#rather die than trust a man

[lschmidtartblog]

Oh no more Naruto art and oh no Lauren watched the Naruto birth flashback episodes

[kateis-cakeis]

rewatching bbc merlin really has me like buzzing in my mind with so many thoughts. Like I'm kinda watching it backwards atm going from S5 to S4, I think I will jump around 3, 2, and 1 but just,,,, there is so much especially in S5 that makes me !!!!!!!

Honestly, I feel like this fandom has to give the writers more credit. Like they did a damn good job, and to me, it's such a good tragedy. Especially how S5 plays out, it takes everything and just tears you down, and down, and down. It's perfect, perfect with flaws! But still perfect

[deva-arts]

They started dating some years after they met, but Sera was never really into the whole 'dating' scene before then. More like the broken bones and bloody fists scene. There's a lot of firsts for people like them.

(They smooch again.)

Bonus doodles under the cut!

Bonus 1!

She then had a migraine.

Bonus 2!

They might not have thought this through too well.

Bonus 3:

Haha, marriage! Eww!

[bunnihearted]

.

[infernalhomo]

i got called both an "obvious junkrat main" and a "cute loud gremlin" in that order this past tuesday evening by my beloved friends and i'm unsure how to feel about this

[2soft2sensitive]

”we should plant fruit trees by the sidewalk” bro have you ever been within fifteen feet of a fruit tree on a hot summer day? the stench of rotting fruit is awful (and no, you can’t pick every single fruit off the thing, it will inevitably drop some of the fruit and it will not all be suitable to eat)

not to mention dropped fruit creates tripping hazards, and can be difficult for ppl with mobility aids to navigate.

and not to mention the bugs it attracts. stinging insects are not fun to have so close to where people are walking, especially when those insects include bees, since there are ppl that are deathly allergic

like. idk y’all. I know it sounds so nice on paper but you gotta think about this logistically. who is gonna clean up the rotting fruit? you can hire people, but they’re not always gonna be around all the time— and who is going to pay them?

you can have the locals clean it up, but inevitably people will shirk their duties— no one wants to clean up stinky ass fruit with bugs all over it, so they will put it off, hoping someone else will come in and do it for them

and then the fighting over whose job it is and who isn’t pulling their weight will be insane. people absolutely love getting in stupid fights for stupid reasons

because as much as people have the capacity to be kind and caring and take care of each other, they can also be petty and selfish and spiteful. you have to plan for both!!

so yeah, idk. anytime someone says that about the fruit trees I just kinda assume they haven’t really thought any of their ideas through. 😅

[boneless-mika]

I genuinely feel like I should’ve lied to you all, including my actual friends about having sex before just to escape judgement. Like my friends can never view me as a real adult (or at the very least view me as a loser) because I don’t have sex, especially considering I don’t drink alcohol or drive cars either

[contact-guy]

Part 7, the final comic in my SIGN OF THE FOUR chapter. (Part one), (part two), (part three), (part four), (part five), (part six).

The context for this conversation is: Holmes has had no work from Scotland Yard due to rumors about his and Watson's relationship. He responded to this with excessive cocaine use and then working himself unhealthy on the one case that came along; Mary Morstan's. Meanwhile, Watson befriended Mary, who is also gay, and realized that a lavender marriage with her could make him and Holmes safe, as well as granting her more freedom. Watson has not yet told Holmes of his decision.

(This is part of the Watsons sketchbook series!)

canon scene under the cut, which is achingly poignant in its own right:

“Well, and there is the end of our little drama,” I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. “I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective.”

He gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much,” said he. “I really cannot congratulate you.”

I was a little hurt. “Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?” I asked.

“Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.”

“I trust,” said I, laughing, “that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary.”

“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.”

“Strange,” said I, “how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour.”

“Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,—

Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.

“By the way, à propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of having caught one fish in his great haul.”

“The division seems rather unfair,” I remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?”

“For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand up for it.

[batchilla]

Your new partner is Grayson.

He’s a weird guy.

Not necessarily a bad guy, but a weird one.

He’s not cold, in fact he’s rather friendly. However, when you really consider it, he volunteered very little information on his personal life. Reasonable, you suppose. So long as he has your back in the field and gets his reports done, you don’t need to be best friends.

Your new partner Grayson is a recent Gotham transplant. You’d never personally been, but you weren’t oblivious to how utterly mad the city was. You could hardly blame him for getting out.

Your new partner Grayson, tenses up whenever someone mentions the Batman, or any of the nutcases he fights. You don’t pry.

You do your own research.

Your new partner Grayson watched his parents die. He’d been taken in by Gotham’s favourite son, a man he seemed reluctant to speak of. He’d had, and lost a brother, to the most deranged man Gotham, if not the world, had ever known.

You stop mentioning Gotham around him after that.

Your new partner Grayson is a weird guy, who seems constantly surprised whenever you demonstrate competency.

At first you’d suspected sexism. It wouldn’t have been your first partner to have that failing.

After a few days though, you catch him being equally surprised when officer Jackson makes a connection on a string of breaking and entries, and realise that perhaps he’s just not used to the cops not being utterly reliant on a very scary angsty furry and a small child without pants.

Your new partner, Grayson, is a weird guy, who disappears sometimes. Middle of a chase he’ll be gone, and you won’t see him again for sometimes as long as hours, before he’s back. More often than not, somehow through some insane luck, the perp will have been taken down by Bludhaven’s new vigilante, and tied to a lamppost for you to find. You both hated and envied his luck.

Your new partner Grayson was a weird guy… and he was a damn good cop.

He made connections like no one else. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense. You’d asked him once, about how he seemed to know all he did. How he seemed to have access to a whole other database of clues you just couldn’t see.

And he’d smiled that cheeky smile of his, and told you he’d been consulting an oracle.

Your new partner, Grayson, moves like nothing you’ve ever seen.

You’d initially attributed it to his past as an acrobat. The way he could simply parkour over and around anything in his way, run faster then he had any right to, chase down a perp like a bloodhound.

It was more than that though. You’d say without hesitation that if you were in a firefight, he’s who you’d want at your side. You must’ve owed him your life three times over by now. Even in those situations though, when no one would have blamed him for the use of lethal force, he never had.

You’d been pinned down by a smuggling ring. You, Grayson, and ten of them - all armed to the teeth.

He’d been incredible. Superhuman, almost.

Someone had shot out the lights. He’d told you one of the smugglers must have missed. You’d never once believed him.

Ten smugglers. You’d managed to knock out and cuff one, unwilling to risk taking a shot blind.

The other nine? Those had been your partner. He had them unconscious in a heap by the time your eyes had adjusted.

No bullet wounds. He’d done it hand to hand.

You didn’t know exactly what he was hiding, but you knew he was hiding something. You decided not to call him out on it. Not as long as you trusted that whatever he was using his … inexplicable skills for was good.

And trust you did.

Grayson was a good man. Even knowing little about him

Which was why this betrayal hurt so badly.

“Say again?”

You’d sat in relative silence in an unmarked police car for about half an hour on a stakeout, and Richard Grayson had just said the worst sentence you’d ever heard. You’d never been so utterly horrified.

“Peeps popcorn.” He says, holding up the tupperware containing an atrocious biohazard, grinning from ear to ear.

“One more time please?” you fight to keep up your faked anger, but fail in the face of that fucking smile.

Honestly, it should be some sort of crime to smile like that. Like everything would work out in the end, so long as you could keep him smiling at you.

“Peeps. Popcorn.” He says it a third time. He’s trying and failing not to laugh at her, at the way her mouth twists and flails to maintain a frown.

He was tempted to tell her it was in vain. He’d broken Batman, and he’d make her smile too.

Honestly, she had such a pretty smile. Not that he’d say that, she was his partner, and they needed to keep things professional.

“It’s my turn to provide stakeout snacks, and so,” he lifts the lid of the peeps popcorn balls.

“Peeps popcorn.”

She rolls her eyes, and looks out the window of the passenger side. But she’s smiling. “It is one of life’s great injustices,” she huffs “that you can eat like that and maintain your… impressive physique.”

Dick feels his chest puff out a little. While he had been able to tell all along that she had a crush on him, but he’d never risk acting on it. Still, it felt nice to be complemented by her.

“Seriously, do you clock off and just do the ninja warrior course all night or something?” She muses, her head against the window, looking at him out of the side of her eye.

“Not exactly,” he replies, sitting back in his seat, bringing his foot up onto the cushion. “Try one.” he presses, poking her side with the container.

She takes one, rolling her eyes and nibbles at the neon cluster of popcorn.

“No. no.” she gags, “oh that's nasty. Oh, it's so sweet. Why? Why Grayson. Why would you do this to me?” she asks, setting the sticky concoction on the divider between their seats.

Dick just laughs “I am determined to make you a peeps convert.”

“Never, regular marshmallows are fine.”

“Peeps are rainbow.”

“How old are you?”

“There is no age too old to enjoy whimsy, Detective.” he responds, biting into his own.

“Besides, are you implying that rainbow marshmallows are irregular? In this day and age? Tut tut.”

“We are not making me out to be a homophobe over peeps!” she protests, still laughing, slightly taken aback at the audacity.

“If you say so.” he says, stretching his arms over his head and into the backseat. Stakeouts were terrible. He was not built to sit still in a confined space for hours at a time. However, this one provided a useful opportunity he cannot afford to waste.

Not to torment her with his war of attrition for peeps supremacy - though that was fun.

He needed to be sure of something else.

“Well. You being wrong about peeps aside. I … wanted to check back on a file from a few months ago. You uh… you didn’t move the Holt murder file, did you?”

“Holt.” she clicks her tongue in thought “the guy with…” she gestures to her chest.

“That's the guy.”

“Not knowingly. I haven’t had cause to reopen it. No new leads. I tried to track down the kid… He didn’t want a bar for me. Guess I can’t blame him. I offered the help I could… but well… the last time someone helped him his dad got brutally murdered. He’s staying in the tent city by the docks, best I can figure.” She seems to feel guilty as soon as she says it, but Dick doesn’t blame her.

He had paid for that room. If he hadn’t… who knows what might have happened?

“But if someone moved it?” he prompts, not wanting to dwell on that gnawing guilt.

“Wasn’t me.”

Your new partner, Grayson, was a weird guy who ate strange and terrible foods.

He blames himself for what happened to poor Mr Holt. Because he was good to the core, and somehow that had led to something utterly twisted.

He’s also standing on your balcony. On the 20th floor.

And it all makes sense now.

Your apartment isn’t particularly nice. It was small, and frequently disorganised. Especially when you got overly invested in a case.

You’d been texted many gifs of the conspiracy board meme by friends over the years.

Work life balance? Not something you’d ever seen much value in.

And now, your unfairly attractive new partner Grayson was in your apartment, in full vigilante getup.

You need to find a way to be normal about that in ten seconds or less, because he’s staring at you, and you're staring at him, and it's starting to get awkward.

“Hello.” you eek out.

He greets you as Detective, followed by your first and last name.

Unusually formal, for him. Unless… unless he somehow thinks a few inches of fabric in the shape of a wingding is going to fool you.

Unless he thinks he’s got you hoodwinked.

“Nightwing… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He leans in the doorframe, his hands braced against its top, so he is leaning into your space without touching you, and giving you plenty of ability to step back if you so chose. You don’t.

“I have reason to suspect there’s a serial killer moving though Bludhaven. And that whoever they are, they have someone in your precinct on the payroll.”

You fold your arms, bristling.

“Not sure I appreciate the accusation.” Sure, the bludhaven police department was ridiculously corrupted. But you’d hope that your partner would have at least the trust in you not to think you’d help a serial killer.

“No accusation.” he reassures “a request for help. I need someone I can trust inside the department. And my source says that’s you, sherlock.”

His source? Was he kidding?

No. No he wasn’t.

Oh this was madness.

This was hysterical.

He really, truly thinks that you can’t know him outside of his streetwear. And he’s trying to pass it off like he doesn’t know himself either.

Perhaps you should tell him you know.

But… Grayson and his peeps tomfoolery isn’t the only one who can have fun.

“So… you’re asking me to… what, exactly?” You prompt, unfolding your arms, willing to give him a chance.

Nightwing offers you a smile. It’s slightly different from Richard Graysons.

It’s just as sunny, and it makes you feel just as warm and fuzzy and giggly inside. You have to fight even harder to stop yourself blushing, given how much less this getup leaves to the imagination then his usual dress pants, shirt and tie.

But it’s a little more … brazzen. Flirtatious. More… cocky. Sure, He was always at least a bit of a show off, but as nightwing? He was one of the most capable, incredible people alive, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Oh, you were doomed. But that was a problem for later.

“I’m asking you to keep an eye on the ‘heartless’ case. Holt… he’s not the only one and I think there’s going to be more. And, to be blunt?”

He stands up straight, and puts an arm on your shoulder.

“It’s a big request. But you might be the only person in that station who I have real confidence in.”

You wonder what that says about his relationship with himself, but like so many things with Richard, you don’t ask.

“I can do that.”

“And I understand that it’s dange— I’m sorry, did you just agree?” he cuts himself off, staring at you.

You laugh then, just the once.

You owed him your life many times over as his partner. But as nightwing?

Since he’d come on the scene, you’d actually felt like something mattered. Like change could happen.

Like someone was willing to help the people of Bludhaven not to reap a profit, but because the system you’d once hoped to help restore was broken at its very core, and restoration wasn’t the solution - reformation and fundamental change was. And you didn’t know how to do that.

But then Nightwing had come onto the scene, and started kicking the asses of the worst of the worst, and you had felt like you had when you’d joined the force, bright eyed, bushy tailed, and determined to make a difference.

Before the incident. And every other day, when you’d felt that optimism slowly being crushed to death, into a fine powder and blown away in the wind.

“Yeah.” you say, and agreeing to help is one of the best feelings in the world. You get to help. To make a real difference.

“Bludhaven owes you a hell of a lot, Nightwing… seems like the least I can do is tell you if anything weird comes up.”

“Right. Thank you.” he clearly wasn’t expecting this. Maybe he’d thought it would be a harder sell.

“If I do… have anything for you, how should I alert you?”

He passes you a wingding. “Put this in your window. I’ll check in every few days.”

You raise an eyebrow “all your fancy tech and you don’t have a phone”

He shrugs “phones are traceable. Plausibly just something you picked up on a case as a trinket that you ‘forgot’ to log in evidence left on a windowsill? Lot harder to trace.”

“Fair.” you acknowledge.

“Besides.” he steps backwards onto your balcony once more “your place is on one of my main patrol routes. Can’t let anything happen to the best looking detective Blud’s got.”

You scoff, without any real offence. You know he’s only playing, and that he does, as Richard, respect your intellect more then your appearance - but you suppose as ‘nightwing’ he doesn’t know you that well.

“I think you mean best detective full stop.” you respond, and he gives a small bow of playful deference.

“But of course, sherlock.”

And then he’s gone.

That night, you don’t sleep.

You felt so stupid. He’s nightwing. He’s been nightwing the whole time.

The skills. The disappearing. The way he seemed to just… know things.

The way he tensed whenever someone mentioned Gotham.

… the timing of Robin reportedly becoming a child again.

Had your new partner, Grayson, been Robin?

Had he been using the Batman's archives to solve cases? Was that his so called oracle?

… wait.

Was Bruce Wayne the FUCKING BATMAN?

You screamed into your pillow. You were laying awake, face down in your bed, because now you had realised far too many things in one night.

The first: Your new partner is Nightwing.

The second: Bruce Wayne might be Batman.

The third: you, enchanted by that fucking perfect smile, had agreed to help track down a serial killer stealing hearts.

The fourth: Your new partner, Richard Grayson, between his stupid snacks, the Alfred Pennyworth foundation he’s been working to get off the ground, and his work as Nightwing, will save Bludhaven, you know it to your core.

And the fifth. The worst, and scariest part of your night: You may very well have fallen in love with him.

Chapter two

If you read this far, reblog?

Divider credit: @strangergraphics

Tag list:

@jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

First time writing Dick! Feedback is welcome.

[sainns]

PINING.

𝓢. ㅤㅤthings they do to show that they like you.

OT7ㅤ✶ ㅤ (⠀gnreader⠀) . . . friend!enhypen, pre relationship, this is a revamped post from when i first started my account, sunoo's the craziest one here for sure, a singular death joke, not proofread so pls ignore typos.ㅤ817 words

lee heeseung refuses to let you carry anything. he’s made it a habit of grabbing anything that you’re holding and carrying it himself. whether it be shopping bags, your purse, a stuffed animal that he won for you, or groceries, he will be carrying it all. sure, it may be a little hard carrying 15 different bags of groceries up to your apartment but he doesn't mind. even as you complain, saying that you feel bad that he has to carry everything when you can help, he'll just laugh you off, asking you to let him do this for you. you do a lot for him (unbeknownst to you) and this is the least he can do.

park jongseong asks for your opinion on almost everything he does. he'll ask you if he should buy this shirt or that one, watch looks better, what he should eat. it’s like he lost all ability make choices for himself after he gained feelings for you, only trusting your opinion. maybe it's because he wants to have things that you like, who knows. what everyone does know is that the contanst buzzing coming from your phone? jay. he's most definitely texting you about whatever it is he feigns needing help choosing, but he can't help it if your opinion is the only one that matters to him.

sim jaeyun loves to go shopping with you; he literally begs to be able go even if you tell him that you're just going to window shop. not to mention the fact that he is so serious about shopping; he’ll put his phone on do not disturb, giving you his full attention. when you ask him was store he wants to go to he'll shake his head, claming that this trip is for you and if he reall needs something then he can go on his own time. he always ends up buying your stuff for you, waving you off as he gives the cashier his money.

park sunghoon calls you every single night just so that he can fall asleep to your voice. in the beginning he asks you about your day, listening intently and asking follow up questions. he wants to hear your voice for as long as possible, especially when he went the whole day without talking to you. when you ask about his day, though, he gives you the most basic answer possible and moves the conversation back to you. and every morning, without fail, he claims that he didn't mean to fall asleep but your voice is way too soothing for your own good. you figure that he's not telling the full truth after you hear him say goodnight and he doesn't hang up the phone.

kim seonwoo takes more pictures of you than he does of himself. you swear when you caught a glipse of his gallery you saw an album named 'yn' that featured over seven thousand photos of you. which yes, you saw correctly, he has a very full folder full of pictutes of you. most of them aren't even good but he would rather die than delete the ten, nearly identical, photos of you laughing or the blurry video he got while you were ugly crying because of some movie. he also uses them to tease you—laughing when you tell him to delete it. yeah.. he's almost all out of storage, at this point he's going to buy a burner phone just for photos of you.

yang jungwon loves to texts you updates about his day. if you think jay texts you a lot, oh man, jungwon beats him by twenty miles. he'll tell you his plans who they're with, what he's planning on eating, the cute cat family he saw on the street (pictures included). this man tells you everything, every thought he has it feels like. honestly, he only bothers going out so that he has an excuse to text you, it makes him smile brightly at his phone when he sees your responses. when you start sending him updates about your day? he gets so happy, it's his favorite part of the day to hear from you now, nothing else could ever compare.

nishimura riki does not know what personal space is. he's always touching you in some way, even if it's subtle, like your shoulders pressing together when you're sitting on the couch, watching a movie. when you walk somewhere together, you have to push him away multiple times because he's practically on top of you with how close he is. when you're hanging out with friends, he tends to wrao an arm around your shoulder or lean his head against yours. your friends tease him for it, saying that he's practically apart of you now. he glares at them playfully, gripping your hand in his as he pulls you away (he just really wants to be alone with you).

[redr0sewrites]

Sick!Hazbin Hotel x Reader Hcs

i love reverse comfort sm. im also currently being brutally murdered by allergies but i prefer comforting others so here we are

🥀 Cw: fluff, crack, teensy bit of angst with comfort

🥀 Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, Alastor x reader, Vox x reader, Adam x reader

Lucifer:

sick? him? please, the king of hell doesn't get sick!

thats what he claims anyways

lucifer brushes nearly everything off as just plain allergies, he could literally have a 103 fever and be shaking on the floor and would still be pouting and saying he's fine

the thing about him tho is that he's easy to take care of- after a little coaxing lucifer just sighs and nods glumly before pretty much submitting himself to your care

once he's admitted hes sick tho, he wants you around him 24/7

lucifer wants cuddles, hugs, kisses, he just gets so clingy when he's feeling under the weather

THIS MAN LITERALLY BURNS UP WHEN HE'S SICK ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE ONES WITH THE HIGHEST RAGING FEVERS THAT LAST FOR DAYS like he'll be sweating and shivering and crying he gets hit HARD when he's sick and it happens so suddenly too- like one day he's fine and then the next he looks like he's one small wind away from collapsing

he lowkey feels bad about asking for things when he's sick so he'll say something offhand like "yk im in the mood for soup" and hopes you get the message

ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE TO GET FEVER DREAMS AND START RAMBLING WHEN HES SICK

like he'll wake up from a nap and still be half asleep and he just starts genuinely rambling about literally the most obscure things

lucifer definitely gets nightmares even when he isn't sick, but when hes feeling like shit and is so delirious he can't tell reality from fiction? be prepared for him to wake up crying and shaking, he just gets so so scared :(

lucifer feels bad about you taking care of him and wants to help, but will lowkey end up pushing himself too hard. PLEASE reassure him and tell him it's alright he'll literally melt

once its all over, lucifer will genuinely trust you more after you saw him in such a vulnerable state and is much more likely to come to you instead of hiding how he's feeling in the future

Alastor:

alastor? weak? lmao no

he would literally rather die than admit he's sick like he would literally just keep pushing on

alastor is one of those people that has an iron immune system like he VERY rarely gets sick but when he does its like torture

to even be alastor's partner you'd have to know him for a long time and you'd probably be able to read him pretty well (at least compared to other people), yet even you sometimes miss his sickness in the earlier stages

alastors biggest tell tale sign of being sick? exhaustion. he very rarely sleeps on the regular, but when he's sick that all catches up to him

he also gets more irritable and a little less composed, he'd be more prone to getting angry and would lash out if anyone asked if he was ok

alastors ears would also be turned back slightly, like most animals do when they're being aggressive, but its pretty much only obvious to people who know him closely

alastor never wants to be vulnerable or weak but you notice that his eyelids keep drifting of their own accord, and how irritable he's been, and it clicks to you that he's obviously not feeling well

approach him about it in private, while alastor does trust you he still doesn't want others to knowm

no matter how much you try he will not lay down, take medicine, or do anything (at least at first)

alastor genuinely thinks that he can just push through on his own and lowkey thinks you're worrying too much

however after two weeks of pure suffering and exhaustion, combined with no sleep and your irritation at his lack of will to take care of himself, alastor finally breaks

he'd prob come to your room at like 4 in the morning and just curl up on the edge of the bed, shivering a little but staying quiet

you wake up to him fast asleep, his ears twitching every once and a while as he rests peacefully near you

get a cool towel and lay it on his forehead to break the fever, and he'll just keep sleeping

he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, months of lost sleep are catching up to him at this point, giving you the opportunity to make him some soup and medicine

alastor will stir a little when you get out of bed but wont wake up, but once he does wake up he wants you to come back

when he's sick he wants you to be nearby, alastor isn't the touchiest person and being sick makes him feel gross, so he wouldn't want to be touched but would want you arround just to know you're there

this is probably the first step in him being more open to vulnerability around you, and while it may have been a bit of an irritating process to get him back to his usual healthy status, it's definitely worth it as he begins to trust you more

Vox:

lowkey a man child (affectionate)

vox is one of those guys who will take care of himself when he's sick, but he'll complain about it every step of the way

i think he's pretty responsible when he's sick, he'll take the day off and relax but won't do much other than that

he likes when you pamper him though, and a part of him lowkey enjoys being sick because he just gets to have your full attention all of the time (as if he doesn't already💀)

vox would be irritated about showing weakness and not being in control, but he wouldn't be irritated at you

if an employee was being too nosy about his wellbeing? yea he's pissed but if you're the one taking care of him, he'll just sigh and let you do what you want

VOX IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOS LITERALLY ALWAYS COLD AND ITS AMPLIFIED WHEN HES SICK

he becomes like a literal ice cube he's SHIVERING and everything

vox has the cutest sneezes too, he glitches out and denies how cute his sneezes are but they really are adorable

vox takes like 2 baths per day when he's sick he hates feeling unclean, and def wants you to join him in the bath (just to relax, get your mind out of the gutter)

vox would be a little pissed about missing work, i think he's a bit of a workaholic and might try to work in bed or sneak some paperwork behind your back

it doesn't work though because he just ends up passing out anyway

vox is big on sleeping when he's sick he's definitely the type to just sleep it off and thats that

like he CRASHES in bed and just does not get up for hours

he sleeps like the dead too, his screen is blank and he barely moves in his sleep

like lucifer, he has fever dreams but they lean more on the weird side rather than the sad side

its funny but instead of talking more when sick, vox actually talks much less. he starts getting super quiet and a lot more needy for your attention

vox is more than happy to return to work and be back on his feet, but will send you a little thank you gift and pamper you in return for taking care of him

Adam:

manchild x2 (also affectionate)

adam DREADS getting sick like he genuinely hates it so much, he sees it as one of his own flaws and it makes him lowkey disgusted at himself

he whines like a baby over a common cold, its almost sad how the slightest sickness will make him act like he's on his death bed

adam whines and complains whenever you aren't around him, he wants cuddles and kisses and is 10x more clingy when he's sick

he has little to no appetite when he's actually sick but gets a huge appetite right after

like you'll have to force him to eat at least a piece of toast per day while he's actually feverish but once he's in recovery he's literally FAMISHED and will ask for so much food

he barely eats or drinks while hes sick it just feels icky to him

i also think he's the type to not want to move like he just collapses on his bed and barely moves an inch (unless you force him)

adam exaggerates when he's barely sick and then underplays it when he's genuinely really sick its lowkey so confusing

like he could have pneuomonia and be half dead and say he's fine but he could have the most common cold and complain foreverrr

he doesn't think you're genuine when you say you want to help him and take care of him, he thinks its just a joke since nobody has ever really taken care of him before

like sure he's been told what to do and bossed around and treated him like a foolish child, but no one has ever sat with him while he's sick and held his hand yk?

while he can be irritable and annoying while he's sick, he apologizes afterwards

its one of the few times he ever apologizes but he genuinely feels bad about lashing out

adam isn't used to being below someone when it comes to status or health and relaxing and letting someone else take care of him is kind of foreign for him, but you both work it out over time

while he isn't the easiest to take care of, he genuinely appreciates that you want to help him and wants to return the favor someday

I WILL MAKE A PT 2 OF THIS WITH MORE FEM CHARACTERS OR WITH HELLUVA BOSS CHARACTERS BUT I DIDNT WANT TO CROWD UP THIS POST TOO MUCH!!!!! ALSO SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES I WROTE THIS WHILE HALF ASLEEP ♥️ HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS TEEHEE

[yawnderu]

I'm sorry but being with simon at the beginning of a relationship would be so awkward.💀

Like...

You can't take pics, you can't know about his routine, you can't know about his work and so goes on.

So or are you with him for the cock or because you have the syndrome of falling in love with strange men

>This turned into a mini character study. 😔🗣️

Good dick has taken you places you wouldn't even go to with a gun.

Simon is a kind man. Truly, he is. He's just... slightly strange. You don't know much about him other than the fact that he has served in the military— something he never even told you, you simply guessed by the dogtags he never takes off and the plethora of scars adorning his pale body, a privilege you didn't get until he realized he could trust you... for the most part.

For a man like Simon, vulnerability was nothing but a highly-desired privilege. Something he wouldn't allow himself to have ever again, hiding his face under different masks that caused the reactions he was looking for— intimidation and fear, the skulls doing nothing more than serving the purpose of representing all he was, a ghost. A man who died a long time ago, way before he was tortured by the greedy, cruel hands of Manuel Roba.

It's not that Simon doesn't love you, he simply doesn't know how to allow himself to be vulnerable. How to put down the walls he spent a lifetime building, serving as shelter from his father's abuse, nothing but a mere way of shielding the broken pieces of his soul, not allowing anyone to trample what little he had left.

... not until you came, at least. Sweet little thing, never moving away from his side even when Simon told you nothing good comes from men like him. Perhaps it's unfair, yet Simon only warned you once. Had a long chat with you about how you could do better— only for you to find yourself already tangled on his web, unable to leave even if you wanted to... and good for him, because the idea of leaving him never once crossed your mind no matter how difficult he could be.

For you, it was a test of patience and care, wanting to peel every single layer of the man Simon Riley is, yet for him, it's a new chance at life. The holy light, in a way, guiding him into a path he never found himself roaming, a path he never even thought he'd have the chance to see, not when he was such a tainted, dirty man, sins that would last him a lifetime easily forgotten the moment your arms wrap around him, holding him with such tenderness one would've thought he's made of expensive fine china rather than scar tissue and trauma.

It's not like Simon is a bad partner— quite the opposite, truly. He has a way with words, reassuring you that there'll be a time where he's able to reveal more about himself and what he does, having a scheduled delivery of flowers and food almost every day he's gone, wanting to keep you happy even when he's on the other side of the world, gaining more enemies by the day.

... And yet he is not afraid anymore. His enemies die with Ghost, by his punishing hand or that of an ally. The moment the mask comes off, he's your Simon. Yours and only yours, never even allowing himself to look at other women, he has the most gorgeous one by his side, one that loves him with all she has, making him feel like a proper lad for the first time in his life.

[tomriddleslove]

Omg I have a THEODORE NOTT request for you

Super duper angst hurt comfort

Theo’s dad basically hurts the reader and sends her back to Theo as a warning to stay away from such mudbloods and its just heart wrenching guilt and hurt and tending to her wounds through treat

Song: Half a Man by dean lewis perhaps?

I already have.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader (request)

Summary: The one where Theo has the one person he loves the most hurt by his worst nightmare. Alternatively: He thinks he’d rather die than see you in pain.

A/N: I DID MANAGE TO DO IT BY TODAY!!! I’ll be responding to the next few requests soon. You said comfort but didn’t specify a happy ending 😺

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, blood.

Theodore Nott never expected to fall in love.

It seemed rather bleak for him, to be honest. He didn’t have the time to think about love when he was too busy wrapped up in navigating the life he had ahead of him.

One couldn't blame him though. With his family as the only example of what love could be, he certainly didn't have a good impression.

Theodore couldn’t recall a single time when he had seen his father treat his mother with kindness or respect.

Let alone love? A truly laughable notion.

Theodore's father had not shown a single ounce of love to his wife, or Theodore. Even on that godforsaken day when Theodore had witnessed his mother die, his father had simply delivered a swift strike to his face and told him to ‘man up.’

So to put it simply, The absence of love in his family cast a shadow over his perception of relationships, making it difficult for him to fathom the idea of falling in love himself.

Then you came.

You came, and god, Theodore doesn't remember how he lived without you. It wasn’t a whirlwind love, a sort of fell fast and hard, rather you entered his life like a slow and steady rain, seeping through the foundations of Theodore's life till you had consumed them completely, crumbling them down against his own will.

It rained, and you became the quiet storm, soft yet unyielding.

Love came like the easiest thing when he met you. It wasn't foreign, or a distant concept; instead, it felt like the most natural and effortless occurrence in Theodore's life. Love with you was as simple and uncomplicated as breathing, a seamless rhythm that he hadn't known was missing until you came along.

You were more than shocked when Theodore admitted he didn’t think he could ever fall in love. The boy, who loved you as though he was born to (he argues he was), who would so tenderly kiss your forehead and hold your hand, not capable of love? The one who would leave his coat for you during the winter months and bring a spare scarf because, he knew you were stubborn, and he was worried you'd get sick, not deserving of love?

You kissed him deeply and made him swear he'd never think of that ever again.

You reminisced on Theodore like some sort of lovesick fool separated by war from their lover, though it was merely only the summer holidays. Whilst Theodore would want nothing more than to come with you, his father demanded his presence back at home. You knew little about Theodore's mother, and even less about his father. Anything leading up to a conversation about them would simply result in Theodore immediately redirecting the conversation, becoming a tad more guarded for the next day or so.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you, because he wholeheartedly did. He would place his beating heart in your hands even if you had a knife in the other, for he trusted you that much.

No, in fact, it was the very opposite. Theodore knew you, and he refused to let you ever get involved in that part of his life. He swore he would never let his father even lay his eyes on you.

He would have loved for his mother to have met you. He doesn't remember her that well, but he's sure, some sort of instinctive feeling within him, that she would have loved you.

You had been back in Hogsmeade a mere 2 days before school had started, to stockpile on some supplies for school.

Students were permitted to start returning to Hogwarts three days before school began, and you would always go back early, valuing having the near-empty castle. It meant you could settle back into a school routine comfortably, and have some time alone before school resumes.

It also gave you time to do stuff for Theodore. You didn't know much about what went on at his house, but assuming from the way he’d come back absolutely exhausted with bags under his eyes, you figured it wasn't good.

It seemed to be the same routine almost every time you'd come back - he comes over to your dorm (luckily for you, all your dormmates essentially lived in their boyfriend's dorms, as they were all friends with one another, so you had it all to yourself 99% of the time). He’d kiss you hello and wordlessly take off his shoes and jacket. You’d lie on your bed and he’d come lie on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He would rest his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him, as he listened to you talk about your holidays till he fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time, unburdened by his worries.

He’d sleep, and you'd trace the furrow of his brow. You ached for the ability to just, alivieate him of everything he carried so close to him. But you knew that healing was a long journey, and you'd be there for him on the way.

You wander around a little bookstore, finding a book for you and Theodore to read. You paid for the copy, turning to leave the shop when you bump into a man.

You quickly offered a polite apology, even though his cold gaze and disdainful demeanour sent a chill down your spine.

Those eyes. They were oh so familiar to the very striking eyes of the boy you so loved. Come to think of it, the hair was the same too. Was this…..

"Watch where you're going, girl," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the anger that threatened to surface. Keeping your composure, you replied evenly, "I apologize if I inconvenienced you, sir."

His eyes then flickered to the books in your hands, a sceptical look crossing his face. "You are a student at Hogwarts? What year?" he sneered.

You took a deep breath before responding, "Final year, sir."

Seeing an opportunity to shift the dynamics, you gestured towards Theodore's family resemblance. "You must be Theodore's father. The resemblance is striking."

His eyes narrowed, and he asked with an air of suspicion, "How do you know Theodore?"

You hesitated for a moment but decided to be honest. "We're dating."

Theodore's father raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and derision on his face. "Dating, are you?" he scoffed. "Tell me, girl, who are your parents? Perhaps I've heard of them."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, responding. "I doubt you would know them. They're Muggles."

His expression darkened, and a look of pure contempt appeared on his face. "Muggles? Muggles?" He snarls, taking a step closer to you.

Theodore's father's face contorted with disgust, and his voice dripped with venom as he continued, "You, a pathetic Muggle, dare to pollute my son's bloodline? You're nothing but filth, tarnishing the Nott family name with your presence."

You felt a surge of anger and fear. This is what Theodore was trying to keep from you. That his family were prejudiced against your very existence.

Without warning, he roughly grabbed your arm, his grip tightening painfully. The pain shot through you, and you winced.

"Listen closely, Mudblood," he hissed, tightening his hold. "You're nothing more than a passing fancy for my son. If you have any sense, you'll sever ties with him before you bring further shame upon yourself."

Without a second to let you answer, he releases his grip on you, spinning on his heel as he storms out of the store. It takes you a second to recuperate and process what the fuck had just gone on before you turn and quickly dash out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Sure enough, you spot him disappearing down a narrow alley.

Before you can stop to think, you chase after him, shouting as you do.

“Hey!” You snap, closing in on the distance.

Theodore was correct in one thing. He knew you well. And he knew that if you ever knew of his father, you’d get involved.

His father’s long black cloak billowed behind him, disappearing down a narrow alleyway that seemed to swallow his wrath. Fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger, you hurried after him, determined to address the injustice he had just unleashed.

Desperation laced your anger-fuelled shouts as you closed the distance. His brisk pace showed no signs of slowing, and as you reached out to grab his arm, the narrowness of the alley made it easy for him to turn around swiftly.

"How dare you touch me, you wretched Mudblood!" he hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

Before you could react, he unleashed a hex.

It hit you with an intensity that sent a shockwave of pain radiating through your body. The force of the curse flung you backwards, and you collided with the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. A searing pain radiates throughout your body, and you cough, looking down. It was akin to some sort of slash, as though he had hit you with an invisible thing, a clean cut on your thigh, and arm. You see a drop of blood drip down onto your skirt and, dazed, bring your hand up to your face. You feel something wet, and when you pull your hand back it has a crimson red glistening on your fingertips, and-

oh.

There was a cut on your face too.

As you steadied yourself, you felt the searing pain intensify, a burning sensation spreading from the point of impact on your arm. Theodore's father approached with a malevolent satisfaction etched across his face. He looms over you, glaring down at you.

"You'd do well to heed my warning, Mudblood," he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "Stay away from my son, or next time, the consequences will be even more severe."

He cast a disdainful glance at your injured form before straightening up, his dark cloak billowing as he walked away without a second thought.

You took a deep breath, shuddering as you braced your palms against the cobblestone floor of the alleyway. You push yourself up, wincing as you try to ignore the throbbing pain in your body as you gingerly get up.

You gather your scattered belongings and look around, seeing nothing but the near-empty village. Summoning every ounce of strength, you began to limp back towards the castle, the weight of humiliation pressing down on your shoulders.

You felt exposed. The idea that Theodore had hidden such a massive thing from you, made you feel all the more humiliated.

You keep your head down and soon enough appear at Hogwarts. It doesn't give you the happiness it usually does, rather you just want to go back to your room and change, and sleep.

It was at this moment that you were rather glad that you decided to come back early, for you can only imagine the looks you'd get if it was packed full of students.

Exhausted, and simply just over it, you make your way up to the dorm. There are only two other students you spotted on the way, but they were far too busy snogging the daylights out of one another to notice you.

It reminded you of…

Theodore.

How would you face Theodore? Did you want to face Theodore?

No, you resolved, you didn’t. You couldn't comprehend keeping such a key detail from someone, let alone the person you loved. Why he did that to you, you’d never understand.

You unlock your dorm room door, dropping your bag at the door, You look up and to your utter confusion, see Theodore sitting on your bed. He looks up at you, the smile on his face very quickly replaced with a deep frown.

He gets up, and-

oh.

Never mind.

You did want to be near him.

You really wanted to be near him.

It was stupid really. You didn’t feel like crying at all, but the second you saw Theodore, that feeling very quickly resolved into the urge to bury your face into your chest, and not stop.

So you did.

Theodore's arms envelop you, and he holds you impossibly tight. He swears every sob that comes from you chips away at his being and he soothes you, rubbing your back as he holds you.

Theodore can count the number of times he's felt pure anger on one hand. Sheer rage. The type that consumes you from the inside out. Once when he was 8, and his mother passed away. He remembers hearing his father disregard the whole thing with such cruel indifference he felt as though a fire was blazing him from the inside out. As with many young wizards his age, he did not know how to control this magic.

He ended up setting fire to the library that day.

The second time, in 1st year, when Alicia Thornsby had made a cruel remark about Theodore’s home life.

“Well, my mother said that Theodore must have a horrible holiday. What, with his father being-” She starts, but she didn’t get to finish.

The teachers couldn’t comprehend under what vindication a child learnt a stinging hex strong enough to permanently mar the skin of the girl, but it was the first and last time anyone dared utter a word against Theodore.

That was the 2nd, and last time Theodore had felt unbridled rage, in his 18 years of life.

That was, until today.

Because, the sight of you, with blood on your cheek, sobbing into his chest, was enough to reignite that dormant flame of anger within Theodore.

“Who?” He manages to utter, voice strained.

You remain quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional sniffle as you remain hidden in his chest.

He pulls back, lifting your chin. Your eyes are fixated on where the once-dried blood had washed onto his shirt, and he is fixated on you.

“Who?” He emphasises again, his eyes flickering down to the cut on your face. He runs his finger gently along the cut, and when he watches you wince he pauses, a flicker of pain crossing his face. The sight of you wincing, even at his gentle touch, shatters something within Theodore.

You hesitate before you speak, but ultimately, the words slip out of your mouth.

“Your father.”

The weight of those two words, "Your father," hung in the air, and for a moment, Theodore felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled.

His eyes widen momentarily, and he can't speak.

No, because there's a horrible feeling of fear, guilt, regret, perhaps a combination of all three, and it's lodged in his throat. It’s almost suffocating him, he can barely breathe, and it's constricting his airways.

The image of you, the person he held dearest, broken and bloodied, collided with the nightmare he had feared for years. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty his own flesh and blood had inflicted upon you, someone he cherished beyond measure. He speaks, and his voice is so heartbreakingly soft, a mere whisper weighed down by the burden of the truth that unfolded before him.

“I'm so, so sorry.” He utters, as though he prompted the hand that came down to hit you.

He believed he did. Because it was only by association, that you had been hurt by his father. That was why you were hurt, right?

His fault. All his fault. All his fault.

He has to take a deep breath and force himself to calm down and think.

Think.

His first priority was you. Always you. He leads you down to your bed and forces you to take a seat on the edge. You watch him as he disappears into the bathroom, reemerging with a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels down in front of you, hesitating as he slowly lifts the hem of your skirt upwards slightly. He catches a glimpse of the gash on your thigh and that horrible feeling remerges again.

He gently wipes the cloth over the cut, leaning down to press a kiss on your skin. He mutters a few words, and with a small sharp pinch, the skin on your thigh begins to stitch up slightly. Not enough to fully heal, but to ensure it would in the future.

You don’t question how he knows exactly how to heal these wounds.

You know.

He does the same for your arm. Every second he stares at the cut, he feels his resolve shatter further and further, till he can tell whether he wants to cry or ensure the murder of his father with his own hands.

His hands come up to your face, and he lets out a shaky breath. He is ashamed to even look you in the face,

His own reflection of guilt and regret is etched into his features. He keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand, tending to the wounds inflicted upon you by the person who Theodore swore would never even set his gaze on you.

The room is filled with an anguished silence as Theodore continues his ministrations.

As he tends to your injuries, Theodore's mind is a battleground of self-recrimination. The echoes of your sobbing, the memory of your blood on his shirt, haunt him like a relentless ghost. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispers again, the words heavy with remorse as if he could somehow atone for the sins of his family.

With each stitch on your wounds, he feels the seams of his composure unravelling.

When he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The shame he feels is evident.

You muster a weak smile, a hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly as you speak, your voice calm.

“It's not your fault,”

He wants to cry.

It is. It is his fault.

Theodore pulls you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox of love and guilt; a conflict that threatens to tear him apart.

As Theodore lies down with you, the weight of his guilt still hangs in the air. He holds you as if trying to shield you from the world. He utters words of apology, repeating the words like a mantra.

“I love you.”

But amidst the soothing cadence of his voice, there's an undercurrent of resolution. The conflict within Theodore reaches its zenith, and a painful decision emerges. He knows he can't risk his father ever hurting you again. The love he feels for you clashes with the harsh reality of his future.

Theodore's grip tightens for a moment as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of solace. Yet, with a heavy heart, the decision he has to make is almost clear.

“It isn't your fault. Don't apologise.” You whisper, curled into his arms.

“It is. It's all my fault. I got you involved in this,” He utters, as though the admission is poison on his tongue.

“I’m not a good person. I have a horrible family, and he’ll want me to do horrible things, and I’ll have to do them.” He admits, voice breaking.

“No, you don’t. I’m here. I love you, Theodore. I won’t ever leave, and I swear you won’t deal with that alone.” You repeat, voice laced with conviction.

“I'm beyond help. Don’t give your heart to me.” He croaks.

You lift your head up from where it was resting, eyes gazing directly into his. You remain silent for a beat, then two, before you speak.

“I already have.” You respond.

Theodore should feel relief at those words, but he doesn't. Rather, he feels sick. Because he can’t, he won't risk you getting hurt again. He kisses you and pulls you back in, laying next to one another as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, if only for one last night.

Because there was only one thing Theodore could do to make sure his father would never hurt you again.

He had to leave you.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Don't Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, blood play , knife play, mentions of killing, somnophilia, pussy spanking, impact play (Coryo spanks your ass like twice), riding, mating press, overstimulation if you squint, squirting, dub-con if you squint, fucked up lovesick! reader, fucked up dark! Snow, predator/prey dynamics if you squint, degradation, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), creampie | lmk if I forgot anything

⇢☾Pairing: Ghostface! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: You're trying to outrun Ghostface, you fail and find out that he's your bestie and your love Coriolanus Snow, smut ensues despite the circumstances

⇢☾A/N: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, read this ast your own risk, do not romanticize!

Ps: i love this, depending on the response/feedback I get, I might write more Ghostface! Coryo

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

‘Run, run, run’, your mind kept thinking, as the burn of pushing past the wind and all the halls made your legs go weak. You wanted to tear your ears off so you could mute all the screams that were echoing.

You didn't want to die. Fuck it. You're not gonna die.

One of the two Ghostfaces was chasing you, fast but slower than you. Something in your mind told you that they were playing with you. You were just a prey and the predator was being merciful by letting you live for the last time.

Alarms set off in your mind as you dash into an empty classroom, hoping that he will walk past it. You hide behind the door, praying to whoever is above for safety. Nobody listened.

The door to the classroom was opened and you knew it in your bones that you were doomed. That you had to fight, even if you're terrible at it. The creaking sound of the door sent shivers down your spine, your mind going haywire as heavy steps echoed into the empty.

“You can come out, baby,” he said, as he walked in without closing the door, “otherwise you won't get any kindness from me, bird.” The nicknames felt familiar to you but you pay it no mind. As he walks further into the classroom, you decide to slowly get out of your hiding spot to walk out of the door and take a run from it.

You can do it, can't you?

The answer was a no because even when you managed to take a step outside of the classroom, you were yanked back in, and thrown to the floor. The infamous Ghostface is in front of you with a shiny knife that makes your heart go wild but not in the right way. Fear and adrenaline fill your veins as you look around for any sort of weapon but to no avail.

“Don't you fucking come closer,” you snarl at them. “And what are you gonna do if I do, princess? I don't see a prince charming to protect you here,” he mocks you as he kneels, his hand playing around the with the knife in a rather enticing manner. Your eyes pinned on how he played with the knife around, your breath hitching as you could imagine it carving into your skin not to kill you but. . .

You possibly couldn't blame yourself for your thoughts. You knew you had kinks, but you never had a chance to indulge. Your exes were vanilla and you respected that, you never trusted anyone enough to indulge in your fantasies. Except for one person though by accident, he should be safe in his apartment right now.

Coryo. Coryo was safe, he wasn't aware the friend group was going to break into the academy. Coryo had to be safe. Even if you die at the hands of this stranger tonight, Coryo should be fine. He was never part of the main crew after all. His name from the elitists fell due to his wealth being nonexistent, all that existed in Snow was him and his wit. So there's no possible reason for him to be targeted. Coriolanus was safe.

“Cat caught your tongue, doll?” The masked man taunts you, the voice modulator, his knife inching towards your cheek, the blunt side pressing onto your skin. “Fuck off,” you spit out, trying to crawl away from him but you had no strength left. No fight left in you. Your legs hurt, you can't think, and the rest of your friends are fighting or worse dead.

Tears begin to fill your eyes as you begin to think about them. Last you saw Sajanus, he was getting stabbed, Lucy had run, and Tigris… She was one of the killers, you couldn't wrap your head around that. You looked at Ghostface, a pathetic part of wanting to plead for your life but your ego won out. You spit onto their mask. “Fuck you!” you yelled at them.

A growl sounding feral even through the voice modulator could be heard. Ghostface grabs your jaw with his free hand, “You should know better than to do that, pet,” he smirks. He flipped the knife, the sharp end now digging into your skin, cutting up the layer of the cheek so beads of blood would drag themselves onto the knife.

A small whine left you, but it wasn't out of pain. Your body was readily confusing danger with your desires and there's nothing your mind could do about it. Ghostface lets out a chuckle, “Freaky bitch.” His hand was still grabbing your jaw, your legs pushed down by the weight of his body, there was no way for you to fight (you didn't want to) as he used his knife to pop the buttons of your shirt one by one. Your skin, every inch of your torso and chest was exposed to him.

This should have filled ice in your veins, but fire burned instead, you should have yelled at him to stop, plead, anything instead you tried to nip the urge of rubbing your thighs together. Fuck, this turned you on to no end. The thrill. The danger. You were so tired of being good. So what if you end up dead, at least you'll get a good fuck out of this.

His knife begins to cut fine lines onto your skin, near your bra, dragging along the underside of your clothed breast. Red begins to paint across your skin. “Fuck,” you whispered when the knife dug too deeply near your left hip, a long cut that felt like he was carving out a letter. You take multiple deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at the edge. “Stop!” you whispered, “Just kill me, stop.” The murderer didn't reply.

Something felt eerily familiar about him, the way something was carved onto your skin. You sit up a bit, and he doesn't stop you and your eyes fall to the cut he had finished on your hip. A ‘C’. No, no, no, no.

“Coryo,” you groan, in pain and shock. Tigris being one of the killers, you suppose it made sense. But what assured you was the fact Snow was always marking you up, a finger tracing the letters of his name onto your hand, or the tip of a pen inking you with his initials onto your skin. This time he did it with a knife, something so permanent. It was such a Coryo thing to do.

A soft distorted laugh comes out through the mask before his hand lifts it. Coriolanus Snow with his manic blue eyes and a feral grin, his blonde locks disheveled for once greeted you. “You're going to enjoy this, doll,”

“You- I-” You couldn't form a single thought, how could you? Your Coryo (both of you were nothing, both of you were something. So close to being with each other forever but too afraid to jump that hill) was a murderer, he was going to kill you. A boy whom you watched for years grow up to be a man despite the circumstances, whom you had shared your first kiss with and who was your first love and the one who got away because of your cowardice was going to kill you. You were going to die by his hands. Poets would make it seem romantic, dying at the hands of your love seems like a mercy.

It wasn't.

Anybody but him, you didn't want your love to be tainted with this. You didn't want your blood to be on his hands, not on your Snow. “Anyone but you,” you whispered, “Coryo, no!” You flinch away when he leans in and a glare forms in his eyes. “I won't hurt you, doll. You're one of the good ones. You're my pet,” he whispered, his knife pressing onto the bleeding wound of your skin. “I have trained you so well after all,” he smirks.

“What- what do you mean?” You gasp out, your mind on the edge of your sanity. “You aren't afraid, you aren't screaming, you aren't crying and whining like a bitch like those other motherfuckers, are you?” He grins, “It's because your body knows that I won't hurt you. I have trained you to feel safe around me. I am your savior, doll.” He leans in closer, his hot breath hitting your lips with his every word, “You enjoyed the run. You enjoyed the chase. You don't care about dying, you want to be fucked. You didn't know it was me but I bet your slutty cunt is soaking through those panties anyway."

“Am I lying?” He whispered, “Tell me it's a lie, tell me you aren't wet, that you weren't enjoying this and I'll leave.” You couldn't bring yourself to lie, not when you were lost in those eyes. Is this why people say love ends you? It was a weapon that Coryo knew he held, an invisible dragger against your throat. “I-” You wanted to lie, you wanted too, you swear.

Instead, you close the pathetic excuse of a gap between his lips and yours. Your hands grab at his robe, pulling him in as you kiss feverishly. Like he was the air itself, you couldn't breathe, not when both your lips and your tongues meet. The moan you let out of the contact made you realize you had nothing left to yourself. Your mind, your soul, and your marked body belonged to him. The price for falling for the devil. A price you gladly paid.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his face in a boyish grin you have seen from childhood. “I knew it. You're mine, dove. Mine.” With that he licks a strip of nearly dried blood from your cheek, dragging his tongue onto your cut and letting out a moan from the taste of iron onto his tongue. Your taste. You whimper as he continues to lav at the blood covering your face, cleaning you up like a dog would.

His cold hands find their way to your back, playing with your bra clasp before finally freeing your breasts from their confines. He pulls back, throwing the knife far away from you both (did it matter? He would win in a fight anyway). His palms knead your breasts, as his needy lips keep pressing against yours.

“Is this real?” He asked, breathless. His fingers roll your nipples until they harden under his touch. You moan in response as your nipples keep getting teased, a sharp gasp leaves as he pinches the nipples hard. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” you whimper, “Real. Real. Real. Real. Coryo, I love you!” He lets out a growl as he hears your confession, his attention towards your breasts getting rougher as he drags his tongue across the canvas of your skin, his teeth marking you up wherever they pleased.

“Of course, you do, baby. I made it so,” he whispered, when his mouth meets your taut nipple, his lips wrapping themselves around the bud to suck as one of his hands was on your back and his opposite hand giving your breast rougher attention. Meanwhile, your hands had found their way into his robes, sliding them off so his shirt and his pants were in view. Your fingers immediately begin to unbutton his shirt to the best of their abilities, your mind not sure whether to focus on the task or the delicious heat of his mouth around your sensitive nub.

Coryo deciding to have mercy (he was sick of your uncoordinated hands, how pathetic you were) took it upon himself to undress while being on task. His lips left to find a home in the cuts he made all over his chest, the small cuts stinging from his licks. But the pain was delicious, could it be considered pain at all with how much you loved it? You suppose not. This was a pleasure, all pleasure given to you by a monster.

His toned muscles came into your view, your hands flying to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders causing him to hiss, he was down to your hips now. Near your mark, his initial carved so beautifully against your skin. He had to admire it, he had no choice but to.

“Such a pretty doll. My canvas, I can't wait to have you all to myself, am gonna mark you so nice,” his eyes meet yours. “You have no choice but to let me.”

He pressed a kiss to the deep cut, the blood from it made a mess on the floor. You suspected the only reason you were conscious was because of adrenaline alone. His lips are red with your blood pressed onto your lips, making you taste yourself. You moan, letting yourself be familiarized with the taste for the future.

Your hands find solace in his blonde locks as his hands unbutton your pants. “Let's see how slutty my pet is,” he whispered. He slides off your pants and underwear in one go, his fingers pressing into your heat, gathering the arousal onto his fingertips. He shakes his head, looking displeased (he was more than pleased inside, don't worry), “What a whore.” He pulls his fingers back and strings of your arousal follow. Then smack, smack, smack. Three slaps were delivered to your pussy making you jolt and moan wantonly. Your eyes widen and your cunt begins to ache, reddening from his actions, your clit puffing up and twitching, needing more.

“Please,” you plead, your voice weak, your vision blurry, you need to feel him inside before you black out. “Please, please, Coryo, baby,” you begin to babble, your mind a mess. You feel a kiss on your forehead. “Let go, dove,” he whispered, “I'm gonna keep you safe.”

You wanted to laugh at his words. His actions were the opposite of safe. It was anything but. However, your body had relaxed in his hold, your mind blanking out.

Your mind comes back to reality after hours. You open your eyes to meet pitch black, your body not on the hard cold floor of the academy classroom but on something soft. A bed. “Coryo,” you called, your voice filled with fear.

“Coryo,” you whispered again, turning your body to meet with another warm body. Coryo.

You let out a sigh of relief, and the pain of the incident now settled into your bones, like a distant buzz. You nuzzle into Coriolanus' chest, one of your arms around him. You realize both of you were naked. Completely utterly bare, skin on skin. Your breath hitches, feeling the heat coursing through your body again as you feel his soft cock onto your thigh, so fucking close to your cunt.

You bite your lip in thought, you want to know what happened after you lost consciousness. Were all your friends dead? Did they escape? Did they find out? You also wanted his cock, impatient because you waited for years, and despite the circumstances you knew when to seize opportunities.

Coryo was a heavy sleeper, it was like he slept with the weight of everything on his shoulder. Weight of his world at least. Plus he would like a treat, right? A man as insane as he is, he wouldn't mind your actions even if it solidifies his opinion of you being an whore for him.

Your fingers trace his chest, your palm feeling his heartbeat, your heavy breaths and his quiet ones fill the room. You take your palm and lick it, lubricating it before you grip his length. Your strokes were hesitant, your mind afraid that he would break up and he would be mad. But you feel his cock harden and you love it. You fucking love it. Your pussy gets wet as time goes by and his cock completely hardens.

You take his cockhead and slowly begin to slide it against your pussy lips. A soft moan escapes you as the tip nudges your sensitive clit. Your slick was coated all over his length as you kept grinding against his cock. And soon enough after a particular nudge, his cockhead gets caught in your entrance. It could have easily been pushed away and you could have continued with your actions. But you are pathetically needy and this was not enough.

A whimper escapes your lips as you begin to guide your hips forward to let the cock inside your cunt, stretching out your walls perfectly. You let out a gasp when he was fully in. His cock twitching inside of you. Now was the hard part, fucking yourself onto his cock without him waking up. Impossible but you didn't care at the moment.

You slowly started to roll your hips, taking his length deep inside of you, your walls squeezing around him. You let out soft moans, trying your best to control the animalistic need to ride his cock. Time passes and this continues, the ache of your cunt not fading but getting worse and worse with the need to cum. The pace wasn't enough, no matter how many ways you rubbed your clit raw wasn't enough.

Deciding to play with the devil, you pushed Coryo's sleeping body onto his back, your pussy holding onto his cock as you straddle him. The angle made it so his cockhead kissed your g-spot making you gasp as stars flood your vision, but it didn't trigger your orgasm, your walls oversensitive but throbbing to cum, cum, cum.

You wanted to wake up Snow, wanted him to fuck you, use you, and love you. But you decided against it as you begin to grind your hips, your swollen clit pressing onto his groomed pubic hair, the sensation making you bite your lower lip to stop a loud moan that would surely wake him up.

You couldn't keep up with this long, you wanted to cum, wanted to be filled with his cum as well. You begin to go faster, letting all sense of control out of the window as you slam down his cock again and again, letting his tip nearly breach your cervix.

Smack.

The sound of his hand meeting the meat of your ass freezes you. The area victim of his hit was reddening. “Why did you stop?” He voices, his tone filled with lust “Ride me, bitch. How needy were you that you couldn't wait, huh? Disgusting, truly. I need to train you better, pet.”

An apology remains to be said as his hand slaps your ass again. “Fuck yourself on me, doll,” he grunts, his tone reeking of impatiently. “Co-coryo,” you whine, your hips finding their rhythm but this time with Coriolanus thrusting upwards into your cunt, disrupting your pace. But neither of you cared, both of your actions borderlining to those of mating animals under a full moon.

His hands hold you down, gripping your hips tightly with his fingers printing onto your skin. It puts pressure on your previous wound, making you cry out and tighten your pussy around him reflexively. You wonder if your wound began to bleed again because the smell of blood began to stink in the air along with the distinct smell of sex.

Your thoughts were proven correct as one of his hands left your hip in favor of licking his palm on which your wound had bled. His thrusts turn frantic as the taste of iron blooms onto his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, Coryo!” You begin to moan, louder and louder as heat begins to coil up on your lower tummy. Your gummy walls get slicker and slicker as your sensitive nerves go overdrive with his thrusts.

He lets out a groan, and in a flash, you are on your back onto the mattress, pressed into it as his mouth latches onto your jaw. His hips rutted into you without a care. “You taste so fucking delicious, I bet your cunt tastes wonderous too, princess,” he moans as his teeth begin to bite into the flesh of your neck, his erratic pace bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands find themselves on his back, your nails scratching his skin and forming red lines which sting but he loves it so much. So fucking much. His hands pushed your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest. He has you folded onto a mating press position. His cock reaching impossible depths inside of you.

A particular thrust of his made his cock fuck into your cervix, it makes you scream from the pleasure and pain of all, your body finally letting go. Your cunt spasming, milking his cock for what it's worth as clear liquid squirted out of you, covering Coryo who merely groans from it all.

He fucks you through your orgasm, his cock hitting all the right angles and as your pussy tightens around his cock just right. He cums, deep and nice into your womb. He continues to roll his hips into you, his pace slowing down as he fucks his hot, thick cum into you.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he pulls out and lays beside you. Both of catching your breaths. He breaks the silence first.

“I am going to tell you everything, doll but let me clean up the wound first.”

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness @hansbasement @louweasleymalfoy @lettersandwhiteroses @arzua10 @wotcherpeak @ever8ea @dollfacedalls

[celestialprincesse]

I don’t know if you are still taking requests, so if you aren’t, please ignore this!! a little while ago I saw something where a military spouse got in trouble for giving her husband a hickey because it was a “violation of government property.” I’m imagining this with Simon LMAO that man would DIE if this happened to him and you

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Everyone knows that you and Simon are together. Although the wedding bands stay hidden snugly between the fabric of your shirts and the skin of your chests, the tan lines remain on your ring fingers, only to be noticed by those who'd been trusted enough to be invited to your intimate ceremony. The two of you had spent months on edge after he'd proposed, always haunted by the looming threat of becoming leverage, a weak spot to be exploited.

That's why you're currently sat on the other end of the common room, curled up on a worn couch with a stack of reports on your lap, trying to ignore the thought of what you and Simon were getting up to last night, blowing off some steam after a long day of pent up frustration and energy. Maybe a little too much frustration, judging by the splotches of purple on Simon's neck when his mask rides up.

"You know," Price states from behind you, a wry, knowing smile crossing his warm features as he catches you clearly off guard, making you jump. "Technically that's a destruction of government property."

"What?" You mutter back incredulously, cocking a brow in confusion as you twist in your seat to face him, trying to school your features back into neutrality.

"Whoever decided to uh," He gives you a knowing glance, looking to the splotchy dark mark in the juncture between Simon's neck and shoulder, where you'd clearly gone a little further than initially realised.

"Bang up our boy there. Could get in serious trouble for that."

If your face wasn't burning with shame, maybe you'd have laughed rather than burying your face back into the stack of reports you'd been poring over, absolutely mortified at the thought of your captain, and probably the rest of the team, being aware of you and your husband's complete disregard for government property.

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[ja3yun]

how about sunghoon as your bf? pls pls pls im on a sunghoon lockdown :((

okay let me crack my knuckles and delve into the delusional world and imagine what park sunghoon would be like as your boyfriend! there will be mentions of some smut so mdni

jake vers. | heeseung vers. | jay vers.

okay at the talking stages, i think he will keep his cards close to his chest regarding what his feelings are towards you. he wouldn't fall in love with you at a fast rate but he also won't run away if the connection isn't immediate! he will take you on dates and really get to know you. his heart is big but it's guarded, so relationships are long lasting and never fleeting, meaning he needs to know you're going to click in values and that your heart is in it for the long haul.

sunghoon, once he determines his own feelings, would want to be exclusive/bf&gf almost immediately. he values being loyal in every aspect of the word and that includes the early stages. he will be a little jarring in the beginning because of this but it's only because he's so scared of getting hurt (more on that later)

he would fall hard and become completely obsessed with you, not in a clingy way but he will always make sure his presence is known. texts to ask how your day was, random updates with schedules, notorious for sending you pictures of random objects just for an excuse to speak with you. sunghoon isn't a texter to anyone else but you, he just wants to talk to you all the time; i think this will die down once his heart settles into yours and first flutters settle.

his love language is quality time!! he loves to sit and do everything and nothing with you. he will take extra steps to make sure he sees you as many times as his schedule allows him. sometimes, he will ask for early shoots so he can meet you after work and take you for dinner or just walk you back home. i don't think he is one for being extravagant outside so he won't take you to high end restaurants or show you off because that's not quality time to him.

more under cut

speaking of relationship vs work, he is going to keep you hidden and would prefer it if you did the same. he is in no way embarrassed by you! it's just that he knows as soon as everyone knows your business and that you're dating, it's no longer your relationship. whether outside interference from fans or the company, he would much rather it be a very private love.

when you are in private, what he lacks in PDA outside, he will surely make up for when you're at home. he strikes me as the domestic type so doing the dishes while you cook, drying your hair for you after a shower, running you a bath, bringing gaeul over for you two to bond, that's his type of love service.

joking and teasing are sure ways to show you his affection. since he is quite tall, i can imagine him putting things up too high on the shelf so you need to ask him to bring it down, but in some instances, he will pick you up to grab it and tickle your sides as he does so, causing both of you to go into fits and giggles of laughter. with the serious moments, there will be nothing but happiness because sunghoon is the funniest man alive, even when he isn't trying to be.

LOVES to feel loved. he will adore it when you give him quick kisses for no reason, hug him so tight he can't breathe, and tell him random reasons why you love him. he will laugh it off and act chill about it but inside his heart would be leaping for joy. with this, he also sees trust and honesty as an integral part of love, so when you open up to him or explain your worries no matter how big or small, he will feel wanted and honoured that you're allowing him to know these parts of you.

as i said earlier, he worries about his heart being broken so he might need more reassurance than some of the other boys. he keeps his emotions to himself and can run hot and cold with no explanation, which can cause a lot of arguments between you. in these scenarios, he would value your assurance and emotional depth; in turn, this can come off as selfish because why should you be understanding when he is the one causing an issue? sunghoon knows it's wrong to ask you of so much when sometimes he gives so little, it's the benefit of him being emotionally intelligent. it is something you can both work on in the relationship and communication here is so so important!

jealousy and possessiveness run in his blood but not in that toxic, dark romance way, rather he his protective. he trusts you with his entire being but others outside are his number one enemy. if you do go out and dress up, i think these are the times he will be a little bit more affectionate towards you outside. he wants to let everyone know that you are his and he is yours and no one could hold a candle to your love. it can be overbearing but as the years go on i think he will be more secure in the relationship, thus, easing off on the whole "no one should look at you but me" front.

i want to add that being in a relationship with sunghoon would be the most rewarding. it's give and take, never boring, always passionate, he is a spontaneous lover with so much soul to give you that every day will be different. if he thinks it's getting a little slow on the tracks, he will do something to quicken your hearts for one another again. he works incredibly hard to be the best boyfriend he can, and he would expect his efforts to be matched and appreciated.

kissing: loves to kiss you. kisses are always on the table even when he is angry or mad, one kiss from you and all his worries are melting away. his lips find yours in the simplest of places - laying on the couch with him, saying goodbye in the mornings, shopping (he will sneak a cheeky one when no one is looking), etc. these would all be lingering pecks, ones he never wants to pull away from. but when you're at home and he needs you, the boy is slow and teasing, his tongue running against the seam of your lips as a warning to what's to come. i don't think he would kiss for a long time but i think 8/10 make out sessions would end up with your clothes off. he would get really into it and can't control himself, and honestly, you wouldn't want him to.

bowchikawowow: quickies are not on his agenda, he wants to fuck you properly each and every time. i think he has sex in two ways: soft and sensual, taking his time with you, teasing you, giving gentle kisses all over your body, fingers memorising the feel of your skin, soft whispers of "so pretty" and "i love you so much". he wants sex to convey his love in the way his words sometimes don't. the other way i see it would be passionate and fiery. he can dick you down hard and fast if you want to, that athletic stamina he built up over the years needs to be put to more than just choreographies. he would go down on you until you cried out for mercy, he would pound into you so good, marking and biting you all over (never on exposed skin but rather only places he is allowed to touch, he doesn't want men to think about you in any position like that).

always aftercare, never anything less. he would grab you water (and possibly painkillers depending on how rough he got), shower with you, massage your tensed muscles, he would be the type of boyfriend that is so in love with you, affection like this would come easily to him, like breathing and tying his shoe laces. he will tell you how much he worships you and after sex is when you see his vulnerability. you will spend a few hours talking about your feelings (it doesn't happen every time but when it does, it only brings you both closer than ever before).

again, these are just my opinions and observations so if you don't agree that's okay <3 (i also love to hear others' thoughts so!!)