#i personally don’t remember him ever doing it.

[keferon]

I don’t know if there are further plans for Blurr’s story, but I can’t stop thinking about that ending and the possibilities for his fate. Maybe he dies shortly after Swerve’s avatar fades (and fulfills what seems to be the fate of dying a horrible death that many incarnations of Blurr seem to suffer from). Maybe he’s found still alive. Maybe the medics can treat his wounds and he survives. But even if he did, it wouldn’t be the same as before. And so worse, maybe they do find his body barely still alive in his mech’s wreckage. Blurr’s injuries are severe. Severe enough that it’s not certain whether he’ll survive and even if he does, some of the damage is permanent. They can’t reconstruct a human body. But they can reconstruct a mech. The program needs Blurr as a symbol. One that encourages people to enlist and invest and buy in to what they’re doing. And after the incredible feats he pulled off, his heroic sacrifice, all the lives he saved, they can sell the story better than ever because now everyone knows that he’s the real deal and not just a publicity stunt. They need Blurr back in a mech, but they don’t need Blurr as a person. So, when they pull him from the rubble injured beyond what the medics can heal, they fuse what’s left of him into a new built mech. It saves his life, but at what cost?

I can easily imagine Shockwave would pull this kind of unethical fuckery. Easily.

Actually. It’s probably better not to think too much about all the endless possibilities of what could Shockwave do to Blurr. It will be a very fucking long list ahahaha

But now I can’t stop imagining like..Swerve right after he realised his “dream” was actually real. Panicking so fucking hard because he remembers the state he left Blurr in. And thinking FUCK he wasn’t made up, he wasn’t your fantasy, he was real and he was dying and you didn’t do anything

Him finding his way back Earth only to find out what kind of freaky machine Shockwave has turned Blurr into

[natlovesls2]

It Isn't Over

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: small amount of angst, minimal swearing, no use of y/n, short and honestly not that good

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 900

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: Lando regrets the everything that has happened between you. Part two to this: part one

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

Lando had silently hoped your Instagram stories only served to make him jealous. Perhaps you simply wanted to show him what he had lost– of course that had been nothing but wishful thinking, having heard from a mutual friend that you were indeed seeing some guy. He stood at the door of your apartment, hand slightly raised as he debated whether he should knock or not.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to knock?” the sound of your voice shaking him out of his thoughts. 

He hadn’t seen you in months, you looked as radiant as ever, “I miss you,” he blurted out, voice slightly shaky as he reached a hand out towards you,“I made a mistake, a big one, I know I did. I lie awake every night thinking about it.”

He noticed your hesitance, he wasn’t a complete idiot when it came to reading people despite what you thought of him. “Why don’t you come in, have something to drink,” you sighed, digging through your purse, attempting to find your keys. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching as you opened the door to your apartment, letting him in and closing the door behind you. He scanned the living room for any sign of your moving on, perhaps a coat left by your new lover or a picture of a sentimental moment hanging on the wall, but he found none. Instead he was greeted by the same living room he had come to know during the duration of your complicated friendship. 

“I guess we have a lot to talk about,” you led him to your kitchen, hand shaking as you poured him a glass of water, “do you want anything else to drink?” he shook his head, taking a sip of water. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he admits, nervously running a hand through his hair. He was nervous, something he had never been around you. Lando had always been a confident person, especially around you, this was new. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asks. 

“What?” you were confused by the sudden question, it hadn’t been what you expected him to say, far from it. There wasn’t anything that could have come out of his mouth that would have been expected but this was certainly one of the least possible things you would expect. In fact, maybe, an apology would have been more appropriate than whatever he intended with that question. 

“I think I’m in love with you, and if you’re seeing someone then it complicates things. I saw that guy on your instagram– but that doesn’t change how I feel,” he rambled out a confession, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair. 

“You think?”

“I am, I am so in love with you. And I made the worst mistake of my life, I know that. I just need another chance,” he said, desperately pleading with you, his tone the most serious you had ever heard from him. It hurt you, it hurt to know that it had taken him years to realize this. His eyes never leaving your face, hoping to find any sort of reaction that would reveal that your feelings for him hadn’t changed despite his foul treatment. 

“Lando…” you started. He hated the way you said his name, how soft your voice still sounded despite the evident pain. “You hurt me in many ways. It was as if you saw me as less than human, just something to satisfy whatever needs you had,” you felt tears start to well up in your eyes, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep calm. “And now you show up at my front door claiming to be in love with me? I find it all hard to believe.”

You remember one night that had been particularly hurtful– the night of your birthday. Lando had called you earlier that day, inviting himself over to your apartment. You had wishfully thought that he had remembered your birthday, despite the fact that he had yet to acknowledge it. When he had finally arrived that night you were not greeted with the words “Happy Birthday”. Instead he pushed his way into your home, kissing you and whispering against your skin about how much he needed you. It wasn’t until a week later that he had even noticed that your birthday had passed. So to say that you couldn’t believe Lando had truly changed was an understatement, but even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to forget about your feelings towards him. 

“I’m not asking you to believe me. I'm asking you to give me another chance– an opportunity to prove to you that what I feel for you is real, that I truly do love you,” Lando took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush away a stubborn tear that had made its way past the threshold of your eyes. 

“One chance,” you whispered, letting your forehead rest against his. 

“So you’re not seeing that guy you’ve been posting on your Instagram?”

“He’s my cousin,” you said with a small teary laugh, placing a kiss on his nose. 

And maybe things would be different than they had been before. Maybe this time he wouldn’t ditch you at events for models who made you insecure or forget your birthday. This time he wouldn’t make you hate the way you looked. But only time would tell.

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Note: I had a lot I wanted to do for this but lost motivation and I didn't want to just scrap the whole fic so... yeah, I know its shit but I've had a rough month. Anyway, I just wanted to give the original a happy ending. My Decemeber shorts will be better (I hope), peace out

[senseandaccountability]

HR department romance plots

I just… beyond the surface level of enjoying a new game with new relationship dynamics to explore, I really can’t feel much about the DAV companions or their romances.

They all just seem so disconnected from the story, from Rook (who in turn is entirely disconnected from all kinds of feelings because Rook is just Employee Of the Year), from the world, from themselves. I feel like Cole here, looking at them and saying in my gentle, fleeting voice: even the dwarves don’t really remember dwarves. It really feels like the interpersonal relationships are written by the HR person who sits with you as union rep to tell you that you should use a positive language, that "we are all simply employees here, it doesn't matter what title you have", give a little pep talk about teamwork and how to get the job done. That's what we're here for. Everyone's equal. We all want the same thing here, your boss is your friend. Have you tried talking to this person, see their side of things, mmmm? It's just... yeah, they're cute, all of them. But why do they like each other? Why do they want to be with Rook? Who are they even in relation to the world of Thedas, what do they believe in, what have they overcome, what do they hate, what sort of prejudices do they carry around? I have no idea.

And since I’m also replaying DAI again, I wanted to compare these romances to my canon romances in DAI.  With Blackwall, you immediately get a sense of attraction and a sort of flirting on his part that suggests this is something he falls into quite easily - “you know a lot about girls” to quote Cole - BUT it’s also something he really, really thinks he shouldn’t be doing now. Why? He is tied to the Warden plot, if you bring him along you get a sense of a man hiding shit but you don’t really understand what, and he still comes to see you (flying/climbing up your balcony wall idk) because he can’t step away. You get to tell him he’s a good man even though you know shit about that at this point, like with Anders in DA2 you can give your PC over to this passion/love despite knowing that there’s something off, something potentially harmful or dangerous. There is conflict, there are things that jar, that can even make you uncomfortable. 

Blackwall as a character is open and compassionate. He approves of mercy, shows mercy, he isn't judgmental of others. In sharp and delicious contrast Blackwall’s crime is vile. He isn’t bound by any sort of oath, he can back down, there is no greater good whatsoever in his actions. It’s inexcusable. And yet. YET. You can CONTINUE THE ROMANCE. He killed a wagon full of kids, THEN RAN AWAY AND LET HIS MEN TAKE THE BLAME and hates himself so much that he tries to become someone else by erasing his previous self from the face of the earth. You can still kiss him and tell him you want him to live and redeem himself. It’s fucking incredible to think about this in the light of Veilguard actually. Your LI, the child murdering coward. 

With Iron Bull you have the doubts all spread out on the table. He’s a spy, how could you ever trust him? He also doesn’t respond to your flirting, why the hell not when you hear through ambient dialogue that he’s fucking half the chantry, isn’t he supposed to be a fuckboy? But he’s fun, he’s a mystery, he’s got fascinating banter with everyone, he’s brought his found family along, he’s a Qunari who at least somewhat believes in the Qun - he’s got AMAZING conversations with Solas that characterizes Bull as deeply intelligent (and Solas as much more caring than he’d let on) and knowledgeable about surprising things like architecture. Cole, as always, gives us more insight into Bull’s mind along the way and even before the offer to ride the Bull, the idea of him has been through some adjustments. You change his idea about a lot of things and in return, Bull challenges your idea of him, your idea of the Qun, your idea of the world and possibly, depending on how you react to his romance, your idea of intimate relationships. The game’s writing allowed me to imagine a rather frumpy circle mage in her mid 30s reluctantly forming a friendship with this strange fellow, only to find herself very much attracted to him, only to find herself being cared for in a way she would never have let anyone do before simply because Bull told her that was the only way he’d be with her. This is how we’ll do it, are you in? Your LI, the service top Qunari spy who is terrified he’ll run mad without his belief system to dictate his actions. 

And Solas. I mean mythical love stories culminating in mythical endings aside, what I really fell for in this relationship was the refreshing dynamic not of enemies to lovers but of two souls just sort of connecting instantly during strange events, taking a few hard looks at each other and going oh shit it’s you, you get me HOW is it possible you get me when nobody else does? There’s so much external drama surrounding them, which is why I personally LOVE and ADORE how calm their internal connection actually is. They know, so early in the game, that this is it. You’re my home, you understand the bones of me, you ask questions no one else thinks of asking, you care about the world in a way I haven’t seen anyone else do. He is LITERALLY the only one who understands your Lavellan when they make her the herald, when she protests and they keep pushing and pulling and sing their song after Haven, and Solas is there to be sarcastic about it. If nothing else, I'd fall in love with that. And there’s this sense of impossibility from the very beginning, a sense of it being almost unreal because the first kiss is in the Fade, the second is in a frenzy where Solas goes from 0 to I LOVE YOU, MY HEART and then leaves and you know, you know how this is coded and YET - he seemed so wise and kind and sad, it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth. And even with this connection of souls, things chafe - he’s an absolute bastard about certain things, he mocks your heritage and you don’t know yet that it’s because a huge guilt blanket rests on top of him since thousands of years back, you can just argue back and receive his disapproval. He says it’s selfish of him to start anything with you yet he does - WHY DO YOU DO THAT, SAD EGG? Your LI, the ancient god of rebellion, treachery and lies, depending on the story. 

Even beyond my favourites, there are conflicts. Sera is A LOT (affectionate) if you're an elf, with Cullen you get a substance abuse story-line tied to his general dismay about his past as a really fucked up templar, Dorian has personal trauma and cultural prejudice he struggles with for the entire game, Vivienne is so complex half the fandom hates her and has very awkward and uncomfortable banters with almost everyone (save for Bull because he treats her like he would a tamassran), Cassandra is constantly challenged in her personal beliefs, very clearly reflected in her conversations with Solas and Cole has a whole personal plotline about deeply existentialist matters. What does it mean to be alive? Who is a person and who gets to decide that? He could have been a person, Varric says. Isn't he already? Does this unit have a soul? Not to mention that Cole functions chiefly as a speaker of truths, bringing a lot of complexity to the others. 

DAI is not perfect by any means but I feel like I know these bastards. I feel like my PC or even I could actively dislike some of them, because they are written to create dynamic conflicts inside and outside of their own arcs. I can write fic about them, I can imagine what they're doing during the events of DAV because I know them.

Because they are written like actual people in a world where some people have power over others and some people have been raised with a certain belief system and some people just have shitty takes on society, may they learn. 

[p1astr81]

Second Place

In which: Lando can’t balance his work life and his personal life, and loses his girl as a result.

pairing: Lando Norris x pop star!reader

warnings: angst, all hurt/no comfort, use of y/n

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧

All night, you’d been glancing over to the vip section on the floor. With each look over, you’d hoped to see his smiling face magically appear, but it never came.

Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? Shocked? No.

This wasn’t the first incident. Last month, he forgot about two dates. Dates you planned on your own. And it’s almost everyday now that his phone goes to voicemail whenever you call him. Then you’d shoot him a text and he would get back to you hours later with a half-assed apology about being on the sim or studying data.

The two of you talked about it once. He promised to be better. To try harder. Spoiler alert: nothing changed.

Of course, you understood him. To an extent. You knew the stress he was under. Being expected to perform with absolute perfection week after week would put anyone under intense pressure.

You should know. You have been there. You are there, in the same situation with your own career. You’d been on tour. You were constantly tired, but still managed to make time for him.

On the other hand, it seemed Lando either didn’t care to make time for you, or couldn’t manage his time.

It didn’t matter either way. You were done with this. With him. You felt like he didn’t give a single fuck about you anymore and it was mentally draining you. Despite your desperate attempts at keeping your relationship afloat, the thin ice that was upholding the relationship had been slowly cracking over the last few months, and tonight was the fatal fissure. You were drowning in the ice cold water. Alone.

You sat in your dressing room, still in the sparkling dress you’d just run off stage in. You wiped the makeup from your face. The tears made that easier.

Lando cautiously opened the door, the guilt and regret settling heavy on his shoulders when he sees the state of you through the mirror. You make brief eye contact with him in the reflection, and continue as if you never saw him.

“Y/n,” he started, remorse dripping from his voice. You don’t reply. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” He apologized, but the words no longer meant anything to you. He’d said them so many times that they became insignificant.

He moved across the room to give you a hug. You dodge his touch, jumping from your seat. He looks hurt at the gesture, but for the first time, you can’t bring yourself to care about how he feels.

“Y/n, I fucked up. I know. Please,” he pleaded. Something between a scoff and a laugh came from your mouth. You wiped the tears from your face with the heel of your hand. “Your words don’t mean shit to me anymore.” Nothing was funny, but you laughed. You shook your head. “Do you know how hard this was? To get our schedules to line up like this?” You left a space for him to answer, but he said nothing. “I had to persuade my team for weeks, Lando. Weeks.” He just stared at you, his brows pulled together ever so slightly. “And you don’t even seem to care.” You threw your arms out to the side, your voice cracking.

“Don’t- don’t say that. I do care. I care about you.” He reached for you again, but you took a step back to avoid his grasp. “You do a pretty shit job of showing it.” You fire back.

Lando scoffed. “What do you want from me?!” He demanded. You take a deep breath. “To try. Like you said you would the first time we had this conversation, remember?” Your voice wobbles from the tears that you’re struggling to hold back.

Lando rolls his eyes. Turning away from you he muttered an, “oh my god,” as if you were crazy for thinking he was in the wrong. “This is insane. I have a job and it always comes first.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I have a job too, but the difference is: I make time for you.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

He shook his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not the same for you. No one is expecting you to be perfect every single weekend.”

That gets a laugh out of you. A hysterical breakdown that confused Lando. “You don’t think people expect perfection from me?” He doesn’t answer the question. “Get out. Get out. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to hear from you again. I’m done with you.”

It was Lando’s turn to laugh. The sound mocked you. “What? Over something as small as this? C’mon, you’re not being reasonable.” There it was again, the feeling that he was calling you crazy.

“It’s not about this one situation, it’s about the whole principle of the matter. You’re putting zero effort into this relationship and it’s killing me. And I don’t care if you think I’m being unreasonable because I’ve made up my mind. I’m done with you.” Lando stared, waiting for you to take back what you said, but it was never going to come. Lando scoffed a final time and left the dressing room.

While the weight of the relationship had been taken off your shoulders, your legs couldn’t uphold the weight of your heartbreak any longer. You fell to the floor, hugging your arms around yourself as your own sobs shook your body.

You didn’t hear the door open, but soon felt the arms of someone around you. “No,” you hiccup, pushing the person away, assuming it was Lando. “Hey, it’s just me.” The voice belonged to one of your backup dancers and close friend, and you settled into his arms as he comforted your broken form.

[demonlorddiva]

Obey me! Brothers when your drunk!

You did really good on a test you’ve been working on and Diavolo said you could have anything you wanted! Any other human would ask for money, a vacation, or anything their hearts desired. But you? Your simple. Without the ability to buy human world alcohol in the devildom you asked diavolo to pick you up some for a night of fun! (And chaos) you decide that staying home and drinking is the best option as to not be in danger of other demons. How will the other brothers react?

*Obvi the reader is over 21 or the age of consuming alcohol in their country

Lucifer

You decided that since drinking demonus with him was one of your regular dates in his office, you could do the same thing and drink with him!

He’s glad to see you don’t want to leave the house. And that you want to drink with him makes him even more at ease

Plus his pride is soaring that hes the first person to see you drunk

The night is simple, drinks, music, and a wonderful conversation

It’s not often he gets to let loose and drink to his hearts desire, and with you? What a better time

If your walking funny he immediately picks you up and takes you to his room at the end of the night

He wants to make sure your okay through the night (and he wants to cuddle) (he’s v affectionate when he’s drunk)

He knew the night was happening, so by his bedside is pain meds, water, electrolytes, the whole nine yards

Will cuddle you in the morning and tease you about the silly things you said

Mammon

PARTY TIMEEEEE

You don’t wanna leave the house

He whines

You put your foot down

INDOOR PARTY TIMEEEE

You know he has his room set up for the perfect movie night, pillows, blankets, popcorn, the whole nine yards

Has a drinking game set up so you both can play

And ofc he set up the rules so you would both be hammered even before the movie ended

But the popcorn ran out and you guys are still hungry

Y’all have to hold hands as you go downstairs to the kitchen to make some instant noodles for each other

Lucifer catches y’all being too rowdy and forces y’all to go to bed

Mammon is absolutely WRECKED when he’s hungover (the hangsiety is real) not to mention his head pounding and his stomach hurting

You both spend the next day cuddling, with you telling him how much you love him, and how you think he’s still so cool even after you saw him faceplant on the floor

Levi

A night??? With you??? And you’ll be drunk??

He assures you multiple times that your safe and he absolutely doesn’t want to take advantage of you (not that you were worried in the slightest about that) (Levi bb calm down)

Y’all decide to play devil beerio kart (it’s like beerio kart if you’ve ever played, I’ll explain the rules)

Basically NO DRUNK DRIVING

During one race, you have to finish your beer (or other drink) you can drink it all before the race, stop any time in between, or stop before you finish the race and chug your drink

After a few races y’all are LIT

You guys end up yapping for a while before you put on an anime and cuddle (Levi’s to drunk to be nervous)

When you both wake up your hurting and hungover and Levi is FREAKING

The hangsiety is real with him

Just keep cuddling with him and tell him it’s okay and to fall back asleep

Satan

He seems like the guy who doesn’t care to drink

But for you? And to see you drink? But of course

I think y’all pull out a board game or card game and take a shot every time you lose

He’s curious after every drink how your feeling even though his ability to remember things is getting fogged

He’s giggly when he’s drunk, and that’s a somewhat rare sight in your day to day life so you spend the rest of the night laughing and talking

Hates that your hurting in the morning (even though this was your idea)

Has all the medicines and drinks for you on hand to help you feel better

Demands silence in the house so your headache doesn’t get worse

Asmo

PARTY TIME

I mean.. this is a special occasion right? Just because you can’t leave the house doesn’t mean you can’t have fun!

A slumber party is in order with all the works! Face masks, popcorn and snacks, and doing your nails of course.

Y’all get silly and chat and gossip all night

But you have to tell him NO PICTURES even if he begs

I feel like y’all get super sappy drunk girl talking

“NO YOUR THE GREATEST PERSON IVE MET”

At some point, after a bit of drinking someone (both of ya) get the great idea to start prank calling people

You: “is your refrigerator running?”

Beel: “uhhh yeah”

You: “well then you better go catch it!!” *click*

The other brothers had to deal with Beel guarding the fridge in fear that it would ‘run away’

We all know you guys are BIG BABIES the next day being hungover

Be prepared to cuddle and complain together all the next day

Beel

He also doesn’t seem to be a drinking guy

But he’s down to try anything! I think he’d like cocktails with fun ingredients

DEF loves Bloody Mary’s

So I think that’s the night, y’all spend your night in the kitchen coming up with different drinks and getting drunker along the way

Y’all order WAYYY too much Chinese takeout and have a great time

Feel like beel gets sappy when he’s tipsy and tells you how much he cares about you and y’all snuggle and stuff

Makes you a DELICIOUS hangover meal for you

Like a Waffle House setup but at home

Def cuddles you and is worried if you feel bad the next day (I feel like beel doesn’t get hangovers)

Belphie

Feel like he’s not a drinker as well

But the opportunity to drink with you? And he’s the only one who can see? Oh yeah he needs to see this

Y’all decide a movie drinking game.

Example: watch pirates of the Caribbean and drink every time they say captain or ship

Y’all get lit QUICK

Decide to pull a prank on Lucifer and you guys talk FOREVER about the plan, what your gonna do and it’s happening TONIGHT

.. queue YALL falling asleep and never do anything LMAO

The next day is full of bedrotting and sleeping

He makes fun of you for anything silly you did

But you can make fun of him back, the way he was stumbling was really funny

In true drinking fashion I wrote this while I was drunk HELLO

Obviously not proofread love you!!! Been really sad about the story not continuing with obey me so I’ll be posting my drafts and more ideas a bit more often for a while

[notreallythatlost]

FROM MY SOUL

pairing: halbrand/sauron x female!elf!reader

summary: you were betrayed by your great love sauron a long, long time ago. and when he returned, you want him to pay for what he did.

warnings: 18+, mdni, unprotected sex, jealous!sauron, handjob, oral (female receiving), p in v, rough sex, mentions of sub!sauron but switches to dom!sauron really fast (i couldn’t resist), blood licking, dark!reader

word count: 3k

note: i’m still alive at posting fics! 🙈 i think this is one of my personal favorites and i really hope you’ll like it too. xx also, i wanted to say thank you again, for all your support. it always encourages me so much. <33 and thanks to @sansaorgana for the gif inspiration, it hasn’t left my mind since then. 🤪

this fic is inspired by last night’s mascara by griff

THE RINGS OF POWER MASTERLIST

The air smelled musty as you entered the prison. But besides that disgusting stench, there was something else that caught your attention. A presence so powerful that it was impossible to resist.

“I'll be honest, when I first saw you here, I didn't want to believe it,” you said, the sound of your voice echoing off the walls. There was no reason to be secretive — after all, you were the only ones here.

“Sauron, the Dark Lord, has returned. And imagine, he is in Númenor. I wonder what he wants here?” you continued as you stopped in front of his cell. You knew how much he hated that name and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it.

The man slowly sat up and kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. “You know exactly what I want here,” he said quietly and turned his head in your direction.

You could feel his gaze gliding over your body. Hot and full of desire. “Y/N, it's been a long time,” he continued, standing up to walk towards the bars and into the light of the torches.

Now you could see his face, which looked pretty scratched, he must have gotten into a fight with someone. “Do I want to know why you ended up in this cell?” you asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, which caused a smile on his lips.

“Dispute about a woman,” he said, leaning his arms against the bars, as you raised your eyebrows. “Don’t start…,” he murmured and his gaze fell down to your hand. “I see you haven't forgotten me. Or the things we did together,” he continued and you rolled your eyes. You hid your hand behind your back, and with it the ring on your finger.

“But that's not why you're here, am I right?” you asked, ignoring his words. “What brought you to Númenor?” With that, you stepped closer to him and looked him in the eyes, without any emotion.

There was a brief silence and only the faint rustling of the torches could be heard, then he began to speak. “To be honest, it was just a coincidence at first. But when I stepped onto this island and felt your presence, I knew that fate had brought me here. Back to the only woman who was ever able to love me. And maybe, after all these years, she is ready to stand by my side.”

In another time, his words might have triggered something in you, but now only an unimpressed laugh escaped your lips. “How long did it take you to rehearse that? A century?” you asked and Sauron frowned.

“Believe what you want,” he growled threateningly, his pride hurt by the slight undertone of mockery in your voice. “I’m only telling the truth.”

“Just as it is true that you betrayed me? Betrayed me at the moment when I needed you most? You knew what you were doing when you set the orcs on me out of fear that I might, one day, have more power than you could ever bear,” you spat out the words, but he didn't even blink.

“And yet you still wear that ring,” he noted, raising his hand as you raised yours in the same way. For a moment you stared at the silver band which shimmered in the light of the torches, remembering the moment he had put it on your finger.

It’s you and me against the world.

That was his promise. And he broke it with turning his back to you.

With a snort, you ripped your hand from his power. “I wear this ring to remind me of one thing. That I will never trust the words of a moron like you again.”

With that, you whirled around and left him behind, alone in the cell where he had brought himself into.

You would have loved to plunge your dagger into his chest, but you would have to wait. And patience was a virtue, after all.

The wine tingled as it ran down your throat and you sighed softly. It felt good and distracted you from the fact that your lover was on this island with you. That he was still alive, even though you had thought him dead for so long.

“You look like you could use some company,” a voice said, and when you raised your head, you looked into Kemen’s eyes.

“To be honest, I'd much rather be alone right now,” you replied, but he didn't seem to care what you wanted. He sat down on the bench opposite you and looked at you with a hungry look. “Believe me, I can tell when someone doesn't want to be alone. And the way you're drinking that wine, you definitely need some distraction,” he explained and you snorted.

“Oh, yeah? And you want to give me that distraction?” you asked skeptically, raising your eyebrows as you placed the mug on the wooden table.

Kemen just looked you in the eyes as he reached across the table for your hand. You looked down at his fingers that were holding yours and then raised your gaze again to look into his eyes.

A few moments later he was pushing your back against the wall of an alley while he greedily devoured your mouth. It wasn't that you found him attractive. He was a nasty little snake, but in that moment he could give you what you needed and that it was a distraction from the man, who hurt you so many centuries before but still held your heart in his hand.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this,” the mortal gasped against your lips and you had to control yourself from rolling your eyes. “You better be quiet and keep kissing me,” you replied and your lips collided again. But just as his hands were about to wander down your body, he stopped.

Or rather, someone ripped him away from you, causing him to stumble backwards into a few barrels that were behind him. “You better get out of here before I kill you,” Halbrand growled menacingly, making Kemen swallow hard. He gave you a last look, before he turned and hurried away.

With a heavy sigh, you wiped your mouth, erasing the feeling of his lips, as you casually pushed yourself away from the wall.

“Now you've chased him away. I just wanted to have a little fun,” you said with a sly smile, which made Halbrand snort.

“Seriously? He's not even attractive. Nor even worthy of you. Besides...” he began, moving closer. “I'm the only one who's allowed to touch you like this.” You could see his eyes darken and you took a step towards him. Your hand went to his chest and you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“Sweetheart, who can touch me is still my decision. And it's definitely not you,” you said, pushing past him and wanting to leave to follow your toy, but he grabbed your wrist.

“It's you and me against the world,” he said, making you freeze. You closed your eyes, let the words sink in and gathered all your hatred before turning around and shoving him in the chest. “You damn bastard! Do you really think that I will fall for these words again? That I will give myself to you again as if you hadn't ripped my heart out of my chest?”

By now he was standing with his back pressed against the wall and stared at you with a wild look. Your breathing was heavy and you were about to slap him, but instead your mouths collided.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes while he held your head in his hands. He devoured you completely, just as if he were a starving man. His tongue ran over yours while his other hand clung desperately to your hip.

An angry growl escaped your lips as you pulled away from him again, grabbing the dagger from under the skirt of your dress to press it against his throat. “I hate you. I hate you for what you did to me. You promised to give me everything. Instead, you took everything from me. And I will make you pay for that,” you hissed against his lips, but he didn't seem to care at all.

“Go on, do it. Make me pay for it,” he growled, his voice full of desire, giving you goosebumps. “But you can't deny what your body is telling me so clearly. You're dying to feel me, aren't you?” he continued, his words against your mouth and you pressed him a little harder against the wall.

The dagger was still at his throat and he slowly raised his hand. He wrapped it around the blade and pushed it away, causing pitch-black blood to ooze from his hand and drip onto the floor. “You know I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N. I wanted you by my side, believe me,” he said and pushed himself away from the wall, forcing you to back away. The blade was still cutting into his skin, but you didn't think about letting it down.

“Then why did you betray me?” you asked him, your voice shaking with suppressed anger.

“Because otherwise you would have gone down with me,” he answered, the look in his eyes so honest that you slowly lowered the knife. “You want to hear the real reason I came to Númenor? It's you,” he added, raising his hand to stroke your cheek, but you clasped his wrist before he could touch you.

Your eyes were locked, neither of you able to look away as you took his hand and ran your tongue over the bleeding wound in his palm. The sweet taste of his blood filled your senses and you saw his mouth open in a soft moan.

The dagger fell from your hand and onto the ground as Halbrand's lips crashed against yours again. He groaned as his tongue touched yours again and he could taste his own blood.

Soon his hands were everywhere, in your hair, on your ass and your breasts — but you had no intention of letting him take control. In the middle of the kiss you paused and looked up at him with an evil smile. “You really think I'll forgive you that easily?” you asked and he frowned. “I want you to beg. I want you to fall to your knees in front of me and beg for forgiveness,” you continued and his jaw tensed.

Before he could protest, you pushed him back against the wall again and your hand stroked the bulge in his pants. “Do you have any idea how much pain you've caused me? How many times I've wished you were alive so I could be the one to stab a damn dagger into your heart?” you said and Sauron hissed as you applied light pressure to his erection.

You could feel his cock twitching in his pants, desperate for your touch, but you were far from finished.

“I turned my back on the Valar, and yet I begged them to wash you from my soul. Your touches, your kisses, everything that was left of you,” a tear ran down your cheek, “so that I no longer have to bear the pain of your betrayal, but they did not hear me,” you continued, pushing his hand up. Fresh blood had oozed from the wound, but instead of licking it up, you smeared it on the skin of his neck.

You slowly leaned forward, one hand in his hair, pulling his head back. “And here you are and I finally get the chance to take my revenge,” you whispered before sliding your tongue over his neck and licking the blood from his skin.

Halbrand shuddered and gasped as he moved his hips against your body. But you wouldn't give him that release. You wanted to hear him beg for it.

“Please,” escaped his lips and you bit your lower lip.

“Please what?” you breathed and began to massage him through the fabric. “Use your words, deceiver,” you demanded and he growled in frustration at your choice of words.

“Please, touch me,” he said and you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Without saying another word, you opened his pants and took his cock in your hand, which made Halbrand almost gasped in relief. With your other hand you gently brushed some hair from his face and he leaned almost longingly into your touch.

“Of all the faces you've ever worn... this is my favorite, my dearest Mairon,” you whispered, slowly starting to move your hand up and down his length.

His eyes closed and his head fell to the side as you squeezed a little harder, causing him to moan softly. “How does that feel?” you asked, pausing when he didn't answer. “Have you lost your voice?” you breathed against his lips and he growled softly.

“It feels good. Finally feeling your touch again... I've been longing for this for so—” he broke off as you ran your thumb over the tip and smeared the precum.

“Fuck!” he groaned and you couldn't help but smile. “That's the plan,” you replied and started moving your hand faster until his cock began to twitch in your hand. His breathing became deeper and you could tell he was close, but you weren't finished yet.

Just as he was about to reach his climax, you let go of him and his moan turned into a frustrated growl. “You damn...” the words died in his throat as he opened his eyes and his gaze fell on your naked body.

He could see how much you wanted him too, because your arousal was clearly visible on the inside of your thighs, practically inviting him to taste you.

“You will be the death of me...” he said and took a step towards you, but you stopped him by placing your hand on his chest again, brushing your fingertips through the dark curls growing there.

“No, not yet. Not until you're ready to kneel for me,” you said, but he decided your dominance was over now. He came closer, your hand now trapped between your bodies, and slid his hand over the curve of your ass.

“I would always fall to my knees for you, my love,” he whispered against your lips, gliding to the back of your knee with his rough hand and lifted your leg to his hip.

With a smile, you leaned against the stone wall behind you and looked him in the eyes as he slid his finger through your folds. After that, he raised his finger to his lips and licked up your wetness, making you whimper.

“Are you getting impatient now?” Sauron asked, unable to suppress a grin, then, without warning, he sank to his knees and guided your leg so that it was over his shoulder.

Finally, he dove between your legs and ran his tongue through your folds. Your body trembled under the intensity of the touch and you clung your hands to his hair. Your lips were slightly open, but no sound came out.

Only when he dipped his tongue into your wetness, did you moan and lean forward to press his head deeper between your legs. But Halbrand put a hand on your stomach and pushed your upper body back, so you had to lean against the wall again.

He started lapping at you as if you were his favorite meal and didn’t stop until you whimpered his name, then he pulled away from you and stood up.

“I have missed you, you have no idea how much. Even when I was nothing more than a mass without a body or a brain, all I could think about was that beautiful face and how much I loved fucking that beautiful little cunt,” he murmured and began to gently kiss up your jaw. “I wanted to marry you. I wanted you by my side. And in the end, I had no choice but to betray you — so I could protect you,” he continued, pressing a kiss just below your ear, the stubble making you shiver. “If I hadn't done that, you would have suffered the same fate as me. And unlike me, you wouldn't have come back.”

His hand lifted your leg to his hip again and you felt him stroking your entrance with the tip of his cock.

“What if I hadn't managed to escape? What if they had killed me?” you asked him before letting out a shaky breath. “Oh love, I never doubted you, so why should I have started with that?”

With those words, he thrusted his entire length into you. A breathless cry escaped you, and as you looked into Halbrand's eyes, could see the darkness spreading in them. Dark lines became visible on the skin around his eyes for a split second, making him seem so much more menacing — but to you, even more attractive.

It caused your core to clench around his cock and a gasp escaped your lips. Your fingers slid over the lines, which disappeared right after, and his gaze met yours. “You are mine. You always have been,” he said, beginning to move his hips against yours. “You can never escape me.” With that, he pulled out of you before thrusting hard into you again, drawing a frustrated cry from you.

“You will never be able to wash me from your soul. And even if I do, I will find you and defile it again, because you are mine.” Your head fell to the side and you breathed his name. “Mine.” Another thrust and a tremor in your body as you met his movement.

Suddenly he slipped out of you, grabbed with both hands under your thighs and lifted you up so that you had to wrap your legs around his waist. Seconds later he was inside you again and fucked you mercilessly against the wall.

The rough stone scratched your back while the most sinful sounds escaped your lips.

And when he felt you approaching your climax, he put a hand on your cheek and stroked your lower lip with his thumb. Your eyes met again and you could hear him in your head. Heard the words in the Black Speech that made you fall apart.

You and me against the world.

And you realized, that it was true. You could never really wash him from your soul.

2024 notreallythatlost

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

TWO

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

THREE

After a long bath, during which you took your time exploring every detail of the lavish bathroom, you found yourself standing before your wardrobe. It was massive, with mirrored doors that reflected your every movement. The clothes inside were mostly high-end—elegant dresses, tailored blazers, and pieces that leaned toward the extravagant. After some deliberation, you chose a red dress that bordered on being too seductive, with a daring slit that revealed your legs up to your thighs.

Tonight, you wanted to capture your husband’s attention even more. Once dressed, you carefully applied perfume and styled your hair, slipping into a pair of high heels that, while uncomfortable, perfectly complemented the dress. As you stood before the full-length mirror, you questioned whether the effort was worth it. You weren’t entirely sure if you remembered how to do makeup, but you made an attempt—enhancing your lashes with mascara and applying a bold red lipstick to match the dress.

When you finally left the master bedroom on the second floor, a nagging curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What was inside Charlie’s office that he was so intent on keeping locked? But your husband would be home soon, and the anticipation of dinner with him distracted you as you descended the stairs, feeling a flutter of excitement. Mary, the housekeeper, greeted you warmly and kindly offered to give you a tour of the house. She was an older woman with a sprightly demeanor and an air of maternal care. She walked you through each room, explaining their purposes and sharing small anecdotes about the home. Her warmth was comforting, and she mentioned that dinner would be ready in just a few minutes.

However, as the minutes stretched into an hour and then two, your excitement turned to unease. Charlie still hadn’t arrived. Mary, noticing your disappointment, eventually joined you for dinner, doing her best to fill the silence with polite conversation. Her sympathetic gaze was hard to ignore—it was clear she felt sorry for you.

"Mary, could you tell me where to find the key to my husband's office?" you ask, interrupting the conversation you had both been carrying on. Mary’s gaze shifts to the window, her eyes fixed on the emptiness outside, as though weighing her response.

"I really shouldn't meddle in the personal affairs of my employers," she says hesitantly, her voice soft but tinged with unease. "Just point me in the right direction, and I promise no one will ever hear a word about it," you reply, your tone gentle, almost coaxing, as you offer her a small, reassuring smile.

"Mrs. Mayhew, please don't put me in a difficult position," Mary says, her voice wavering as if she were truly torn. "I don’t remember anything, Mary. I have no awareness of my life beyond what surrounds me now. Please, help me. I beg of you," you implore, leaning forward and clasping her hand in yours. Your earnest gaze meets hers, and for a moment, she looks conflicted.

Finally, Mary sighs, her shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the burden of her decision. "There’s a drawer," she begins hesitantly, "in the last cabinet of the kitchen. It has a hidden compartment." Her words hang in the air, charged with secrecy and a hint of guilt, as she glances away, clearly regretting having spoken.

As if bound by an unspoken pact, you give Mary’s hand a gentle squeeze before leaving her seated, silently affirming her trust. You make your way to the kitchen, heart pounding in your chest as you search for the hidden compartment she described. Your fingers tremble as you fumble with the drawer, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then, with a soft click, you find it—the key.

The house is eerily quiet, save for the sound of your hurried footsteps as you ascend to the second floor. Clutching the key tightly, you waste no time unlocking the door to Charlie’s office. The moment it creaks open, you are greeted with a scene that steals the air from your lungs.

The room is a macabre gallery of horrors. A large bulletin board dominates one wall, adorned with photographs of mutilated bodies—cadavers sliced apart, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque poses. One image depicts a body cleaved in two, while another shows a woman with her abdomen grotesquely opened; her distended belly suggests she was pregnant. Your breath catches as your eyes fall upon a photo of yourself, pinned among the others. Beneath it, in bold writing, is your name with the word "Suspect" scrawled beneath it. Not far from it is an image of Charlie, labeled "Primary Suspect."

The walls bear even more—a chilling collection of painted recreations of the crime scenes. The artistry is disturbingly exquisite, each brushstroke capturing the raw, visceral nature of the acts committed. The paintings are hauntingly lifelike, as though frozen moments from a nightmare. On the desk, amidst scattered papers, rests a dossier with your name emblazoned on the cover. It’s thick, filled with notes, photos, and what appears to be an exhaustive investigation into your life.

You carefully scrutinize every detail in the office, even though parts of your dossier have been redacted. Ensuring everything else remains undisturbed, you lock the office door behind you and descend the stairs with a fury that feels volcanic, ready to erupt. Your steps are hurried, each one fueled by the tempest of questions swirling in your mind. You want answers from Charlie—immediately. Not only about the grotesque contents of his office but also about what could have possibly been more important than dining with you tonight.

Reaching the base of the stairs, you place the key firmly into Mary’s hands. She looks at you without a word, her expression a mixture of understanding and quiet resignation.

"Mary, return this key to its proper place, and afterward, pack some of my clothing and essentials into the guest room. Once that is done, you’re dismissed for the evening," you say, your voice taut with suppressed rage. It takes all your composure to keep from snapping, your anger simmering beneath the surface—anger at your husband’s deceit, at that ghastly mural, at those haunting paintings, and most of all, at the invasion of your privacy. Mary nods silently and turns to summon Ed, who arrives shortly, adjusting his jacket as he steps into the house.

"Ed, I believe Mrs. Mayhew would like to see her husband," Mary says, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. Ed hesitates, glancing at you as though questioning whether this is wise, but your determined stride leaves no room for debate. Without waiting for further discussion, you step out of the house, your heels clicking sharply against the stone as you head toward the car. Settling into the back seat, you fasten your seatbelt.

"To the hospital," you command, your tone brooking no argument. Ed nods and starts the car, and the journey begins, the air in the vehicle heavy with your unresolved fury and the weight of the revelations awaiting confrontation.

You don’t take long to arrive at the hospital. At the reception desk, you’re informed that Dr. Mayhew is currently attending to a particular patient. Frustration wells up within you as you rack your mind for a plausible excuse to gain quicker access to Charlie. Fate, however, seems to be on your side. From across the hall, you spot your husband emerging with his patient, their conversation light and pleasant as they approach the hospital’s entrance. The moment Charlie's eyes meet yours, it’s as if he instantly senses that something is amiss. Yet, it’s not just his presence that catches your attention—it’s hers.

The woman with him feels unsettlingly familiar. You quickly piece it together: she was on the mural in Charlie’s office. If your memory serves you correctly, her photo was captioned with Detective Megan Duval alongside the words romantic past. Like a puzzle clicking into place, the realization stings.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Charlie asks, his voice calm yet edged with unease. He steps away from Megan and approaches you, placing his hands gently on your arms as if to comfort you. But you brush him off with a sharp movement, your temper barely restrained.

"I came to confirm that Detective Lois might have been right after all. But aren’t you going to introduce us, dear husband?" you ask, your tone laced with biting sarcasm. Your eyes bore into him before flicking to Megan, whose expression hardens alongside Charlie's.

"I can introduce myself," Megan interjects, stepping forward with a measured tone. "I’m Detective Duval. I assure you, you’re jumping to conclusions. I’m here as a patient, and your husband is my doctor." She extends a hand toward you in a gesture of civility.

You glance at her outstretched hand, but the sight only fuels the jealousy roiling inside you. "Save your platitudes for someone gullible enough to believe them, Detective Duval. I won’t keep interrupting whatever this is. Have a good evening," you retort, your voice dripping with venom as you turn sharply on your heel.

Your emotions are a whirlwind—jealousy, betrayal, and anger all threatening to consume you. You think fleetingly about causing a scene but find yourself too overwhelmed to do so. You just want to leave. You make your way toward the car where Ed stands, waiting patiently. But before you can reach him, something stops you. Or rather, someone. Charlie strides past you, moving with alarming determination. Before you can react, he hoists you off the ground and unceremoniously throws you over his shoulder, completely ignoring your protests.

"What do you think you’re doing, Charlie Mayhew?" you demand, your voice seething with indignation as you struggle against his grip. He doesn’t respond immediately, his steps firm as he carries you away from the hospital doors, leaving both Megan and Ed in stunned silence.

He carries you with unwavering determination to what you assume is his car in the hospital parking lot. Despite your protests and the sharp slaps you land on his well-toned back, he doesn’t release you until he places you firmly in the back seat of the vehicle.

"If you wish to keep protesting, then fasten your seatbelt and save your anger for when we’re home," Charlie says, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet authority. He adjusts your position as best he can, ensuring you’re seated properly before closing the door with a firm click. Without another word, he circles to the driver’s side, the tension between you hanging heavy in the confined space of the car.

Without exchanging another word, Charlie drives you both home, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel and his demeanor tense. You notice his stress as he occasionally picks up his phone, typing out terse messages to someone. You make a pointed effort to ignore him, directing your focus instead to the passing scenery outside the window. It doesn’t take long before the car pulls into your driveway. The house looms ahead, quiet and still. Mary has likely already left for the evening, and Ed is nowhere to be seen, leaving no trace of having followed behind.

When Charlie parks the car, he steps out briskly and moves to your door. Without hesitation, he leans in, releasing your seatbelt with deliberate care. His face is close to yours, and the air feels charged, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. "I’ll be waiting for you inside," he says in a low voice, his gaze steady as it locks with yours for a lingering moment before he straightens and walks toward the house.

You take a deep breath before stepping out of the car and heading toward the house. Once inside, everything appears meticulously arranged. On the dining table sits a prepared plate of food, likely Mary’s thoughtful gesture for Charlie. However, he stands in the middle of the living room, tension radiating from him as he nervously removes his tie and lab coat.

"I’ll be sleeping in the guest room," you state firmly, your tone brooking no argument. You turn on your heel to make your way to the guest room, but Charlie’s hand shoots out, gripping yours and halting your retreat.

"While I do regret leaving you waiting tonight," he begins, his voice steady but undercut with frustration, "that does not excuse your behavior. You have crossed a line." His eyes bore into yours, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

"I crossed a line?" you counter, your voice rising with incredulity. "And where exactly is this so-called line when you're the one keeping secrets from me? Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you and Detective Duval share nothing more than a professional relationship? That there wasn’t a single other doctor in this city she could consult? Spare me, Charlie."

Your words are sharp, cutting through the tension as you step closer, your movements circling him like a predator confronting its prey. Despite the fury simmering between you, he seems unfazed—or perhaps too confident. He takes a deliberate step toward you, his hands moving to unbutton his dress shirt, the faint rustle of fabric punctuating the charged silence. A sly, almost teasing smile tugs at the corners of his lips, breaking through the serious expression he had worn moments before. His eyebrows lift slightly, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes as if daring you to push further.

"Are we done with the accusations, or would you like to continue?" he finally asks, his tone low and edged with amusement, even as your frustration mounts.

"I fail to see the necessity of you removing your clothing while we’re in the middle of an argument," you say, your resolve wavering slightly as your focus slips from the reason for your confrontation. "But let me make one thing clear—you will not distract me. I won’t let you deceive me, Dr. Mayhew," you add, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster, though your words carry a partial untruth. You could reveal what you found in his office, expose the secrets he's so carefully hidden. Yet you don’t. Perhaps because you’re unsure of your next move, or perhaps because a part of you is, indeed, distracted. Your eyes betray you, drawn to the sharp lines of his well-defined chest as his shirt slides from his shoulders. A twinge of frustration flares within you—not just at him, but at yourself for letting him affect you this way.

"My beloved wife, if I were having an affair with Detective Duval, I’d be far more discreet than to let the entire hospital catch wind of it. But you are correct—Megan and I do not share a purely professional relationship. She was my girlfriend before I fell in love with you," Charlie says, his tone calm yet deliberate as he shrugs off the last of his shirt and tosses it onto the sofa. "In fact, our relationship ended because I chose you. What you perceive as a sign of infidelity is nothing more than two former lovers finally reconciling after years of bitterness. Does that satisfy you?" You study him carefully, your mistrust lingering despite the ring of truth in his words. There’s a certain earnestness in his voice, one that’s difficult to ignore, but the revelation stirs unease within you.

"If that is all you have to say, I shall take my leave," you declare, turning on your heel to retreat to the guest room. Yet your attempt is futile. Charlie’s arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His lips graze the back of your neck, planting a soft kiss before trailing down to your collarbone. His warm breath fans against your skin, unraveling any coherent thoughts from your mind.

"I would never betray you, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice low and full of conviction. "For two years, all I ever wanted was to hold you in my arms; I would never risk losing you. You and I are more than husband and wife—we are partners." His face buries itself in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent before pressing more kisses along your skin, his path leading to your ear. You say nothing, unable to form a response, and instead turn to face him. The tension between you is palpable, burning you from within. Your fingers graze his lips, as though committing their softness to memory. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer with unrelenting need.

You cup his face in both hands, pulling him toward you. Your lips meet his with a hunger that surprises even you, as though only he could quell the yearning deep inside. His lips are impossibly soft against yours, and you hardly register when the kiss deepens. Your tongues dance together, a gentle yet fervent battle for dominance, while his hands roam your body—caressing your waist, gripping your hips, exploring the curve of your back. He begins to tug at your dress, lifting it as if desperate to rid you of it, guiding you toward the sofa. But before he can take control entirely, you pull him down first, making him sit as you take charge.

You settle onto his lap, feeling the undeniable evidence of his desire for you grow beneath you. Your nails trace over the expanse of his chest, leaving faint red marks as you savor the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. Charlie captures your lips again with fervor, his hands firmly gripping your waist, guiding your movements against him as if ensuring you stay anchored in his embrace. The heat between you is all-consuming, maddeningly intense.

Yet, the image of him with Megan flashes in your mind—a thorn of doubt piercing through your desire. The uncertainty gnaws at you, twisting your emotions. Without thinking, you bite down on his lower lip with more force than intended. Charlie pulls back sharply, a pained groan escaping his lips as the faint taste of his blood lingers on yours. "What the hell, Y/N!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with irritation, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of confusion and frustration.

"That, Doctor Mayhew, is what you get for testing your wife’s patience," you retort, steadying yourself as you rise from his lap, your tone cool yet charged. "Goodnight, Charlie," you add with finality, stepping away from him and heading toward the guest room, your mind a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, anger, and something you can’t quite name. Charlie calls your name a few times, his voice softer now, almost pleading, but he ultimately lets you go, leaving you to your thoughts.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, hello! I remember seeing this really good one but I can't find it, if yall can turn the description to the public to take a look I'd seriously appreciate it!

Fair warning it's nsfw

It was, like, I think it counts as a pollen fic, technically? Crowley was cursed with an Asmodeus amulet of some kind (I believe the Metatron was the one to do it), and the curse was that if the afflicted individual engaged in lustful acts, they would die. But until then, they'd be consumed by an almost debilitating feeling in their body.

The only way to break it is, like, to sleep with someone whom they genuinely love, and who genuinely loves them back.

Crowley is too consumed by the pain of the curse, and is willing to die to get it to end. So he seeks out aziraphale practically and begs him to hook up. He knows it would kill him, because surely there's no way Aziraphale would love him back, but he can't take it anymore.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, stubbornly refuses. He thinks he's being selfish in doing so, because he doesn't want to lose Crowley. He's well aware of the type of curse this is, but according to his knowledge, demons can't feel love. To be with Crowley would mean his destruction, and Aziraphale can't even imagine it.

After stubborn argument from both parties, they confess their love for one another, and in utter relief, break the curse together.

I'm gonna make it an anon post so that it's not my main, but if anyone knows what it is you can reach my alt @dinoace-reblogs . If anyone can help me out please, I'd be super grateful! Have a lovely day :]

I believe you're looking for...

We Only Said Goodbye with Words, I Died A Hundred Times by ras_elased (E)

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush pink. “Yes. Well. It appears to be a curse for a cheating lover. The design is to create an ever-increasing obsessive need for the person who—” “I’m well aware of what it does,” Crowley interrupted. Aziraphale glanced up from the book and took in Crowley’s stance, the apparent lax posture belied by the way he was clutching the edge of the countertop with white knuckles. Aziraphale swallowed. “Is it…” Aziraphale faltered, then tried again. “Is it…” painful is how he told himself he wanted to finish the question. There was no other possible word to end that question that Aziraphale wanted to know. “Don’t play dumb, angel. It doesn’t suit you.” Crowley’s voice was low, an edge of something to it that Aziraphale hadn’t heard since the Tadfield airbase, the moment Crowley was ready to give up and accept the apocalypse. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. “You know who I want.”

- Mod D

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

So I’ve been watching a lot of Austin’s interviews on YouTube the last few days and something that’s stick with me is how literally every man in his life is absolutely besotted and in love with him. Like the director of Bikeriders called him “the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life” and Baz Luhrmann (or another one of his directors I can’t remember) said that whenever he walks into a room everyone falls in love with him and another one tells everyone else before they work with him “oh you’ve got to meet him he’s so lovely you’ll absolutely fall in love with him”

And it’s like this boy has grown ass middle aged to old men wrapped around every one of his slender dainty pretty fingers, he really does. He can just act all bashful and look up through and bat his pretty blonde eyelashes at any man and they’d literally do anything for him, and the thing is he KNOWS it and don’t tell me that he doesn’t take advantage of that sometimes, because he absolutely does. I just think he can be a gigantic tease when he wants to be because he knows the power he has over everyone. Like he definitely flirts with men he knows are besotted with him to rile them up and have them contemplating their entire lives. Like dangling the carrot in front of their faces but never letting them actually get it. Gives them just the tiniest taste but not enough so that they are convincing themselves they’re making it all up in their own heads or reading him wrong, looking too into it.

It really seems like everyone just falls madly in love with him and I cannot even imagine how sweet and genuine a person has to be to make that happen ❤️ Like, he’s pretty but the devotion he inspires??? Unreal and I just can’t even wrap my brain around it 😄

[posting-for-the-void]

So a lot of twins claim to have a sort of twintuition thing where they understand each other easily and often without words, and sometimes have high-level empathetic reactions to things that are happening to the other twin, even if they don’t know what’s happening to the other twin because they are in different locations at the time. There’s obviously not a lot of scientific evidence to back it up, but, eh. It’s a cool concept.

But what if, for the Skywalker twins, the force just ramped that up to 100.

Fic-ish thing below the cut.

Five-year-old Luke is learning the Tatooine slave language. After all, Aunt Beru used to be Beru Whitesun, before she married Uncle Owen, and his mom was Grandma Shmi, who used to be a Skywalker before she married Uncle Owen’s dad. Beru helps the recently-escaped hide in the secret compartment in the wall of their house more often than Owen does, but he claims it’s for plausible deniability, whatever that means. Leia, on Alderaan, begins mixing the harsh, clicking language with Basic subconsciously, but only when talking to herself in private. After all, she is a princess, and they must choose their words carefully in front of others.

Leia at age ten argues with her cousin about whether droids deserve respect, and across the galaxy, Luke is absolutely overcome with the need to thank every single droid he’s ever met for helping him with anything (he did this anyways before but for some reason he has to do it again Right Now).

Luke gets to drive a speeder by himself for the first time at 13 and Leia is practically begging for someone to take her out in a hovercar and go as fast as possible. And if that can’t happen she’s going to get the space equivalent of a Formula One racing sim, goddamnit.

Seventeen-year-old Junior Senator Leia’s heart skips a beat every time someone mentions Tatooine. She isn’t sure why. Obi-Wan lives there, yes, but something in her just knows that isn’t the real reason. Luke, meanwhile, yearns to see the galaxy, and often finds himself outside at night, staring at the sky. His eyes, for as long as he can remember, have always felt drawn towards a specific star. He asked Uncle Owen about it once when he was younger, and he gruffly explained that it was the Alderaan system. He feels like there’s something there, waiting for him. He’s not sure why.

And then they meet in person, and it’s “You’re a little short for a Stormtroope—Luke?”

“Leia?”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. Can I hug you?”

“Of course, you idiot. You’re my twin brother. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks, Leia. You know, I had the weirdest dreams when I was ten about you and Old Ben.”

“Oh, yeah, that was actually real. I got kidnapped.”

“Cool.”

“Is it true you got nicknamed ‘Wormie’ by your friends?”

“…Yeah.”

And Han is so confused, but it’s fine, and within two hours their conversations are more like, “Hey, Leia, could you pass me the—“

“Yeah, do want the green one or the—“

“No, the blue one, probably. I need it to—“

“Oh, yeah, of course, that makes sense.”

And then Yoda tries to do the whole “Attached, you are,” routine, and Luke is like, “Well, duh. I’m only here so I can teach Leia everything I learn as soon as I get back. I’m just a pilot, which is a lot more replaceable than a princess, so we thought it would be best if I come learn from you instead of her.”

And meanwhile Leia is a lot stronger in the force now, and she meets Vader again and just goes, “Darth Dad, what the actual fuck,” under her breath in the Tatooine slave language, and the hint of Anakin that’s left absolutely freezes. Because Palpatine—Sideous—whatever, he said his kid was dead. He said that Padme died and the kid did too. He lied. And, when he meets Luke later, and he says the same Sithspitting thing, Anakin gets so thrown he accidentally cuts the kid’s hand off. Luke falls, and the shock of it in the force is so strong, and Anakin’s eyes flash blue in grief and love and hope, all at once, and all of the sudden he can think clearly for the first time in years. And his kids’—his kids!—bond in the force is so strong, how did he not notice it before?

And, anyways, I just feel like Skywalker Twintuition would be on a completely other and incomprehensible level.

[twomoreseconds]

Arcane theory - The first timeline

Now this might be a bit long so please bear with me. I absolutely loved the ending of Arcane (we win jayvik nation) but there are a few aspects of it that I can’t quite wrap my head around. If anybody has a different perspective than me please do tell I’d love to hear it.

—————————————————————

Now for what I don’t quite understand (I’ve never been good with the logic of time travel)

1. What was the first timeline like? How did the story play out the first time round? Ik time doesn’t work like that and ik about the bootstrap paradox but I’m still so curious. And how did Viktor know Jayce would be the one to save him?

2. How did Viktor know that he was giving Jayce a different rune each time? Is there like some history tab in the Arcane??

—————————————————————

I’ll now try to answer these questions but again it’s all purely my speculation:

—————————————————————

1. What was the first timeline like? How did the story play out the first time round? How did Viktor know Jayce would be the one to save him?

We learn that each time Viktor ends up destroying the world he goes back in time in an attempt to stop himself. He says to Jayce “In all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this (this being the fault of his ideology).” This means he is certain that Jayce is the key to stopping him.

Now as to how he knows it’s Jayce and only Jayce that can free him from his false ideas. I have two theories.

A) He’s literally gone trough ALL other possibilities.

He’s nudged all people in and around Zaun and Piltover in the direction of developing hextech and through trial and error he finds that Jayce is the one. - This has many faults and is more of an idea than a theory

B) In the first timeline that started their loop he had already met Jayce.

If he had already in some capacity come into contact with Jayce and seen his desire to prove himself, his drive and kindness. He would know that that’s the person who’s to be his conquests undoing. - This theory sounds more plausible to me and thus is what I’ll be going with

With this established we can move on to what the first time line was like.

Since Viktor wasn’t there to save his mother, Jayce grows up to be an orphan (I can’t remember anyone ever mentioning his dad). I believe he would still gravitate to becoming an inventor/ scientist, but with no funding he would probably be someone’s assistant or some such.

Viktor wouldn’t have met Jayce so early so he would still be Heimerdingers assistant. Eventually though his illness would start showing and in my mind, Viktor wouldn’t want to die without his life meaning something, without helping the people of Zaun.

I believe he would go see Singed just like he did in our timeline. Singed wouldn’t have the support from Silco like he does in our timeline since there would be no explosion in Piltover, thus no arrest of Vander, thus no death of Vander, thus no Silco leader (presumably).

This would mean that Singed would seek more drastic measures for example hextech. I believe he would have given Viktor some hextech crystals and shimmer, maybe as a part of a deal maybe out of the goodness of his own heart.

I think Viktor would start researching hextech which would perhaps catch the attention of Jayce, leading to them working together on hextech in secret.

As his illness would progress Viktor would again corrupt the core and enhance his leg. This time though since there is no funding for their illegal study there would be no Sky, meaning there would be no accident (don’t even dare to tell me it would kill Jayce I don’t want to even think about that).

If there is no accident then maybe Viktor would use the core on himself sooner. Become the machine herald as he would have no guilt (Sky) making him hold on to his humanity.

If he becomes the machine herald so soon Jayce wouldn’t have much time to talk him out of everything. Not only would there not be enough time to talk, since they met so late their connection wouldn’t quite be what it becomes in our time line.

Jayce would get pretty close though since after Viktor achieves his salvation of the human race and realizes its faults, it’s Jayce who he trusts to save everyone.

Now he would come up with the plan to inspire Jayce sooner, so he develops hextech sooner, so they meet sooner, so Jayce has more time to stop him.

This only eventually works when Ekko buys him more time, otherwise he still wouldn’t have enough time to convince Viktor. (Ekko is the goat fr)

—————————————————————

Now for with the one that makes the least amount of sense to me.

2. How did Viktor know he was giving Jayce a different rune each time?

In episode 9 we are explicitly shown and told that Viktor went and tried all kinds of different runes in hopes that one will give Jayce enough time to save him.

Let’s say he starts with rune A, it doesn’t work so when he’s in the “world rid of humanity’s imperfections” he decides to give him rune B.

Now if it doesn’t work, the Viktor in the past who meets Jayce with rune B becomes the Viktor in the present.

Only problem is new Viktor is here for the first time. He presumably doesn’t have the memories of old Viktor, so how could he know that the rune he decides to try this time isn’t one he’s already tried for example rune A.

How does he know that he’s not already in an endless cycle of going between A and B. Never even trying C.

I believe the only explanation would be that the Arcane is somehow giving him access to all his “past” memories from his past timelines.

Although time doesn’t really work like that. Time is a loop a cycle it doesn’t have an end or a beginning who’s to say that it wouldn’t give him memories of the acceleration rune working.

But I digress since I can’t think of a better solution.

—————————————————————

If anyone actually read it to the end thank you and sorry that it lowkey read more like fanfiction than a theory.

If anybody has literally any other ideas please comment I wanna hear them so bad you don’t even know.

In conclusion going by my theory Jayvik are truly meant to meet in every timeline and Viktor is the direct downfall of Vander and Vanders Zaun. (What a silly guy am I right or am I right)

[shywithapurpose]

Knight!Nanami x Royal!Reader

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a soft twilight that bathed the courtyard in hues of purple and amber. The sounds of the court were far off now, muffled by the thick stone walls of the castle. You sat by the window, looking out at the distant hills. The weight of the crown you would one day inherit was a burden you often thought about, and on evenings like this, when the air was still and the world felt almost too peaceful, it pressed down on you. You hadn’t always felt this way. When you were younger, you’d found the idea of being a ruler exhilarating—everything within your reach, everyone around you bowing their heads. But now? Now, all of that seemed like a game, a stage you were expected to play upon, your true self hidden behind the mask of royal duty.

A knock on the door breaks you from your thoughts, and you turn just in time to see it swing open, revealing a familiar figure. Nanami. Your personal guard. He stands in the doorway, his silhouette tall and imposing, framed by the dimming light from the hallway. His armor gleams faintly, though not as polished as the knights. His face, though always hard and unreadable to others, softens slightly when he sees you. Nanami’s hazel eyes flicker with something unreadable before he dips his head in a respectful bow.

“Your Highness,” he says, voice low. “It’s late. I thought you may wish to retire.”

You hesitate, looking back out the window. There was something in his presence, something different tonight. You were used to his quiet watchfulness, but tonight, his posture seems to have a tension to it, a stillness that’s almost… uncertain.

"I am not tired," you answer softly, though you know it’s a lie. Tiredness has become something of a companion, creeping up on you in moments when your guard is down. "But I could use a bit of company."

Nanami steps into the room fully now, his footsteps barely a sound on the stone floor. He moves closer, but he doesn't sit or approach you directly. Instead, he takes up his usual position near the door, always within arm’s reach but never crossing that invisible line. His presence, though unobtrusive, fills the room.

"Is there something troubling you, Your Highness?" His voice is neutral, professional, but there’s a gentleness to it. He’s been your protector for as long as you can remember, always vigilant, always silent. And yet, tonight, you sense a shift.

You look up at him, your gaze lingering. Nanami is taller than most men, with broad shoulders and the sort of quiet strength that makes him formidable in combat. He has a way of looking at you, not with reverence, not with pity, but with something more like understanding. It's a look he gives to no one else.

"I don't know," you admit, biting the inside of your cheek. "Sometimes I feel so trapped here." You gesture vaguely to the castle. "Like I'm meant to be something I don't know how to become."

He says nothing at first, and you don’t expect him to. His silence is often more telling than any words could be. Still, you can feel his gaze on you, though you don’t meet it. A moment passes, and then he speaks, his tone as steady as ever. “I’ve seen you grow, Your Highness. More than that, I’ve seen the weight of your crown. You do not carry it alone. You have advisors, your family, your people." His words hang in the air, each one wrapped in the unspoken promise that he is one of those who stands by you. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, fingers tracing the edge of it idly, but there’s an odd tension in the movement, as if he’s considering something.

"I don’t need them," you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I need…" You trail off, suddenly unsure. There’s a word sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to say it. You glance up at Nanami again, your pulse quickening for reasons you can't quite explain. He’s looking at you, not in his usual guarded manner, but with something softer. Something fleeting and almost imperceptible, yet undeniable. He clears his throat, breaking the silence. "You need to rest, Your Highness." It’s an excuse, you know it is. A shield, like the armor he wears. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not tonight. Not when you’re so close to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body, close enough to catch the faint scent of leather and steel that clings to him after a day of training.

“You’ve been at my side for so long, Kento,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper now. "Do you ever wish for something more?"

There it is—the question you’ve kept buried. The one you’ve never dared ask anyone, not even yourself. You’re not sure what answer you’re hoping for, but you want to hear it, even if it means exposing a part of yourself you’ve never shown. Nanami goes still, and for the first time, he doesn’t answer right away. His brow furrows, and his lips press together, as if he’s weighing every word carefully.

"More, Your Highness?" His voice is rougher now, like he’s searching for the right way to phrase it. “I have always been where I am meant to be. At your side. Protecting you.” You swallow hard, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between you like a storm that’s just begun to stir. “And what if that’s not enough for you? What if you—” You cut yourself off, suddenly aware of how foolish you might sound. But Nanami doesn't move, doesn't step back. Instead, his eyes soften just the slightest bit, and for a moment, he seems to hesitate. The tension in the air thickens, crackling, and the world outside the window seems to disappear.

And in that fleeting instant, you realize the truth.

This guard, this man who has stood at your side, so constant, so steadfast, is everything you never knew you needed. And yet, the chasm between you seems too wide, too impossible to cross. Yet, Nanami steps closer, his hand finally leaving the sword hilt, his fingers brushing against yours. Just a touch, barely a whisper of contact, but it’s enough to set your pulse racing.

"Your Highness," he says again, and his voice is softer now, quieter. There’s something in it, something that makes your chest tighten, a wordless promise, or maybe just a question. “I…” You don’t know what to say. The words feel like they’re caught in your throat, unwilling to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from asking the question anyway, the one that’s been eating at you ever since he first stepped into the room. “Could you… could you ever want more than this? More than just… this duty?”

His gaze flickers briefly, like the faintest shadow crossing his face before he returns to you with that same unreadable expression. But there’s something in his eyes now. Something deeper. Something raw. “I’ve never wanted anything more than my duty to you, Your Highness,” he answers, his voice steady, though there’s a weight in it now that wasn’t there earlier. “But that does not mean I do not understand the need for something else. For… more.”

Your pulse skips. For a fleeting moment, it feels like the ground beneath you is shifting. His words echo in your mind, and you wonder if he knows—if he feels the same pull you do. You reach out, a motion so instinctive that it surprises you. Your fingers brush his, the skin of your hand warm against the coolness of his skin, and your breath catches in your throat. The quiet intimacy of it stuns you both, and for a second, neither of you speaks. But Nanami’s hand, still hovering near yours, moves slightly. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts just enough that your fingers interlace. His touch is careful, almost reverent.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely more than a murmur. “This is not a path we can take lightly, Your Highness. There are things… things that would change. Things you might not be ready for.”

The words strike you like a blow, but they’re not an argument, they’re a warning. A plea for you to understand the gravity of what you’re considering. You know better than anyone the cost of such a decision, the consequences that would follow if word of this ever reached the wrong ears. But at this moment, standing on the edge of something so fragile and uncertain, you don’t care. You can’t care. The weight of the crown, the expectations that have always been placed upon you—they all seem so far away now, like distant echoes in the wind. In the face of this… of him, you wonder if it’s even worth it. For the first time in what feels like years, the world seems to pause. The burden of your royal blood, your obligations to family, kingdom, and title—fade into the background, replaced by something simpler, more immediate.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” you laugh. “But I know… I know I can’t keep living this way. Not when I feel like I’m suffocating under everything that’s expected of me. Not when you’re standing right here, and I…” You swallow hard, the weight of your own words settling in. It’s hard to admit, harder still to speak the truth out loud, but you can’t ignore it any longer. You can’t pretend that this, whatever this is between you, doesn’t matter. His fingers tighten around yours, a silent affirmation that he’s listening, that he’s here. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief, dizzying moment, you swear you can see something deeper there—a flicker of longing, of understanding.

“I’m not asking for you to throw away your duty, Nanami,” you say, the words coming out softer now, more vulnerable. “But I don’t want to be trapped in this castle, in this life, forever. I can’t do it alone. And I don’t want to. Not if you’re willing to stand with me.” A beat of silence passes, stretching between you like a delicate thread. And then, Nanami speaks, his voice low and almost intimate. “I’ve always stood with you, Your Highness. I always will.”

You could almost mistake his words for a simple pledge. But there’s something in his tone, something in the way he says always, that makes your heart race, makes the air in the room feel thick and heavy with possibility. Slowly, hesitantly, Nanami takes another step forward. He’s closer now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. His presence is overwhelming, not in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but in a way that feels like a magnet, pulling you toward him. And when he leans in, just slightly, so that his lips are a hair’s breadth away from your ear, you hear him say, barely above a whisper:

“I will not leave your side, Your Highness. Not now, not ever. But if you wish for more… then you must be prepared to face what it costs.”

You close your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. You know, deep down, that this moment—this fragile, uncertain moment—is the beginning of something you cannot undo. There’s no going back from here. But as you look into his eyes, the weight of everything you’ve ever known, the chains of duty and expectation, suddenly seem… lighter.

You take a steadying breath, your fingers tightening around his hand.

“Ok.”

I found the draft for this on a crumpled piece of paper in my chemistry binder, so I hope you enjoyed!

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

The last drop in The Last Drop: Part 2

A dad!Vander fic (with my og character, Luna, Vander's fifth adopted child)

Masterlist: there you go

Disclaimer: english ain't my first language folks

The Last Drop was louder than anywhere Luna had ever been before. The nights were the worst—crowds of people shouting over music, chairs scraping against the floor, and the occasional crash of glass breaking. It was overwhelming at first. Her small hands often clutched Vander’s shirt as she hid behind him as he stood behind the counter, her wide eyes darting toward every unfamiliar noise.

“It’s alright, Lu,” he’d say, his big hand resting on her shoulder. “Nothing to be scared of.”

When he said it, she tried to believe him.

But it wasn’t just the noise. The other kids—Vi, Mylo, Claggor, and Powder—were a whirlwind of energy that made her head spin. Vander wouldn’t let them go out alone at night (yet, when they were older they could, he always said), so they hung around in the evening sitting on a table by the wall, or messing around a little bit. Not that anyone minded, really. Vi was the loudest, always climbing something or chasing Mylo through the bar. Mylo talked a mile a minute, sometimes teasing Powder and now also Luna in a way that made her unsure if he was joking or not. Claggor was quieter but still intimidating with how easily he kept up with the chaos, kind of like Vander in that way.

And then there was Powder. Powder was closer to her size and age, with a wide grin and a streak of curiosity that seemed boundless; she was undoubtedly excited at having someone younger around, as the older kids tended to baby her from time to time. She was the first to approach Luna.

“Do you like dolls?” Powder had asked one afternoon, holding up a patched-together figure with button eyes.

Luna blinked, unsure how to answer. “I… don’t have one.”

Powder’s eyes lit up. “I can make you one!”

The blue haired girl hovered around her, asking endless questions. “Do you like colours? I love to draw! What’s your favourite food? Are you scared of spiders? I’m not. Well, okay, maybe sometimes.”

It was a lot, but Powder’s excitement was easier to handle than Mylo’s teasing or Vi’s confident energy. Vi, on the other hand, took her time warming up to Luna.

“She’s so quiet,” Vi had whispered to Vander one evening, looking at Luna sitting at the table, swinging her legs idly as Powder braided her hair (insisting that she had to wear it like herself). Mylo and Claggor were bickering over a game of cards nearby, their voices blending into the general hum of the bar. “Is she scared of us?”

“She’s just getting used to everything,” Vander replied, while cleaning the inside of a mug. “Give her time.”

“So… she’s going to stay with us? Permanently?” Vi asked, her tone uncertain. She wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. Not that she minded having someone else around, but it was another change. Another person to get used to.

Vander glanced at her, his expression softening. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go or anyone else to take care of her.”

Vi frowned, crossing her arms. She leaned her arms on the counter, her face scrunching in thought. “It’s just… we don’t even know her. What if she doesn’t fit in?”

Vander chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “And what exactly does ‘fitting in’ look like around here, huh?” He gestured toward Mylo and Claggor, who were now arguing loudly over whether Claggor had cheated in their game. Powder, meanwhile, was carefully arranging Luna’s hair into a lopsided braid, ignoring the two boys excellently as she chatted about her favourite toys she wanted to show Luna later.

Vi’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fair point.”

“Look,” Vander continued, his voice quieter now. “When I found you and Powder, it wasn’t any different. You already knew me, yes, but you were also scared and you had gone through a lot, just like her.”

Vi looked down, her expression softening as she remembered. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And now look at you,” Vander said with a grin, ruffling her hair. “You’re the one making this place feel like home for the others. You’ll do the same for her. Just give it time. She’s going to be one of us, just like you, Powder, and the boys.”

Vi huffed but didn’t protest. “Fine. But she’s not gonna cry all the time, is she?”

Vander chuckled again, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. That kid’s tougher than she looks, I’m sure of it. She’ll be okay,” he said, almost to himself. His voice had turned low, filled with quiet determination, the kind that always made Vi believe he could do anything. “She’s got us now.”

Vi watched him for a moment, the way his gaze softened as he looked at Luna, the way he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a deep, thoughtful breath. He wasn’t just saying it—he really believed it.

And if Vander believed it, maybe Vi could too.

Vi glanced over at Luna as well, watching her laugh quietly at something Powder had said, her small hands clutching the edge of the table as if she was still anchoring herself to this new world. Maybe Vander was right. Maybe she just needed time.

So, Vi tried in her own way. She offered Luna the better seat when they ate dinner and slowed down when explaining the rules of the games they played to include her.

“Tag’s easy,” Vi said one day, crouching down to Luna’s level. “If you don’t wanna play, that’s fine too.”

Luna hesitated but nodded. Vi grinned, grabbing her hand to pull her into the game.

“You just gotta run fast, okay?” Luna nodded. “Hide so that they don’t find you. If they don’t, you win!”

“But what if you never find me?” she asked, eyes wide showing her frighten.

“We will, don’t worry about that,” Vi laughed a bit, crouching down again to her level to look her into the eyes when she noticed Luna still didn’t seem at ease. “Hey, I promise. I’ll find you. Always. And if not me, then Vander, okay?”

That seemed to do the trick; it certainly did, when Luna would end up winning a lot of times because she would hide in the smallest of places. She would always wait for Vi or one of the others to find her in order leave her hiding spot, though, always making sure they found her.

Claggor was the first to win her over completely. Unlike Mylo’s teasing or Powder’s chatter, Claggor was steady, with a calmness that made him approachable even when Luna was feeling shy or overwhelmed. He was the one who helped Luna feel less lost in the chaos of the Last Drop.

The first time she followed him around the Last Drop, it wasn’t because he’d asked her to—it was because he was working on fixing something at one of the tables, and she was curious. She hovered nearby, not saying anything, just watching as he tightened a loose screw on a wobbly chair leg.

“You want to help?” he asked after a while, glancing up at her with a small smile.

Luna froze, startled. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll show you.” He handed her a screwdriver, holding her small hand in his for a moment to guide it into position. “Now turn it, like this. Slowly.”

She followed his instructions, her brow furrowing in concentration as she twisted the screwdriver. When the screw was snug in its place, she glanced up at him, uncertain.

“Perfect,” Claggor said, grinning. “Good job, Lu.”

From then on, she seemed to follow him around whenever he worked on repairs. He never complained, even when she slowed him down by asking too many questions or accidentally dropping tools. When she accidentally tipped over his toolbox, scattering screws and nails across the floor, she was afraid he’d be mad, and immediately scrambled to pick everything up, but he was calm about it.

“It’s okay,” Claggor said, crouching down beside her to help. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Really?” she asked, her wide eyes sceptical.

“Sure,” he said with a wink. “Once, I spilled everything right in the middle of the bar when it was full. Vander nearly tripped over me.”

That made her giggle, and Claggor grinned, satisfied.

When they weren’t fixing things, Claggor had a way of looking out for her without making a big deal out of it. If she was struggling to reach something on the counter, he’d quietly grab it for her. If Mylo’s teasing got a little too much, Claggor would step in with a simple “Knock it off, Mylo” that usually did the trick.

And when she was too nervous to speak up during one of their mealtimes, it was Claggor who noticed and slid the bread basket closer to her with an encouraging nod.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said softly. “Just take what you want. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

Even Mylo softened after a while. Though he still teased her (like most older brothers did to their younger sisters), his jokes became less sharp and more playful. One night, when they were all sitting at the table for dinner, Mylo leaned back in his chair, tossing a pickle from his plate to hers.

“Trade you,” he said.

“For what?” Luna asked cautiously, looking down at the pickle as though it might bite her.

“Nothing. I just don’t like pickles.” He grinned and added, “And you look like you do.”

She wrinkled her nose but took the pickle anyway, nibbling at the edge. Mylo smirked, satisfied, and went back to his meal. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it made her giggle—the first time she’d done so around him.

He remembered his first weeks after Vander had taken him in; he hadn’t been used to having a roof, a bed, food on the table… He had been unsure about everything at first, masking it with roughness and sharp bites whenever someone spoke up to him about it. And although he had grown into a teaser and he thought it was funny to annoy others from time to time, he also wanted to help Luna feel more at ease. He didn’t stop teasing her completely, but the edge in his voice softened. He’d say things like, “Careful, squirt, don’t trip over your own feet,” when she hesitated on the stairs, only to add, “Here, hold the rail like this,” as he showed her how to climb them more confidently.

When she joined the group to watch him and Claggor play cards, he scooted over to give her a better view of the game, though he kept up a running commentary that made her giggle.

“See, Lu, Claggor’s terrible at this. Don’t ever take advice from him about cards,” Mylo said, leaning close as though sharing a great secret.

“Hey!” Claggor protested.

“It’s true,” Mylo shot back, grinning.

“Don’t listen to him Lu, he cheats all the time!”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!”

Luna only giggled.

One night, as the bar quieted down and they all sat around in the warm, dim light, Mylo noticed her watching him and Powder play a game with a set of battered dice.

“Wanna play?” he asked suddenly, holding up the dice.

Luna blinked. “I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll teach you.” He scooted over to make room for her on the bench, motioning for her to sit beside him. “Okay, so here’s how it works...” For the first few rounds, Luna struggled to keep up, biting her lip in concentration as she tried to understand the rules. Mylo teased her lightly when she made mistakes, but he always followed it up with a quick explanation or a playful grin to show he wasn’t serious.

“See? You’re getting it,” he said after she won her first round. “You might even be better than Powder soon.” Powder protested, glaring at him. “What? Just saying.”

Luna smiled, her confidence growing. It kind of broke the ice. By the end of her first week, she started to feel less like an outsider and more like she belonged, giggling and smiling more often.

By the end of her first week, Luna started to feel less like an outsider and more like she belonged.

It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t always easy, but every little moment helped her feel a bit more at home. The way Powder had smiled at her the first time she handed her a piece of bread. How Mylo had tried to teach her how to throw a rock just right in the alley, despite her clumsy attempts. Claggor’s quiet approval when she helped wash the dishes, and even the rare chuckles from Vi when she managed to get something just right in the makeshift kitchen.

But more than anything, it was Vander’s presence that made her feel like she was becoming part of something.

Every night, when the bar quieted down, and the sounds of the busy day faded into a quiet hum, Vander would make time for the kids. Late in the evening, when the others would be settling into their cots, murmuring amongst themselves or falling asleep with their heads buried under old blankets, Luna always waited for the moment when Vander would sit beside her bed, asking her about her day.

It was something she had come to look forward to, the time when the world outside faded away, and she could focus on something—someone—who made her feel like she wasn’t alone in this strange new world.

Luna hugged her blanket tight against her chest, the edges worn and soft. It was a gift from Powder, who had insisted she take it when Luna had no blankets of her own one of the first nights she had spent with them.

“They’re loud,” Luna said quietly, her voice unsure, her eyes still darting over to where the others were gathering nearby, talking and laughing in their own chaotic way. “But… they’re nice.”

Vander’s gaze softened as he watched her, his expression full of quiet understanding. He leaned a little closer, his large frame casting a comforting shadow over her bed. “They are,” he said with a small smile. “They’re your family now, Lu. You’ll see. They’ve got your back.”

Family.

The word seemed so big, so final. Luna didn’t fully understand it. She thought of the people she had met before, the ones who had taken her in for a night or two, fed her scraps, and then sent her away when their patience ran out. But there was something different about Vander’s words. They felt warm, like the sun on a cool day. Not demanding, not overwhelming, but steady.

Luna tucked herself deeper into the blanket Powder had given her, the edges soft against her skin. She glanced over at the others, who were talking about something she didn’t fully understand, but they weren’t laughing at her, or ignoring her. Powder was saying something about a machine she wanted to make with some metal scraps Claggor had given her, her voice animated as she waved her hands explaining it excitedly while Mylo told her to shut up and let him sleep.

Vander’s voice, calm and reassuring, pulled her back to the present. “We’re your family now,” he repeated, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her face. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, not anymore.”

The word didn’t seem as strange anymore. Family.

It felt safe. It felt like belonging. It felt right.

[sierrabravoecho]

I just finsihed None But the Lonely Heart by OccasionalAvenger after seeing your fic rec and loved it even though i dont read much jamie x brienne centric stories.

Do you have any other fic recs from asoiaf/got?

Omg yay I’m so glad you liked it!

If you enjoyed None But the Lonely Heart in terms of setting, here are a few more in-universe fics you might enjoy:

I'm dying to be born again by angel_deux

After the wars are done, Daenerys is queen of the six kingdoms. Jon and Sansa Stark rule the north. And Jaime serves as a hostage in Kings Landing to ensure his brother's good behavior. When Tyrion schemes to see Jaime married off and removed from the city, Jaime is allowed to choose his wife.

He should be happier that the woman he loves is quick to accept his proposal. Except maybe it's too quick. And she just says, "all right". And she calls it sensible.

Bound by the Things We Choose by winterkill

Jaime's pretty certain he would remember standing across from the dour, hulking Maid of Tarth and swearing to be with her until the end of his days.

Personally, I love an AU. These are the ones I always return to:

Light a fire, burn up all you know by brynnmck

When rich, arrogant Jaime Lannister swans into Brienne's dad's diner and spends the whole time making out with his rude stepsister, Brienne couldn't be more relieved that she'll probably never have to see either one of them again. The only problem is, over the next 15 years, Jaime keeps coming back.

Or: five letters that Brienne burned, and one she didn't.

Same Time, Next Year by angelowl

“I’m Jaime,” he says, his eyes gleaming with laughter.

There’s a wicked edge to his mirth that makes Brienne wonder if it’s her freakishness that’s the butt of his joke so she spins on her heel and stiffly marches away.

After that, Jaime inexplicably keeps seeking her out.

The Dark, Dread Toyshop by Miss_M

The summer she turns sixteen, Brienne suffers a grave loss. She and her siblings are forced to move in with their Uncle Tywin and his sons, who own a fabulous and eerie toyshop. Sexual awakenings occur, dark family secrets are revealed, and puppet theatre echoes real life.

Baby I Will by sdwolfpup

When a country singer with a stripper's name and a model's looks strolls into Selwyn's bar to perform one Tuesday night, bartender Brienne isn't sure what to expect. What they both end up with is so much more than they bargained for.

Brienne, Plain and Tall by greenmtwoman

Farmer with two children and substantial property in the West seeks a wife. Requirements are honesty, sobriety, a strong back and a thick skin. A practical arrangement will be made. Beauty is unnecessary and intimacy not expected. Interested parties should contact Mr. Jaime Lannister, Casterly Farm.

Did this Mr. Lannister want a wife or a hired hand? But in either case what did she have to lose?

Or if you’re in the mood for some longer-form reading, these are amazing:

The Lion, The Wench, and the Wardrobe Trailer by GilShalos1

Jaime Lannister’s entire acting career has been built on playing reckless cads and heartless villains – ever since a scandalous death on his first film, Kingslayer, was quickly hushed up at his father’s behest. Nearly fifteen years later, acclaimed director Olenna Tyrell has announced her retirement: after one last film, Oathkeeper, inspired by the mythic story of the Long Night. She wants Jaime to do what he does so well, play into his on-screen persona and off-screen reputation, and be a villain for the ages in her final film. But to make sure his infamous ways don’t interfere with production, she requires his personal assistant to keep him on the straight, narrow and sober. Brienne Tarth, in her first job on a film set, finds herself tasked with keeping the impossible Jaime Lannister under control …

Heart Full of Gasoline by sdwolfpup

Jaime Lannister is a Formula 1 driver with a sordid past, dubious future, and nothing left to lose as he hits the far edge of his career. He thinks all he wants is the world championship title he’s never quite been able to reach and to finally give up smoking. What he finds to his great surprise is what he really wants might be Brienne Tarth.

Brienne Tarth is an unknown mechanic eager to make the jump to the big time of Formula 1. When Jaime hires her as Chief Mechanic for his team of misfits, she discovers she’s ready for the work, but is she ready for Jaime?

[orions-choker]

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Serial Killers, Murder, Obsessions, Yandere tendencies, more to be added.

Chapter Eight

“You really think right now is the most important time to be taking me on this date?” Y/N asked with a soft huff as Kirk’s hand rested in the crook of her elbow, guiding her down the cracked pavement. The streets were dead as usual lately. She missed back in high school when things were lively downtown, filled with raucous laughter from teenagers and the disgruntled mumblings of the annoyed elderly. She felt almost stupid being out here.

Kirk smiled down at her, her eyes catching on the small sharp crooked tooth that nestled between his canine and front teeth. A flush warmed her cheeks, he was impossibly cute. “Y/N you can’t completely shut down your life, who knows how long it's going to be until they catch this creep you can't hide forever.” He said in an attempt to be encouraging. But she could, she could hide forever if she tried hard enough probably. “And I promised you I was taking you on a date.”

She could crawl into her parents bed, nestled between them the way she used to when she was six with her dog in her arms, have them protect her from the cruel intentions of the world outside. Hell based on the way the streets looked right now that's what most people were doing. Kirk seemed ever fearless though, she couldn't tell if she was impressed or unsettled by the way he just…didn’t seem to care about all of this. “Yeah well, going to see a horror movie right now seems like a bit of a tone deaf date idea don’t you think?” She asked, her eyes wearily glazed over a missing person poster tacked to one of the telephone poles. It was one of many, this girl had been found…she supposed her parents didn’t have the strength to come take it down.

The grip Kirk had on her arm tightened slightly as they approached the movie theatre. “Well that’s why we're going in the middle of the day, won't be scary that way.” He said nonchalantly, frowning playfully at her. “It’s a creature feature anyways, not remotely the same.” He waved his hand dismissively as he approached the teller and began purchasing their tickets.

“That’s not what I meant.” Y/N mumbled wearily as Kirk shoved an oversized popcorn into her hands. She could appreciate his carefree attitude only in the sense that it distracted her. But she was getting uncomfortable with his increasing lack of care for the situation at hand. She remembered when she first approached him in his backyard just a few weeks ago, how mature he had seemed, the way he had expressed his condolences to the victims.

She was coming to realize he was a lot less mature than he acted, she found it hard to believe that he was older than her. It was something about the way he was always smiling at her, always laughing under his breath like there was an inside joke she wasn’t in on. To top it off, his insistence that they go on this date worried her. She liked Kirk, she liked him a lot actually but dating was the last thing on her mind.

He had simply ignored her protests as they shuffled into the dark theatre. It was empty and cold, that didn't surprise her. Who in their right mind went to see a horror movie in the middle of your neighbors being slaughtered like cattle. Her and Kirk she supposed, though she wasn’t quite sure either of them were in their right mind at this point. Kirk seemed to flip on the drop of a dime between overwhelmingly playful to almost scary. She hadn’t missed the possessive primal look in his eyes when he didn’t think she was looking.

Initially it had excited her, made her feel a bit warm and fuzzy to think he was that interested in her. “Relax baby, I got you, remember?” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He didn’t really need to whisper no one else was in here. Maybe she was a little messed up in the head in the fact that it seemed to comfort her. She leaned her head against his shoulder as the lights from the screen began to illuminate their faces.

Suddenly Kirk's hand was on her cheek, guiding her face up towards him as he pressed his lips to hers. Her whole body went limp as she kissed him back. She had quickly grown addicted to these metallic cigarette flavored kisses. She pushed up the arm rest in between their seats that had been separating them as she leaned further into him. Yeah she was messed up, making out with him in this empty theatre to the backdrop of blood curdling screams and monstrous growls. She pulled back with a soft gasp. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here, pretty sure they have cameras in here.” She whispered.

Kirk was looking at her with a flush to his cheeks, his eyes dark and lidded. There was an almost aggressive curl to his fingers against her hip. “What, it’s not like there's anything illegal about kissing.” He grunted softly as he tugged her closer. “That's all this is baby, it's okay c’mere.” His lips ghosted across hers once more. She couldn’t deny the thick sweet desperation lacing his voice. Y/N climbed into his lap a little awkwardly, restricted by the size of the theatre seats. Her hands cupped the back of his neck as she kissed him fervently.

His fingers dug almost painfully into her skin as he slid his hands up beneath her sweater, his blunt nails leaving indents in her flesh. She hissed softly against his lips but didn’t dare pull away. She almost choked as Kirk pushed his tongue into her mouth and down her throat. A soft needy whine coiled up from her throat, drowned between the soft smacking of their lips together. Her lips were swollen and bruised by the time the end credits to the movie rolled. The only thing interrupting the two of them was the brightening of the theatre lights.

Hesitantly Y/N crawled off him, leaning down to rub at her cramping calves. She watched as Kirk not so subtly adjusted himself in his jeans, his hand slipping beneath the waistband to tug his hardened length up flat against his stomach so it was less noticeable. It was lewd, the movements and her mouth went dry. “You should wash your hands after touching your dick.” She chastised him instead.

He blinked at her and laughed, a sweet airy sound. She was completely enamored with him in spite of his…concerning behavior. “You serious Y/N?” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they left the empty theatre back out into the lobby. “Did you wash your mouth out after you sucked me off the other night?” He whispered teasingly to her.

“What!” She sputtered, looking up at him with wide eyes. An embarrassed flush rising to her cheeks. “I- Yes I did!” She protested softly as he continued to laugh at her. “Oh my god Kirk you can’t just say things like that.” She covered her face in embarrassment, as if the two pathetic workers in the building could possibly hear the conversation they were having right now.

There was a soft kiss planted on her temple as Kirk’s laughter died down. ”Jesus Y/N calm down you look you’re about to combust.” He shook his head, his wild dark curls bouncing softly. “You don’t have to be so shy around me, as cute as it is.” He pressed her closer against his side as they made their way back to his car. “How about we get takeout and head back to my place.”

As Y/N slid into his passenger seat she eyes his glove box wearily. She wondered if that knife was still in there. The silver gleam still fresh in her mind…why did he keep that in his car. Self defense seemed highly unlikely who keeps a butcher's knife for self defense. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I don’t know Kirk, I think my parents want me back home, I’ve been at yours all weekend.” She sighed. Since that phone call two nights ago she had been spending the night at Kirks. Her parents were less than pleased but were comforted by the fact at least she was right next door, they couldn't really do much to stop her anyways.

Kirk had a tight grip on her thigh as he started the car. “You don’t have to spend the night again, just…hang out with me a little longer. This is a date is it not?” He grunted, he was trying to keep it playful but she could hear the genuine aggravated tone in his voice. This was a date she supposed, a bit of a…odd one. She hadn’t even really agreed to it, kirk had sort of just woken her up and insisted she come with him.

“Yeah, okay.” Y/N relented with a soft sigh as she relaxed beneath his touch, his fingers grinding into the soft flesh of her thigh through her jeans. His touches were always so hard and aggressive, his kisses soft and fleeting. It was a balance she was struggling to figure out. “I think I just want a drink, I don’t have much of an appetite lately.” She rested her head back against the seat.

It was hard to miss the way Kirk's face lit up as she agreed to stick around him a bit longer. She didn’t really pay attention to where he had stopped to get food. Her eyes were trained on his figure as he disappeared into the shop. Quickly she leaned forward popping open the glove box. There it was tucked in the back beneath his insurance papers. Her hand gripped the handle gingerly as she tugged it forward to get a better look, It was discolored along the razor sharp edge, it almost looked rusty.

A sick feeling settled its way into the pit of her stomach. She flipped it over a couple of times in her hand. Why was…Her eyes caught sight of something else, an earring? She pushed the knife back beneath the papers, nestled into its poorly concealed hiding place. She pinched the silver hoop between her fingers and closed the glove box once more. Kirk has his ears pierced sure but this was unmistakably a woman's earring. A large glimmering silver hoop, she laid it flat in her palm as she stared down at it.

It wasn’t hers, she knew that much. Kirk’s moms maybe? She didn’t ever recall seeing the woman wear anything quite like this before though. An ex fling, a random hookup? For some reason that thought made her stomach twist even more uncomfortably. Why did Kirk have this, why did he have that knife. She jumped lightly as she heard the driver door open again, her hand quickly clasping around the earring as she looked up at Kirk with a surprised smile.

“Woah, jumpy much?” He teased her, placing the plastic takeout bags in her lap. Her heart was hammering wildly beneath her ribcage, she had almost been caught snooping again, she could remember the way he snapped at her when she opened his glovebox the last time. “You good?” he asked a little softer this time, noticing the distant look on her face.

Quickly Y/N shook her head, snapping herself out of the daze. “Oh yeah I’m fine, sorry just zoned out while you were gone.” She lied quickly as she smiled brightly at him. She could feel the silver hoop burning against her skin, reminding her of its presence in her fist. It felt heavy, like it carried the weight of hundreds of sins, she couldn’t let go of it. Discreetly she slipped it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Thanks for the milkshake.”

Kirk hummed and nodded. “Mhm, got you Oreo, your favorite.” He smiled, his hand returning to its rightful place on her thigh, like it belonged there, like he owned it. Oreo was her favorite, she didn’t know how he knew that though. She was almost positive it had never come up. It was almost an undetectable slip up, but she was hyper aware. Something was seriously wrong, with all of this, with Kirk. She should have been scared, should have pried a little further into him before she had gotten so comfortable with his presence. But instead she relaxed under his touch and looked up at him softly and she smiled.

“Yeah, it is my favorite.”

[stellarbit]

(Is this where requests are submitted? Hope so!)

1000 followers! I can’t even fathom that. Well done!

Was hoping for a SFW using “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” Female in the periphery of 501st (mech/nurse/comms) who is on the quieter side. Hanging out with the usual mouthy suspects (playing sabacc or watching a game) as the boys throw insults and tease each other. She throws in the occasional pointed zinger and it gets their attention. Then it’s on! Playful banter ensues. An intellectual “geeky girl takes off her glasses and is finally noticed” feel. Thank you for considering my request.

Thank youuuuuu for the request. This was super fun but WARNING I don't actually understand sabacc so beware I winged it a lil.

All Bets Are Off

Word Count: 2.2k Pairing: platonic 501st x fem!reader Warnings: insinuation of gambling and bad portrayal of sabacc Summary: Jesse, Kix, Dogma, Tup, and Fives decide to play sabacc after finding you tinkering away alone. Dogma can't win, probably doesn't know how to, and you decide to lend a hand.

General Skywalker left much of his plans for the upcoming mission to the imagination of the 501st. All preparations that could be made with the few details given were already put into motion - leaving you and your squad with ample time to kill on the Resolute.

The General personally recruited you after your help decrypting Separatist communications during a mission on your home planet. You’d been hesitant at first, having no combat experience and the desire for a quiet life, but accepted regardless.

The men of the 501st battalion did their best to put you at ease and yet, even after a few weeks with them, you still sat in an adjustment period. Not that that stopped them from loitering around you in their downtime. You were their first taste of female attention that wasn’t Jedi, though, they’d never admit it. In return you were boundlessly entertained by the clones, though, you rarely showed it.

Having come upon you tinkering with a broadband transceiver, Jesse, Kix, Fives, Tup, and Dogma took up a game of sabacc to ‘keep you company’, as they put it. All the while, you snuck glances from the sidelines. Three rounds in and Jesse was on top with Dogma sourly coming in last. 

“Admit it, Dogma, you don’t even know how to play.” Jesse laughed, triumphantly splaying out his cards on the table.

A chorus of groans rounded the group, accentuated by Dogma slamming a hand on the table. Quickly on his feet, Dogma jabbed an accusatory finger across the table. “I know how to play. You’re just getting lucky.” He curled his lip and harshly gestured to Tup who sat beside him. “I bet he isn’t even shuffling correctly!”

One corner of your lips tipped into a smirk. Dogma may have been wrong about Tup’s shuffling, but, at least for where you sat, it did seem luck fueled Jesse’s winning streak.

Tup swept his hands around the table, gathering the cards for another round. Ever the patient man, Tup only shook his head at his brother’s accusation. Kix, on the other hand, would never miss an opportunity to rile his tightly wound brother. 

Smirking, the medic leaned over the table, tauntingly saying, “If you’re so sure, maybe you should deal next.” Tup smiled, nodded, and offered the deck to Dogma. His suggestion only further annoyed Dogma, who pointedly shoved Tup’s hand away. 

As Tup started divvying out the cards, Kix continued, “And you’ll need a bigger tattoo to hide those tells, mate.” You paused your work solely to catch the predictable, red tint Dogma’s face took on.

“You’re one to talk,” Fives retorted with a chuckle, glancing at his first card and then smirking mischievously at Kix. “You couldn’t bluff your way out of a paper bag.”

“How do you-”

Jesse cut Kix short, “You pick up an extra card every time you think you’ve got a good hand.” The entire table murmured in humored agreement before settling into determined silence once the cards were dealt. 

It was funny, you thought, how they pestered one another. They really were brothers at the core of it all. 

Your hands remained still as you dialed in on the game. Initially, you drowned out their commotion during the first round. By the end of the second round, you were purposely eavesdropping - which might not have been the right word considering they’d stepped in on your work as opposed to the other way around. In the last round you’d started tracking who laid down what, correctly predicting Jesse’s win. You’d been counting their cards.

As the next round started you didn’t see the harm in possibly lending poor Dogma a little help. You were sure that Tup was right in Dogma’s knowledge of the game, but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a little boost. 

Nonchalantly positioning yourself for a view of the whole table, you kept an eye on the cards going around. It seemed that Jesse’s streak might finally break, and fortune was turning in Dogma’s favor.

Confident the other men had equally as bad hands, or worse, than him, you nearly turned away until Dogma started reaching for the draw pile. Hoping to stop him, you purposely scraped your spanner into the device in hand. By chance, the noise stalled him enough to glance towards you.

In a subtle second, you gave a discouraging shake of your head. His eyes stayed on you, albeit with a suspicious glint, as he retracted his hand. Dogma was in no way subtle and his obtuse reaction, just like all of his other tells, was not lost on his squad. You were back to looking busy by the time heads turned your way.

The moment the men returned their attention to the game you followed suit. For reasons unknown to you, Dogma maintained a frustrated expression despite the fact that you knew he had the lowest count hand. At that point, you were certain - he had no clue what the point of the game was or what it took to win. 

The round came to an end when Tup passed on his turn. It was Dogma’s best chance at winning and luckily Dogma did you the favor of looking your way without signal. You quickly mouthed ‘call’ before the others caught on. 

Tup did lean back in search of Dogma’s distraction, surprised to find you spectating. A small smile was all it took for Tup to shrug off his suspicions.

“Call.” Dogma announced with more confidence than you’d expected. 

The table erupted in mild laughter, with Kix nudging Jesse playfully. Jesse leaned forward, eyebrow raised skeptically. "You're bluffing."

"I second that," Kix chimed in. "No way I'm folding."

"Not a chance," Jesse added.

"And what keeps catching your eye?" Fives turned sharply, his suspicion fading as soon as he saw you. Leaning back with a relaxed grin, he draped an arm over the back of his chair. "Didn’t think you’d be interested in card games," he teased. “Or take you for a gambling woman.”

Catching the curious glances from the group, you shrugged lightly, your voice laced with feigned boredom, “Oh, I don’t gamble.” Setting aside the transceiver with the same small smile you gave Tup. “That’s for people who need luck.”

A round of “oohs” filtered through the group, each of the clones smirking to one another.

Fives’ head dipped, clearly amused by the jab. “That’s some big talk.” He nodded again to the table at this back. “Alright then, you tell us who’s going to win.”

You attempted a thoughtful frown but the edge you had on them wouldn’t let you stop smiling. “Well, I know it won’t be you.”

A sharp snort came from across the table. You and Fives peaked over at Dogma, who was finally showing some light heartedness. The smile Dogma finally wore made you feel even more confident in your interjecting. The man really needed to loosen up and you were glad to help.

Unbothered, Fives peered back at you then around the table at each of his brothers. “Not me, huh?” Slinking his arm back around he smoothly glanced at his cards once more and, with a casual flick of his wrist, exposed his hand.

Eager to see the results, you shoved out of your seat to stand at Fives’ shoulder. You were disappointed to see your prediction was a card off, but only by the suit, not the number. And, if you were right, Dogma still had the winning hand.

The others groaned and tossed their cards in. Jesse, visibly knocked down a peg, clicked his tongue and shoved his cards in Tup’s direction. The motion turned the cards face up and revealed a hand that lost to both Fives and Dogma.

You eyed the cards Tup gathered before looking over at Dogma. He had an iron grip on his two cards and an odd expression pinching his face. It was a mix between worry, confusion, and forced composure. Altogether it would be best described as outright discomfort.

Sighing, you relaxed with your head cocked to the side. Pointing over at him you nodded, “Go on Dogma,” you paused, shoring up the courage to join their ribbing. “Show them what it’s like to lose.”

Tup laughed heartily, stopped organizing the cards to give Dogma a sarcastic pat on the shoulder. “Yeah, c’mon Dogma. Show us.”

Instead of shoving Tup off, Dogma smacked his cards down in front of him. He kept the faces hidden beneath his hand for a suspenseful moment before unveiling his winning hand.

Dogma’s discomfort melted away as Tup’s sarcasm turned congratulatory while the others scoffed about Dogma’s luck.

In a show of disbelief, Jesse snapped his head in your direction. His tattoo was distorted by the severe pinching of his brows. “How’d you know he was going to win?” 

Fives leaned in on his elbows, waving a dismissive hand. “Everyone gets a little lucky.” The dismissal bit into your pride, a slight you wouldn’t let pass.

Bringing your face to his level, you purred to Fives, “Like I said, I don’t need luck Corporal.” You mimicked Tup’s gentle pat to the shoulder as you straightened back out. “If you must know, it’s called ‘counting cards’.”

“You counted the cards?” Kix leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, and wearing an incredulous grin. “From over there?” He exchanged a shake of his head with Jesse beside him.

In a voice that was more impressed than incredulous Jesse said, “It does seem like a reach.”

“You’re just mad that you lost.” Dogma interjected, sending a reassuring nod your way. Out of his squad, he’d been the least personable with you up to that point. Not that his struggle with the softer touches of rapport building ever offended you, it just made the small display of kindness stand out more than it would coming from the others.

Unfortunately, his newfound endearance put you on the spot when he followed up by saying, “In fact, I bet she’d wipe the floor with you lot.” 

Dogma wasn’t smiling at you as his brothers turned fully on you, but he was positively brimming with pure confidence in you. He was so much easier to win over than you’d expected and yet, for all he knew, you could’ve just gotten lucky. His borderline blind faith was concerning as it was flattering.

“Well…” Your voice trailed off as the weight of their expectant smiles settled in.

Fives shifted completely around in his chair, soaking up the awkward twinge in your smile. “I’ll take that bet.”

Something about the way his eyebrow quirked up at you in challenge made your stomach flip. For the sake of your sanity you hoped it was born from friendly competition as opposed to charm. 

Sucking on a tooth, you gave it one last thought and rolled your eyes. “If you want to go broke that badly, I won’t say no.” 

Your compliance, reluctant as you tried to make it seem, roused another round of cheering from the men. Fives and Jesse gladly scooted apart, making way as you drug a chair over. 

While you settled in, Tup chuckled as he began shuffling the cards, “If we’d known you liked sabacc, we’d have made you join ages ago.”

Brushing off nonexistent dust from your sleeve you replied, “If I’d known you were this easy to beat I’d have joined ages ago.” Earning their jovial reactions was weirdly satisfying and made you a little annoyed you hadn’t warmed up sooner.

“Alright, alright. Enough chatter.” Fives said in a warm tone. He sat close enough that he only had to lean over slightly to bump into you. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is, Shorty.”

Your face heated a bit, neck nearly snapping as you looked up at him. Jesse’s laugh cut you off as you tried to refute the moniker. You weren’t quick enough in turning on Jesse before Kix piped up.

“You are shorter than, well, all of us.”

Even Dogma seemed amused by their joking with you. For him, it probably felt nice for the center of the joking to just not be him for a while. And… it didn’t feel bad either to get the same treatment as they all did.

Despite scoffing to yourself, there was no hiding your enjoyment. A feeling had been bubbling in you through the entire interaction and, without warning, you started laughing loudly and genuinely. Unbeknownst to you, as eager as you were to keep them laughing, seeing your real smile for the first time made the 501st boys just as determined to keep you smiling.

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.” You mumbled as the laughter subsided.

“Ahh, stick with us and I’ll bet you’ll be sick of it.” Tup said, earning an agreeable mumble from the rest of his brothers.

You shrugged, unconvinced. “I’ll take that bet.”

tags: @bruh-myguy-what @baddest-batchers @jetii @hshfsjzjsgj @zahmaddog