due to the pressure so you can't do anything but take it.

His hips jerk into you over and over and with every pump, you hiccup a half moan. Your hands move to hold his wrists as his hands still cup your face. He feels a flash of arousal knowing that you're just barely hanging on for the ride.

He's looking at you just before he comes, your jaw clenched but muttering a 'please' and 'zoro' here and there.

He's panting hard and drops his head back as he releases. It feels like euphoria. His heart beat hammers until it begins to slow. There's a ruggedness in your eyes and hair that makes him proud. Your thighs are too weak to even dismount from him. His hands go from your cheeks to your arms as he leans forward to kiss you.

****

Sanji’s voice broke through the quiet air on the deck. Zoro peeked through his eyes. His arms were crossed behind his head and his back against the mast as he watched Sanji approach you with a tray in hand, holding drinks. His grin stretched from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkled as he basked in your presence.

The exchange played out like a scene Zoro had seen many times before. Even after handing you the drink, Sanji lingered. All that flair. Such a try hard and you don’t even give him a second glance. Not that you were unkind- far from it. You always smiled, said thank you. It was always genuine.

Zoro didn’t hear all of what was said but he did catch the romantic undertone in the way Sanji said “I hope it pleases you” when referring to the beverage. Zoro tried to stifle a laugh but was unsuccessful as your eyes darted to him from behind Sanji. A faint twitch of amusement in your expression even when he tried to play it off.

Zoro was always giving Sanji a number.

“Number seven.”

“Fourth placer.”

Provoking the blonde cook filled him with subtle yet undeniable satisfaction. And last night, among the many shared nights, further convinced him that there, in fact, was a hierarchy between the two men.

If Sanji had even the slightest idea of what was going on between you and Zoro, he’d have an outburst, quite literally bursting into flames, and throwing some indignant response in Zoro’s direction.

You reminded Zoro of where he stood. It didn’t matter what Sanji did. You already made your choice.

[hazbinshusk]

huskerdust x fem!reader. a birthday present for the wonderful, inimitable @mckeeks. if anyone deserves to be lovingly spoilt (and dicked down) by this duo, it is unequivocally her. ❤️ happy birthday, babe!

when you reluctantly reveal to the other residents of the hazbin hotel that you're still a virgin, angel graciously offers up his and husk's services in rectifying that condition for you. and how could you turn down such a kind offer from hell's best couple?

(as always, the dynamic here is one in which husk serves as the hinge between the reader and angel). way longer than I thought it'd be - 7.8k.

featuring: afab/fem-presenting reader, established!huskerdust, polyamory, soft!dom angel dust, voyuerism/exhibitionism, praise kink, lowkey daddy kink, oral sex (reader receiving), handjobs (husk receiving), masturbation, facials, husk has barbs (and you're into it), unprotected sex (it's hell so who cares), gendered petnames, the hotel rooms have cuck chairs (sorry).

“Sooo…” Angel draws out liltingly, his glass clasped between two hands, and you immediately regret accepting his invitation to join him at the bar. His voice isn’t teasing – just curious – but you can still feel your face begin to burn before he even gets the question you know is coming past his lips and into the air between you. “…A virgin, huh?”

Dear God or whoever is listening, if there is any chance that the ground could open up and swallow you whole, you really needed it to happen right about now.

“Angel.” Husk says from his usual position on the other side of the bar. He has his back to you as he sorts the bottles back into their designated positions after a long night of ‘family bonding’ with the rest of the residents. You’re grateful, for once, that his eyes aren’t on you. Husk’s voice is edged with a gentleness you think might be reserved just for the spider. Still, there’s a warning there, too. “Leave it.”

Where he’d usually make some teasing or sarcastic remark, Angel’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice stays gentle, still curious. “You one of those god-fearin’ types or ya just never had the opportunity?”

You loved Charlie, you really did, but right now…

Right now, fuck her and her bonding activities.

“I just…” you swallow the knot sticking in the middle of your throat, keeping your eyes trained pointedly away from Angel’s face. You notice that maybe Husk’s hand pauses for a moment, as though he’s waiting for an explanation too. Well, who wouldn’t? You might have died younger than most, but not young enough to just chalk up your inexperience to the innocence of youth. “I just never met anyone I liked, I guess. And Hell’s not exactly lousy with decent men.”

“Huh.” Angel says simply, finishing his drink. He sets the glass back down, stretching one pair of arms above his head, the other two behind him. He settles all four of his hands in his lap as Husk refills his drink. And then,

“You should get Husk to help ya out with that.”

Your cheeks flame, and Husk chokes on the drink he’s just taken. Eyes watering and his throat burning with the whiskey that sticks in it, he coughs his admonishment. “Angel!”

You grope for a response, for a joke that’ll get the conversation away from your sex life… or lack thereof. Before you can find one, Angel continues, ignoring the way Husk is still hacking up the last of his drink. Even as mortified as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards slightly in amusement as Husk reaches blindly for a new bottle before he’s even done coughing up the remains of the first.

“Look at you two, blushin’ like some kinda…” Angel smirks as he glances pointedly at you. “…well.”

You frown. “I really don’t need you mocking me, Angel.”

“I ain’t mockin’ ya dollface,” he replies, raising two hands in surrender. Still, that placid note stays in his voice, something that could be read as sincerity if what he was offering wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “I’m bein’ serious here. Huskie’s downright godly in the sack.”

Husk finally turns around to face the two of you properly, bright pink staining his muzzle. You notice his eyes dart towards you, and you could swear the blush deepens. The idea that it does sends a thrill through you, and you clutch tightly at your glass as though it could somehow stem the feelings churning inside you.

Husk was Angel’s. You’d accepted that, you had. You’d written off your attraction to the bartender as some silly crush. You didn’t think about him like that anymore.

You didn’t.

“Legs, I’m beggin’ ya,” Husk says, even as he refills the spider’s glass, “For the sake of whatever you believe in, please shut the fuck up.”

“What?” Angel protests, waving a hand almost dismissively. He actually looks confused by the objection. “I ain’t got a problem sharin’ if it’s with a friend.”

Husk sighs, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. There’s a tightness to how he stands, in the way his tail is switching back and forth behind him. He’s still avoiding your eye, his face still warm with colour.

“That ain’t the—” he breaks off, taking a deep pull from the bottle in his hand. He grimaces, tilting the bottle to read the label – watermelon vodka of all things – but shrugs and takes another drink as though it helps him gather his thoughts. Or his nerves. “She ain’t a toy, Angel. You can’t jus—”

“You tellin’ me ya ain’t interested anymore?” Angel interjects pointedly, raising a brow.

Husk stiffens, his ears dropping back against his skull. “I—”

“What?” you finally find your voice again, straightening slightly in your seat. You turn your attention fully to the bartender, and he meets your gaze with equally wide eyes. “You… you were interested? In me?”

“I…” Husk seems to struggle for words for a moment before he sighs, an almost sheepish, self-deprecating smile touching his lips as he exhales. “C’mon, doll. I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”

Something warm and wonderfully light settles in your chest, and Angel’s smile widens as he takes in your reaction. You jump as you feel one of his hands touch your arm.

“Told ya so,” he says, skimming his hand up along your arm as he stands. He continues to caress across your shoulder blades, moving to stand behind you. “Shoulda seen it, baby. How he’d bend himself all outta shape feelin’ guilty for feelin’ all warm and gooey over ya.”

“Angel, I didn’t—”

“’s okay,” he assures you gently, his hands taking your shoulders and waist. He leans against your back, meeting Husk’s eye as he speaks in your ear. Angel’s voice is low; his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver. “Like I said, I don’t mind sharin’.”

Your eyes flick back to Husk.

“So, why not get somethin’ out of it? Huskie here can be real romantic about it… he’ll make ya feel so, so good…”

You can feel your breath leave you unsteadily. Husk’s pupils all but eclipse the gold of his eyes, and his gaze falls to your mouth for a moment before he meets your eye again.

“There’s no pressure, baby,” Angel assures you, and you can tell he means it. “I’m jus’ sayin’, we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“‘We’?” you repeat, surprised enough to turn and face him. Angel wears his pride like a second skin, and as far as you were aware, he never swung back the other way without being paid for it. You try to find the right words as Angel beckons Husk to join the two of you, and heat pools in the small of your back as you hear, feel, the bartender round the bar towards you slowly. You choose the words carefully. “I didn’t think you were…”

Angel smirks, lifting your chin with two delicate fingers. That same heat burns in the pit of your stomach at the gentle dominance of the action. “Don’t panic, dollface. I ain’t joinin’ in the ride. It’s your show; yours and Husk’s.”

He leans down, bringing his face so, so much closer to yours. You feel Husk’s presence beside the two of you, and Angel reaches out to take his hand. Husk takes it wordlessly; he’s so close you can feel the soft fur of his stomach brush against your knee as he breathes. It puts images in your head of him stepping between your thighs, taking hold of your hips… trapping you between his body and the bar…

There’s a heat in Angel’s eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away; one that floods through every inch of you. It makes your entire body tingle with need for connection, for touch. Angel seems to recognize this; he reaches up with another hand to brush hair behind your ear and his smile twitches wider when you shudder.

“I jus’ want a front row seat.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nerves war with the excitement that has bloomed in the very centre of you, and you feel alien and out of place sitting on the bed, one knee bent against the mattress, the other leg hanging off the side. Husk sits in a mirrored position, wings tucked tight against his back. He’s so close that his knee bumps against yours.

The lights are low, but his eyes still glow as they study you. Your eyes keep falling to your hands where they tangle in your lap before they find his again, and you can feel just how flushed your cheeks are under his gaze. The feathered end of his tail twitches back and forth slowly beside the bed, and he clears his throat.

“We don’ have to do anything you don’ want to, sweetness.” he says in a low murmur, his voice all warm velvet and silk. The pet-name makes you press your lips together, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. Husk’s gaze falls to follow the movement, and he inhales sharply. “We… I don’ want you to feel like we’re forcin’ you into anything y—”

You lean forward and press your lips to Husk’s impulsively in a brief, fleeting kiss. You hear, feel, the quiet mrrp of surprise he makes, his wings fluttering and relaxing behind him. You can feel the softness of his lips before you pull away again, your face aflame. He blinks at you before his lips curl into a smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you again.

Husk’s hand cups your cheek in the same moment his lips meet yours. This time the kiss lingers, and your nerves give way to desire as you feel his other paw touch your knee. Husk kisses you softly, searchingly, his lips brushing gently against yours. Your own lips part, his nose bumping against yours as you take a breath. Then he’s kissing you again and you whimper as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip, begging permission.

God, the way he groans quietly when you part your lips and meet his tongue tentatively with your own.

Husk strokes your cheek with his thumb, the pad of his palm soft against your skin as he slides his claws carefully into your hair. It makes you shiver and you lean into his embrace, reaching up with uncertain hands to card fingers through the fur of his chest. A rumble sounds from deep within him, a rusty purr that you feel as a light buzz under your fingertips.

You can’t help the light, breathless laugh that leaves you as you realise that’s what it is – you’ve made the bartender purr – and Husk smiles into your kiss as he pulls you back to him, catching your lips again. His touch on your knee becomes more confident as you relax into his embrace, and he ghosts the tips of his claws up over your inner thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.

“Husk…” you breathe his name against his lips and he chuckles, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, it sounds so pretty comin’ from you…” he murmurs, his nose cold against your heated skin as he moves to kiss you again.

Your hand journeys up from his chest to slide through the fur of his neck and up to his cheek, and Husk leans into your touch with a soft smile. His paws close around your thighs and he tugs you closer, your legs unfolding to rest on either side of his. Husk’s touch moves to your hips and he kisses you again, guiding you gently back against the pillows as his body covers yours.

Winding your arms around his neck, you feel his feathers tickle at your knees as you bend them to rest against his hips. The move brings him flush against you, and Husk breaks away from your lips with a breathless sound halfway between a groan and a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck…” Husk lets his head fall forward, his forehead bumping against your collarbone. You feel his hips rock into yours before he can stop himself, and you whimper as you feel his arousal press up between your thighs. He exhales shakily, brushing his lips against your shoulder, your throat, your cheek before he meets your eye again. “’s this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, carding your fingers through the fur at the base of his ear. Husk shudders against you, eyes rolling back slightly at the touch. A crease forms in his brow as he forces himself not to move, not to grind himself down against your warmth. Your dress is bunched up around him, baring your inner thighs to his tickling fur, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah, please… do it again, Husk.”

“Christ,” Husk mutters as you tease at his ear again, knocking his hat off his head. He kisses you firmly, deeply, one paw taking hold of your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh in a way that you could almost call possessive. “You got no idea how dangerous you are…”

“Holy shit, you two are cute.”

Angel’s voice breaks through the haze between the two of you, and you pull away from Husk slightly as you’re suddenly reminded that the spider is there. Your cheeks flush with heat; you’d been so wrapped up in the man in bed with you that you’d almost forgotten your friend was watching. Instead of being cowed by his interruption however, you’re almost taken aback by how much it excites you, knowing he’s watching.

Husk presses another kiss to the edge of your jaw before he turns his head to roll his eyes and smile at his paramour. “You plannin’ on jus’ addin’ colour commentary here, legs?”

“For now, yeah,” Angel replies with a grin, lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner. He’s watching the two of you with hooded eyes, and there’s something almost sensual in the way he strokes a hand lazily back and forth along the velvety fabric of the arm of the chair. “I’m jus’ waitin’ for ya to do that thing with your tongue that’ll make her go blind for a second.”

Husk snickers and, feeling daring, you lean up to tease the side of his throat with your lips. You feel him groan as your teeth graze over his pulse point. The bartender’s hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it higher against his hip. “Fuck…”

“Ooh, she’s a quick study,” Angel coos, and you thrill under the praise as Husk turns his head to catch your lips in another kiss. “Think you can keep up with her, kitty?”

“Don’ call me that,” Husk mumbles without breaking the kiss, and Angel giggles. Husk dusts kisses down over your throat, and you feel him grin against your neck when he sucks a bruise into the curve where it meets your shoulder and you curse. The sound of it is low and throaty and begs for more, and Husk rewards it with a louder purr and a trail of kisses that teases down along the neckline of your dress. You arch up into his touch as his lips brush over your sternum, his whiskers tickling at the swell of your breasts.

His paw continues its journey up your thigh, taking the skirt of your dress with it. His tail sways back and forth behind him, and when he reaches your hip, he pauses, pressing one more kiss to your chest before pulling back to meet your eye. A smirk plays over his features, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with desire.

“You got me at a disadvantage here, sweetness,” he murmurs, lips catching yours again briefly. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”

You giggle. “Well, of course you’d think that; you’re the one who walks around the hotel half-naked all day.”

Husk chuckles, and you hear Angel hum a laugh, too. The cat kisses you, his thumb hooking in the band of your underwear and snapping it tauntingly against your hip. “Cheeky girl.”

You sit up and Husk helps you tug your dress up over your head, and God the way he looks at you…

Pulling him down into another kiss, you massage your fingers against the base of his ears and Husk moans, rough and worn and needy. He retakes your hips as you buck up against him, eager to feel him again with one less barrier between you. Husk snickers, kissing your cheek.

“Slow down, princess,” he tells you gently, claws tickling against your ribs as he strokes them soothingly. He hooks them in either side of your underwear, and you whine. He draws them down your legs slowly, pulling away from you long enough for you to kick them away. “I’ve got you, baby. One step at a time.”

You hear Angel shift in his chair and look towards him automatically. The spider smiles and winks, still watching the two of you with that same addictive intensity. You hold his gaze as Husk kisses his way back down your chest, sliding your bra strap down your shoulder gently. You gasp, arching up under Husk at the first touch of his tongue to your nipple. Angel’s smile widens.

Husk’s tongue is warm and wet and deliciously rough, and you moan as he sucks a teasing pressure around the hardened point. It makes your fingers tighten in his fur, and his other paw comes up to brush is claws over your other nipple. He pinches it and tugs, and the sudden pain makes you jump, and Husk snickers into your chest.

“Fuck, Husk…” you whine, eyes squeezed closed. You shift long enough to reach behind yourself and unclip your bra, tossing it aside as Husk immediately returns his attention to your breasts, paw kneading into the soft flesh. “Shit…”

“Ain’t he jus’ got the most magic tongue:” Angel coos, standing slowly. He makes his way towards the bed slowly, focused intently on how Husk’s back arches as he grinds himself into the mattress between your thighs. “Oh, he’s gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

Husk lingers at your breasts a moment longer, still purring deeply, before he continues lower. He dusts soft, teasing kisses down over your belly, paws smoothing down over the curve of your waist. He pauses just above the apex of your thighs, pressing the cold heart of his nose hard against your skin and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed.

“Christ…” he mutters, running his paws down over your hips and over your thighs, pressing them gently apart. His back arches in a long, fluid motion as Angel scratches his fingers through the fur along the cat’s spine. The spider’s touch lingers between his wing joints, and Husk groans, bumping his forehead against your thigh. “Fuuuuck… you smell so good, baby…”

“Husk…” you murmur, an ache throbbing between your thighs. You press your hips up, desperate for him to bring his mouth lower. “Please…”

“Oh, don’t you sound so pretty when you beg?” Husk rumbles, pressing an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your inner thighs, first one, then the other, his eyes watching your face hungrily. The smirk he wears is maddening, as is the snicker you hear from Angel. The spider sits next to you on the bed, stroking his fingers through your hair. You lean into the touch, eyes closing, a frown tugging at your lips as your impatience grows.

“Don’t she?” Angel agrees, nails scratching pleasantly against your scalp. “Be a nice kitty for her, baby.”

Husk’s smirk widens and Angel slips behind you, lifting you gently just long enough to fold his legs under you so your head is in his lap. The spider winks at you again, upside down, just as Husk finally slides his tongue slowly up over your clit.

“Oh, fuck!”

Angel giggles at the way you gasp, your hips rising off the sheets. Your eyes roll back as Husk flicks his tongue over your clit and the cat groans into your cunt at the taste of you. His paws clutch at your thighs, pinning you against the mattress, and while he planned on taking you apart slowly, the taste of you is already too addictive to let him pace himself.

Angel keeps stroking your hair with two hands, and your own reach down to grab at fistfuls of the fur between Husk’s ears. The bartender’s wings quiver as your nails scratch at his scalp.

Grinding your hips up against his mouth as best you can under his hold, you bite your lip against the downright pornographic sounds you can feel catching in his throat as Husk tortures your clit. Angel smirks, another hand coming up to glide over your chin, gently unhooking you lip from beneath your teeth. He giggles as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers blindly, curl your tongue against them and suck.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” he sighs, and Husk moans between your legs as he watches. “Oh, you’re in for a fuckin’ treat if you get her on her knees, Husk-baby.”

Husk chuckles, fangs grazing your inner thigh for a moment before he slides his tongue over your clit and down into your dripping cunt. He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. When your fingers brush against the shell of Husk’s ears he purrs again, and you moan, loud and broken and keening as the sound vibrates up into your pussy.

Angel hums approvingly, withdrawing his hand to slide it down around your throat. He cups it, squeezes it just a little, and you cum with a hoarse cry of Husk’s name. There’s no doubt you’re being loud enough to be heard in the hallway but you don’t care, not with the way Husk’s tongue feels inside you, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of your hips.

Husk doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around his ears, one hand clutching at the fur between them. You can feel a wet patch on the comforter beneath your ass, and Husk’s expression is decidedly smug as he climbs back up your body, one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Angel intercepts him before you can kiss him, and you whimper as they kiss over you, Angel cupping the bartender’s head with two hands. You can see their tongues sliding against each other and when Angel moans at the taste of you, you whimper, grinding your hips up against Husk’s clothed erection.

He groans, breaking away from Angel with a breathless chuckle. “Needy little thing…”

Husk leans back down to kiss you, and you can taste a heady mix of the sweetness of Angel’s last cocktail and your own arousal on his tongue. When you reach between you to fumble with the fastening of his pants, he closes a large hand over both of yours, stilling you.

“Slow down, pet. I’ve…” he kisses you gently again, steadying his voice. “Hell ain’t exactly left me with the anatomy you’re expectin’…”

“Say it like that and you’re gonna scare her,” Angel teases, reaching out to rub his fingers against the base of Husk’s ear. The bartender purrs, leaning into it instinctively. Angel looks down at you, giving you a smile that’s somehow both reassuring and downright lascivious. “You’re gonna love it, aren’t ya, babydoll?”

You nod, and there’s a surprising thrill that’s curling inside you at Husk’s warning. Or maybe that’s the way his claws trail lightly up over your hip. He swipes his thumb over your clit again, and you jerk under the touch.

“Angel…”

“Look at her, Huskie,” Angel coos, giving his partner a teasing pout. “It’d be cruel to deprive our sweet girl now. She’s about thirty seconds away from beggin’ ya for it. ‘Sides,” he shrugs. “I got lube if she needs it.”

Husk raises a brow. “You’ve got lube?”

“What d’ya take me for? Some kinda amateur?” Angel says, affronted. “Course I’ve got lube!”

The bartender chuckles, rolling his eyes and apologising by pulling the spider into another kiss. You feel his paw loosen its grip where it still holds your hands against his zipper, and you palm his erection through his pants. Husk moans, shuddering under the touch as he pulls away to meet your eye. “We… we take it slow, alright?”

You nod, maybe too quickly from the way Angel smirks, but Husk accepts it and releases you. You make quick work of his fly as he slips off his suspenders, and your eyes widen as his cock is freed from the fabric. It’s tapered slightly, thickening to the base, and along the length of it are small, pointed barbs. Angel brushes hair away from your face, cooing softly. “They’re gonna feel so good inside you, baby… you’re gonna take his cock so good for us…”

You exhale shakily, a sound echoed by Husk as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of his cock. You stroke him experimentally, and the way the barbs feel against your palm… Husk moans as you squeeze him, stroke your thumb over the tip of his cock. He peppers kisses over your forehead, your temples and your cheeks, catching your lips again and kissing you deeply as you pump his cock slowly. Angel hums his approval and when Husk kisses your brow Angel hooks his fingers under the cat’s chin, bringing him up for another kiss of his own.

You can hear every reaction Husk makes to your touch, the way his breath catches, the way he moans into Angel’s mouth. He thrusts himself into your hand, and you stroke your other hand through the fur over his ribs. When Angel reaches past him to massage the base of Husk’s wings the cat gasps, jerking away from the both of you. “Christ, fuck, you two are gonna kill me here.”

You giggle, and Husk grins, leaning up to kiss Angel’s cheek before he settles himself back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the head of his cock presses up against your cunt, and Angel strokes your cheek as Husk slides an inch slowly into you.

“Oh, God, Husk…” you whine, hips shifting as you feel his cock stretch you open. “Fuck…”

“Look at you,” Angel whispers sweetly as Husk pulls back and presses into you again, sliding another inch into you. The bartender groans as you flex around him, his paws tight on your hips. “Look at how pretty you look like this...”

You reach up to clutch at the pillows and Angel wraps his hand around yours, interlacing his fingers with your own. Husk’s body is warm and firm and a wonderful weight over yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he tries to maintain this torturous, glacial pace. Each thrust of his hips stretches you further, and it aches wonderfully, each barb of his cock taking the breath from your lungs in a little ‘hahh’.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” Angel continues, trailing fingers of another hand along your other collarbone. “Bein’ such a good girl for daddy… makin’ him feel so good.”

Husk moans into your shoulder, teeth grazing the supple flesh. His paw spreads possessively over your waist, kneading into the flesh of your belly.

“Listen to how hot you get him,” Angel says, a third hand scratching the fur between Husk’s ears. “Look at how kitty fucks you… he’s tryin’ so hard not to hurt you, baby. But you’re so wet for him, aren’t you? You’re so wet and so ready and all you gotta do is say ‘please’… say ‘please’ pretty baby and Huskie’s gonna fuck you so deep and so good… fuck you like you deserve for bein’ such a good girl for him…”

“Fuck…” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet Husk’s. He’s almost completely inside you; the way he corkscrews his hips makes the barbs of his cock drag against the flesh of your cunt deliciously, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of it. “Fuck!”

“C’mon, baby,” Angel urges, sugar-sweet. The hand on your shoulder dips lower, teasing over the curve of your breast. He flicks his fingers over your nipple, and your breath catches in what could almost be a sob. “Beg nice and pretty for daddy and he’ll fuck you just how you need it. “

“Please,” you whine, brow furrowed in frustration as Husk pulls out completely, sliding his cock up against your clit. His breathing is heavy, torn with need of his own, and he dips his head to kiss you, hard and deep. You moan into his mouth as his barbs drag against your clit, and you wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand still locked in Angel’s. “Please, Husk… fuck me, please… Fuck… I need you to… please, Husk…”

“That’s a good girl,” Husk sighs, and the two of you moan in unison as he slides his cock back into you, his hips finally, finally flush with yours. “Holy… fuuuuck…”

“Listen to you two,” Angel says admiringly, his voice strung with his own desire. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty together…”

Husk fucks you deep; each time he pulls back he thrusts in again far enough to make your breath leave you in quick, cut moans. You raise your knees higher, trying to get him deeper, and Angel reaches down with his lower arms, hooks his hands under your knees and draws them up towards your chest. The angle makes Husk’s cock brush against something inside you with each press of his hips into yours and you keen with it, the sound tearing hoarsely from your throat, high-pitched and broken.

“That’s it, baby,” Angel tells you. “Tell daddy how good he feels; tell him how good he feels fucking you.”

“So good…” your breath catches in your throat as Husk touches a careful claw to your clit, your body shuddering with the added stimulation. “Fuck, it’s so good…”

Husk kisses the other side of your neck, tongue and teeth teasing over your pulse point before he kisses you again, sweet and deep and addictive. A purr rumbles through him as he speaks against your lips, bumping his nose against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, doll. Fuck, you’re like pure fuckin’ silk…”

Your voice comes out high-pitched, a whine that matches the tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “Please, Husk… I’m so close, I can’t… Husk…”

“’s okay, baby, I got you,” he kisses you again, brief but tender. “I got you, doll. Fuck, you’re so… Christ…”

You clutch at the fur at the back of his head, urging his face back down to your neck. Husk moves obediently, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck just as he thrusts deep into your quivering cunt. You moan aloud as you cum, eyes rolling back and rocking your hips up against his as soon as Angel releases your thighs. Husk groans into your throat, keeping his teeth buried in your sensitive flesh until he feels you slowly relax again. He laps gently at the mark he’s left behind, the roughness of his tongue making your body jerk with each stroke of it against your neck.

Husk’s breathing is just as laboured as yours, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, your chin as he steadies his hips. You whine as he slips his cock out of you, bucking up against him as he slides the barbs of it slowly against your clit.

“Fucking… holy shit,” you reach down to grasp at his hips, and Husk chuckles brokenly into the edge of your jaw as he stops moving. He kisses the bridge of your nose and you wrinkle it when it tickles, and you echo his laugh breathlessly as he brings his lips back to yours. Husk purrs against your lips.

“Fuck, you two are hot as shit,” Angel sighs, squeezing your hand. You hum happily, squeezing back, and Husk breaks the kiss to lean up and kiss him. It’s soft and languid and sweet, and Husk groans into it, rutting himself against your thigh. Angel coos against Husk’s lips, kissing him between words. “You still need to cum, don’t ya, kitty?”

Husk nods, groaning as you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. “Don’t tease me, legs.”

“Never, baby,” Angel promises with the sweetest smirk, petting the bartender’s cheek. “Now be a good boy and sit back for me.”

Husk does as he’s told, and Angel strokes your cheek with careful fingers. You lean into it contentedly, and his expression softens further with an affectionate smile. “How ya feelin’, dollface?”

“Take a guess,” you sigh happily and he snickers.

“Atta girl.”

You feel Husk smooth a paw up over your calf, and your body warms as you shift to meet his eye. He has his other paw wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Each time he reaches the base he squeezes, his breathing unsteady. His pupils are still blown wide, his wings quivering and his tail switching behind him.

“Roll over for him, baby,” Angel instructs you gently. “Up on your knees.”

You groan at the soft ache between your thighs as you roll over, hear Husk’s breath catch as you bare your naked back to him. You feel his paw smooth up the back of your thigh to squeeze your ass, and you lean back against him, his fur tickling at your bare skin, his cock hard against the curve of your ass. He wraps his arm around your middle, claws digging into the soft flesh in what feels addictively possessive, his other hand catching your chin and turning your face towards him. He kisses you over your shoulder, that sweet purr vibrating into your back.

Angel leans forward, turning your face away from Husk’s so he can kiss him instead, moaning quietly into the embrace. When they part, Angel surprises you by brushing his lips over yours. “Bend over, sweet girl.”

You shudder at his tone, a moan catching in your throat as you do as he asks. Husk moves to slide his cock between your thighs, and he groans, low and rough. Angel smooths hair away from your face as he guides you down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and your excitement sparks even brighter as you notice the spider’s erection beneath the tight fabric of his skirt, only a few inches from your face.

Husk thrusts into you again, nice and slow, exhaling heavily as your warm, wet cunt squeezes around him again. A shiver rolls up your spine as he takes hold of your hips, palms pressing into the flesh of your ass, claws digging into your skin. Angel’s lower hands move to your shoulders, pinning your chest to the mattress so your back is arched almost obscenely. He moans as you nuzzle your cheek against his clothed cock, and he gathers your hair in his fist so he can watch your face as Husk rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck, you’re an eager lil’ thing,” Angel giggles breathlessly. He pulls up his skirt, and you watch through heavy-hooded eyes as Angel strokes himself through the barely-there lace of his thong, the fabric damp with his pre-cum. “Look at how much you’re turnin’ us on, baby… fuck…”

He moans as you clutch at his thigh, nails digging into the lithe muscles hidden under downy fur. You rock your hips back to meet Husk’s every thrust, urging him deeper into you. The bartender is muttering a string of curses the closer he gets to release, the swearing broken by moans and half-there praise for the two of you. When Angel pushes his underwear to the side to wrap his delicate, talented fingers around his own cock, he and Husk moan in unison. Your eyes roll back as Husk’s hands tighten on your hips and his pace quickens desperately.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck…” you grunt out each time his hips meet your ass, your throat raw. You reach beneath yourself to play with your clit, the sounds you’re making turning high pitched. Angel’s fingers grasp at your hair tighter, his hips rising beneath you to fuck himself into his hand. “Fuck, Husk… Angel… I… fuck…”

“Christ, baby, I can’t…” Husk moans, tail wrapping itself around your sweat-slick thigh. His feathers tickle at the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, at the back of your hand as you roll your fingers hungrily against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Hear that, babydoll?” Angel asks you, his usually almost teasing lilt broken by his own desperation. Instead his voice is reedier, breathier, and it’s far hotter than any of the moans you’ve heard him make in any one of the pornos he’s showcased for the other residents. “Don’t ya want our sweet kitty to cum for ya?”

“Yes…” you choke out, your thighs shaking, heat pooling in the small of your back. Husk bends over you to press kisses along your spine, and you feel like you want to cry from all the warring sensations. “God, fuck yes—Husk…”

He growls in response, fangs grazing the middle of your back as he kisses the curve of your back. His paws tighten on your hips further, despite himself, and you find yourself thrilling at the idea that he might mark you.

“Gotta – shit – ask nicely, sugar,” Angel reminds you, nails scratching against the nape of your neck. “Beg for daddy.”

“Please,” you whimper immediately; you can taste iron from the way your teeth dig into your lip. You’re so fucking close, each thrust of Husk’s cock keeps you teetering on that precipice. Each graze of his rigid barbs against the inside of your cunt makes heat pulse through every inch of you and you need to feel him cum. “Please, Husk… please, I – uhnn—I want you to… fuck—cum for me…”

You reach back to grasp blindly for him, closing your fingers around his paw. You swear Husk almost whimpers at your touch.

“Cum inside me, Husk.”

The sound the bartender makes is sinful, an addictive mix of a deep, throaty moan and this cattish growl that you hope will be imprinted on your brain. He squeezes your hand back as he thrusts hard into you, his body curving over yours to press his chest against your back as he spills himself deep inside you.

A few more seconds rubbing furiously at your clit and you follow him, burying your teeth in Angel’s thigh in an attempt to muffle the way you cry out as you orgasm. Angel moans loudly, eyes rolling back, hips thrusting up, and you feel the warmth of his cum on your cheek. “Oh, fuck!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flush of the toilet seems a little too loud, and you stand on shaky legs in front of the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands, run damp fingers through your hair to tame it. Your eyes seem too bright, your cheeks still flushed and your bottom lip bee-stung. You touch fingers to the bruises darkening on the side of your throat, flashes of the way Husk’s mouth had felt there replaying in your mind.

Even after three orgasms strong enough to knock the breath out of you, excitement tickles between your thighs at the memory. You exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself, fill the glass on the side of the sink with cold water from the tap and swallow it down.

Holy shit.

There a few lighter bruises across your breasts; your nipple aches as you brush your fingers against the darker bruise beside it. You glance down, making a happy note of the scratch marks on your hips. They’re light, barely there, but a thrilling reminder all the same.

Holy.

Shit.

You’d just lost your virginity.

In a threesome.

With a former Overlord and Hell’s most famous porn star.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Pulling on the oversized tee-shirt you use a pyjamas and wishing you had a clean pair of underwear with you, you take another steadying breath, preparing yourself for an empty room. After all, Angel had explained at the beginning of all this that by going to your room, you’d ‘feel more comfortable telling them to fuck the hell off’ if you needed to. Now that the… experience was over, why would they stay?

So, when you open the bathroom door to find the two of them waiting for you on the edge of the bed, you almost trip over the area rug.

“We were startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ outta there,” Angel says lightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “You okay, sugar?”

You nod, tucking hair behind your ear uncertainly.

“You sure?” Husk asks. His expression is soft, and you’re surprised to see his muzzle is once again stained with a blush. “You look like you’re ready to rabbit. If we did somethin’ you ain’t—”

“What? No!” you assure him quickly, your cheeks warming to match his. “No, I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you two to stick around.”

Husk raises an eyebrow, and something that could be hurt flashes briefly across his features. “D’you want us to go?”

“And skip the afterglow?” Angel says, like he’s playfully offended shocked Husk would even suggest it. He stands, and you notice then that he’s changed his clothes – his everyday outfit exchanged for a pyjama set and thigh-high socks. He glances down at himself, offering by way of explanation, “Had to check on Nuggets. And ‘sides, I look cute as shit in this.”

The comment breaks some of the tension you’re feeling, and you huff a quiet laugh. Angel’s own smile widens and he closes the distance between the two of you. he turns and wraps an arm around your shoulders in the same friendly way he’s done a hundred times before, but this time he squeezes your shoulders, another hand coming up to play idly with the ends of your hair. You feel his lips brush your temple as he bends down to speak in your ear. “You want us gone, baby, all you gotta do is say so. But Huskie’s big on the aftercare and checkin’ in and all that. He waited here while I changed – don’t think he’s leavin’ ‘til he knows you’re happy.”

The sentiment warms you, and you lean into Angel’s side. You speak louder than he did, so Husk can hear you, too. You smile softly as his ears flick upward at the sound of your voice, husky and worn from overuse. “I’m happy. Still… not entirely sure if what just happened, happened, but happy.”

“If it didn’t, it might jus’ be hottest fuckin’ dream I ever had,” Angel laughs, fingers playing teasingly with the edge of your towel. “Now go cuddle up to our boy before he combusts.”

Our boy.

Husk’s worried expression softens into a smile as you approach where he still sits on the edge of the bed, and he holds up a paw to you invitingly. His touch is warm and soft and wonderfully comforting as it wraps around your hand, and you blush when he turns your hand over to brush his lips to the inside of your wrist, a crease between his brows.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asks against your skin, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. You smile, bending down impulsively and pressing a kiss to the lines between his brows. A quiet purr sounds from him at the touch, ears folding down. The fur between his ears is dishevelled and it makes him look younger, less worn.

“I’m good.”

He smiles back up at you. “Good.”

“Fuck, you two are givin’ me a toothache over here.” Angel interjects in amusement, and you hadn’t even realised he’d made himself comfortable against the pillows and the headboard. “Now, am I gettin’ my ass cuddled good and proper here or what?”

You giggle, and he opens all four arms to you expectantly, a smirk playing over his features. Husk seems reluctant to let you go, his hand following you as you move to join his partner on the bed. Tugging your shirt down as best you can to cover yourself, you crawl onto the bed and laugh as you collapse into the spider’s waiting arms. He snickers, wrapping them around you, swatting your ass playfully with one hand. You shove him away with a laugh, breath catching in your throat as you feel Husk climb up the bed and wrap his arms around you.

You settle on your side between them, cradled against Angel’s chest and Husk pressed against your back. His wing curves around you, feathers tickling at your bare arm, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours. He reaches over you to interlock his fingers with Angel’s, his face tucked in over your shoulder. Husk’s breath tickles at the side of your neck, and he hums contentedly as he inhales the scent of you.

“… Did you two change the sheets?”

Angel nods and grins, trailing fingers up over your thigh idly. “Ya left a hell of a wet patch, baby. Next time we should probably put down a towel.”

You swallow, tilting your head back to look at him. “… Next time?”

“Only if you want, baby,” Husk murmurs into the side of you throat. He shifts, leaning up over your shoulder. Angel hooks a couple of delicate fingers against your cheek in the same moment, turning your head so Husk can kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and wonderful, and you sigh into his kiss. Husk’s purr deepens. “No pressure.”

You turn back to the man you’re laying on, studying his expression. “Angel?”

His smile is warm and sincere, even as that teasing lilt to it remains. “Like I said, baby, I got no problem sharin’ with a friend.”

Husk rubs his forehead against your shoulder, up along the curve of your throat. His voice is soft and velvety, warm in your ear. “’s up to you, pet. We’d love to keep you.”

.

.

.

Again, happy birthday Keeks! Hope you liked this thoroughly un-proofread piece of smut. I am once again letting you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life - we've almost known each other for a year now, and I already cannot imagine life without you. You're an angel, and I love you :)

[kingkaizen]

Hellur, saw your post about bllk and I enjoyed it LOL, I was wondering if you could do a fluff one for Sae about how he'd plan his proposal to his beloved?? You can add the same characters you did on your first post!! Teehee

∘ a/n: im so happy that you enjoyed my writing <3 thank you for this adorable request hun! i only included 3 of the boys so ofc lmk if you'd like me to write these for some of the others too!

∘ ft: sae, barou, + karasu

∘ includes: proposals <3

Sae Itoshi

➳ when it comes to proposals, sae isnt one for huge romantic gestures

➳ he believes that matters like this should be intimate, something for just the two of you to witness

➳ sae would choose a setting that would be deeply meaningful to your relationship, making the entire proposal that much more special

...

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. The beach was quiet, besides the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore. Sae had insisted on taking you here, a place that had always been special to the two of you. It was actually the place where you both said ‘I love you’ for the first time, and a place where countless evenings have been spent with just one another. 

Tonight felt different, though. Sae had been quieter than usual—not unusual for him, but there was a nervous energy about him that you couldn’t quite place. As you walked along the shoreline, your feet sinking slightly into the cool, damp sand, Sae suddenly stopped. His hand, warm and steady, gently tugged at yours to make you face him.

“You know,” he began, his voice softer than the breeze, “I don’t say this enough, but you’ve changed my life in ways that I can’t begin to express.” His aquamarine eyes, always so sharp and calculating, were unusually tender as they met yours. He reached into his pocket, and your heart skipped when he pulled out a small velvet box.

“I’m not good with words, and I’ve never been great at showing how I feel. But you…” He paused, taking a deep breath as his mind raced. “You make me want to be better. For you, for us, and our future.” Sae dropped to one knee, the damp sand clinging to his jeans, but he didn’t seem to care. He opened the box, revealing a simple yet elegant ring, the kind of understated beauty that matched his taste—and yours.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice steady but low, as if the weight of his emotions were grounding him. “Be with me, always.” The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat and the sincerity in his eyes. The setting sun cast a warm glow around him, and for a moment, he looked almost ethereal.

Your answer came easily, your voice catching with emotion as you nodded, a bright smile spreading across your face. “Yes, Sae. Always.” He wasn’t one to show too much emotion, despite the years that you’ve known him. So, seeing his walls come completely down for you in this moment was something that tugged at your heart.

Relief washed over his face, and a rare, genuine smile tugged at his lips as he slipped the ring onto your finger. Standing, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as the waves lapped at your feet.

And just like that, Sae Itoshi’s heart, once so guarded, was now entirely yours.

Shoei Barou

➳ barou would definitely want a proposal that is a bit over the top, something that truly matches the vibes of your relationship

➳ nothing he ever does is half-assed, and that’s exactly his mindset going into the planning of it all

➳ he would take you somewhere beautiful and away from home to give you the ultimate experience

...

The evening air was warm, carrying the faint scent of tropical flowers and saltwater. Barou had brought you to an island paradise, a destination that took your breath away the moment you arrived. The resort he chose was as grand as you’d expect from him—luxurious villas, infinity pools, and views that stretched endlessly over turquoise waters. But tonight, Barou had completely outdone himself.

He insisted you dress up for dinner, though he refused to say why. As the sun began to set, a private car picked you up, driving through winding coastal roads until it stopped at a secluded cliffside overlooking the ocean. A pathway lined with lanterns and petals led you to a table for two, illuminated by string lights hanging above. The view was spectacular—stars just beginning to sparkle in the darkening sky, the ocean glowing softly with the last light of the sun.

Barou was already there, waiting for you, dressed sharply in a dark suit that made him look every bit the king he always claimed to be. He didn’t say much, but the way he glanced at you, his usually intense eyes softening, made your heart race. Dinner was amazing, but you could sense he was distracted. He barely touched his food, and his fingers occasionally drummed on the table. It wasn’t like him to look so nervous and out of it.Then, as dessert was served, he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden platform, startling you a bit.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding, as he offered you his hand.

You followed him to the edge of the cliff, where the ocean stretched endlessly before you. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the air, a dramatic symphony that mirrored the tension building in your chest. Barou turned to face you, his expression unreadable at first. But then, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

“You know me,” he began, his voice rough but steady. “I don’t like to share what’s mine. And you… you’re the only one who matters to me.” His crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the fierce intensity in them made your knees weak. He dropped to one knee, his large frame somehow looking vulnerable against the vast backdrop of the ocean. Opening the box, he revealed a dazzling ring—a bold design, just like him, but beautiful in a way that made your breath hitch.

“I don’t do things halfway,” he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. “I want you by my side—forever. Be mine, please.”

The words were straightforward, even blunt, but you could hear the raw emotion laced beneath them. This was Barou—unapologetically himself, but giving you all of him at this moment.

Your eyes filled with tears as you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

A rare smile broke across his face, fleeting but genuine. He stood, sliding the ring onto your finger, and pulled you into his arms with a strength that left no doubt you were his world. As the waves roared below and the stars lit up the night sky, Barou kissed you, a promise sealed in the most perfect moment.

Karasu Tabito

➳ karasu’s proposal would be one that is both well thought out yet playful

➳ his proposal would be more on the creative side, almost making it some type of game 

➳ he would set it up to be like a mini treasure hunt where the prize is something that you were not expecting

...

The day started like any other adventure with Karasu – spontaneous, lively, and full of surprises. He handed you a small, hand-drawn map over breakfast, his signature playful grin lighting up his face.

“Today’s mission,” he said dramatically, “is to find the greatest treasure in the world. And no, it’s not me, though I know I’m a close second.” You rolled your eyes at his antics, but your heart fluttered with excitement. The map was detailed yet vague, with landmarks you recognized scattered across the city including the movie theater that has seen many of your dates, the park where you had your first picnic, and many more.

Each stop held a small clue — sometimes a riddle, sometimes a quirky message written in his bold handwriting. At the café, a barista handed you a folded note: "You’ve made it this far, adventurer. But can you find where our journey truly began? Hint: The world’s greatest hot chocolate awaits you."

Your heart raced as you pieced together the clues, each one leading you closer to a final destination that Karasu refused to reveal. His energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top commentary every step of the way. Finally, the map led you to the park, where a secluded gazebo sat adorned with fairy lights and flowers. The setting sun bathed everything in a golden glow, and your breath caught at the sight. Karasu was already there, standing in the center with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Congratulations!” he called, throwing his arms wide. “You’ve solved the mystery and found the treasure!”

You laughed, walking toward him. “So, what is it? Jewelry? Hopefully some food?”

He chuckled, pulling a small, intricately decorated chest from behind his back. “The real treasure is in here,” he said, his voice softer now. When he opened it, your heart stopped. Inside was a ring, a stunning piece that sparkled like the stars starting to appear in the sky.

Karasu dropped to one knee, his usual cocky demeanor giving way to something raw and genuine. “The greatest treasure isn’t in a chest or on a map,” he said, looking up at you. “It’s you. You’re my greatest adventure, my best friend, and the only person I want to annoy for the rest of my life.”

He grinned, but his voice cracked slightly as he asked, “So, will you marry me? Be my partner in crime forever?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, barely able to get the words out. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

Karasu jumped to his feet, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around, his laughter ringing out like music. “I knew you’d say yes! Who could resist me?” he teased, though the sheer joy on his face betrayed his bravado.

As the lights twinkled around you and the stars shone overhead, you realized that life with Karasu would always be full of laughter, surprises, and love.

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[viasdiary]

Luigi who's too big for you too take but doesn't care and makes u take it anyways + manhandles u

LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS PROMPT OMG

☆ take it (luigi mangione x reader)

☆ warnings: rough sex, choking, overstim, crying

his breath is hot against your skin as he plants kisses across your bare chest, running his hands over your tits as his lips trail up your neck, nibbling and sucking just under your ear. you can't help but giggle, his stubble tickling you as he kisses you.

"god, you're so cute when you laugh like that," he says, chuckling softly against your skin.

you wrap your arms around his neck, running your hands through his soft dark curls. he pulls back, gazing down at you, his silver chain dangling above you.

"you look so fuckin' pretty" he says, his brown eyes searching your face. luigi always looked so hot after you guys had been making out, his lips a little swollen, his curly hair slightly tousled, his cheeks flushed. he looks so beautiful staring down at you like this.

you pull him into another kiss, this one harder, more desperate. you feel his tongue on your lips, asking for entrance, which you happily grant. as the two of you explore each other's mouths, his hands start to wander. one hand trails down your stomach, before slipping between your thighs, gently rubbing at the growing wetness there. you pull away, gasping, letting out a soft moan.

"you like that baby?"

you nod, moaning as he begins to rub your clit in slow, firm circles.

"god, you're fuckin' soaked for me"

"all for you," you manage to say.

"god, i love hearing you say that," he groans, continuing to pleasure you.

you're panting now, desperate for him to touch you more.

"fuck, luigi, please…"

"please what baby? tell me what you need" he teases

"i need your fingers, please" you whine softly.

"gonna have to be a little more specific than that," he chuckles.

"i need your fingers inside me." you beg, desperate.

"anything you want, baby" he says, before sliding a finger inside of you, thrusting slowly at first, then picking up the pace. he feels how tight you are around his finger, his cock growing even harder.

"god, you're so fuckin' tight," he mutters.

you're a panting mess, his finger curling and uncurling inside you, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

he continues his rhythm, adding a second finger and beginning to fuck you harder.

"think you're ready for me?" he asks softly,

"fuck, yes" you say breathlessly

he pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine at the loss of contact. he slides down his boxers and grabs his cock, lining it up with your slick entrance. he pushes into you inch by inch, the stretch deliciously painful

"fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his hands gripping your hips.

you can't help but whimper at the feeling of him stretching you.

"luigi, it hurts," you whine

"you can fuckin' take it." he grunts

you bite back another whine, feeling him bottom out inside you.

"god, i wanna fuck the shit outta you," he growls, gripping your hips tighter.

"please," you say desperately, the pain starting to subside, giving way to pleasure.

he starts to thrust in and out of you, the room filled with the lewd sound of him pounding into your wet cunt. you dig your nails into his back, clinging onto him.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his breathing ragged. you can only moan in response, the pleasure washing over you, your head fuzzy from the ecstasy.

he picks up the pace, pounding into you, your tits bouncing with each thrust. he wraps his hand around your neck, gripping it tightly.

"please, its too much," you beg, tears welling in your eyes.

"shut the fuck up and take it." he growls, continuing his brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping and the creaking of the bed filling the air. he presses down on your lower stomach as he hits your cervix with every thrust.

"feel how fuckin' deep i am?" he groans "i'm practically fuckin' ruining you"

"luigi, please," you sob, the pain and pleasure mixing, the pressure building inside you.

"you like when i fuckin' use you like this?" he aks, his grip on your neck tightening. you can't help but moan, the pleasure overtaking the pain.

"fuckin' answer me"

"fuck, yes!" you cry, the pressure continuing to build.

he continues his assault on your dripping pussy, his thumb brushing against your clit, making you moan loudly.

"that's right, cum for me" he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"fuck, luigi," you cry, your walls spasming around him. he groans, burying himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he cums, filling you up.

he lets go of your neck, his hands trailing down your body, before gripping your thighs, spreading them apart as he continues to fuck you.

"you're gonna take my fuckin' cum, aren't you?" he grunts, his hips slamming into yours, the overstimulation making you writhe beneath him.

"gonna let me fuck my load into you nice and deep, huh?" he says breathlessly.

"fuck," he moans, his eyes rolling back. "take it"

you feel him pump his load deep inside you, before collapsing on top of you, his head resting on your chest.

you run your fingers through his hair, the two of you coming down from your highs.

"you did so good for me, baby" he says softly

"fuck you," you reply, giggling.

[fitzjamesbulletwound]

if you ever wanted to hear my every thought on fitzier you're in luck because here it is! this is extremely long so it's going under the cut and if you read it all, i love you

fitzier- shame, performance, and the freeing ordeal of being known 

oh man okay here we go everyone, if this sucks or is too stupid or too anything feel free to kill me

essentially what i want to try to convey here is that the reason crozier and fitzjames go from enemies to friends to lovers is because they both see each other and see themselves in each other in a way that frightens and compels them, hence the early enmity with a tinge of familiarity and desperation to connect thrown in. with the inevitable evolution of their relationship i really think it becomes about learning to be vulnerable with one another, to give each other space to be who they need to be, both to each other and their subordinates, and finally coming to a point where fitzjames, the most performative insecure character in the story (to me), bares his entire soul to crozier, whose own character development allows him to give james the gift of acceptance and compassion in that moment. i’m not going to go episode by episode like i did with my joplittle post but this is more or less in chronological order with maybe a few exceptions idk i get possessed when i write this stuff

the first scene we’ve got to look at is of course the dinner scene. james is absolutely showboating like no other in this scene but in his body language you can see he isn’t confident at all- fidgeting, gesturing, exaggerating, the voice he tends to put on in early episodes prevalent. but when crozier interrupts him you can see for a split second that james was actually excited to get attention from him until he realizes what he’s saying. in the early episodes james craves crozier’s attention and approval so badly because he knows that crozier doesn’t bullshit and he sees things for what they are and isn’t afraid to voice that either and despite the fact that this sometimes makes james uncomfortable as it is not in line with victorian ideals of emotional expression and masculinity, i think james, given the kind of man he is at the start of the story, craves the recognition of a man who he knows would see everything in him. early early early foreshadowing and story weaving for the cairn scene where he realizes “he can tell this man anything. it is possible”

what i also find fascinating about early james and francis is that they still refer to one another in a very familiar way despite the fact that they openly dislike each other- it’s always first name basis even when they’re arguing. also interesting to note that crozier in the beginning will often call him “fitzjames” in front of others when he’s discussing him when he’s not in the room, but later on he makes sure to always use his proper title when he’s talking about him in front of the men- showing james respect even when he dislikes him. i think he doesn’t understand at the time that james’s familiarity with him is an attempt at respect as well (the whole ‘don’t ever call me francis again’ scene). it might be a stretch but i do get the sense that from the very beginning they both tried at being friendly, even just for the sake of maintaining order in command.

when francis says “here technology still bends the knee to luck james” in ep 1 he says it with almost a mentor-like cadence. like yeah they’re both being a little bitchy here but god knows franklin wasn’t giving fitzjames any real or pertinent advice about surviving and navigating the fucking arctic so i find it interesting that crozier almost gently reminds him that yeah they’re making decent progress but that it would be foolish to let their guard down

one of my favorite early fitzier scenes is after dinner when crozier, franklin, and fitzjames are all on deck and fitzjames like sidles up to crozier and looks him up and down and just goes “goodnight francis” with that smirk on his face- he was trying so hard to flirt with him while also being an insufferable bitch with “try to shake the brown study”. but also james lingers so long waiting for francis to say something to him and then shakes his head and walks away to go bitch to franklin about him- i think he is truly hurt in this instance along with being angry and annoyed. and i love that complication because on one hand, i do think that fitzjames thinks that crozier owes him friendship or at the very least recognition because of who james believes himself to be, or at least who he’s trying to be- like he DOES probably see crozier as being beneath him as an irishman but i do think he genuinely wants his friendship and approval as well, for self serving reasons but not entirely. it’s about fitzjames and his desire to be seen by everyone around him in a certain light but also about his desire to be seen specifically by crozier because of who crozier is and how he acts in contrast to everyone else around them

next on the agenda is “dramatic opening shot”... fitzjames girl you are the most dramatic man in the fucking room. the projection is crazy. what this scene reveals most importantly i think is that another thing about francis that james is secretly very envious of is his ability to openly disagree with franklin. there are so many moments later on where you can see that james doesn’t fully believe in what franklin is saying or commanding (the way he looks at him when they realize they are trapped in the pack, the ways he looks at him when he tells fitzjames to escort silna off of erebus right after her father has died) and i think that he envies francis’s ability to challenge franklin and not care what the consequences are. anyway the staredown during this scene is crazy, the tension??

moving on… beginning of ep 1 crozier says “not if fitzjames is with us” in reference to jop saying dinner will be over before he knows it, and at the beginning of ep 2 fitzjames says “do you think francis will honor us with his presence today”- for two people who allegedly hate each other they sure do think about each other and find reasons to bring each other up in conversation a lot! 

ahh the scene with silna’s father- fitzjames is so interesting to me in this scene and really illustrates one of my favorite things about him in the earlier episodes which is that when he goes silent his face journeys are amazing and really convey his true feelings that he won’t say out loud for various reasons. he watches crozier so much in this scene and looks to him for understanding and guidance which is also interesting because i do think that in this scene he’s watching silna, a woman who he probably sees as subhuman and alien, reacting with such grief and tenderness to her father’s death and probably thinking of his relationship with his own father. i know a lot of people speculate that he was just feeling empathy for her there and i do think that’s part of it but i think that to show that in his mind would be to out himself as being “not fully english”. i think i make this point later on in the story too but fitzjames really does that classic white supremacist thing of distancing yourself from “otherness” in order to align yourself with imperialist beliefs and status- he does it with silna and he does it with crozier. sorry this is also turning into my fitzjames character study lol.

the scene where crozier walks out after his big blow up with franklin… i get that james really didn’t have any place to try to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping but i find it so interesting that he decides to turn to face francis and look him directly in the eye. from what we can see of his expression i personally think there was at least a small amount of sympathy there. another attempt to extend friendship and familiarity while actively participating in crozier’s humiliation… god i hate him lol. and the face that james is making when francis first walks out before he turns around is contemplative, not like smug or triumphant or anything like we might expect given how much he seems to dislike crozier at this point. and francis looking back at him… there’s no anger there, just sadness and humiliation and it sucks. i would truly do anything to be able to see james’s face there, in the script it says that crozier can tell how much james heard from the look on his face which like??? could mean so much.

okay the face journey when francis walks into the erebus wardroom after sir john dies… his eyes stay on fitzjames who’s obviously extremely distraught and i wonder if crozier has ever seen fitzjames show genuine emotion up until this point? crozier then looks to blanky, who also looks to fitzjames almost as if to say “look at him, attend to him” and the sorrow and vulnerability on francis’s face when he looks again to james who is of course also showing a vulnerability we haven’t seen from him before. i love the note in the script that fitzjames isn’t used to being this candid or vulnerable in front of a man he doesn’t respect but he does it anyway. and i don’t think he knows how much sympathy crozier does have for him despite how callous he may come across when he says to send out the rescue parties. they both just fail so spectacularly at communication and expression early on, it’s crazy to see

when francis begins reading from the eulogy and stumbles over his words fitzjames gives him a very sharp look… i think he clocks his alcoholism starting to really affect him right away but may also be looking to see if the stumble is due to emotion or the alcohol. ugh and the look he gives him at the end too… it’s so piercing and there’s an anger to it as well. almost a “please prove me wrong but i don’t believe at this point that you will”. because for better or worse now they are linked, intertwined, married and they have to find a way to make it work.

ohhhh the fitzier dinner scene my beloved… “as i climbed the ridge” is such a parallel to james’s chinese sniper story scene!! AND this time it’s fitzjames who derisively interrupts crozier. The parallels, the callbacks… the look he gives fitzjames is crazy when fitzjames says “you should curb that for now” but what i find the most interesting about this scene is that the script makes a point to say that fitzjames was being sincere when he said that to crozier- there is care and concern there underneath the frustration and anger. and then it’s also wild that in that moment, fitzjames clearly reminds crozier of sophia. the way the narrative almost shifts to replace crozier’s love interest (sophia) with his burgeoning relationship with fitzjames is soooooo. i just love this scene because they are both trying so hard to be vulnerable and open with one another but they are both failing so spectacularly just like in the scene after sir john dies. they don’t have the respect and rapport between them yet to back up what they desperately want from each other- a connection. a camaraderie. leadership and capability. fitzjames tries to be sincere in his concern for francis but it is overshadowed by his frustration and anger towards what he views to be a sour outlook from crozier, and crozier attempts to be vulnerable with james by sharing about sophia only to be met with the knowledge that franklin has humiliated him yet again by discussing that topic with other people aboard the ship. and i think fitzjames does truly pity francis in that moment but it also frustrates him that that is the reason he’s here, for love, not for a yearning for adventure or glory- which i would venture to say is why fitzjames is there. fitzjames went on the expedition to prove his worth and francis went for love and they both ended up finding exactly those things from one another i’m dead.

oh and also why the fuck does fitzjames arch his slutty back against the wall when francis walks out of the room like that one scene in hannibal y’all know what i’m talking about. okay and i forgot about the way fitzjames jabs his finger at francis all up in his personal space which is just so unlike him. it is also worth noting that francis doesn’t get angry at this- he actually stills for a second and then continues to tell james what he was going to tell him. again there’s that strange familiarity they have despite the fact that they hate each other at this point. and that’s to say nothing of how they’re sitting in the first place which is so close to each other idk it just seems a little crazy to me?

i also find it so so interesting how james chooses to be honest with francis once he accidentally reveals that franklin discussed the whole sophia thing with him- he could’ve deflected and said like “oh yeah he mentioned it in passing’ or something like that but he chose to tell francis the truth of the conversation! francis really brings out an honest and candid side to james that we don’t see him put on for anyone else and i think it’s because deep down he knows that no matter how shitty, francis is always going to respect being told the truth vs. all of the obfuscating language that is so typical of the time. i think this is also why in the next episode francis insists that everyone leaves after he punches fitzjames and fitzjames is very resigned to it as well- they both know that it’s going to be ugly but they both want to hash out the truth of the situation for better or worse- like yeah they are at each other’s throats and they want the catharsis of screaming at each other because they’re so mad at each other here but i also think they crave honesty and candidness in their interactions- james because he feels like a fake and francis because it’s his nature- but both because it’s what they want from each other. and back to the dinner scene- just another look of genuine hurt from fitzjames when crozier says “keep your pity” plus the whole reason crozier even says that- i don’t think he expects pity from anyone at this point and doesn’t know how to respond to it.

in the scene where fitzjames says they should question silna about the creature crozier makes a point to say he agrees with him- he does this a couple of different times throughout the show and i think it’s a very small but important detail about how even when they aren’t on the best terms he makes sure to show james respect in front of the officers. and like yeah they end up yelling at each other here but i think that’s more james’s grief showing (again he shows emotion in front of/because of francis) and francis’s stress showing as well- that “we’re all exhausted” is very aimed at james but also an attempt to explain his own state of mind. they’re trying!!!!

the lashing scene- i don’t think we’ve ever seen fitzjames actually afraid of crozier but he definitely is here. he’s clenching his hands so hard throughout the whole scene and he keeps glancing at crozier as he allows the lashing to go on and even nervously gulps at one point. i think this along with crozier’s worsening addiction is a huge catalyst for where we find them and their dynamic in ep 5.

and speaking of which- at the beginning of the episode you can really see how their communication has just completely broken down. edward is basically bridging the gap between them and the resentment is growing. i know that the alcoholism is part of it, we can only assume that fitzjames started to keep his distance once he could tell it was getting bad, but i also think a lot of this is fall out from the lashing and how it affected the way fitzjames felt about crozier as stated earlier. and another aspect of the widening gap between fitzjames and crozier is how erebus is the very picture of order while terror is literally and figuratively falling apart 

the fact that fitzjames told collins to watch out for crozier running out of alcohol on terror is further evidence that fitzjames was around a bit to witness crozier’s alcoholism getting really bad and isolated himself after that. he’s angry but he knows it was coming

ugh man the fight scene- the fact that james came himself, alone, to terror to talk to francis as a friend (straight from his own mouth in the script of their argument) about the alcohol issue. even though james is furious and stressed and shouldering the whole expedition, he still attempts to care for francis, it just ends up blowing up in his face and that’s when he lashes out. the way he says “francis” at first before crozier freaks out on him is in such a sincere and gentle tone and just the fucking genuine hurt in his face and his tone of voice when francis tells him to never call him by his first name again. fitzjames cared when francis was at his fucking lowest but still held him responsible and that’s love baby.

the body language is crazy when they’re yelling at each other or i guess when fitzjames is reading francis lol- and the way crozier can’t take his eyes off fitzjames when he’s telling everyone to get out. he’s so ready for this fucking throw down because both of them have been holding this in for so long. crozier is amped up but fitzjames is resigned to finally getting it all out in the open. he wants it to happen and he knows it needs to. even after getting punched in the mouth by him (i don’t think it’s any accident that fitzjames literally bears a scar from that punch and that it comes back open when he’s dying of scurvy) fitzjames still calmly tells everyone yes get out and says what he needs to say. i love the transcript of their argument because it’s so brutal but it really illustrates a kind of fucked up intimacy that we aren’t 100% privy to between them. crozier knows exactly what to say to james to hurt him- telling him he doesn’t have friends, he has admirers and that james has always been mad that he isn’t one, that james is a coward despite the fact that james is facing this down no matter what it takes in order to literally save crozier’s life; and james knows that all he can do is soldier through and lay the truth of what is happening on francis in a way no one else has dared to except for silna minutes before. james really goes out of his comfort zone- being honest and sincere and vulnerable for the sake of the expedition but also for francis. and i’m reading this back and wondering if i’m being too generous to james here but tbh he had every right to be this angry at francis at this point in the story! 

ha fitzjames walks into the “i need to dry out meeting” looking all submissive and contrite… but for real his face is so open and entreating in this scene. he’s still annoyed but he wants so badly for things to go right. and you can see in francis’s expression that he is so ashamed to have to ask him 

mmm and part of fitzjames coming to love and respect crozier is seeing jopson’s devotion to him in this scene… he’s never seen crozier be admired the way franklin was and i think this is a whole new way for him to see him. and just in general here i think that james “reshuffles everything he thought about the man” and he admires crozier for the way he put his humility and vulnerability in front of him finally and admitted to his wrongs, something i also don’t think franklin would ever do and didn’t ever do, to his and the entire crew’s demise. fitzjames followed franklin and looked up to him in the pursuit of his own vanity and the narrative he tells himself to cover the shame, but he learns to respect and love francis because he watches his evolution as a captain and as a man without any of the obfuscating that he’s used to from authority figures. he watches francis claw his way out of his own shame, the shame that drives him forward and i wonder what kind of ideas that gave fitzjames and how it influenced his own decision to share everything about his past with francis later

what i love about the opening scene of ep 6 is that we see how fitzjames’s leadership has been influenced by franklin and francis but specifically how he is acting more like francis- he does do a little bit of the whole “how dare you bring up anything unpleasant” thing when he yells at jirv for mentioning the number of men and when he does the whole “oh it’s just winter, we’ll feel better with the first sunrise, encourage the men with that” thing but it’s interesting because although we’re hearing echoes of franklin here, fitzjames is still trying to be more honest and open to feedback than franklin was. he doesn’t exactly take jirv’s advice on rationing but he does ration a bit. he is doing the whole toxic positivity thing with his “use that to encourage the men” line but he is also recognizing how hard everything has been for everyone and using an actual tangible event to lift spirits rather than referring to meaningless bullshit about god and country. and the simple fact that he seeks blanky’s advice and knowledge is more than sir john would ever have done in a scenario like this. he understands from blanky’s story about ross that he himself hasn’t been doing enough to combat the horror of their situation for the men, he understands that he must do more. even the way he asks ‘what do you mean’ when blanky says ross had no sympathy for the ill. to not care for the ill is an alien concept to him. tt’s so interesting because fitzjames occupies a space not dissimilar to francis’s- he has access and power in the hierarchy of the discovery service but, within his own mind, he is still an outsider. crozier on the other hand is a visible and tangible outsider due to his birth and his nationality. everyone can see it and i think that’s also part of why fitzjames is so antagonistic towards francis in the beginning- the projection goes crazy and in the true spirit of colonialism and white supremacy, james believes that if he can make himself as far apart from someone like francis as possible and align himself with men like franklin and barrow despite sharing way more similarities with francis than he does with them, he can succeed in upholding himself as the vision of victorian masculinity and social worthiness that he so desperately tries to emulate- this is what i was thinking about during the scene with silna’s father where he’s reluctant to fully show his (partial) sympathy to her

the line from the script that kills me is when it says a clock has begun for fitzjames once he discovers the blood in his hair… god it kills me, he knew he was dying for months. for literal months and who knows if he even told anyone but… i do think he had to have told francis at some point. it makes me so sick, it’s literally why the cairn walk scene happens- he knew he was dying, he knew it and one of the last things he wanted before he died was for someone to see him, truly see him flaws and mistakes and vanity and all before he died. and he wanted that person to be francis

gotta include the scene where james tells edward that francis was right about walking out- this is a huge turning point from ep 1

it’s so funny that when crozier and fitzjames see each other at carnival you can tell james is like “oh shit i’m in trouble” but crozier is just slightly amused seeing him like that and even though he finds the carnival strange and sees how reckless it was, he doesn’t chide james or the men about it even though that’s cleary what james is expecting. crozier empathizes with their longing for home and their need to do something happy and uses that momentum to tell the men about walking out and doing his best to reassure them about their chances. the way fitzjames looks up at him and nods along with him- i don’t think we’ve seen fitzjames look at him like that yet up until this point. he is seeing francis for who he can be as a competent captain and we are seeing crozier really step into that role. i also think that francis was relieved that fitzjames saw the urgency in walking out and that he wasn’t going to have to convince him the way he would’ve had to convince franklin. their leadership is finally syncing up here, built on humility (francis admitting he had an addiction and choosing to do something about it, fitzjames admitting how wrong he was about francis and his use of caution and logic) and respect (i do think crozier respected fitzjames for trying to build morale to the best of his ability and i think fitzjames respected francis finally behaving like the captain he needed him to be) 

during the fire there’s a small moment where james is frozen- no doubt from ptsd which he deserves- and francis sends him ahead to look for an exit, telling him to go. he fucking loves him!!!!

poor fitzjames.. like yes the ghosts of his colonial past and all that of course which i will never not fully support him being subjected to but damn. and i don’t think he shrugs francis off because it’s francis or because he’s angry with them, he is punishing himself and francis sees that and lets him do what will help ease his own guilt and pain. tt is a moment of understanding between them i believe- fitzjames showing vulnerability in front of a man he now respects while adding another failure to his own personal checklist he keeps against himself (i can only imagine he does anyway). francis’s attempt to show him care and understanding while not undercutting his usefulness is also such an inspired choice for what he knows of fitzjames. you can really see the care starting to sprout between them here. i can only imagine what the rest of the winter was like but i feel like by episode 7, their dynamic has just completely changed, their entire vibe is different. and their love couldn’t have happened until they left the ships so it came at the worst and best time. 

and by ep 7 their dynamic has just so completely shifted. even the fact that they are supervising the packing for the walk together and this may be real delusional hours but sending edward ahead to make the first camp instead of one of them going is a little interesting to me. i believe he’s technically the next in line for leadership after fitzjames but like did francis and james want to spend time together? with crozier finally dried out and knowing james’s time is almost up? them finally in a comfortable and friendly place? i love their conversation during the packing scene because fitzjames is voicing a concern to francis who calmly explains his reasoning and when fitzjames continues to press his own doubts they remain civil, familiar, acknowledge one another’s thought processes etc. a scene like this could NEVER have happened in episode 1 or 2. i looooong to know what they were like together during the winter after carnival 

you all know i am INSANE about the fitzier hand holding scene, no one can match my freak on this. tt makes my stomach flutter every time i see it. it is my pride and prejudice hand clenching scene. first i want to acknowledge the quote from the script- “at one point, the only thing keeping fitzjames from sliding back into oblivion is crozier’s hand, but half the importance about the act is that fitzjames reached for it.” this KILLS me more than anything else from the script. and honestly at this point in the story i am becoming convinced that james told crozier about the scurvy, they knew the whole fucking time, they knew. they are literally marching to their deaths, against all odds still going, still trying and they are falling in love. the way james gazes up at francis in awe when he sees the offered hand and doesn’t stop looking at francis when he is up on the ridge. crozier doesn’t even turn to look at james, but he does make sure to stop and wait for him and extend the hand that he knows that james needs. Based on honestly even just this alone i am convinced that crozier knew about the scurvy already. there’s no fucking way he didn’t. and then the way james grabs francis’s jacket and holds on while they stare at each other, crozier smiling- it’s so interesting to me because it very much tells of finding an excuse to touch crozier again, as if he was so in awe of the touch that crozier initiated a few minutes before that he needed it again. he was trying to find a way to touch him again in that “this has to be acceptable by victorian standards of emotional and loving expression” way. and crozier accepts it! he smiles, he meets his gaze. there’s triumph there. and don’t think i didn’t fucking notice that the hand that francis keeps is the hand that held fitzjames’s hand and that also held his face when he was dying.

in the scene with morfin, as soon as crozier notices that james is there he makes sure to maneuver over to james so he can place himself between james and the gun despite the fact that he is unarmed and james has his pistol with him. i don’t necessarily doubt that francis would do this earlier in the story but i can say that he does this here as a selfless act of love and protection 

and then the jop promotion scene yay the way james looks at francis with admiration and curiosity when he hands him the promotion letter to sign and the way james smiles at him when he reads it but not just because of that- but because of the words francis uses and the way francis is looking at him, saying someone “has earned our respect (looks to james), trust” and fitzjames smiles and nods- it’s not just about agreeing with him about jopson. this is how fitzjames feels about crozier now and the fact that crozier even in this small subtle way acknowledges that he  DID need to prove himself to james after his behavior during the winter. their dynamic is just so much different now! at the end when everyone is shaking jopson’s hand, fitzjames gives crozier like… the most insane loving soft look… he looks so so happy. i don’t think we’ve ever seen him look like that before.

and now we are at the cairn walk. i again have to say how during this rewatch i become convinced of the knowledge that crozier has to know that fitzjames is dying. there’s just no way he doesn’t. the conversation they have about it does not convey that james is telling him this for the first time. tt more so implies that they both know but don’t speak of it often and james is updating francis with the vital information, the stages he’s at. what made fitzier happen was them leaving the boats, james dying, crozier getting sober, them both laying it all out on the table in different moments of vulnerability- crozier with his addiction, james with his heritage. the way those scenes parallel each other is actually crazy. james is fucking dying, they are all marching to their deaths and the knowledge that they are doing so is slowly sinking in, and all james wanted before he died was for crozier to see him, all of him. even the parts he was afraid to tell anyone, even himself. and francis isn’t even granting him a mercy, he isn’t sparing his feelings. he truly and genuinely accepts james for who he is, how he came to be a part of the expedition. they have both known from the start that beginnings and heritage don’t matter, it’s the actions that people take that makes them who they are. in different ways they both knew that and i think it’s part of what aligned them eventually. and from the script- james realizes he can say anything to this man. it is possible. crozier gives him the space to do it. and just the way they’re laughing and joking and being light with each other- another thing we never would’ve seen in the earlier episodes. okay focusing on some details now- when crozier says “that’s not how i see you” james literally stumbles as if he can’t believe crozier would say that to him. in the beginning of the scene francis gives james space and privacy when he sees him getting emotional about graham and franklin’s deaths and struggling to remember the date of sir john’s death. they communicate with a single glance there, james asking for a moment and crozier giving it to him. the grief on francis’s face when james tells him his latest symptoms. when crozier initially tries to comfort and encourage james… and james can’t accept it because he hasn’t told him everything yet. he doesn’t know if he can. i don’t want to get personal but that feeling that if you only tell part of your hidden sorrow to someone and they comfort and accept you and show you kindness, that feeling you then get that no no no you don’t know the whole of it and if you did you wouldn’t be showing me this kindness, you wouldn’t love me, you wouldn’t respect me. you wouldn’t see me. i genuinely can’t imagine the relief that fitzjames felt when he told francis it all, he told him everything and all francis gave back was love. also we can finally start to really see the bruise that francis gave fitzjames in ep 5. i love when fitzjames literally and metaphorically closes the gap between them. and francis waits for him until he is by his side again. “are we brothers francis” the tears, the attempt to laugh/smile them away until he sees that crozier is with him in this moment and taking it as seriously as it deserves to be. again the joining of the hands, the one that crozier keeps. they look at each other’s mouths, into each other’s eyes, the way francis dips his head to look at fitzjames when fitzjames ducks his emotionally. it’s insanity

when they get back to camp and listen to hodgson’s story and then go to see jirv’s body, they exchange a lot of glances, specifically around the times that hodgson mentions hickey- they are of one mind on him and on how the situation actually played out. james also watches francis a lot in the scene where they go to see jirv’s body. he looks to him for leadership now and doesn’t become irritated by his anger or his candor. this really persists for the rest of the episode - in the scene where crozier is yelling at edward about supplementing the marines all james has to say is “francis” and then basically talks him down from yelling at edward more, another scene i don’t think could have ever happened between them earlier in the story but james knows how to quell francis now. and this is such an interesting parallel to ep 5 when everyone was taking their shit out on edward; this time fitzjames protects him. but anyway- james and francis are just so in sync in every scene in this episode- they back each other up, communicate through glances, emphasize each other’s words and authority. yay<3 

all right you’re all going to have to bear with me on ep 9 because it makes me crazy.

we gotta start with the fucking grief and pain in both of their expressions when they’re taking care of pocock and how this scene itself foreshadows the assisted suicide later

the look of absolute love and faith from fitzjames when crozier is telling them they will keep marching south and the “more than god loves them” scene- this is francis at his most captainly- and james is echoing his hollow vanity stricken words about franklin but really really meaning them about crozier- he says them to no one but himself, there is no performance here and crozier’s words aren’t a false display of empathy and care like franklin’s were for david young and fitzjames sees this. 

fitzjame and crozier are hauling in front side by side- it makes a point to mention that in the script too.

when fitzjames falls… ugh. he hauled until he couldn’t anymore, direct call back to when blanky said ross sat atop the sledges- oh and when francis and fitzjames were caring for pocock together vs ross having no sympathy for illness. when james falls he reaches for crozier without even looking at him at first and you can hear crozier saying “it’s all right, it’s all right” when james is saying he can’t stand the heat. dundy and bridgens are lifting fitzjames up too but when he stumbles, when he reveals his wound, when he stumbles again, he is only looking at crozier the whole time. and the look on crozier’s face is one i don’t think we’ve seen from him yet. i noticed too that he’s holding onto fitzjames with his left arm and rubbing his back with the other before he takes the rope off of him. 

i want to say about the following scene where james is laid up in the boat that i made a joke once to my friend about when crozier reaches into the boat and how it looks like they’re holding hands- but they actually are, it’s in the script. there’s just something about crozier’s face when he talks to fitzjames in later episodes, there’s such a softening of the edges to him, his expression is less guarded and more attentive and earnest. and the call back to their first scene together with the chinese sniper story…. the fucking fondness in both of their eyes as they laugh together, which was probably james’s last time laughing. when crozier says “there’s time” but that’s the tragedy of this show- there’s never enough time. everything happens too late.

james screaming in pain and crozier running to him and barely letting bridgens finish his sentence before he tells them to camp here also in the script during the officer’s meeting right after, they can hear fitzjames screaming in his tent :( i’m honestly kinda glad they left that out.

and here we are at THE fitzier scene. i could talk for hours about this scene. francis is holding james’s hand, rubbing his shoulder. james looks so young and frail and scared here and he uses some of his last words to tell francis he wanted him to live because he knew he wouldn’t be around to tell him that anymore soon. francis shaking his head when he says it as if to say “not without you”. in the script, when bridgens leaves it says ‘he looks at crozier. he looks at fitzjames. he understands”... and later during james’s funeral when crozier says that he had a service with james, just the two of them, peglar and bridgens exchange a very interesting, knowing look. to choose those two to react that way? idk man. fitzier real. but back to the scene- god okay crozier taps james’s chest twice in question and then just barely audible fitzjames says “please”. ugh the sad smile crozier gives fitzjames before he gives him the drug… then he places his hand, the one that crozier doesn’t lose, so gently and lovingly on james’s face, and even in his current state james looks almost taken aback at the gesture. when crozier tips the drug into his mouth his expression softens. i will never ever in my life forget the way james looks at crozier in that moment, the look of gratitude, love, farewell, of pain, longing, childlike fear. (nobody is doing it like tobias). crozier ever so lightly brushing james’s lips with both of his thumbs before he begins to massage it down and carefully wiping the excess away. they never stop looking at each other. dave k said that the service that crozier mentions happened before fitzjames dies and after crozier gives him the drug.

the last thing i want to say about the james death scene is that i was never that invested in the concept of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but fitzjames asking crozier to eat his body and live really really stuck in my brain- just their entire insane journey that i’ve been sitting here thinking about for months- acquaintances to enemies to allies to friends to lovers for it all to culminate in this final scene of fitzjames begging crozier to eat from his body and begging him to give him the final kiss of death all as crozier never once looks away or lets go of him. fitzjames loved him so much he was willing for crozier to desecrate his corpse if it meant francis would live, even without him next to him but crozier loved him so much that he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t add that act to his already impossibly devoted actions.

and the action of hiding james’s body because crozier doesn’t want tuunbaq to destroy it but then it turns out that someone at the very funeral ends up leading the mutineers to tear fitzjames’s body apart themselves. just like jirv not getting to keep the final gift of the seal meat even in death, crozier couldn’t do james this one last mercy even though he tried desperately to. 

and this last part is a bit of a stretch but okay-along with the shirt and the gloves of fitzjames’s that crozier is wearing after his death i think he might be wearing his little neck thing too, so sorry y’all i do not know what it’s called and i’m locked in trying to finish this and i’m not googling it lol. but we see fitzjames wear it a lot throughout the show and francis does sometimes but it’s very much a fitzjames piece so i think it might be his too. and with the funeral scene and the blanky scene, we see the mismatched gloves clearly for the first time but i’m pretty sure the first glimpse is earlier in the episode when they’re hauling before fitzjames collapses. dave k still confirmed they had switched gloves but it really seems that this happened before james died, likely when they left terror camp. i still contend that crozier and fitzjames both knew james was dying and this may have been why they did it. 

and on to the last episode and closing thoughts- in the last ep i was really keeping track of the gloves- he loses them at some point and i wanted to see when and it’s between the scene where he talks to hickey and when he’s chained back up in the tent with diggle. i hope he somehow hung on to them.

i will never forget how my stomach dropped out when i saw hickey wearing fitzjames’s boots on my first watch- the fucking sorrow in crozier’s face. he doesn’t understand the meaning just yet  but when goodsir is cleaning his wounds and tells him they ate gibson, you can see crozier put it together that that’s why hickey has fitzjames’s boots. his expression turns from shock and grief to rage.

hickey really clocked crozier with the shame comment and you can see how it triggers crozier. this is a great confirmation because it really pervades the story and fitzjames’s story as well. they are both driven by shame, by a need to prove themselves but go about it in completely different ways. fitzjames is all bravado, flowery empty words and boasting to cover his origins, his feelings of inadequacy. he aligns himself with the empire and with those in power and distances himself from anyone he knows will be deemed lesser than in the hierarchy in which he exists and specifically pits himself against someone like crozier in order to bolster his own social standing. crozier on the other hand is hardened to his station, he has no way to hide his nationality or his origins no matter how capable he is and how long he’s been going to sea. crozier feels the shame of things like sophia’s rejection and not having straights that they sail named after him but hides it with his bluntness and his lack of decorum when pointing out the truth of a situation. james has everything crozier wishes he did, but crozier is something that james wishes he could be- just himself, despite his societal ineptitudes and barriers. i believe that this basis and the way it melds and breaks down and comes to a way of understanding between them is why fitzier is so strong, and so real and so visceral, especially at the end. honestly there is so much more i could say but i think i’m going to leave it there and just saw that i hope crozier thinks of james from time to time in his new life. i find it hard to believe he doesn’t.

[sschizoid]

Tulpar crew babysitting…

ive got you pookie ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

--

curly

is so honored that he was chosen to be entrusted with the care of something as delicate as a baby. always wanted to be a dad, but never quite found the right person to settle down with. but doing this is kind of reigniting that old baby fever he thought he'd forgotten about all those years ago. maybe someday

loves to play, especially with his hands. peek-a-boo, patty-cake, and finger puppets are his go-tos, as he thinks teaching creativity and engaging the imagination through just means of your person can make for a healthy mind

singing is also something he loves to utilize, but he doesn't go for the predictable options like your ABCs or wheels on the bus. no, right now, he's got himself an audience, one that can't tell him to keep it down or that his music taste sucks, and he's going to take advantage of that. he's singing the beach boys

jimmy

would ideally never be in this situation to begin with. cannot fathom why anyone would think to trust him of all people to care for a baby when he can hardly even care for himself

if he does somehow get swept into it, whether it be by the will of god or some other foreign wind of change, he will do the absolute bare minimum. throws the kid in a playpen with some toys and sits back while enjoying some television. probably puts on some trashy animated show that's definitely not made for infants, but all they care about is the moving pictures and fun colors, right? everything else is subjective

texts every 45 minutes asking for updates on when parent(s) will be home, because he kind of has somewhere he needs to be in an hour (lie). also he dug around in the fridge a bit and ate some leftovers but re-positioned the remaining amount in the tupperware in an attempt to make it look like he didn't. also, he's getting paid for this, right?

anya

she's never really interacted with kids before, let alone a baby. she's trying to find a polite way to decline, but takes too long in trying to come up with an excuse and eventually just agrees

read a whole bunch of parent blogs 20 minutes before coming over so she could know what to expect. the only information she retained was that babies like to be talked to. she's professional and talks to them like she would a coworker at the watercooler. baby seems into it, though?

feeling confident after making the baby laugh, but she doesn't want to risk losing the progress she's made by trying something wacky. baby likes talking— maybe likes books, too? she brought her homework just in case she wanted to do some studying, and decides to read the articles from her textbook aloud. it works like a charm, though the baby falls asleep soon after. maybe the subject matter was too boring?

swansea

hell. no. he spent over a decade of his life combined dealing with rugrats, what makes you think he'd want to go back to that? he did his time and then some, his sentence is served

the only circumstance where he'd agree to babysit is if it were to do his own kids a favor. they're around that age, getting their lives together and starting families, so he could swallow his pride every now and then and play the role of "grandpa," for a bit. even if the title seemed unearned

but being a grandfather kind of makes him reflect. makes him realize he probably wasn't there for his kids nearly as often as he should have been. he wasn't a good father to them, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he's thankful they made out alright in the end. he feels a pang in his heart when he looks into the face of the baby and realizes it has his nose

daisuke

OF COURSE he'll babysit, are you kidding? he's always wanted a little sibling to instill his personality and interests into, and this, while not the perfect opportunity, was probably the next best thing

brings over all of his favorite toys from when he was a kid. hot wheels, tech decks, legos, the works. tries to teach the baby how to do a kickflip with the tech deck, but they keep trying to eat it. that's cool too, he can maybe understand the appeal. it kind of looks like an eclair if you squint really, really hard and hold it really, really far away

babysitting is also the perfect excuse to watch cartoons without the fear of being judged by boring people, so he's got that shit running the whole time. nothing too babyish (he wants to enjoy himself too, after all), but still has loads of bright colors and the occasional catchy musical number that will most certainly follow him home that night

--

hope these are sufficient ! if anyone else has any requests; my asks are open !! ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊωˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

.......i'm admittedly a bit backed up at the moment but rest assured I'm POWERING THROUGH YEAAAHHHH 💪

[callmemonster68]

JAKE - God of Death ( smut )

An immortal reaper who, upon falling in love with a soul destined to depart, discovers a new perspective on life and death. The presence of this special person illuminates his dark world and awakens a lust he never imagined feeling.

Pairing: Jake, a deity X FemReader

Genre: Obscenity

Warning: Contains explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands

Note: I'm recently starting to write, and English is not my native language. I apologize for any mistakes and hope to improve my writing. Feedback is always welcome!

On a tranquil night, under the moonlight, a field stretches out in silence, where life and death subtly connect. It is in this setting that an unexpected encounter takes place between Y/N, a submissive mortal, and Jake, the God of Death. This moment transcends fear and uncertainty, intertwining curiosity and courage in an intense and provocative conversation about life, death, and the mysteries that await us beyond.

It is an irresistible invitation to explore the deepest desires and hidden passions, as they surrender to the pleasures of what it truly means to live and love. Every whispered word becomes a touch, every glance an invitation to dive into the depths of pleasure and connection, revealing the secrets that make us shiver and draw us closer to ecstasy.

Jake: "You know you were destined to meet me, don’t you?"

Y/N: "Perhaps. But I’m not afraid of you. Death is just a part of life."

Jake (moving closer): "You’re different. Most fear what I represent. But you… you bring a light I’ve never known."

Y/N: "And you bring a mystery that fascinates me. What happens if I don’t leave?"

Jake: "Then, perhaps I can show you what it means to live intensely, even with death always lurking, like a forbidden desire."

Y/N: "What if I want to feel that intensity with you? Right now, while I still have time, to lose ourselves in one another."

Jake: "Then let’s savor every moment, every touch, every breath. Life is precious, even if brief, and I want you to feel that by my side."

Y/N: "Then, teach me to live, God of Death."

Jake: "What if I showed you that death isn’t the end, but merely a new form of existence?"

Y/N: "Do as you will; I am in your hands, God of Death."

The words carried such force and intensity that the atmosphere grew heavy. Y/N felt insecure yet drawn to the enigmatic God of Death. Her eyes were enslaved by the beauty and power he exuded. Without further hesitation, Jake also felt a connection with the mortal, and he couldn’t resist his overwhelming desire to satisfy himself with her.

In the dimly lit room, Jake and Y/N faced each other. Jake’s heart raced as he watched Y/N’s body tremble with anticipation. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Jake: "Let’s begin, Y/N."

Y/N’s eyes widened. She knew what was coming. Jake gestured for her to kneel before him, and she obeyed, lowering herself to the floor. Jake’s hand traced the length of Y/N’s body, stopping at her waist. He lifted her and guided her to the bed.

Jake: "Take off your clothes."

Y/N undressed, revealing her flawless figure. Jake’s eyes widened as he admired her beauty.

Jake: "Lie down on the bed."

Y/N lay on the bed, her body exposed to Jake’s gaze. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for what was to come.

Jake stood beside her, his eyes fixed on Y/N’s. He smiled, savoring her submission. Y/N opened her eyes, meeting Jake’s gaze.

Jake: "I want you to remember every detail of this moment."

Y/N nodded, her heart racing. Jake picked up a whip from beside the bed, and Y/N shuddered with anticipation. Jake caressed Y/N’s body, running the whip over her skin. He watched as Y/N’s body writhed with pleasure.

Jake began to whip her, the sound echoing through the room. Y/N’s body twisted, and she let out a series of moans.

Jake: "You’re mine, Y/N! You’re my submissive, and you will do everything I say."

Y/N’s eyes widened in ecstasy. She felt herself being carried away by the intensity of the moment. After minutes of being whipped and praised by Jake, Y/N, unable to wait any longer, begged.

Y/N: "Please, I beg you, I need to feel you inside me."

Jake: "How adorable, so desperate for my cock. How could I say no to someone as eager as you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Jake set the whip aside and grabbed handcuffs from the drawer beside the bed. He secured Y/N’s hands behind her and positioned her on all fours.

A sharp smack and a surprised cry of pain escaped Y/N. Another smack, and the obscene sounds of Y/N’s mix of pain and pleasure echoed in the room. Without warning, Jake thrust his large, thick cock into Y/N’s wet pussy, eliciting a scream. The blend of sensations—pain and burning mixed with overwhelming pleasure—left her increasingly mindless.

Jake’s movements grew more violent, and Y/N’s moans became more intense. She felt herself being pushed to the edge of pleasure and pain, and she loved every moment of it.

With teary eyes, Y/N reached her orgasm. With a few more careless thrusts, Jake finally climaxed. Y/N felt overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Her tears streaked her face as Jake’s body trembled with pleasure.

Y/N lay on the bed, panting and exhausted, while Jake’s hand reached out to caress her face and body. She felt a wave of satisfaction and contentment washing over her.

Jake smiled, watching Y/N’s body relax in a state of bliss. He took her hand and kissed it, savoring the moment.

Jake: "You’re mine, Y/N. And nothing can change that, not even death."

Y/N smiled, her heart filled with a sense of love and devotion. She knew she had been completely consumed by Jake’s desires, and she loved every moment of it.

It wasn’t long before Y/N fell into a deep sleep from exhaustion. Jake watched her. His mission had been simple: find and reap her life. What had happened inside him to lead to this moment was a mystery to him. But he would do whatever it took to keep Y/N by his side after her death—his perfect doll, his vessel of lust, his sole obsession.

This story is part of the universe of ' Divine Sins: Immortal Fantasies with ENHYPEN ' created by me.Description:Seven sensual and mysterious tales that delve into the desires between mortals and immortals. Inspired by the members of ENHYPEN, these stories reimagine the group as powerful gods and a fallen angel, all wickedly alluring and irresistibly seductive. Each narrative immerses readers in a world of fantasy, unveiling forbidden passions, divine secrets, and the overwhelming intensity that sparks between celestial beings and an ordinary human. A universe brimming with lust, mystery, and the captivating allure of the forbidden, where every story is an invitation to desire. Contains mature content.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿