#they wanted names when there was none to give

[cockettechris]

𝑷𝑼𝑷𝑷𝒀 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾 - 𝑴.𝑺.

divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

Summary: when you go on the interview where there's puppies you can tell how bad Matt wants to hold them, so you let him.

Pairing: Matt x Actor!Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: I came up with this idea randomly LMAO and i thought it was cute

you sat on the cold pink floor that was attached to the pink backdrop as multiple little puppies surrounded you, a little gold retriever coming up and sitting in your lap.

"So you have a boyfriend correct?" the brown haired interviewer asked. "Yeah uh- I do. His name's Matt and he's right over there actually." you said with a small smile as you pointed off camera to Matt, who was giggling softly and the interaction with you and the little golden retriever.

You knew Matt loved animals, puppies mostly. So it was no surprise to you when he asked to tag along with you to the interview. "How would you describe the development of your character throughout the movie?" the interviewer asked, you went on a small ramble about your character in your new movie that was coming out in a few weeks, Matt just listened to you. He loved seeing how passionate you got whenever you spoke about your work.

After the little ramble, which was kinda hard to do because the little retriever kept licking your face which caused you to giggle every so often, you asked the interviewer if Matt could join you even though he had nothing to talk about. You knew how much he'd enjoy it.

The interviewer quickly agreed to which Matt hastily sat down next to you and joined you, giving you a quick kiss as he mumbled a small "Thank you." and a small husky was quick to sit in his lap, Matt smiling softly as he pet the small dog, the fur soft against his hand.

The interview kept going on, more and more puppies coming to you guys, well, Matt mostly. When the interview was over you took a quick picture of the interaction, saving it as your wallpaper. Matt sadly softly said bye to all the little fur babies, standing up and interlocking your hand with his and walking out towards his car.

Once your both sat in the car he starts it and drives smoothly to your place. He kept looking at you as if he wanted to say something but not quite sure. You noticed obviously, so you said "Matt?" to which he responded "hm?" "You need something?" he hesitates before speaking "Yeah actually." "What is it?" "Actually I'm not gonna ask you, we're getting a goddamn puppy I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8 to go shopping." he said as he pulled into your driveway and kissed you goodbye softly, mumbling a small 'I love you'.

Tags:

@mattscoquette @sturnobsessedwh0re @sturniolos-manslut19 @sturniolosluttt @mattsfavbitchhh @livy4swift @pip4444chris @christophersturnn @ariastur9z @sturniolosarethebest @sturnioq @chrislilcumslvt @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @emely9274

A/N: lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist!!

[thiswasachoice]

All true and delightful, but you should really report your cash tips. Not because it's the right thing to do or it's the law or any of that jazz. But because you will absolutely get fucked over on your social security payments later in life (or earlier if you become/are disabled) if you do not.

Social security works by taking the top 35 years of your employment and using that, with some arcane graphs, to calculate how much you will receive when you hit 67. If you don't have any reportable income for a year, say because you took all of your payments in cash and didn't report it on your taxes, you get a zero. If more than 25 of those years are 0s, i.e. if you have reported less than 10 years of income, YOU WILL NOT GET ANY SOCIAL SECURITY. Period. None. Not even if you contributed enormous amounts in the other 9.5 years. It will all be gone and you will not be eligible for any social security payments, even if you become disabled or would be eligible for survivor's benefits. (Yes these rules have exceptions and details based on ages and categories, but this is a general rule.)

But Jack, you might say, I have basically no money! I can't afford to pay taxes on what I do earn!

How do you know my name, and why are you in my house, I will reply.

But in all seriousness, if you have basically no money, you are exactly the person who should be reporting it! If you have very low income:

1. You will likely pay low or no taxes and may be eligible to receive payments instead, which you can only get by filing. If you are in the bottom 20% of earners, on average social security taxes will cost 8.3% of your income but tax credits will return 9.3%, leaving you ahead now and in 35 years years, just by filing.

2. Social security has a minimum benefit amount based on years in the workforce. If you retired today after 35 years of paying 5$ a year in social security taxes, congratulations you're now entitled to $1,066.50 per month! That's the best investment you could ever make!

3. You can report and pay taxes on your own income, even if your employer doesn't report or you do freelance or other non-employee work.

4. If you have an employer who does give you a W-2 and they try to get you to take your tips under the table or take a portion of your pay on the side they are trying to fuck you out of your social security. Why? Because the employer pays the same amount into your social security as you do and if they don't report your actual salary, they don't get taxed on the full amount and you don't get their payments credited.

People don't know these things because they aren't taught them. When I was a kid, I made $7 an hour working as a secretary in a church office for four hours a week. My parents made sure I reported every penny of it and paid taxes. The same thing happened for every summer job and student worker position when I was in college. As a result of that, at the age of 24 I had fulfilled my 10 year social security requirement and if I became disabled or couldn't find a job, I would still be vested in the program. If I get hit by a bus, my wife will collect a survivor's benefit. It probably cost 300$ over the course of ten years. I thought it was stupid at the time, I wanted the extra money, I thought taxes were bullshit when I made so little, but that was the best thing they could have done for me. The system is set up in such a way that it benefits those who understand it. I didn't, but I was lucky enough to be in the care of those who did.

There are people who tax evasion benefits. Those people aren't working part time jobs, waitressing, caddying, or doing housework though. They are evading tax bills larger than your yearly salary. And one of the ways they do it is to convince you to do it, so they don't have to pay their fair share of your benefits. And you know what all of those folks have in common, even as they dodge taxes across jurisdictions and try to convince you to take cash under the table? They all pay their fucking social security taxes.

STOP assigning pre-modern characters the trait “would commit tax fraud” without understanding how hard tax fraud was back in the days when a tax collector would physically come to your estate and assess your sitch. Do you have any idea how easy kids these days have it? You can just claim a few fake deductions or lie on a form and be a tax criminal. Your ancestors and fantasy faves had to work for those pennies.

Look at this house. This house has no mortar so it can be collapsed or moved to avoid taxation. That’s the sort of innovation I need to be seeing before you can call anyone in a feudal society a tax fraudster. They need to be hiding warehouses of goods, shoving grandpa in the basement to dodge the censusman, starting small regional wars, fleeing their villages in a constant semi-nomadic race against the forces of government, registering twins as a single child, or putting their life on the line to sell blackmarket bread. Come back when you have some tax fraud I can respect, not just a guy who looks kind of sleazy and sometimes does paperwork.

[flwrkid14]

So is I alright if I ask this?

I've seen the post where everyone wants to be Tim's favorite, might I ask if you could combine it with the 'Tim will never be anyone's favorite' and the brain dead post spin off? I think it'd be super angst angsty if the bats realize tehy unitentionally screwed up with Tim.

Oh, this is such a good ask! and now I’m going to be feral about it, thank you. Combining all of those ideas? Buckle up because this is going to get angsty.

—

Tim Drake will never be anyone’s favorite.

He’s always known it, accepted it as fact, because it’s not just about how he’s never felt like anyone’s favorite—it’s about how he’s been conditioned to believe that no one could favor him. He spent so much of his life trying to make himself useful to the people around him, because if he couldn’t be loved, he could at least be needed. If they needed him, they’d have to keep him around, right?

So that’s what Tim became. The utility knife of the Batfamily. The glue, the fixer, the one who knew how to put everything back together even if no one ever thought to ask how he was holding up.

And if that meant sacrificing pieces of himself, so what? He was never anyone’s favorite. He had no illusion that anyone would fight for him, that he’d be prioritized. The mission came first. Gotham came first. Family was a distant second, if it ranked at all.

Then there’s Danny.

Danny doesn’t come in with the expectations or baggage the rest of the Bats have. Danny doesn’t know Tim as a placeholder Robin or a second chance or a stolen birthright. He knows Tim as Tim—sharp, exhausted, himself. And Danny thinks that’s amazing.

He says it, too, without hesitation. “You’re my favorite,” he says like it’s a fact. Like Tim has always been the first name on someone’s list.

And it’s such a foreign concept to Tim that his first reaction is suspicion. He doesn’t trust it—can’t trust it—because when has anyone ever favored him? Even when Danny shows time and again that he’s not going anywhere, that his affection for Tim is unconditional, Tim’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Danny to grow tired of him, to leave, to regret his words.

But Danny doesn’t. He stays.

And that’s where it all starts to unravel for the rest of the family.

They see it—the way Danny looks at Tim like he’s the most important person in the room. The way Tim slowly starts to relax around him, shedding the defensive, brittle edges he’s always carried with them. The way Danny makes it obvious—painfully obvious—that Tim is his favorite person.

It's then that it hits them.

None of them have ever made Tim feel that way.

They start noticing the cracks they’ve left in him, the ones they never saw because they were too busy leaning on Tim to hold them together. They think back to all the times Tim had been the one to put in the effort to maintain their relationships, the way he always came through for them when they needed him, but how little they ever did for him in return.

They see the way he hesitates when Danny shows him affection—how it catches Tim off guard every time, like he’s still waiting for it to be a trap. And the Bats realize they’ve conditioned Tim to expect exactly that.

It guts them.

Cass had always known, in the quiet way she read people, that Tim didn’t feel like he belonged. She saw it in the way he held himself—guarded, distant, bracing for rejection. She’d tried, in her small, subtle ways, to show him he mattered, but watching Danny with him now, she realized she hadn’t done enough, that there was so much more she could have done for him not to feel that way. She hadn’t known how deep the hurt ran, and the guilt settled heavy in her chest.

Danny... Danny treated him differently.

Dick, who always tried to be a good brother but never saw the way Tim’s shoulders tensed under the weight of being “good enough.” Jason, who hated him for wearing the Robin colors but never noticed how much Tim blamed himself for taking them in the first place. Bruce, who thought giving Tim responsibility was enough to show he cared, but never thought to give him unconditional support. Damian, who fought Tim at every turn but never realized how much Tim already hated himself for existing in a role Damian felt should have been his.

Even Steph, and Duke—all of them thought Tim was fine because Tim made himself fine. Because Tim was the one who fixed things, and none of them stopped to ask what he needed.

It becomes almost unbearable for them to watch Danny care for Tim, because Danny makes it look so easy. He loves Tim so openly, so obviously, that it highlights every way the family failed to do the same.

And Tim? Tim doesn’t even seem to know he deserves it.

It’s the wake-up call they all desperately needed but never wanted. They don’t know how to fix it. But watching Danny and Tim together, seeing the way Tim is finally beginning to believe he’s worthy of being loved, they know one thing for certain:

They can’t undo the past.

But maybe, if they try hard enough, they can make sure Tim never feels that way again.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

That’s Not What Friends Do (part 2)

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none, this is so short I’m so sorry I just don’t have the motivation to finish this ugh..

part 1

As soon as the Brazilian GP was over, you were overcome with guilt for not being there for Lando. You already knew how it would look like after an unsuccessful race, he would shift all the blame to himself and that failure would eat him up for days.

You couldn't help but wonder if anything would have been different if you had gone to Brazil with him. Probably not, but at least you could have given him the comfort he so desperately needed right then and there. And that's why as soon as he returned home, you immediately found yourself knocking on the door of his apartment in Monaco.

"Hey, Lan" You gave him a soft smile looking straight into his eyes when he opened the door.

He smiled weakly back at you, saying nothing. He didn't even need to say anything because you could see the sadness in his sleepless eyes, so you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight and comforting hug.

"What took you so long?" He whispered as he buried his head in your neck, holding his arms tightly around your waist.

"I'm sorry, I came as soon as I could" You said gently caressing the back of his head.

The evening went by with you trying to talk to him about it, but he wasn't in the mood for it. He just wanted to take his mind off what was, for him, a tough defeat and enjoy your company, so you didn't push it.

You ordered food, had dinner, and then turned on a movie. Everyone was on their own end of the couch, Lando was lying on the elongated part, and you were sitting a little further away from him.

As the movie went on, you kept adjusting your position because it became uncomfortable for you to keep sitting.

"What's wrong?" Lando asked when you let out a deep sigh. "Are you getting bored with the movie?"

"No, but my back is starting to hurt." You stretch as you say.

"Come here" He extends his arm, signaling you to come lie down next to him.

"It's okay, don't worry" You want to. So much. But you know you shouldn't.

"Come" He insists.

You sigh, but move over to him anyway, resting your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. The movie continues, but Lando completely shifts his focus from the movie to you. Lucky for him, you don't see his gaze drop down to you as you lie curled up next to him, but you definitely feel his fingers gently playing with your hair. You just hope that the butterflies you feel in your stomach don't jump out and give you away.

"Are you okay, Lan?" You ask looking up at him.

He smiles at you and places his hand on your cheek. "I'm better now"

You blush at his gesture, thinking to yourself this is not what friends do. Lando was almost certain he was going to kiss you tonight. This was the perfect opportunity with you on him like this, with you pressed tightly against him and in his arms. Everything was leading to that.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be with you for the weekend. I was really busy finishing up the project I'd been working on."

"Were you really?" He asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Of course I was. I don't understand why do you think I would lie to you?”

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe you wanted to be with your date that you still haven't told me about." The butterflies in your stomach fly away as soon as he mentions the date.

At that very moment, so late at night, your phone, which was next to you on the couch, rang and the screen displayed Charles' name and surname and seeing that, Lando's heart dropped.

"Charles Leclerc? You're fucking Charles Leclerc?"

@tvdtw4ever @gulphulp @harrysdimple05 @444-leqz @htpssgavi @honethatty12 @l-vroom4 @enjoythebutterflies3 @charlesgirl16 @scopeiguess @dontsupressthejess

[nevadancitizen]

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor. 

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory. 

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable. 

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM. 

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids. 

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross. 

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza. 

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor. 

But he’s not. He’s not. 

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance. 

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off. 

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner. 

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange. 

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy. 

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for. 

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you. 

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?” 

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous. 

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor. 

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks. 

 “I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says. 

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself. 

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears. 

“I missed you,” you choke out. 

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says. 

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too. 

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his. 

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here. 

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here. 

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility. 

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance. 

You are healed. 

You are home. 

[settlersoferia]

Eria trivia because if I'm gonna play bingo with the list I might as well share

how about no currency? how about people genuinely wanting to help each other? barter exists and in tight knit communities like the villages, everyone will have some kind of chore (a job, normal people call that having a job) like hunting or chopping down trees for the fire, so that everyone contributes within their abilities and everyone is taken care of

totally not because making up currencies is the bane of my existence, what the heck do I call it??

30 hour clock,

° 1 marks sunrise and most people naturally wake up soon after since the magic comes from the sun, and they get an energy boost

° work / school doesn't start till 3 (or even later) so that everyone has plenty of time to eat, get ready and get there with no stress

° getting up before sunrise is considered unreasonable, few do it, expecting someone to do it will earn you a hit to the head and no compliance

° sunset is at 16

° night time is rest time, you go chill at home with family or friends or alone or sleep

° unless you're nocturnal ofc,

° or partially nocturnal, then insert whatever routine (or lack there of) works for you

° to indicate time more specifically than to the hour you can say '2 and a half' or '2 and a quarter (or 3)', people don't watch time too closely so that's all you'll hear in daily use

there is an official precentral time measure system that goes to 100 but who needs that, written 2'50 for 2 and a half and so on, you get it

don't have seasons worked out, maybe there aren't any or they make too little sense to predict with reasonable regularity, magic, you know how it goes

magical weather anomalies, will work out the kinks eventually

3 moons, no planetary rings on Eria but I love them and I will put them somewhere, that is a promise, maybe on a moon, that'd be interesting; ooh wait can a moon have mini moons? I wanna

whatever colour roads the city wants to have, maybe even rainbow or iridescent (the whole planet is gonna be lively and colourful)

dragon bone jewellery and other trinkets, it's a culture thing for them but can be given to friends too

(dragons are sentient, not animals)

their bones are famously dense and durable (and black)

there's a synthetic material called dragonbone or blackbone with similar properties (less durable than the real thing but easier to get) (dragons and magic sensitive individuals can feel the difference)

+ dragon hide armour (really comfy and durable, should be gifted not bought)

the equivalent of marriage is soul binding

° there are magic perks like some minor telepathy, feeling when the other is hurt, etc

° there aren't any restrictions on how many you can have & you can soul bind with friends

° the strength of the connection depends on how close you are

legal names only matter for documents and can be changed relatively easily, you can take partner's name if you wish, no need for any ceremonies as religion and stuff exists separately of law (as it should)

people like to give each other nicknames so you might not even use your legal name much

no concept of virginity or bastardry ✅

no proper concept of gender because multiple species live here and every species has some different cultural norms so over time it just kinda blends together and none cares

idk if it's monotheism but over time some people took to seeing the planet as a goddess and there are legends of her Children™ who are perceived as either gods of their own or some sort of semi gods

and no creationism because everyone knows where they (or their ancestors) came from and it's not Eria

although some might believe they're descendants of The Children, whether it's true I cannot tell

'gods that don't look like people' a whole planet goddess

don't really have anything on pets yet but I'll make a separate post about animals and I can do some funky pets

nonverbal communication - Erian sign language may not be the most advanced one but it's commonly used so you can communicate to some extent with most people across the planet

I'm actually planning to explore the creation of it in the book

and I'm sure there are some proper versions of it around, will probably figure out more eventually because it's a shame not to have any

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

[clxja16]

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: faking dating au!

Warnings: none atm

Word Count: 1.4K

Author's Note: I have not written a part two for this, so idk when or if a part two will ever come out. other than that enjoy ;) <3 I also feel like this really stupid, please give any feedback

----------------------

“Hey, can I speak to you?” Charles questioned from across the room as he made his way towards you through the motorhome, “privately please.” 

“Of course,” you answered, following after Charles, going to his private suite.  After the two of you entered the room, shutting the door on the rest of the world, “what would you like to talk about?”  You smile sweetly as you ask Charles.  

Charles forgets for a moment what he wanted to ask, you smiled and he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak.  “What do you think of her?” Charles asked, still looking at you but, pushing his phone forward.  Showing you a picture of some girl, “her name is Alexandra.” 

“She’s pretty,” you answered, still smiling so sweetly at Charles, “Did she make a move on you?” 

 Charles looks back at the photo on his phone.  “Yeah she did,” Charles spoke hesitantly, cautiously looking back at you.  Looking for any sign of  ire.  

“Are you asking for my permission to go after her?” You question with a small chuckle, Charles was quite cute when he was nervous.   

“I…” Charles sighed, “I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.”  Charles looks at the picture of Alexandra on his phone in front of him.  She was certainly quite beautiful, she was most definitely his type.  Why does he have such an uneasy feeling though? 

“Charles, this is only for the public.  We’re not actually together, if you wanna go date her, then go, do it.  I’m not holding you to this fake relationship.” You said, with a bit of a laugh, trying to mask the tiny bit of heartbreak you were feeling.  Charles was never yours to begin with, there is no reason to pretend he is. 

“Are you sure?” Charles wanted you to stop him.  He wanted you to hold him to this relationship.  He wanted you to disapprove.  He wanted you to tell him no.  But he knew you wouldn’t do that to him.  You’re only going to do what you think makes him happy.  

“Charles, we’re only in this predicament because you don’t have the best track record when picking girls.  So the team picked me for you, that way your fans will actually like your girlfriend.  This is simply because the team wants it. This isn’t real, go ask Alex out.” You say it so casually, Charles loathes the way you push him towards Alexandra.  He wants you to fight, he wants you to be jealous, he wants you to want him.  

“Thank you…” Charles says looking back at the photo displayed on his phone.  He looks at Alexandra, and he thinks maybe it’s time to move on.  “For your permission, thank you,” Charles says grateful, he pulls you into a hug, kissing you on the temple.  

When you finally pull away from his embrace you say, “just don’t make me look like a fool.”  

Charles chuckles at the request, “what do you mean?” 

“Don’t be flaunting Alex all around,” you say, in a very serious tone.  You look at Charles squarely this time, you want him to understand you completely.   “I don’t mean to be cocky or egotistical, but I play a fucking good girlfriend to you for the public.  So don’t be flaunting Alex all around, making me look like the stupid little naive girl that everyone knows is getting cheated on.” 

Charles nods along, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”  He can’t imagine anyone wanting to cheat if they were with you, “I promise I won’t do that to you.” 

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.  Even if the intimate relationship wasn’t real, the respect and the friendship you and Charles have built, is authentic.  

“Why don’t you go out with someone too?” Charles asks, curious as to why in these past six months of faking a relationship you never brought up anyone.  

“Well there is this guy that I have a thing for,” you say honestly. 

“Why don’t we go on a double date, that way fans won’t get suspicious?” 

“No no,” you laugh at the request, “this guy has no feelings for me whatsoever.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“We talked about it before,” you half-lie, you weren’t exactly fully truthful when you ‘talked about it.’ 

“Well, let’s look for someone, for you,” Charles says, completely serious about the notion.  Maybe if you’re with someone too, it would be easier to let you go. 

“No,” you laugh more, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a ridiculous idea, “no way.” 

Charles laughs at your dismissiveness of the situation, “what about Pierre?” 

“I’m sure Pierre is very serious about Kika,” you say, with a bit of a chuckle at how serious Charles is acting about finding someone to set you up with.  

“Well I’m gonna find you someone, I can assure you,” Charles declares, almost like it was an official notion.  “I have to go down for a briefing, then I'll be back and we can go out to dinner tonight.” 

“Put on a show for the fans tonight?” you question, watching Charles. 

“Of course, my dear,” Charles says overdramatically with a wink, before walking out.  

After Charles leaves, you feel your smile fall.  You want to laugh at yourself for thinking Charles could have wanted you.  The tears start to brim your eyes and you can’t help but thinking you did this to yourself.  You allowed yourself to be in this predicament, so now you must live with it. Just until the season ends, that’s what you tell yourself.  Six more months, give or take.  

-

“Hey,” Carlos said, trying to get his teammates' attention, “why so…” Carlos makes an over exaggerated frowny face at Charles.  

“I don’t know,” Charles said, still replaying his earlier conversation with you.  He tries to find any sign of anything from you.  He dissects every word you utter, he questions every thought spoken, he searches for any inclination that you might’ve lied. 

“Did you speak to y/n about Alex?” 

“I did,” Charles answers, not expounding on his response.  

“She said no?” 

“No,” Charles says with a certain level of surprise, “She said okay.” 

“Great, that’s what you wanted,” Carlos says, “right?  That is what you wanted?”  Carlos has a feeling that this isn’t what Charles wanted, but it’s really not his place to say. 

“It is,” Charles sighs, “but I don’t know something about y/n being so okay with it, it bothers me.” Charles got up and started to pace, while Carlos decided to take a seat, watching his teammate work through this.  “Did you know there’s someone that she's interested in?”

“Y/n?” Carlos questions just to be sure, ���don’t tell me that’s bothering you.” 

“No, it’s not,” Charles says, half trying to convince Carlos, the other half trying to convince himself.  “It’s just, y/n said that he’s not interested in her.  I mean how can someone not be interested in y/n, she's crazy smart.  She’s so kind. Did you know at this past Monaco grand prix, she helped collect gifts from the fans to give to me?  She knows how to cook, and not to mention she’s bloody beautiful.” Charles says with a full grin, as he thinks about you.  He can picture you clearly, he has memorized every little detail of your face, down to the way you scrunch your nose when you don’t want to laugh at his horrible jokes.  

Carlos laughs at his blind teammate, “clearly, you’re not really interested in Alex.” 

Charles sighs again, “I thought if I had brought up Alex to y/n, she would give me some type of sign that she was into me, like i’m into her,” he confesses to Carlos.  “I thought maybe, I could get a reaction or something,” Charles shakes his head at himself, he can hear how stupid he sounds without Carlos pointing it out for him.  

Carlos has never wanted to slap someone, as much as he wants to slap Charles.  Carlos runs his hands across his face, “that is the most singularly stupidest idea I have ever heard, and I have heard our race strategies before.  Why didn’t you just outright ask y/n if she liked you?” 

“I didn’t want to be so obvious about it,” Charles shrugs, “Plus it's better this way, she already said she’s interested in someone else.  Not to mention I have tried for the past six months to turn this into a real relationship, this is just me finally moving on.  I deserve to move on don’t I?” 

“Of course you deserve to move on Charles,” Carlos sighs, “but do you even want to move on, or do you think you have to?” 

Charles doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond even if he wanted to.

[jeonggukieverse]

Number One Fan:

Chapter 1 - The Accident

Pairing: Writer Y/N x Yandere Jungkook 

Genre: Yandere/Horror Fic 

Warnings: None in this Chapter

Word count: 4k

Synopsis - After a serious car crash, novelist Y/N is rescued by former nurse Jeon Jungkook, who claims to be her biggest fan. Jungkook brings her to his remote cabin to recover, where his obsession takes a dark turn when he discovers Y/N is killing off his favourite character from her novels. As Y/N devises plans for escape, Jungkook grows increasingly controlling.

A/N:

Y'all, the universe did not want the god forsaken fit written! My laptop got stolen ,my brother deleted my COMPLETED tic out of spite, my depression was whooping my ass but we pulled through. After 4 long months, it's here. If there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, my bad, I didn't proof-read this (I didn't want to jinx anything).

Leave a comment or reblog if you like it, id be super grateful <3333

- Ryeon <3

“Look Y/N, I just don’t think that this is rational. Or smart, for that matter. You’re giving up on your highest performing book series and for what? ‘You’ve grown to hate the main character?’ It’s your character! Change her!” 

You rolled your eyes as Yoongi’s voice boomed through the speakers of your car. You understood why he was upset, of course. Yoongi had been the first one to go out on a limb and take a chance on 18-year-old Y/N. When you first met him, you had not a shred of credibility or writing experience to your name, just a couple of characters, a good story and a dream. Yoongi took a real gamble with you; he was one of the most sought-after literary agents in the game. You handed him your first ever manuscript at one of the book signings of a writer he was working with and begged him to read just one chapter. That took courage on your part because Yoongi was terrifying back then. His demeanour was stern and his hair was jet black and slicked back, the shade perfectly matching his suit. Both contrasted the alabaster pale shade of this skin. He was handsome and frightening but your ambitions were stronger than your fears. Luckily it paid off! Yoongi loved your manuscript and poured everything into getting it published. 

That was 10 years and 9 books ago. The ‘Moth to Flame’ series had been a massive hit. The tale of romance and passion had become a worldwide sensation and catapulted you into the public eye. For the past 10 years you relished in the reality that your dream job was the one you were blessed to be doing. 

That was until a year ago. 

Yoongi had called you to his office completely beaming with excitement. 

“Go on then Mr. Min, tell her!” Urged Gretta, Yoongi’s 70-year-old assistant. She was buzzing with the same enthusiastic energy as the man who stood before you. 

“Tell me what? You two are scaring me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Yoongi smile this much” you chuckled while sitting yourself down in the chair in front of his big mahogany desk. 

Gretta giggled at your lightly panicked tone and Yoongi simply hummed in agreement. He was a very self-aware guy. He often reserved any outward expressions of joy for when the circumstances were great. And these circumstances were indeed great. 

“I’ve just come off the phone with Panoma Film Studios. And they have asked for a meeting with us to discuss signing over the rights of ‘Moth to Flame” 

“Sign over the rights? Why are they asking for that?” 

“They want to make it a film dear!” Gretta burst out, arms flailing above her head in celebration. 

The moment suddenly stilled for you. You contemplated for only a second before you came to a decision: 

“Fine”

Yoongi was taken a back. One: by your immediate compliance. In the 10 years he had known you, not once have you agreed to something without an argument. And Two: there was not a shred of joy in your tone. The monotonous ‘fine’ completely juxtaposed the light-hearted jabs that came from you just moments ago. He was worried. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I’m happy” you said looking back to the man with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Gretta, could you grab us both a cup of tea please?” 

“Yes Mr. Min” replied Gretta, her mood now slightly deflated as the atmosphere had shifted to a more solemn one. You felt sorry about that, she had seemed so happy. 

As the door closed behind her, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed back on you. 

“Alright kid, now tell me what’s up”.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore Yoongs. I’m done. I’m sick of writing this series. I have no connections with the story anymore cause I’ve been writing from the same perspective since I was 18 and I’m almost 30 now. It’s time for me to move on”. 

You watched as his face drained of its colour. 

“W-What?” 

You paused as silence engulfed the room. You could have expanded on your decision but you wanted to let it sink in and for him to fully come to terms with it. because you were absolutely not going to be swayed about it. 

“Then why would you agree to signing the writes away?”

“Cause once its officially not mine anymore I can legitimately move on. The series be their responsibility to carry on and mould and shape it into whatever they want. The burden of these characters I’ve grown to, honestly, despise will no longer be on my shoulders. And I’ll finally be free to write what I want”. 

You could see the cogs turning in his head. Yoongi was struggling to put into words anything that would influence you to change your mind and not give up on their most profitable published work. But you shut that down. 

“This book I’m writing will be the 10th and last on of the series.” 

In the year that followed, you stayed true to your word. You had spent the whole year finalising the last piece of the story. You tied off any loose ends. You finalised everything. 

It was done. 

Last week, you headed back to Yoongi’s office to hand in your finished manuscript. 

You strolled knocked on the door only to be startled by a voice behind you. 

“He’s at lunch deary” 

You spun around to be met with a warm familiar smile. 

“Hi Gretta, sorry, I probably should have called first to let someone know I was coming over.” You babbled as she ushered you into her office and offered you a plate of muffins. Standard Gretta procedure. 

Gretta was your first friend in the publishing world. Well aside from Yoongi. 

She used to be an editor for the most popular newspaper in the country. But when her husband got sick, she decided to swap the hustle and bustle of the big city to a slower pace in the countryside. She always joked that even though her husband was the one being healed by the fresh country air; she was the one that healed the most. Being away from everything made her appreciate all she had. Her and her husband began to re learn each other after so many years and they learned to fall in love all over again. 

You always loved hearing their stories. Their love for each other inspired you through your first bout of writers block. Their stories helped you write the 5th book in your series. You even dedicated it to them (and their pup Angus, of course). 

The only reason she had crossed paths with Yoongi was because she was seeking out a part time job to keep herself busy. He said she came into the interview like a whirlwind, not affected by his intimidating aura in the slightest. When you asked her about how she could go up against the fierce jaguar like man, she responded with: Jaguar? To me he was nothing but a kitten. And you’d loved her since then. 

“Don’t worry dear. He should have come back by now but he’s talking to a new potential client. She’s a 19-year-old wanting to pitch her love story. Sound familiar?” 

You hummed. 

“Let’s hope she flushed out her characters better than I did.”

“Now Y/N Y/L/N, I don’t want to hear any of that! You’re a fantastic writer, George and I have spent many afternoons reading your books! Some of the stories take us back to our early days when we were young and in love and I’m sure it does the same for other people too” 

“Thank you, Gretta. You always know the right thing to say” you smiled, popping a piece of cherry muffin in your mouth. 

“My dear, can I speak frankly?” 

You gulped. Not only to finally swallow the delectable cherry muffin but also because Gretta almost never spoke in such a serious tone.

You nodded, unsure of where this conversation was about to go. 

“Why are you really finishing your series? And don’t give me the same bullshit you gave Yoongi about not liking your characters! I know you Y/N and I know that’s not it. Or if it is, it isn’t that reason alone” 

Damn, she’s good. 

“Well, if I’m being honest Gretta, I feel like a fraud. All my life I’ve been reading and writing about love and life and I’ve never experienced either. I just…I just want to experience the love that you and George have, the love that I write about but I can’t and I’m afraid that my writing is reflecting that. Like just the other day a saw a critic say that my stories are ‘no longer grounded in reality’ and at first, I brushed it off but you know what? They’re right?” 

“That was Archie from the Gazette, wasn’t it? I tell you dear that boy doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.” 

You let out a cackle. Her quick reply stopped you from spiralling. Gretta really always did know the right thing to say. 

“But if you’re really worried about that, take some time away! You’ve been working non-stop since you were practically a baby. Well, a baby to me.” She remarked as she walked over to sit directly in front of you. She reached out towards you and held your hands in hers. 

“And if you really feel like you’re not grounded, take the time away to find the ground”. 

“But how do I know where the ground is?” 

“Well, when I’m looking for something I can’t find, I try to remember the last place I had it.” 

“The last time I felt grounded was…back home at my parents’ house. Before I moved to come here to write properly” 

“Then I think that’s a good a place as any to start dear. Take a couple of months to really decide if ending this is something you really want to do. You know I will support you regardless but I want the decision to be done to come from you being done. Rather than you being afraid” 

You leaned in and enveloped her small for with a warm embrace. 

Gretta is the mum your inner child longed for. Any interaction with her felt like it was healing pieces of your soul. 

She was right. She always was. 

So you packed your bags and headed back home. 

“Y/N I think this trip will do you good. Just take some time decompress and do whatever it is you people do out there in the sticks” 

“Okay city boy, not too much! Oak Falls is not the sticks. You think anywhere that doesn’t have at least 5 coffee shops on one street is practically the middle of know where” 

“And im absolutely right. How’s the journey so far? When do you think you’ll get home”. Yoongi said, changing the subject. He knew you would annihilate him in defence of your town. Oak Falls wasn’t great but it was home.

“I should be there in about 20 minutes which is good cause it feels like the snow is getting heavier” 

“Will your parents be home when you get there?” 

“I think so. My mum usually finishes work around this time and my dad probably stayed at home today. I couldn’t imagine him working on the farm in this weather. Even if they’re not there, I know where they hide the spare key. They’ll just get a bit of a fright, since they don’t know that I’m coming”  

“Well just- mak-s-re you le-t-someon-kn-“

Yoongi’s call began to break up before it cut out completely.

You felt uneasy but you tried to push it aside, you’ll be there soon anyway. 

Soon you’d be home and out of this snowstorm that seem to have come out of nowhere.

One moment, the winding mountain road was clear, and the next, thick flakes fell like a blanket coating the tarmac in a blinding white.  Suddenly the road before you had completely disappeared. 

The tires of your car were now struggling for grip as you clutched the steering wheel tighter your heart racing with every skid. The storm was growing worse, and the isolation of the empty road offered no comfort.

You cursed under your breath. Of all the times for your phone to lose signal, it had to be now. The narrow road twisted and turned unpredictably, the guardrails barely visible under the thick accumulating snow. Your headlights fought to pierce the fog, but even they seemed overpowered by the storm.

Then it happened.

A patch of ice sent the car sliding to the side. Your hands wrestled with the steering wheel, but the car had a mind of its own. The screech of tires on ice was drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

The car spun out of control, crashing through the flimsy guardrail and sliding down a small embankment before slamming to a halt against a snowbank.

Pain flared in your head, sharp and immediate. Disoriented, you blinked, trying to focus, but the world around you swam in a dizzying haze. Blood trickled down your temple, warm against the chill that spilled through the cracked window. The engine sputtered and died, leaving you in an eerie silence, except for the howling wind outside.

You tried to move, but your body protested. A groan escaped your lips as you reached for your phone, only to find it flung somewhere out of reach. Panic bubbled in your chest. You were stranded in the middle of nowhere, injured, and utterly alone.

Or so you thought.

The sound of crunching snow reached your ears. Footsteps. Your pulse quickened as a shadow appeared just outside the shattered driver’s side window. A man crouched down, his features obscured by a thick coat and scarf wrapped tightly around his face. Only his eyes were visible, dark and intense as they scanned your injuries.

“Miss? Are you okay?” his voice cut through the storm, soft yet commanding.

You tried to respond, but your throat was dry, and your words came out as a weak croak. The man didn’t wait for an answer. He opened the door carefully, his movements precise and deliberate, as if afraid of startling you.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his brows furrowing in concern. “Don’t move. I’ll get you out.”

Before you could protest, his arms were around you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. The sudden movement made your vision swim, and you leaned into his chest instinctively, the scent of pine and something distinctly warm enveloping you.

“We need to get you inside,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’re lucky I was nearby.”

Your sluggish brain registered his words but couldn’t process the implications. All you knew was that you were no longer in the freezing car, and someone was helping you. Darkness tugged at the edges of your vision as he carried you through the storm, his footsteps steady and sure despite the treacherous ground.

When you opened your eyes again, you were inside a warm, dimly lit room. The faint crackle of a fireplace filled the air, and the scent of wood smoke mingled with something sweet—maybe tea. Your head throbbed as you tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed against your shoulder, guiding you back down.

“Easy,” the man said, his voice close now. “You’ve been through a lot. Just rest.”

Your eyes finally focused on him. He was kneeling beside the couch you were lying on, his dark hair slightly damp from the snow. His features were striking, almost too perfect, with chapped lips and eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you. He smiled gently, but there was something unreadable in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Who...” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jungkook,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering. “I found you on the side of the road. You’re lucky I was passing through. There’s no cell service out here, and the storm would’ve buried your car by morning.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, though the words felt inadequate.

“No need to thank me,” he replied, his smile widening just a fraction. “I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

He stood and moved to the fireplace, adjusting the logs with practiced ease. The warm light danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the soft curve of his mouth. Despite his calm demeanour, there was an intensity about him that you couldn’t ignore.

“Where am I?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“My cabin, just on the outskirts of Oak Falls” he said, turning back to you. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep you safe until the storm passes.”

Your gaze wandered around the room. The cabin was small but cosy, with wooden walls that seemed to glow in the firelight. A thick woven rug covered the floor in front of the stone fireplace, and a few mismatched but comfortable-looking chairs were arranged around it. Shelves lined one wall, crammed with books, jars of dried herbs, and a few trinkets that looked hand-carved. A table sat near the kitchen area, which was marked by a small counter, a sink, and an old-fashioned stove. The whole space felt lived-in, almost charming, but there was an underlying sense of isolation that made your chest tighten

Safe. The word lingered in your mind, both reassuring and unsettling.

“Your head’s bleeding,” he continued, his tone softening. “I’ll clean it up. Hold on”

Before you could respond, Jungkook disappeared into another room and returned with a first aid kit. He knelt beside you again, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned the wound on your temple. The sting of the antiseptic made you wince, but he murmured soothing words, his touch steady and careful.

“There,” he said, placing a bandage over the cut. “All better.”

You mumbled a quiet “thank you,” your exhaustion weighing heavily on you now. Jungkook’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. The gesture was tender, almost too intimate, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take care of everything.”

As your eyes drifted shut, the last thing you saw was Jungkook’s enigmatic smile. Safe, you thought again, though the word no longer felt quite right.

Tag List: @whothefuckisthishoe @sexinukim @darkuni63 @00frenchfries00 @hopeworldsupremecy

[mixingandmelting]

Hii,

I'm not sure if your requests are open but I wanted to ask you if you could write a Dick Grayson x reader one where the reader is the daughter of one of Bruce's business partners and they meet at some sort of charity gala and he's instantly smitten with her.

Feel free to ignore this if you have too much to do.

Thanks ❤️

Witty, charming, and someone who matches his humor. He didn’t think he’d hit the jackpot tonight. Initially he had simply wanted to keep you company after seeing you all alone at your table. He expected either shy and sheltered or spoiled and flirty.

“A table for one at a gala?”

“What do you mean? Can’t you see I’m actually with three others?”

“Oh really? And they are…?”

“Me, myself and I.”

It comes with a pleasant surprise how the roles reverse and it’s him getting entertained by you. He lost track of how long he stayed at your table, unable to stop himself from chatting with you. You’re where the party’s at in this boring event and it confuses him how no one else has attempted to strike up a conversation with you for this long. Not that he’s complaining; he’s plenty satisfied to have you to himself. Your jokes draw genuine laughter from him while your laughter is just as infectious. The way your eyes sparkle and crinkle as you do- he rests his head onto his hand, admiring it and not wanting it to disappear. He can’t get enough. 

There’s no barrier or rich people’s behavior seen despite you introducing yourself as the daughter of one of Bruce’s many business partners and him as Bruce Wayne’s adoptive son not too long ago. Not even an hour in and you both are acting as friends that haven’t seen each other in ages. Perhaps even more if he plays his cards right tonight. Take you out for a nice walk. Grab something to eat. If you’re into it, watch a movie. All of the ideas that come from him jesting about rich people never imagining or having no knowledge of what the common people do for fun only for you to snort about how else were you to learn to talk and behave like them then. 

“Earth to Dick?”

Oops. He flushes under the smirk that dances on your lips, caught red-handed for day-dreaming his date with you. Not that you’d know the last part, but still.

“Am I starting to bore you yet?”

Yet? This whole time you were trying to get rid of him? The grin you give as you take a sip of whatever’s in your flute tells him otherwise. Returning one of his own, he’s about to respond before someone behind him calls your name. 

Turning around are your parents, walking side-by-side with none other than Bruce who raises an eyebrow at him. Ugh. Great. He most definitely won’t hear the end of this one. Looking back at you, he catches a spark of wistfulness in your eyes that quickly disappears as you give him one last smile. 

“Seems like that’s my cue.”

“Wait.” He’s conscious with his grip on your arm, gentle yet firm to grab your attention. “If you’re into it, mind giving me your number and we can hang out later?”

You bite your lip when you’re thinking. Good to know; definitely something that won’t leave his mind for a while. He tries not to show how giddy he is when you extend your phone out towards him. Giving him a tiny wave, you leave while telling him you would text him. The rest of the night goes uneventful as he mingles with others, half paying attention to what they say as he continues to think about you. Others including his family who wouldn’t stop giving him crap. 

It’s once he reaches back to his place and comes out of the showers, he gets a text. Drying his hair with a towel in one hand, he looks to see your name with a sunglasses emoji under your number. His heart somersaults and he fist pumps the air. He can regret not sleeping tomorrow morning, for now all he wants is to talk to you and make the date between you and him a reality.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

i'll be honest i haven't done as much Illario Pondering up to this point as some others. but i am Rotating Him now so gonna do my thinking out loud on my already too long post just because...

obviously Illario and Lucanis responded to their childhoods in very different ways/grew up into very different people but i think if you want to trace Illario's Issues back down to this level you can see how that would turn him into who we see in the game/stories too.

while Lucanis ends up as a loner with "no one else" (that he Counts anyway), Illario seems to have way more connections when we meet him as an adult--he flirts with anyone, he's into nightlife, he hooks up with random people at parties, the other Crows will mention him like he's a known presence in their lives--yet none of them know what he's Really up to. So his relationships outside Lucanis & Caterina do seem to exist in plenty, but they also seem to be very shallow. Unless he has some offscreen never mentioned confidant, no one seems to know what he's up to, with either Lucanis's or Caterina's "deaths", or his alliance with the Venatori/Gods. he's kept that part secret while keeping up all these other social connections. in theory maybe he got some of the other off-screen talons on his side who knew the whole story but we don't have any evidence for that either way I think (though I don't remember all the codex details so I could be wrong).

[sidebar: yes, Zara, i know. apparently they were deep enough in whatever they had going on to have love-y pet names but like... clearly not enough that Illario wasn't willing to kill her to cover his own tracks; and personally i have my doubts that the relationship was without any ulterior motives on Zara's part either. even if they did care for each other on some level they were or weren't willing to admit (since that's entirely within our realm of interpretation now) it clearly took lesser priority than their other goals)]

SO. Illario's a conniving man (intentionally!) who isn't sharing everything he knows with his "allies" probably on either side, but at the same time... he is still a very emotional man. i don't think the whole "use people and drop them" thing is his actual desire as much as how he's gotten used to operating in the world. while Lucanis seems to have self-isolated as a way to protect both himself & those around him, I think you can interpret Illario as instead learning that he can achieve the same result by instead having a large amount of very shallow relationships. By spreading around his desire for connection he creates a situation where Caterina can't possibly remove them all from his life, but has the plausible deniability of not being actively close to anyone so he doesn't risk punishment falling on himself either.

and i don't necessarily think his approach was a WORSE one compared to Lucanis', at first. in many ways something's better than nothing and Illario seems to have a better understanding of himself & his emotions (not saying he always does or it's a GOOD understanding, but "better than Lucanis" is not a very high bar), plus way more experience in general at just. social anything. because now that they're adults, ILLARIO is the one who has managed to stand up to Caterina, and change the direction of his own life, even if he did pick the most ruthless path to it. Unlike Lucanis (in The Wigmaker Job & first parts of Veilguard) he DOES show great deal of autonomy, understanding that his tiny family is the thing holding him back from what he really wants. But he also has no one else jumping over to help him, no one left he can manipulate, and so he reaches past the crows to the Venatori/Gods as the next step.

so the true downside to this is in fact based in reputation more than anything else. because he's spent years seemingly playing with the emotions of everyone else while never really giving them a way in, as a coping mechanism... he's already burned those potential bridges in a way Lucanis hasn't. people aren't willing to extend extra graces to him the same way. possibly it even contributed to why Caterina liked him less as a successor, since he was less controllable by her personal rules/whims. i dont really have a thesis statement here like before since i haven't been mulling it over as long but i think it's a fun way to interpret their dynamic.

man... in Veilguard it really is so so clear how much Lucanis yearns for connection, how much he laments having barely anyone who is a tangible long-term presence in his life. Illario and Caterina are IT until he meets Rook, he tells them.

but he grew up in the Dellamorte estate. A huge, huge manor that would not just have servants, but STAFF. payrolls full of people who clean and cook and keep the place running. And we know he had some amount of free reign around the place. He explored in the tunnels and basements and found the secret entrance/exit while playing alone. He learned how to make churros and cook other food from the kitchen staff. Someone taught him to knit. So... where are those people? Where's the kindly cook who became a second mother, or the maids who watched him play? He would know their names and remember them, if they were around long enough. And it's NOT just some rich boy privilege that makes him forget they're there, because we know he sees the working class as people who with real lives. In The Wigmaker Job, he knows elves in the alienage, who think well enough of him to let him use their secret routes around the city. He risks the whole mission and breaks rules to let one single serving maid go--they're not invisible or somehow lesser to him. He was raised as a Crow, he's been trained since he was a boy to be observant--he'd listen for the names and details about the lives of servants who were around him all the time as a child. And he is also kind and gentle, so he would reach back if they offered him any kind of affection

Which means their absence in his life is intentional. Caterina must have had the staff rotated often enough that he couldn't learn who they were, and discouraged anyone from talking to or connecting with the Dellamorte boys--she probably thought she was keeping them safe. Keeping them from having people who might matter and therefore could be used against all of them--not to mention it's way easier to slip a poisoned treat to a trusting child, or convince them to follow you out of the estate to an undisclosed location. Her paranoia after losing all her children and other grandkids warped into isolating the Dellamorte boys utterly from any kind of connection and affection outside of herself, and then she withheld it anyway, because she was afraid of getting hurt again too (<- not an excuse, still abuse). And she is NOT a kind woman, who would look over a transgression--servants disobeying her orders about staying away from her grandsons would mean losing their job at best and probably physical punishment along with it. Or maybe you just never saw that coworker who dared say something kind to a crying child again.

It's so sad. And makes it so much more meaningful that there WERE occasional times he got away with it anyway. I wonder how much those cooks risked when teaching him how a kitchen runs, and to make his favorite dessert. If they had some excuse for it, or were all sent away once Caterina found out. Of course he'd stop trying to make friends with any children of the staff his age, if any time he did, the whole family got moved to work at a summer villa in the country instead. If the people who cleaned his rooms were different every month. He'd notice that anyone who he tried to get close to just ended up out of his life entirely, and so eventually Caterina wouldn't need to keep isolating him intentionally as he grew. Lucanis learned. He started doing it himself.

[parker-artio]

The idea of Steph being a med student cracks me up. Because this girl stays up all night beating people up, gets maybe two hours of sleep before she’s getting up for her 7am class on human anatomy.

She starts working in Gotham’s City’s ER as a volunteer student so she doesn’t have to take an extra class and can just take the test at the end of the year for the credit. One day she shows up and sees her patient is a thug she bullied last night while kicking his ass.

She might never show her face in his room again.

When she barely passes a test with a C- she wants to cry when Alfred asks how her test went, but Alfred reassures her, saying it’s good, and that she still passed. But Bruce always catches a stray or two when her major gets brought up. No way he wouldn’t.

Alfred: Congratulations Miss Stephanie, it might only be a C but it is still passing!

Steph: Thanks alfred but I feel like I could be doing better

Alfred: At least you’re sure you want to be a doctor. You haven’t dropped out and you’re passing your classes. That’s what matters.

Bruce at Wayne Enterprises in the middle of a board meeting, feeling a chill go down his spine: something just happened…

Plus there’s the added joke of her being called dumb, lazy, ect from Damian (he insults her so much I can’t remember them all rn)

Damian: What’s that Brown? Can’t shake your head in fear your brain will rattle around in there?

Steph thinking about her biology test tomorrow she got maybe 10 minutes of studying in for since it was announced last month: Shut the fuck up.

Thugs would hate to see her. Like genuinely HATE seeing her during finals season. They don’t know anything about these bats, but they all agree if it’s final season and you see a blonde haired bat in purple- you’re fucked. Run as fast as you can unless you want a concussion and her to ask where all your pain is.

None of the super villains in Gotham ever remember mentioning they have any kind of health issues, yet somehow she always knows. The purple bat who goes by too many names, just KNOWS.

Riddler about to pull the lever for something dramatic: Well you failed to answer my riddle so-

Steph cutting him off: Your skeleton

Riddler: wrong it’s-

Steph cutting him off yet again with a heavy sigh: Listen Nigma, you have to calm down for once. Your blood pressure hates you, slow down on the salty and fatty foods. Do you smoke? Because if you do, slow down on that too. Or just quit. And the actual answer is bare-bones. But synonyms of the answer should work too.

Riddler who’s doctor told him he was at risk for high blood pressure but ignored it: I- no… I don’t smoke.

Steph: …

Riddler: I quit years ago!

Plus she’d totally access Alfred’s medical records to learn little things about the others to annoy them with. She’d be elbow deep and learn that Dick’s left ankle was injured at 12 and is prone to injuries because it never proper medical attention because he avoided Alfred when he first got hurt.

She’d bring it up in conversation too.

Steph, after Dick pisses her off and she’s walking away: What your step, Boy Wonder, it’d be a shame if your left ankle got broke because of its fragility…

Dick unsure where she learned that: …what

The whole concept of her as a med student makes me laugh and I wish more people looked at it and thought about the humor and jokes that can go with her being one.

It’s peak comedy to me, I need more fics of her just being a broke college student who’s tired of thugs attacking her when she’s trying to study for her test on patrol. She’s sitting on top of W.E. Reading her anatomy book for her first class at 7:30 while her four other books are underneath. Why she has a test in all of her classes on the same day, she doesn’t know. Will she pass them? Who the fuck knows. But if that bat signal goes off again tonight she might break into the police precinct and give them a piece of her mind.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Charcuterie

Part 1 | AO3 | *This is a story told in scenes and can be read in any order though is listed in chronological order on the masterlist.

<I know you still have it. Can you take the credit card and buy a bunch of cheeses, meats, fruits, and pick up some of those fancy ice cube trays you’ve been eyeing?

The message from Simon had you fighting back the urge to rip him a new asshole. You know he isn’t trying to be rude. The guys were due home after six weeks gone and Simon needed a few days to acclimate to the fact you were not one of the soldiers and would bitch him out if he tried to treat you as such. It didn’t help that your period was kicking you down every step it could find and then dragging you into the octagon by your hair to go ten rounds.

>Incorrect. I snapped that fucker in half because it made me nauseous to have a black card in my wallet when I couldn’t afford to fill my tank.

Ten minutes pass before your phone dings with the message tone.

<You snapped a metal card in half?

>Yes. I was very determined.

You can feel the nose pinching from wherever Simon might be right now. He only did that move when exasperated. You watched John pull the same move about any number of minor annoyances.

John’s face appears on your phone for a video call within three breaths. Of course, they were talking about you.

Rolling your eyes and praying your eye doesn’t start twitching you answer the call. John is sporting a new bruise on his cheek and a split lip. You know better than to comment on it since the guys will let you look them all over when you get home.

“Hi, love. Can you do me a favor?”

Your tongue slides over your teeth behind your lip, the syrupy sweetness of his voice makes you want to reach through the phone and strangle him. Fuckers must not have deleted the period tracking app from Johnny’s phone like you demanded they did.

“What?” You ask brusquely.

“In my bedside drawer is a plain envelope with your name on it, inside is your copy of the card to the house fund. Can you take that and go buy whatever Simon already texted you and a snack for yourself?”

You can hear Johnny in the background asking to say hi and then getting promptly dragged away. From what you can see around John they are on a military base somewhere, the nondescript buildings in light beige and gray giving it away.

“Which bedside drawer John? All of your drawers can be reached from your bed.”

He had two and every time you visited his room to spend time with him or to simply sniff his pillows because you missed him you noticed the two nightstands and the massive dresser next to the bed.

Gary’s bark of a laugh reached you as John focused off-screen to glare at him.

John’s face softens when he turns back to look at you.

“The nightstand closest to the door, please.”

“Why have you been keeping a card for the house account from me? None of you let me pay anything into it.”

You weren’t bitter about that argument still. You weren’t.

He lets out a slow breath as he decides you won’t pick this fight back up now.

“I wasn’t keeping it from you. It only arrived before we left on this last job and I haven’t had a chance till now to tell you about it. But from what you did to the card from Simon it seems like a good thing I haven’t given it to you yet.” He looks at you with one brow cocked under his hat.

“Keep it up John and I will shrink all your hats one by one.”

The smile that broke across his face at your threat warmed you from the inside out.

“We love you, and we will be home by six. Be sure to stop by the pharmacy and get some painkillers for your cramps.”

With that, he ended the call.

“Fucker,” you mutter angrily to yourself as you stomp across the house and into John’s room. “Telling me what to do from across the country so I don’t bite him. Yes, I need pain meds and yes we are out. No excuse hang up the call instead of letting me yell at him like a man.”

Your angry tirade continued as you slid on your shoes and drove first to the pharmacy and then to the store. You bought two energy drinks to ensure you could survive until your guys got home and then spent an hour looking at cheese. Okay, more like an hour talking to the cheesemonger before getting yourself a couple of slices of Swiss and turkey to go along with the fancy cheeses you bought for the guys. The ice trays you did not need to buy this trip since you had already bought some two weeks ago to make your at-home drinks more fun.

At 5:30 the cheese tray sat ready, the ice had fully frozen, and all of the guy’s preferred alcohol had been pulled from the liquor cabinet. Cracking open your energy drink you transferred it into a new glass and sat down to wait for them. They would be early. John seemed to forget that when they were all motivated to get home they moved faster. Fifteen minutes earlier than John’s prediction and they rolled in the door. You rose to meet them, flurries of kisses and hugs as they all dispersed to their rooms to change and come back to the kitchen for food.

Gary came back first, wrapping himself around you like if he squeezed just right he could absorb you. You smiled and leaned into the love, having missed them tremendously while they were gone.

“You come back whole?”

He hums in confirmation and then is peeled off of you as Kyle replaces him in your embrace. Gary doesn’t fight it; instead, he grabs a plate and piles it high with the many options you grabbed beyond cheese and meat. This process is repeated until all of your men have been grounded in your presence and gorge themselves on food.

Finally able to move freely again you grab your own plate from the fridge and sit down at the table with them.

Johnny pokes at your plate.

“What’s this now?”

“I didn’t want fancy cheese so I bought some normal cheese,” you shrug as layer a cracker, cheese, and a bit of your turkey to pop into your mouth.

His hand sneaks forward to try and steal one for himself but you smack the back of his fingers before he can touch your plate. With one hand over your mouth, brows pulled together in frustration, and an angry finger pointed his way, Johnny gets the point.

Swallowing hard to clear your mouth you address him.

“If you don’t want fancy cheese next time don’t let Simon be in charge of texting me. You know he always wants the good stuff,” you finish your sentence with a sip from your glass. “Now if no one else needs me I am going to go curl up and die.”

Kyle opens his mouth to add something but you speak over his objections.

“I will lay down in John’s bed so everyone can fit in for a cuddle.”

John and Simon share a smile before looking back at you.

Your loves were home, and with them came the constant evolving chaos that was the home you shared.

Masterlist | Fallen Angel Masterlist

@lilynotdilly

[justallihere]

Okay, I did some laundry, I've had lunch, I've breathed fresh air and taken some deep breaths (did not touch any grass because it's covered in snow), and we're back. My wrap up thoughts of Onyx Storm are below! Be warned it's chock full of spoilers, and these are all my honest opinions. I haven't even given this a rating yet because I don't really know what I want to rate it! Nothing's really in order so sorry about that. But I look forward to hearing everyone else's thoughts!

I loved that the importance of the bond between dragon and human was emphasized so heavily in this book. That Asher called Aimsir Lilith's first love, Violet telling Tairn he's the gift of her life, that even Halden knew that the true barrier to her would be the dragon bond - and especially that when Xaden channeled again, in a way that he knew would irreversibly damn him, he did it for Sgaeyl. To keep her safe, because she chose him before and above everyone else.

I adored the Riorgail of it all. They were open and honest with each other, saying I love you practically every other breath, declaring their loyalty and devotion to each other in front of anyone who would listen. I loved that we got them as a team, facing stuff together and trusting that what they couldn't the other could handle it.

On the other hand, it may just be me but they didn't quite feel like themselves. Maybe because it was the first time we've truly seen them be public about their feelings, but they didn't feel like the same Xaden and Violet from the previous two books. Xaden felt so intense that everything he said gave me anxiety, devoted to the point of obsession. I would actually call Violet morally gray here, but it came out of nowhere; there wasn't a great transition into that change in her character, none of the hesitation or guilt I'd expect.

In short, they kind of felt like my Xaden and Violet and not canon? I loved them, but I'm not sure it matches what we know of them from FW and IF and the change in character didn't feel entirely smooth.

But Xaden IS her sword!!!!

The worldbuilding was ridiculous. Violet was dropping facts left right and center like the details of the aristocracy and politics at play were common knowledge - and maybe they are in world, but if they're that obvious then I feel like those details should've been worked into earlier books. I felt like I was floundering trying to keep up with all the new names and titles and roles.

In the same vein, the lore about magic made no sense. So only the Continent has magic but why? Was it drained from other places? Does it only occur naturally in certain areas? Dragons don't have magic that exists within them - they also draw from the source which? Hello hypocrites much? That was another thing that was said so casually, but that should've been one of those things we learned in Fourth Wing, at Threshing or right after.

There was too much happening with the plot to the point that I lost it completely. The trips to the isles were overwhelming. I know the venin and the irids were tied together, but those two things competed so much that I kept forgetting about whichever one we weren't talking about. Literally just. . . forgot about the venin there for a bit in the middle. We were looking for a cure but we were looking for Andarna's kind but we were trying to stop the venin and we were also gathering allies and making trade deals and none of those points were fleshed out completely.

The ending was vague and confusing in a way that made me frustrated instead of interested or anticipatory. I read the last two chapters three times and I still don't know what the fuck was going on there. So the Sage is. . . Fen? Is Garrick the one who also turned? Bodhi? Brennan? Ridoc? Fuck if I know. I understand the point of the marriage, to give Violet control over Tyrrendor legally, but I'm also pissed at the way it happened.

I know we don't want anyone to actually die, but I literally didn't even flinch when Mira's throat got cut open because I figured she'd be fine. There were no important deaths. Trager and Quinn didn't hit that hard. Not putting any of the main characters in significant danger makes the stakes feel lower than they should.

The fan service made me roll my eyes. I get it to a certain extent, but there were several times when I legitimately kind of felt like RY had been in fandom spaces or someone on her team was just feeding her popular theories to include.

The marked ones having second signets was. . . not my favorite choice, because logistically it doesn't make much sense. We should statistically see at least one of them go mad from the power instead of developing a second signet. And I actually think if that had been included it would have been more interesting! I'd like to see the reality of the risks that were taken to make the rebellion happen, but instead they just got really really lucky a bunch of times?

The use of the word Riorgail in print sent me to the fucking moon. No.

Violet's second signet. . . I don't want to talk about it.

Actually no I do. Since when are signets based on situational need and not who a person is at their core? Was that not what we were told previously? Am I tripping? I don't mind the power itself but I am confused.

Professor Riorson had me on the ground laughing. What the hell was that. There are enough barriers to their relationship, and that one felt too forced (but great fodder for smutty fic).

The characters and their relationships are the standout of the book and the series. I already said I loved Xaden and Violet here, but I also loved their friendships and how real especially the relationship with Brennan and Mira and Violet felt. The humor and the quips and the squad's constant support of each other was wonderful.

I'm holding onto those Sloane and Dain crumbs like a teddy bear you all have no idea. I love them.

Aaric being the one with precognition I didn't see coming, but I surprisingly liked it! I loved him stepping more into his role as prince and seeing how cunning and smart he really is.

Halden was unnecessary but I live for possessive and jealous Xaden.

Overall I think the pacing was crammed and the worldbuilding left me with more questions than answers, but did I still like it? Yes! I don't think it's my favorite in the series but it still was an enjoyable read. I'll want to read it again at some point I think, but not immediately!

[thyras]

→ of sage blossoms & fairytales

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 9.3k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ MDNI - unprotected p in v, fingering, breeding kink, semi-public sex

SUMMARY → you are willing to give your husband another chance and open up parts of your new life to him, hoping it will guide him towards the light once more.

AUTHORS NOTE → so we are finally here, finally to the glorious reunion smut. this took me 6 fucking days to write and by the time I was done I wanted rip my hair out 😩 I wanted the smut to be perfect in every way so yeah. hope y’all enjoy 💕

PARTS → masterlist

As the days passed, you began to notice a subtle shift in your husband’s behavior. He grew quieter, his usual calculated demeanor softening into one of quiet observation. Yet his eyes never left you. They followed your every move—when you entered a room, lingered late to finish correspondence, or prepared for the next day’s work. There was something in his gaze, something that left you uneasy yet inexplicably drawn to him after everything that had transpired between you.

On this particular evening, he chose not to linger in the shadows as he often did. Instead, he made his presence known. Silently, he approached from behind, the faint rustle of his robes the only warning of his arrival. A wine glass appeared at your side, set down with careful precision as you sat surrounded by parchments and tomes. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across his features as he moved into your line of sight, his presence commanding yet oddly soothing.

You straightened slightly, your finger hovering over the glass as you gave him a suspicious glance. “It isn’t poisoned, is it?”

Annatar chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No,” he replied smoothly, his voice laced with an amused warmth.

Still, you hesitated. Picking up the glass, you studied the dark liquid inside before taking a tentative sip. “Not for Maiar, that is,” he added with a sly grin, the edges of his lips curling upward in an expression that was equal parts playful and dangerous.

His remark caught you off guard. The wine burned as it caught in your throat, and you sputtered, choking mid-sip. He watched you, utterly unrepentant, his smile widening into something dazzling, his amusement barely concealed.

Coughing to clear your throat, you shot him a sharp glare. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head with mock solemnity, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. As you regained your composure, he moved to sit beside you, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator settling into a resting position.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention back to your work. The scratching of your quill on parchment filled the silence as you scribbled notes, refusing to acknowledge his presence. For a time, he let the quiet settle between you, his gaze heavy but unspoken.

Until, finally, he broke it. “Tell me about Erynwen. Why—”

“Erynwen is none of your concern,” you cut him off sharply, your tone as cold as the ink drying on the page before you. You did not look up at him, your quill continuing its steady march across the parchment as though his question had not unsettled you.

But Annatar was not so easily dismissed. He leaned forward slightly, his voice soft yet insistent. “Surely you do not expect me to believe that.”

You paused, your hand faltering for just a moment before continuing to write. “Believe what you wish,” you replied curtly, though your voice lacked the firmness you intended.

He tilted his head, watching you intently, his presence pressing closer. “You speak her name with such care, but the walls you build around her tell me far more than your silence ever could.”

Your jaw tightened, and you clenched your quill, your writing forgotten. The air between you grew heavy with unspoken tension, the candlelight casting both of your faces in stark relief.

“Let it go,” you said finally, your voice low and steely, though it wavered ever so slightly. You dared a glance at him, his expression unreadable, a mask of calm that somehow only made him seem more dangerous.

He did not reply immediately, his eyes searching yours as though weighing your words. Then, slowly, he leaned back, a faint, enigmatic smile playing at his lips. “As you wish,” he said, though his tone suggested anything but surrender.

The moment passed, and you returned to your work, but the weight of his presence remained. Even as he sat silently beside you, you could feel the currents of his thoughts swirling around you, relentless and unreadable. You sighed deeply and set your quill down, the oppressive silence pressing in around you. The weight of his gaze was unyielding, and you knew he wouldn’t let the matter drop until you spoke.

“Erynwen is a lovely little girl,” you began, your voice soft. “She has a pure heart. She lost her mother when she was born, and her father... he couldn’t care for her. So he brought her here.”

“And you took her in?” he prompted, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You say that like I take in abandoned children as if they’re lost puppies or something.” He didn’t respond, only motioned for you to continue with an infuriatingly patient look. You sighed, reluctantly giving in. “I don’t recall that happening often—”

“Your ducklings?” he interrupted with a mischievous smile, his tone teasing. Your face grew warm at the memory, a bittersweet tinge accompanying the thought of the children who once followed you with boundless energy and wonder. They had clung to you, looking up with wide, trusting eyes as you guided them through lessons, preparing them for life.

“I was their teacher,” you exclaimed, attempting to sound dismissive, though the fondness in your voice betrayed you.

“I know,” he said, his smile softening. Slowly, he reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, as if he meant to anchor you to the present. “I am happy that you have found that once more, Mori. But—”

“It isn’t healthy,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, a confession pulled from the deepest recesses of your mind. It was a thought you had kept buried for so long, one you had only dared to confront in the quiet, lonely hours of the night. “This... need. This obsession I’ve had for so long, to have a child. It’s driven me down paths I—” You faltered, the words catching in your throat. “It’s brought me nothing but sorrow.”

His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand, a silent encouragement to continue.

“But this—having Erynwen—” you began again, your voice stronger now, “it isn’t sorrowful. It isn’t... it isn’t just about filling some void inside me. I’ve always felt called to nurture, to love those who are most vulnerable. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I’ve always been meant to do.”

He studied you quietly, his expression unreadable but not unkind. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across his face, but his eyes remained steady, locked on yours.

You sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “If you want to prove your desire to change, then...” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “Then how about you join us tomorrow? I’m sure she’d enjoy the company of someone other than just me.”

His silence lingered, and when he nodded, it carried with it a gravity you didn’t yet know how to name. You stood and carefully slid the parchments into the tome before you, closing it with deliberate precision. Turning to him, you smoothed the front of your robes, as much to steady your hands as to avoid his unwavering gaze.

“I must retire for the night, my lord,” you said softly, offering him a parting smile. Your voice was steady, though your heart threatened to betray you with its rapid cadence. “I have forgiven you for breaking my heart, Mairon, but for the rest... you will have to earn it in other ways.”

A flicker of something—determination, perhaps—crossed his face at your words. “Then I will strive to do so,” he replied, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. “Good night, my lady.”

A warmth crept across your cheeks as the words left his lips, the formality stirring something deep within you. No matter the pain and the centuries of distance, you could not deny the way your fëa resonated with his. You had always loved the sound of that title coming from his mouth, the reverence in his tone a reminder of what you were to him. You were his—created by Eru himself as your fëa’s match. And no matter how much you tried to deny it, the song that bound you to him still sang in harmony, deep and undeniable.

You inclined your head, a gesture both courteous and distant, before turning away. Each step down the stairs felt heavier than it should have, as though the air itself clung to you, urging you to linger. Yet you pressed on, your resolve firm.

As you disappeared into the corridor, you could still feel it—his presence, his shadow. It crept across your senses, not with the cold weight of darkness, but like the familiar warmth of an embrace you had long since tried to forget. It was a warmth that had once been your solace, your sanctuary, and you hoped it could be that once again.

You squeezed Erynwen’s hand gently as the two of you strolled past the courtyard where you usually read together. She glanced up at you curiously, the change in routine catching her by surprise.

“Are we not reading?” she asked, her young voice tinged with uncertainty. You gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“We are,” you replied warmly, “but I thought we’d change things up today since I have more time than usual.”

Her eyes lit up at your words, the promise of extra time with you clearly delighting her. Ever since sending the correspondence to the Dwarves, you had heard nothing in reply. Without their response, the work had stalled, leaving you with more time to spend elsewhere. Though you were not one to busy yourself with knitting or sewing, you always found comfort in your books—and in Erynwen’s company. It seemed only fitting to fill your free hours with something that brought you peace.

“Are we finally going back to the river?” she asked excitedly, her face bright with hope.

You nodded, your smile deepening at her excitement. “Yes, we are.”

Before you could say more, she slipped free from your hand, letting out a delighted squeal as she raced ahead toward the path that led to the riverbank just outside the city. You followed at a leisurely pace, watching her golden hair catch the sunlight as she darted between the trees, her joy as infectious as the spring breeze.

Centuries ago, someone had planted sage blossoms along the riverbank. Over the years, they had flourished, spreading across the grasses and weaving their way into the landscape. The sight always tugged at your heart. It reminded you of home—the banks of the River Sirion outside Laureandor, where fields of sage had stretched endlessly, their pale purple blooms swaying in harmony with the gentle breeze.

The memory stirred something deep within you. The sight of those blossoms here, so far from your homeland, was both a comfort and a sorrowful reminder of what you had lost. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel gratitude toward whoever had planted those valuable seeds. Their thoughtful act had gifted you a piece of home, a tangible connection to the past that softened the ache of your grief, even if only a little.

As you reached the edge of the river, the breeze carried the faint, earthy scent of sage to your senses, and you inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance settle over you like a balm. Erynwen was already at the water’s edge, her small hands reaching out to touch the blossoms with reverent curiosity. You smiled softly to yourself, thankful for this moment—for the river, for the blossoms, and for her. It was a rare reprieve, a fleeting taste of joy amidst the lingering shadows of those nightmares that still haunted your dreams.

You sat down a little ways away from where Erynwen stood, her small hands gently examining the delicate purple blossoms. Carefully, you removed your satchel, its familiar weight shifting as you set it beside you. Inside were the books you had brought for today’s reading, their pages worn with use and love. You placed it on the soft grass, letting the earthy scent of the sage blossoms and the gentle murmur of the river envelop you.

Leaning back slightly, you allowed yourself a moment to take in the scene. Erynwen’s golden hair shimmered in the sunlight as she crouched by the blooms, her youthful curiosity evident in the way she carefully touched each petal. It was a peaceful sight, one that brought a faint, contented smile to your lips as you waited patiently for her to return.

 When Erynwen finally returned, her face alight with excitement, you gestured toward the satchel. “Go on, pick one,” you said warmly. She eagerly dove into the bag, pulling out a familiar volume with a triumphant grin. Once she had settled herself beside you, you opened the book to the first page and began to read aloud.

Your voice flowed steadily, carrying the story to her attentive ears. As you read, Erynwen began to hum softly, her small fingers weaving some of the vibrant purple blossoms into twists she created in your hair. Her touch was gentle, and the rhythmic motion brought a quiet comfort. You smiled over your shoulder at her, watching as she worked with a concentration that made her youthful features all the more endearing.

But as your gaze shifted past her, toward the city gates in the distance, the smile faltered. A familiar ache stirred in your chest, the weight of absence settling heavily over you. You had hoped he would take the invitation, that you would sense the faint stirring of your fëa pulling at his. But there was nothing—no flicker of his presence, no hint of the connection that had once been as constant as your breath.

You tried to push the sadness aside, reminding yourself that he had never been at ease in the presence of your “ducklings.” Even in the past, he had observed them from a distance, his reserved nature keeping him apart from the warmth you so willingly shared with others. Yet, a part of you had hoped this time would be different—that he might step beyond the shadows and into the light you had always offered him.

For now, you let the bittersweet thought fade, focusing instead on Erynwen’s quiet hums and the gentle weight of her fingers in your hair. The story continued, the words flowing like the river beside you, rooting you in this moment of fleeting peace.

Sauron’s—no, Mairon’s—eyes lingered on you. Gods, he had to stop thinking of himself in that manner. If change was truly what he wanted, he had to stop referring to himself as that darker part of himself. Yes, there were times he slipped into that role—his plans still in motion demanded it, and he had lived that double life even with you—but when he was solely with you, he had to be Mairon. He had to shove that shadowed side of himself down and bask in your light, just as he had so boldly claimed he wanted.

Yet it pained him to do so. Your light was so pure, so untainted, that no part of his shadow could ever dull your radiance. That fact simultaneously drew him in and filled him with despair. Now, though, his plans with you had shifted. The desire to bend you to his will with power, to use the tools of his creation, had been replaced by a quieter ambition. He wanted to heal you—not with the ring, not with domination, but in a way that honored the love you had once shared. Still, the sight of the ring on your finger, one of the elven rings you and Celebrimbor had forged without his hand, filled him with a twisted joy. It was almost laughable to him that by some strange twist of fate—or perhaps some cruel joke from Eru himself—it had come to you.

He couldn’t decide if the sight of it was a blessing or a taunt. The ring, so cleverly placed upon your finger, gave him a sense of possession and pride, even as it reminded him of his failures. You, the wife who had once loved him without reservation, wore it so innocently, unaware of the complexity it represented.

And so, he would appease your wish for him to bask in your light. He would play the part of Mairon, the husband who adored you, because, at the end of the day, he needed you. He needed you to love him as you once did, untainted by the darkness that had consumed him. For only then could he truly build the world he envisioned—the world he believed could finally be worthy of the two of you. A world where you could once again walk free, unshackled by the curse Morgoth had placed upon you.

That was his ultimate desire. Not the power or the domination he had once sought, but the chance to see you as you had been, radiant and whole. And if it meant burying the shadows within him, at least in your presence, he would do it. Because, no matter the cost, he knew he could not endure a world without you.

He knew you were still suspicious, but he resolved to ease those doubts, no matter how long it took, even if it meant playing the part of the side of him you loved. 

Sauron stood at a distance, watching as you sat among the familiar blossoms, the purple sage swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. The sunlight caught in your hair, making it shine like a piece of elegantly spun thread as you spoke with Erynwen over your shoulder. Your laughter, faint but unmistakable, carried to him on the breeze, stirring something deep within his chest.

He never wished to be the cause of your sorrow, yet he knew he had been—and still was in many ways. What you thought you saw in him, the man you had once loved so fully, had long since been lost to the Ages. Morgoth had seen to that.

In countless ways, Sauron knew he no longer carried even a sliver of the being he had once been with you. That version of himself, the one who had walked beside you in the light of Laureandor, felt as distant as a half-forgotten dream. So for now, he allowed himself the quiet indulgence of watching you, his resolve hardening with every glance. 

You felt the familiar pull of his fëa against yours, like a gentle current drawing your attention unbidden. Turning, you caught sight of him descending the path toward the riverbank. A warm, enchanting smile graced your lips as your eyes met his. At that moment, Erynwen turned as well, her small hand tightening its grip on your shoulder. Her unease was immediate and instinctual, but you were quick to place your hand reassuringly over hers.

“It’s alright,” you murmured softly, your voice steady and calm. “I invited him.”

Erynwen said nothing, her wide eyes fixed on the ethereal figure walking toward you both. The way her small body tensed beneath your hand gave you pause. Children often had an unfiltered perception of the world, their instincts unclouded by adult complexities. Something about her reaction sparked a faint unease within you. Still, you reminded yourself that change—especially for someone like him—would not come overnight.

A part of you had hoped that Erynwen’s sweet, innocent nature might help him feel more at ease, might guide him in rediscovering the better parts of himself. Another part of you, however, simply longed to grant him entrance into this corner of your life, to share the light and peace you had found here in the glow of Eregion.

When he finally came to a stop a few paces away, his presence calm and measured, you took it upon yourself to bridge the gap. Gesturing to Erynwen, you introduced them, your tone warm yet gentle. “This is Lord Annatar,” you said, your voice carrying an undertone of encouragement as you glanced at Erynwen.

He inclined his head with practiced grace, his expression softening. “It is an honor,” he said smoothly, his tone reverent but understated.

“Hi,” Erynwen replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she clung to your shoulder. Though her shyness was evident, she offered him a faint smile before retreating behind you slightly.

“And this,” you continued, your hand resting lightly on the girl’s back, “is Lady Erynwen, my lord.”

Annatar’s lips curved into a polite smile as he inclined his head once more. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he said, his voice warm and measured, though the natural charm behind his words seemed to go entirely over the little girl’s head.

Erynwen nodded hesitantly before shifting her attention back to her task. With careful fingers, she resumed weaving blossoms into your hair, her focus now on the comforting familiarity of her work. Though she didn’t say much, her small smile suggested that her unease had lessened, if only slightly.

You let out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. There was still a long way to go, but this was a start—however tentative. And as Annatar settled himself near you, his gaze lingering on the girl’s careful handiwork and the ease with which you reassured her, you allowed yourself the smallest flicker of hope that this moment could be the first step toward something new.

“What has Lady Thilwen been reading to you?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the book nestled in your lap. His tone was light, almost conversational, though there was a faint undertone of curiosity that you didn’t miss.

Erynwen didn’t look up from her careful task of weaving blossoms into your hair as she replied, her voice soft but clear. “She’s been reading stories about Valinor, from before we came back.”

Her words carried the innocence of a child who only partially understood the weight of the tales she spoke of. You glanced at Annatar briefly, gauging his reaction, though his expression remained calm, his focus shifting momentarily to the book. His presence, while composed, seemed to ripple with unspoken thoughts, as though the mention of Valinor stirred something within him that he would never admit aloud.

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand lightly over Erynwen’s as she worked. “I love the story of the Trees,” she added, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. “Though I think she rather enjoys embellishing the stories with her own flair.”

Erynwen giggled softly, but said nothing more, her attention fixed on the delicate blossoms in her hands. Annatar inclined his head slightly, his gaze thoughtful as his eyes lingered on the book for a moment longer before returning to you. “I never saw those trees, Erynwen, so how could I embellish them?” you teased, a playful lilt to your voice. Erynwen giggled once more, her laughter light and carefree.

“Lady Galadriel said they were the most beautiful creations in the whole of Arda,” she said earnestly, stepping back to examine her handiwork in your hair. “To sit among them was to feel true happiness.”

At her words, you felt him twitch beside you, his composure faltering ever so slightly. The mention of Galadriel and the Trees stirred something within him—old wounds, old memories. You knew how his past deeds had left undeniable marks on the lives of all the elves who called this place home. You glanced over at him with a soft smile, your gaze steady and understanding. Without hesitation, you reached over and placed your hand atop his, a silent reassurance that you were here, and that together you could bear the weight of those memories.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension in his frame eased. He returned your gesture with a faint, grateful smile before turning his attention back to Erynwen. “Has Lady Thilwen ever told you the story of the Two Lamps?” he asked, his tone light and curious.

Erynwen’s face scrunched in confusion, her brows knitting together as she looked back at you for clarification. “That’s not a story,” she replied, her voice almost teasing, as though testing the validity of his claim.

Annatar chuckled softly, the sound rich and unhurried. “Oh, it is,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Though I’m not surprised you haven’t heard it. It was before she awoke, before even the first moonrise over Arda. It is a tale that only the Ainur would be able to tell.”

Erynwen’s curiosity was piqued, her confusion replaced with intrigue as she tilted her head and glanced between the two of you. You could see the faint glimmer of fascination in her eyes, the promise of an untold story captivating her young mind. You smiled softly, saying nothing, and let Annatar take the lead, his voice carrying a weight of authority and experience that could only come from one who had witnessed the ancient days he spoke of.

After he finished his story, Erynwen was utterly captivated, her wide eyes sparkling with wonder as she begged to hear more. But Annatar, ever measured, refrained. “I’ll tell you another one another day,” he said with a faint, teasing smile. “I can’t reveal all my secrets at once.”

Though disappointed, Erynwen nodded and moved back to the river’s edge, her curiosity propelling her to explore the water’s edge once more. Her laughter and soft splashing soon filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the moment.

“I think she likes you,” you teased, a playful smile curving your lips as you leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs to relieve the dull ache that had settled in from sitting too long.

“I think she likes my stories more,” Annatar replied smoothly, his tone laced with quiet amusement. He reached over and plucked one of the sage blossoms from your hair, his movements deliberate yet gentle. Heat rushed to your face at the gesture, your heart fluttering in a way that left you momentarily breathless.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, his hand brushing against your chin with a feather-light touch before cupping it. “I think you do too,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his breath fanning across your face as he leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

Your body betrayed you, melting into his touch as your lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “I’ve always loved the wild tales you would tell,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “The good and the bad.”

His icy blue eyes softened as they locked onto yours, holding your gaze captive. His thumb traced a gentle path along your jawline, a touch so familiar yet so distant that it almost felt like an illusion. It reminded you of another time, another life, when such moments were effortless and unbroken by shadow.

The spell between you was interrupted by the sound of Erynwen’s laughter and the splashing of water, grounding you in the present. But even with the distraction, the warmth of his hand against your skin lingered, a reminder of the fragile connection you had allowed to bloom once more.

“Erynwen, darling, do not get too wet. Your aunt will be terribly mad at me if you ruin another gown,” you called out to her with a warm laugh. She paused, glancing back at you with a mischievous grin before retreating from the deeper water to the river's edge, her small hands now busy plucking stones from the shallows.

The gentle brush of his fingers against your temple drew your attention back to him. His touch lingered as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the intimacy of the gesture sending a quiet shiver down your spine.

“I missed this,” he breathed, his voice low, almost reverent.

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You met his gaze, the icy blue of his eyes softer now, reflecting something unguarded and raw. It was a vulnerability you had rarely seen, a flicker of the man he had once been—a glimpse of the Mairon you had loved before the shadow had taken him.

Your heart ached at the honesty in his expression, the weight of centuries of regret and longing woven into those simple words. For a moment, you didn’t speak, letting the soft murmur of the river and the distant laughter of Erynwen fill the space where your reply should have been. 

His hand moved to cup your face once more, and before long, his lips were against yours, soft and insistent. The sensation was intoxicating, pulling you into a dreamlike haze that made the world around you feel distant and unreal. Your fingers instinctively moved to his face, tracing familiar lines as the kiss deepened, his touch carrying a tenderness you hadn’t felt in centuries.

As his hands gently moved to lower you onto the bed of blossoms, you felt the petals cushion your back, their soft fragrance mingling with the warmth of his presence. Your heart raced as you surrendered to the moment, losing yourself in the familiarity of his touch and the overwhelming rush of emotions his kiss stirred within you.

But even as you melted into his embrace, a small voice in the back of your mind reminded you of Erynwen’s presence nearby. Reluctantly, with great effort, you placed a hand on Annatar’s chest, breaking the kiss. Your breaths came in soft, uneven pants as you gazed up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of longing and restraint.

"We can’t," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment. "Not here, not now."

Annatar’s expression faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. But it was brief, replaced quickly by understanding. He nodded slowly, his hand still lingering on your cheek as if reluctant to let go.

The two of you sat up together, the moment hanging between you like a fragile thread, delicate and easily broken. His hand eventually fell away, but his gaze remained fixed on you, intense and searching, as though he were silently asking for answers neither of you could yet provide.

“Thilwen!” Erynwen’s excited call shattered the tension like sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. “Look what I found!”

You turned to see the little girl standing by the water’s edge, holding up a smooth, iridescent stone, her small face beaming with pride. The sight brought a warm, steadying smile to your lips.

“It’s beautiful, darling,” you called back, your voice softer now, though your heart still fluttered from the intensity of the moment. “Why don’t you bring it over and show us?”

Erynwen nodded eagerly, skipping toward you with the stone clutched tightly in her hand. You shifted your focus back to her, grateful for her innocent joy, even as the echoes of what had just passed between you and Annatar lingered in the air, unresolved but undeniable.

For the rest of the day, you sat among the blossoms, basking in the gentle companionship of Erynwen and your husband. The warmth of the sun, the soft rustling of the breeze, and the quiet murmur of the river created a rare moment of peace—a reprieve you hadn’t realized you needed. Annatar, though often reserved, seemed content to let the lightness of the moment linger, his gaze occasionally drifting toward you and Erynwen with a softness you had not seen in ages.

It wasn’t until the familiar call of Erynwen’s aunt rang out from the head of the path that you realized how much time had passed. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the blossoms.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” Erynwen asked, her face glowing with hope as she stood, brushing bits of grass from the skirt of her gown.

“Yes, of course,” you replied warmly, smiling up at her. She leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek in her usual affectionate goodbye.

“Bye, my lady,” she said, before turning to Annatar with a small, shy smile. “Bye, my lord.”

Annatar inclined his head slightly, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Until next time, Lady Erynwen,” he replied, his voice gentle.

At that, Erynwen turned and dashed up the path toward the city, her laughter echoing faintly as she ran to meet her aunt. You watched her go, the sight of her youthful energy a balm against the lingering shadows in your heart.

As Erynwen’s laughter faded into the distance, a comfortable silence settled between you and Annatar. The riverbank felt different now, as though the day’s events had imbued it with a new sense of possibility. You turned to face him, your eyes searching his face, hoping to catch even a fleeting glimpse of what might be going through his mind.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For today. For being here.”

Annatar’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the icy walls he so often kept raised seemed to thaw. His eyes softened, and you caught a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name—perhaps gratitude, perhaps longing. “I should be the one thanking you,” he replied, his voice low and steady, carrying a weight that matched your own. “For allowing me this... reprieve.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken meaning behind his words. This day had been more than a fleeting moment of peace; it had been a glimpse of something you both yearned for. A reminder of the life you had once dreamed of sharing together, now tinged with the hope that perhaps, it was not entirely beyond reach.

The last rays of sunlight danced across the river, casting the pal purple blossoms in a golden glow, and you found yourself reluctant to leave this moment behind. The day had been a rare gift, a fragile thread of connection in a world still shrouded in uncertainty.

“We should head back,” you murmured, though the reluctance in your tone betrayed you. “Before the light fades completely.”

Annatar nodded in agreement, though he, too, seemed unwilling to break the delicate peace that hung between you. For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the moment holding you both in place. Slowly, your hand found his, your fingers intertwining with an ease and familiarity that made your heart ache. His touch was warm, grounding, and yet it sent a thrill through you as though it were the first time.

And then, just as you began to rise, his lips captured yours with a sudden, fierce intensity. A soft whimper escaped you as his kiss deepened, his hands cradling your face with an urgency that mirrored your own. There was no hesitation, no shadow of doubt, only the pure, raw need to hold onto this fleeting moment of connection.

Nothing interrupted you now—no curious little eyes, no calls in the distance. It was just the two of you, the river murmuring softly behind you, and the blossoms cushioning your shared embrace. The world melted away, until the only background noise was the pulsing in your ears

When he laid you gently among the blossoms once more, his body hovered over yours, you could no longer fight the yearning that had burned within you for so long. Centuries of pent-up longing surged between you, unspoken yet undeniable, pulling you both into a moment that felt as inevitable as it was overwhelming.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened, and passion ignited like wildfire. The scent of the blossoms surrounding you mingled with his familiar deep metallic scent, driving your need to be enveloped in his very being once more. His hands roamed your body with reverent touches, relishing in every curve and plane.

You arched into him, savoring the weight of his body, pressing you into the soft bed of the grasses. A soft moan escaped your lips as his mouth trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his face, relearning every plane and angle. His skin felt warm beneath your touch, alive with an energy that seemed to pulse in harmony with your racing heartbeat. As your hands slid down to his clothed chest, you could feel the steady thrum of his heart, a familiar song that called to your fëa.

Annatar's lips found yours again, hungry and insistent. The kiss deepened, igniting a fire that spread through your veins like liquid gold. His tongue danced with yours in a passionate waltz, each caress stoking the flames of desire that threatened to consume you both. His taste was intoxicating, a heady mixture of tartness and charcoal you had craved for centuries.

Your body arched into his, seeking more contact, more friction. His hands continued their exploration of your body with gentle squeezes against flesh and soft caresses, remembering where each gesture could elicit sweet sounds from you.

His fingers moved back to trace the curve of your neck after his gentle exploration, trailing his fingers down to the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered like a caged bird. You gasped as his lips followed the path his fingers had taken, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The heat of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, igniting nerves that you had forgotten even existed. 

As his mouth moved lower, his hands worked at the fastenings of your gown with practiced ease. The whisper of fabric falling away was lost beneath the sound of your racing heart. Cool air kissed your exposed skin, causing more goosebumps to rise in its wake. Annatar's eyes raked over your form, dark with desire and something deeper—a reverence that made your breath catch in your throat. 

His hands skimmed along your sides, leaving trails of tingling warmth. You shivered as his fingers traced intricate patterns across your skin, like an artist memorizing his muse.

Annatar lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. His tongue darted out to taste the hollow of your throat, eliciting a soft gasp. You arched into him, fingers tangling in his silken hair as he moved lower still.  

"Breathtaking,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. "More breathtaking than Varda herself.”

His words sent a thrill through you, igniting a fire deep within. Your hands moved to his robes, fingers fumbling with the fabric in your eagerness. Annatar chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he helped you remove the garments.

The sight of his bare chest, sculpted and perfect, took your breath away. You ran your hands over the smooth planes of muscle, marveling at how he shuddered beneath your touch. Your exploration was cut short as he captured your lips once more, the kiss deep and consuming.

His lips trailed lower, mapping a path of fire across your skin once more. When they closed around your breast, a soft moan escaped you. His tongue swirled and teased, igniting sparks of pleasure that radiated through your body. Your back arched, pressing yourself closer as his hand kneaded your other breast. 

Annatar's touch was hungry, almost starved, as if he couldn't get enough of the body that had once laid with him for centuries. His free hand skimmed down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your thighs. You gasped as his fingers found your most sensitive bud, circling and stroking with practiced skill.

“So eager…so wanting.” He breathed against the pebbled skin as his teeth took your nipple between them, pulling gently. 

You looked down at him at that moment, and he took your breath away. He was as equally as breathtaking underneath the warm hues of the setting sun as he claimed you to be. The way those warm, coppery hues showed in his golden hair and the burning passion in his sapphire eyes brought you back to every time he had taken you to a similar setting. Taking you into his arms and letting you take everything he had to offer.

His love. His devotion. And his light.

Your body trembled beneath the weight of your thoughts, every nerve alight with sensation as his fingers broke past your entrance. Those fingers moved with a skilled accuracy, drawing forth pleasure you had long begged to feel once more. He watched your face intently, drinking in every gasp and moan as they left your swollen lips.  

The scent of crushed flowers rose around you, mingling with the musk of arousal. Petals clung to your sweat—dampened skin, creating a living canvas of pale purple against your flushed skin. In his eyes, you could feel through the intertwining threads of your fëa that he would love nothing more than to capture this moment and burn it behind his eyelids, never to part from it. The way you were sprawled out underneath him, covered in the very creations of Yavanna you worshiped faithfully. Their softness caressing you in ways he knew he never could.

You cried out as his thumb met your sensitive bud, circling it in a torturously slow movement as your pleasure coiled tighter in your core. His fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot that made you see stars. Your hips began to rock against his hand, chasing the building tension.  

“So needy,” Annatar murmured, his voice a low, melodic purr that sent shivers down your spine. “Always wishing for more.” You nod in a silent reply as you struggle to find your words.

“I…I…” you panted against his ministrations.

“Your what, love? Did I already fuck all the pretty little thoughts from your head?” He tsked on the skin of your neck, fingers moving dangerously slow inside you now. “I’ve barely even started.” You whimpered against his words, while trying to give him the hint to quicken the pace again with the gentle rock of your hips. He took his free hand and pushed your hips down, anchoring them into the grasses.

“Tell me what it is that you wish to say, then…” he trailed off, lips hovering over yours again. “I’ll give you everything, my love; give you the whole world.” You looked up into his eyes through the haze of your lust, there was such a tenderness to him and the vulgar words. Words he had spoken so many times in situations like this. Words that would make your toes curl and release to find you at their implications.

He had promised you an altar once, one as divine as Varda’s and as beautiful as one of Yavanna’s creations, for all to worship you upon. But you did not want all of Arda to worship you as the goddess he saw you as; you only wished for one singular being to worship, and in turn, for his faithful service, you would worship in an equal manner with the devotion of a loyal servant.

“I want it all,” You whispered. “I want you, for all eternity, in every shape and form. My worship will never cease to outdo yours.”

Annatar's lips curled into a dark smile before they moved across your collarbone, pausing to nip and suck at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. The words of your confession drove him on, continuing to stoke his desire as much as he had been doing with you.

You moaned, fingers tangled in his silken hair once more as he lavished attention on your other breast, this time, his tongue swirling around the peaked nipple. The dual sensations of his mouth on your chest and his fingers between your thighs sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your body undulated beneath him, seeking more contact, more friction.

The hand holding your hip down moved to grip your thigh. He hitched your leg over his hip, opening you further to his touch. The new angle allowed his fingers to delve deeper, curling and stroking against that spot inside you that made you see stars. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps punctuated by soft cries of pleasure. The delicate thread of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. His lips found yours once more, swallowing your moans as he kissed you with a passion that stole your breath away.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and husky.

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers, pushed you over the edge. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your body arched as you cried out his name in release. Annatar watched you intently, his eyes dark with desire as he guided you through the waves of your climax. 

As the aftershocks subsided, he withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to your lips. You took them eagerly and wiped them clean with your tongue, relishing how you tasted against his fingers and how you made his length twitch against your thigh in anticipation.

“Now who’s needy,” you giggled. His eyes darkened with renewed desire at your playful jab. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left you breathless. The taste of yourself mingled with his unique flavor, creating an intoxicating blend that made your head spin.

His hands returned to your body with hungry touches, drinking up every curve and swell once more. His fingers traced the arch of your spine, the flesh of your hips, and down the soft plane of your stomach. Each caress left trails of tingling warmth in its wake, reigniting the embers of your passion.

You reached for him, eager to explore in turn. Your hands mapped the broad expanse of his chest, marveling at the play of muscles beneath his skin until your fingers trailed even lower, eventually tracing the defined lines of his abdomen. You licked your bottom lip as he broke away; the anticipation of you taking in the very thing that you had so longed to feel drove the renewed ache in your core.

Your eyes finally looked down and saw how eager and wanting he was. He was larger in this form, but not terribly so. A generous amount of precum glistened against the tip, showing just how painfully ready he was to reconnect with you as you were with him.

Your fingers wrapped around his length, marveling at the silken skin stretched taut over the eager flesh. Annatar hissed in pleasure as you stroked him, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch. You watched his face, mesmerized by the play of emotions across his features—desire, vulnerability, and a deep, aching need that mirrored your own.

With gentle pressure, you guided him to your entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your folds, hot and insistent. Annatar's eyes locked with yours, silently seeking permission. You nodded, your breath catching in anticipation. 

He entered you slowly, inch by exquisite inch. The stretch was delicious, your body welcoming him like the long-lost lover he was. When he was fully sheathed within you, you both paused, savoring the moment of perfect union.

"You feel so divine," he moaned, his voice thick with emotion. "Like coming home after an eternity away."

You cupped his face, drawing him down for a tender kiss. "I've missed you," you whispered against his lips as you felt the tears welling in your eyes. "So much,”

At that he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that stoked the flames of your passion. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, building upon the lingering sensitivity from your earlier release. You moved with him, your bodies finding that perfect synchronicity that had always existed between you. 

Gods, you had missed this. You missed actually feeling him buried deep inside you, not some shadowy illusion to stoke the flames of your longing. His warmth wrapped around you as the connection between you ebbed and flowed, transcending the physical and resonating on a deeper, spiritual level. Your fëar intertwined, pulsing in harmony with every roll, caress, and vulgar word you both would utter.

To finally have that missing piece of you returned felt magical, like finally gazing on the blessed shores of Valinor, even if you never wished to do so. This—This felt like what Galadriel had explained to Erynwen, what the light of the Great Trees felt like. Happiness. Serenity. And peace.

Mairon was all of those things to you. And now you could not help but let your walls crumble so Annatar—Sauron—whoever he wanted to be at any given moment, could also fit into those things for you. 

Because to love a being like him was to love each and every face he bore.

As your thoughts returned to the present, you wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. The new angle caused him to hit that perfect spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure rolling through your body. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his flawless skin as you clung to him.

The soft sound of skin against skin mingled with your breathless moans and Annatar's low groans of pleasure. The air around you seemed to shimmer with the intensity of your passion as if the very fabric of reality was bending to the force of your union.

It was as if the Valar themselves were crying out in happiness at your reunion, for you had always tempered his shadow and brought out the light in him, helping him walk back to that path toward redemption.

His lips found yours once more, the kiss deep and consuming. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, like two instruments playing a familiar melody. Each thrust, each caress, each kiss built upon the last, creating a symphony of passion that resonated through your very souls.

Annatar's movements grew more urgent, his thrusts deeper and more powerful. You could feel the tension building within him, mirroring the coiling heat in your core. Your fingers raked down his back, leaving faint red trails across the perfect skin.

“So beautiful…so divine…when you take all of me.” He panted against your neck after he broke away. “Taking all that your devoted husband has to offer.”

Your body arched into his, meeting his more powerful thrusts. His free hand snaked between your body to meet your swollen pearl, his thumb moving in circular motions had him drawing forth waves of pleasure that left you trembling and gasping.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "Give me everything.”

Your words seemed to ignite something primal within him. Annatar's eyes blazed with an otherworldly light as he drove into you. You clung to him, the coil of release building in you. All you wanted was to prolong this moment, to stay joined with him in this perfect union for eternity. But your body had other plans, trembling on the precipice of ecstasy.

Annatar sensed your impending climax, his movements becoming more focused and deliberate. He angled his hips just so, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head with each powerful thrust. His fingers worked tirelessly at your swollen bud, and in one long moment, for the first time in an Age, you released over your husband’s flesh. The feeling sent your toes curling in the grass as you cried out his name—his real name.

"Mairon," you cried out, your voice breaking with the intensity of your release. Annatar's eyes blazed with an otherworldly light as he drove into you chasing his own release now.

Your climax washed over you in waves of searing pleasure, each crest higher than the last. Your inner walls clenched around him rhythmically, drawing him deeper. The sensation of your release triggered his own, and with a guttural groan, Annatar buried himself to the hilt inside you. You felt the hot rush of his seed filling you, marking you as his once more.

For several moments, you both remained still, basking in the afterglow of your passionate union. Annatar's weight pressed you into the soft bed of flowers, his breath warm against your neck. The air around you still shimmered with the residual energy of your fëar finally intertwining once more after centuries apart.

Slowly, Annatar raised his head to meet your gaze. His soft eyes took your breath away. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours as he slowly withdrew from your body. The loss of connection left you feeling bereft, but his gentle touch soothed the ache.

His fingers dipped down between your soaked thighs, where he gathered up the spend that had leaked down before sliding his fingers back into your overstimulated cunt, filling it with even more of his spend. You moaned against the action, lifting your hips so he could go deeper.

His lips met yours briefly, fingers still lightly moving inside of you. “I doubt you wish to waste such a precious thing,” Lips met yours again briefly. “So I shall make sure you take every drop.”

"So thoughtful," you giggled as you gazed at your husband. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief and lingering desire sent a thrill through you. Annatar kissed the tip of your nose affectionately.

“Only the best for you, divine,” He whispered as his fingers continued their gentle ministrations between your thighs, spreading his essence within you, hoping that this time would be different. The oversensitivity of your flesh made you shiver, caught between pleasure and sweet torment at his touch. But you welcomed with a lazy smile.

"Mairon," you breathed, your voice trembling as you reached up to cup his face with tender hands. The tears that had been welling in your eyes since the start of your encounter finally flowed over. Your voice broke, a soft plea escaping your lips. “Don’t let this be it, please. After this, I could never bear to lose you again.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against yours, the closeness grounding both of you in the fragile moment as he withdrew his fingers.

"My sweet, beautiful wife," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as his thumb brushed against your cheek. His lips followed, pressing soft, reverent kisses to the tears spilling freely down your face. “I promise you,” he murmured, his voice steady and resolute, “from this moment, I will never leave your side again.”

The words hung between you, a vow spoken with the weight of centuries behind them, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe them. 

[shinski-chan]

❛❛𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢❞

synopsis: it was one of those spontaneous events where your friends invited you to have some fun, not knowing that one of your guy friends was jungwon's ex-best friend, making him lightheartedly jealous and pushing him to mark his territory.

paring: jungwon x gn!reader

word count: 1.3k

notes: fluff, playful and possessive!jungwon, teasing, placing hickey, lighthearted jealousy, childish, whiny!jungwon, suggestive

the sound of the loud music was echoing in the four corners of the place. the smell of alcohol in the place, filled with smoke from different cigarettes.

while you sat there with your group of friends, laughing together at a joke, one of your friends cracked.

this event was a spontaneous one, like how one of your friends invited the group to have some fun at the very moment, and you weren't able to tell the deets to your boyfriend, and all he knows is that you're going out with friends.

work has been eating you up lately, and events like this were one of the ways to unwind and just enjoy living your life like a decent human being.

the place was filled with laughter, and you raised a glass to take a quick selfie for your instagram story, making sure the glowing lights were captured. just as soon as you tapped the click button, your friend leaned a bit, throwing a peace sign and making sure he was captured in the frame.

on the other hand, jungwon was all alone in the house... done with his busy schedule and is now lounging on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through his phone, when suddenly a notification from his instagram appeared.

as soon as he saw your name on top of the screen, he immediately clicked the notification, and in a snap, his once relaxed posture now turns stiff when he sees the guy next to you.

"wait... isn't it..." he mumbled between his breaths, his head tilting and his brows curled with a mix of emotion.

he squinted his eyes, hovering his phone closer to his face, closely examining the guy, checking if it was really him. his jaw clenched as he confirmed that it was really him, his ex-best friend.

before he even knew it, his fingers were aggressively tapping the keyboard, sending you a message.

"you didn't tell me you had a guy with you."

his eyes blinked twice, his index finger tapping the sides of his phone, waiting for your response. once he received none, he immediately called.

you felt how your phone vibrated. you glanced over your phone, casting the caller name of your boyfriend, but you didn't bother to answer, deciding to text him later.

with jungwon's persistence, he called and called and called again. before you could even turn your phone into silent mode, a text flashed on the screen.

"you better be heading home."

reading the text he sent, you immediately feel the heat of his annoyance radiating. you glanced at the time before giving him a text.

"i'll be home by 12,"

after tapping the send button, you spent the next few hours chitchatting and catching up with the latest news.

by the time you walked into your apartment, you were greeted by an eerie silence. the air was too thick, and it felt a little suffocating.

you saw jungwon sitting on the couch, his arms crossed, moped around like a child who didn't get what he wanted.

"you ignored my calls," he said, his tone sharp and cold. if his stares could kill, you'll be lying on the floor already.

you raised a brow before settling your bag beside him. "it was so loud in the bar,"

"yeah right, with him," his voice laced with irritation, making your brows curled in confusion.

"what are you talking about?" you asked, plopping yourself beside his figure.

"nuh uh, don't play dumb, love. i know you know who am i referring to," he said, squinting his eyes.

"do you even know that guy? do you have any idea who he is?" he asked, ambushing you with questions.

you sighed, finally knowing what he was actually talking about.

"jungwon-"

"no no, no, let me finish," he said, grumping like a child.

you heavily sighed, walking out of the area and walking your way towards your shared room, knowing that he's unstoppable at this moment.

"you don't know who that guy is! he's the perfect example of those main characters in those cringeworthy stories—you know, the rich and rude guy who felt like every girl was head over heels with him," he continuously said, going after you.

you bit your lips, trying not to laugh, but he wasn't done.

"that guy? he's a human embodiment of a red flag. he's manipulative, self-centered. i couldn't forget those times when he always had to brag about everything! like, 'oh, jungwon what's your score? oh, i did better than you,'" he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he tried to imitate some 'back in the day' situation.

"it sounded like you weren't still over with your high school shits," you said, turning around to face him.

"don't change the subject!" he snapped, putting his index finger on your lips.

"he's a changed man," you said, and with that being said, he ran his fingers through his hair.

"A CHANGED MAN? HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT!" he exclaimed. "you never knew that guy, i swear..." he said, slumping his shoulder in disbelief.

"baby-"

"I will never forget that one time he ghosted me when i was being vulnerable! and now all of a sudden, he'll come back, and the worst part was this a kind of reunion i wasn't invited to?" he continued to yap, and it felt like he's never running out of words at this state.

"love-"

"no, seriously, love. tell me, did he badmouth me? was he trying to be a saint? what did he talk about-"

"yang jungwon!" you shouted, pinched his nose, and gave him a quick peck on his lips. "You're overreacting," you said. you couldn't help but to feel irritated with all of the rants he kept throwing at you.

"oh, you know i am definitely not!" he defended as he frowned. "do you even know how much i hated that guy???" he asked as he stomped his feet on the floor like a whiny little child.

you couldn't help but to smile; he was all worked up, and there's nothing more exhilarating than seeing him act jealous like this.

"you're jealous," you teased, couldn't hide the grin on your lips.

"no, i'm not," he grumbled, but his red ears speak louder than his words. "i'm just being protective!" he pouted.

"same thing," you shortly said, and as you were about to turn your back at him, he pulled you closer and wrapped you around his arms tight.

"no it's not," he insisted, his voice now calmer and softer. "the point of all of these is that i don't trust him, and i don't wanna see you hanging around him," he said, carrying you on to the bed.

"you ain't gonna do anything about it," you teased, brushing off stray strands of his hair.

"glad you mentioned that," he says, burying his face to your neck. "yah, what are you trying to do?" you asked, gently placing your hand on his head.

your heart starts to skip a beat.

"marking my territory," he shortly said, and as soon as he said those words, you felt his lips press against your skin.

"won-"

"shh," he whispered, his voice low.

the heat of his mouth sends a shiver down to your spine as his kiss starts to deepen, leaving a mark on your neck.

"baby,"

he paused a little, giving you a little more time to process what he just did, and after a few seconds, he placed a soft kiss from your neck up to your lips.

"there," he says as he slightly pulls back, admiring the mark he just left. the mark was visible against your skin, and a smirk started to form from his lips, clearly satisfied with his work of art. "now, everyone will know who you belong to, especially him," he added, making you chuckle.

"you're ridiculous," you said, gently brushing his hair.

"i know," he admitted, shifting your positions, now you're laying on top of him. he wrapped his arms around you and said, "i love you,"

"silly, i love you more..."

©shinskichan

[concretejunglefm]

I want to tie a pretty pink ribbon around sub!Noah’s cock.

- @somebodyels3

in the words of you; i want to tie one around his cock and around his wrists.

CW: smut including sub!noah being an overall good boy, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation with toys (wand), lots of praise, cum feeding and sweet dirty talk.

Names: Good boy, baby boy, pup.

Smut under the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Look how pretty he is bound up just for you. How pretty his cock is with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it like a gift, all for you. And you'll tell him as much, whisper it against the shell of his ear as you drag your nails slowly down along his tattooed chest, listening to his faint rapid breaths.

He's been such a good boy.

For the past ten minutes Noah has been doing his best to hold on, for you. It's still early in your lessons, you don't expect him to las too long but he's already exceeded previous expectations.

Every now and then you watch the way his stomach quivers, and how he steadies his breathing to hold himself back, while his cock twitches, precum leaking from the tip. It's so red you think he could burst without you even touching him at this point.

"Please."

It's faint, but you hear the word slip between his lips, along side the faint whimpers he's making.

You hum in response. "What is it, pup? You have to speak up, remember to use your words."

You take him beneath his chin, your forefinger and thumb holding his head for him to look at you.

"I-... I want..." He starts, struggling to find his words.

"Yes?" You're giving him as much encouragement as you can, easily sensing the shyness. It's still a process, making him ask and tell you what he wants, most times he nudges or gives you those doe eyes and hopes that you know, but right now you know what he really wants is on the tip of his tongue and it isn't to cum.

"The wa-... the wa..." Noah continues to stutter out between his whimpers.

"The wand?" You finish, delighted by his enthusiasm to return to one of your favorite toys. You reach for it from off the bed, holding it up for him to see and his head nods frantically.

Another 'please' slips from his lips while you turn on the toy and it rumbles to life.

You can barely contain your own excitement as you bring the head of it towards him. The vibration is low, but he's sensitive enough to react the moment you press it lightly against his shaft. He squirms and twitches in place, his cock practically visibly throbbing with the overstimulation you've been providing.

You love to drag it out, switching between a toy and then your hand, long slow strokes providing him that edging he needs until you bring him right to the brink, just to pull him back.

"That's my good boy." You coo, your voice silky soft because he deserves to be treated in a gentle manner when he's nothing short of good for you, an obedient boy who happily plays by your rules. When he isn't being a brat.

The moment you see the precum spilling from his tip once more, you pull the wand away and replace your hand around the shaft, swiping your thumb up and over the tip to gather it before releasing him and reaching up to his mouth.

"Open." You instruct and watch how he follows obediently in his complete dizzying state. He's so easy for you to toy with like this, when he's right on edge and lost in his own pleasure.

Accepting your thumb, you feel the swipe of his tongue against the pad of it, eagerly tasting himself off you.

"You are such a good pup for me." You praise him softly, happily showering him with more as you lean up and kiss him. You can never resist stealing a kiss from him in these moments, because even when he's soft and obedient, you have the overwhelming urge to be soft with him in none dominant ways, just needing to touch and kiss him to feel closer.

When you break away, you look down between you to his cock, watching how he leaks a little more and your brows raise as it slowly spills down along the side of his shaft, just crossing over the threshold of the pink ribbon neatly tied around him.

"Oops." You look back up to him, stroking your fingers back through his hair, feeling the dampness from the sweat against your hand. "I guess this means we're starting over." You inform him and reach for your phone, resetting the timer from 12 minutes, back down to 0.

"Let's see how long you can last this time."