#even though I’m still not satisfied with the design

[calllynx]

The worstie is finally getting a ref for art fight! Come fight me I’m on team Seafoam this year.

[leapdayowo]

Redstone and Skulk OC time :3

Thought I’d turn my persona into a rns oc and give them a helsmet :3 I basically looked at my play style in Minecraft and took a few things from my own life and combined them to create these two! Short version about them below and a little story of their origins under that:

short version:

-Leapday_art (short version Leapday, she/he/they, the player) is afraid of losing important things in their life. He is very cautious about doing anything that could result in him dying and loosing everything in his inventory (sleeps through the night everytime to avoid monsters, barely visits the nether, strip mines, etc) +the cats next to Leapday are two of my darling kitties who unfortunately passed away irl, their names are Toby (left) and Toes (right)

-Nightfall_collections (short version Nightfall, all pronouns, the helsmet) was created from Leapday’s extreme fear of losing valuables and her grief from having lost valuables too many times. Xyr driving goal is to collect and preserve everything that xe can and to make sure there is always at least one copy

-other things about Nightfall: she is a magma cube hybrid while Leapday is a ??? hybrid player (if you read the story below this may make more sense👀). Nightfall can split into smaller duplicates which allows them to be in more places at once and thus more productive in their goal. She uses her goop-like body to write reminders on her clothes, then re-absorbs the goop later

-I think Nightfall would find himself as an organizer between lots of different parties/people in Hels due to being so dedicated to his goal + only being dedicated to this goal (his alignment is probably chaotic good because he’s loyal to his own goals and not to other people or outside rules. He does not take bribes or backstab). Also, Nightfall does not need to have possession of everything, but xe is trying to keep tabs on where everything that exist is at(this makes xem the go-to person for trying to obtain something in particular)

-I think Nightfall would become a sponsor (if that’s the right word?) for the Order of Remembrance because she greatly admires the work they do to preserve Hels’ history. She would also love Zedaph’s hall of all and definitely tries to work with private collectors to protect (and document/track) what they have (and she will keep what she knows a secret if it means protecting valuable things)

-Nightfall does not care about thieves unless they steal one of a kind things

-the doodles below were my earlier concepts, so Nightfall has green eyes before I realized it’s much more fitting for xem to have orange eyes

okay, okay, story time (because I realized the ‘short’ version was getting very extensive):

Maybe it had started in the very first world she spawned in. A brilliant blue sky that stretched over jagged, looming cliffs with forests scattered underneath. Trickling waterfalls and bubbling lava pits here and there. The natural beauty of the world left Leapday in awe and eager to explore what other wonders lay beyond the horizon.

It must have started with the first tree she broke, a squat little oak, one of hundreds in the forest. When the leaves of that little oak had all fallen, saplings littered the grassy floor. She should’ve been excited, feel triumphant even by taking down the tree, after all it’s how the journey had to start. Except, all that Leapday could see was the awkward gap in the canopy from the absence of the little oak. It felt like an itch unscratched, nagging and uncomfortable. Well that wouldn’t do.

They scooped up all the saplings littering the floor and planted one in the same dirt plot the little oak was uprooted from. Then they planted a few more just for good measure. The unease lingered, but planting the saplings felt good. It felt right. Now their adventure could truly begin!

——

In this world, Leapday’s only companions were the pigs and sheep that he passed on his journey, though he would argue, if there were someone to argue with, that the world itself brought him company enough. That the days and nights passing was a conversation between the universe and Leapday, and thus a consistent companion. And what gifts did the universe provide for him to find! Rushing rivers that fed into powerful oceans, plenty of trees to sleep in and collect, and mountains to climb with the best views of the sunset. Never a dull moment for him as there was always something new to experience and see.

However, despite all its gifts, the universe was slow to explain the finer mechanics of the world, such as health to Leapday. A week of traversing through thick forests and steep cliffs left them battered and bruised. They learned how to gauge the distance of a drop and how to place blocks to minimize the pain in their ankles from falls. A similar pain gnawed from the inside of their stomach, which they discovered was briefly satiated by devouring the apples that fell from the trees.

During one climb up a particularly harrowing cliff, Leapday learned about the unforgiving weight of sand by placing it under her feet in order to reach the next ledge. The block had crumbled in a near instant, sending her plummeting towards the ground. Instead of hitting the hard rocks below, she splashed into a stream from a nearby waterfall. When she had dragged herself onto land and her heart had steadied to a more familiar pace, she let out a fit of bewildered laughter that overwhelmed the panic from moments ago. She knew falls much shorter than this one could take days to recover from, so what kind of pain would she be in if she hadn’t gotten lucky and fallen in the stream? Something cold ran through her and sank to the pit of her stomach. Dread of what could have been, what could still be if she wasn’t more careful. She resolved to never find out what would happen. How unfortunate that her next fall would be into a pit of lava, the very one she had been camping at throughout the nights.

He was being careful, more so than he had been for the first week in this world anyways. That didn’t seem to matter because he had still slipped when placing the block before him and fallen. It was his first respawn, and it introduced him to a few new things like a punch to the face. The first revelation was the agony of burning to death, and death itself. He curled into himself, crying at the phantom feeling of the lava eating at his flesh. The intense heat and how the lava had trapped him in place and burned. It was a twisted version of the warmth of the sun, which was shining down on him and in comparison felt as cool as the air in caves. The second realization came slowly as the memory of fire ebbed. Their knuckles no longer popped and their joints no longer ached. The tightness in their muscles had vanished, leaving softer tissue on the bone and the emptiness in their stomach no longer hurt. They felt new and full of energy, ready to begin their journey again. How strange they had forgotten what this felt like. White scars from their oldest injuries and freckles from sun touched skin still littered their body. They had died, but now were in perfect health again. Leapday took in her surroundings, her face lighting up with delight at the sight of a familiar oak tree. It had grown into quite the study tree since the start of her adventure. Soon after her reunion, Leapday discovered her now empty inventory when she reached for blocks to place in order to climb the canopy. The absence of stacks of logs, dirt, and sand had her racing towards the lava pit before her mind could catch up. Panic pushed her feet to run faster and dodge every obstacle. She ignored nicks from branches in her way and the sting of sharp rocks on her bare feet. The timer was ticking down. Her items would be gone- she just had to- if she wasn’t fast enough-

She burst through the tree line and was greeted by the familiar heavy heat of the lava pit. The sight of it made her recoil out of fear of falling back in even from many blocks away. On shaky legs, she circled the perimeter and searched for her items. The timer was still ticking, but they were nowhere to be seen! She crept as close as she dared to the lava and swept her eyes across the surface of the pool. Then she darted into the surrounding trees looking high and low.

Nothing.

No logs. No saplings or dirt or anything!

This was their third lesson. You lose items after death, and lava destroys those items.

Don’t die, especially not in lava, and don’t lose your items.

Now they had to start over, and this time not dying proved to be harder than expected. More falls and similar accidents happened. Zombies began appearing, persistent in their pursuit of Leapday’s flesh. Then skeletons, creepers, and spiders appeared and introduced many more ways one could die. The pain from the deaths hurt, but they became mundane as weeks turned to months. Loosing items became more painful and frightening when Leapday discovered crafting. More time and resources were needed to start over after dying with crafted items, so they took to the world underground. They followed their instinct to craft pickaxes and torches, to chip away at the stone in search of more sturdy materials. They crafted their first stone pickaxe and found it to be superior to the wooden one.

Maybe it truly started with that wooden pickaxe. When she crafted the stone tools, the wooden pickaxe sat in her hotbar, still good for half a day’s work but now obsolete. It had served her well to progress her journey, a necessary step, but it felt wrong to simply set it aside. It felt like the gap in the canopy all over again, but she very well couldn’t plant the pickaxe in the ground and solve her unease. Not sure what else to do, she attached it to her hip and went on with her day. She wouldn’t destroy it or toss it, she would simply carry it with her until she found what she needed to do with it next. It became her new companion (it was her first crafted tool. It was the first and therefore the only one that would ever exist).

Now equipped with wood and stone blocks, Leapday built their base over their mine. The wooden pickaxe found its place over the doorway leading outside, marking the build as their home. It felt right, so they continued their expansions. Farms were planted along a nearby river and fences placed to corral cows and sheep. Torches were the one item they were generous with. They were thrown across their property liberally since their light would deter creepers spawning too close for comfort.

During a thunderstorm that had picked up abruptly one morning, Leapday poked around at their communicator. It was a lightweight device that had been attached to their forearm since first spawning into the world and never disappeared after dying. After lots of fiddling with the different menus and buttons on the screen, they came across YouCraft. It was an archive of videos made by other players scattered across the universe, documenting their own worlds and progress! With the storm still crashing down around Leapday’s base, they curled up in bed and began watching the first video that caught their eye. It turned out that he had lots more to learn about the universe! After waiting out the storm, and then the night, by watching these videos, he learned about other biomes and blocks still left to discover as well as potions, enchanting, and other dimensions! A dragon was where this journey led for most players, though some took their time getting to it. Above all, he realized he needed diamonds. Diamonds were what every player sought due to their strength, but they were rare and dangerous to collect being so deep underground. They were needed to further Leapday’s journey however, so collecting them became his top goal. Quickly he learned how impossible achieving this goal would be. Well, it seemed impossible after spending days underground chipping at the cold stone and coming up empty. Strange echoes rang through the tunnels and more than a few times paranoia of something (or someone. He had heard the legends of Herobrine) sneaking up on him was enough to make him hole up for hours. Grey, grey stone that went on for miles. Grey cobblestone trailed behind him when his inventory filled. Leapday found other minerals, but the sparkling teal of diamonds still lay buried elsewhere. He mined for so long he began to doubt that the rare mineral even generated in this world. That only grey existed. That was until he broke away the next layer of stone before him and found himself staring uncomprehending at the bits of teal poking through stone. Uncontainable joy broke through his shock like sunlight through parting storm clouds. They were real! Diamonds were real and right in front of him! Invigorated with new energy, Leapday got to work extracting the diamonds just as they had seen others do. The amount paled in comparison to the stacks other players had, but in that moment he didn’t care. It was enough to have found them and confirm they even existed in this world. That weeks of sore arms digging at indifferent stone and unsteady gravel caches falling finally amounted to their new prized possession.

By the time he arrived back at his base, the novelty of finding diamonds began to wear off. He had to admit it was a measly amount. Just barely enough for a diamond pickaxe. What good would a stronger pickaxe be with no enchantments or replacements for when it broke? It had taken so long to find just a few diamonds what were the chances of finding more? No, they wouldn’t craft anything with the rare mineral until they had enough for spares and back ups. So back to the mines they went, and excruciatingly slow they found more, and continued to reason that crafting them was a poor decision. What if an accident happened and they couldn’t get back to their stuff? If they were swallowed by a pit of lava? So much time would be spent only to be wasted. Almost like their thoughts and fears had manifested it, a freak lava incident happened not long after. Leapday had been feeling good that day, so good because their most recent mining trip had yielded 13 diamonds and another cluster just across a lava lake. As they bridged across the lake, plans of finally crafting their collection of diamonds began to form making them giddy. It was the type of giddy that made any obstacle feel like child’s play and beyond consequence. That they finally could start progressing on their journey once more. It was enough to distract Leapday from the crunch of gravel under their feet and for their pickaxe to swing off its mark into the unsteady floor. The ground gave way and sent her tumbling into the lava.

She woke up screaming in her bed. Screaming from agony of ghostly flames that ate flesh, and then from loss and frustration. It wasn’t fair! Her luck had just turned up for the best and now all of it was gone! Every plan to use the diamonds tossed out the window and into a burning pit of despair. How stupid of her to not notice the gravel! All that time for nothing! She should have called it a day and come up 13 diamonds richer with plenty of levels for enchanting. All her gear and tools and items from mineshafts would still be intact, but no. Her head was too far in the clouds and now it was gone. She hadn’t even had the foresight to mark the cave to return to, so sure of her victory. There would be no hope navigating the twisting and sprawling tunnels below, and even if she tried to go back, the sight of lava would probably be enough to make her hurl. Fat tears began dripping down her face as she cursed and wallowed. They blurred his vision, so with a few steadying breaths and a final gross sniffle, he wiped at his eyes. Then he went to swing his legs over the bed to pick up the pieces of his day and froze. On his hand, both hands actually, were thick black smudges of… of something. What was that? He reached up to his face and traced the wet tear tracks with a clean finger. It too came away covered in the strange goop. An incredulous laugh burst from him, which evolved into hysterical crying. More tears fell from his eyes and he let them. The tangled web of grief in his chest unraveling as he did so, and he felt the last of his energy drain away until-

Sunlight trickled through the curtains and roused Leapday from their sleep. Birds were chirping and the familiar sounds of the animals grazing and leaves rustling cradled their mind while the events of the previous day trickled back to them. They felt heavy and gross. Their eyes crusty and mouth dry as a desert were a sure sign of their emotional distress. Disappointment felt like stones being dropped on them when they pulled up their empty inventory. It really was all gone. They let their head flop back onto their pillow and took a steadying breath, trying to recount the reasons they should get out of bed. Maybe they would stick to the joys of the world above ground for a month or two. Take up weaving or painting. They had plenty of resources to finally build a barn and an expansion to the house. Maybe they would go with a grassy roof.

Yeah. That could be alright. With one final sigh, Leapday pushed themself up off their bed and dragged themself over to their cauldron to clean up. They could see from their reflection that only a few faint smudges remained on their face, which they gently wiped away. Crying black goop was probably not normal now that their mind was more stable to think it over. Or maybe it was normal? It had never happened before, but the players on YouCraft all had their own quirks that Lepaday lacked, so maybe it was normal for them?

It turned out the inky tears were a new normal. From that incident onward, whenever they experienced a great sense of loss the strange tears formed and sank into the ground. They appeared when Leapday lost their first wolf companion and when they accidentally deleted a creative world full of builds of an ambitious project.

Meanwhile…

in another world…

In Hels, black goop bubbled to the surface of a sea of lava. From a distance, the surface seemed its usual hungry self, shifting and popping as it patiently waited for Hels and its inhabitants to finally crumble in. The goop was not consumed by its hunger however. It stretched towards the netherrack shore like a snake in water. Once it had gathered all of itself onto more solid ground, it sat and waited for more of itself to arrive, bouncing and bubbling over the terrain in the meantime. They could only wait so long however, after all, there was much to collect and preserve and too little time to do so.

And it’s finished! Whew, I don’t typically write, so this was a lot to work on amidst all my finals projects (totally worth it tho! It was great practice). I wasn’t planning on writing so much about leapday, but then I realized the interesting potential of writing about players when they’re new to the world. If they are akin to gods, they still enter the world with a lot to learn. The goop at the end is Nightfall, who then went on to travel Hels and collect as many blocks and items as xe could before xe came across the city Evil X established. At first they were incredibly overwhelmed by the amount of stuff to preserve in the city and mostly stuck to collecting free scraps and garbage. It probably did something to gain the attention of a member of the Order of Remembrance, who taught Nightfall about their goals and a few things about how society/Hels worked. From there, Nightfall set off to establish a massive collection and documentation of anything and everything, working with people in the process but also quite an eccentric personality that can be quite a hermit when buried in paperwork (not many people are willing to do paperwork as diligently as Nightfall)

Also, YouCraft is YouTube in the Minecraft world :P I felt I needed to separate it from our version of mcyt because in this universe the characters are real and making videos about their lives rather than people playing a video game (at least that’s how I’m headcanoning it)

thank you @silverskye13 for providing some more lore about Hels and the Order of Remembrance (as well as Redstone and Skulk as a whole <3) as well as inspiring me to keep trying to improve my writing and thank you to @/yayforocs for inspiring me to finally make my own rns OCs and this post :3

[aesthetically-dying101]

You mean my wife?!

A/N: a short nanami story bc hes just so.. awooga? Idk if thats the right word but yeah. protective nanami is so scrumptious

warnings: someone being mean?

The courtyard of Jujutsu High was alive with the sounds of effort: sharp exhales, the rhythmic thud of feet hitting the ground, and the satisfying crack of Yuji’s staff against a wooden training dummy.

You stood at the center of it all, tall and commanding, as the trio of students—Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi—moved through the drills you’d designed for them.

“Keep your stance lower, Nobara!” you called, watching as she lunged forward. “If you’re too upright, you’ll lose your balance against a larger curse.”

“I’m always balanced,” she shot back with a cheeky grin, but adjusted her footing anyway.

You chuckled, shaking your head, the cool breeze carrying the sound to where Megumi stood, quietly but fiercely focused as always. His precision was commendable- but you knew better than to leave him unchallenged.

Because if you did, something would get bitten by his shikigami's.

“Fushiguro,” you said, walking over to him, “you’re relying too much on the shikigami. It’s a team effort—you and them. Don’t just send them in to clean up. They’re not tools.”

Megumi’s eyes flickered with acknowledgment, and he gave a curt nod, his focus unwavering.

“And Yuji!” you turned to him, shielding your eyes from the midday sun-fuck it was too bright. “You’re doing great, but stop hesitating. Trust your instincts, not just your strength.”

Yuji grinned, giving you an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Got it, sensei!”

From the periphery, Nanami watched.

He stood a distance away, arms crossed, his polished demeanor as unyielding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened whenever they lingered on you. Though the students referred to you as “sensei,” Nanami knew you had yet to internalize the title, you said it made you feel old. But you carried the role with such natural ease, yet humility kept you from embracing it fully.

Unbeknownst to you, two other instructors lingered at the edge of the courtyard, observing your session with undisguised skepticism. One of them, a senior professor from a separate class, let out a dismissive chuckle.

“She’s passionate, I’ll give her that,” the man muttered to his companion. “But enthusiasm doesn’t make a teacher. She’s a little too green for this, don’t you think? I mean, who even let her—”

A voice cut through the air like a razor.

“You mean my wife?”

The words landed with weight, heavy enough to still the bustling courtyard for a brief moment. Even Yuji paused mid-strike, blinking as though he hadn't heard corretly.

Nanami stepped forward, his strides measured but deliberate, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity. His tone was calm, his volume controlled, but there was no mistaking the underlying steel in his words.

The professor, taken aback, turned to face him, his mouth slightly agape.

“I—what?”

“My wife,” Nanami repeated, his voice firm, the emphasis on the word clear and deliberate. His brow furrowed just slightly, and he tilted his head, as if daring the man to question him further. “The one you’re so casually criticizing. Do you have a problem with how she’s handling her students?”

The professor faltered, clearly blindsided. “I didn’t—I wasn’t aware—”

“That much is obvious,” Nanami said flatly, cutting him off. “Because if you were aware, you would’ve chosen your words more carefully. My wife is more than qualified, and if you’d taken the time to observe her work—properly, not from the sidelines—you’d know that.”

The air crackled with tension as Nanami’s gaze bore into the man. The professor stumbled over his words, trying and failing to form a response, before finally muttering, “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Nanami raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mild disbelief.

He clicked his tongue.

“Didn’t you?”

There was no malice in his tone, but the weight of his disapproval hung heavy in the air. The professor, thoroughly cowed, mumbled an apology and hurried away, his companion trailing behind him.

Satisfied, Nanami turned his attention back to you. You, who had remained blissfully unaware of the exchange, too focused on correcting Yuji’s form to notice the brief storm brewing on the sidelines.

“Nanami-sensei!” Nobara called, her voice breaking the tension. “Is it true? Are you two married?”

Yuji’s eyes went wide. “Wait, for real?! Sensei’s married to Sensei?!”

A lot of sensei's in one sentence.

Megumi just sighed, muttering something about how obvious it was.

You finally turned to face Nanami, confusion etched across your face.

“What’s going on?”

Nanami approached you, his expression softening the moment his eyes met yours.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said simply, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. “Just clearing up a misunderstanding.”

“...Okay,” you said slowly, still puzzled but willing to take his word for it. “Well, since you’re here, care to give me some pointers? The kids could use a demonstration.”

He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile, the kind that made your heart flutter no matter how many times you saw it. “Of course,” he said, his tone warming.

“Anything for you, sensei.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned.

And as the students watched in awe, the two of you moved seamlessly into a demonstration, your movements synchronized like a perfectly choreographed dance.

Nanami’s earlier confrontation was all but forgotten—except in the minds of those who’d witnessed it, where the words “my wife” lingered, a reminder of just how fiercely he would always defend you.

A/N: as i said, short n sweet, but yeah, nanami for the win

Masterlist.

:)

[maiamore]

STAR-STRUCK

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k

Summary: You’re a fresh-faced production assistant for known action star Joel Miller. He’s not quite what you expected–but neither are you.

Tags: actor!joel x production assist reader, action film set, no use of y/n, rough/dom Joel, use of the word ‘kid’, mirror sex, rough sex, unprotected pinv, mentions of injuries & violence, Joel does his own stunts, public sex, bdj (big-dicked-Joel), Joel is not nice in this fic, more untagged read at your own discretion A/N: oof this a long one. also! i swear i've seen something similar relating to the mandalorian reference. if anyone knows the fic, pleaaaase let me know

READER’S TATT/PIERCINGS-SPO

This wasn’t what you’d imagined your life to look like. 

For the majority of your adult life, you’d clung to a glittering, idealistic vision of your future. You’d blame it on those countless movie marathons with your dad–the late nights, the worn-out couch and the satisfying click of the DVD player setting the stage for your ambitions. You’d dreamed of being a part of the magic. The glitz, the glamour, the art of it all. 

Directors like Ridley Scott, Martin Scorsese, John McTiernan captured your adolescent heart, fanning the flames of your Hollywood dreams.

You knew coming into this that it was going to be far from easy. God knows you’d paid your dues living in NYC after having moved from your small town–sharing a tiny shoebox of an apartment with three others, taking multiple part-time gigs, hustling to finally land a Production Assistant (PA) role.

And now here you were. Accommodations comped, flown to Atlanta for the shoot of some action movie you weren’t even allowed to know the title of thanks to the NDA you’d signed.

It was suspenseful, sure, but not in the sexy, thrilling way you’d imagined. More like in the “what fresh hell did I sign up for” sort of way.

“So you’ll be handling scheduling, coordinating, and helping the stylists. And making sure his overall well-being is met.”

You shuffled behind Jonah, the PA you were supposedly replacing. It was nearly overwhelming. Already built streets, custom housings, all wrapped up in a larger than life sound stage. Everyone was in their own world, working on their own tasks.

Normal people might have felt small and unseen. But you? You were still star-struck. You could be a part of something so much bigger than you, and that thought excited you. 

“7am every morning. You’ll need to be on standby to help Joel with everything he needs. So here’s the schedule.” 

More papers were being shoved to you, your arms slowly vanishing beneath an ever-growing stack. You scanned it, eyes twitching in dread. 

Every fifteen damned minutes had its own designation. Was this a movie or a military operation?

“Right! Got that. So…who exactly am I…” You squint at the bolded text on freshly printed paper, still warm to touch. “Wiping sweat at 16:45…for?”

Jonah halts mid-strut, turning back to you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “What…do you mean? You don’t know who you’re working for?”

“I do.” You shoot back defensively. “Well–okay. No. Not really. I was given an NDA, so I’m–”

“It was a yes or no question, hun.”

Suddenly, you were grateful to J-hole leaving. Not so much of replacing his long ass list of endless tasks, though. 

He stops before the stylist’s station, gesturing to a cluttered board, displaying headshots and costume references for your apparent “boss.” As you step closer, your breath catches in your throat.

No way. No fucking way. 

“Joel fucking Miller?”

Your fingers, almost acting on their own, plucked one of the profile shots from the board. Joel’s broad frame was practically sculpted.  His Special Forces uniform taut over his muscles, probably for the character he was playing. Another close-up featured his face smudged with faux grime and fake injuries, his expression hardened and grim. 

And then…there were the less clothed test shots. Your gaze betrayed you, dipping to the dark trail of neatly trimmed curls disappearing beneath his belt.

Your head snapped up so fast it was a miracle you didn’t pull a muscle, as though the sheer force of willpower could exorcise the horny demon possessing you.

Jonah grins at your obvious surprise. Sighing dreamily at the profile shots of him, side views and costume shots.“Yep. Now. It isn’t going to be a problem with you now is it? We had to fire the old girl cuz’ she attempted to–nevermind. Don’t wanna get into that. It was a whole debacle. You can look it up in the files under the Miller versus Nancy lawsuit.”

You glanced at Jonah, confusion knitting your brow before returning the photo to the desk. Honestly? You probably wouldn’t have blamed this Nancy. Joel had been the blueprint for your sexual awakening. 

As fucked as it was. Considering he was closer in age to your dad than your own.

Watching him star in films by the greats back in high school had left you fantasizing, his smoldering intensity seared into your brain. God. You were going to need the entire night to mentally prepare for this.

“You tellin’ that story again?” The voice behind you sent a shiver up your spine–it was the kind of voice that wrapped around you like a thick yarned blanket on a cold night. And the kind of voice you fantasized about when you were grinding against your pillow.

You froze, every damned nerve on high alert. Turning slowly.

Joel Miller stands there. Resurrected from the photos itself.

He was dressed like he’d just walked off a lazy Sunday pickup game. Grey athletic shorts that hung low on his hips, revealing sturdy, hairy legs that somehow made him seem even more rugged. A black t-shirt clung to his frame, dampened at the collar with sweat. Navy cap sitting snug on his head.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from shamelessly dragging your eyes from the damp curls peeking out at the nape of his neck to his thighs. 

He scratches his stubbled jaw, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on you. They paused, and you realized–a little too late–that he’d caught you gawking.

Joel nudges his head towards you. “This her?”

Jonah nods, handing Joel a call sheet. “All new and sparkly.”

He looks you over–not in a predatory way, but like he was cataloging every detail. Dark and steady. And it lands on your shirt. For a split second his brows lifted, just barely.

“You watch that one?” 

Your brain stutters and you look down, realizing you’d stupidly worn your Mandalorian graphic tee. His face–or well, Din Djarin's helmeted face, was plastered across your chest along with the iconic Star Wars logo.

“Oh! Um. yeah,” you stammer, tugging the hem of the cotton as if the ink would magically disappear. 

Great. You meet the man you had dozens of posters of and you were stuttering like a fucking idiot.

“Big fan. Of the show. And, um, the movies. And, you know, your–” Joel holds up a palm, silencing your rambling. “Right.” He sounded amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “...‘preciate it.”

Joel never liked change. It was ironic, given his line of work. An actor, in its nature, had him slipping into new roles and personas on a constant basis. But no matter how many characters he played, he'd preferred the familiarity of a constant crew. 

So the news that Jonah was leaving and that his replacement was a fresh out of film school rookie had Joel grumbling for days.

Then he saw you.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, like you were seconds away from fainting. Or maybe it was the shirt. That damn shirt.

You clearly hadn’t gotten the memo about dressing for long hours on set. Instead of the usual hoodie and less than glamorous foam sneakers combo, you were rocking a cropped baby tee stretched taut across your chest. 

His gaze dipped, almost involuntarily, taking in the rest of you. The way your bootcut jeans sat low and snug on your hips—to the bunch of keys and a juicy grape chapstick hung on a carabiner attached to your belt loop. 

When you shifted nervously, the movement sent a glint of light flickering from your stomach. A silver charm, shaped like a star, dangled from your belly button. He caught himself mid-thought, forcing his eyes back to your face, but the damage was done.

You weren’t as innocent as you looked. He’d figured out that much. 

Your fuck-ups hadn’t gotten you fired. Not yet, at least. Somehow, you were still here. Holding onto your job by a thread.

It still felt surreal, working for Joel Miller. You’d spent years watching this man on screen. All his works & press interviews. It seemed pretty fucking unreal to think that you now had his name saved to your phone like no big deal.

Given you weren’t able to tell anyone about it, though the purple vibrator that sat in your bedside drawer was pretty much the only thing that knew his name by now.

In the weeks that followed, you’d fallen into a rhythm with him. There were rules–unspoken ones. You didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t hover too close, and didn’t take it personally when he barked orders or dismissed you with a grunt. Joel wasn’t an easy man to work for.

What was even worse, was that in Joel's eyes, you were probably the least sexual entity to have ever existed. It stung, especially when you considered how much of your mind he occupied.

“Give me a…second. Dunno how these things work.”

You’d shifted uncomfortably, dropping to your knees to Joel’s horror. You sat on your thighs with a huff. Attempting to gather the hem of Joel’s pants to tuck into the army garters.

 “Christ. You don’t hafta…” Joel’s throat tightened as he fought the sudden, unwelcome heat pooling low in his gut.

“Huh?”

It was distracting, the sight of you so close. On your fuckin’ knees no less. Joel tugs around his belt. He snaps his fingers to catch your attention and you look up at him, with wide eyes. 

His thumbs twisting around the two metal hooks of the thin garter until it connects. “Just hook em’ together, kid.” 

You nodded at his words. Finally managing to neatly tuck it into his boots. 

Though from his vantage point, something else catches his eye–a small mark etched into your skin. Black ink at the nape of your neck, a star, delicate like the charm that hung from your belly button. 

“Ya got a thing for stars?” 

You blinked a few times before the words finally registered. Was he really starting a conversation when you were on the ground like this? You notice the slight nudge of his head towards your left. 

Instinctively, you cupped around the back of your neck. “Oh..yeah. I mean…it’s pretty and all.” You had to admit, Joel’s childlike curiosity over the ink on your body all of a sudden caught you off guard. 

He raises a brow at your admission. “What’s the point of puttin’ it at a place you can’t see. Seems pretty pointless.” 

“Didn’t put it there for me to see.” You say with a shrug. 

Joel’s jaw ticks when he realises the insinuation behind your words. He drags his hand down his face, opting to finally keep his mouth shut when the images conjured in his mind couldn’t be held back anymore. 

You didn’t quite notice his distress till you looked up after the lengthy silence that settled. 

The imperceptible twitch in his crotch area catches your attention. Your lips parted to stifle a gasp of surprise. 

Was he— “Jus’ get the hell up, kid.”

The respectable thing to do was to go on about his job. It was humiliating enough that you’d caught him in a painfully embarrassing position. 

But Joel Miller learned two new things about himself.

First, he didn’t quite mind the soft, lingering scent of strawberries and vanilla you seemed to carry. A quiet, comforting sweetness that seemed to cling to the air whenever you were near.

The second? Well, the second was far more troublesome. 

The thoughts that plagued him at night when he was fucking his fist, or someone else for that matter. It didn’t help that he was aware of such vivid and intimate details of you. It fucked with his head how desperately he wanted to draw pleasure out of you and stain that pretty little dainty star you had on your belly with ropes of his cum. 

The culmination of it all was taxing. But somehow? He managed to keep those thoughts at bay.

When the director finally called cut for the day, Joel stepped off set, muscles aching and shirt damp with sweat. He scans the area out of habit. 

Jonah would’ve been there by now–towel, water & phone in hand, ready for the usual barrage of calls and texts he needed to deal with.

Instead, it was you. 

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as the realization hit him again. Right. Jonah was gone.

“You don’t have to look like the world’s ended, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer you, not at first. 

“It’s not like I’m going to tell people that you—“

Joel seats himself in his chair loudly. A silent warning for you to not go there. He lets out a long, drawn out exhale. Folding his arms tightly. “Kid. Don’t know whatcha think you saw–”

That again. Kid. Was that how he saw you? You had half the mind to admit what the idea of it did to you—the idea that he might’ve gotten hard at the thought of you. 

“Hate that I even have to ask.” You begin, not letting him finish his thought. “You realize I’m not.” You were dabbing a little harder now, tossing out the used makeup wipes in the trash beside you. 

“Y’are when I’ve got a decade over ya.” He says simply. Wincing at your harsh gestures. “Don’t need the complications.” He pushes your hand away, his deep brown eyes stayed locked on you, searching, warning. 

“Leave well enough alone, got that?”

The following weeks on set proved to be grueling, even by Joel’s standards. His reputation preceded him. A stubborn, self-reliant actor who insisted on doing his own stunts. For the studio, it was a nightmare. Higher insurance premiums, a ballooning budget, and his manager losing sleep over the what-ifs. 

For Joel, it was just how he’d always worked.

But his body wasn’t what it used to be. He could feel the aftermath of his aching limbs with every roll, leap, and landing. By the end of each day, he was a drained man.

The tension on set that evening was suffocating, the kind that made every sound sharper, every movement feel urgent. 

Joel’s stunt wasn’t supposed to go wrong. It rarely did. But today was different. 

You’d seen the way his jaw tightened with every take, the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. Monitoring him from the sidelines when the cameras were still rolling. 

Then it happened.

A sickening crunch, the unmistakable sound of something gone wrong. Joel hit the ground hard, and the set erupted in chaos. The director’s voice echoed through the sound stage, “Cut! Jesus. Check on Joel. Now!” as the crew scrambled toward him.

You froze, the towel and water bottle in your hands suddenly feeling useless. Your feet moved on instinct, but the crowd around Joel was essentially a wall. Blocking you out. 

You couldn’t get through.

“Back off. M’fine.” Joel’s voice cuts through the commotion, frustration dripping from every word. He swatted away helping hands, gaze darting through the crowd. His face twisted in anger, not from pain but from the lack of order.

“Where the hell is she?” he grumbled. 

You hesitated, your stomach knotting. His eyes finally locked onto you, and his expression darkened. “You. Get over here.”

The weight of his command pulled you forward, even as your gut screamed to stay back, letting someone more qualified deal with it.  You shuffled behind him as you’d maneuvered out of the crowd and back into his trailer. Eyes widening at the sight of blood seeping through a tear in his shirt.

“Joel, I–…shouldn’t we call–”

“Don’t need someone else,” he interrupted, his tone biting but strained. “Just. I’ll tell ya what to do. Kits in the left drawer.”

“Okay,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady, wracking your brain for memories of those first aid videos you’d seen on YouTube. Film school did not prep you for this. 

As you grabbed the first aid kit, you watched Joel slump against the trailer walls. You stood there, awkwardly, watching the scarlet blossom against his abdomen.

He looks at you for a moment before exhaling. “Y’know, you can ask n’ not jus’ stand there like a mute, darlin’.”

The witty remark dies in your throat when he yanks his shirt off. Effectively shutting your brain down entirely. You stare down at his body in its’ full glory. Damp with sweat and streaked with dirt. Blood smeared in jagged trails down his arm to his abdomen, mingling with grime from the fall. Joel pulls out the antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit, handing it to you.

“Shit, Joel. That looks fucking bad.” You hissed out, as though you were the one with a darkened gash on your midriff when you attempted to wipe the first streak off.

“Why…” Fuck. Your voice was cracking. “Why didn’t you just let someone else help you?”

He huffed, his dark eyes flicking to yours for a moment in amusement before looking away. “Ain’t worth makin’ a scene over somethin’ small.”

“This isn’t small, Joel,” you protested, frowning as you uncovered a deeper gash on his side. “You should’ve let the medics handle it.”

“Don’t need all that fuss.” His tone was clipped, defensive. “Been doin’ my own stunts for years. Ain’t stoppin’ now ‘cause of a scratch.”

“This isn’t a scratch.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to yours again, a flash of something unreadable in his expression. “Look, I get it, alright? But I don’t need everyone actin’ like I’m fallin’ apart. I’m fine.”

He knew deep down that his ego was far too big to admit that he actually needed help. 

“Stubborn,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head as you pressed a clean pad against the wound.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

Joel’s patience was paper thin, but he bit back whatever comment was forming on his tongue. “Enough of that. Just…tie it up” He sighs, strained, handing you a roll.

You nodded, fumbling with the bandage as your heart pounded in your ears. The wound was deeper than you’d thought now that it was clean, and the sight of it made your stomach churn.

“C’mon, darlin’. Ain’t got all day.”

You secured the bandage, tying it off with a bunny-eared bow before sitting back on your heels. Fingertips drumming on your knees, seemingly proud of yourself. 

Joel glanced down, his brows furrowing as he took in your work. “What the hell is that?”

“What?” you say defensively. “You told me to tie it.”

“Looks like ya wrapped a damn present,” he muttered. 

“Fine, I’ll redo it–”

“Don’t bother.” He caught your hands before you could move, holding them in place. “It’ll hold.”

The silence that followed proved to further intensify the air between the two of you. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his eyes locked on yours. You didn’t dare to move. 

The curve of his nose grazed your cheeks, the faintest touch sent a shiver down your spine, but he had enough sense to move away. 

You however, didn’t think, didn’t hesitate when you leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick, tentative kiss.

It seemed to have caught the both of you off guard.

Joel froze, the kiss barely lasting a second before he pulls back, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d tell you off.

But instead, he leans forward. Kissing you harder, deeper. A palm slips to the back of your neck to anchor you in place.

With nowhere else to put your hands, you placed them on his thighs, gripping them tightly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin. His other hand gripped your waist, drags you closer until your knees pressed against the side of his hips.

But just as quickly as it started, Joel stops. He pulls back with a bated breath. His hands slip from where he held your neck. “Shit,” he mutters, his jaw clenching as he looks away. “Shit.”

You blinked, your heart racing as you tried to catch up. Trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Joel–”

“Stop. I shouldn’t have.” The curtness in his tone startled you. But you frowned. Trailing behind him as he gets up. 

“Well you did.” You blocked his path towards the door of his trailer. Eyes filled with a burning persistence of him once again denying you. 

“Don’t push it, kid.”

You’d practically stepped up to him confrontationally. “—Or better yet, you gonna tell me that I imagined it?”

“You can’t do all of that and then just back off.”

It frustrated you to no end when he stonewalled you like this. Like you were some irrational kid who couldn’t read between the lines.

When Joel finally does speak, he merely says your name. With a finality you couldn’t quite refute. You bite the inside of your cheeks. Feeling humiliated at being shot down when you’d thrown yourself onto someone like this.

“Fucking coward.”

This time, you didn’t mumble. 

Joel visibly grimaces at that. You feel his hand grip painfully around your wrist, stopping you from leaving the trailer.

You let out a choked gasp when his hands shoot out to grip around your throat before you could even react. Forcing you backwards at every step. Instinctively, you grab around his wrists to loosen his grip. 

“Hey!” 

He leans down to your level, lips grazing against your ears in a deep whisper. “Fuckin’ coward, huh?”  You'd pushed all the right buttons. He'd held back for so damned long and he didn't have it in him to hold back. Not after you'd run your mouth.

You let out a shaky exhale. Teeth grit painfully. You should’ve felt scared. Horrified, really. But the tenderness in his hold makes you feel conflicted about what you should’ve felt. 

Joel’s grip held you firm. Tipping your head up. “Y’want me to fuck you that bad?”

A soft whimper leaves your lips when his back presses against you. The hardness rubbed up against your core. You shudder at the sensation, nodding weakly. 

His rough palms circle around your waist, turning you over the dressing table until your pelvis sat flush against it. The grip around your throat swiftly turns to a vice grip around your jaw. 

He tugs at your jaw. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Ugh—yes.…need you..tofuckme.” You manage through gritted teeth. It irked you to say it, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t have let up.

Joel tugs you to look up into your own reflection. Your gaze immediately sours, attempting to look away. 

“C’mon now. S’a pretty sight.” He tuts. His other palm drags the fabric of your top up harshly, pulling it up along with your bra. Your tits spilling at the notion. A gasp slips from your lips. 

“Joel!” Your palms tightens into fists on the table at the obscene sight. 

So much for someone who didn’t want to give in.

It doesn’t faze Joel, merely letting out a low whistle. Kneading them in his palms. “Perfect fuckin’ tits.”

He presses a kiss down the sides of your neck. Twisting around your nipples till they hardened between his fingers. You let out a pathetic whine at the sensation. Holding his arms firmly, you squirm as he nips your shoulder. 

“Could you just—“ Your protests don't stop him in the slightest. Nudging your head a little to give him room. He takes it as a sign to bite down on your neck, bruising you with hickeys all over. 

Joel seems to catch your nervous flickers towards the doors. He shifts your hair over one side of your shoulder. Thumbing over the ink on the nape of your neck. You hear the sound of the zipper, briefly catching sight of him shucking his pants down. He winces slightly at the dull pain shooting across his abdomen, but the desperation of needing you was far greater than the pain.

Somehow, the idea of not being able to see it made it so much worse. And as though he reads your mind, he presses his jaw against the side of your head. “Relax.” The tenderness in his tone through the roughness does manage to soothe your nerves. You nod slowly.

Your hips jolt as the cold air hits your body when Joel dips a finger under the waistband of your sweats. He teasingly brushes his fingers lightly against your skin before swiftly tugging them down to your thighs along with the flimsy cotton panties you had on. “A little warning would help.” You bite back, finally losing patience at his tactless gestures. 

Joel meets your gaze through the mirror. A lopsided smirk quirking up his lips. “Right. My bad.” You could feel the disingenuity in his tone before he taps the length of his cock against your lower back. The gesture almost mocking.

A shudder runs down your spine. He was big, unlike anything you’ve experienced before. 

He hikes your hip backwards and flush against him. Your palms instinctively clutches around the edge of the table. Joel takes his time, sliding his hard cock between the softness of your thighs. The sensation nearly sends you doubling over. Watching the weeping tip poke through in the reflection, slightly smearing his precum on your clit.

You squeeze your legs together subconsciously, earning a wince from him. He was certain he could come just from fucking your thighs like this. The pace he took now bordered on torturous. Teasing you with everything but giving you nothing. 

You took it upon yourself to stretch your hands between your thighs in an attempt to notch him in you. You were aching. Badly.

Joel lets out a grunt of disapproval, yanking your wrist to pin it behind your back. Leaving you to steady your body weight onto your other hand. “Eager little thing. Daddy ain’t ever teachya patience?”

His snark burned in your cheeks. It was a futile effort. He could see every single expression you were making from your reflection and he fucking thrived on it. Joel takes a hold of his cock, lining it up against your soaked cunt, he slowly drags your slick over his length. You were soaking him before he even started.

Your head dips, clinging onto the fleeting pleasure every time the tip of his cock bumped against your clit. 

“Joel–please just fuck me...”

So he does.

Before you could even catch your breath, he snaps his hips into you. “Deep breath f’me, sweetheart.” If not for his grip around your wrist, you would’ve probably face planted into the dresser. 

The sting from the intrusion of his thickness had your cunt tightening with every move he makes, squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

Your hair falls in front of your face as he mercilessly fucks you. You swore you could feel him almost grazing the entrance of your cervix. “T-Too..too fucking...big.”

Joel tips his head at the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, probably only halfway. He doesn’t say anything yet. Only humming at your whines. “I know baby.”

You look down shakily at where the both of you were connected, the lines between pain and pleasure blurring to the point you hadn’t registered the tears prickling the corner of your eyes. “Hurts…”

Joel seems to feel a tinge of empathy at the way you were struggling to take him, hiccuping through your whines. His gaze flickers to the way your pretty little face scrunched up, doing your fucking best like the good girl you were. A slight groan leaves his lips involuntarily.

All rationality be fucked.

His hand grips around your throat, forcing you to look up at the mirror. 

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t help but feel increasingly turned on at the sight of his cock fucked into your dripping pussy in squelches. “See that? Takin’ me so ’fuckin’ well.” He sighs into your shoulder. 

The praise has you lifting your hips higher, on your tippy toes–forcing a deeper arch at your hips. With how slick your thighs were, you weren’t even sure yourself if you did come.

Nothing but the sounds of his pelvis snapping into your ass in rhythmic, hard slaps. He buries his head in the crook of your shoulder. And you hear him audibly grunt this time. Thrusting into you at a punishing pace. 

Joel could feel the all familiar tightening in his sack, he knew he was close. The sheer suction your soft, slick walls were providing him was nothing he’d ever felt before. He lets go of your throat, both palms gripped around your hips, painful enough to leave a mark. The table rattles under your combined weights and Joel’s frantic thrusts, products rolling and clattering onto the ground. He noses your cheeks, stubble rubbing against your pulse point. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy…” 

You offer a slight whimper at his words, meeting the intensity his thrusts weakly. You both still at the shuffle of footsteps approaching the trailer.

 The sharp knocks against the trailer door has the both of you whipping your head towards it. 

“Everything okay?”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears loudly. The door wasn’t locked.

Joel doesn't answer, simply looking at you. Your expression twists in frustration. Mouthing the words ‘me?’. There wasn't time to deliberate. Your lips parts to speak, barely able to form coherent words. “Y..yeah. A-All good.” 

“Right…productions cutting it close. So if Joel’s oookaaay…”

You cursed internally at how persistent whoever behind the doors was. But you nearly see white when Joel fully slams into you. Deeper than before. You couldn’t control the sharp cry that leaves your lips, but it is soon muffled by Joel’s rough palms covering your mouth.

“M’fine. Give us ten.”

Your tears pool around his hand. Gripping onto his wrists when he continues to pound into you at a faster intensity. You were whining by the time the crewmate finally left. Joel pulls you against his chest. Audibly groaning into your ears now. “Fuck. M’close.” 

You nodded dumbly, not even sure just what at anymore. Shaky hands clinging onto him like a lifeline. With a final rut, his hips stutter, ropes of his cum painting the insides of your walls.

He held it there for a couple of seconds before pulling out. All messy and soaked with your arousal.

You let out a strained exhale at the feeling of loss as your pussy convulses around nothing, pearlescent liquid dripping from your reddened cunt. 

Joel sighs wantonly at the sight. With the state of you, he was briefly worried that he might’ve gone too hard. And then he sees it. Your smaller, manicured hands, pushing more of his dripping come into your folds. Yeah. Joel was fucked.

[harrystylesland]

Fated Mate [Part I]

werewolf, alpha!harry x omega!reader

Warnings: age gap, mild degradation, daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, controlling and abusive parental figure, mentions of sexual abuse, 18+ ONLY

┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⨯ * ₊ ୨ ♡ ୧ ₊ * ⨯ㆍ┈ㆍ┈

» Y/N «

“Is she an omega?” The red-haired woman sitting at the table next to mine gasps as her stare connects with me.

I toss my hair back, revealing the bonding gland located at the back of my neck. The circular organ is spongy and firm, with no bite marks on it. I’m proud of being unmated, but not many people think that way.

Her voice becomes strangled and choked when I caress the fleshy spot at the nape of my neck, gliding my fingers across it sensually. If there were any alphas around here, they’d go feral with lust. An omega proudly announcing her single unmated status is considered the equivalent of spreading your legs and displaying your pussy in public.

Conservative people think it’s an invitation for unwanted alphas to stake their claim.

Even though society has come far since the time when omegas had to be married and reproducing by the time they were eighteen, the expectation that an omega will find a mate by twenty one and get knocked up with her alpha’s children still persists in society.

The whispers around me grow.

As an omega, it’s impossible to go unnoticed in public. I stand out because of my body. I’m a walking temptation and I don’t try to hide it. Why bother? Everybody is bound to figure out that I’m an omega eventually.

I have also been told that I smell like milk and vanilla. A smell that captivates any alphas—both human and shifter—in my vicinity.

“Here’s your order. Enjoy!” The café’s assistant—a pretty beta girl—sets my café latte on the table, followed by a slice of strawberry shortcake. I love having something sweet in the morning. It’s my pick-me-up.

“Thanks.” I mumble before returning my attention to the book I’m reading.

The smell of fresh coffee swirls around me. I like this café because it’s open to only omegas and betas. It’s a safe space free from aggression and danger. Nowadays, there are many eateries and restaurants targeted at only omegas and betas, which has made it easier for omegas and betas to feel safe as they move into society.

My mind latches onto the words on the page. Heck, the erotic images that these romance novels paints have me lusting for my own happily-ever-after with a man who can keep me satisfied forever.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back before he kissed her…

I can feel a wet spot forming in my panties. The urge to stroke my intimate lips nags me. Reading romance novels makes me horny. It also reminds me of how good I can get railed if I try. It has been weeks since I had sex with anyone. I’m close to my heat—that period when I constantly drip with the need for a thick cock.

I skim my hands over my thighs, grabbing my flesh and loving how soft I feel. I love this part of being an omega. Omegas have the constant need to be filled and taken care of, which is why they were considered whores in the past. But I love my sexual side. It makes me feel alive.

The red-haired woman stares at me as I bring the coffee cup to my lips. I purr when the hot bitter liquid slides down my throat.

She coughs awkwardly. I smile at her, trying to look cocky. She’s a beta so she doesn’t fall for my sex appeal. Instead, she goes back to gossiping with her friends.

Most beta female—both human and shifter—have a different body structure. Less feminine and less curvy. They don’t have wide hips to carry a pack of babies nor huge breasts for their offspring to suckle milk from. My body was designed to give birth to and nurture healthy children.

I don’t hate the fact that I look fertile and lush. I’ve decided to own my curves and femininity. I use it to fulfill my own sexual needs. After all, my in-your-face fertility and softness make me a catch to men.

The heat from the coffee is settling in my stomach and spreading through my groin. I press my thighs together, trying to contain the stream of moisture leaking from my pussy. I can’t contain the insistent need for sexual intercourse.

That’s it.

I need a warm body on top of me and a big cock drilling into me tonight. Otherwise, I won’t get through tomorrow.

I whip out my phone and click on the blue square with a pink omega symbol inside it. It’s one of my favorite apps.

Omega Love Finder.

I downloaded it a year ago and it has given me my best sexual experiences.

I scroll the forbidden sex app under the table, sipping my drink as the women around me continue to make assumptions about me.

It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that even though I’m an omega and the world is a dangerous place for us, I have persistent sexual needs. Not just during my heats, which can be brutal unless I have a cock inside me all the time. Even on normal days, I have a high sex drive.

There’s one particular kink I enjoy more than any others. Being a little girl to a gentle dom. Call it biology, but I can’t get enough of being spoiled and provided for by a strong man. I want my partner to do all the work sexually—to dominate me, praise me, and tease me open with incentives and gentle commands.

Basically, I like being a pillow princess.

My looks have made it easy to find men who will cater to my needs. Most men tend to go soft when they see an omega. I guess everybody feels protective of me because of my biology.

While there are often alphas on Love Finder looking for omegas in heat to help them through their ruts, I always go for beta shifters because it’s safe for me.

I flick through the photos of men on the app.

I’m in the mood for a specific kind of dom tonight. One who is strong, big, and wears suits. Men in formal clothing do it for me. I guess it’s the sense of tradition, stability, and establishment they exude that makes me feel safe.

I finally found one that matches my needs.

Harry Styles.

My pussy throbs in approval when I look at his profile picture. My ovaries grow warm with the need to carry his babies.

Harry’s face is a wet dream. He has thick brown eyebrows. He’s also incredibly large with solid hands and thick muscular legs and biceps. He's also tall at 6’2. His face is chiseled and angular—masculine enough to convince me that he’d make a great dom. While his eyes are forest green, his mouth is pink and warm, framed by a soft beard that I already want to caress. The contrast between his hard eyes and soft expression intrigues me.

Harry’s profile claims that he’s a wolf shifter, which is also called werewolf. I scroll to see his secondary gender designation, but that column is blank.

My heartbeat picks up. It’s unusual for people to not disclose their secondary gender on an app like this since so many matches are made based on mutual needs.

He’s probably not an alpha though. Alphas are proud and have a superiority complex because of how much influence they exert over society. They take every opportunity to let people know that they are alphas.

Trust me, I know. My guardian is an alpha.

Harry is probably a shy beta, or an omega trying to stay safe. I don’t mind being with another omega as long as he can take the lead.

I read on for his sexual preferences.

I’m a dom, but not into inflicting pain. I like to feel strong and in control. I hope my partner feels protected and safe enough to surrender to me and let me take care of them. I like DDLG roleplays and light bondage. Nothing crazy like binding, chains, and whips, but I get off on telling my partner what to do. We’ll negotiate boundaries before we play. If you’re a sub looking for a gentle dom, we’ll be a great match.

My omega instinct wails to be with Harry. He has ticked every box on my list so far. I immediately swipe right.

Attacking my cake with a spoon, I grow antsy for his reply. He probably works in a big corporation somewhere. I doubt he has time to look at his phone and reply to messages instantly.

I jump when a message floats into my inbox some minutes later.

He’s interested too.

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

I’m burning with anticipation when I enter the hotel lobby. Harry and I agreed to meet in his suite room.

I could tell how rich he is when he casually suggested that he would rendezvous at the most expensive hotel in town. When I offered to pay half the room’s cost, he said he had the room permanently reserved in his name so he wasn’t paying anything extra to have me there.

I swallow before knocking on the door.

“I’m Y/N.” I raise my voice so he can hear me on the other side.

“Come in. The door’s open.” He responds. His deep gruff command instantly sets my nerves on fire. I want him to praise me and degrade me with that voice.

I push the door open, then after filling my lungs with air, I charge in.

My eyes immediately snag on the unmissable male figure in the room.

Harry is lounging comfortably on the huge king-sized bed. A gray suit jacket lies discarded on the sofa. He’s still wearing his waistcoat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are unbuttoned and folded back to reveal thick veiny forearms. My pussy jerks with heat as I rake my eyes over those bulging veins, wanting those hands to hold me down. Imagining those thick digits stroking my wet heat.

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” I walk on shaky feet.

At first, I was confused about why I was so nervous and so turned on. Then his scent hits me—woody, spicy, and thick with power.

Panic swells in my blood, rushing to my brain.

He’s an alpha.

And the only alpha I’ve ever been around is my father and he was unfortunately a controlling entitled prick.

I was so happy when I met a beta woman who had lost her omega mate and she adopted me as her own daughter after I got an emancipation order. I was tired of my dad oppressing me, telling me how to dress, and making me into a powerless omega who was dependent on the whims and commands of an alpha.

And so, the moment I recognize Harry’s scent, I react without hesitation. I swivel back, even though my pussy is leaking moisture. My skin is hot, demanding an alpha’s possessive comforting touch.

I have never slept with an alpha and I have no doubt it’d be the most otherworldly and exhilarating experience of my life. Alphas have huge cocks and my feminine heat needs to be stroked and stretched.

However, I’m not ready for the consequences that will follow the mating. The guilt, the shame, and the feeling of having been used like I’m a fleshlight.

“Wait.” His words are like a leash wrapping around my neck and pulling me back. An alpha’s command has a powerful effect on an omega. They can make me do anything if they talk to me in that voice filled with authority and lust. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My body relaxes immediately, believing him. His intentions are clear and they’re comforting like a warm blanket wrapped around me.

“You never said you were an alpha.” I tense my shoulders. “I don’t sleep with alphas.”

He squints in confusion. “Aren’t you an omega?”

“So? I don’t like alphas. They’re domineering and possessive. They control me and treat me like an object. I want to be a princess, not a trophy.”

“I promise I won’t treat you like that.” He comes to his feet. Upright, I can’t ignore how tall and big Harry is. Every object in the room seems insignificant compared to his imposing silhouette. My legs itch to rush to him. My body longs to be nestled in the safety of that broad chest. Harry’s eyes soften. “Y/N, come here. Let’s talk about what’s making you anxious.”

Let’s talk.

I’m perplexed. Paralyzed by confusion. Alphas are high-handed. They don’t like discussions. They like telling you what to do.

He should have told me to stay, told me that an omega like me belongs under him, but he didn’t.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t fuck alphas.”

“I’m a shifter. A werewolf.”

“An alpha werewolf.” I say sharply, emphasizing the word alpha. “I don’t trust you.”

“Then let’s work on that.”

He wants to work on it?

My head feels light. Maybe this guy isn’t an alpha after all. His personality is too well-adjusted, but one whiff of his pheromones confirms that he is indeed one.

He is pure sex appeal bottled into an olfactory sensation. His smell fuels my need to surrender. My knees are shaking. I want to collapse on the floor and have him carry me to the bed. Then I want him to tear off my clothes and thrust into my wet heat.

I shake my head. Being his cum dump might feel good in the moment, but I’ll never live down the aftermath. And what if he decides to take me by force? I don’t want to be bonded to someone I don’t love.

I exhale. Then as I brush my hair away from my neck, it reveals the mating gland situated there.

Harry’s eyes flare with heat, going pitch black as his pupils dilate to fill his irises. His breathing grows frenetic. He can’t take his eyes off the spot—the forbidden unclaimed spot that the wolf inside him is probably dying to mark.

“You can’t bite me.” I say firmly. “I don’t want to belong to any alpha until I decide he’s the one I’m marrying.”

His jaw tightens with the strain of holding himself back. “I will respect that. A woman who thinks long-term relationship is definitely wife material.”

“Let me make this clear. I’m not going to be your wife. Or your mate. Or your anything. I’m only here for a fun night and to be spoiled by a dom. You can pound my pussy and use every part of my body including my ass, but you can’t try to claim me. Understood?”

Harry’s nostrils flare. His hands are fisted around the bedsheet. An alpha doesn’t usually get challenged by an omega, much less have an omega telling him what he can’t do.

While I'm waiting for Harry’s response, I expect him to show his dominance, to tell me he can claim me wherever he wants.

“Your gland is off-limits?” His neck muscles go taut with tension as he releases a bitter laugh.

“I won’t surrender to a dom who has no self-control. That’s dangerous for me.”

“I do have self-control. I won’t do anything that either of us will regret later.” He nods in approval. “So you don’t have to worry about becoming my mate. Thank you for being honest with me.”

My whole body erupts with pride at that gesture. It’s like I want him to be pleased by my behavior, to tell me I’m smart and sensible—not a reckless omega looking to get violated. That’s what people always tell me.

Betas and alphas can indulge their sexual needs as much as they like without the threat of being claimed and impregnated, but omegas are oppressed because of their nature. And I won’t tolerate that. I also stay safe by taking my suppressants. I don’t need birth control pills. I can’t get pregnant from an alpha who hasn’t mated with me and bitten me on the neck to bind me to him forever. That’s the way omega bodies function. My womb will only carry my alpha’s seed. It’s both convenient and inconvenient since I don’t know if I’ll ever find the right alpha, but I do want to have kids of my own.

“That’s my hard boundary. I’m not looking to settle down. All I need is a hot one-night stand with a man who’ll make me come.” I tell him. “My other conditions include that you leave no marks on my body. I don’t like pain and punishment. And I want you to be loving. Don’t treat me like a possession.”

“You like feel-good sex?” He quirks his eyebrows. “So do I.”

“Good. We’re on the same page. Anything I need to know about your preferences, Harry?” I can’t fathom asking this question because it means that I’m thinking of going through with having sex with an alpha.

“I need intimacy.” Harry runs his fingers through his hair. “I can’t fuck someone just because they’re hot. I hate meaningless sex that feels emotionally empty. Even if we’re only sleeping together, my emotions must be involved. I want to feel like you really love me even though if it’s an act.”

An alpha who wants to be loved and not obeyed? Now that’s something I’ve never heard of.

Harry shocks me with every word that comes out of his mouth. He’s more than the controlling alpha stereotype. He’s deep. He cares about feelings—his own and mine. He doesn’t want to present the image of being stoic and cold so he comes off looking invulnerable. He’s dominant, but not addicted to having authority. It must be because he’s so successful in his career. He has so much control over the external world. And unlike my father, he’s not trying to feel masculine by treating women like slaves.

“Okay, I can do that. I’m good at roleplaying.” I nod. “But if you do something I’m uncomfortable with, or I want you to stroke my hair and call me nicknames, I’ll speak up immediately. It may make you uncomfortable, but I don’t care.”

Harry grins. “I love a feisty brat.”

I blink in surprise. “Your inner alpha doesn’t feel threatened when someone tells you what to do?”

“I take it as a suggestion rather than a command.” Harry’s cloudy green eyes watch me with interest.

My body is really sending me confused signals right now. I’m here for sex only, but cuddling with him and talking about our lives suddenly seems like a much better idea.

I shake off that useless thought. I’m not looking to date an alpha. Or get deeply involved with one.

“I think it’s good to have a partner who expresses their emotions. Why would it make me feel out of control because you have needs? I’m not interested in fucking a robot with no personality.” He continues to explain.

My chest fills with warmth. My shoulders relax. And I can’t prevent a smile from forming on my lips.

As crazy as it sounds, I like this guy. He’s an alpha, but I like him. He’s not like any of the alphas I’ve seen before. He’s not insecure. His sense of power is not fragile and is based on absolute command.

“Okay.” I should feel threatened, scared, and antsy. I should be running away and writing off this encounter as an unfortunate tragedy. But after our conversation, I want to be taken care by this gorgeous alpha. “Let’s start then.”

I unbutton my dress. Peeling the sleeves off my arms, I let the garment glide over my hips until it’s lying on the ground.

I turn around, giving him a glimpse of my juicy ass and smooth back. It’s thrilling to see how quickly the bulge in Harry’s pants grows when he takes me in. His erection is huge. My pussy is getting excited at the thought of milking that giant cock.

“You can’t seem to take your eyes off my gland.” I tease in a seductive tone. “Do you like it?”

“I know I can’t claim you, but can I touch it? Promise I won’t bite.” Harry holds up his pinky finger in a mock promise.

I find that gesture adorable and his question boyish and sweet. The innocence coupled with his deadly good looks makes for an intriguing combination. He makes me feel safe.

“You may touch.” I reply, my voice shivering. “I’ve never let anybody touch that spot.”

“I’m grateful for the honor.” Harry motions me to him. “Come sit on my lap, baby girl. Let me look at your gorgeous mating gland.”

My pussy flutters when he calls me his baby girl—not because the endearment is anything special, but because he says it with so much affection like I actually mean something to him. It’s the kind of tone I could imagine him using on his own daughter. Harry would be the type of dad who would spoil his daughters rotten. He’s the sort of man who feels good when he’s loved by the women around him. He’ll be an amazing daddy.

I can’t believe I get to be cherished by him, even for one evening.

His thumb tests the spongy circular skin of my mating gland. His breath leaves his nostrils in forceful streams, hitting my neck like gusts of wind. He traces the shape of my gland using delicate light touches. I’m already grinding into his thick erection. My pussy throbbing from the friction between our sexual organs.

“So beautiful.” Harry’s voice shivers with need. He presses a kiss on my gland, licking circles around my sacred bonding spot. His tongue dips, painting a wet trail from my neck to my spine. We’re flirting with danger here. His mouth is already on my gland. Any second, he could decide to sink his teeth into me and forcefully claim me as his omega. But I know he won’t. He licks me a few more times then moves his head away. “Your body is soft and delicious.”

“Do you want to claim me?” I inquire, still on edge.

“Of course I do.” He replies with a desperate growl. “I’m an alpha. The wolf inside me wants to claim you, pin you down, and stuff your stomach with my pups.”

My eyes widen, panic edging between my ribcage. I twitch, coming off his lap and onto my feet, moving myself away from the masculine intoxicating presence of Harry Styles.

I look around, wondering how to escape this place and this man who has hypnotized me with his gentle voice. But my body refuses to move. It doesn’t want to run.

My wet heat wants to take Harry’s cock and grow his children in my womb. My blood shivers with the need to have my belly swollen with pups. The ache in my pussy intensifies at the image of Harry stroking my pregnant stomach and kissing it. I’m flabbergasted.

I’ve never wanted to have any man’s babies before. Is this the primal instinct of an omega when faced with the potent scent of an alpha? Or is it something else?

Before I can move, Harry’s fingers snake around my wrist. “Did I scare you, baby girl? I’m sorry. I can’t hide my feelings. But my word is binding. Trust me, I won’t claim you.”

He pulls me to his chest and caresses my hair, whispering to me that it’s alright to trust him. That he won’t ever hurt me.

I wish I could believe him, but I can’t. What I do believe in is my ability to hate alphas. But my body is melting with his warm touch.

Before long, the suspicious thoughts in my head have been replaced by blissful ones. Harry spreads me out on the bed and takes his time relishing every part of my body. He caresses the shell of my ear. The roughness of his thumb pad provides a delicious texture against my soft skin.

“So pretty. My baby girl is so gorgeous.” He whispers.

My pussy responds immediately, releasing a stream of moisture. His voice isn’t sexy or flirty, just loving and full of admiration. And that kind of loving compliment sets my core on fire. I never imagined I’d be the kind of girl to respond to sweet affectionate lovemaking. I guess my new Daddy is teaching me all kinds of things about myself.

I writhe under his expert care, swimming in an ocean of warm elation as his fingers travel down my breasts, circling my areolas.

“Daddy, that feels so good...” I mumble when he latches onto my hard nipple and pleasures it with his tongue. He strokes my thick bud with the wet tip, inciting heatwaves in my core.

Harry squeezes my other breast, dragging his thumb along the underside. “You have huge boobs. Daddy loves suckling on them and playing with them.”

I love it too. He does something magical to me every time he touches me. Even though his fingers and tongue brush me gently, his control is a silent force behind him. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I love that fact.

“I’m an omega.” I remind him. “My boobs are bigger than average.”

“Your body is so lush and fertile too.” Harry’s reverent tone matches the delicate brushes of his fingertips against my hips. “Daddy loves a baby girl who is ripe with need for his cock.”

Heaviness is building up between my thighs. The dark sensation is somewhere between an impending orgasm and an all-out physiological takeover of my mind by a strong alpha. My body feels dense. His every finger stroke seeps into my bloodstream, making my blood feel thick with his claim.

“You’re so good at foreplay.” I say. It’s a real compliment. Men rarely pay this much attention to turning me on when I’m already leaking like a faucet. “I’m gushing.”

“I need you even wetter.” Harry bites his lip. “My cock is not the average size.”

There it is. The alpha in him asserts its superiority.

I chortle. “We’ll see.”

Harry climbs on top of me. His weight makes me feel small and vulnerable. I’d never admit it out loud, but having a big bad alpha mount me like this exhilarates my senses. I want him to stake his dominance over me.

His lips flit over my neck, sucking the tender skin at the juncture of my shoulders. My back arches off the bed.

“That…” I pant. “That felt powerful.”

I never knew I was so sensitive there. Nobody has played with that spot before.

“Daddy’s going to make his baby girl tremble with pleasure.” Harry flashes his perfect teeth and continues sucking at my flesh. “I hope you don’t have any plans for the rest of the evening because this is going to take all night.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy.” The words flow so naturally from my lips. It’s not an act, not part of the play. It’s what I’m feeling. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Y/N. I want to take care of you properly. Buy you flowers every day and pleasure you until you’re dizzy.”

My inner romantic sighs at his words. I wish I could be with the kind of man who would buy me flowers and romance me every day, but that’s just a fantasy for an omega stuck in a world full of entitled alphas who believe in control rather than wooing.

“I’d love that.” I lie, even though we’ll never see each other again. “I love being spoiled with thoughtful gifts.”

“I’ll spoil you rotten, baby girl.” His heavy-lidded gaze is drenched with underlying meaning that I’m too scared to intuit. The boundaries between fantasy and reality are so blurred when I’m with him. I want this to be real, but I’m scared of the consequences of a reality that involves me dating an alpha. “You’ll never doubt how much I love you.”

I moan when his lips crush mine. The kiss only intensifies my developing feelings for him. I’ve never considered having a Daddy who spoils me outside the bed, but Harry is triggering something deep within me that demands to have a real connection.

I feel like I’m in a spa. My body is buoyed by a sense of relief and safety. I’m in good hands. At no point do I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. Harry has great intuition about what parts of me need and how much pressure.

“I want to spend hours licking and stroking your soft skin. I want to discover the parts of you that have been neglected.” His tongue glides up my inner thigh, setting off a slow burn in my groin.

I’m so close to coming and he hasn’t even put his fingers or mouth anywhere near my pussy yet.

I cry at his gentleness. I know I chose to have steamy sex-only encounters with random men, but I miss being cared for. Someone who wants to know my body inside out and spend countless days finding out my sweet spots is so much more than a fuck buddy. I never thought I needed someone like that.

Tears of pure ecstasy roll down my cheeks when Harry’s tongue finds its way into my wet folds. He sucks on my clit. Hot currents of bliss thrash inside me. Whenever he stimulates my pleasure center, a symphony of aches builds up between my legs.

“I’m going to come…” I cry. I’m both embarrassed at coming so fast and shocked.

“Call Daddy’s name when you feel good.” Harry’s deep voice vibrates against my aroused pussy, heightening the fever in my channel.

He wriggles his tongue into my empty hole, filling it with a pale imitation of his hardness. Nevertheless, my walls clench around his tongue, reaching for a higher peak. The dance of his tongue against my feminine lips continues until I’m broken and sobbing from the need to come.

Harry senses I’m close to the edge too.

He sniffs my wet sex. Wolf shifters have supernaturally strong senses so I’m sure he can smell the wetness oozing from my pussy. I want to hide how much I love him commanding me in a sexual sense, but I’m just too turned on right now.

Just when I need the final nudge from his tongue to push me past my limits, Harry removes his mouth, leaving me in a hornet’s nest of frustration.

“I’m close, Daddy.” I whine.

“You’re not allowed to come until Daddy’s cock is inside you.” Harry presses my wrists into the mattress with his hands. “I want to feel your pleasure contracting around me.”

Before I can question him, he drops his pants and quickly rips his shift and waistcoat off his body. He’s completely naked now.

My pussy cramps with greater desire when I become aware of his powerful body. You’d think he was a Greek God from the perfect formation of his torso. The two cuts of muscle that dip into his hips fan my lust.

But it’s his cock that takes my breath away. It’s so thick and huge. I’ve seen cocks before. A lot of them actually. But none like this.

I guess this is why he’s an alpha. I know an omega’s body is also much curvier than other women and he has probably never seen boobs the size of mine.

“It is big.” A hint of panic rears its head, but Harry hushes it with a soothing press of his palm against my wet entrance.

“Don’t worry. I prepared you well. It won’t hurt.” He reassures me. His understanding of my fears makes our intimacy feel layered and deep. Harry positions his cock at my entrance. I can tell he’s excited to penetrate me. “Will you be a good baby girl for your Daddy and take his cock?”

“Yes.” I’m breathless with anticipation. After that orgasm, my pussy is open with relaxation. I need a little roughness now to offset the sweetness from before. “Give it to me hard, Daddy.”

I scream when he enters me, breaching my tightness with incredible strength. I feel his intrusion ringing in my bones, setting my cells on fire. I’ve been altered in some fundamental way by his penetration even though my mind can’t grasp how.

Our joining feels like a primordial awakening. An event as old as time itself. The profoundness of our mating terrifies me.

“This feeling... oh my God.” I trail off as he thrusts deeper into me, making my body shake with the immense waves of pleasure inundating my blood.

My whole self goes numb as an orgasm spreads through me. It’s like a flower blooming in my core and spreading its sweet scent to the rest of my body.

“We’re mating, baby girl. This is how it always feels.” Harry’s locks of hair vibrate every time he thrusts into me. His forehead is slicked with sweat and his dark brown strands are wet with the proof of his exertion.

“Mating?” My confused words swim in the air as my body surrenders to an undoing like no other. “But you haven’t touched my gland.”

“I don’t have to.” Harry breathes out a stream of breath over my stimulated nipple. “Your body already knows it’s mine even if I never mark it with my teeth.”

The words make no sense, but the truth in them twists its way into my subconscious. I can’t explain what I’m experiencing, but I can’t deny that it feels like bonding with an alpha. Mere words can’t describe the rightness of our union like it was destined to happen. Like it has already happened for lifetimes.

I do believe in soulmates, but I didn’t think a one night stand could make my soul weep with longing over nothing more than another brush of his cock against my walls.

But this doesn't feel like just a physical coupling. This isn’t just sex.

Harry’s right. It’s two mates coming together and vowing silently to be together forever.

I make a promise without knowing I’m making one.

My pussy swallows his cock. Pangs of pleasure cramp my belly at every intimate contact with his cock. I’m already in the throes of a climax. How does it keep getting better? Why does my body feel more and more like it’s becoming his?

“Are you ready to be drenched in cum, baby girl?” Harry’s grin makes him look like an evil villain in a paranormal show.

I want to be part of his evil plot. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry pushes into me one final time. Then he releases all his pent-up desire. Warm sticky release coats my insides and begins trickling from my seam.

I revel in the glorious sensation of feeling completely lost in someone else’s arms. Of becoming an alpha’s cum dump. I’m lucky that I’m an unmated omega because I can feel his cum slicking my pussy without worrying about consequences.

“That was beautiful. Transcendent.” Harry’s airy words wash over my face. “You were brilliant, Y/N. I love you so much. You are so perfect.”

Each successive compliment boosts my heart, making my chest swell. I feel good, not used. I feel appreciated, not appraised.

As the haze of bliss settles on me, my heart flutters with contentment. I’ve never had this kind of sex before. I felt wooed, loved, and taken care of. Is this why omegas fall head over heels in love with alphas? Because they know how to give us what we want?

I enjoy my orgasm until the very last moment when it all disappears into a puff of heavenly smoke. Harry’s still on top of me, watching me with a mysterious expression.

I place my palm over my chest, feeling my elevated heartbeat. “I feel like I’ve been to heaven and back.”

“That was only round one.” He replies, quirking his lips in an amused smile. “Will you sleep here tonight?”

There’s a vulnerability in his voice—a hint of his real feelings emerging through the alpha mask.

I can’t refuse. It’d break my heart to refuse him. I can’t understand why I have so much empathy and compassion for him, even though he’s an alpha.

But he’s not using his influence to make me obey. He’s just asking me.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, facing him coyly. “Sure.”

“We can order room service if you’d like. We’ll fill your belly before we continue.” Harry reaches for the phone on the nightstand. “Aren’t you hungry?”

My stomach growls. I giggle. “A midnight meal sounds good.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ❈ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─

» HARRY «

“You found your mate?” Tom—my secretary and best friend, also a wolf shifter—screws one black eyebrow upward. The silent judgment and the not-so-silent curiosity prickle my skin. “Can I see her picture?”

I growl. “Hell, no”

Tom’s body shivers with a deep laugh. “I see you’re getting possessive already, but what’s the point? She doesn’t even know she’s your mate. She could be scrolling the app now for another hookup, or having a sexy time with another man...”

The roar that rushes out of my throat is so loud and feral that even Tom flinches. He’s a beta so my aggression affects him badly. His shoulders tense like he’s ready to flee.

“Sorry.” I make an effort to reign in my primal rage at the thought of my mate being pounded by another alpha. “I drive myself crazy by imagining doom and gloom scenarios already so don’t make it worse. I’m starting to feel insecure and that’s not a feeling I’m familiar with as an alpha.”

“Okay, Alpha.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Then why don’t you contact her again and tell her you want her? Isn’t that what alphas are good at? Forcing people to listen to them?”

“I’m not an idiot, Tom.” I press my fingers on my throbbing temples. “I’ve lived for thirty seven years. Women hate being told that the reason I’m pursuing them is because their pheromones do it for me. They want to feel desired for their personality, not their biology.”

Tom throws up his arms in resignation. “Well, don’t come crying to me if she hooks up with another tough alpha and decides she’s going to marry him.”

“She isn’t going to marry anyone she doesn’t like and she definitely hates alphas.” I inform him. “She said it herself.”

“An omega who doesn’t want to be shackled?” Tom applauds as he approves. “You caught yourself a fiery one.”

I wonder why my chest warms when he calls my woman fiery. I love a challenge and Y/N is going to be a lifelong challenge. I can tell.

Fated bonds are mostly a compelling biological impetus, but my rational mind is equally captivated by my mate. My heart is growing feelings for her that have nothing to do with her ability to turn my cock into a hard pole.

It can’t be easy for an omega to be as empowered as she is. I want to know her past. I want to understand her present. Most of all, I want to find out who hurt her and made her afraid to trust alphas. Then I will destroy him.

“Honestly, I don’t care for marriage.” I open the door to my office, keeping it open so Tom can follow me in. “As long as I can be by her side, I don’t need anyone’s approval. You know mating bonds are much more powerful than any document.”

I couldn’t tell Y/N that she was my mate. She was so spooked by me being an alpha that I couldn’t bring it up without destroying the fragile trust we had built with each other. Not that it would matter to her. I’m a fuck buddy to her. Not even that. She said she never wanted to see me again. Which makes me a one night stand.

God, wondering if she hates me is driving me nuts.

But there’s one thing I remember. That is the way her eyes turned misty with happiness when I said I’d buy her flowers every day. She might act like she’s cynical, but deep inside Y/N wants romance as much as anybody else. She must have been hurt deeply by an alpha to believe she’d never find it.

If I have to win her trust, the first thing I need to do is to help her trust alphas again, to make her see that we’re not all domineering oppressors. She probably had her safety and boundaries violated before and I have to assure her that it will never happen again if she trusts me.

I quickly type a message to her. I’m relieved she hasn’t deleted our chat from before.

Harry: I know we agreed to never have sex again, but is it okay if I send you flowers? Just this once. You were such a good baby girl. I want to give you a gift to show how much I appreciated you last night. Consider it the last time you get spoiled by your Daddy.

“Hey, Tom, can you order me some roses?” I’m already instructing my secretary even though Y/N hasn’t replied to my text, but I know she will give in. She desires real love. She wants to be treated like she’s special and precious, not just another omega body to be bred.

“Sending them to your girl?” Tom asks.

“That’s right.” I grin. “It’s time I started wooing her seriously before my wolf kills me.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ── ❈ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─

» Y/N «

Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into?

I can tell Harry is attached to me. He said he wanted to send me flowers because I made him so happy yesterday. I should have reminded him of our agreement to forget everything, but I texted him my business PO box instead. It won’t be difficult for someone like him to track me down if he puts his mind to it.

I bite my nails. Panic is spreading through my bloodstream.

Shit. What am I going to do if he finds me? If he forces his way into my apartment and makes me obey him with that sexy commanding voice?

Nervous, I check Omega Love Finder, determined to delete my message. But he has already seen it. Not only that, he has replied to it with a heart emoji.

I’m used to guys who would ghost me once they’ve had my body or demand I sleep with them again. I can’t comprehend why a sexy alpha with so much wealth and power would want to send me flowers because I gripped him well with my pussy. Isn’t that just a given for an omega?

Y/N: I hope you understand that while I appreciate your sweet gesture, I’m not looking for more with you.

Harry: I know. I just felt like spoiling you because I’m feeling good this morning. It’s all thanks to you.

His text hits me and makes me feel energized too. Nobody has ever said that being with me made them feel good.

My heart skips a beat. I hate that an alpha made me feel this way. Harry is dangerous. He’s making me reconsider all my boundaries.

I hate alphas. If you give them a little bit of control, they’ll take everything away from you. I have learned that with my father. I won’t be making the same mistake again.

Y/N: On second thought, forget about the flowers. Delete my address. I don’t want you showing up at my place. Not that they’d let you in since it’s an alpha-safe zone.

Harry: Baby girl, don’t panic.

Y/N: This feels like a trap. Like you want more from me.

Harry: I’ll send you flowers every day for the rest of our lives without ever asking for more if it makes you uncomfortable.

I stop and stare at that sentence on my screen for a whole minute. He typed that too fast for him to have strategized it. Then why is it so heartwarming?

Unconditional love is a myth. Even my dad didn’t love me unconditionally. Every gift came with a million strings attached. He wanted me to change for him. To be who he dictated I should be in return for taking care of me.

Y/N: I’m not giving you anything in return.

Harry: I didn’t ask for anything.

Y/N: I’m not going to be nice to you or sleep with you again.

Harry: I know, baby girl. Trust me, I’m not trying to con you. Just allow me to be your Daddy. Isn’t that what you want?

My Daddy. He wants to be my Daddy even outside the bedroom. He wants to spoil me with flowers and god knows what else if I let him.

A part of me sighs with happiness. I can’t believe such men even exist. I thought their population was wiped out somewhere in the last century and all the guys now think love is about what they can get, not the simple act of giving.

I sigh, feeling like a neurotic nutcase. Am I making a mountain out of a simple offer?

Nothing is more confusing than Harry Styles trying to be a gentleman. He’s like a dream that feels too good to be true.

My defenses automatically come up whenever my autonomy is threatened, especially by an alpha. Even though my instincts scream to let him take control, I know how miserable that made me in the past. I can’t let him shape my identity and who I am.

Y/N: Okay. I’ll let you. This once.

Harry: Thank you. If I’m being honest, I want to wine and dine you, take you shopping, and watch the sunset with you on the beach. But I know you’ll freak out if I actually suggested it. I’m just putting it out there. In case you wanted to be treated like a baby girl. It’ll be romantic, not sexual.

You know I like feeling emotions. I have enough money that it wouldn’t have to mean anything. Think about it.

My stomach goes hollow with a mixture of adoration and concern.

Harry has every right to express his feelings and desires, especially his desire to treat me well. The way he words his messages doesn’t feel pushy. He’s giving me a choice. He’s leaving the final decision in my hands. In the hands of an omega.

Omegas weren’t born to make decisions. Leave that up to an alpha, Y/N. My father’s often-spoken statement rings in my ears, bringing me back to reality.

No matter how nice Harry might be, on the inside he’s like every other alpha. I have to remember that. Otherwise, I’ll end up getting in trouble.

Y/N: Thank you for the kind offer, but I’m too jaded to believe that anybody would give me so much without strings attached. Like I said, I’m not looking to turn our ONS into a long-term thing.

Harry: Y/N, I know it’s hard to trust a stranger, but I want to make you believe that there are good people in the world. You deserve to experience pleasure and companionship without any obligations. So do I. So does everyone.

I’m seeing my bottom lip with my teeth again. Why is he so good at getting into my heart and saying all the right things?

I’ve distrusted alphas ever since my father tried to force me to mate with an alpha at sixteen. I ran away from home, but sometimes it feels like I’m still running away.

I’m an adult now. My father doesn’t own me. No alpha owns me.

Y/N: Keep your word and send me flowers for a week without mentioning anything more. Then I’ll consider it.

Harry’s reply is instantaneous.

Harry: Done.

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

The first bouquet of flowers arrives on the same day. I have to sign to accept the delivery.

It’s a massive profusion of red roses. Classic. Elegant. And heartwarming. There’s also a note with the bouquet.

I don’t know what kind of flowers you like. This seemed like a safe choice. Y/N, thank you for yesterday. I haven’t felt the way I do about you in forever. And please tell me what your favorite flowers are, otherwise I’ll tear my hair out in anxiety over having made the wrong choice.

Harry x

I don’t want to text Harry too much because I know he has an important job and doesn’t need me to distract him, but the note and the fact that he says he’s anxious about miffing me with his choice of roses is too cute to pass up.

Alphas assume what you like.

No, scratch that.

They tell you what you should like.

It was always like that with my father. He chose the clothes I wore, how much makeup I could have on, what I said, and whom I talked to. Even though my dresses were modest and demure, with high necks to cover my mating gland, he’d tell me that omegas should always be obedient and wear what their alpha wants them to. That we’re here to bear children and comfort our alphas, not self-express through fashion.

I hated those clothes. I boiled in them and they made me look like a Victorian matron, doing nothing to show off the parts of me that are gorgeous and deserve to be looked at.

That’s why I wear revealing clothes now. I show my breasts because hiding them only makes it more obvious that I’m an omega.

My fingers are shivering on the phone screen. Despite having worked on my issues, I’m still kind of terrified about telling an alpha what I like, especially when it’s non-sexual.

Y/N: I got the flowers. I don’t mind roses, but I love sunflowers.

There is no response for an hour. I’m not the type of girl who waits on men. I have a life, a business, and goals. I try to work on my client’s brief and soon, I have forgotten all about Harry and our exchange.

Until my phone pings.

And my body reacts instinctively, putting everything aside to check my messages.

Harry: Thank you for telling me. I hope to find out more about your preferences in the future. Also, sunflowers suit your fiery personality so good choice.

Good choice. An alpha praised me.

Harry actually indirectly told me that my preference was good, not inferior or wrong compared to what he picked for me. I cling to that moment of praise for far too long.

What is this wolf shifter doing to me?

⋆ ˚ ⊱ ✧ ⊰ ˚ ⋆

I receive sunflowers the next day. And the day after that.

For a whole week, Harry keeps up his part of the bargain. He never pressures me to message him. He doesn’t hint that he is looking for more from me either. More commitment, more sex, or more respect. In fact, he always waits for me to message first before replying.

I love how intimate and cute our exchanges feel. I don’t feel unsafe with him because he’s far away. But even if he was standing next to me, I knew I wouldn’t be scared of him.

Y/N: It’s unfair that you know what flowers I like, but I don’t know your favorite.

Harry: Orchids.

Y/N: Expensive and rare. Suits a rich alpha like you.

Harry: Was that a compliment?

Y/N: You’re an alpha. You don’t need compliments. You have a natural superiority complex.

Harry: I need your compliments, Y/N. My inner wolf is hungry for your praise.

My heart skips a beat more and more. He’s always so sweet and genuine when he texts. And he’s that way in real life too. I know because I’ve met him.

A week passes and he doesn’t stop sending me flowers. But the part that really breaks me is that he never asks me again about going to dinner with him. He waits for me to bring it up. He trusts me to not have forgotten my stupid omega brain.

I make him miserable for another week before giving in to his charm and steadfastness.

I mean, I couldn’t resist forever, not when he has shown that he can respect my boundaries multiple times. By denying him means that I’m only denying myself something I’ve always dreamed about, which is being taken care of by someone who cherishes me.

So I was immediately on board when Harry said he wanted to wine and dine me and take me shopping.

Y/N: Hypothetically speaking, where would you wine and dine me?

Harry: Wherever you pick.

Y/N: I’ll let you pick.

Harry: What kind of food do you like?

I don’t even blink when he asks me for my preference before showing off his knowledge regarding the best restaurants in town.

I have come to expect consideration from him. And that’s dangerous.

We’re sex partners at best, and strangers at worst. What if I never find an alpha who will treat me as well as Harry? He’s ruining me for everyone else when I know I can’t have him. He’s a wolf shifter, which means he’ll only settle down with his fated mate. I’m just a temporary woman until he meets his forever love.

I’ve never envied a woman as much as I envy Harry’s future wife. Omega or not, she’ll be so well cared for by her protective husband.

After we text back and forth, he invites me to a restaurant I’ve never heard of. When I look it up online, it turns out to be an exclusive place catering to a high-end clientele. They only take reservations from people who are on their approved list. Since the establishment allows alphas, omegas, betas, and everything in between, I’m worried about an unmated alpha scenting me and trying to be aggressive.

I mean, I’m certain they have ways to prevent such incidents. They have to preserve their reputation. Plus, Harry will be with me. I don’t know why, but my body knows he’ll never let me be harmed in his presence.

The day of our so-called dinner date arrives quickly. Harry must have made time for me because he invited me out on a weekday night. Thursday night, to be specific. When we met at his hotel room last time, it was a Thursday too. I calculate that it has been almost three weeks since he first came into my life.

He has turned my world upside down in a few days and made me reconsider everything I thought I knew about alphas.

I can’t wait to peel back his layers and discover more about him. I’m usually disinterested in all men, but Harry has me intrigued—as a person though, not as a sexual partner.

Despite Harry’s vehement protests, I assured him that I’d be fine making my way to the restaurant on my own. I put on my sexiest outfit. A red body con dress with a deep neckline that shows off my perky massive boobs. I want to keep him squirming throughout.

Since the restaurant is in a crowded area, I take the subway.

There are special areas for omegas in the subway so I don’t have to worry about any unwanted attention.

I get off at the station closest to our date spot, but I’m immediately lost. Even after checking my phone, I still end up walking in circles. Worry lines dig into my forehead when I turn around and realize I’ve walked into a deserted alley.

At this time of a weekday, there are not many people here. Most of them have gone home from work. Darkness and shadows twist around the streets, broken up by a few streetlights.

My stomach cramps. At first, I dismiss it as an overreaction. However, it turns out to be a premonition.

“You smell delicious, sugar.”

I arc back at the unfamiliar voice.

It’s a man. Not a human man though. He also stinks of power and entitlement. An alpha shifter.

I quickly reach inside my purse for the pepper spray. But before my thumb forces the nozzle down, the alpha knocks it out of my hand.

“Now what do you need that for?” He’s so close to me. His rancid breath lashes against my face. “I’m going to take good care of your pretty cunt. You’ll feel so good. A tight omega cunt for my dick.”

Anxiety spikes in my chest. I try to move to pick up the fallen pepper spray, but he’s too strong. His muscles are like shackles closing around my wrists. He gains on me, pressing me against the brick wall and caging me with his limbs. I move and resist, but it’s of no use.

“You can’t do this.” I say as he tries to force a kiss on me. “I have a boyfriend. He’s an alpha.”

Harry is not my boyfriend, but alphas are always more careful around other alphas. Knowing that I have Harry is a relief.

The man who is trying to sexually assault me chuckles. “Can smell no alpha on you, sugar. When was the last time you got laid? If he can’t keep your slutty omega body satisfied, maybe it’s time you switched to someone else.”

It has been three weeks since Harry last came inside me. Alpha pheromones only linger for a day or two. I wish I had given in and slept with him last week.

“Let me go. This is illegal.” My throat swells with anger and helplessness. I ended up saying something I never thought I would. “I love my boyfriend. I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“Love?” The alpha is laughing like he has lost his sanity. “Omega bitches don’t love, sugar. They only crave alpha dick. They spread their legs for the richest and most powerful alpha who can put them in their place and put a baby in their needy wombs.”

“Omegas fall in love too.” I protest. My eyes are misting with tears. My rage is boiling over. I don’t care if I look weak and emotional. I can’t hold back all the hatred I’ve felt for alphas all these years. Alphas like this guy think they are Gods, but what they are is a disgrace. “I love him. And if you think you’re an alpha just because you’re strong, you’re just a weak man with a broken ego. A real alpha has a big heart. They’re self-controlled, generous, and protective. Not rapists.”

“Shut up—”

I recoil when he raises his hand at me. I wait for the slap to make contact with my cheek. I thought I’d forgotten it, but I still remember the sting of my father’s hand. He hit me every time I refused to go along with his plans. I used to fear him and his strength until I realized that he was even more helpless than me. He could never make me obey and he knew he could never make me love him. My mother had left him too. She was a beautiful omega who had shacked up with a richer alpha and divorced his ass.

Suddenly, I’m broken free from my thoughts by an animalistic growl. And there’s a wolf—a majestic animal with gray fur—in the alley.

Before I can wonder where it came from, it lunges at my rapist. Its claws tear off a chunk of his face as it rips his body away from mine. The man falls to the ground, bleed and bruised.

The wolf narrows its eyes at me, approaching me carefully. I’m already pasted against the wall with nowhere to run.

Is the animal going to attack me too? I know it’s a shifter, but I’m not sure how much rationality shifters retain in their animal form.

Wait. Maybe it is Harry?

Could it be him? He’s a werewolf shifter, isn’t he?

It takes all my courage to reach out and caress the animal’s fur.

“You saved me.” I say. “Thank you.”

The wolf’s ears flop down and it licks my hand, encouraging me to keep stroking its head. I think it likes being petted. I find that so adorable.

“What a good wolf.” I coo. “So handsome and strong.”

The wolf howls.

I love wolves. They’re like dogs, but fiercer. The animal’s light green eyes peer into mine. We communicate silently, forging an invisible bond. I know this wolf will remember me and I will definitely remember it.

The sound of my sexual assaulter getting up breaks our eye contact. The wolf leaves my side to slam its claws down on the man’s body.

My rapist howls in pain. He gives the wolf a dirty look. “Who are you?”

At that moment, the wolf’s form dissolves. It rearranges back into a human. I’ve never seen a man shift before, but it’s over in a flash so I don’t get to observe any details.

Then Harry’s there, standing in front of me with one foot on my rapist’s chest.

“Me? I’m the boyfriend she loves.” He replies, giving me a side-eye.

My face goes up in flames. I can’t believe he heard that. What if he thinks I meant it?

The rapist makes an inaudible noise.

“Don’t worry. I called the police.” Harry informs the other alpha. “They’ll throw your ass in prison so you won’t have to stay in this cold alley for long.”

He swivels and walks to me, placing his hands on my hips. “Y/N, I swear, I was ready to commit murder. You should have let me pick you up. You’re mine. Only my hands belong on your body.”

He bares his teeth. His eyebrows are too thick like he’s still an animal. I sense that it’s the wolf that’s talking to me. The wolf I sensed a mysterious connection with.

Harry grips me hard like he’s trying to make me stay. His touch on me is bruising, but in the best way possible. I feel owned. Roughly claimed.

I love Harry’s inner animal. His spirit wolf is intense and possessive. Despite my reservations, I fall in love with this part of him immediately. After all, animals don’t have ulterior motives, only instincts. They only attack when threatened. There’s no malice or cruelty in their hearts.

“Let’s get you away from here.” Harry scoops me up in his arms, nuzzling my face with his nose.

I’m still trembling from the aftershocks of being harassed by an alpha. “How did you know to find me here?”

“I could smell you.” Harry replies, scrunching his nose. “Your scent is strong today. I could pick up on it even though I wasn’t close.”

I sniff my underarms, wondering what he’s on about. My stomach clenches. The throbbing between my legs is growing. I’m hot.

I finally understand what the stomach cramps from earlier meant. It wasn’t a premonition. It was my body’s natural cycle staking its claim on my sexual organs.

Harry’s pupils are dilated. He senses it too.

“Shit.” His eyebrows are knitted together in distress. All the hairs on his body are standing up in response to the potent scent that’s coming from my hot pussy.

I crumple his collar between my needy fingers. “Harry, I’m going into heat.”

┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⨯ * ₊ ୨ ♡ ୧ ₊ * ⨯ㆍ┈ㆍ┈

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Old wounds (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Warnings: evil!reader, some lines about reader being captive and Sauron being tortured in the past, her family being killed, touching of wounds, making out in front of the poor guy you’re keeping prisoner

Note: same reader as the one in Jealousy and Reveal, but works on its own too. Also, I’m no expert in the lore, the aspects regarding reader’s past/powers are just what’s convenient for the fic.

“After all the time I spent watching you work,” you say, leaning against the table, “you truly think I can’t tell when you’re stalling?”

Celebrimbor looks up at you, fingers faltering in their movements with one of the unfinished Nine. It’s terribly unfair, of course—berating him for his slow pace when he is being made to work with a shackle around his wrist, a battle being waged outside and the threat of your husband’s wrath ever looming above his head. Still, you know his patterns, and this isn’t fatigue or nervousness. It’s a misguided attempt at gathering his thoughts, thinking he might stand a better chance at escaping now, while Sauron himself isn’t in the room. Underestimating you.

“This work requires precision,” he says, begrudgingly.

“Celebrimbor...” You tilt your head, speaking in the same manner as a mother scolding a child. “This is not precision. This is lack of care—for your people, whose only hope for salvation is that you do as you were asked and deliver the last of the Rings.”

Your voice sharpens by the end. Celebrimbor swallows thickly, casting his eyes back down to his work in defeat. His focus seems renewed as he tinkers with the Ring, and, satisfied, you head to the balcony to watch the battle unfold.

But then he speaks again.

“You said...”

He stops unsurely when you turn back towards him. It’s irritating that his focus is on you instead of the work, but he begins speaking again before you can complain.

“You said that while you dwelled in my kingdom, awaiting your... husband’s return, under the guise of a mere smith... it hurt your pride to obey my orders.” He pauses, weaving a trace of defiance in his tone. “Yet you seem perfectly content obeying his.”

You know better than to fall prey to the silent challenge in his words. Still, there is a tick in your jaw you can’t suppress at the implication.

“I obey no one,” you say firmly. “My husband and I share in our toils, the same as we will share in the reward.”

Celebrimbor gives you a sorrowful smile.

“That is what I believed as well,” he says quietly. “What Mirdania must have believed. As countless others must have before. Once he has no more use of you, he will cast you aside—and the rewards of your labour shall be his alone.”

He is so sure of his words. He looks at you as though he’s doing you a kindness, as if you need his warning as much as he would have needed one before.

Anger grips your heart. A sudden gust of wind enters the room, blowing out the candle closest to you.

“Do not speak,” you say, cold as the chill suddenly in the air, “of what you do not know.”

Celebrimbor shudders. Most likely he had meant to insist, but your reaction and the darkness in your gaze are enough to quiet him once more, at least for the moment. As he returns to work, the fire within you lessens, melting into a dull ache.

Of course he would assume such a thing. That you are nothing more than another pawn in the Dark Lord’s design, to be moved about as he pleases and discarded in a heartbeat. He doesn’t know the truth. How could he? No one does.

Suddenly, you’re moved to speak.

“When we bound ourselves to one another in marriage, part of my love’s power and might became my own,” you tell him. Your voice is soft, the complete opposite of how venomous it was only a moment ago. Celebrimbor turns to you hesitantly, though he remains looking at you.

“But even before he shared this gift with me, I was not without my own,” you say, proudly. “I was a great healer, you see. With a touch of my fingertips, bones mended, sickness faded, terrible wounds healed... Some said even hearts.” You chuckle faintly. “I don’t know about that.”

For a moment, there is a flicker of light in your eyes, but it dies as quickly as it appears.

“But I know it was for this gift that Morgoth kept me alive once he had slayed my kin. For this, he kept me. For he wished to torment his own to his heart’s desire without leaving them too weakened to serve him after. Without the need to stop. And there was one he loved to torment above all. The mighty Sauron, Morgoth’s fearsome lieutenant, who struck unspeakable horror into the hearts of his enemies...” You close your eyes, voice dropping to a whisper still trembling with the terror of those days. “His screams of anguish were so loud and terrible, they felt like blades in my ears.”

Tears fall silently from your eyes as you open them, meeting Celebrimbor’s gaze.

“And when silence finally came,” you speak slowly, moving closer to him. “I was brought to his side...”

Celebrimbor shifts in his seat as you come to stand near him.

“I kneeled by his bloodied, mangled form...”

You sit down in the chair next to Celebrimbor’s, voice little more than a whisper as you lean in uncomfortably close to him.

“And as he writhed and moaned in agony... I touched his skin...”

Celebrimbor flinches as your fingertips find a cut on his temple.

“And caressed his wounds...”

You trace the cut with eerie gentleness, watching as blood gathers at your fingertips and Celebrimbor shudders beneath your gaze.

“And took his pain...”

More tears slide down your cheeks as you look straight through the alarmed Celebrimbor, lost in another time.

“And I put him back together... piece by piece.”

Your eyes return to Celebrimbor then, suddenly regaining clarity.

“Only for Morgoth to take him apart again. And again. And again. To punish... or perfect. Who could tell?”

To his visible relief, your hand leaves his face and you pull away, eyes drifting to the Rings lined before him and you.

“I know not how long it lasted,” you go on. “But with time, I realized that he and I—we were not right and wrong, or light and dark. We were both of us slaves. And in that place of bleak despair—”

“A bond was forged,” Sauron speaks—as you and Celebrimbor turn to see he has silently joined you. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes meet yours and he speaks the words on your tongue, “...stronger than any that ever was or ever will be.”

Your chest aches unbearably as emotion overcomes you. You long to run into his arms, but at the same time you can barely move. However long time passes, the memories take their toll.

Thankfully, your husband comes to you. You look up at him with tear-filled eyes as he lays one hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek with utmost tenderness. Your eyes fall shut, and you lean into his touch, and finally, you can breathe easy.

“Your people’s fate depends on the fruits of your labour, Celebrimbor,” your husband says, frowning deeply as he takes in your state. “How is it then that you still find the time to upset my wife?”

“My most sincere apologies,” Celebrimbor says flatly.

“I have no need of your apologies.” Sauron fixes him with a sharp look. “Only of your Rings. I thought they would be finished by now.”

“I was a bit of a distraction,” you admit, some of your teasing nature returning to you. Your husband’s gaze softens as he turns it to you.

“When are you not?”

You smile then, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before you stand and will your tears to vanish from your cheeks. Moving with grace, Sauron pulls your chair a little further away from the table and Celebrimbor, and takes the seat himself. He knows you too well to believe your mood has brightened in the blink of an eye, not when the past is as painful a memory to him as well. He tugs at your hand, and you’re all too happy to take his invitation and settle comfortably in his lap.

For a moment, you are alone in the world. You hold each other’s gaze as you put your arm around his neck and he wraps his around your waist, holding you close to him. He takes your hand reverently, bringing it to his mouth to place a most gentle kiss to your knuckles. He murmurs an endearment in Black Speech, so sweet even the foul-sounding language wraps beautifully around the words, and your eyes fall shut in bliss, forehead resting against his.

Your company is completely forgotten as peace returns to you in the arms of your love. That is, until you hear something clatter and Celebrimbor mutters a soft curse. Even then, you don’t even bother to look.

“A most glorious sight we may be together,” Sauron tells him, cruelly casual, “but I must insist that you concentrate on the work.”

You pull back slightly, opening your eyes. At the periphery of your vision, a very flustered Celebrimbor recovers the Ring he had dropped and returns to work—this time, you think, for good.

“Pay us no mind,” you tell the smith breathily, consumed by your husband’s piercing gaze. You touch his cheek, marveling for the millionth time at the perfection beneath your fingertips, and press your lips to his, melting into a deep, languid kiss.

Celebrimbor is wise enough not to disturb you again.

Previous fic with same reader -> Theatrics

Next fic with same reader -> Kill and make up

[na0koz]

thoughts on strap hcs for jinx 😞🗣️💜

I know damn well she’d be using something thick and textured or something she designed herself-

MDNI. cw: strap (duh), bondage mention, mention of jinx being sadistic

toxic!jinx masterlist

oh hell yeah she made that shit herself.

something that can vibrate or do something a lil extra just to add to her thrusts whenever she uses it on you. maybe somehow uses shimmer in it, if it would make it feel even better idk how shimmer works.. (but like have u guys seen that timebomb hc where ekko gets a little high whenever he kisses her cus she’s like 50% shimmer…yea that’s what i’m going for.)

i’m pretty sure i said this in another post but she could fuck you with her strap for hours and be satisfied just from making you cum over and over. you try to return the favor and she’s like insistent that she’s okay just making you cum. she does like receiving, but more often prefers to give when it comes to strap.

likes missionary the most. kinda boring but she likes to see your face and exactly how you react to what she gives you. also your tits bouncing in time with her thrusts are a bonus.

she’ll tie your wrists up every now and then, either to the headboard of your bed or just above your head. no particular reason she just likes being the one in control.

she’s obviously a little sadistic, so she does have you cockwarm her sometimes. you on her lap, whimpering as she keeps tutting at you, coaxing you to stay still with a loose hand on your waist while she does whatever is so important.

then she’ll have you ride her and bounce on her dick until you cum at least twice. she won’t do anything though she’ll just sit there, leaning back in her seat while she watches you desperately try to get yourself off.

i don’t think she’s big on sucking strap, she’d rather have you suck her fingers or vice versa. likes fucking you with her strap but doesn’t see any point in sucking it cus at the end of the day it’s a not a real dick lmao..

when she receives strap though ohhh she is crying thrashing around on the bed. she loves you taking control of her and fucking her.

she favors positions that are generally seen to be uncomfortable i guess would be the word? like stretching her legs so wide open with her knees next to her ears. she says it makes it feel better that way.

like i mentioned, i honestly think she cries when she cums. the feeling is just so intense she can’t handle it, but she loves it. she loves it even more when you lick her tears from her cheeks and coo at her for doing so well.

i think she’s a squirter too ngl guys. nothing really more to add on that one.

overall she is a sensational strap user and uses her genius for good to make the best strap she can for you :P

[ohmyitsfaith]

The sunshine and the grump / Part 4

Pairing: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: With your curiousity for Jennifer satisfied, but your anger about your husband’s dismissal still burning high, you decide to stay just a little bit more with the Umbrellas.

Warnings: fighting, Jayme using her power on the reader continuously

Word count: 2.1k

A/n: Honestly, I realized what my problem was when writing the last two parts of this. I was leaning too heavily on the show and not enough on my own ideas. So here's a part that I wrote on the train where I had no access to the actual show other than my memories.

Five’s reaction wasn’t comforting, but he was ambushed by Klaus the next moment and you went back to eating your breakfast. What could you do?

Technically what you came for, you already got. You now knew about Jennifer, at least you knew what mattered. Though you didn’t really know what to do with the information, your curiosity was satisfied. But thinking about going back… back to the family you thought loved you…

Well, they did love you. You knew that. Ben loved you as much as he was an asshole to you currently. And Jayme and Fei. Sloane especially. Alphonso loved you too and Chris… well he tolerated you. Only Marcus was a bit of a tough nut to crack. You didn’t give up yet on him, but… still. You didn’t want to go back.

Here, at least Klaus liked you. He talked to you, shared the information you needed with you. You wanted to get to know the Umbrellas, if you were honest. They seemed like a… very interesting bunch.

You looked at the Umbrellas that were around you. Viktor was trying to stop everyone from leaving. Klaus and Five were going on a road trip, if you heard it right. Diego and his alleged son were going to the store. Luther was nowhere to be found. And Viktor, giving up on the others, grabbed some breakfast on a tray and walked off.

You had two chances at getting to know the Umbrellas: either wait for Viktor to come back or go with Diego and his son. You quickly weighed your options, then ran after Diego.

“Diego, wait for me!”

“I still don’t like that you’re here” Diego grumbled as you walked down the street. “You’re the enemy.”

“Technically, I’m not” you pointed out. “I’m just a mere human without any powers. I’m harmless.”

“Not if you report back to your little birds” Diego rolled his eyes.

“They don’t listen to me” you sighed. “I’m not part of the team, the academy. I’m just Ben’s… wife.”

“That’s… sad.”

“It really is.”

“Okay, I’ll bite” Diego looked at you. “Why did you come to us? It can’t be just your curiosity about Jennifer.”

You looked at him for a few seconds. “No, you’re right” you sighed and looked at your hand, where your wedding band sat. “We… Me and Ben… had a fight. If I can even call it a fight.”

“I can’t read in your head, woman” Diego urged you to explain.

“Well… I think it started with me searching for information about Jennifer in his room” you started and noticed Diego’s facial expression. “I know, I shouldn’t have. But he was busy and I wanted answers” you put your hands up. “I understand why he was mad. But then he told me that I was too naive and they don’t need my help.”

“Well… that’s an asshole move, but maybe there was some truth in that. You’re… what do you even do?”

“I’m an interior designer” you supplied.

“Well then yeah, you probably wouldn’t have been able to help” Diego nodded, thinking.

“Asshole!” you hit him on the arm.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he had a reason to be mad at you. And with your job, you’re nowhere near the place where you could help anyone strategically plan” he explained.

“Why am I even here” you grumbled.

“I wonder that myself.”

You glared at him, then just entered the shop. You wondered whether it was even worth coming along with him. If staying at the hotel would’ve been better. You also wondered what Ben was doing. He was no doubt busy with his plan against the Umbrellas.

Which was stupid, in all honesty. Just because they caused some trouble at the mansion, why should they die? The Umbrellas didn’t want them dead. Well… other than Diego. Diego was all for beating them to a pulp. But the rest just wanted their home back. Which was honestly understandable. If what they said was true and they did come from a different timeline, then the fact that they lost everything and were left without even a home to go back to was… jarring, fear-inducing. Kind of what a tree would feel if it was uprooted and placed elsewhere. You could almost share the feeling. Almost.

Because you still had Ben to go back to. This was just a stupid fight, you’d be over it sooner or later. You just had to… talk to him. Alone, preferably.

And that… pretty much settled it. You’d go back and… see how things go.

You suddenly saw Diego duck behind a shelf, which made you suspicious. Especially when you saw him peek out from behind it just a moment later. He didn’t seem the type to play hide-and-seek in a convenience store, so, furrowing your brows, you went over to him.

“Diego, what-” you started, but were interrupted by Diego pulling you down beside him.

“Shush” he said lowly, then peeked out again. “They’re here…”

“Who-” you looked where he was looking and noticed Jayme and Alphonso. “Oh…”

Diego pulled you down again, glaring at you. “Try not to get me caught.”

“Oh god” you rolled your eyes, but Diego was already moving away from the spot where you were crouched. “Don’t try it, Diego!”

But no matter what you said, Diego was already standing up, right in sight of Alphonso. You held your head in your hands, unsure what you should do. Diego wouldn’t back down and would get hurt. Then again, it wasn’t like you didn’t try to stop him. It was his own fault if he got hurt. But still, you didn’t want him to get hurt. In all honesty you just wanted peace. No more fighting, no more arguing. You knew things could be fixed if everyone just sat down and talked.

You heard Diego get slammed back into a shelf and you made a decision. You stood up and ran for Alphonso. You weren’t going to stand by and just watch as the two of them fought it out in the convenience store. So you were going to stop them, whatever it took.

And it seemed the first thing it demanded of you was to take a punch in the face. Okay, it wasn’t that easy. Technically you should’ve expected the punch and ducked out of the way of it. You knew Alphonso was on high-alert and if he saw someone at full speed rushing up to him, of course he was going to act in defense and punch without checking who it was.

“Ow!” you yelped as you were thrown off your balance.

“Y/n?” Alphonso turned at your voice. “What are you-” but in the next moment he was pushed by Diego, who ran at him like a bull.

You cheek was throbbing with pain, but you forced yourself to focus on the fight. You got to your feet and saw Diego try to punch Alphonso without feeling the pain himself.

“Stop it Diego!” you yelled at him, trying to grab his arm, to pull him away.

Suddenly, a knife whizzed by you and scratched Alphonso’s leg. You heard the little boy scream behind you and Diego instantly looked toward him, all anger leaving him for a moment. He jumped up and ran for the little boy, who was whining and writhing on the floor.

You took a breath and blinked against the pain. Then leaned down to grab Alphonso’s arm to help him up.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked. “With them nonetheless!”

“I-” you searched for the words. “I needed time away from…”

“So you colluded with the enemy?!”

“I did not collude with the enemy!” you denied, offended. “And they’re not our enemies!”

“Of course they’re our enemies!” Alphonso scoffed. “They broke into our home, kidnapped Marcus-”

“But they didn’t!” you interrupted. “Marcus isn’t-”

You couldn’t finish though, because Diego threw a… pan?! at Alphonso, hitting him square in the face. The impact sent Alphonso stumbling back and you stared at Diego in confusion. He had knives. Why a pan?!

But the next item came flying, all aimed at Alphonso, who kept trying to dodge. All that stumbling and dodging ended in him bumping into the aisle, knocking down the short shelves, falling onto them.

That finally alerted Jayme into action. She first spit in your direction, which at first you thought you managed to dodge.

“Jayme! What…” but the next moment a hallucination overtook you.

You were still standing in the convenience store, but this time Ben came in, tentacles out to shield you from the slaughter of Diego’s knives. You saw that the knives were hurting him, but his focus was on you. Just like the first time you met, you were saved by him.

One tentacle wrapped quietly around you, lifting you from the chaos and close to him.

“Ben” you breathed.

He pulled you close, the tentacle putting you right next to him, easing you to your feet. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you steady. All noise washed away. It was just you and him. Like all those sweet days of solitude on your honeymoon.

“I’ll take you home, baby” he said, his voice sweet like honey.

“H-home?” you stuttered. “No, I-”

“The hallucinogen is wearing off” you heard another voice suddenly and you blinked hard.

“Don’t worry” Ben said, his voice a bit distorted and looked back at you. The next time he spoke, his voice was back to normal. “You’ll be okay, baby. They won’t hurt you there.”

Your heart calmed and your lips pulled into a gentle smile.

“Okay” you sighed. “Take me home, baby.”

All the way to the academy, you were in and out of the hallucination. In your hallucination you were on a romantic stroll with Ben, once again feeling the peace of your pink-clouded romance. In reality though, you were sweating profusely, dragged by Alphonso and Jayme to the academy, just barely not drooling. You were also breathing hard with the hallucination clouding your brain.

Jayme knew it was probably mostly your subconscious fighting against the hallucinogen. Many times she asked you to train with her for control over her hallucination. As added fun, you tried to fight it, trying to break out of the hallucination before it ran out.

So she kept spitting on you, the black goo seeping into your face. Did she feel bad for you? Yes. But you were caught with the enemy. She couldn’t in good conscience let you go back. Who knows what those criminals did to you to make you stay with them. Because as soft-hearted as you were, you wouldn’t sympathize with criminals, who broke into your home and even kidnapped your brother-in-law. That would be betraying Ben and his trust placed in you.

You kept muttering Ben's name every so often and Jayme couldn't even imagine how the man would react to his wife colluding with the enemy.

When they dragged you into the mansion’s living room, barely conscious, Ben didn’t know what to think.

He had been so mad at you the night before and so focused on the coming mission, he didn’t think much about you not being in your room. He thought that once you calmed down, you would join him in the bed. And then, in the morning you would talk it out as you did all your arguments.

Even if this was bigger than any of your previous ones.

But you weren’t there in the morning, your place still the same way it was the night before. It didn’t take much for Ben to realize that you were never there. By then, he was calm, he had forgiven you for the snooping, after all he was busy and didn’t really have time to search for the answers with you. He was also slightly guilty about dismissing your help at the second mission planning meeting. He knew he was an asshole to you, even though at the time he justified it with being mad at you.

But he really wanted to talk it out with you. To solve this issue. After all, everyone was on edge, him especially. Since you were in his life, there weren’t big enemies like the Umbrellas were right now. Not only did he want to keep you safe, he also wanted to prove himself.

So it was understandable that he was feeling more stressed about this.

Now though? He didn’t know what to think.

“What happened?” he asked, confused but he could feel the rage starting to burn in him. “Why is she under your power?”

Jayme and Alphonso shared a look.

“We found her with the Umbrellas.”

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Taglist: @snixx2088, @lxkeeeee, @kimm4710, @sagestack, @koshi-sama, @cherryinsalemverse, @lifrimen, @inkedeye2345, @popstarbarbiee

[netflix]

Spotlight: Adam Stockhausen

Production Designer, The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar

Oscar winning production designer Adam Stockhausen (not pictured above, that’s Benedict Cumberbatch), whose work you may know from Wes Anderson films like The Grand Budapest Hotel, Asteroid City, The French Dispatch, Isle of Dogs, and Moonrise Kingdom, as well as titles like Bridge of Spies, and West Side Story (2021), took the time to answer some questions.

Which details from or aspects of The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar did you focus the most on while adapting it to the screen? How did you meld Roald Dahl and Wes’s worlds?

The details on this one started with Dahl’s writing hut! We matched the details pretty carefully and exactly. As soon as we step outside of the hut though we start to move through the world of the story and the world of the stage at the same time. Wes had the idea of how he wanted to do this from the very beginning. My main challenge was trying to figure out how to pull it off—making the parts move and getting each to have the right detail.

What’s a small change you made on a project that ended up having an unexpectedly significant impact? 

Lots of times this happens—where what seems like a small thing at the time becomes a very significant turning point. I’m in Berlin now writing this and remembering being here scouting for East Berlin for Bridge of Spies. We were struggling to find a section of town that still felt old enough to show the early 60s, and decided to take a chance on a quick search in Poland. That quick search changed the whole production plan and ultimately gave us the look of our East Berlin.

How has technology changed the way you approach your work? 

Technology has definitely changed the way we plan the work. We used to model everything in cardboard or sometimes just plan in two dimensions with pencil and paper. We can now plan in 3-dimensional space using modeling programs and see what real lenses will do.  This allows for more accurate planning and makes scenery moves like the casino set in Henry Sugar possible.

Do you have any signature easter eggs you like to leave? Any small details that you are particularly fond of? 

I wouldn’t say there are easter eggs in this one. But there are loads of special details! I think my favorite might be the levitation boxes where we painted a perspective view of the background onto a prop box. The actor sitting on the box appears to be floating in a very special and theatrical way.

Did you talk about reflecting the iconic Quentin Blake illustrations in production design? How would you go about doing that? 

Not really. They are such incredible drawings and I’d say they’ve been inspiring me since I saw them as a child! But for this the starting point was really the machine Wes devised to move us through the story—and pairing that to specific references scene by scene.

There is such an intentionality to the aesthetics of a Wes world. Is there a set or frame that took you a long time to get perfectly right? 

All of them! It’s a very labor-intensive process getting these frames right. Occasionally one will click right away, but usually it’s a process of refining and refining. The jungle for instance went from sketches to models to samples and back again several times before the final look settled.

If you had to present one frame that showcases the best of your work, what would it be? 

Oh my. Maybe the jungle? I really enjoyed making the jungle!

With all the moving sets in the trailer for The Wonderful Story Henry Sugar, it feels reminiscent of a theatre production. Are there distinct differences in approach between film and theatre and how much do you blur the lines between them in your work? 

I think the lines are blurred completely! Or maybe they aren’t even there. I love that Henry Sugar is so incredibly theatrical in its storytelling.  It allows us to show the artifice of the sets all the time which somehow makes them even more satisfying when they finally do line up and create a complete picture. I think the casino set is a perfect example—the pauses where it all lines up for a second are even more enjoyable because we get to see it broken apart and sliding away.

Thanks, Adam!

[ladyofthenoodle]

oh, look now, there you go with hope again

Adrien Agreste was sitting alone in the cafeteria.

Again.

The sight made Marinette want to pull her own hair out. Hadn’t she publicly stated, as Ladybug, that Adrien Agreste was as much a victim of his father as anyone who had been akumatized? That in the end, he’d shown remorse and helped her? Hadn’t she urged the people of Paris to embrace him, to give him a second chance?

Sure, she hadn’t exactly practiced what she’d preached, but—she’d excused herself as the exception. After all, no one had been more hurt by Chat Noir than Ladybug herself. No one else had felt the sting of betrayal or the sharpness of his claws the way she had.

So she’d told herself it wasn’t her responsibility to extend an olive branch more than she already had. Surely, someone else—someone who didn’t have vivid memories of fighting against a boy meant to be her partner—would step up and be his hero. It wasn’t Marinette’s job.

Except, apparently, it was.

Because he was still eating alone.

If no one else was going to step up, then she had to.

The next day, she marched right up to his table in the cafeteria.

He looked up at her, wide-eyed and frightened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this table was taken. Please, let me move my things–just a few seconds, I promise.” 

He’d already started packing up by the time Marinette processed what he’d said—and the hunted look in his eyes as he said it.

“Stop!”

Adrien froze, instantly, then raised both hands in the air: the universal sign for ‘I’m unarmed.’

Marinette felt a pang of guilt. Snapping at him like she was apprehending a criminal was not the approach she was going for. So she tried again.

“I mean,” she kept her voice as soft as she could, the way one would approach an injured stray on the street, “you don’t need to move. The table isn’t taken by anyone except you.”

Adrien nodded, his hands lowered slightly, but clearly still on guard for whatever she’d say next. She hated that, but she couldn’t blame him for expecting the worst when a girl he’d never spoken to before arrived at the table.

Still, the idea of him being scared of her—plain-clothed Marinette—felt wrong. He’d never even been scared of Ladybug, though she’d had her fair share of nightmares about him.

“Can I join you?” she asked.

He nodded again, but unlike the relief she expected at her question, his posture remained guarded and tense.

Did he not want company? Is that why he still ate alone?

She found that hard to believe. Chat Noir, even at his worst, had always been gregarious—often trying to make conversation with her even as he attacked her. There’s no way this same boy could be satisfied eating alone every day, with no one to talk to. 

He must just not know what to do in this situation—it was common knowledge, after all, that he hadn’t been allowed to go to school before this, not even a fancy private school.

Luckily, Marinette had come prepared with the perfect icebreaker.

So after she took her seat next to him, she pulled it out of the bag: two croissants, baked fresh this morning, and better than any of the baked goods in the cafeteria menu. She put one on his tray.

Adrien eyed it warily.

“It’s for you,” Marinette explained.

“You want me to eat it?” he asked, which she thought was a bit rude, but she supposed Hawkmoth wouldn’t have taken much time to instill his son with proper manners, so she decided to let it slide.

“Yes, I brought it for you.”

He nodded, then picked up his knife and fork like he was preparing for battle. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep, as if he were bracing himself.

Marinette had a hard time pushing back her annoyance at that. Not thanking her was one thing, but acting like her parents’ baking was some kind of chore to eat?

“Just eat it!” She took a bite of her own, for emphasis. “It’s good.”

Adrien set his knife and fork down again, then gingerly picked up the croissant with his fingertips. 

Irrationally, Marinette felt her heart racing as he slowly inched it towards his mouth, like it was a design contest and she was watching the judges circle her piece. 

Which was stupid, because she wasn’t trying to impress him. She was just trying to be nice. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not.

But by the time his teeth sank into the croissant, she was on the edge of her seat.

He took a bite.

Chewed.

And swallowed.

Then looked at the croissant again, with wide-eyed wonder. Marinette couldn’t stop the smug, satisfied grin from spreading across her face.

Which quickly slid back down at his next words.

“It’s… just a croissant,” he said, and if he hadn’t said it with such awe and reverence, Marinette would’ve chewed him out.

Instead, she was just baffled.

“What else would it be?” 

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. “Of course it’s a croissant, I just—there’s nothing else in it.”

Marinette frowned. “Were you expecting pain au chocolat? It’s a whole different shape.”

“No, of course not, I—” He stopped, then, and looked away, as if he was scared to say more.

And really, this whole exchange had been weird, from the beginning.

“Adrien,” she said slowly, “why were you afraid to eat the croissant?”

Because that’s what it had been, hadn’t it? Not ingratitude. Not snobbishness.

Fear.

He mumbled something into his lap in response. She couldn’t quite make out the full sentence, but what she did hear was chilling: “...last croissant had…. in it…”

Just a croissant. Because he’d expected her to put something in it.

She’d known her classmates avoided him. But she hadn’t realized how bad it was.

When Marinette was 10, their class had gone on a field trip to the zoo—not the one nearby, but the big one, on the outskirts of the city. She’d been so excited that she’d packed her bag filled with everything she could possibly need—snacks, sunscreen, her favorite magazines for the bus ride.

And then she’d been stupid enough to leave her bag unattended for a few minutes.

The memory of squeezing her bottle of sunscreen in the heat of the day and having a dollop of mayonnaise fall into her hand instead had never left her. It hadn’t been the worst prank Chloe had ever pulled, but the scent of mayonnaise that’d been sitting in the sun—sour and rancid—never left her. 

She still smelled every bottle she opened now, years later, even ones she knew no one else had touched.

She didn’t know what had been in the last croissant he had been given, but she knew exactly why he’d been wary—why he’d tried to go in with a fork and knife first.

What she didn’t understand was why he’d drop them and eat it with his hands anyway, if that’s what he expected.

“Why did you take a bite if you thought I’d put something in it?”

“Because you told me to,” he whispered.

Marinette blinked, disbelieving. He’d blindly taken a bite, expecting the worst, because she’d told him to? Even at the peak of her victimhood, before she’d learned to stand up and fight back, Marinette had done her best to avoid falling into any traps she could see coming.

“Why?!?” she all but shouted. “Why would you just let someone do that to you?”

His answering smile was brittle. “As long as I’m willing to play the victim, they don’t see me as a villain.”

Marinette’s stomach dropped in horror as he continued—as she realized the true extent of what she’d let Adrien Agreste go through for weeks, while she’d turned the other way and told herself it was someone else’s problem.

“When I first came to school, no one wanted me here. They didn’t feel safe, even though Ladybug assured everyone I was powerless now,” he was looking away, now, voice hollowed out like his insides had been scooped out, “For a while, I was scared they’d make me leave school. But then, they started playing pranks. And after they’d play one, they’d laugh at me, and it hurt at first—it still does, but—one day, I realized, when they laughed and taunted, they didn’t look scared of me anymore. So, I let them. If this is what it takes to stay, for them to feel safe and accept my presence here, I’ll eat whatever they serve me.”

Her insides churned at the thought of him—sitting on the ground, surrounded by the faceless peers laughing, and somehow deciding that was for the best.

“Why would you want to stay, when everyone treats you like that?”

Why would he want to stay, when no one had shown him even an ounce of kindness?

Adrien shrugged. “It’d be the same anywhere, probably. And…”

“And?” she prompted, reaching out to lay her hand on his white knuckles gripping the edge of the table.

He turned a wistful smile to her now. “I’ve always wanted to go to school. To be with other kids and make friends. My parents wouldn’t hear of it—they said it wasn’t safe, that the kids I’d meet at school weren’t worth knowing.”

Something in her heart—some wall that she’d built up after that second battle with Stoneheart—cracked.

“I can’t let him be right,” Adrien confessed, his own voice breaking with the weight of it.

She’d been wrong before, when she’d thought he’d sounded hollowed out. Maybe his father had hollowed him out before, to better fill Chat Noir with Gabriel Agreste’s own darkness, a croissant ruined by something unsavory shoved inside.

But this Adrien wasn’t hollowed out. 

He was carved into. And he’d submitted to it, willingly, just for a chance to stay.

Luckily for Adrien, Marinette did two things better than anyone else in Paris: proving Adrien’s father wrong and rebuilding what has been destroyed.

She squeezed his hand, in promise.

“He wasn’t right. We won’t let him be.”

[exhelluvafan]

Well it’s official helluva boss has finally lost the plot

I’m am surprised… no of course the episode Viv is proud of writing turns out to be some shitty fanfic the fat jokes are disgusting striker is now a dickrider for the rich

and DONT get me started on the weak ass ending like stolas is now powerless oh boo fucking WHO I DO NOT FEEL SORRY FOR THIS ASSHOLE also Vivzepop you are one of the worst writers I ever laid my eyes on you are 31 and you still write like a 12 year old who discovered yaoi porn for the first time your characters designs are shit you can’t even write your characters to act like adults for fuck sake you are wasting talented people on your softcore porn I’m so done with this show I hope season three never sees the light of day

Yep, it's official, Helluva lost the plot and turns out that the leaks about Octavia turned out to be true in the end, evidenced by the hair stripe that Stolas ended up getting in the end of Mastermind.

And her being usually mean-spirited and fatphobic? Ain't surprising in the slightest, to think that the sin of Gluttony would be disgusted instead of being delighted, because, y'know... indulging is part of her sin???

Also, agreed about the design bit, though I'll steal Striker and Chaz for redesign or canon divergence material, but outside of that... while Satan is hot, this literally proves my point that this whole show became only a show made to make Viv and her porn addicted fans get off to softcore porn that she could've easily satiated if she went to the funny green page or the orange YouTube, but no, Viv had to force it onto her shows because she's that self-absorbed, and the character designs are conveniently attractive for NSFW artists to sexualize them to no end, which isn't an issue on itself, but c'mon, guys, we cannot deny that Vortex, Asmodeus, or Satan are cheap furry gay bait.

And yes, Stolas' punishment wasn't enough, and even then, he hasn't apologized to Blitz about sexually abusing, belittling and downright gaslighting him, and we're still supposed to ROOT for these two to be together? (Also, fuck you, Viv, Blitz WOULDN'T kiss Stolas in the cheek, Stolas didn't deserve it, if anything, Blitz would've ended Stolas misery with a gunshot on his ugly mug.)

So yeah, boo fucking hoo, Stolas, cry me a fucking ocean, idgaf.

And lastly... Hard agree, I heavily do not wish to see Helluva S3 ever come out, because it'll be a no ending pity party for the oh so sad ex prince Stolas that lost everything, and I would rather waste my time with more productive stuff before seeing a neverending melodrama of an abuser and his victim that developed Stockholm Syndrome because the plot demanded it.

Fuck this show, fuck this writing and fuck you, Viv.

(As a palette cleanser, check out this little fanfiction I found that serves as a more satisfying ending for Mastermind.)

[jenchan-writingmultis]

This was for the best, right? (Vil x Fem Reader)

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Genre: Heavy angst/ No comfort

Pairing: Vil x Fem Reader & One-sided Rook x Fem Reader

A/n: Hi! So do you guys recall the idea I had with Vil x Reader angst? So this is it! If you want to know about it first, I’ll link it (here) I hope you like this one, I gave my best effort on this, hopefully, it fits Vil, I love him so much.

Credits: The design was made by me in Canva and the art that was used is all from the Official Twisted Wonderland Cards. The line breakers are from Kaomoji dividers!

Warning: This is ANGST NO COMFORT! Panic Attacks on Vil’s side, Breakups no reconciliation, misunderstanding and Insecure Vil, relapses of Trauma on Vil’s side, talking bad about Reader’s appearance, although vague it still is there.

!PROCEED WITH CAUTION! Masterlist

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Sypnosis: Your face got leaked throughout social media when you went to have a date with your boyfriend Vil. It made him hate his reputation; he would understand if people bashed him instead, after all, he wouldn't let those words affect him, he's more worried about you, you're not used to the media watching you, having you be seen with him by paparazzi. He kept thinking of ending things with you to protect you from the backlash. ⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

He is usually unbothered by the fact that he gains hate often, he plays villainous roles, having to only reach till halfway or even before the story’s conclusion. It was normal for people to threaten him just because his character did something horrible to the main character. At least he is aware of how well he performed in acting by how despised he was. However, what he wasn’t prepared for was you being the one gaining hate. 

People are hypocrites, they cuss him out and throw the worst insults they could think of towards him, and at the same time, they view him as a perfect human who deserves someone “better for him”. He didn’t expect that his selfishness would get in the way of his relationship with you just because he wants one normal date outside of school but when one of his paparazzi caught a picture of him with you out on a simple date in Pyroxene. The picture showed your face fully without any filters, those uncouth journalists milking his fame with their horrendous illegal articles; anything to gain a higher footing in their industry than anyone else.

When he found out about the article, you two were cuddling in Pomefiore in his bedroom. He had a separate, massive bedroom since he was the housewarden, watching the film that he was recently cast in. As usual, he was given the role of a villain, it was the same old same old, except this time, the villain won, and it was satisfying to see him reach the end. He didn’t tell you though, so while you lay your head on his shoulder, watching; complimenting his looks and joking about how you’d date him even if he was that crazy.

He loves your little antics, you’re the only one who had an odd mind falling for the roles he has. “You have a peculiar taste for characters sweetheart” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer while you giggled. 

“Funny how I’m dating you” You cuddled closer to him, what you said earned you a playful glare. He was about to tickle you as punishment, but his phone suddenly vibrated, showing the name of his manager, he went to kiss your forehead before he untangled himself off you; “Give me a second, I’ll take this call real quick” he informed you which you gave a nod, letting him out of the bedroom and to his bathroom. 

"What is it?"He examined himself in the mirror, fixing his hair while his manager spoke, "Vil, check what I sent you, it's a link." Vil glanced at his phone and clicked on the article, wondering what it was, he waited for a bit, and as soon as it finished loading his heart drops.

“Famous actor Vil Schoenheit caught dating!” It was a stupid title, but he didn’t give any thought about It, fearing for the worst he scrolled further, finding your face unblurred on it. “What is the meaning of this?” he frowned, gripping his phone before his manager answered. 

“I’m not sure how they found out about the café you and your lover frequent but I’m trying to track down the owner of the article and threaten them with a lawsuit, but with how the media eats up everything, I’m afraid the damage has been done” Vil could hear rustling from the other end his manager taking out which he thinks is paperwork, most likely about the process of lawsuit, he was growing restless as he looked at how many comments and likes did the article gain. He didn’t even notice that his Magicam was being blown up by “fans” questioning him for his taste, and criticizing you. 

He was starting to feel chills around his body when he continued to investigate the whole thing, Vil was close to having a panic attack, gripping the edge of the sink. He tried to calm himself down, remembering what his father taught him. 

“Deep breath in, deep breath out” he recalled, causing him to loosen his grip a bit and relax. A knock on his door snapped him out of his thoughts when he faintly hears you from outside. 

“Vil? Are you okay? You’re taking a while there” you asked which he straightened himself up, composing himself before looking at his phone, who still had his manager on call. “I’ll have you deal with this; I need to go.” He walked to the door opening it after his manager agreed and ended the call.

“Sorry, it was just a minor nuisance at work” He smiled at you, he was a good actor but when it comes to you sometimes, he can’t seem to lie. “Are you sure? You sounded pretty agitated when I went to check on you” You touched his hand, entangling your fingers with his, which made him sigh. 

“it’s…” he hesitated for a moment; does he tell you? He can’t drag you into all of this, he was planning to have it stay hidden till the article was gone, but at the same time, you’re bound to know about it once your friends find out and question you about it.

“Can we talk?” He finally caved in, gazing at you with a mixture of worry in his eyes; how could you say no to that? 

When you found out about the article, Vil was worried that you’d be upset at him, not once did your expression change when he was explaining it. He didn’t expect you to smile and kiss his cheek, telling him that “it’s okay, the media will die down on it, at least if they found out, they won’t bat an eye if we go on dates more publicly, right?” you told him.

He was amazed with how well you handled the news; what about the possibility of receiving backlash? No, actually you both were receiving backlash already. “You’ll have to stop using social media for a while and deactivate it just to be safe” he warned you, looking at you for any signs of distress, he was concerned that you were just hiding it, you’re not someone who’s made to handle the eyes of strangers, he thinks you might not even understand what it means to have your face be doxed by media. 

"Darling," he said, enveloping you in his embrace, which you gladly returned. He said, "Listen, this is the media we're talking about," stepping back to look directly into your eyes. You'll be receiving insults left and right, and I worry that if your friends choose to drop you because of our reputation, it will negatively impact you. I'm capable of managing myself and safeguarding you from the public eye, but what if this also concerns your friends?" he knew that the possibility of your close friends dropping you for something trivial like this was unlikely to happen but there’s still a possibility. 

“If they drop me for something so stupid, I guess they don’t deserve to be my friend,” you said firmly, “Vil, I don’t mind this," You replied firmly, "but it seems like you’re bothered by it” You pointed out, touching his face, it was true, he is bothered by it, he’s scared of the outcome, he’s afraid that every day when you go out in public, people will try to hurt you or coerce you into doing something you don’t like.

“Once the article is down, it’ll fizzle out” You comforted him, noticing that his breathing started getting a bit ragged. Was it really going to stop once that article was taken down? There might be people who saved that article and reposted it. 

In the next few days, you two would often just stay within school grounds, Night Raven College is big enough for you two to roam around and have your usual dates; Despite his frequent work schedule and dormitory maintenance, he still made time to have meals with you. During those times, everyone seemed to keep testing his patience, when he was on set, his unprofessional coworkers kept festering him about you, and when outside, he felt restricted, not being able to walk freely without eyes catching him, so he was advised by his manager to use his car to go back to school and work. He kept his social media muted as well; he couldn’t scroll around Magicam cause every article in those past few days has been nothing but hatred towards you.

“That woman looks so average, what the hell did Vil see in her?”

“Honestly, I would even accept if he’s gay for Neige, whenever those two are together they look so cute!”

“She looks like an extra://” 

Comment after comment of users trashing your looks, your whole being even without knowing you.

It angers him, so for the sake of his mental health and yours, he made sure that you also kept your social media muted, although often, he saw you scrolling on it, reading the comments, or just chatting with your friends. 

He doesn’t understand why you do it, it frustrates him a bit when you do, but he couldn’t tell you to just delete social media entirely, he’s not toxic.  

During lunchtime, he was late to meet you, rushing through the cafeteria, he found you with Deuce and Ace, chatting away. He was going to greet you till he heard what Ace said.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna stop this act?” he munched on his egg sandwich while Deuce looked at Ace like he had just grown a second head. 

“What the hell are you talking about Ace” Deuce said before Ace glared back at him. “I mean! Being unbothered by whatever nonsense Magicam’s got on. You have your face everywhere and people are talking smack about it!” He pointed out in which, Vil couldn’t even see what your expression was right now. "If I were you, I’d confront him about why his agency hasn't gotten to the bottom of this." Deuce wanted to hit Ace that time, but it was true, both your friends were confused as to why it continued to circulate. 

“You don’t have to listen to Ace” Deuce paused, not knowing where this could possibly lead to what he meant. “It’s okay, I understand the concern.” You voiced out, placing the fork down, fiddling with your fingers, “It does affect me, but It’s not Vil’s fault that It got way out of hand.” 

Vil frowned, hearing that, so it did affect you, why didn’t you tell him? Was it because of his incompetence? He thought about how many times you told him that it was okay, that you didn’t mind it. He knew that the article was stupid, but the evidence was evidence to journalists, and that caused you to be in the middle of the crossfire between him and his “fans”. 

Was it worth sacrificing your peace dating him? He smiled bitterly to himself, how stupid of him to have these kinds of thoughts. He looked at his phone, he was going to send you a message that he was in the cafeteria but decided to go against it. 

“I don’t think I can make it. You can go eat.” He sent the message before leaving the cafeteria and going back to the dormitory, he needed some time for himself. 

When he reached his living quarters, he sat down on his bed, noticing the way the curtains were covering any light coming inside. It was like the state of his mind currently, he didn’t feel like doing his daily routine today, which is funny, if he didn’t push himself to keep a perfect image, he would be nothing but average; but if he did look average, would that give both of you the pleasure of living a normal life? 

He scoffed to himself, he can’t just throw his career away, he needs it for your future; both your futures, he stood up, grabbing all the necessary cream, face powder, and other stuff for his face, but the moment he saw himself, looking tired, he stiffened up. Will there be a future where the two of you would be together?

Vil didn’t realize that he started to avoid you. His bedroom was inaccessible, you would knock on his door, but he wouldn’t confront you. Staying silent and just waiting till the knocking subsided and you were out. 

He still showed up to needed House warden meetings, or event planning, he did his duties as usual, he just didn’t do his duties being your boyfriend. 

It was as if his insecurities when he was younger were relapsing whenever he thought of talking with you, was it okay to talk to you right now? He still thinks it’s not the right timing. He isn’t his usual self right now and he doesn’t want to risk doing anything bad. 

However, it breaks his heart to see the sorrow in your eyes when you meet him and to see him neglect you. He was aware that the distance between you and his unwillingness to communicate about the situation was making your relationship unstable. 

After three days of no contact, he was on top of Pomefiore’s garden, he missed you dearly, he gazed down to see his dormmates having tea under the recently renovated garden, then he noticed someone familiar within the garden, focusing his eyes on it, it was you! You looked… happy? 

That was the smile that you usually only reserve for him, what’s going on? Vil thought to himself, confused as he ripped his eyes off you, only to notice Rook Hunt, touching you the way you would with a lover, giving you a gaze he never saw from Rook, but he knew what that was.

Rook liked you, both of them did, but he decided to step down in favor of letting Vil court you. He knew that feelings would never fade that easily but he didn't expect to see this sight. You two looked so perfect for each other, his hand touching yours as if you were having the time of your life, even without him. He clawed the railing of the balcony, not feeling his fingernails scrape the paint off of it, his eyes blurring as he walked away, fearing that he might fall if he ever passed out. His heartbeats were the only sound he could hear, aside from the static his ears were hearing. 

“Breathe.” 

He fell back into his bedroom, feeling his whole body shiver as he grips on his arm, numb to the pain that his nails were digging into his flesh. Cold sweat trickled down his face, he didn’t know if he was even breathing or not, his brain foggy, like an impending doom was going to happen if he once tried to “breathe.”

Vil ended up passing out, and unfortunately, the moment he woke up, it was already 5 am, he jolted awake, standing up, hearing a continuous knock from his door, He flinched as his head throbbed, touching it gently to try to ease his headache, he moved to the door, opening it, not expecting to see the person he least wants to see.

“Roi de Poison” Rook greets him, smiling brightly at him, Irritating. “I noticed you haven’t gotten up and gone to work yet, did you take a sick leave?” Rook continued, his voice filled with worry, he was about to fix the hair covering Vil’s face when he got his hand slapped away, startling him, he noticed the way Vil’s eyes darkened a bit.

“I’m fine” Vil affirmed, groaning a bit, he pinched the bridge of his nose as another headache hit his head again. “I’ll get ready, for the meantime, please take care of the dorm in my absence” He continued, replying curtly as he slammed the door shut before Rook could even say anything, He was sure that Rook would do as he says, if he didn’t, he’ll find a new vice housewarden. 

Vil was already late for work, his disheveled look was barely noticeable but his manager noticed the slight imperfection in it. She walked up to him, fixing the sleeves of his outfit. “You’re late Mr. Schoenheit” She buttoned the sleeves, waiting for a response from Vil, who just sighed, “I apologize, something came up, can we start?”

You were getting worried, Rook went to your dorm, telling you about the state of Vil and that he was worse for wear, you decided that this time, you were going to visit and you were going to talk to him even if he didn't want to. It’s been dragging on for too long—the avoidance of your lover and the media is hurting you. You need to do something before your relationship reaches a breaking point.

When you arrived at the modeling agency where Vil works, you were graciously allowed in. You were familiar to those at the agency; some supported you, while others did not. However, the only support you needed was Vil's.

The moment you stepped inside the photoshoot, you saw Vil, working with another model, he looked gorgeous as always, although it seemed that he was tired; it was unusual for him to be in a state where it was obvious.

The manager noticed you before she ushered you further in, just to get nearer where Vil could see you, and Vil froze, stopping the shooting when he saw your face. 

“I’m going to take a break,” he said to the crew members, seeing you, his gaze remained unfazed, “Let’s talk on the lounge” he murmured, walking past you.

You didn’t know what else to do but follow him, understanding that Vil wasn’t feeling well. The moment the two of you were alone, he went to give you apple juice, the one that Epel’s family sells, you give a gentle smile to him, but he didn’t reciprocate. It made your heart ache. 

“What do you need?” he asked, sitting down on the opposite side of you. Reluctant to look at him, you fixed your gaze on the apple juice. “Are you feeling alright?” you asked, which made Vil chuckle, “That’s a funny question Y/n” 

“I just wanted to know, You’ve been avoiding me for a while and-“You were cut off by Vil who placed the half-empty apple juice on the table. “I just needed some time to think, plus we agreed to lay low” He answered, which frustrated you “Vil, I heard from Rook that you turned up late during work" you were feeling nervous, and for the first time, your lover made you uneasy. "that never happened before,” you said, wanting to touch his hand, but he pulled it away, his eyes showing a trace of betrayal.

“What?” he asked, heart breaking as he looked at you, “Rook told you?”

“Of course he did, he’s a close friend of yours!” you protested, feeling a sense of desperation when Vil kept rejecting you, for the past few weeks, or months? You don’t know, but it’s been so long since you two last saw each other and stared at each other for more than just a glance, now you’re on the receiving end of his glare?

“You…” Vil murmured, before he finally let his body relax, his expression turning soft. “I think we should break things off.”

“What?” you gasped, gripping on the apple juice a little bit too hard, “Vil- “

“Why?” 

Why? Vil wanted to answer why, there were plenty of reasons why, you two were just way too different, and the fact that if he pursued this relationship further, it’d hurt both of you more. It was clear that Rook liked you and you liked Rook, what is there to continue this relationship? Plus, the media will continue to see you as inferior, this will continue for a lifetime, and no matter what he can’t see why and how your relationship with him will continue without it getting toxic. He finally understood that he is way too much for you, his feelings would slowly wrap you around vines that contain poison, HIS poison. He was thinking of the future, and he can’t see it going beyond the challenges you two face. 

He eventually responded, "I lost interest, I’m sorry, we both should focus on our careers first” He lied, not looking at you as well, you both were too hurt to even gaze at each other. You didn’t move or talk, so he decided to stand up, fixing his attire and looking cold. “I’ll be leaving now, hopefully, we can put this all behind us, I’ll have a taxi be ready to get you home when you’re ready.” he said, his heart aching, he wanted to hold you, but he stopped himself, “Just talk to the manager when you plan to leave” he continued, turning around before leaving the lounge.  

The moment you left, the manager went up to him excitedly, he didn’t feel like celebrating at all when he found out that they tracked down who the journalist is and are now filing a lawsuit against them; at least on a positive note, you were out of the picture, out of the prying eyes of the media. 

This was for the best, he thought to himself, feeling numb while he felt his chest tighten when he went back to work.

Word Count: 3418

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Could you do the OM bros seeing a friendly, opmistic, kind , funny Mc who's actually a cunning and a manipulative seducer/seductress. Always keeping a poker face in order to get what they want which is power and gets away with it but the brothers realize it too late( I know Lucy, Satan and Belphie are smart enough but It is possible for them to get "tricked" by Mc since they love them.)

Two-Faced Reader | Yandere Obey Me!

Power is what you’re after and you’re used to doing whatever you feel like to get it. Including acting like the innocent lamb that gets all of them wrapped around your fingers. Now whether you intended for their infatuation with you or not it's bound to further your agenda or more likely their own:

Leviathan 

“Whooooa talk about mad twists!”

Thinks it's hot when you switch from the sweet ingenue to domineering master 

Kind of likes the way switch 

And the curiousness if its some condition and you only do it with him

Oh how he hopes

At your command, he summons Lotan on the daily 

Sometimes completing sidequests without you telling him

Like offing those conspiratory NPCs

Satan

“I see what game your playing and I’m intrigued.”

He knows your games

And man does he love playing them

Your ambition rivals his own and he can’t help but want to encourage you

He’s not going to say he’s whipped but he’s certainly willing to cause all kinds of mayhem in your name

A shame that he’s not roped in by your fake personality

Asmodeus

“Oya~my baby wants them gone? Promise to give me kisses?”

He falls head first for you’re precious persona

So innocent, so cute

It makes pining for you all the more fun

And killing for you even more satisfying

He’s someone who’s not going to flip when you’re personality shines through

Your still his sexy lamb 

And he so badly wants to keep you

Even if it means using his beauty to deceive those who get in your way

And the ones he just doesn’t like

Beelzebub

“Don’t accuse them of such things, they hardly know how devildom works.”

Falls hook line and sinker for your persona 

No doubt easily deceived by your little acts

And in your defense, he’ll eat just about anyone 

Even when it’s revealed, the truth of your true colors he can’t help but still believe

That you’d been deceived 

That underneath the cunning persona is still the poor human that needs protection

And is number one in your crew for most likely to usurp 

You don’t know what you’re doing so maybe he and Belphie should bother with the bad guys out there

Belphegor

“...Right. But they still want that one out of the way and we promised to do that right?”

Sees right through you 

And originally isn’t all that fond of Beel’s perception of you

He thinks you tricked his sweet brother 

But in a way, he finds that he agrees

You're a stupid, in over your head human

And who better to intervene in your shenanigans than the two of them 

Plus he enjoys your bloodthirsty behavior

Though it's nothing compared to his murderous drive you’re still cute

If anyone is more likely to initiate the usurpation its him

Lucifer

“You think you’re so slick, I can’t help but be enamored.”

He doesn’t immediately see it

Playing into your hands for a short while 

Before catching on and switching from compliance and not

He thinks both sides of you are cute

But you're just so naive to think enabling their murderous tendencies will end with only who you’ve designated a threat

He and his brothers can easily see more than you 

So trust in that

[flicklikesstuff]

How about rambling about your top favorite Epithet characters?

Uh oh, I’m afraid you’ve unleashed a great beast my poor, poor Anon….. But if you insist :)

Introducing My Top 5 Favs:

AND full doodle page ;)

(⚠️HUGE EE Spoilers below⚠️)

1. Rick Shades

UGHHHHHHHHH. LOVE this man 💖💖 A pathetic and pitiful wizard dude with one of the coolest epithets! My favourite bit of him is that he’s introduced as some creepy weirdo who sounds like he’d backstab you BUT turns out to be a really fcked up guy with no social skills and genuinely really does want friends. I LOVE it when stories twist expectations for a character and Epithet Erased just keeps doing it a lot.

While Rick is mostly silly and used as comedy relief through POP really, his tragic backstory adds in so much depth and the narration treats the horrors he went through with respect. Chapter 8 has repeatedly dug my grave each time I listen to it. I’m going insane with any Rick/Toidei thoughts. There’s so much I could say about how his traumatic childhood affected him so much and how it shows through his mannerisms and behaviour that we’d be here all day. (Oh wait- I’ve already indulged into his character in like 4 posts.)

Anyways, in general, I would offer my soul to the scary magic man and treat him to a nice day at the beach.

2. Dr. Sylvester Ashling

Sylvie was the reason I got into Epithet Erased in the first place 😂. My favourite thing about him is his DESIGN and POWERS. The swirls and cloud/sheep motif looks sick and his epithet showcase in the museum arc is beyond awesome. Like omfg, it’s just so genuinely amazing to look at.

He seems fun to bully, especially with that pretentious grown-up attitude he puts up. But underneath that, Sylvie’s character is just depressing to the point where it’s intriguing for me. The choice they made to quickly grow up and skip childhood? I wonder what made them decide to do that. Despite what he says, Sylvie really just wants someone to talk to and he really does care for people. He’s just scared to loosen up and become vulnerable in front of anyone.

Sylvie wanting friends but having trust issues and not knowing how to make some? Honestly, what a mood-

I got too insanely happy hearing his short little cameo in POP, even though they weren’t around for too long. He was in there waiting and looking for his only friend awwwwww.

3. Molly Blyndeff

Molly my CHILD 🥺🥺!! Her bear motif is adorable and her character arc within the museum is so wholesome and satisfying to watch. Reading POP just cemented her as my top 3rd fav because her inner dialogue and way of thinking hit way too close to home for me. I was so close to tears many times throughout and I just LOVE her.

Molly just overall learning to stand up for herself and making it very clear she’s no longer taking any sh*t? She’s the character I wished my younger self got to know earlier because it’s what she would’ve needed at the time.

4. Giovanni Potage

Is it much of a surprise he’s in my top 5? Why wouldn’t I like this total sweetheart who would lift the earth for his minions? I adore how he has like one of the lamest-sounding epithets but his insane level of creativity makes up for it completely. I also really found his unique view on bad guys really interesting. The stark contrast between being evil but also absolutely wholesome makes for a great character I love seeing interact with everyone!

Hoping he gets some sort of character arc though. So far, he’s still the same Gio we know from the beginning and it would be very interesting to see him go through a struggle or make tough decisions.

5. Ramsey Murdoch

Haha funny ratman. As I’ve mentioned before, my expectations for him were twisted and I LOVED it. My fav character in the Redwood Run Arc because poor dude isn’t allowed to catch a break. Even outside the show within the streams, he gets absolutely bullied by the plot. This is entirely what he gets for being 1 of 2 people (the other is Molly) that have the braincell to question the bizarreness of….well, everything.

Ramsey is an impressively intelligent character who just has the hilarious misfortune of having things almost never go his way. He’s entirely the reason he and Percy manage to survive Zora and he STILL gets screwed over by getting arrested. Anyways, yes. I love his dynamic with Percy being a subversion of the typical buddy cop trope. Looking forward to having more of him in the next book: Sweet Escape :33

…………..

If you haven’t noticed already, this ask led me to go through multiple trials of tests to see which brushes and colouring process I prefer digitally.

Rick’s was my first attempt and it’s just… terribly basic really. I wasn’t used to Procreate at that point 😅.

Sylvie’s was next and after watching basic tutorial videos, I turn to really like the colouring style I did for them. Wasn’t fond of the rough outline though.

Gio’s was the exact opposite of what I’ve done with Sylvie. While I liked how it popped out in a comic-style kind of way, I wasn’t a fan of the solid shading.

For Ramsey’s, I was a lot closer to finding out my preferences. I pretty much just combined what I liked from Sylvie and Gio’s drawings. Softer shading and a smoother, thicker outline.

Molly’s was my last attempt and one I’m heavily satisfied with! :D It’s the same as Ramsey’s, but I added a lot more detail to the eyes, coloured in some outlines and even added an overlay!

The whole trial and error process was so much fun and very much worth it too! X3 💖💖

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 28

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Sydney, May 18, 2022.

NOAH

"Your call has been forwarded to voicemail..." the automated voice announced for the eighth time in under five minutes.

I paced back and forth, fists clenched, gripping my phone with such force that it wouldn't be long before I wore a hole into the floor. My impatience gnawed at me as I failed to get through again. I raked my fingers through my hair, exhaling a heavy sigh.

We had been away from home for five months, touring non-stop. Five months away from Los Angeles. Five months since I had last heard from her. Five months of her ignoring every attempt I made to contact or reconcile with her. It felt like a game—a twisted game designed to drive me insane by vanishing completely from my sight.

"Try her phone again, please!" I said, my voice trembling with exhaustion, my chin jutting toward Jolly as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He’d always been closer to her, and lately, I was clinging to the thin hope that he might have better luck reaching her.

“We’ve tried, Noah. She still won’t answer,” Jolly reminded me, his tone calm but firm.

I shook my head and lowered my phone from my ear, pressing my lips together.

“We’re going home tomorrow. You’ll have your chance to talk to her face-to-face,” he said, stepping closer and patting my shoulder.

“I don’t feel right…” I muttered, swallowing the tightness in my throat as I turned my gaze to the window. “Something feels wrong.”

“You’re probably just anxious. How about you get some rest? Lie down, try to sleep. I’ll keep calling her and let you know if I hear anything. But you need to rest.”

There was no order in Jolly’s voice, no harshness—only concern, evident in the lines of his forehead and the tightness around his eyes. I nodded faintly, giving him a small, strained smile to reassure him enough to leave me alone in the room again.

Empty and jagged.

I knew this wasn’t guilt—not the kind that gnawed at your conscience. I didn’t regret anything I’d done so far. My conscience was clear. But still, I felt it—something was missing.

The truth is, we’re never satisfied with anything.

We tie our happiness to external things, believing that once we achieve certain goals or acquire what we desire, we’ll finally cherish those accomplishments. We put our ambitions above logic, battling tirelessly until we reach them. But when we do, the thrill of victory dulls the joy of having won.

That was how I felt.

Even though I had accomplished everything I’d set out to do, I still felt hollow—like a tree trunk eaten away by termites.

“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail…” The voice interrupted my thoughts again as I collapsed into the chair by the window. “Leave your message after the tone.”

“I haven’t seen cloudy skies and drizzle the same way since you left, little storm. Today, more than ever, I woke up thinking of you, with a feeling that claws at my chest with every breath. Every day in a message like this, I tell you how much I miss you, but today it feels unbearable. I’m sorry.” I sighed.

I breathed deeply, my eyes drifting between a blank spot on the floor and the fogged window, blurred by the rain.

“If your plan was to punish me, congratulations—you’ve succeeded. I haven’t stopped feeling like a worm since the moment you walked out of our house on a day just like this.”

I inhaled sharply, dividing my gaze between the rain-washed glass and the suffocating silence on the other end of the line.

“I feel like something’s terribly wrong. I can’t explain it, not to anyone. But you’d understand. It feels like a part of me is dissolving, and I can’t put it back… just a gaping, hollow hole left behind.” My head tilted upward as I whispered, “I’d leave you alone forever if I could hear your voice just one last time. Even if it’s to call me selfish or tell me to disappear from your life. Not that my promises have meant much lately.”

A notification buzzed, cutting me off—voicemail full.

My breath quickened. Fury rose inside me like a storm, and I launched my phone against the wall. It shattered into fragments, leaving a jagged hole in the dark paneling. The sound of impact was deafening, but I barely noticed.

I sprang to my feet, adrenaline surging. Rage coursed through my veins as I tore through the room, toppling my desk, sending my laptop crashing to the ground. Glass splintered into sharp shards, scattering across the floor. I grabbed them and hurled them at the mirrors, cracking the glass until my reflection was a distorted mess of fractures.

I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. It felt as though the world was collapsing, and I was determined to bring it all down with me.

When the storm passed, I stood amid wreckage, my chest heaving, my hands slick with blood from the shattered glass. I slumped onto the bed’s edge, gripping the mattress so tightly my fingers pressed through the fabric.

The door creaked open. In my peripheral vision, I noticed curious heads peeking in. Gerard stepped forward, closing the door behind him, leaving the others outside. He weaved his way through the glass-strewn floor, his eyes locking on mine as my grip on the mattress tightened further.

“You’re paying for the damage,” he said, his tone flat. “Every cent the hotel charges for this mess.”

I shrugged.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Gerard asked, grabbing a few shirts from the back of a chair and tossing them into my lap. “We’ve got a show in a few minutes and an interview on the way. Now’s not the time for tantrums.”

“I’m not feeling well.”

Sometimes, a single event sets off a chain reaction. The stress of not hearing from her had worn me down completely.

I wasn’t just tired—I was spent, hollowed out. Every show over the past five months had drained me, each performance pulling the worst out of me. I was exhausted, and there wasn’t much left to give.

I just wanted to go home. I had an almost delirious urgency to go home.

"Did you see a doctor?" Despite the concerned tone, he had little real interest.

"Yeah, after I got sick during last week's show. He said it’s something like burnout."

Gerard sighed, his shoulders slumping.

I nearly jumped when he sat beside me on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on my shoulder. If he was tense, his presence made me twice as uncomfortable. I caught a glimpse of his empathetic expression out of the corner of my eye.

"Noah, I’ve known you long enough to think of you as a son..."

"Think of?" I raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"It’s normal to feel tired. You’re working hard—onstage, offstage, promoting the new album. Look, the band is growing the way you always wanted, making new strides every day... This isn’t the time to lose steam." His voice was low, deliberate, as if weighing every word. "This dream has always been more yours than anyone else’s, hasn’t it? I’ve always noticed you’re the one who puts in the most effort."

"I disagree."

"She may be a good singer, Noah, but she’s never been a real professional. She never treated the band as a priority, never made it her life’s purpose. She’s always been more concerned with pleasing you. I never got involved because I’m not here to give relationship advice. My job is to focus on your career. But now the inevitable has happened. Your personal life is bleeding into the stage." His words felt like a blade carving into my skin.

Confusion must have filled my eyes. I turned fully toward him, studying his face. He wasn’t angry—nor did he wear his usual smirk of indifference. That only made the conversation feel even more surreal.

"I was your age once, and I loved someone so deeply it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. But looking back, I don’t think it was worth it. You know why? We wanted different things. She believed she had the right to suffocate my dreams. That’s what happens when you put people in places they don’t belong." Gerard took a deep breath before continuing. "I don’t think her distance is a coincidence. You should see it as a reason to move forward."

No. No. Not even close.

"You don’t know us—not enough to compare my story to yours!" I snapped, rising to my feet. I grabbed clothes and belongings from the mess around me, stuffing them into my bag. With every piece I collected, the tightening in my chest worsened.

He spoke about her decision with such conviction that it gnawed at me, as if he knew something I didn’t.

"I know enough to say this is the smartest decision she’s made in years. You both function better apart, and more importantly, the band doesn’t suffer." He shrugged. "Frankly, I’d suggest we keep the lineup as it is now, but I figure you’d make that a headache, just like these past five months chasing after her!"

"Do whatever you want with the lineup. I’m taking the first flight back to Los Angeles."

"If you can afford the cancellation fee for the show, you’re free to go wherever you want, darling!" He mocked, wagging a finger. "I’ve already lost enough covering for one absent member. You won’t make it two!"

I could afford the fee by now, but one thing held me back—I wasn’t alone.

The band was bigger than my whims. It wasn’t fair to drag my friends into my chaos.

"I’ve tried putting a sliver of sense into your head, but if you insist on this path, that’s your problem," Gerard muttered, standing and dusting invisible specks from his hands. "Just get the job done. I don’t care how much you cry backstage..."

He moved toward the door but paused next to me, leaning in with a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery.

"And unlike her, I’m not worried about how you’ll handle this pathetic heartbreak after the show."

The punch I delivered struck before he could retreat. My knuckles collided with his face in one swift, solid motion.

Gerard staggered backward, and I pinned him against the wall. He licked the blood from his lip as I shoved my hair out of my eyes, my chest heaving with fury.

"Don’t ever talk about her like that again," I growled, leaning so close I could see his eyes widen. "You can hate her all you want, but you’ll swallow every insult. Because the day she walks away for good, I’ll be next. Without her, there’ll be no album, no tour, no shows—nothing to keep padding your bank account. So don’t you ever speak about her like that again!"

His brief smirk faded the moment I jabbed my finger into the fresh cut on his jaw, pressing into the tender skin.

"You don’t know me, baby. Not even close," I whispered, shoving his face away with enough force to send him stumbling into the door.

Gerard straightened his posture, took a breath, and left.

Alone at last, I leaned my forehead against the wall, the weight of it all finally crashing down on me.

After the show, I refused all fan photos. I didn’t stay to watch the other festival bands with the guys, didn’t record any interviews, didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I simply grabbed my things from the hotel and rushed to the next flight home. No layovers, no delays, desperate to breathe in the familiar scent of my city. As soon as I got off the plane, I kept trying to call her over and over as I waited for a taxi, but every attempt ended in silence.

That drive from the airport to home had never felt so long.

When I finally arrived, sitting still inside the car on the other side of the street, I noticed the closed windows and the pile of letters in the mailbox. Dry leaves scattered across the porch. I tried to push the thought away, but the signs were clear—maybe she hadn’t left the house in days.

Because of me.

Each step along the short path to the porch tightened the ache in my chest. A hundred terrible ideas raced through my head of what she might have done to herself, alone in that empty space. I quickened my pace, hesitating only a moment before forcing the door handle until it gave way.

Silence.

Everything was exactly as I had left it before I traveled. Clothes still lay draped over the sofa, and the plants on the table were wilted. But something stood out—her shoes weren’t behind the door, and her jackets weren’t hanging on the rack.

If I had felt anxious and agitated before, this realization only made it worse, my heartbeat thundering so loudly I was sure it could be heard from across the room. Dropping my bag, I bolted up the stairs to the second floor and into our bedroom.

The bed was made, everything in its place. But something felt wrong.

The closet held only my clothes. None of hers. The shelf beside it was empty of everything but my shoes. I blinked several times, stumbling backward, my feet weightless as I moved toward the bathroom. The counter beneath the mirror, where her makeup, perfumes, and hair products had once cluttered the space, was bare. Nothing remained but a toothbrush and toothpaste.

"No... no, this can’t be..." I whispered to myself.

I tore through every corner of the house in a frenzy, my throat burning from the lump I fought to keep down. I didn’t want to cry. Her suitcases were gone. There was no trace of her—no sign that she had ever shared this space with me.

Pacing the floor with my hands tangled in my hair, I let the most painful tears I had ever known flow freely. I hated myself for this. It was all my fault. I had been the one to turn my back on her, to sweep her aside like she didn’t matter.

But I never imagined I’d come home to an empty house.

I felt it. The street stretched endlessly, each step echoing in the hollow silence of the night. Low fog clung to the sidewalks, and the cold air tore through my lungs. I walked as though I were the last person alive, revisiting places that had once been ours, chasing even the faintest flicker of clarity.

The park where she laughed at my terrible joke and made the world feel lighter. The café where she dared me to abandon my habits and try something new. The bridge where we swore we would never be just another passing moment in each other’s lives.

Now, all of those places were as empty as I felt.

My mind was chaos. Every time her image surfaced, it felt like the noose around my neck tightened a little more. I was drowning, spiraling into a despair without end.

Then, an idea flickered to life.

"Why didn’t I think of it sooner..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I broke into a run. My body protested, but I didn’t stop. Her old house. The one she left behind when we decided to build something together. Maybe—just maybe—she had gone back there.

When I arrived, the sight of the familiar façade hit me like a punch to the gut. It was like confronting a ghost from my past, only this time, it felt far too real.

My ragged breathing filled the silence as I stood before the door. The house seemed smaller than I remembered, compressed by time into something stifling and suffocating. My hands trembled as I reached for the handle. I forced myself forward.

It was unlocked. The door creaked as it opened, the sound cutting through the heavy stillness of the night.

And there she was.

For a moment, my vision blurred as my mind struggled to reconcile the image I had held of her with the person standing before me. She was in the hallway, a living shadow, likely coming to see who was at the door.

Her sweatshirt hung too loose on her thin frame, swallowing her frail shoulders. Her hair was carelessly tied back, and deep shadows under her eyes marred the face I had once memorized. Her lips, once vibrant, were pale, drained of life and color.

She looked like a distorted version of herself.

Her eyes met mine—wide, guarded, and wary, like a cornered animal. My chest clenched.

"You left." My voice broke, a mere whisper, but heavy with anguish. "You left, little storm..."

She didn’t move. Her gaze drifted over me as though deciding whether I was real or just another ghost haunting her mind.

"You shouldn’t be here, Noah." Her voice was cold, fragile. The pain she tried to hide was as plain as the exhaustion etched into her face.

"Not supposed to be here?" I repeated, my voice catching in my throat. "You just left—disappeared—and wouldn’t answer my messages, driving me insane these past months. How do you expect me to..."

I stepped closer, unable to hold back, and cupped her face in my hands. Her skin was ice-cold, sending a shiver down my spine. She didn’t react. Her eyes darted away from mine, refusing to meet my gaze for more than a fleeting second.

"You can’t do this to me." My voice cracked. "You can’t leave me alone in that house."

She stirred, trying to pull away, but I didn’t let go.

"Look at me." I begged, my voice thick with emotion. She didn’t budge. "It was just a stupid fight like all the others, wasn’t it? You’re coming home, right? We’ll work it out like we always do, and everything will be fine… won’t it?"

She sighed, weary, as if the weight of the conversation was too much to bear.

"For God’s sake, answer me!" I tightened my grip before loosening it immediately, horrified as she shrank further into herself, shame radiating from her every movement.

My hand fell to my side. I watched as she rubbed her face, as if trying to erase me from the room.

"I know I messed up, okay? I know I disappointed you, acted like an idiot. But I need you. I can’t do this alone." My voice broke, my last defenses crumbling. "Come back home. Please."

She shook her head slowly, resolutely, without ever meeting my eyes.

Then I saw them.

Bruises. Faint at first, shadowy traces through the sleeves of her sweatshirt when she raised her arms. Some purple, others faded to yellow.

I didn’t think.

I grabbed her arms, panic surging as I held her frail body. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t even slip from between my fingers.

"Who did this to you?" I demanded, barely able to keep my voice steady, my eyes roaming from one mark to the next. I pushed her sleeve higher, finding more bruises staining the delicate skin of her arm.

Then I saw the cut.

A deep, vertical gash, a row of stitches trailing along it in mid-healing.

The world went cold.

"What happened?" My voice rose, frantic, my heart thundering as I grabbed her shoulders. "What happened to you?"

"Answer me!" I shook her, my desperation pouring out.

And then she smiled. A weak, hollow curve of her dry lips.

"You already know the answer."

"Me?" I whispered, my own voice foreign to my ears. "It doesn’t matter." I shook my head fiercely. "We’re going home. We’ll talk there."

I fought to control the tremor in my hands, my dry throat constricting as I began grabbing whatever I could find. A bag. A pair of shoes. Anything that belonged to her—anything that proved she still had a place with me. My mind raced, a blender of jagged thoughts spinning wildly out of control.

But her words stopped me.

"This is my home now."

I froze, the weight of her statement crushing every thought that tried to form.

"No..." The word slipped out, broken, more to myself than to her. "No, it’s not. It can’t be."

I ignored her and continued gathering her things, convinced that if I just kept moving, we could fix it.

"We’re going home. Now." My voice was firm, a brittle mask over the chaos inside.

"No."

It sliced the air like a blade.

I stopped, a bag still clutched in my hand, and turned to face her. She stood with her arms crossed, her posture rigid, as if trying to shield herself from everything I was unleashing.

"I’m not going anywhere, Noah." She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the floor. "You told me that time alone would help me think. And I did. I think we..."

"Don’t finish that sentence!" I cut her off, my heartbeat spiraling.

"We’re not working anymore, Noah. We’re out of sync, and as much as I’ve tried to be someone worthy of you, I can’t keep pretending." Her voice wavered, her tears falling freely now. "These years haven’t healed me. I can’t change. It’s not fair to keep you tied to someone like me."

I stood there, her words echoing inside me like a verdict.

"No..." I whispered, the denial a plea. "Don’t do this."

Tears burned my eyes as I took a step closer. "Please, little storm... don’t leave me."

She looked away, wrapping her arms around herself like a fragile barrier.

"You don’t understand, Noah. This isn’t healthy for either of us anymore."

"Don’t say that!" The shout ripped from me, raw and agonized. "You’re all I have! I need you!"

The words tumbled out in sobs, the anguish clawing through my chest like poison. My legs gave way, and I leaned against the doorframe, my heart racing too fast, too hard.

"I know I screwed everything up..." I choked, fingers running through my hair. "I hurt you. I was selfish. But tell me how to fix it. Just tell me."

She wept, and it destroyed me.

"It’s not about fixing it." Her words were knives, each one sharper than the last. "It’s about what I’m doing to you."

"Turning your back on me will destroy me!"

"I’m not turning my back. I’m giving you a chance—to be so much more than I’ll ever be. I can’t keep you chained to someone marked by her past, who ruins everything she touches." She shook her head, despair dripping from her voice. "Look at me, Noah. I’ll never be more than this."

"I don’t care!" I shouted, my face wet with tears. "I don’t care about any of it. I just want you."

I couldn’t hear her anymore—not her words, not her reasoning. All I felt was the gaping wound in my chest, bleeding out with every breath.

"You love me, right?" I whispered, the words a trembling breath of panic. "Tell me you still love me."

"Noah..." She shook her head, her eyes even more filled with tears, clutching her chest as if each word tore her apart from the inside, as if avoiding my gaze would somehow ease the pain.

"ANSWER ME!"

She hesitated, and that single fraction of a second was enough to send my world crumbling further.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't be saying this. You wouldn’t be leaving me like this!" I pressed forward, my voice sharp and desperate. "You would try one more time and finally understand that I chose to be yours despite your flaws. I didn’t care about your past, I didn’t care how far apart our dreams might have been—I just wanted to be yours..." I argued. "I don’t care how far we are from perfect. I never wanted to give up on you."

She turned her face away, tears streaming down her cheeks as she slowly shook her head.

"Tell me you still love me," I repeated. "Little storm."

"I... I don’t love you anymore, Noah."

Everything stopped.

The sound, the air, the ground beneath my feet. Just an all-consuming, deafening void. A chasm opened inside me, dark and endless, swallowing everything I knew.

"No..." I whispered, shaking my head as my throat tightened to the point of pain. "That’s not true. You can’t even say it looking me in the eyes."

She didn’t respond, and the silence that followed was worse than any words she could have spoken.

My legs finally gave way, and I collapsed to the floor. The hardness of the ground didn’t matter—nothing mattered. I buried my face in my hands, the sobs tearing through me like a storm I couldn’t weather.

She was there, only a few steps away, but it felt like she was already a million miles from me.

I had lost her.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[saintvainglorious]

My First Fanbind! A Black Sails Fic Anthology Series

It took me a year (and a lot of anxious research) before I worked up the courage to bookbind fanfiction, and after months of on-again-off-again work, my first fanbind is finally done!

I knew that if I was going to bookbind fic, I had to bind something from the Black Sails fandom, aka the fandom and show that have had the biggest impact on my life. Y'all, I almost went into academia to study slavery in the 17th-18th century Caribbean because of this show - when folks say this show rewires your brain chemistry, they are NOT kidding. THEE show of all time. Happy 10th anniversary to Black Sails! This fandom is small but mighty. May we continue to get our hearts and souls blasted to smithereens by this show for many years to come.

Ao3 abounds with magnificent Black Sails oneshots, so I decided to put together an anthology of my favorite Silverflint fics under 20k, which I split into two volumes. Included are works by @justlikeeddie, @vowel-in-thug, @balloonstand, @annevbonny, @francisthegreat, @nysscientia, and more! Thank you, thank you all, you brilliant wonderful people, for gracing the Internet with such amazing writing. When I read the fics in these anthologies I want to fling myself into the sun.

More on the design and binding process below the cut!

Vol. 1 Page Count: 270 (12 fics) Vol. 2 Page Count: 248 (11 fics) Body Font: Sabon Next LT (10.5 pt) Title Font: Goudy Old Style Other Fonts: IM Fell English, pirates pw

The typeset (which I did in Word) took a while, mainly because I'd never done it before. Manually adjusting the hyphenation line-by-line was especially tedious. After making these books, I abandoned Word in favor of InDesign, in large part because InDesign gives you way finer control over your justification and hyphenation settings.

Regarding my actual design choices, I'm happy with how the ocean motif on the title page turned out (it's not the same pattern as my endpapers, but they're complimentary) and I'm very fond of my divider dingbats, which are little swords! Goudy Old Style was a fun title font to use, since it's the font that Black Sails uses as its logo. The stories in Vol. 1 are divided into parts based on what Silver WAS at that point in the show (cook, quartermaster, or king), and Vol. 2 is split up into comedies, histories (AUs set in the canon universe) and tragedies - befitting Black Sails' Shakespearean ~vibes~.

I stuck to a flatback binding, as I wasn't feeling quite ambitious enough to try rounding and/or backing. I've learned that I ~Anakin Skywalker voice~ hate sanding, enjoy folding/sewing, and don't LIKE edge trimming but enjoy the results enough to make it worth it.

The real adventure was decorating the cover, which remained bare for months. After agonizing over Illustrator and experimenting unsuccessfully with HTV and lokta paper embossing, I ultimately turned to using stencil vinyl to paint on the designs. There was a bit of seepage under some of the stencils, but I was able to scrape off the excess with my Cricut weeding tool without damaging the coated surface of the bookcloth (probably Arrestox Blue Ribbon from Hollander's). Even though it was very time-consuming, I'm so happy with the end result of the stenciled paint job and I intend to stick with stencils for my foreseeable future binds.

Are there things I would change? Sure. It was humid out when I printed, so the pages have got a wave. There’s an extra two pages in Vol 2. that I have no idea how I missed, and I got a line of glue in the middle of one of my Vol. 2 endpapers. I’m pretty sure I didn’t case in quite right, since my endpapers pull away from the case at the spine. I think the inner margins are a bit too big, and despite going line-by-line there’s still some wacky justification spacing in the typeset. But man, am I proud of these books! It is so satisfying to learn a new skill - MANY new skills, if we’re being honest - and to make something both beautiful and practical. If I’m still binding in two years or so, I can see myself redoing the typeset in InDesign, cutting out the existing text block, and reusing the cases. I’m also already planning for Vol. 3, which will be Silverflint Modern AUs.

Thanks for reading!