#it‘s very him

[starlingstalk]

Porcelain hands

You can‘t fall down the stairs to see yourself

[incorrectfatui]

Scaramouche: what's your dog's name?  Dottore: Spartacus.  Scaramouche, yelling to Arlecchino: TRY SPARTACUS!  Arlecchino, on the computer: DIDN'T WORK!  Dottore: Scaramouche: What's your favorite number?

[eekonis]

some c!dream character designs!

[50thvictor]

there‘s so much emphasis on how alike haymitch & katniss are & how it makes them understand each other so well. but to me it‘s important to note that haymitch sees aspects of himself in both katniss AND peeta. he sees his ferocity & endurance in katniss, but he also sees his ability to put on a mask & play other people in peeta. that‘s at least a part of why he always believed they might actually have a chance in the games & it‘s also what makes it both easy & hard to love them.

[a-yaos-little-murder-beans]

Brain worms won‘t shut up about WRHxJGS and JGY being their accidental dual cultivation baby.

That‘s all my WIPs are currently about.

[notanotherinfjblog]

ENTJ: Wait, you know Professor XY (an ENTJ)? I love his papers, they are always so straightforward and clear. They are so good!

INFJ: Yeah, he taught at my old university. It‘s always so funny to watch ISFJ become a little fanboy when he talks about his work because I know all the beef that people have with him.

ENTJ: Like what?

INFJ: You see, my old university was very laid back when it came to hierarchy and formality and all that. But then there was him who didn‘t bother to learn other people‘s names before they had a PhD.

ENTJ: Okay, but to be fair, you don‘t learn the names of your students. Why would you?

INFJ: I do.

ENTJ: What? How? I‘m not going to make them wear name tags and go around in a circle asking each of them who they are. I don‘t care.

INFJ: Well, I do. I want to know who I‘m talking to. And since I‘m asking them to address me by my first name, too, it just seems fair.

ENTJ: … what?

[such-sweet-entropy]

you ever notice how a cat‘s head is perfectly kissie shaped? coincidence? i think not

[targaryen-dynasty]

REDAMANCY.

Cregan Stark x female Targaryen!Reader (Part 4 here)

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept your younger brother’s offer to return to the capital for your child to receive his blessings. And when you‘re finally on the way, it’s your husband‘s duty to take care of you.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant sex, pregnancy, slight breeding kink, praise kink, slight degrading, angst, fluff

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: Redamancy means A love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you, and let me tell you: these two are in love. Thanks to @sylasthegrim, it‘s always good to know you help me with my zero grasp on English!

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Ravens from Winterfell flying all the way down to King’s Landing has always taken quite some time. And therefore it was no wonder you were surprised that one of your younger brother’s ravens reached the castle not long after you'd informed him you were with child, inviting you to birth it in the Red Keep for it to receive the young king’s blessings.

Being the ever dutiful Lord of House Stark, there was no way your husband would refuse the offer, and once your pregnancy had crossed the seventh moon mark, a carriage and your husband’s entourage were sent south.

From the very beginning on you’ve been hesitant to accept the offer. Westeros’ capital has brought nothing but pain and grief to you, and you’re afraid coming back ruins the comfort and peace you’ve found far, far away from the castle in the North, in Winterfell. But a part of you misses and longs for your siblings and the part of your family that’s still left, hence it didn’t take too much convincing from your husband.

You’ve lost count of the days you spent in that damned carriage by now, solely accompanied by your maids as your dear husband rides at the front of his entourage, joining his men on horseback. But there’s one thing all days have in common: it’s you being exhausted beyond relief once night comes.

For the longest time you thought your unborn babe to be no-fussy and calm, which proved to be false just one week into the travel. It’s restless, kicking and moving especially when you finally find rest in the bed of the receptive inn you stay in for the night. Your feet are swollen, just like your breasts, and your body provides milk as though the babe has been long born already, and all you crave at this point is for the pregnancy to be over already.

As the wheelhouse comes to a stop, you rub your swollen bump with a sigh, looking toward the door with heavy footsteps approaching. Your beloved husband opens the door, and even though he won’t admit it, he looks just as exhausted as you do.

“Is it time?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet with another sigh. You place your small hand in his large one, allowing him to help you out.

He nods, bringing a hand to the small of your back. “Indeed. We have reached the crossroads. From here we are only ten days away from King’s Landing, which means the end of our journey is in sight,” he replies. “How are you and our son feeling?”

Cregan guides you away from the wheelhouse, escorting you through the crowd of his men towards a large inn sitting right where the river road crosses the kingsroad. And from old tales of your uncle you know it has to be the Bellringer Inn, a place where even your great-grandfather and great-grandmother have stayed at before.

“We do not yet know if this babe will be a boy or a girl, husband,” you chastise him in a teasing manner.

“You are right, we do not,” he says. “But I feel it in my bones. Just call it a father’s intuition.”

You roll your eyes at his words and nudge his ribs with your elbow, yet there also pulls a smile at the corners of your lips. He chuckles at that. “Careful, my love, I am not as nimble as I used to be.”

Shaking your head, you giggle softly. “Do not tell me that you are an old man now, Lord Stark.”

As you make your way through the courtyard and towards the inn, you can feel the curious glances of the passerby; a man of Cregan’s caliber always drew the attention toward him, just like your hair did. But you’re unbothered by it all. You carry a piece of your husband within you, and that thought fills you with a sense of fulfillment and pride.

He looks for the innkeeper as you reach for his hand, pulling it from your back around your frame, squeezing it softly. “Might you join me tonight? I know that you can not leave your men alone, but one night will surely do no harm. I must admit that I have hardly found sleep without your warmth for the past weeks.”

With a gentle, intimate gesture, Cregan brushes his fingers over your swollen bump, before pulling you against his side. “How can I ever be expected to refuse anything my beautiful wife asks of me? Of course I will join you tonight.” Leaning a bit closer toward you, he adds with a quiet whisper: “Your presence has been missed in my bed as well. The nights feel cold and lonely without you by my side.”

Heat crawls onto your cheeks at the proximity and the slight implication that comes with his words, solely interrupted when a stout man with a bushy beard but otherwise pleasant demeanor walks around the corner and welcomes you two.

Upon Cregan’s inquiry about the availability of a room, he hands over the keys and leads you toward your place of retreat for the night. More than once have you told Cregan you’re perfectly fine with sleeping in a tent with him, yet he always came back to your delicate condition, stating he only wants the best for you and his unborn child, and you eventually have given up and accepted it.

The room is decent. Not as big as your chambers at home, but still larger than what you’ve slept in for the last few weeks. Your maids already scurry into the room to bring some of your belongings and clothes to get you ready for the night, while Cregan leans in to kiss your temple. “Let me arrange for my man to sleep outside the inn for the night,” he mutters against your skin. “And then we shall spend the night in warm beds.”

Even with your maids bustling around you, you can’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at his words. The prospect of sharing the night with him is enough to make you forget the soreness of your swollen curves that has become a constant companion over the past few moons.

“I will freshen up in the meantime,” you say, leaning into his touch before he pulls away to take care of his men’s sleeping arrangements for the night. Once everything was adjusted in the chambers, your maids moved to help you out of your clothes, but you refused them, having planned something very special.

Standing in front of the small window, overlooking a stable with a thatch roof and a bell tower, you all but admire how quietly Cregan opens the door, and with the lock falling right into place behind him, the room grows even quieter and the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation.

“Is everything sorted?” you ask, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“All set,” your husband replies with a low voice as he approaches you.

He comes to tower over your frame from behind, moving his hands over your hips up to your waist. Lifting your head, your eyes lock with his. “Alone at last, hm?” There’s a sultry smile on your lips now, and you gently reach behind you to cup his cheek with one hand. “Now you’re all mine for the night.”

You lean against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths against your back. Cregan seizes the opportunity and brushes your hair over one shoulder before he presses his lips to the crook of your neck. The touch makes you sigh, stirring something inside of you you have had to keep at bay for quite some time. When he brings his large hands to your swollen breasts, fondling them through the thick fabric of your dress, you can’t help but moan, the slight squeezing aiding against the heaviness.

But then his hands and lips leave your body, and he slightly leans around you to look at you – or rather your breasts – and you immediately know the reason why.

The gray fabric has become damp under his touch, two dark spots prominent in the front of it. While it brings a bit of shame to your cheeks, the low rumble that escapes his chest sends a fire straight down between your legs. “I should have warned you I started leaking a fortnight ago,” you admit ashamedly, biting your bottom lip.

“I quite enjoy the sight of it, you know,” he says, voice laced with a combination of awe, adoration and burning need. His hands shift to the lace in the back of your dress. “But let us put this to good use.”

The dress comes undone with ease, falling to the floor in a puddle around your feet. Damp spots are decorating your smallclothes, but this time you don’t mind the sight. Cregan’s hands now roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist and your growing bump.

Although you know exactly what it is his words are meant to imply, you choose to tease him. “And what is it you have in mind right now, hm?”

His gray eyes briefly flicker to the bed close to you, before meeting yours again. “I have a few things in mind. But for now…” He cups your chin, tilting your head up so he can claim your lips in a slow, deep kiss that’s full of desire and passion. It makes you feel as though the air is sucked right out of your lungs by him, as if you can’t survive without his lips on yours. “How about we make the most of this night, my love?”

“I’m all yours,” you breathe against his lips.

His large hands roam your curves, helping you out of your undergarments, until they settle at your thighs, wrapping around them to effortlessly hoist you up. Although Cregan is quite the bull of a man and appears to be a brute, he possesses a tenderness you wouldn’t expect from him, gently keeping your body against his and lying you down on the bed not far away just as carefully.

Soft, gentle kisses are pressed to your collarbones, igniting a fire within you that has been smoldering for too long. As his fingers glide over your skin with featherlight touches, leaving a burning trail behind, he finds his hands drawn to your full breasts, cupping and holding them, and eventually squeezing them.

More droplets of your milk trickle into his calloused palms, wetting his skin, but he does not care–not when he has you writhing and whimpering beneath him at just the faintest of touches.

Your husband’s eagerness would have almost made you chuckle, watching him rise from the bed to rid himself off his clothes hastily, if it wouldn’t match your own desire and greediness. With his breeches falling to the ground, his cock stands to full attention, hard enough for it to almost seem painful.

His hungry gazes devours your bare form, tall frame slightly hunched forwards as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“Will you just stand there and watch, my wolf?” you tease, propping yourself up on your elbows. “What happened to ‘let us put this to good use’?”

It’s the teasing lilt in your voice that pulls him out of his stupor like a wave, the chuckle he releases low and throaty. “You are a temptress, my love,” he replies. “You are lucky I am a man of my word.”

“Then touch me,” you whine, words coming out more desperate than actually intended.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly approaching the bed, Cregan bows forwards and grabs one of your feet. He lifts your leg and starts to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses along the inside of your leg, occasionally nibbling on the skin of your inner thigh.

Your back slightly arches off the mattress, body thrumming with desire. Entangling your hands in his dark curls, you use the grip as reigns to where you want him most, but your husband acts completely unfazed, not allowing you to tug him higher up.

He takes his time, kissing and nibbling your thighs, before he boldly presses a kiss to the apex of your legs, tongue briefly dragging through your folds. It elicits a shudder in its wake, and you can’t stifle a moan.

Making his way up, he licks your navel, and eventually traces the curve of your full breast, circling your hardened bud. Cregan laps up every drop of milk that oozes out of your bud like nothing else than a starved wolf, the edge of his teeth applying just a faint pressure to the sensitive skin to stimulate the flow.

But when his other hand comes up to fondle and squeeze your other breast, that’s the moment you lose your composure, shamelessly smothering him with your breasts. “Gods, Cregan…” you whimper, immediately bringing you relief. There isn’t even time to waste a thought about the indecency of it all, not when it feels just so right.

It’s your mewls, your whispered whines and moans, the sound of you saying his name in such a desperate manner that drives him to continue. “You make me ache for you,” he rasps against your skin, voice thick with desire. Your husband never falters to ignite a fire inside of you with his words, especially when there’s an innuendo hidden between his praises.

Bringing his hand from your breast down between your bodies, he aligns himself with you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds in a way that makes you bite back a moan and grind against him. You grip his dark curls harshly as he finally eases inside, pushing into you inch by inch, agonizingly slow to make sure you feel him enter you.

His suckling falters with the tightness of your walls embracing him, overwhelmed by pure bliss and a feeling he’s missed for the past few weeks.

Every gasp and whine that escapes you only serves to embolden him further, continuing to tease and taste your breast with unrivaled enthusiasm. It juxtaposes the slow, sloppy thrusts of his hips, and brings you two different kinds of sensations at once.

Cregan has made himself home between your legs, rocking his hips leisurely back and forth. He has dropped his weight on one elbow and leant his upper body to the side, determined to not put any weight on your swollen bump. His lips are firmly wrapped around your bud while his hand teases the other, pinching and squeezing it between his fingers. The proximity is unmatchable, feeding into your constant desire to be as close to him as possible.

You can practically watch him lose every ounce of self control, his suckling becoming more intense and the thrusts growing in determination. His groans and grunts are muffled, and droplets of your milk trickle idly down his chin, getting lost in the dark, coarse hairs.

You fully expect him to say something when he releases your bud, but he’s far too eager to get his fill again. Pinching the perky bud of your other breast harshly, droplets of milk run down the curve of it, only to be traced by his tongue, liking a flat stripe over your skin. He chokes on a groan as the sight has you clenching tightly around his hard cock.

“Please– do not stop,” you whimper, applying a bit of pressure to his head to urge him towards your breast again. “... not yet.”

Dark-blown eyes suddenly flicker up to meet yours, and a shuddered breath leaves your lips. “My my, what a greedy wench I have for a wife,” he chuckles to himself. You don’t take offense, but the statement does make you duck your head and bite your bottom lip sheepishly. “I do not intend to.”

Despite the teasing, it’s obvious your pleas fall upon eager ears as he heeds your command and closes his lips around your bud again. Every hungry pull of his lips draws more and more milk from you, and while relief makes itself known in your breasts, a different kind of pressure starts to settle in the pit of your belly.

Squeezing him so well, you make it impossible for Cregan to move on his own accord, and quickly take over, rolling your hips against his. It’s a race for completion, making your pearl throb with anticipation.

The coarse hairs of your husband’s beard drag over your sensitive skin with his eager suckling, tickling you and causing you to arch against him even more. You have your arms wrapped around his neck at this point, keeping him tightly against you.

A string of yesses falls past your lips like a chant, and the pace of your hips increases as far as your bump allows you to. Your mind grows hazy with pleasure, until your peak washes over you with a loud gasp.

You haven’t noticed Cregan watching you through it all, too focused on the sensations coursing through your body. His gaze is mesmerized, clearly relishing in the relief that’s etched onto your features and the way your walls flutter around his cock.

He pulls back, droplets of milk resting in the corners of his lips, and lifts his body to tower over you. The thrusting of his hips grows sharper now, determined to help you through your pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasps, one hand resting on the mattress next to your head while the other gropes at your now relieved breasts.

“Once this pup is born,” he emphasized the words by rolling your sore bud between his index finger and thumb, drawing out just a few more droplets of milk. “I shall put another in you to keep you round with my seed.”

Your head grows dizzy, lightheaded even, and you can’t do more than whimper and whine through your peak, not fully comprehending what he’s said.

Cregan snaps his hips into yours once, twice before he topples over the edge with a loud groan, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of you. Cupping your breast, his fingers dig harshly into your flesh.

You continue to roll your hips against his, prolonging his pleasure. Switching roles, it’s now your turn to milk him for every drop, taking everything his cock spills inside of you. Every muscle in his body tenses, until eventually, he collapses to the side, careful not to put his weight on your swollen bump.

With his cock slowly becoming flaccid again, the sensation of his seed leaking out of your cunt is more apparent, causing heat to spread throughout your body. If it wasn’t for you carrying his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit.

Cregan eventually lies down on his back, and you seize the chance to rest your head on his chest. It’s hard to keep your eyes open as his hand softly entangles into your hair, scratching your scalp in the manner that usually lulls you to sleep. His breath is slower now, his chest rising and lowering your head.

“I can not bear to spend another night without you by my side,” you all but whisper, bringing a hand to his stomach.

Your finger trails the contours of his muscles, before following the dark trail of coarse hairs down.

“You needn‘t worry about that,” he says. “We shall not stay in King’s Landing for too long. And I highly doubt that anyone could get me out of your chambers during the time we stay there. Once we arrive, we shall stay together.”

Nodding your head slowly, you hum a ‘mh-mh‘, too engrossed in the feeling of his hand in your hair and the other rubbing soothing circles over your back. Having trouble staying awake, you’re hardly able to process his next words, already drifting off to sleep.

“Let us sleep now, my love. We have another tiresome day ahead of us.“

Cregan Taglist: @nats-whore @aemondsbabe

[starlingstalk]

[bartonomy]

RESTLESS SILENCE!

PAIRING Barty Crouch Jr. x quiet!fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

SYNOPSIS Barty Crouch Jr. hated silence. You thrived in it. Being paired together for a Potions project in the library should have been simple—but Barty refuses to let the quiet win.

CONTENT WARNING obsessive! barty, possessive! james, angst, fluff, the boys not asking yn abt her feelings LMFAO lmk if i missed something!

WORD COUNT 5k words

library.

Barty Crouch Jr. prided himself on many things—his sharp mind, his quick reflexes, his ability to get under people’s skin ( much to Regulus’ and Evans dismay) when he wanted to. But patience? That had never been one of them.

And yet, patience was exactly what was required when he found himself sitting across from you in the library, parchment spread between you, potions textbook propped open, the air between you thick with silence.

It wasn’t just any silence. It was a suffocating, calculated quiet, the kind that settled around the you like a second skin. You liked it. Humming in contentment as you flipped through the book to gather enough information for your assignment.

It drove him mental.

You had been partnered up in Slughorn’s class earlier that day, much to Barty’s irritation. You were everything he wasn’t—controlled, meticulous, the sort of person who took diligent notes and never spoke unless you had something of actual substance to say. The worst part? You were no outcast. Despite your quiet nature, you were as well-liked, hovering at the edges of the Marauders’ usual chaos, laughing softly at Pandora Lovegood’s dreamy theories, and using your smart mouth (Gideon insists) to get the Prewett brothers out of trouble from Mcgonnagall. You were… respected.

Barty was tolerated, at best.

Now, in the dim glow of the library’s enchanted lanterns, you sat across from him, quill in hand, completely ignoring him. Well, unintentionally, he had been fussing in his place since you both arrived an hour ago, trying to get you to do merlin knows with him.

Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in his chair. “You could at least pretend to be interested in conversation,” he muttered.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t find unnecessary conversations stimulating.”

He scoffed. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”

You merely hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing more, flipping to another page in his (you lended yours to Peter after he accidentally got soaked by the bucket of water from the black lake intended for Snape) textbook.

Barty’s fingers drummed against the table. He could handle a lot of things—detentions, duels, even his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, but this? This was insufferable.

So, naturally, he decided to make it his mission to ruin the silence.

It started small.

A flick of his wand, and your inkwell slid ever-so-slightly across the table. You caught it before it could spill, shot him a glance, and continued writing.

Next, he nudged your parchment just out of reach. You didn’t even blink, simply shifted your chair forward and carried on.

Fine. If you were going to be stubborn, he’d up the stakes.

With another subtle movement of his wand, your beloved muggle book „The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie“ the one you had tucked beside your Potions text, began to quiver. Slowly at first, then more violently, the pages ruffling as though caught in a windstorm.

you sighed, set your quill down rather roughly, and calmly muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The book stilled.

Barty whistled. “Impressive.”

You finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. “It‘s a First Year spell. Are you always this restless?”

He grinned. “Are you always this boring?”

There was no offense in your gaze, only quiet scrutiny. “No. But I also don’t feel the need to fill the silence just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

Barty opened his mouth, then shut it again.

No one had ever called him out so plainly before. Most people either avoided him, tolerated him, or challenged him outright. But you… you understood him in a way that unsettled him.

And worse, he had no idea what to do with that.

The pranks escalated.

By the end of the week, Barty had:

• Transfigured your quill into a small snake (you turned it back with no regard of his presence, only Trelwaney who shrieked in horror).

• Enchanted your book to read aloud in a dramatic voice (you merely bookmarked your page and waited for him to get bored).

• Jinxed your notes to rearrange themselves whenever you tried to read them (you rewrote them without complaint).

Each time, you met his antics with infuriating patience. No anger. No exasperation. Just quiet indifference, as if you knew exactly why he was doing it.

It wasn’t until he charmed your beloved novel to hover just out of reach that you finally had enough.

With a soft Expelliarmus, the book yanked itself free from his spell and slammed down onto the table between you. you met his gaze, eyes burning with guarded anger.

“Why?” you asked, voice level but firm.

Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Why what?”

You exhaled, slow and measured. Merlin, was he testing your already low patience “Why go to such lengths just to get a reaction?”

Barty opened his mouth to fire back something witty, but the words caught. He couldn’t answer.

Because the truth was something he didn’t want to admit. Because silence had never been kind to him. Because silence meant expectation, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the loneliness of never being enough. Because he didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t constantly react to him.

You watched as something shifted in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. And for the first time since you had been paired together, you didn’t seem like you were trying to solve him.

You just saw him.

The silence stretched between you once more. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. This time, it felt like something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The library had become a battlefield.

Barty didn’t lose. Not at duels, not at arguments, and certainly not at mind games. But after a week of relentless pestering, pranks, and jinxed books, but all he was met with was radio silence.

And Barty hated being ignored.

Tonight was no different.

You were back in your usual spot in the potions section near the back, candlelight flickering over parchment, and you were sure you could hear people snogging in the aisle next to you. Barty wasn’t writing. He was watching, and it pissed you off.

“Fascinating,” he drawled, chin resting on his palm.

You sighed, not even bothered to look up. “What is?”

“You,” he said simply.

At last, you glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. Not surprised, not flattered, only curious and slightly amused. As if he was some interesting tale from Trelawney‘s weekly horoscopes

Barty leaned forward, smirking. “You’re too patient for someone who spends time with the Marauders. They’re reckless. Loud. Gits.”

Your lips twitched in almost a smile. “And yet, I don’t find them insufferable.”

“Lucky them,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You don’t actually hate them, do you?”

Barty scoffed, leaning back. “Tell them that, and I’ll hex you.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “You could have joined them, you know. You’re clever enough. Quick-witted. You keep up with them in class.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I wanted to associate myself with obnoxious Griffins? I have a reputation to uphold ”

You only raised your eyebrow at that. “Oh yes, because being a maniacal, havoc wrecking wizard is soooooo important”

He roared into laughter, clutching his stomach like you have given him the funniest joke in Salazars sake. Tears were dripping out the corner of his eyes with his ropes falling messily over his shoulder.

After his sudden burst of emotions, there was silence, well, as much as you could say from Barty‘s loud wheezing trying to calm himself down and a group of second year Hufflepuffs discussing the use of Mandrakes, the space between you two was peaceful

Then, you shrugged, rolling your shoulders back to ease the growing pain (or the growing tension that is about to engulf you two) “or maybe, its because you’re lonely.”

Barty went still instantly.

For a moment, the pleasant quietness became oppressive, thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then,he laughed again. Though, now, it was short, sharp, utterly devoid of humor. “You think you know me?”

“I think,” you started, carefully trying to puck out the right words, “that you spend too much time trying to get people to notice you, y‘know?.”

His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one paying attention.”

This time, you didn’t look away.

Checkmate.

Barty wasn’t sure when it started.

When you became the first person he looked for in a room. When silence with you stopped feeling suffocating and started feeling… different.

It was a slow, creeping thing, like poison slipping into his bloodstream.

You weren’t like the Marauders. You didn’t fill space with noise or demand attention. You simply were, an observer, someone who noticed things most people didn’t.

And Barty hated being noticed.

The Slytherin common room was quiet this late at night, with most students crammed at the Hufflepuff quidditch After-party after they had won against Ravenclaw earlier that day. Except for Barty and Regulus.

The younger Black sat in one of the loveseats by the fireplace, posture perfect as always with his messenger bag on his side while across from him, Barty sprawled lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, looking more reckless (or crazy according to Evan) than usual.

Regulus had been watching him for the past ten minutes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his Black-Green hair in agitation or the way his knee bounched when he thought no one was looking.

Finally, as if this thought gave him immense pain, he sighed. „You’re obsessed.“

Barty stilled. „What?“

„With her.“ Regulus arched an eyebrow knowingly

Junior scoffed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically, flailing his arms „Oh, not you too!

Regulus ignored him. “It’s pathetic.” Barty turned his head, smirking. “Funny. Sirius said the same thing about you once.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched. “Sirius is an idiot.”

“And yet, here you are, acting just like him—concerned about my well-being, giving me the I know best speech.” Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s sweet, really.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what you do.” Barty grinned. “Liar.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “What is this, Barty?”

Barty hummed, considering. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Reggie”

Regulus frowned. “You’re distracting me by talking about my idiotic brother. So spill, what are you afraid of? ”

Barty’s smirk faltered. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just stared into the flickering fire, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow breath out “Everything.”

Regulus didn’t press. Didn’t have to. He understood better than anyone what Barty really meant. The weight of expectations. The suffocating presence of a father who saw only duty.

Regulus studied him for a moment. “You don’t get attached to people. Especially not to someone like L/N. " Barty’s smirk returned, but it was weaker this time. “Maybe she’s just different.”

Regulus leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe you just don’t like that you can’t control her.” Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “And yet, I keep coming back.”

Regulus tilted his head. “That’s called liking someone, Barty.”

Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I don’t like people.”

“Then why does James Potter look like he wants to murder you?”

His expression darkened. “Because he knows.” the curly haired boy hummed thoughtfully. “Knows what?”

Barty looked him dead in the eyes.

“That she’s mine.”

Regulus sighed, standing up. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

But as he walked away, Barty didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, watching the fire, thinking about you.

It was , like Regulus said, James who noticed first.

Barty had expected it, really. The four eyed boy was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to people who operated in the gray spaces between morality.

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, James leaned against the couch where you were reading, arms crossed. “So,” he mused, “are you finally going to tell us why Crouch won’t leave you alone?”

You barely glanced up. “Because we’re Potions partners.”

Sirius, sprawled across an armchair, snorted. “Right. And I’m Minister for Magic.”

Remus, ever the voice of reason, tilted his head. “You do spend an awful lot of time with him.”

Peter nodded, mouth stuffed with fizzing whizzbees. “It’s weird.”

you sighed, closing your book without marking your spot first, which you internally curse. “He’s… frustrating.”

Sirius smirked. “But?”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. “But he’s not as easy to hate as people think.” That was all they needed to hear.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us, she’s sympathizing with the enemy.”

Remus grinned knowingly. “This is going to be fun.”

James Potter knew you better than anyone.

He had known you since you two were small—before Hogwarts, before the Marauders, before any of this. You had been his first real friend, little pigtails following him around, who always listened when he rambled about Quidditch, often times playing the referee and giving yellow cards to his imaginary opponents and someone who was there when he needed you.

And now? Now you were spending too much time with Barty bloody Crouch Junior.

James didn’t like it. Not one bit.

At first, he thought nothing of it. A Potions partnership was just that—a school assignment. But then he started noticing things.

The way you lingered in the library after hours.

The way Barty watched you fondly when he thought no one was looking.

The way you didn’t seem nearly as irritated with him as you should have been.

And that was unacceptable.

James wasn’t stupid. He knew who Barty Crouch Jr. was. The arrogant, sharp-tongued Slytherin who played by his own rules, who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his best friend‘s brother. And yet, somehow, he had wormed his way into your schedule, your attention—things James had always had without question.

He didn’t realize just how much it bothered him until he saw you two together.

It was a late evening in the library, and James had come to find you. Instead, he found your little pest stuck to your side.

Barty was leaning back in his chair, smirking, while you sat across from him, rolling your eyes but not actually telling him to leave you alone. There was something different in the air between them—an ease James didn’t like.

Not one bit.

“Oi.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. “James?”

Barty groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

James ignored him, focusing on her. “We were supposed to go over Transfiguration notes, remember? Minnie was bugging me to take lessons with you”

You frowned. “That’s not until—”

“Now,” James said firmly. Barty snorted. “Territorial, aren’t we, Potter?”

James’ jaw clenched. “Just making sure my best friend isn’t wasting her time.” He just grinned, all teeth. “Oh, trust me, she’s not.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the incoming headache. Is it from Barty‘s constant yapping, the oh so frustrating instructions of the Felix Felicis, or James bickering? Who knows. “James, we’re just working on Potions.”

“Right,” James muttered. “Because that explains why he won’t stop staring at you.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You jealous, Potter?” James hated how his stomach twisted at that. “Of you?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Good,” Barty said smoothly, “because she’s free to spend time with whoever she wants.” The Gryffindor bristled. “And you’re free to bugger off.”

“James.” your voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension. you stood, gathering your books. “I’ll meet you in your common room later, okay?”

James hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.” But his glare at Barty said this isn’t over.

As he left, Barty chuckled under his breath. “Protective, isn’t he?”

“You love making things worse, don’t you?” you simply glared at him. Barty grinned. “Admit it. You’d be bored otherwise.”

You only shook your head at that, exasperated. But this time, you didn’t argue.

And Barty? He liked that just a little too much.

James Potter wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. But this—this infuriating, undeniable thing happening between his best friend and Barty bloody Crouch Jr.—was driving him mad.

It wasn’t just about Barty. It was about you.

You were his best friend. The one person who had always been there before Sirius, before Remus, before Peter. You had an unspoken understanding, a rhythm that no one else could touch.

And yet, somehow, you were slipping out of reach.

Because of that foul git.

Because wherever you were, Barty was not far behind.

Pandora Lovegood was an odd one. Everyone knew it.

She spoke in riddles, saw connections where others didn’t, and had a habit of appearing exactly where she was needed.

So James should have known better than to groan when she plopped down next to him on the bench in the transfiguration courtyard, humming thoughtfully.

“You’re sulking,” she observed. “I don’t sulk,” James muttered.

She smiled, entirely unconvinced. “It’s about her and him, isn’t it?” He scowled, borderline pouted. “There is no her and him.”

Pandora tilted her head. “Not yet.” at that, James sat up straighter. “Yet?”

Pandora just hummed again, her dreamy expression betraying nothing. “I think you’re afraid.”

“Of what? Crouch?” He snorted. “Please.”

“No,” Pandora mused. “Not him. You’re afraid because for the first time, she’s paying attention to someone else.” James didn’t respond. Because that would mean admitting she was right. The Rosier smiled knowingly. “You can’t stop it, you know.”

“Stop what?”

She simply shrugged, standing as if that answered everything. “The inevitable.”

James groaned. “Merlin, you’re worse than Moony.”

But as she walked away, her words lingered. And James hated that more than anything.

James found Barty alone that evening, leaning against the cobble stone wall just outside the Charms Classroom. He didn’t hesitate.

“Stay away from her.”

Barty turned, raising an eyebrow. “Potter,” he drawled, lips curling into a smirk. “This is getting predictable.” James stepped closer, jaw tight. “I’m serious.”

“Sirius is the loud one,” Barty quipped. “You’re the one with the tragic hero complex.” James hated that he had a point. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he said sharply, “she’s not a part of it.”

Barty’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “Who says it’s a game?”

James scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t care about her. You just like getting a rise out of people. And I won’t let you use her to do it.” Barty’s expression darkened.

“Use her?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Funny, coming from you.”

James stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

Barty leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “It means you don’t like that she’s spending time with me—not because you think I’ll hurt her, but because you can’t stand the idea of not being the most important person in her life.” James clenched his fists. Barty’s smirk was sharp, knowing. “Hits a nerve, doesn’t it?” James took a slow breath. He would not hex him.Not yet, at least.

“She’s my best friend,” James said coldly. “And I trust her. But I don’t trust you.” Barty’s gaze flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an infuriating grin, he stepped back.

“Well then, Potter.” His voice was almost mocking. “Let’s see who she trusts more.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

James stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. Because for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.

You were avoided him.

Not subtly. Not carefully. Just completely ignoring his existence

It started the week following the small… confrontation in library. Barty walked into Potions, expecting you to be at their usual table at the back, books already open,quill tapping absently against parchment, asking about his usual trouble with filch and a soft smile gracing your lips. Instead, your lips never opened and gaze never left your paper.

No glance in his direction. No acknowledgment at all.

Barty stared. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.

Fine.

But then it kept happening. In the corridors, you veered away when you saw him approaching. In the library, you sat with James, Sirius, even Remus—anyone but him. When he did catch youe eye across the Great Hall, you looked away so quickly it felt like a slap.

It wasn’t anger. It was erasure, like he wasn’t even there.

Barty Crouch Jr. had never been ignored in his life. People watched him. They feared him. They respected him, hated him, wanted to be him. But you—you were acting as though he was nothing.

And he couldn’t stand it.

At first, he played it off. Shrugged, smirked, pretended not to care. But then a week passed. Then another. And with every second of silence, something inside him frayed. He found himself watching you too closely. Waiting for you to look at him. Wanting your attention, even if it was anger, frustration, anything but this emptiness.

And when James Potter threw an arm around your shoulders at the Slytherin party, whispering something that made you laugh—

Something in Barty snapped.

You didn’t know how it had come to this.

One moment, you had been talking with Evan about absolute nonsense, nursing a cup of firewhiskey mixed with something you didn’t want to know, trying to focus on anything other than the tension between James and Barty, the way they seemed to be circling each other like wolves.

And now…

Now you were backed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned corridor, heart pounding as Barty loomed in front of you, eyes blazing with something wild, something dangerous.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was low, accusing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You flinched. Not because you were afraid of him, Merlin, no—Barty is lunatic at best—but because there was something desperate in his voice, something fraying at the edges.

“I just needed space,” you said carefully. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Space? From me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might actually grab you, hold you there like he could force you to listen. “You belong with me.”

The words sent a chill down you spine. Not because of their meaning—but because of how much he believed them. “Barty,” you whispered, voice betrying you slightly, much to your annoyance “you don’t own me.”

His jaw clenched. “I never said I did.”

“But you act like it,” you shot back. “Like I’m something for you to win. Like James and I can’t be close, like I don’t have a choice in who I spend time with.”

Barty exhaled sharply, stepping closer, invading her space. “You do have a choice.” His voice was low now, almost a plea. “So why do you keep running from this?”

This. Whatever this was.

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse racing as he stared at you, expression laced with something desperate.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. Barty tilted his head, studying you. “Since when have I ever been normal?”

Your heart ached at that. Because he wasn’t. He was sharp edges and chaos, wildfire wrapped in silk. And you were intrigued.

“Tell me to leave,” Barty murmured, voice softer now, more dangerous. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.”

You opened your mouth, words mingling in your head, yet none of them escaped your lips.

Barty’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t triumphant. It was something else—something satisfied yet frustrated, as if he hated how much he needed you to not push him away.

The next day, you felt off-balance. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.

The Great Hall was as loud as ever, filled with students laughing, chattering, passing notes between bites of dinner. James sat beside you, talking animatedly with Sirius about the shenanigans they pulled at last night‘s party. Remus was reading. Pandora was off in her own world, stirring her tea with the wrong end of her spoon.

It was normal.

But you weren’t . Because he was there. Across the room, at the Slytherin table. And he wasn’t acting normal at all.

Barty Crouch Jr. was watching you. His elbow was propped on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes fixed on you with that sharp, playful intensity. Like he was waiting for something. Like he could still feel last night as much as you could—the heat of his breath, the weight of his words, the way he had opened your eyes.

Your stomach twisted but not in the usual dread

You quickly looked down at her plate, poking at the food with the fork, suddenly very aware of every movement, every breath.

It was fine.

You could pretend it hadn’t happened. You could move on, act normal, be the person she had always been. You could-

“You okay?”

James’ voice cut through your thoughts.

You startled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. James frowned, eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.

“You’re jumpy,” he observed. “Weird day?”

Yes. Extremely weird.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”

James didn’t look convinced.

Barty was still watching. You could feel it. Your pulse quickened. You needed to get out of here.

With a forced smile, you pushed back from the table. “I just remembered-I have to grab something from the library before class.” James raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

You turned before he could question you further, walking briskly out of the Great Hall, heart pounding.

You should have known he would find you.

It had been inevitable. Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He didn’t believe in backing down, in walking away—especially not from you.

And so, a day after the Slytherin party, after you had spent the night pretending you weren’t looking over your shoulder for him, he found you.

The Astronomy Tower was, to your luck, empty. The moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the cold air biting at your skin, you felt him before you saw him in your peripheral vision.

He was leaning against the railing, staring out over the darkened grounds, sleeves rolled up, hands tense against the stone. He looked different in the moonlight. Less sharp, less manic, less like the Barty Crouch Jr. the world expected him to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I hate my father.”

His voice was quiet. Hollow. You stiffened, startled by his sudden honesty, by the rawness in his tone.

Still, you didn’t leave. Didn’t move.

Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be expected to be perfect. To be a reflection of someone else, someone you loathe.”

Your chest ached at the exhaustion in his voice.

You stayed silent, waiting.

Barty let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He thinks he can mold me into whatever he wants. A loyal son. A future politician. A Crouch through and through.” He scoffed. “But I’m not. I never was.”

He turned to look at you then, and for the first time, there was no smirk, no amusement—just something raw and vulnerable, something you had never seen before.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “that’s why I wanted you so much.”

Your breath caught unexpectedly.

Barty’s eyes flickered over your face, unreadable. “You don’t try to make me be something.” His lips twisted. “Even when you hate me, at least it’s real.”

Something heavy settled between you, thick and undeniable.

“And”, he started, face twisting into something uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you—like he was fighting a battle you couldn’t see.

Then-

“I hate him too.”

The words were sharp, bitter, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. “Barty—”

“No.” He turned to face you fully, eyes burning. “I hate the way he hovers around you like he owns you. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something filthy. I hate that no matter what I do, he’s always there.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way his fists clenched like he was barely keeping himself together.

“He’s my best friend,” you said softly. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. He’s waiting.”

You frowned at that. “Waiting for what?”

“For you to wake up,” Barty muttered. “For you to realize that he’s the safer choice. The one who won’t make your life complicated. The one who fits neatly into your perfect little world.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You think this is about James?”

Barty scoffed. “It’s always about him.”

Frustration flared in your chest. “Barty, I chose to stay away.”

He stilled.

“I chose to keep my distance,” you continued, voice surprisingly steady despite the inner hurricane you felt. “Not because of James. Not because of anyone else. But because you—”a sharp exhale left your mouth. “You scare me.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Because this, the fire between them, the way he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air left—

It was too much. Barty was too much. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to handle it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, slowly, Barty stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel his warmth, enough that your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.

Your pulse raced. “Then stop—” “Stop what?” His voice was rough now, almost desperate. “Wanting you? Needing you?”

“Barty—”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to stop.”

And maybe that was the real problem. Because Barty Crouch Jr. had never been good at letting things go.

And neither had you.

So when he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, you didn’t pull away.

And when he kissed you, desperate and reckless and full of something sharp and aching,

you kissed him back.

[maxedes]

as mentioned sky germany has three kids reporter this weekend & they got to interview max.

a short rundown:

- he was very cute with the kids (always cute talking german & cute with kids. so we got cute squared)

- the kids were so nervous (especially about asking for a selfie) but he was so nice to them & they seemed very comfortable once they started talking

- they asked who would drive for him & what the team name would be if he had his own f1 team. he picked lando & oscar as drivers & mentioned his sim team verstappen.com as a name.

- next question was who would play him in a movie. he said he‘d rather not have the movie but maybe leonardo dicaprio

- answer to his all time favorite driver is michael schumacher

- he looked a little lost about the question what his job would be if he weren‘t in f1. he said maybe a motor go driver.

- then max vs 1 kid drew the zanvoort layout while blindfolded. max won by a mile. he couldn‘t let the kid win if he wanted to.

- he let the kids wear his helmet & told them they looked really cool

- they wanted to know what the best & worst thung was about being a driver. best is driving & worst ist media (but he said with the kids it‘s fun, he just doesn‘t like the adults hahaha)

- he privately mostly drives an audi. i didn‘t catch which one exactly but it just looked like a standard svu (?). nothing flashy just a normal road car.

- the kids debriefed the interview together & mentioned how nice he was & that they had a lot of fun.

edit: link to the drawing challenge

[furioussouls]

LADS boys accidentally making you cry

with [chubby reader]

[chubby reader, don't like it, don't read]

warnings: chubby gen! reader, slight angst, slight mention of injuries (not through the boys), reader and boys sometimes have a similar dynamic as with MC(but it‘s not mc), insecurities, a little overdramatic in some parts

Disclaimer: these characters belong to the game "love and deepspace" by InFold. All lore references and worldbuilding belong solely to them.

Requested by a sweet anon :3

(also, I made the situations not that angsty because I feel like the boys wouldn't do anything that would make you cry really badly)

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Xavier:

• he accidentally made you cry when you got injured. He really didn't mean to, but he was so worried about you and snapped at you. Your nonchalant attitude scared him because why don't you care more about your health?

You limped next to Xavier, who wrapped his arm around your shoulder to support you enough that you'd be able to walk. Blood ran down your face and Xavier's musculuar arm was a supportive crutch throughout your little walk. You were careless during the fight, you really were. It was nobody's fault, since everbody has their off days, but Xavier was furious.

"Easy", Xavier's firm voice rang out as he carefully helped you sit down on a bench. He knelt infront of you and his warm hands tenderly smoothed over the healthy side of your head after he wiped the trail of blood away on the other side with his thumb. You wrapped your arms around your chubby torso to keep yourself warm enough to stop the chills raking through your body. Eventhough, the chills probably had something to do with the adrenaline leaving your body according to the sharp pain throbbing in your head. You winced and Xavier's eyes snapped to you.

"Where else does it hurt? Your leg?", his large hands gently smoothed over your thick leg and you hissed out in pain and nodded.

Xavier's jaw clenched and he exhaled deeply. "You didn't focus enough today. This could've been prevented." You nodded and sighed "Yeah, yeah. I know." Xavier's sky blue eyes squinted and a deep line formed between his brows.

"So why didn't you?", he asked persistently and inspected your leg with a deep frown, his usual soft voice stern and serious.

"Xavier, is this necessary? It's not like I did it on purpose", you mumbled out and tried to breathe through the pain. The throbbing in your head got worse with every single one of Xavier's question and you were beginning to feel the effect of walking on an injured leg.

"No. You can't slack off. Not during the fights. If you're feeling down or not up to it, don't go on the mission. This could've ended even worse than it did if I weren't there to back you up", he hissed out in frustration and gently pressed a handkerchief to the wound on your head.

"I know, Xavier. You're not telling me anything I don't know."

"Are you sure?"

You opened your eyes and felt your eyes burn. You usually wouldn't cry because of this, especially because you know Xavier cares deeply about you, but the combination of your throbbing head, your hurt leg and the remains of the adrenaline made you very susceptible to your emotions right now. Big tears ran down your soft cheeks and you hiccuped sadly until it turned into a fullblown cry. You really didn't mean to, but you just wanted to go home to bed right now, and didn't want to justify anything to Xavier. "Well sorry, we can't all be great and perfect like you." Your voice broke at the end because of another sob.

Xavier, who was busy tending to your leg looked up at you in shock. His eyes widened and the angry expression on his face faded. Xavier's jaw dropped and his breath hitched as he jumped up immediately, his hand still pressing against the wound on your head.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry. Please, don't cry. I didn't mean to imply that you were incompetent. I really didn't. I was just so worried and you didn't care about your injuries. Please don't cry, hm?" His voice was soft and frantic and he gently cupped your cheek. His eyebrows furrowed in concern and he bit his pink lip. Xavier's eyes turned into a soft glossy tone as he sat and watched you cry your heart out(more out of exhaustion and pain than actual sadness, to be honest).

"I'm really sorry. You're in pain and I've just been mean to you this whole time. That wasn't okay of me. I'm so so sorry."

You nodded and sniffed pathetically and his face melted into an expression of utter smittenness and he very softly nudged your head toward his chest, his arms wrapped around your soft body and his warm hand smoothed over the rolls of your back and he gripped you tightly as gently comforted you. "It's okay, let it out. I'm sorry."

After you got proper medical attention and some sleep, the situation was already forgotten for you, but Xavier didn't forget and his heart will always squeeze painfully at the reminder of making you cry. He never raised his voice at you in general, but whenever he gets upset he remembers the moment in which you were hurt and instead of comforting you, he made you cry out of sadness. Sometimes he sheds a few tears himself at the thought.

Zayne:

• Zayne made you cry after a slight argument about his own health and well- being. It takes a lot for Zayne to make you cry because he's such a caring and gentle man and never raised his voice at you.

You walked into the house that Zayne and you shared and sighed when you noticed that Zayne wasn't home yet again. He was working overtime again. Of course, you knew that Zayne's job was stressful. You knew he carried a lot of responsibility and a heavy burden on his shoulders as a doctor. His main goal was to help people, but you were frustrated that he seemed so careless about his own wellbeing.

Zayne returned a few hours later to you sitting on the couch. You were waiting for him and had tea and a light snack prepared for him when he returned. He sighed in appreciation when he saw you and the tension drained from his shoulders. He shrugged off the jacket and sat down next to you, the exhaustion etched onto his gorgeous face. You gently cupped his cheek and Zayne's eyes closed as he exhaled blissfully. He loved coming home to you and hugging your curvy body, which was adorned in your favourite oversized shirt.

Zayne took a sip of his tea when you spoke up "Honey, I think you should take the weekend off. You look like a walking corpse."

Zayne nodded in exhaustion and rubbed his temple "Yes, I know, but I can't just drop everything. My patients need to be tended to."

You hummed understandly. "Yeah, Zayne. I understand that, but you aren't the only Doctor at Akso hospital. Your patients won't feel better if you work yourself to death."

Zayne knows you're right. He really does. But he just can't bring himself to outright agree with you. Caring for patients was his job after all. His nostrils flared in frustration and your hand started rubbing his back.

"Yes, thank you. I'm aware. But you don't know the amount of people that depend on me so maybe could we stop talking about this? It's not helpul, especially so late at night." His usual soft voice was firmer today and your hand halted over his back.

"When else are we supposed to talk if not late at night? Are you there at any other time during the day? I won't act like your job isn't tough. You work a lot. That's okay. I knew that before I got into a relationship with you, but I won't let you manipulate yourself into believing that you overworking yourself is right. 'Cause it's not. But I'm also not going to take the role of your nagging spouse. Do what you feel is right. Finish your tea and come to bed, I'll go lay down so you can decompress." Frustrated tears ran down your round cheeks and you stood up and walked into your bedroom, leaving Zayne behind.

A wave of guilt ran down Zayne's body, his exhaustion long forgotten. He sighed and buried his face in his scarred hands. Zayne didn't mean to make you feel like that; like an annoyig nagging spouse, he's so grateful for your love and now he's made you cry. A ball of dread spread from his chest and Zayne sprung up and followed you into your shared room. He knocked three times and opened the door uncertainly. You laid on your side, your back turned to him. He slowly crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around your soft and warm body. Zayne's nose was buried deeply in your shoulder and he inhaled shakingly.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. You did not deserve my anger, at all. I'm the luckiest man alive, having somebody like you worry over me. You're right, of course you are. I've been working myself to the bone and damaging our relationship. I'm so so sorry."

You sniffed and gently and put your hands over his ice cold ones; intertwining all digits with each other. "I'm just worried abot you. You don't care about yourself at all, eventhough you're the one telling me not to be reckless with my health."

"I know you are. And you're right. I'm really sorry. I'll take a week off and we can spend time together. How does that sound?", he asked softly and cuddled farther into you.

"That sounds nice but it won't help your wellbeing in general if you're just taking a break now and afterwards return to your old habits", you told him gently and he nodded. "You're right. I will work on it. I don't want to be that type of husband that makes their spouse feel bad for worrying over him. You can’t believe how grateful I am for you. I love you so much. Please, trust me.", he promised and kissed your hand. You chuckled and pat his head. "Sounds good, now shut up and go sleep." Zayne nodded obediently and kissed your shoulder.

Rafayel:

• Rafayel made you cry because of his stupid jokes.

You stood next to Rafayel as he scribbled randomly on his big canvas with his expensive paint. You looked at Rafayel in disbelief "Do you not earn enough money for a two dollar sketchbook?"

The side of Rafayel's plump mouth tugged up and he tutted sarcastically "Hmm, why would I do that when I could use my paints and canvases of quality?". You shook your head and grumbled out "Rich people make me sick."

Rafayel laughed loudly and continued painting. He drew ab exaggerated cute chibi version of you in your favourite colour; it was very round and sweet, you smiled but a tiny sensation of unease pricked at your chest. Rafayel never draws you in an attractive or beautiful way, he always drew you in a very exaggerated way. And of course, you were round. You were round, cute, attractive and sexy. It's not an insult to be seen as chubby or fat, and you knew Rafayel loves your body and the body of other chubby people as well, but when he was teasing you, it was always about the roundness of your body, which means that in some shape or form Rafayel thinks of your body as an insult.

You swallowed and crossed your arms over your chest. Tears pricked in your eyes but you blinked them away as Rafayel continued to paint. He turned to you with a big grin, which immediately faded when he saw your slightly wet eyes. "Hey, cutie? What's going on?", Rafayel cooed softly and cupped your face softly, his face concerned.

"It's just, I don't know. It’s not a big deal, but I feel like you don't like my body as much as you pretend you do. You say you love it but then when you're trying to tease me, it's always about my body and nothing else. I don't like it, because it kinda feels as if you secretly do see my body as something that you can make fun of. I don't know. You never exaggerate the body when you draw skinny people." You say and shrug your shoulders. You kept your gaze fixed on Rafayel's painting for a few seconds and then turned to face Rafayel, a few persistent tears dripped down your face.

Rafayel's jaw dropped and his purple eyes were wide. He shook his head and very softly wiped your tears away. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea that it would come across that way. I love your body, I really do. I dont tease you with things I don’t like about you, because there’s nothing I don’t like. I love everything about you. I tease you with things I like the most about you. Your body, your laugh and your smile. I love all of these things about you, so much. I can't believe I made you feel like that all this time. Why didn't you speak up sooner? You should've thrown things at me and pulled at my hair if you thought I was teasing you about your body." Rafayel rambled frantically, his hands smoothing over his purple hair nervously.

You snorted "You're teasing me with the things you like about my body? Seriously? Am I supposed to believe that?"

Rafayel nodded with wide blown eyes "I thought you knew! That's why I kept going with it. I had no idea it came across differently to you, my love. I didn' mean to hurt you at all, oh my god." He wrapped his arms quickly around your body and whispered deep apologies into your hair. You cuddled against his chest and his lip wobbled at the knowledge that he made you cry. After resting in his warm embrace for a long time, you thought about what Rafayel said and then remembered a moment in which Rafayel cuddled with your newborn niece.

'"Oh my goodness, cutie. Look at her! She's so cute. I'm gonna faint." You looked Rafayel and chuckled, his heart eyes widened at the babies coo and he gently picked her up. "Look at her, she's so round. Have you ever seen a rounder baby? You're perfect, so perfect. Such a cute little baby", he cooed and nuzzled the belly of the baby.'

You tenderly smiled against Rafayel's chest at the thought and stepped back from him. His eyebrows were furrowed and he bit his lip worriedly, he wanted to start apologising again, but you interrupted him "So, I basically only have to listen to your teasing to know what you like most about me?", you grinned at him and Rafayel blushed but nodded.

"Yes, I hope you shoot me in the face for making you cry and think I don't like your body." he mumbled miserably and dramatically let his head fall on your shoulder. You chuckled and ruffled his hair.

Sylus:

• he made you cry due to a misunderstanding , that’s all it was.

You were talking to your colleague. The two of you were assigned to do a project together and have been working together for a week now. In the past few days, you saw a few glimpses of black in the corner of your eye. You could not believe it. He couldn't trust you around another man for one week? After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the house and saw Mephisto waiting for you. You walked over to him, your fists clenched and picked him up.

"Did your daddy send you to spy on me?", you asked him and gently stroked over his feathers. Mephisto cawed softly and you let him go. He flew home and you followed him. This seriously had to stop. Both of you were grown adults. You didn't want somebody to spy after you because they didn't trust you with another man. Even if you loved Sylus very much.

You reached Sylus' home and walked through the doors. Sylus sat on the couch. He turned to you and his face split into a big grin, his red eyes shining brightly. Sylus' face dropped when he saw your unamused expression which was combined by you crossing your arms deliciously over your ample chest.

"Did something happen?", he asked you in his deep voice, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. Sylus rose from the couch and smoothly walked over to you.

"Why are you asking? Shouldn't you know everything already?", you asked him pointedly and nodded toward Mephisto.

Sylus raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "What happened?"

You sighed and tears of frustration pricked your eyes. You weren't necessarily sad, but yes it hurt when your partner showed his obvious distrust in you. Sylus' eyes widened and he immediately stepped forward and cupped your face. "It hurts that you don't trust me. I mean, seriously Sylus. Mephisto has never followed me before but the one time I have to work with a colleague he's there every day? Is that the kind of relationship we have?", you asked him, your voice wobbly.

Sylus, who still held your precious face dearly in between his hands shook his head insistently and softly wiped your tears away with his soft thumbs. "No, sweetie. That's not it at all. I trust you entirely and unconditionally. I'm not jealous at all. I was worried about you, my dear. Your colleague was involved in some criminal activities, and I was scared he was going to try hurting you. I know you can take care of yourself if something were to happen I want to be there for you. I'm sorry that I made you doubt my trust in you." Sylus lifted your hands and pressed a few tender kisses to the back of your hand.

"Oh", you sniffed. Sylus chuckled softly and wrapped you up in his warm embrace.

"Oh, my darling. I'm sorry I upset you. You're breaking my heart." Sylus tenderly gripped you and rubbed soothingly over your back.

"Don't apologise. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions-", Sylus shook his head and interrupted you. "And I should've told you before."

You chuckled wetly and Sylus kept his arms tightly wrapped around your body. His heart squeezed when he saw your hurt face. Let him spoil you a bit in the next few days, he feels horrible and wants to make it up to you.

Caleb:

• Caleb made you cry when you first noticed the "difference" between your old Caleb and this one.

"I believe everyone that wants to hurt you should die." Caleb's firm voice called out. His face was emotionless and and his hand softly stroked over your squishy cheek, his nose softly buried in your hair.

Unease settled in your stomach. Not only did you have to go through the process of mourning Caleb, but now he's also not the boy you remembered. Hes more stern, the softness on his face had disappeared. He says things that the Caleb from the past would never have said and you felt a deep hole in your chest. The part of your chest that was filled by nostalgia, fondness and happiness is now an empty void.

You looked up at Caleb and shook your head. "No. No, my Caleb wouldn't-".

"I wouldn't, what?", Caleb interrupted you softly and stroked over your cheek. "You think I wouldn't have changed even a little bit? After all of this? But also, what makes you so sure I didn't think exactly the same way back then?" he hummed softly and he gently rubbed his cheek on the top of your head.

Caleb let you go and took a step back. He lifted his hand to stroke over your head and you involuntarily flinched. Tears streamed down your cheek. Your mind was reeling and your emotions were a complicated wreck and you sobbed out and looked at the ground, trying to contain your feelings and stop the tears.

You saw him take a few steps back and your eyes snapped up at him. Caleb's emotionless face dropped into one of shock. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape and he shook his head.

"No. You're not scared of me. You aren't, right? Please tell me you aren't. You still know who I am. I am not dangerous to you. Never." Caleb's voice broke at the end and he consistently shook his head. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks and Caleb took quick steps forward and wrapped his arms around your familiar perfect rounded body. His strong arms gripped your body and you buried your face in his chest.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here and I won't leave you. I will never hurt you. I'm sorry for leaving. It's still me, please don't cry anymore. I love you so much."

Caleb softly brushed your tears away, the same that he did in the past and you slowly calmed down.

It took you both a bit of time to get used to this new dynamic between the two of you. It took a lot of love and patience from Caleb, who had to build the trust back up between the two of you. Sometimes you still can't believe that Caleb is back and that you mourned a person, who came back to you. Even if he's a bit different.

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A/n: I'm not happy with this at all, but I'm sick and trying to take my mind off it, so let me know what you think!

[bronzealchemy]

୨୧ THE LETTERS

In which caleb tries to prove to mc that he didn‘t want to leave her … with his mouth and very capable fingers.

at first, caleb can‘t believe what he found while deep cleaning the closet in his guest room. the room in his apartment in skyhaven in which you always stay during your visits. it was a box, neatly closed with a bow, and he just can‘t resist. he opens the box—and inside it he finds letters. multiple of them. he furrows his brows, a sharp wave of jealousy coursing through him. who did you write those letters to? but then he recognizes it.

his name scribbled on all of the envelopes.

caleb can‘t stop himself. he reaches for the first letter, but just when he wants to open it, your voice comes from the doorway.

„what are you doing?“

he turns to you, holding the letter up. „it has my name on it. so it‘s my right to open it.“

pure horror was written over your face, which makes him smile. especially when your face takes on the color of an overripe tomato. „give them to me! you were not supposed to see those.“

„why would you hoard them in my closet then?“ you try to grab the letter, but he holds his hand just outside your reach. when you jump, he lets out a laugh.

„I wrote those after … you were gone“, you admit after a few seconds. his laughter stops. his heart sinks. you gulp and avoid his gaze. „it … helped me. I thought … maybe I‘ll show them to you some day.“

when he sees the hurt crossing your face, the box lay forgotten. he could only focus on you. your hurt. the pain he caused you. it was as if someone was twisting a knife inside his chest.

„pips“, he croaks and reaches out, grazing your face with warm fingers. you lean into his touch, even though you know better. giving into him was inevitable, but that didn‘t make it smart. yet your body seems to decide on it‘s own when it comes to him.

„I didn‘t want to leave you, you know that.“

you nod.

„I need you to answer me, pips. I need to know that you understand.“

you can‘t. the letters and their content weigh heavy on your heart.

„then you leave me no choice“, he whispers, his touch suddenly rough. he pulls your chin back so you are forced to look into those deep purple eyes. it‘s almost too much to look into them. you don‘t want to see his hurt. it makes you question everything.

caleb weaves his other hand in your hair, holding you in place. you can‘t look away. he closes the distance between you; you can feel his breath on your lips. heat curses through you, waking a hunger inside you you don‘t recognize.

„tell me you understand“, he growls. „I would have never left you on my own accord. tell me that you believe me.“

„what if I don‘t?“, you retort.

his adams apple bobbs slightly. his tongue licks his lower lip. „then I‘m going to prove it to you.“

you furrow your brows. „I don‘t think that‘s necessary.“

„I disagree.“ his hand still in your hair, he pulls it slightly. your breath hitches. „let me show you, pips. let me show you how desperately I wanted to come back to you.“

he‘s asking for your permission, you realize. he was rough around the edges and he always did what he thought was right—but not this time. this time he asks. he waits.

caleb is just inches from your face, his nearness closing in on you, his hands on your face, in your hair. you missed him. you missed him despite being hurt, you missed him so badly you almost broke when he was gone. yes, he has too many secrets, and yes, you hate him for it … but in this moment you just can‘t turn your back on him. so the only thing you can do is whisper: „yes.“

caleb sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. „finally.“

and then his restraint vanishes.

next thing you know, he pulls you towards him, crushing his mouth to his. a muffled moan escapes your lips, which he uses to push his tounge inside your mouth. he licks inside your mouth, deepening the kiss, all while pushing you towards the bed. you feel the corner of the bed in the hollow of your knees, and suddenly caleb breaks the kiss. then he goes down on his knees.

„caleb“, you whisper.

he looks up to through thick lashes, with purple eyes, that grow darker, when he moves his hands up your legs. „you allowed me. you said yes. take it back and I‘ll stop. but I would rather …“ he leans against your lap, nestling against your body. your knees start to feel weak, as he looks up again.

„don‘t stop.“

then his hands are under your skirt, almost greedy in the way he grabs your ass. he slaps it and you take in a sharp breath. there it is again, his languish smile. the one that always made your insides turn upside down. in one swift motion he shoves your skirt up, your panties down, and there is no time to feel shame or anything else, because he buries his head between your legs.

with one hand he pushes you down on the bed, then he takes your legs over each of his shoulders while holding you in place. the first lick of his tongue on your clit lets a moan escape your lips. you grab one of his pillows and bury your face in it. one second later it‘s gone and thrown against the wall. when you cross his gaze, anger is written in his eyes.

„let me hear what I do to you“, he demands.

then his mouth is on you again, opening your legs with two strong hands, licking you in harsh strokes.

„oh my god.“ you can‘t hold the words back, throwing your head back and bucking your hips closer to him.

„damn right.“ you feel his words on you. then you bury your hand in his soft hair, pulling it roughly.

„stop talking.“

„as you wish, pips.“

he sucks on your clit and you see stars. then his finger enters you in one slow motion. a second one that is stretching you. and when he curves them slightly, your hips buck from the bed. he pushes you back down with his other hand, and then his know-it-all mouth and his capable fingers work in unison, getting you closer and closer to the edge.

„tell me you understand now“, he demands.

fuck, he should use his mouth for licking you, not ordering you around. but you are too close, and he feels too good and …

„god, yes. yes, I understand that you never intended to leave me“, you grit out. „now finish what you started or I‘ll just do it myself.“

you can feel his arrogant smile against your clit, but before he can say anything else, you push his head back down, and his tongue is there again, and his fingers move in a more rapid pace. you move against him, taking what you need, and then there‘s a wave of lust crushing over you. you grab onto him, his arm feels too hard under your touch, but there‘s no more room for questions in your head, theres only the highest of highs, which caleb fully takes advantage of. when you come, you chant his name, and you can hear his satisfied noises. he likes it when you say his name when you come.

when you come back down, he raises himself from the floor and onto bed. you hold your breath as he pushes the fingers, that were just inside you, into his mouth and licks them slowly. your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight. you just came, but this alone could get you going again.

„well, you proved your point.“

„oh, pips.“ he comes onto you, both of his arms cage you. he runs his nose slowly across your own, then along your jaw. finally his mouth rests against yours, sending another heatwave through you. „I just got started.“

[sacrificiallane]

──── leaving him alone with your plushies !

pairing ! percy jackson x fem!reader content warning ! nothing, really. it‘s just very fluffy ♡ & very short, and a slight little mention of past 'activities', but you'll miss it if you squint so eh

The scream you let out was equally hilarious as it was terrifying. And it had your pretty boyfriend ― of who was the sole reason for such a sound even escaping your vocal cords in the first place ― literally smack into your cabins' door like a bird would against a window.

"You okay? Are you hurt? You okay??" Percy came running like your life was on the line.

Before you could offer an answer, his hands were already reaching for your arm, your hand ― basically anything ― to make sure you were okay. "Talk to me pretty girl, hm? What happened?"

"Perseus Jackson" and yea, he might've just flinched a little at your tone, but his hands did not fall away quite yet, "what did you do to my bed?"

"Uh, what did I do to your..." the confusion was evident, until his sea green eyes followed your own, all the way to your sheets and it suddenly ― thankfully! ― all made sense...

When Percy was left by you this morning, the boy was so bored! So, in his typical bored boyfriend fashion, he had taken the time to arrange your beloved stuffed animals to recreate a ... slightly 'gruesome' scene. Because after fluffing out your pillows, and folding your blanket, he was only left with turning your plushies from facing the wall...

Then, though ― his genius mind was unstoppable! ― he had come face to face with the plush he'd gotten you for your birthday! (a cute octopus plushie in your favorite color, and maybe a bit too big for your small cabin bed... especially when he was sharing it with you). And maybe it was sleepy delusion, but he had made up this whole scenario of how the gifted giant sea creature was basically your child!

Percy admits, he might have gotten a little carried away, staring at its big button eyes, and thinking about how it was probably so jealous of all your other fuzzy friends.

So, he explains, he had used each of its fluffy tentacles, to wrap them around each of your other plushes, to make it look like he was trying to murder them! Not that it was rally scary, or anything. Just a little cruel, maybe.

When he tells you about it, and smiles a bit sheepish, you feel equally flattered as you feel horrified! He can only watch with endeared amusement as you quickly detangle all of your emotional support stuffies, push a kiss to their heads ― as though they were scared or hurt ― and put them each back where they belonged.

"I love you Perseus, but gods are you dumb..."

"Love you too, pretty girl..."

something a little different? i miss him. saw this in a tiktok so credit to that, ig?

[fieldofdaisiies]

It‘s Late

Azriel x Reader; I don't know how this short story happened, but I had an idea and @brekkershadowsinger helped develop it hehe. Warning, this is smut with very little plot.

"It‘s late, baby." Your hands sneak around your mate’s strong shoulders in tender caress, sliding down to his chest and his shadows awaken at your closeness, swirling around you and brushing over your arms. "Come to bed."

Azriel groans at your touch, his body relaxing in reaction to it. You can feel the shift, a warm, rich feeling greeting you through the bond, welcoming you and wrapping around you like a cosy embrace. Love.

"I‘ll be there shortly … one more report, my mate." His voice sounds almost a bit pained, almost like he has to force himself to continue with the reports and not leave them as they are and fully you straight away.

You can feel he wants to join you in bed, more than anything else. But his spymaster duty is not something he doesn’t easily put aside.

His body tenses. Tipping his head back, he pulls his lower lip between his teeth. You take it as a chance to kiss his cheek.

Tonight, you‘re having none of it. You don’t want to wait and you know how desperately he needs a break.

"I want you now." You place a kiss to the spot right beneath his ear..

He grinds his teeth, every muscle in his body tense. He is fighting his desire to join you and you almost have to giggle.

"Five more minutes,” he grinds out.

You kiss a path down to his ear, hovering right above it. Then you kiss his earlobe. "Now, my mate, or I‘ll put on my clothes again."

The shadowsinger spins around so fast you barely have time to catch yourself on his broad shoulders to keep you upright. He blows out a long breath, eyes darkening as they skate over your body. "Fuck me." He smacks his hand over his face and wipes it down harshly. "Don’t do this to me. Rhys needs those reports tomorrow."

"And I," —you step between his legs, veiling your voice in a sultry tone as you lean in— "need you."

His hands are on your hips in an instant. "Rhys is going to kill me," he says but keeps pulling you in until you slide onto his lap, legs braced on either side of his hips. His chin drops, and he leans in to kiss your neck. "And all because of my pretty little and terribly needy mate." His voice has changed, now having a sensual hue to it and is at least an octave deeper.

You sigh at the feeling of his lips closing over your neck, before he lets his tongue poke out and glide over your heated skin. “What shall I do with you now?” He tips his head back, an almost wicked grin on his lips. “Distracting me? Making me delay my reports for the High Lord? I assume this calls for some punishment?”

You lean forward, making sure you breast touch his chest, your hand falling to his neck, fingers curling around it. “Or you reward me, for being such a good mate who‘s always needy for you.” You glance up at him through lower lashes, his arousal already pressing against you through the fabric of his cotton pants.

His eyes are dark as the lock with yours, his scarred fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. 

“Needy you say?” His right hand slides to your aching centre. “Let me see how needy you are.” A grin appears on his lips as he lets his middle finger slide through your wetness.

“You‘re dripping with arousal.” The grin only widens. “And all of it for me.”

“All for you, Az.” You want to grind against his gingers for some sort of friction, hoping he will give you exactly what you need but he moves his hand away, lifting it to his lips to lick it clean.

“Then I shall truly reward you.” He sharply pulls you in, your lips only inches apart. “Tell me what you want. What you need. How you want me.”

“I need you, Az. I need you to make me feel good,” you breathe against his mouth. “Plea—”

He steals the word from your lips as he kisses you, desperate and hungry, almost like a starved male. And as your lips merge, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance, he begins to move your hips, grinding you against his growing hardness. 

“Az!” you gasp, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. “More. I need more.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. With strength that is beyond you he lifts you onto his desk —onto the reports— spreading your thighs wide before lifting your legs over his shoulders, the tips of your toes touching the leathery membrane of his wings.

“So wet,” Azriel hums against your skin as his lips cast down the inside of your thighs, lower and lower, until he kisses your throbbing centre.

He doesn’t only kiss you there. He drives his tongue deep into you, nibbling and suckling, feasting. All the while his fingertips into your thighs, into your ass, kneading until one of them wanders to your centre accompanying his tongue, playing with your clit.

Slick noises fill the air around you as your hips lift off the desk, grinding against his face. Your eyes glaze over with desire, fingers curling around the desk for support, knuckles turning white.

You call out his name, and curses as his tongue licks at your clit, fingers driving deep into you, and your climax nears in tidal waves. 

And when you finally come, it hits you hard. Like your body is on fire, your soul ascending, rising and falling, but Azriel is there to catch you. He helps you ride out your high, his head still between your legs, licking and kissing.

You tug at his hair, making him tips his head up. His fave is damp with you, with your arousal and Azriel grins from one ear to the other. It‘s the most beautiful sight you have ever seen, seeing your mate smile, grin.

Your legs continue to tremble, chest lifting and falling with deep intakes of air, as you come down from your high. Your mate gently lowers your legs, then pulls you back onto his lap, holding you close to his chest. “My pretty little mate, you‘re the best distraction a male could ever ask for.” He kisses the top of your head and you can feel him smile against your hair.

Your arms sneak around him, your face pressed against his chest. “Bath?”

“Absolutely.”

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel 

[ineffable-suffering]

The Bentley Handle Easter Egg

[Author‘s note: This humble mini-meta was liked by Mr. Gaiman himself which makes me not only feel very honoured but also believe that my guess at the end could just be true, heh. Thanks, Neil!]

I‘m probably not the first one to notice this but I still feel compelled to post it because it puts a smile on my face every time I see it:

We all know that the Bentley Handle is somehow Crowley‘s instrument to stop and start time in S1E6 when the world‘s about to end. It‘s one of only two of the remains from the burning Bentley.

So, you can imagine my surprised frown when I watched the first scene of S2E1, In The Beginning, and:

… there she is again! Starting time for, well, the very first time.

It‘s definitely the exact same handle, which means that Crowley got to keep it (or secretly took it with him) post-Fall. And then probably kept it hidden/stored away in different places over the millennia, including in the Bentley.

What a neat little piece of easter egg shell! Thank you Neil!