#it was even more meaningful than i expected

[thescriptorium]

thinking about caitlyn kiramman and how her lack of words are so detrimental to the end shape of her character. cait doesn’t say “i’m sorry” when Vi yells at her about being Ambessa’s puppet, she yells “i know” because she’s intelligent enough to see the spiral of events but not enough to know how to stop it. she doesn’t say “i’m sorry” but the very next scene she attempts to make peace with jinx. she doesn’t say “i’m sorry” but she calls off the guards so Vi can secretly try to save her sister—a terrible plan but one that Vi needs to do.

caitlyn isn’t surprised to find that jinx escaped. she expects Vi to be locked away by her sister so that she won’t chase her. because that’s the doomed tragedy of them.

everyone knows Jinx can’t be saved except for Vi.

Vi wants so badly to believe her love will somehow save her sister but it never will. her fatal flaw is that she will always try and she will always fail. and then caitlyn knows Vi will unjustly blame herself, so she’s there at the cells to ground her and remind her that this is how it’s always been. you’re getting predictable.

and then vi finally understands that caitlyn pulled all the strings for this. that she gave her another chance to open a cell and go after her sister, even knowing it would never work. it’s an apology and it’s cait saying “i know who you are.”

caitlyn kiramman doesn’t use words, she takes meaningful action because she’s only half the charismatic councilor her mother wanted her to be. she’s grown up an outsider and keeps a careful mask for everyone except violet, which is why season one opened her up so magically. she’s naturally stoic and reserved but she’s bold.

and then vi has to kiss her right then in the cells. because meaningful action means so much more than words to someone like her, who just wants to be of service to the people she loves. what caitlyn did was a reciprocation of her love language. and then Vi acts more by instantly showing her love, giving caitlyn all her love, because she’s the only person in this story willing to accept it. without hurt or heartbreak, vi can pour this massive heart she has into the only hands capable of understanding it. of being tender with it.

because caitlyn knows that vi is devoted to such a massive fault, but it doesn’t deserve to be punished. not any longer.

caitlyn kiramman doesn’t use words, but she keeps the burden of jinx locked away in her heart. all so that vi can finally know what a safe home and peace feels like ♥️ AUGH

[heeseungiez]

nothing i don’t have | pjs (1)

pairings! park jongseong x reader, ft. huening kai x reader

summary! it was supposed to be simple, you and jay would fuck whenever either of you felt horny — no feelings. but it was hard not to catch feelings where park jongseong was involved. so you took the easy way out: you ended it.

genre! texts, written fic, college au, love triangle (corner)

word count! 1500

content warnings! swearing, jay is delulu and jealous

author's note! toenze is my new roman empire... i don't think i'll ever shut up about it. also realistically i'm only posting this bc yolo since i have nothing ???

masterlist | next

It didn’t affect Jay anyhow, really. That you ended whatever the two of you had for another guy. Like, this was all just casual. And you still wanted to be friends which was exactly what the two of you were before… so not much had to change between the two of you. Other than, well, the lack of physical intimacy.

He didn’t care, really. It wasn’t like you were the only girl he hooked up with (you were) or that he couldn’t get any other girls, but… you ending the situationship was kind of exactly why he liked you. Because you understood everything was casual and there were no expectations, no feelings. The others, they always got attached.

And, look, Jay understood that maybe he was being too nice or whatever, but it was in his nature to help out when necessary, or to cook for people in the morning — it wasn’t like he made breakfast only for those girls anyway. He had roommates to feed, too.

You ended the deal because you had no feelings for him. Which was exactly what he wanted. So why the fuck did it bother him so much? And for Huening Kai, no less? The tall emo kid that barely spoke and people thought he was being mysterious or whatever.

What could you possibly see in him?

What did he have that Jay didn’t?

Jay let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixated on the conversation between you and him. So Huening Kai asked you out. And you liked him enough to say yes. That was certainly not on his bingo card. Realistically, he thought the type of guys you liked were someone like Sung Hanbin or Choi Soobin or… him. Not Huening Kai. 

What the hell?

“What’s up? Someone steal your cat?” Heeseung entered the shared living room with a grin. Jay had to dryly laugh at the irony of his question since, in a way, yes.

“Nah. It’s Y/N,” Jay replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wants to be just friends.”

“Damn, got tired of you already?” Heeseung teased, but he knew not to go further when Jay’s scathing glare nearly burned him. “What did she say?”

“Huening Kai asked her out and she said yes.” Jay shook his head. You and Kai weren’t even dating yet, and you already wanted to be exclusive with him? Why? Who even does that?

“Oh, Kai? He’s got music classes with me,” Heeseung said with a grin. “He knows how to play like five instruments. He’s kinda cool. A band kid, too. Pretty sure he has a band.” Jay didn’t need to know any of that. Not yet anyway. And then Heeseung added: “I think he was planning to ask Y/N out for a while. I caught him asking around about her once.”

Jay clenched his jaw. How long had you been talking to Kai before he asked you out? Was it out of nowhere or did you befriend him before? Which gave him another reason to be upset because if you did befriend him before, you didn’t tell Jay anything. In fact, you hadn’t been telling him anything about yourself or your life for a while now.

Which stung.

“Kai’s a good guy. You should be happy for her.” Heeseung made a point, giving Jay a long, meaningful look. There was more he wanted to express, but chose to not push his limits. 

Jay huffed.

Thinking about it, maybe he’d have actually preferred it if you were in love with him.

Upon entering the Sanctuary Café, you noticed that it was already packed. But you were instantly recognised by Taehyun, who greeted you with a bright smile and led you toward a table that was empty, save for your reservation. It was in front of the stage set up for live performances, and it occurred to you then that Kai’s surprise was very likely just that. He prepared a performance for you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the stage. It had a full instrument set up for a band. Drums, bass, keyboard and an electric guitar. The sight of it made you think of Jay for a bit, but you shook your head and got rid of the thought.

This would be your first date with Kai. The boy who actually doesn’t only want to sleep with you, but also wants to do everything else that real relationships include. Like holding hands and hugging in public and being affectionate without being judged. (The things you wished you could’ve had from Jay.)

A group of three guys entered the stage, none of which were Huening Kai. They glanced toward your table every now and then with a knowing smile, though. You watched them set up their instruments — the guitarist, the bassist and keyboardist. But the drums were empty. 

Because of course, he knew how to play the drums. He was a genius that never flaunted his skills, and the reality of it hit you just now. Huening Kai was a drummer — which was actually sexy as hell.

“Hello, everyone, welcome to the Sanctuary Café,” the guitarist spoke into the microphone with the largest smile. He had a cute dimple as well, and you thought he perfectly fit Kai — whenever he wasn’t closing in on himself. “I’m Kim Taerae, lead singer and guitarist of our band, Toenze. We’ve prepared a very special performance today because one of our members wants to dedicate it to a special girl.”

A round of awes went through the crowd. You looked around in hopes of catching a glance of Kai, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, your eyes locked with a person you did not expect to see today — at all.

Jay stood at the back of the café with Heeseung by his side, and you wished you could unsee him. Your heartbeat raced, and your mind felt like you needed to come up to him and apologise. But what would you even be apologising for?

“On my left is our bassist, Choi Beomgyu, and on the keyboard, you’ve got Han Yujin. And, of course, we’re missing a key member — the drummer,” Taerae spoke lightly, his smile hearable in his voice. “Some of you already know him from our previous performances, but for those who have yet to meet him — please give a round of applause to Huening Kai!”

Kai wasn’t even inside the café. He entered through the main door in a dark grey hoodie, the hood covering his face. The whole shop held its breath as he looked up. And when his eyes met yours, a smile spread across his lips. Taking off his hood, he revealed his face and carefully styled bangs. 

From the pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a bouquet, and when he aimed through the crowd toward you, your heart nearly melted. All thoughts of Jay being here, too, evaporated from your mind. All you could think about was Huening Kai, looking beautiful as ever, heading toward you with a bouquet of flowers.

“For you, my lady.” He knelt down to hand you the flowers, and you stared at him with wide eyes. Grinning, he winked before standing up and heading toward the stage, leaving you absolutely flustered and frozen in place.

“Hello, everyone! This performance is dedicated to the girl that didn’t reject me. It’s for you, Y/N,” he said into the mic jokingly, but there was a hidden meaning behind his words.

The memory of how he asked you out lingered, and you giggled. You could still picture him, approaching you with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans. And then he asked you, in the most embarrassing way possible, if you were dating Jay. The smile that spread on his lips when you said that what you had with Jay was only casual was an unforgettable sight, really.

“I can make you forget him,” was Kai’s closing argument, and the confidence with which he had said it sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t possibly reject him then.

Jay’s glare was palpable. You could feel it at the back of your neck, but you ignored him. Why was he glaring at you anyway? If there were no feelings involved, he shouldn’t care about any of this. 

“The first song we prepared for today is called Higher Than Heaven,” Taerae informed the crowd. “And the second song is Kill the Romeo. Hope you guys like them!”

Both songs were amazing, and both conveyed one pretty clear message: I’m better than him. You couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy yourself while Kai’s band performed. They were good — really good. And eventually, you even stopped sensing Jay’s gaze burning through you. 

Naturally, you turned around to check on the spot where Jay had previously been. Except he wasn’t there. Instead, you were met with Heeseung, who shrugged when he noticed you looking at him.

“He left,” Heeseung mouthed.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (X – ADAR)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST ALTERNATIVE ENDING (SAURON)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You are trying your best to support Adar even when his own children are starting to doubt him. Another challenge that you must face is him learning about your secret.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — First of all, thank you so much for your comments under every part and your support because this fic (and this fandom) was what brought back my joy for writing! 😊 This part is less canon-like than the alternative ending where The Reader chooses Sauron but I just had to give them a happy ending here! 🥰 BTW, I was googling the Elven word for "mother" and I hope I used the right one because there were so many... 😫

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 4,450

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (X – ADAR)

You spent the rest of the day and half of the night inside the forest, in your new favourite place, feeling uneasy. Alone, just in case Sauron wanted to reach out to you again. But he was not making such attempts and it was making you anxious more than ever. His wrath was something you did not want to experience yourself and you knew very well that you had earned it.

Nervously fidgeting with the wedding band around your finger, you were sitting there by the fallen tree and listening to the sounds of the battle taking place nearby. Once more, you felt like sneaking back into the camp, stealing your own horse and running away to some place where no one knew you. But you knew you could not. You had to face the consequences of your actions.

Eventually, you took a deep breath in and decided to find Adar. You needed him close to feel safe and secure again because your anxiety was growing bigger and bigger with each given moment.

You found him near your shared tent, surrounded by the Orcs, small fires to light the path and all the war machines that made you realise how truly close you were to the battle indeed and how serious the situation was.

As you were approaching Adar from one side, you spotted Glûg walking up to him from the opposite one, with some of his friends standing behind as if they were waiting for him to speak to their Lord Father in the name of them all.

“Lord Father,” Glûg started just when you stood next to your husband and wrapped your trembling hands around his arm, happy that he was still there; that Sauron’s rage had not taken him away from you just yet. “The wall is stronger than we thought,” Glûg continued with his head slightly bowed down. “We may not breach it before morning. The Elf is faring better than you expected,” he added. “His troops have already destroyed five of our trebuchets. Many Uruk are dying,” he emphasised, his voice filled with pain and fear. “What are your orders, Lord Father? Shall we sound retreat?”

“No,” Adar’s answer was quick, nearly harsh. It caused a shiver to go down your spine as you watched with interest the conversation between him and his son. “Sauron must not escape,” Adar stated and turned around in your direction, putting his arm around your back to walk you inside the tent. “Bring down that wall. At any cost,” he added.

“Adar!” Glûg exclaimed and you exchanged a meaningful look with your husband. There was desperation but also a hint of disappointment mixed with anger in the Orc’s voice. You both froze and turned around to face him once more. “You told us… You loved us,” Glûg reminded his father in the Black Speech and your heart clenched inside your chest at his words that you could understand perfectly well now.

“With all that is left of my heart,” Adar answered with pain but also determination in his voice. Too much to let you become Sauron’s slaves.”

There was no answer from Glûg or any of the Orcs, so Adar left your side and went inside the tent. You hesitated at the sight of their faces, though. Their expressions did not mean anything good.

“Glûg, my dear, come here,” you approached him and put your arm around him as you walked together into a bit more secluded place where no one else could hear you. “Can I trust you?” You asked him and he nodded after a short hesitation, visibly moved with the fact that your hand was on his arm, protectively. “In my short time by your father’s side, you and I spent a lot of time together,” you reminded him. “And I am going to tell you something that not even Adar knows,” you took a deep breath in and moved away slightly from him.

“What is it, my Lady?” He asked, curiously.

“I know Sauron,” you confessed and his eyes widened. “I met him at the dawn of this Age when I was a young maiden,” you explained. “He is no stranger to me, and believe me when I tell you… Your father wants the best for you. There are things about Sauron that he simply cannot reveal to you but he is the most dangerous spirit living amongst us. He cannot be trusted no matter what,” you told Glûg, feeling a sudden heaviness in your heart. You were betraying your lover now but how could you not under such circumstances?

Glûg’s eyes filled with fear but also admiration towards you. You trusted him with your secret and it made him feel special.

“Your father is not entirely rational now but he is doing it all because he loves you so much,” you assured the Orc and patted his arm.

“Yes, my Lady,” Glûg nodded and bowed his head down before hurrying back to his friends.

You took a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself before you would face Adar. But when you entered the tent, he was visibly nervous and angry. You glanced at the pole, to which Lady Galadriel was supposed to be chained to but she was gone.

“What happened?” You asked.

“She escaped,” Adar stood up and showed you a small Elven key Galadriel had to use to get out of her shackles. Suddenly, you realised what Herald Elrond had done while kissing her. He had managed to distract everyone from the fact he had handed her his brooch with a hidden item inside.

“My dear,” you approached him, sensing his nervousness. You placed your hands flat on his chest and tried to soothe him. “Have you ordered already to search for her?”

“Yes, I have,” Adar nodded with a sigh. “I am now going to light the pyres for our fallen children. Are you coming with me?”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded and caressed his cheek softly. “Please, do not make decisions in a haste. Whatever happens, I shall remain by your side,” you promised and he smiled gently at you.

After that, you joined him by the funeral pyre. He lit it up with a torch while saying the phrase in the Black Speech that you had heard him say many times before whenever you had been burying any deceased Orc:

“In flames they return to darkness.”

You stood above him and kept your hand on his arm while he mourned with the Orcs. You looked down sadly, too and squeezed his shoulder as he raised his hand to join your fingers together.

Glûg was standing next to you and you could feel his curious eyes watching you closely throughout the short ceremony.

The battle was getting worse and more ferocious but you remained inside the tent now, nervously patting the surface of the wooden table with your fingers. Then, suddenly, Glûg entered the tent without even announcing himself. You turned around, surprised and raised an eyebrow at him.

“My Lady,” he bowed his head. “Forgive me but I must speak with you.”

“What is it, dear?” You furrowed your brows out of worry as you hurried to his side and put your arm around him once more to invite him inside.

“I come to you because Lord Father remains deaf to my pleas,” Glûg looked into your eyes, looking for compassion.

“What pleas, darling? He will not agree to go back home. Believe me, I’ve tried,” you cracked a sad smile.

“That I know, my Lady,” he nodded. “He has just ordered to send the troll in.”

“And why does that bother you so much?” You inquired. “Have we not brought that creature here to use him in battle?”

“He is killing our own kind!” Glûg tried to protest and you gasped when you realised what truly was the matter here.

“I understand,” you squeezed his arms. “I mourn with you, my dear, I truly do,” you nodded at him and it was not even a lie. “However, we must trust your Lord Father’s orders. In every battle there are heroes who lose their life for bigger ideas; who sacrifice themselves for others. I know how painful it is but our purpose is the most important. Sauron wishes to enslave your kind,” you tried to explain to him as if he was truly a child. “We cannot let him. And every hero amongst the Uruk that loses their life today, will forever be remembered and cherished.”

Glûg looked down, sadly, but you could feel his muscles relaxing a little under your comforting touch.

“All this pain,” he glanced up again to meet your gaze as you took your hands away from him and looked at him, confused. “Why does it hurt so much, Lady Mother?” He asked and his sincerity caused your eyes to fill with tears.

“It hurts me, too, Glûg. It hurts your father as well. It hurts because we love and care,” you explained. “However, some sacrifices must be made if we want to live peacefully in the future. I wish we did not have to but you have Sauron to thank for that and him only,” you added. “Do not forget who is the one who loves you and who is your enemy,” you reminded him and he bowed his head down before leaving your tent.

And when he left and you turned around while taking a deep breath in, you realised how he had called you a few moments ago.

Lady Mother.

You smiled to yourself. Somehow, it filled you with pride to earn this title.

When the dawn came, you could no longer stay in one place. You left the tent and went deeper into the forest to hide between the tall trees. But instead of going straight to your favourite place, you took a small detour, trying to calm down your pounding heart and your shaky breath.

And while walking around like that, you found another beautiful location – a forest clearing with a stone circle that had been built there by the Elves back in the First Age most likely. What surprised you the most about this place, though, was seeing your husband kneeling by the biggest stone in the middle of the circle. And upon that stone, Morgoth’s crown was laid.

“Are you praying, my love?” You whispered nervously as you approached him from behind. You would be very surprised if he said yes.

“How blind I was…” He only said mysteriously and moved his right hand across the stone’s surface, revealing a beautiful Ring on his finger and you gasped.

It was chiming with a beautiful song of the Elves and vibrating with pure lightness. It had to be the Ring Lady Galadriel had mentioned. Her Ring.

Adar raised himself very slowly as you kept watching him with a surprised and nervous expression. When he turned around, your jaw dropped slightly at the sight of his face being healed completely from all the scars and corruption.

He looked now like an ordinary Elf; like he had been before Morgoth. Your heart ached for him and you hurried to his side, reaching your hands out to cup his cheeks but his hands stopped your wrists as he looked into your eyes with a very sad expression.

“Loneliness caused my blindness when it came to you but this Ring made me see… It made me see everything,” he revealed and your heart skipped a beat as your eyes welled with tears instantly.

“Then it surely made you see how much I love you as well,” you breathed out. “And how much I regret everything.”

“I cannot blame you,” Adar let go of your wrists but you did not dare to make an attempt to touch his face this time as you looked down with tears and shame in your eyes. “You were forced to marry me and I know how tempting he can be even to the old and wise and you were nothing but a young maiden.”

“But now you see that my heart is even more rotten than you thought,” you mumbled out.

“On the contrary, my love. Only beautiful things can get corrupted. Your love and devotion towards him were your downfall and no heart able to love and devote itself as much can be rotten,” Adar pointed out and you looked up to meet his gaze once more.

His eyes were soft and sad but still not angry.

“What else do you see with that Ring?” You asked him, curiously.

“I see the future. How it might be if we form an alliance with the Elves. I see that these two items together,” he looked behind at Morgoth’s crown, “are enough to get rid of Sauron.”

“And do you see how much I want this, too?” You bit on your lower lip.

It felt so odd to speak to him when he looked like that. You felt like a child being lectured by an old and wise Elf like all those sages you had met in Mithlond and Eregion back in the day.

Perhaps Adar would be one of them if he had never chosen to follow Morgoth. Perhaps he would be your husband either way – you had been sent to these cities as a young maiden to study. Perhaps you would meet him there and fall in love with him. Even though the circumstances would be different, two Elven souls who loved each other would always find one another.

“I see much more,” Adar smiled softly and shyly reached out for your hand to hold it gently. You allowed him, gladly. “I see new life in the future. A possibility of it at least,” he explained as his voice trembled.

“What would that life be like, though?” Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

“Pure, if that is what you are worrying about. It would be full of Valinor’s light,” he assured you and you cracked a smile.

“It is a possibility I might take under my consideration,” you told him. “One day… After you heal enough from my betrayal to forgive me.”

“I have forgiven you already, my love,” Adar said in the Quenya language as he raised his hand to brush your cheek. “I would forgive you even if you killed me for him.”

“Who would watch over your children then?” You shook your head.

“Our children. You would watch over them. Of that, I am certain, Emel,” Adar smiled.

Mother.

“Glûg called me that yesterday. He called me Lady Mother,” you told your husband, excitedly.

“I know,” he nodded, calmly. He was not surprised but visibly glad. “They have been calling you that behind your back for a while now,” he informed you and his words made you grin widely.

You made one more attempt to cup his healed cheeks and this time he allowed you to. His eyes closed themselves slightly at your touch and you felt warm tears streaming down your face because you wished he had never endured all the pain and suffering Morgoth and Sauron had put him through.

“Do not pity me, my love,” he interrupted your thoughts.

“It is scary how much you can penetrate my mind now,” you admitted with a chuckle and his eyes opened again to look at you.

“I wish it could stay this way,” Adar admitted. “I wish I could hide in yours when mine becomes unbearable.”

“Oh, Adar, my love…” You leaned in to join your lips together in a sweet and loving kiss.

You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You moved uncomfortably but Adar was standing still, so you relaxed once more and just went back to kissing him.

“She-Elf turned herself in,” you heard one of the Orcs as he threw a sword on the ground.

You broke the kiss and turned around. It was Lady Galadriel herself, standing there with widened eyes. She could not see Adar yet because you were standing in front of him but she was surprised enough already to witness you two kiss.

“Leave us,” you nodded at the Orcs and they walked away. They were trying to curiously look behind you and see Adar but he looked down as he hid behind you even further.

And he remained this way, as if he was shy to show his true form to Lady Galadriel. So, you took a step to the side to cover him from her even more and your hand found his to hold.

“I accept your terms, Uruks,” Galadriel announced, looking at you since she could not see your husband’s face. “I have what Sauron seeks. End this slaughter and I will do as you asked. I will help you destroy him.”

“How do you expect to destroy Sauron without your Ring?” Adar asked behind you and you slowly moved away as he revealed himself to her.

Galadriel gasped as her eyes widened with wonder.

“It would seem, even wounds that have endured an age, can sometimes yet be healed,” he said, softly.

“Adar…” Galadriel whispered, her voice filled with pain and compassion.

“When last I looked like this, I was known by another name,” he confessed and you stood by his side to wrap your hands around his arm.

“What was it?” Galadriel asked.

“A meaningless name. A name I was given,” Adar shook his head.

“The man he once was is a stranger to us, Galadriel. He should not concern us,” you told her, quoting the words he had once told you when you had asked the same thing.

“Adar is the name I earned,” he smiled softly at you before laying his eyes upon her again. He walked up to Galadriel and you followed him, still clutching to his arm. “Help me to earn it back.”

You watched your husband taking the beautifully crafted ring off and handing it back to Galadriel and your heart sank deeper into your chest when you realised his face was turning paler and greyer once more as his old scars were showing up on his skin again.

Not that you ever cared about them. It was no matter of beauty to you but it was a painful reminder of the suffering he had been through and for that reason you wished for him to be free of them.

And – despite that suffering – he had enough softness inside of him to love his children. Enough softness left deep inside of him to forgive his wife such a betrayal and to even understand her.

You couldn’t help the feeling that you did not deserve Adar but you would do anything from now on to be worthy of him.

“Take it,” he said to Galadriel. “Help me vanquish Sauron with it and I swear to you, we will recall our children to Mordor. Never to make war on Middle-earth again.”

Galadriel’s face filled with pain at his words and at the sight of his face going back to its previous state. She was full of light and compassion at that moment – just like she should always be. You felt bad for her now. For the corruption Sauron had been trying to cause within her, too.

“I have slain more of your children than any Elf alive,” she admitted with remorse and gentleness.

“I forgive you,” Adar said in the Sindarin language and you squeezed his arm tighter.

As you focused on him, you nearly missed the fact that the short silence occurring was caused by the fact Galadriel was looking at you and waiting for your answer, too.

“I am the last person you should seek forgiveness from,” you only said, mysteriously. “I have my own sins to redeem.”

After those words, Galadriel finally reached out for her Ring and took it from Adar’s hand.

“No more flames and no more darkness,” he promised her. “Let this Ring heal the rift between Elf and Uruk,” he added. “Let us create a lasting peace in Middle-earth.”

“Now and forever,” you added as you watched Galadriel put the Ring back on her finger and her face lit up with a smile.

Your small moment of blissfulness was interrupted by a few Orcs carrying Glûg on the stretchers. His face was wincing out of pain and he seemed to be hurt. Adar left your side immediately and you stood there with Galadriel while you observed.

“What happened?” Adar kneeled down to check on his son.

“We found Sauron, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs explained and you moved uncomfortably at that mention. “We refused to follow him. So, Sauron did this. He has fled from Eregion, they say.”

You exchanged a meaningful look with Lady Galadriel. It was no surprise to you that Sauron had disappeared after such a failure. After all, he was left with no army. His rage, however, had to be great now. And you were sure he would come back sooner than later to collect everything he believed belonged to him.

“We shall be ready when he comes,” Galadriel nodded at you and you nodded back but the worry about Glûg was occupying most of your thoughts now.

“Forgive me, child,” Adar whispered to him as you hurried to their side and kneeled down to take the Orc’s hand and squeeze it in yours.

“It’s too late for me…” Glûg groaned.

“No… No, no, no,” you shook your head and looked up at Galadriel. “Lady Galadriel, please. Can you try to heal him with your Ring?” You pleaded and all the Orcs looked at her as she swallowed thickly.

“I… I can try…” She hesitated and you moved away slightly to make more space for her.

“I will not let you die, my dear,” you promised Glûg as you squeezed his hand tighter. 

All the Orcs watched with widened eyes how Lady Galadriel crouched down to put her hand with the beautiful Ring upon it and place it on Glûg’s chest. She closed her eyes and focused as the Ring chimed and you could feel that Glûg’s muscles were beginning to relax.

“It’s working,” one of the Orcs mumbled, surprised.

You watched with relief because they were right and Glûg managed to sit up right after Galadriel retreated with her Ring.

“Galadriel, the Orc-Slayer,” you smiled at her. “You have begun to redeem yourself amongst our kin.”

“Thank you, Lady Mother,” she nodded at you and you nodded back.

“Tell your brothers we are going back to Mordor,” Adar stood up and informed one of the Orcs. “Stop the siege. We have a pact now with the Elves.”

“And what then, Lord Father?” The Orc asked him.

“We will prepare ourselves for when Sauron comes because he will surely come. We will be ready to welcome him in our own land, on our own terms,” Adar answered.

“Will you go with us?” You asked Galadriel and her eyes widened slightly. “We need you there… and your Ring.”

“I must go where I’m needed the most and to defeat Sauron is my only purpose,” she agreed. “However, I am not sure if I am welcome in that place.”

“You are if I say so,” you smirked at her and finally let go of Glûg’s hand when you could feel his blood flowing properly again through his veins and you were sure he would be fine. “I am the Lady of Mordor,” you reminded her.

You were on your way home on the back of your black horse with Adar on the back of his right in front of you and Lady Galadriel still standing by her white mare as Herald Elrond was saying goodbye to her and glancing at you from time to time with a huge amount of distrust.

“We do not hurt our guests in Mordor,” you assured him playfully after a while. “And she will be back with you in one piece soon.”

“Just make sure to answer our calling when we need an Elven army to help us defeat Sauron,” Galadriel took Elrond’s hands into hers and he stopped looking at you to nod at her.

Adar and you exchanged meaningful looks and soft smiles as you led your horse a bit further, so you would stand next to him.

“Are you happy to go back home?” He asked and you nodded.

“More than you can imagine,” you answered and extended your hand towards him as he reached out for you and you squeezed each other’s fingers for a brief while.

You heard Galadriel hopping onto her horse behind you and Adar nodded at the rest of the Orcs, which meant that you all could retreat back to Mordor where you would prepare for Sauron’s comeback with Morgoth’s crown Lady Galadriel with her Ring by your side.

You slowed down your horse to ride next to her now and you both exchanged soft smiles. She had no idea of your history with Sauron – Adar made sure for it to be your secret. However, you had a feeling her soul somehow knew because you could sense a thread of friendship based on a similar experience forming there between you two.

“What will happen to the men from The Southlands, Lady Mother?” She asked you.

“They will be given their homes back. Those who wish to stay in such a dark land at least and the rest are free to go. They will have to learn to share their land with the Uruk now, though,” you answered.

“And what about you? Where will you reside?”

“I was thinking of it,” you looked at her. “I wish to rebuild Ostirith,” you answered. “The fortress might not have been grand but it was my home. I wish to go back there and watch over Mordor from there with my husband like my parents once watched over The Southlands.”

“As King and Queen?” She inquired.

“No,” you shook your head. “That is not my desire. Nor my husband’s.”

Lady Galadriel seemed to be pleased with your answer and you took a deep breath in, looking at the road ahead of you as you felt at peace inside of your heart.

Peace and freedom. You were free of Sauron’s shackles. You no longer had any secrets from your husband or any guilt towards your former lover. Nothing felt better.

You were aware that the war was far from over but you were hopeful about your future and when Adar turned around to make sure you were still there, you smiled at him lovingly, still not being able to believe that he loved you so much to forgive you.

You would make sure to never make him regret that.

AUTHOR’S NOTE 2.0 — Hi, it's me again! 👋🏻 If you are curious, you can read Sauron's ending as well to see the possibility of what could have been only if our Reader made slightly different choices. If you read both endings, you will see that it was mostly small gestures of kindness and compassion that decided her fate. 💓

MASTERLIST

[venomwrites]

Caitlyn and Vi cuddling with each other in a free morning, telling each other their love and other sweet things

“I have something for you,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi lifts her head from Caitlyn’s thigh. Its early morning and sunlight is pouring through the windows of her apartment. It’s more sunlight than Vi ever has had access to. Even though Caitlyn’s suggested blinds, Vi can’t make herself hang them up. 

“It’s not my birthday,” she points out. 

“Have you ever gotten a present on your birthday?” Caitlyn asks, “beatings don’t count.”

“Good point,” Vi sighs, “but that was tradition.”

Caitlyn makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. It’s weird to be given presents. It’s weird how people give them all the time up here. Like all the time. You moved house? Present. Having a kid? Present. Hurting? Get well present. They even name some of them. When Vi secured the apartment people just showed up with shit. It was bizarre. Before she owned the clothes on her back. Now she owns enough plates to invite people over. 

“Do I have to sit up for this present?” She asks. 

“Probably not,” Caitlyn says, “give me your hand.” 

The box is small. She’s never gotten a box like this in her life. There’s a hinge tucked in the fuzzy back so it’s easy to thumb open. Inside is a little cushion. Cut into it are two slots. Each one has a piece of metal in it. They don’t glint in the sunlight like she would expect. But Vi is not fooled. Even though they aren’t shiny she’s sure they are the most expensive thing she’s ever held aside from her gauntlets. 

She sits up and lifts one out. Caitlyn’s chin settles on her shoulder as she turns the earring over. It’s grey and impossibly light. As she rotates it, she sees it hides a secret. The script is very tiny but she can make out Vanders name. Two impossibly tiny chips of gemstone, one gold and one blue, frames the letters. The second one is textured. On the inside scrawls Powder’s name, this one framed by chips of blue and pink. 

“How—“

“While you were training,” Caitlyn says, “I thought you might like new ones.”

She says it easily like she hasn’t just deposited the most expensive, meaningful gift Vi’s ever received in her lap. Vi’s earrings are pieces of metal she’s more or less jammed into her ear. Once they were in, they sure as shit weren’t coming out. Caitlyn has two mostly healed over holes in her lobes. So even though she looked horrified when Vi explained, Vi’s piercings are still usable. 

Vi knows there’s no point in protesting. She learned that the hard way when Caitlyn dragged her to buy non-Enforcer clothes. By the fifth protest Caitlyn had simply marched into the dressing room, bundled her existing, perfectly good, clothes under her arm and walked back out. Those had been one of those random presents that had no name. Caitlyn called them a necessity and pointed out two pairs of pants was the most Vi had owned the entire time she knew her. It was hard to argue with that. 

“These are really nice,” Vi says. It’s not just the metal which she’s sure is. Caitlyn’s really fucking good at the gifting thing. She feels Caitlyn smile. The way she does when Vi accepts gifts. The smile that makes Vi feel worthy of them, “I don’t know how to get mine off.” 

“Hmm,” Caitlyn runs her thumb along the shell of Vi’s ear, “stay here.”

Caitlyn returns with a pair of pliers and a determined look on her face. Vi has no idea how she manages to pull that off wearing nothing but a purple slip that’s high enough to show her thigh scar. But she’s not going to question it. Caitlyn returns to the bed and Vi settles her head back on her thigh. Caitlyn peers over her and Vi admires the way the sunlight cuts through her hair. Instead of trying to twist and see how it plays along all the skin her nightgown reveals. There’s a few tugs and the old pieces of metal slide out. 

“Did I tell you I did those myself?”

“Yes, it looks like it,” Caitlyn replies. She dabs at the skin with antiseptic which feels awesome, “which one here?” She asks, brushing the top of Vi’s ear. 

“Powder,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn slides the earring into place. It feels weird but not in a bad way. Vander goes next through the lower hole. Caitlyn brushes the antiseptic over everything again which leaves her ear tingling. Caitlyn squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’s a bit red but see what you think.” 

They look so similar to her old ones Vi has to stare before it registers. But it feels good. Like some piece of her family is still there. 

“They look good, thanks,” she says. Caitlyn blows out a breath. 

“Good, because I have no idea how we would get these back in,” she admits, holding the misshapen pieces of metal that represent Vi’s old prison life. 

“Actually I’ve got something for you,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn looks surprised. Vi is not the best gift giver. She’s never had the chance to learn. But every time she manages to find something to give to Caitlyn, her whole fucking face lights up. It’s adorable and it catches Vi off guard with how proud it makes her feel. She goes over to her nightstand and pulls out the keyring. Caitlyn looks surprised as Vi offers it to her. A cupcake charm dangles from the ring.

“I know the guy downstairs just lets you in because you’re you, but I figured you should have the option of not talking to him.” 

Caitlyn gets to her knees and kisses her in a way that has Vi pushing onto he toes to make up the height difference. Caitlyn’s the better gift giver but damn. 

If the way Caitlyn is kissing her is any indication, Vi is getting a hell of a lot better at it.

[maebird-melody]

There is nothing more wild to me than the double-take of seeing something I use, something I take for granted in my day-to-day life, in a picture that someone else has posted online. In that moment, I have found connection with a complete stranger. We both use the same kitchen knife set. Someone at some point gifted us both a box tied with the same Christmas ribbon decorated in twisting vines that has now snuck into our yearly decorating. I have worn this same jacket until the snaps wore loose of the jersey knit, did the jacket come apart from many years of well-worn love for you, too?

Capitalism is such that many iterations of identical objects do indeed proliferate, it is not unusual for two or more people to own the same duvet cover, the same skirt, the same couch. But in the moment I see it, I think to myself, we both saw this object and thought “I want this in my life. It has both utility and beauty to me. I think this object says something about me enough so that I continue to use or display it.” Or maybe the object has become background noise, just another part of the fabric of both our lives.

It is a reminder to me that we don’t live alone in this world, we share it together, and all the objects therein.

[braidwoods]

reusing serafine for wren is exactly the kind of expected laziness pb always resorts to. i dont think its fair to compare the asset recycling to tyrils family or imturas mom though because yknow. theyre not humans. of course editing an existing sprite wouldve been the same amount of work to just make a brand new one for entirely different races

[rivilu]

The da4 leaks are the most conflicted I think I've ever felt about anything game related in my life. The ui? Godawful. Possible warden player character? I Might Actually Purchase Your Game. The combat is just what inq would have been if they didn't pretend to care about tactics and just went all out on the fast paced fighting, which is cool, but we've seen nothing of the level up/stat selection screen so I still have 0 trust that they will let us choose out own fucking attributes like in the first two. Like my lore expectations are in hell and going down every time an inquisition event is mentioned, the gameplay is the only thing keeping my attention atm and it's so 50/50 JUST-

[classicintp]

The answer to the second question is no, not to the point that they can't just do stuff. Even for victims of capitalism in poverty with children to take care of and mounds of debt to pay, abled or disabled, they still "just do stuff."

Life is incredibly hard right now and for a lot of people, I'm not suggesting the opposite, and a symptom of that can be this overwhelming inability to just not do stuff whether that's major depression, anxiety, chronic fatigue, or other malady, but its not "normal" in the sense that you should just accept this is how you feel now and resolve to do nothing about it. It's a serious symptom, a sign that you're not well, and you should actively seek help or treatment. And seeking help or treatment isn't easily accessible for everyone, either, I know that, even despite the breadth of information on how to ease the burden of receiving treatment you can find online. But it is important to me that if you're struggling like this that you at least acknowledge it isn't just something you need to endure until it stops. It doesn't stop, and how you feel isn't because you're too weak for the rigors life: you need to take it seriously and seek help as best as you can.

[gregmarriage]

can’t tell if i’m hormonal or if it’s just late, but i’m angsty about the state of my love life yet again lol

[ozymoron]

okay maybe i am a bit lonely okay fuck off whatever who gives a fuck

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Request idea:

Your darling, adoring, wonderful boyfriend Jason sits you down And solemnly confesses that he is red hood. He’s been dreading this day for months. If you want to leave, he’ll understand and wait—-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU KNEW THE WHOLE TIME?

Jason thinks he’s in an angst fic. The reader is in a rom com where her boyfriend has been a ridiculously obvious superhero, but she’ll let him tell her when he’s ready.

Maybe some shaningany flashbacks where you’ve helped to keep his identity secret (stalling so he can change, giving alibis) while he was oblivious.

- Batchilla

To Wait and To Love

Hi Batchilla! Hope you enjoy! ♡ ~1.5k words

Your boyfriend is a vigilante, Red Hood, to be exact. You know this. He's just not aware you know this.

It's obvious, really, and kind of cute the way he makes excuses to leave. Sure, before you put two and two together, it was starting to seem like he was just dragging you along. But it all made sense when you caught sight of the helmet poorly concealed under his bed.

It makes you wonder if he wants to get caught. Especially when he brings you flowers from the shop you just saw him save from Poison Ivy on TV. Or freezer-burnt cartons of ice cream from your favorite ice cream shop, which was buried under piles of snow courtesy of one Mr. Freeze only twenty minutes ago.

You offer him big smiles and kisses of thanks, and your heart melts a little at how relieved he looks, how baffled he is by your understanding. And you do understand. To tell someone you run around in spandex and leather every night is a big risk, especially for someone who used to run crime in Gotham.

You're no angel yourself, even if he does call you one, and it's endearing to watch him scramble for excuses. It's even more endearing that he tries so hard to make it up to you when he's late, when he has to leave early, when he comes back battered and bruised with flimsy half-thought out explanations.

You'll let him take all the time he needs to tell you, and it's almost funny how easily you've come to cover for him.

"Jason? Oh, he's changing his suit. Someone knocked into me and I spilled my drink all over his jacket. How embarrassing," You laugh out, answering the reporter's question over Jason's absence from the latest Wayne Gala. It's only half a lie, you might not have spilled your drink but he's definitely changing his suit. It's just not the suit anyone would expect.

Once whispers of a break-in at Gotham National Bank started circulating the Gala, it wasn't hard to miss the meaningful glances between your boyfriend and his family. Sometimes you wonder how no one's noticed it before.

You smile brightly at him once he comes back, smelling like gunpowder and leather, and you let him kiss your knuckles while he mumbles apologies over getting caught up with an old friend. You don't imagine Riddler is exactly an old friend, but you teasingly tell him how he owes you a dance for making you wait. He smiles back, his own grin even brighter than yours, as he leads you to the dance floor.

You're opening the door to your apartment, chatting lazily with your friend after a night out.

"Is your boyfriend here? I remember you saying you two were practically living together," they ask, eyes trailing around your living space.

You hum thoughtfully, "We pretty much are. I think he might be sleeping or out looking for the stray cat we saw the other day. It had a bad limp." It's not a hundred percent a lie either, there was a hurt stray. You just know that Catwomen already picked it up, after a text Jason sent to Bruce Wayne's current girlfriend, Miss. Selena Kyle. Which would have been more of a surprise if you didn't already know who Batman was.

But it definitely isn't the truth, because you did catch sight of a red helmet following you and your friend back from the club. (Gotham never felt safer, than when he was watching over you.)

Your friend coos and starts to respond, when a thump sounds from the fire escape. They jolt, "What was that?"

"The cat, probably," You say quickly, letting out a laugh, "it's, uh, pretty big. Has a limp. Hey, did I show you the flowers Jason got me?" You gesture towards the bouquet behind them, and you both focus on the pretty blossoms.

Within minutes, you hear your bedroom door open and close. "Hi, baby," Jason drawls, looping an arm around your waist to pull you to his side, "Sorry, I fell asleep, how was your night?"

You pretend not to notice the limp he's nursing, one you're certain he should be resting, and tilt your head up to kiss his jaw, "It was fun. Missed you."

"I missed you too," he echoes fondly, and the three of you fall into an easy conversation. You distract your friend when you all go to sit on the couch, and if you choose to avoid sitting on his left side, it's certainly not because Red Hood hurt his leg fighting Killer Croc earlier this week.

Jason has never said your name like that before. His eyebrows are knitted together. He's kneeling in front of you, his hands clasped over yours as you sit on the bed.

"I love you and I– I have something to tell you," he chokes out, strained, "please, just– just, hear me out."

It clicks. This is it. He's going to tell you.

You smile and nod, it'll be nice to finally air out this secret. And maybe he could help you work on your excuses? It'll be easier if you're working as a team. You reach out and brush his hair back, unfazed and delighted he's trusting you enough with this, "Of course, Jason. Anything you need to tell me."

Jason is going to throw up. He's finally gotten his act together enough that he's going to tell his partner he's Red Hood. His stomach is churning, it's agony, knowing he could lose them over this.

They're so good to him. So understanding and patient and kind. He has no idea how he got so lucky. And he loves them. It's scary sometimes, how much he loves them. He wants this to last so badly. So, he has to be honest. Has to tell them he isn't what the world says he is.

He's a vigilante. Was a crime lord. He hurts people to save people. He terrifies the trash that calls themselves human. He's not good for you, but he tries. He wants you to still love him.

He wants you to stay so much. Even if he's not good. He wants you. You deserve so much more than the excuses and lies he gives. Jason's wanted to tell you for weeks, but he chokes on his words every time. He's never been so afraid of doing something. Not when he was a kid on the streets. Not when he was Robin. Not as Red Hood.

You look so perfect, sitting at the edge of your bed and smiling at him. He almost flinches when he thinks this could be the last time you smile at him.

He's on his knees. He's prepared to beg. He would beg to keep you.

He says your name, he tells you he loves you. It might be the last time he gets to say that to you. The thought makes him even more nauseous. He tells you he has something to say.

You brush his hair back and keep smiling. He wants to sob. You don't know. You don't know what he is, what he's done.

"I'm Red Hood," he gasps out, voice ragged.

A beat. You're still smiling, you still look happy, and you're nodding at him.

He blinks at you, "I'm Red Hood," he repeats, "I know that- I know it's a lot. I understand if you never want to see me again, but, baby–"

You lean forward and kiss him. He's more than just a little dumbfounded. "Jason, I love you too. I'm not leaving you. I, um, kind of already knew you were Red Hood?" You say, a sheepish smile coming over your face.

"You– what?" Jason stumbles out. You're still here. Still touching him. You kissed him. You look relaxed. Happy.

"I saw your helmet under the bed. Everything clicked after that," You tell him gently.

"And you're okay with that? You're okay with me?" He asks, tone betraying his desperation.

Concern flashes in your eyes, "Of course I'm okay– I'm more than okay with that, Jason. I love you, tights or not."

He lets out a laugh, and his stomach swoops, the tension dissipating throughout his body, "Yeah?"

You grin at him, cupping his face, "Yeah, but you're going to have to show me how you swing around rooftops."

He gets off his knees to kiss you again, he doesn't think this moment could get any better, "Is that all?"

You giggle, at the pure elation in his eyes, and he grins widely at your joy. Then, the moment does get better, "Well, I'm kinda interested in the car Batman drives around you."

"I could make that happen," he murmurs, and seals the promise with another kiss, "You wanna see the batplane too?"

Your eyes light up, and Jason thinks he might be addicted to the mischievous glint that flickers in your gaze.

[moonyflesh]

dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

[lyneira]

♤ can I be deep inside of your love? ♤

SMUT - MINORS DNI

-> after you both climax, he decides to stay buried inside of you. Why?

fem!reader x genshin men / cw: unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, cockwarming

Wants to ensure you're having his babies

ZHONGLI, Ayato, Childe, Gorou

He'll keep himself buried deep inside you even after blowing his load into you because this man is MAKING SURE that you'll be pregnant with his child after this night (with your consent of course). He had already came in you so much that his seed was oozing out of your hole, to his dismay. And of course it would. Because even now, he was still managing to empty the rest of himself out into you as he further buried himself in your core.

As he's basking in your warmth, he's also basking in delight, rubbing small circles at your hip with his thumb as thoughts of you carrying his child run through his head. Imagining you with your belly swollen and round and seeing you with that special glow, gosh, the thought makes him swoon. You'd look so beautiful. It all excites him so, that he plants a tender, loving kiss to your lips, and whispers,

"There's no one else that I'd make the mother of my children other than you, my love...you'll make such a beautiful mommy"

He feels the closest to you like this

KAVEH, Kazuha, Baizhu, Thoma

Just because he's finished blowing his load into you doesn't mean he's done with you. He feels that this next part, where he's simply buried inside you, is just as significant as the previous act of thrusting his love into you.

This unity you both had made: joined together as one, bodies pressed up against one another's, hands intertwined, his lips locked on yours, tongues dancing with each other, and him sheathed deeply inside you. This is where he feels the closest to you, both physically and emotionally, eyes looking into each other's with such vulnerability and love. Relishing in this feeling, he doesn't dare pull away. He views this union as romantic and meaningful as it was a declaration of love for you of an intimate nature, so he'd find it so insensitive to pull out immediately.

He also hopes to leave you with his warmth for as long as he can, just as you have enveloped him and given him warmth. He'd want to hold you like this for the rest of the night.

Loves the feeling

Venti, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya

Similar to the previous category, it simply feels so warm, so cozy, and so comfortable inside of you that he wouldn't want to pull out right away. He also wants to relish the feeling of being inside you, and he'd stay inside you for longer than you'd expect. Won't you let him be selfish a bit? Just feel the way his length was beautifully melded into your core. Wouldn't you want to stay like this too? He desires your touch and your heat for much longer.

He'll embrace you tightly the whole time, and if you begin to squirm, asking if he's done yet, he'll mumble into your neck, "No...just a little bit longer please...You feel too good", and he'll start leaving kisses up and down your neck and jaw to soothe you.

When the time comes that he has to pull out, he'll realize that he should do this more often. Maybe while you two are simply enjoying the time, not doing much, he'll think of pulling you onto his lap and slipping himself inside of you. He'd have a more enjoyable time and would make sure you would too.

Needless to say, cockwarming him would be a frequent thing between you two ;)

He can't

Alhaitham, Albedo, Cyno, Tighnari

Exhausted from his release, he initially tries to pull out of you. Yet, with your legs wrapped tightly around him and with your pussy still squeezing him and sucking him in so good, he just can't. He might have asked you to let up, but he couldn't find himself doing that either. It's not like he really wants to anyway. And with your pussy begging for his cock like that, who was he to resist?

He lets out heavy moans as you overstimulate his cock with each spasm and contraction of your walls tightening around him. The feeling of it all was terribly addictive and made him feel yet another high, an even more intense one at that. It's so intense that he finds himself pouring even more of his essence into you that he didn't know he had left.

A ring of his cum and yours was now formed at the hilt of his cock, the sight of it turning him on again Another round wouldn't hurt, would it? (You two wouldn't go one round; you two would go multiple rounds afterwards, and the cycle would repeat, heh)

Does it out of possessiveness

Scaramouche, Xiao, Diluc, Dainsleif

After releasing, you'd expect him to pull out, but he'd do the opposite. He'll grab you by your thighs and pull you in towards him while thrusting himself further into you, feeling as the mixture of your essence and his gushes out of your hole and stains his cock. More importantly, you'd also notice how desperately he'd cling to you: how he’d tightly hold your thighs at his sides, how his fingernails were digging into your skin, how deeply he was trying to bury himself into you, deepening his kiss to your core so lovingly.

Looking at your flushed face, all tired out, you couldn't look any more beautiful to him even like this; that expression, your touch, your warmth, your moans, your pussy, and most of all, your love was his. The entirety of you was his and his alone.

Under gritted teeth, he'd mutter, "You're mine, you know that?", holding you even closer as he feels you squeeze around him perfectly.

But when you gazed upon his face- oh, that look. It was so vulnerable. The way he looked into your eyes sought reassurance and was pleading, "Please never let me go...I'm yours and no one else's...and I give all of myself to you and only you"

So please tell him tenderly, "I know", and watch as relief washes over him, releasing his grip on your thighs to embrace you protectively. He'll then whisper a delicate, "I love you so much", into your ear, and won't be letting go of you for a while.

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[pucksandpower]

Black Magic

Charles Leclerc x witch!Reader

Summary: famously non-superstitious Charles takes drastic measures to break the Monaco curse

Charles rubs his temples as he stares at the phone, mentally rehearsing how he’s going to convince you to meet with him. He knows it’s a long shot — from what his mother told him, you’re not exactly eager to use your … abilities, as she called them. But he’s desperate at this point after years of the Monaco curse haunting him.

He takes a deep breath and taps the call button. It rings once, twice, three times before you finally pick up with a cautious “Hello?”

“Y/N? Hi, this is Charles Leclerc. I was given your number by my mother ...” His voice trails off as an awkward silence stretches between you.

Finally you respond, sounding confused. “Pascale? But why would she ...”

Charles rushes to explain. “She said you might be able to help me with … well, with breaking a curse of sorts. One that’s been plaguing me for years at the Monaco Grand Prix.” He pauses, cringing a little at how ridiculous he sounds saying it out loud.

There’s another long pause before you let out a soft sigh. “I should���ve known this would happen eventually. Listen, I only do that kind of thing for family emergencies these days. Curses and spellwork … it’s not something I take lightly.”

“I understand,” Charles says quickly. “But you have to know what the Monaco Grand Prix means to me. It’s my home race, the most meaningful one on the calendar for me. And yet, every single year something goes wrong — mechanical failures, crashes, bad strategy calls, communication issues. It’s like I’m cursed to never win it.”

You’re silent for a moment, seeming to consider his words. “I’m aware of the … situation,” you say finally. “But even if I did agree to look into it, breaking an actual curse isn’t something that happens overnight. It would take time and effort.”

“I’ll give you anything you need — time, money, whatever it takes,” Charles insists. “Just … please. I’m desperate here. My heart can’t keep taking these kinds of blows.”

Another pause, then a resigned sigh. “Okay, fine. But you have to promise to take this seriously and listen to what I say. No skepticism, no brushing it off as some kind of joke. This is real to me.”

Relief floods through Charles. “Yes, absolutely, I promise. When can you come by? I’m staying in Monaco until the race next weekend.”

“I’ll need a little while to prepare,” you say slowly. “But … I can try to come by Tuesday? We’ll need to talk more about this in person.”

“Tuesday is perfect,” Charles agrees eagerly. “Truly, thank you for this. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for your time.”

You let out a small huff of laughter. “You keep your championship hopes, I’ll keep my soul. We’ll call it even.”

A bemused smile crosses Charles’ face at that. “Whatever you say. I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“Yes. I’ll be there Tuesday.” You hang up abruptly, leaving Charles staring at the phone with a mixture of hope and trepidation. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into … but he’s willing to try anything at this point.

Two days later, you show up at Charles’ apartment looking rather apprehensive. He ushers you inside, eyes raking over you with obvious curiosity. You’re younger than he expected, maybe mid-twenties, with a casual air and slight frame that doesn’t exactly scream “all-powerful witch“.

Still, he tries to withhold any skepticism as promised. “Thanks for coming. Can I get you anything? Some wine, or ...”

You shake your head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’d rather just get down to business if that’s okay.”

Charles nods and you both settle onto the couch, an anticipatory silence stretching out. Finally you clear your throat. “So. Tell me more about this ��� curse.”

And so he does, relaying in exhaustive detail the string of unlikely disasters that have befallen him at nearly every Monaco Grand Prix since he started in Formula 2. Crashes, mechanical failures, pit stops gone wrong, you name it … it’s like the racing gods have it out for him every year on his home streets.

You listen patiently, nodding along, your expression unreadable. When he finishes, you’re quiet for a long moment before speaking. “You know curses and superstitions have existed in motorsports for decades, right? It’s a high-adrenaline, high-risk environment … prime territory for that kind of thing to take root.”

Charles frowns. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“I’m not saying that.” You shake your head. “I’m just … managing expectations here. Breaking an entrenched curse, if that’s even what this is, isn’t easy. It’ll take much more than a couple of days of spellwork.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “So you’re telling me you can’t help.”

“I didn’t say that.” You eye him levelly. “I’m saying this is going to require time, patience, and an open mind from you. If you’re willing to put in that kind of commitment, then I’ll do what I can. But you have to go into this knowing it might not work.”

Charles is silent for a long moment, weighing his options. Finally he nods. “Okay. You’re right, I’ll stop being skeptical and doubting this. I’m ready to fully commit, whatever that takes.”

A small smile flits across your face and you nod. “Alright then. I’ll need to gather some supplies first, do you have anything personal I can use? Something meaningful, something that represents your driving?”

Charles scrambles up to rummage through his drawers, finally emerging with a battered red fireproof racing glove, handing it over to you. “Will this work? My godfather gave it to me when he first started teaching me to kart.”

You take it with a nod, turning it over in your hands. “It’s perfect. I’ll need to attune it and prepare a few … components.” You glance up at him. “This may take me a day or two. But after that, I can try to get a sense of what we’re dealing with.”

He nods, feeling that flicker of hope rekindle in his chest. “Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You rise, slipping the glove into your bag. “I will. And Charles?” You hesitate, looking almost nervous for the first time since you arrived. “I know we’ve only just met, but … I want you to understand how serious I’m taking this. Messing with forces like curses … it’s not something I do lightly. If I can’t help in the end, it’s not for lack of trying, okay?”

Something about your sincere tone puts Charles at ease and he nods. “I know. Thank you for this … really.”

A shy smile ghosts across your lips before you slip out, leaving Charles alone with his doubts and hopes alike. Over the next couple of days, he tries to distract himself with race prep and strategy meetings, but his mind keeps drifting back to you and your mysterious preparations. He’s not sure whether to feel hopeful or just plain foolish for entertaining all of this curse nonsense.

Finally, Thursday afternoon rolls around and you arrive once more at his door, looking oddly serene. You accept his offered glass of wine this time as you settle on the couch, clutching the battered racing glove and a few other strange items.

“Okay,” you say, taking a fortifying breath. “I’ve done what I can to attune myself to your energy and prepare. I should be able to at least get a sense now of what we’re dealing with.”

Charles nods, feeling an anxious flutter in his chest as you close your eyes, seeming to slip into some kind of trance-like state. The seconds tick by, tension building in the air around you. Just when he’s about to break the silence, your eyes fly open with a gasp.

“Wow,” you breathe out, looking utterly stunned. “This is … wow.”

“What?” Charles prods urgently. “What did you see?”

You shake your head, almost looking scared now. “I’ve never encountered anything like this. The sheer scale, the power … Charles, this isn’t just some simple bad luck curse. This is dark, powerful magic rooted over years and years. Maybe even generations.”

A leaden feeling sinks into the pit of Charles’ stomach at your ominous words. “So you’re saying you can’t break it?”

“I didn’t say that.” You draw in a steadying breath. “But it’s not going to be easy. Or quick. This is going to take serious ritual work over an extended period of time. I’ll need more supplies, maybe some help from others. It’s … a huge undertaking.”

You look up at Charles, expression grave. “But I think I can do it. If you’re willing to fully commit and see this through, no matter how long it takes or what I need from you, then I’ll put everything I have into breaking this curse.”

Charles stares at you for a long moment, feeling the weight of what you’re saying. This is so much bigger than he ever imagined. Part of him wants to run from the sheer enormity of it all.

But then he pictures it — finally winning his home race after all these years, the crowd roaring as he drinks in the euphoric feeling. No more bad luck, no more disasters clouding his joy. Just pure triumph.

His jaw sets in determination as he meets your eyes. “Whatever it takes. I’m in.”

A slow smile spreads across your face and you nod. “Okay then. We’ll get started right away. This may get … intense at times. But I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” Charles says fervently. “Truly, thank you for taking this on.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you reply, something sparking in your eyes. “We’ve got work to do.”

And just like that, you dive into preparation mode — making lists, sending messages, gathering spell ingredients and components that have Charles raising his eyebrows more than once. He tries to follow along as best he can, but it’s like a foreign language to him.

After a while, he can’t help but ask. “So … did you always know you could do this kind of thing? The witchcraft, I mean?”

You pause, considering his question. “It’s a family tradition, passed down. My grandmother started teaching me from a very young age. But I’ll be honest … I never fully embraced it until recently.”

Charles feels himself grow curious. “What changed your mind?”

A strange look crosses your face and you’re quiet for a moment before replying. “My grandmother was ill. The doctors had … given up, more or less. So in desperation, I tried to help the only way I knew how. And it … worked, somehow. After that, it was hard to keep denying what I could do.”

“Wow,” Charles says softly. “That’s amazing. I can’t even imagine ...”

You shrug, suddenly looking almost shy. “It’s a lot, I know. Probably hard to wrap your head around. Which is why I appreciate you being so open-minded about this.”

Charles gives you a crooked smile. “Well, I’m relying on you here. I figure I should at least return the favor and be open-minded.”

A surprising laugh escapes you and you shake your head in amusement. “You’ve got a point there.”

A surprisingly comfortable silence lapses between you, broken only when you glance at your watch. “Alright, enough waiting around. We should get back to work if we want to be ready before race day.”

Charles feels nervous anticipation flutter in his chest again. “You really think we can pull this off that quickly?”

“We have to try,” you reply, already focused and in work mode once more. “Just be prepared … this isn’t going to be easy for either of us.”

Charles swallows hard and nods. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Over the next several days, Charles is swept up in a whirlwind of strange rituals and practices — chanting, incantations, symbolic offerings, things he never could’ve imagined before this week. You lead him through it all with a calm patience, guiding him every step of the way.

It’s completely draining, leaving him wrung out and exhausted every night … but he can’t deny the noticeable shift he feels with each passing day too. It’s almost like a weight, a cloud of dread he’s carried for years, is slowly dissipating. He tries not to get his hopes up, but it’s hard … especially with the way your face glows with quiet pride whenever your eyes meet his.

Finally, the night before the race arrives. You’ve worked practically around the clock except for when Charles had to leave for free practice and qualifying, both of you barely sleeping or eating as you poured everything into breaking the curse.

As the sun sets over Monaco’s famed harbors and hills, you finally seem to pause, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I think … I think that’s everything we can do for now.”

Charles stares at you with a mixture of hope and trepidation. “You mean … it’s done? The curse is broken?”

You exhale slowly, looking suddenly drained but at peace. “As much as it can be, at least. The groundwork is laid, the ritual completed. But actually severing that kind of ancient tie ...” You shake your head. “We’ll have to see what happens tomorrow. I’ve done everything I can.”

Relief and gratitude wash over Charles as he reaches out to grasp your hand impulsively. “Thank you,” he says fervently. “For all of this … I can’t even begin to express how much it means.”

You seem surprised by his emotional outburst for a moment before squeezing his hand back gently. “You’re very welcome, Charles. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure I had it in me at first. But you put so much faith in me. That meant everything.”

He holds your gaze, feeling an unexpected sense of connection pass between you. So much has happened in such a short span of time — he came to you a skeptic, but now he feels like he’s been through a transformative experience. And you … you’ve put your entire being into helping him, far beyond any reasonable expectation.

The air almost seems to crackle with tension as you both search each other’s eyes. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, you start leaning towards each other infinitesimally. Charles’ heart kicks up a staccato rhythm as your faces inch closer together ...

Until finally, your lips meet in a soft, almost hesitant kiss. It’s achingly gentle and sweet, at odds with the intensity thrumming underneath. When you finally part, Charles feels almost dazed, his heart pounding.

“Wow,” he breathes out, unable to tear his eyes away from yours. “That was ...”

“Yeah,” you murmur back, looking equally affected. “It was.”

A silence stretches out as you simply gaze at each other. So much has passed between you in these short days — an entire lifetime’s worth of intimacy and connection. It’s overwhelming and exciting all at once.

Finally, Charles seems to shake himself out of the dazed reverie. Clearing his throat, he says gruffly, “Anyway, um … thank you again. I should probably try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

“Right, of course,” you respond quickly, flushing slightly. “The race. Yes, that’s … probably a good idea.”

An awkward pause hangs in the air before Charles blurts out, “You’ll be there though, right? At the race, I mean? As my guest?”

A slow smile spreads across your face and you nod. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He returns your smile, feeling lighter than he has in years. “Okay, good. That’s really good.”

With that, and one last lingering look, you gather your things and slip out, leaving Charles alone with his whirling thoughts and cautiously rising hope. He has no idea what tomorrow will bring — triumph or despair. But for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s not facing it alone.

As he climbs into bed that night, his mind keeps drifting back to that unexpected, electric kiss and the connection you seemed to share, if only for a moment. He can’t stop replaying it, the softness of your lips, the warmth of your skin ...

With a groan, Charles rolls over, trying in vain to shut off his thoughts. He needs to rest. Tomorrow is everything he’s been working towards for years — his best hope at finally ending the Monaco curse. And you’ll be there, your faith and magic bound to his dream.

Finally, Charles manages to drift into a restless sleep, his unconscious mind swirling with visions of chequered flags and your smiling face in the crowd. Whatever happens, he knows nothing will ever be the same after tomorrow.

***

The next morning dawns bright and clear, a perfect Monaco day. As Charles gets ready to head to the circuit, he can’t shake the anxious flutter in his chest.

This is it. His moment of truth.

Just before he’s about to leave, a soft knock comes at the door. When he opens it, you’re standing there looking almost as nervous as he feels.

“Hey,” you say with a small smile. “Thought I’d come wish you luck in person. And … give you one last thing for the race.”

You hold out a small silk pouch which Charles takes curiously. Opening it up, he pulls out the same battered racing glove he’d given you days ago, now embroidered with strange runic symbols.

“I imbued it with every protection ritual and good luck charm I could think of,” you explain. “As an extra boost on top of the work we’ve already done. Maybe it’ll help settle those pre-race jitters too.”

Charles feels a wave of affection crest over him as he looks at the glove, then back up at you. “You’re incredible, you know that?” He says softly. “Truly, I don’t know how to thank you enough for everything.”

You duck your head shyly, but he can see the pleased flush on your cheeks. “You don’t need to thank me. Just go out there and get that win you’ve been waiting for, okay?”

“I will,” Charles promises fervently. He pauses, then seems to make a split-second decision, stepping forward to cup your face in his hands. “And when I do … I’m taking you out for the biggest celebration Monaco has ever seen.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but you give a breathless little nod. “It’s a date then.”

The corner of Charles’ mouth quirks up. “It’s a date,” he echoes, letting his thumb brush over your cheekbone lingeringly before forcing himself to step back. “I should get going. But I’ll see you out there later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you confirm, looking almost as flustered as he suddenly feels. “Good luck, Charles.”

He shoots you one last, blazing look before tearing himself away, hurrying out to his waiting car. The entire drive to the circuit, his heart is pounding wildly in his chest. He can’t decide if it’s just pre-race adrenaline or something more … something sparked by you and that searing, promising look you gave him.

By the time he arrives, gets into his race suit and fireproofs, and settles into the cramped cockpit of his Ferrari, Charles is wound up like a tightly-coiled spring. His eyes keep drifting over to the embroidered glove still clutched in his hand, feeling the weight of everything it represents — your devotion, your magic, and the hope of finally breaking free from years of heartbreak.

As the cars are wheeled out onto the grid and the pre-race festivities begin, Charles scans the garage until his eyes finally land on you. You’re standing with a perfect viewpoint, eyes already locked on him, and when you catch his gaze you mouth “Good luck“ with an encouraging smile.

A determination like he’s never felt before surges through Charles’ veins. He’s going to win this race, not just for himself but for you too after everything you’ve sacrificed. Giving a firm nod, he slips the glove beneath his suit and grips the steering wheel tightly, watching the lights flick from red.

And as they finally go green and the cars roar away, Charles leans into the first turn in pure focus and exhilaration. For once, his mind is clear of any doubt or dread about the Monaco curse. He can only think about racing, about achieving his dream ...

And afterwards, celebrating that dream coming true with you.

***

As the deliriously happy celebrations continue around him at Monza, Charles can barely catch his breath. The euphoria of a hard-fought victory is still pulsing through his veins, that cherished feeling never getting old no matter how many times he experiences it.

He’s in the middle of accepting congratulations from his mechanics when he sees a Sky Sports reporter, making a beeline for him with her microphone in hand. Trying to tamp down his giddy smile slightly, he turns to face her.

“Charles! Huge congratulations on another amazing win today,” the reporter gushes as soon as she reaches him. “You’re really hitting your stride this season, what a comeback from the early struggles.”

“Thank you. Yes, the team has been doing incredible work to get me a car capable of winning,” Charles replies graciously. “I’m just thrilled to be able to deliver for them.”

“And for the fans too, who have been utterly captivated watching this gripping title battle unfold,” she continues. “Speaking of which, I have to ask — the viewers have been flooding us with one question in particular recently. What’s the story behind those little symbols that keep popping up on your race suit collar? Some kind of good luck charms maybe?”

At the mention of the embroidered symbols, Charles feels his lips quirking up into a small, unconscious smile. He should have known someone would eventually ask about them — the fans on social media have certainly been speculating endlessly.

“Ah, you spotted those?” He says lightly. “Well, it’s um … it’s actually something my girlfriend does for me before every race weekend.”

The reporter’s eyes widen with obvious interest, scenting a prime bit of gossip. “Your girlfriend? We had no idea you were dating someone, Charles! Do tell us more.”

Charles lets out a slightly self-conscious chuckle, feeling the tips of his ears going pink. He’s intensely private about his personal life, preferring to keep you out of the spotlight as much as possible. But the story behind the symbols is too meaningful to brush off entirely.

“Yes, well my girlfriend prefers to stay out of the public eye,” he explains carefully. “Let’s just say she comes from a rather … unique background and heritage. She has certain talents and practices that are very important to her.”

The reporter blinks at him in obvious confusion. “Wait, is she some kind of … psychic or something?”

“Not exactly,” Charles demurs, fighting back an amused grin at the mental image. “More like … well, I suppose you could call her a witch, of sorts.”

A shocked silence falls over the surrounding reporters who have tuned into their exchange. For a long beat, no one seems to know how to react to such an unexpected revelation. Charles doesn’t think he’s ever seen the media look so bemused before.

Finally, the reporter seems to find her voice again. “A … witch?” She repeats slowly. “As in, like, cauldrons and broomsticks and the whole bit?”

Charles lets out a full laugh at that. “Well, not quite like that, no. But she does practice certain … rituals and magics, let’s say. Most of which, I’ll admit, still seems completely mad to me.”

The reporter’s expression is one of fascination now as she leans in closer with her microphone. “And she does these rituals and … magics ... for you? Before races?”

“Exactly,” Charles confirms with a nod. “She adds protective symbols and charms onto things like my race suit, my helmet, sometimes other items depending on the ritual. It’s her way of looking out for me, of sending some extra luck and security my way on race weekends.”

He pauses, his smile softening unconsciously as he thinks about you. “I’ll be honest, I was pretty skeptical of it all at first. The whole concept of witchcraft and curses seemed ... well, rather far-fetched, you know? But she’s been so devoted to her practices, so sincere in her beliefs about the positive energies she wants to send my way … how could I not start to believe in it too?”

The media seems to be hanging on his every word now, caught up in this bizarre but undeniably romantic tale. The reporter lets out a wistful sigh. “Well, it’s clearly been working like a charm so far this season! Maybe the rest of the grid had better start looking into getting their own race day witches on board.”

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group at that as Charles shakes his head in amusement. “Yes, I can see that becoming very popular around the paddock.”

“So does she come to all the races then, your witch girlfriend?” Another reporter pipes up curiously. “Is she wandering around doing spellwork in the backrooms?”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that,” Charles chuckles. “She prefers to keep things … subtle, let’s say. Just the little symbols and charms. Though she is here today actually.”

The reporter’s eyes light up like she’s just struck journalistic gold. “She is? And does she get to celebrate with you after wins like this?”

A soft, almost shy smile plays across Charles’ lips as he nods. “Yes, whenever her schedule allows she tries to come to the races. And we’ll definitely be celebrating together tonight, just us.”

He gets a slightly far-off look in his eyes, seeming to get lost in the thought for a moment. The reporters watching on collectively hold their breaths, waiting for him to divulge more juicy details about this mysterious girlfriend.

Finally, Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat. “But anyway, I should really get back to the team to share this incredible day with them properly.”

The reporter makes one last attempt. “Oh, go on, just give us her name at least? Enquiring minds want to know about this charming race day witch of yours!”

Charles throws her an apologetic look. “You know I have to protect her privacy. All I can say is … she’s pretty remarkable. And she’ll probably hex me if I start giving out too many details about her!”

Laughs and groans of disappointment rise up from the reporters at being denied the full scoop. But they know better than to push Charles too far. With some final shouted congratulations, they gradually disperse, no doubt rushing off to publish their articles about the shocking revelation of Charles Leclerc’s witchy girlfriend.

As the small crowd clears out, Charles feels a light touch on his elbow and turns to find you standing there, eyes sparkling with amusement and fondness.

“Well, you’ve certainly given the paddock something to gossip about now,” you tease lightly. “A charming race day witch, am I?”

Charles makes a show of rolling his eyes, even as his cheeks flush a bit at your teasing. “What was I supposed to tell them? You know how much I hate discussing our personal lives with the media.”

“I know, I know.” You rise on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m just giving you a hard time. I thought it was … sweet, actually. How you talked about my practices.”

Charles’ expression softens as he gazes down at you. Ever since that electric evening in Monaco when you first worked your magic on the infamous curse (and him), your relationship has deepened into something truly beautiful. At first, he admits he was still somewhat skeptical of the mystical rituals and protective charms you claimed to do for him.

But race after race, as the victories kept mounting with no traces of bad luck or mishaps, he’s become nearly as devoted a believer as you. And it goes far beyond just race day superstitions now. Seeing the depth of your spirituality, your connection to unseen mystical forces, has opened his eyes in so many ways.

He pulls you flush against him, cupping your face tenderly as he murmurs, “I meant every word. What you do … it means everything to me, you know that right? Whether the magic is real or not, your rituals give me a sense of peace and security I’ve never felt before.”

You gaze up at him with those captivating eyes that never fail to make his heart stutter. “I know. And that’s why I’ll never stop doing them for you. You make me feel … connected. Vital. Like my gifts can actually make a positive impact, instead of being some weird family quirk.”

Charles lets his thumb gently trace the delicate line of your cheekbone, drinking in every detail of your beloved face. “They do make an impact, mon cœur. Probably more than either of us can comprehend.”

He draws you into a lingering kiss, one that sends delicious sparks of heat ricocheting through his body. When you finally break apart, you’re both smiling and slightly flushed.

“Mmm, I should really start charging the team for services rendered, if that’s the payment plan,” you joke breathlessly.

Charles arches one eyebrow at you. “Trust me, they would go broke in a week trying to keep up.”

You let out a full laugh at that, the musical sound making his heart swell. He loves this — the moments of playful intimacy and banter, feeling so incredibly grounded and content with you. Before you came into his life, such tender domesticity always seemed like an impossible dream given his lifestyle.

Pulling you close once more, he nuzzles into the soft skin of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent. “Let’s go home,” he murmurs huskily. “I have a victory to properly celebrate … and I require your particular skills again tonight.”

You shiver slightly in his arms, drawing back just enough to fix him with a heated look. “My skills are always at your service. Shall we summon a portal or ...”

He huffs out a laugh at your playful tone, secretly loving when you tease him about the more fanciful aspects of witchcraft. “Why don’t we just take the car for now? No need to alarm the locals by apparating in the middle of the paddock.”

Chuckling, you lean up to steal one more lingering kiss before murmuring, “Deal. Now let’s get out of here before that reporter comes sniffing around for more gossip.”

Taking his hand, you start leading him away from the crowded pit lane and back toward the nearby motorhomes. With every step, Charles can feel the thrum of excitement building in his veins, fueled by much more than just the adrenaline of his race win.

There’s a steady warmth pulsing deep within him now, a sense of gratitude and contentment that suffuses his very soul. Ever since that fateful day in Monaco when he let you into his life, everything has shifted into vibrant new focus.

He’s never been superstitious, not really — he prides himself on being practical, logical, leaving little room for spiritual or religious beliefs. And yet … with you, a whole unseen mystical world has opened up to him in the most extraordinary way. Even if he still doesn’t fully understand the intricacies of your rituals and practices, he knows with certainty how they make him feel.

Protected. Centered. Empowered.

Loved, more deeply than he’s ever experienced.

As you make your way hand-in-hand through the chaos of post-race celebrations, trading giddy grins and teasing jokes, Charles feels it all shining outward from his very core — past the fame, the accomplishments, the never-ending pressures of being an elite athlete. With you by his side, he’s found a serenity and sense of self far beyond what any championship could provide.

So tonight, as you cuddle together and let your energies flow over him in that uniquely intimate way, he’ll pour every ounce of devotion and love he feels right back into you. Because in the end, that’s the most powerful force of all — one that transcends even the wildest of your spells and charms.

As long as you two are bound together on this path, no force in the universe could ever curse him again.

[prokopetz]

Okay, so a thing about Tolkien's Middle-Earth is that, for elves and other beings of comparable metaphysical stature, the "distance" between an act of will and its tangible result is shorter than it is for mortals. The universe is just more inclined to play along with how they want it to work, which is why they're not lying when they claim not to know what magic is even though the products of their craftsmanship are by any reasonable standard supernatural – they just make stuff, and it works the way it does because that's how they intended it to.

This has a number of fun worldbuilding implications, like inventors having tangible authority over things crafted using their techniques, regardless of who does the actual crafting, because they literally willed the principles which allow those techniques to work into being, or the fact that when powerful beings die, sometimes stuff that depends on techniques they invented stops working. However, there's a bigger implication that that's generally gone unaddressed:

Elves can't do science.

Like, it's straight up impossible. A Tolkien elf cannot construct and carry out a meaningful experiment of any sort – it'll always works the way they expect it to, but only for that particular elf. Confirmation bias is an insurmountable barrier.

I want to read a story about the elf who figures this out and it bothers them terribly.

[beloveds-embrace]

duke au angst, but könig isn’t a knight. He’s either not in it and reader just sinks into a pit of depression and withdrawals so much that rumours start speculation around the ton that reader is either dead or murder and it starts to take a toll on john reputation (they start going after why him, simon, johnny and kyle are so close) or a könig is an Austrian duke/way closer to royalty and when he’s over for business with John and/or simon, he and the reader hit it off (much to the boys dismay) and reader plans on leaving without a word, leaving nothing more than a vague letter that details why and a set of divorce papers (helped achieved by könig) and by the time they realise their mistake readers already living the high life in austria

….okay but the first one’s got me downright obsessed, anon 😩 second one too and i feel like i will absolutely end up caving and writing it later but for now, have this!

Angst dukedom post

Non-angst dukedome post(no konig in this one)

No but seriously, there is only so much you can take. Between everyone’s dismissal of you, the lack of any meaningful company, the loneliness- it was only a matter of time before you just… can’t do it anymore.

The change, though it starts slow, is impossible to hide. You stop having dinner with John, finding no solace in the taste of lukewarm, half-heartedly prepared food. You tell yourself it’s not worth it- the stilted conversations, the empty looks, the way his eyes always drift to anything but you. He’s too busy sharing hidden glances with Kyle, exchanging quiet touches with Johnny when he hand delivers the food, speaking to Simon with an intensity that has never been for you.

You stop attending the endless galas and balls you are meant expected to attend as the Duchess. You withdraw from the tea parties, from every suffocating event where you were paraded as nothing more than an ornament on Duke Price’s arm. You withdraw from the public eye itself.

Instead, you drift through the duchy, through the rooms that are suddenly empty when you arrive. You drift to and fro, in a haze of lonelinthat and slow-setting exhaustion.

The maids whispered of you before, but it used to be out of your earshot; now, you can hear them clearly, none of them afraid of being punished when not even your own husband can stand your sight. They mutter about how sickly you look, how your eyes are dull and lifeless.

She’s wasting away.

Maybe it’s for the best.

No one can love someone who fades into the walls.

But of course, the whispers aren’t just within the duchy. Rumors ripple out beyond the duchy’s walls-

The Duchess has gone mad, they say. Locked away by her husband, for her own good.

She ran away in the dead of night, they say. Couldn’t bear her husband’s coldness. Maybe he drove her to it.

He’s always with Duke Riley, isn’t he? Or the butler. Or the chef.

Poor thing. No wonder she vanished.

All of it gnaws and bites at John’s reputation, at yours, but he never comes to you and it doesn’t surprise you at all. He would rather find a way to bury it all then simply check on you. The facade has always been more important, and he keeps it with half-hearted excuses half-believed by some and dismissed by others.

But they are relentless, and soon they taint every interaction he has. No one meets him without a hint of suspicion in their eyes. How much of it is true, they seem to ask. What did you do to her? Is she really gone? She was a good woman, how could you do that to her? There is more scrutiny now on the time he spends with Simon, with Kyle, with Johnny. He starts to avoid public events himself, unwilling to face the relentless gossip that hangs over him now like a dark cloud.

Eventually, you stop dressing for the day, leaving your hair unkempt, your gowns crumpled and out of style. No one comes to check on you, the maids happy at having less work, and you tell yourself that you prefer it that way. No eyes to judge. No lips to lie. The solitude is nothing new, even if it’s never been this severe before.

Time blurs, too. You stop looking at the newspapers when they stop being delivered. The days mean nothing when every morning brings only a new kind of numbness, and some days you spend entirely in bed, too tired to even think about taking a step outside.

Yet, even with your noticeable absence, nothing changes. No one knocks on your door, not even once. No one checks to see if you’re eating, breathing, surviving. You feel so achingly lonely.

John doesn’t approach you once. You have become a specter, more distant than ever. And though he and the others feel a creeping sense of guilt- Kyle finds himself lingering outside your door, only to turn away with clenched fists; Johnny’s jokes die in his throat when he hears your name; Simon stares at the spot you used to take during the dinners and lunches he’d join; John stares at the very few portraits of you that line the walls and wonders how he’d even go about approaching you- none of them move to truly mend the gaping distance between you. They regret their neglect, but they do not know how to fix it. Or maybe they are simply too late.

dukedom au masterlist Part Two: Fix-it