#unravel me header

[maddiesflame]

warnette layouts

like/reblog if saved © maddiesflame

[verstappenverse]

Max x reader who is rly stressed and overworked one day he comes home from a triple header and shes like doing her and hair and sobbing and he just completely comforts her and finishes her hair for her while whispering comforting words to her and being rly physical.

THIS IS LONG IK IM SORRY

When You Come Undone

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed and unraveling, Max holds you together like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

A/N: Thanks for your patience, hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

1.3k words / Masterlist

You don’t even hear the door open.

You’re hunched over the bathroom sink, hairbrush tangled in your half-knotted mess of damp strands, mascara running in blotchy streaks down your face. The towel around your shoulders is half soaked, clinging to your neck. You’ve been trying to do your hair for the last hour. And failing. Miserably.

Your shoulders are shaking as another wave of sobs bubbles up your throat. You try to choke it down, sniff it away, keep yourself quiet but everything hurts.

Everything has just been too much lately.

Max wasn’t supposed to be back until the morning. You had counted on that, had planned to break down in peace tonight and clean yourself up before he could see any of it.

But suddenly, he’s there.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, confused, cautious. “Hey, baby… what—”

You flinch, spin around to face him like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. You hadn’t even heard his key in the door. He’s still got his suitcase in one hand and the tired look of a man who’s just done a triple-header in the other, but that all fades as soon as he sees your face.

His expression drops in an instant. “Oh, schatje.”

“No it’s fine,” you start to say, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s stupid. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

He drops the suitcase right where he stands and crosses the bathroom in three long strides, cupping your tear-soaked face in his hands. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You shake your head, your voice already cracking. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

His jaw flexes, like that physically hurts to hear. “You could never bother me.”

Your breath stutters again as the tears keep falling, and Max pulls you into his chest without hesitation. Your arms come up around his waist as you bury yourself in his hoodie, soaking it instantly. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers weaving gently through your tangled hair, his other arm holding you firm against his body.

He smells like the plane and cologne, and something warm and familiar that makes everything feel just a little bit safer.

“I’m so tired,” you whisper into his chest. “I have so much to do, and I just… I couldn’t even do my hair.” You break out into soft, shallow sobs again.

He tilts his head down to kiss your temple, breath warm against your skin. “Then I’ll do it for you, liefje. You don’t have to do anything right now.”

You nod weakly against him, breathing him in like you’ll fall apart if you don’t.

He guides you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, disappearing for just a second to grab a comb, a soft brush, a tie. The kind of things he’s seen you use a thousand times.

When he comes back, he kneels in front of you, takes your towel and starts to softly dry your damp hair, curling his fingers into the ends to absorb the water. His touch is so careful, so intentional.

“I missed you,” you whisper, almost ashamed. “I really missed you this time.”

“I missed you more,” he murmurs, brushing through a particularly knotted section with patience only you get to see. “Every night I kept thinking how much I wanted to be here. Just here with you.”

He continues working through the tangles, slow and gentle, his fingers occasionally skimming your scalp, rubbing little circles into the back of your neck. It sends a warm shiver down your spine.

“I just feel like I’m failing at everything,” you say, blinking back more tears. “Like I’m doing a hundred things and none of them right.”

“You’re not failing,” Max says immediately, eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror. “You’re doing so much. Too much. And you’re still standing.”

You give a watery laugh. “Barely.”

“But you are.” He sets the brush down, his hand sliding along your jaw to turn your face toward him. “And now I’m home, so you don’t have to do it alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, your bottom lip trembling again. “Okay.”

Max gently gathers your hair, his fingers surprisingly skilled as he starts to loosely braid it. You reach for his free hand, and he laces your fingers together instantly, bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how bad it was,” you whisper.

Max leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours. “Don’t be sorry. Just let me take care of you now.”

His hands are on your face again, thumbs brushing away the last of your tears. He kisses your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Then your lips, soft and grounding.

You let him lead you by the hand, your body still heavy with exhaustion but feeling the first flicker of safety spark in your chest. Max pulls the duvet back and helps you climb into bed, tucking you in like you’re made of glass.

He disappears for only a moment just enough time to flick off the bathroom light and slip off his shoes and hoodie. When he comes back, he moves slowly, climbing in behind you, pulling your back to his chest with an ease that only comes from years of knowing each other’s rhythm.

His arms wrap around you like a blanket, locking you in, anchoring you in place. His legs tangle with yours. One hand spreads across your stomach, the other slips beneath your braid to rest on your collarbone, fingers curled loosely but protectively.

You let out a shaky breath. Your cheeks are still damp, but your body starts to relax for the first time in what feels like days.

“I don’t want to think anymore,” you whisper into the dark.

“Then don’t,” Max murmurs against your shoulder, kissing your skin softly. “You don’t have to think, just rest now. I’ve got you.”

Your hand finds his on your stomach, your thumb stroking gently over his knuckles.

“I love you,” you say, voice barely there.

He presses his lips to your hair. “I love you more. So much more than you know.”

“I know,” you whisper, “I really, really love you too.”

Max shifts, just enough so he can press another kiss to your cheek. Then your temple. Then your neck. “I hate being away from you,” he confesses, the words soft against your skin.

“You’re here now,” you murmur, nuzzling back into him, “and everything does feel better.”

A few quiet moments pass. His fingers trail along the curve of your arm, slow and soothing. And just as sleep begins to pull at you, the guilt creeps in.

“I didn’t even ask about your weekend,” you mumble, voice slurring slightly with exhaustion. “You had three back to back and I didn’t—I should’ve…”

Max gently shushes you, pulling you even closer.

“Stop that,” he whispers. “I’ll tell you everything in the morning, every corner, every lap, every stupid radio message if you want. But right now? I just want you to sleep. Let me take care of you.”

You nod slowly, eyes fluttering shut as his voice settles over you like a blanket.

“Good,” he says again, so softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay quiet for a while, just listening to the sound of his breathing and the soft hum of his heartbeat behind you. His hand keeps moving up and down, calming, grounding, reminding you that he’s real and he’s here.

And when you start to drift, your mind heavy and fuzzy with sleep, Max’s voice slips through one last time, low and reverent.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispers. “Not while I’m alive to love you.”

And you believe him.

Because his arms feel like home.

And in them, you finally, finally rest.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ swan song ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! please be sure to check out their profile for squid game fanfictions, they have helped me with my works and their writing is perfection! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the rain cascaded in a relentless downpour, burying the world in its somber rhythm. you stood motionless, soaked to the bone, your tattered black satin gown clinging to your pallid skin, pearls glinting faintly in the dim moonlight. across from you stood cho sang-woo, his tailored suit stained with smears of blood that had long since dried, a stark contrast to the high-class reputation he once upheld. there had been a time when the sight of him would have filled you with affection, a time when you had imagined him as your husband, the man you would spent all of eternity with.

˚ ༘♡ the man before you now bore no resemblance to the one you had loved so deeply. where once there had been kindness, there was now a malicious cruelty. the charm that had drawn you in, the quiet strength and righteous honesty, had been nothing more than a facade. before the games, your lives had seemed perfect, lavish dinners at exclusive steakhouses, extravagant shopping trips, the allure of wealth. yet it was never the riches that held your heart. you had loved him for the moments of vulnerability, the whispered dreams during midnight strolls, the promises of a future built on trust. now, those memories felt like lies, twisted shadows of a man who no longer existed.

˚ ༘♡ his grip on the knife was steady, the same blade he had used to take sae-byeok’s life. you could still see her fragile form laid on the ground, blood swarming under her stiff body as her she weakly murmured her little brother’s name. she had begged for another chance to see him again, her eyes glazed with fear and dread, only to be silenced in a merciless slashing. that moment was etched into your soul, an infested wound that refused to heal. you had pleaded with gi-hun to spare sang-woo when the opportunity arose, your love for him, a ghost of what it once was, still clinging to the hope that he could be saved. however, sparing him had been a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo had demonstrated no remorse. he had turned his blade on gi-hun after being confronted for sae-byeok’s murder, killing his childhood best friend with little hesitation, leaving you as the only two left to face the end. now, as the rain fell in endless torrents, you stood in the storm’s heart, the past unraveling between you. the love you had once cherished lay shattered at your feet, replaced by a chasm of betrayal and regret.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called out, your voice steady despite the quivering in your limbs. your gaze locked onto his, and slowly, deliberately, you let the knife slip from your grasp. it landed in the rain-soaked sand with a muted thud, quickly swallowed by the muck. droplets cascaded down your face, obscuring your vision, but you didn’t look away. “you’ve killed so many,” you said, your voice carrying over the storm, though faint and muffled. “innocent strangers, people who trusted you, those who loved you. i’m no different.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched as his face contorted with rage. “pick up the damn knife!” he shouted, his voice raw and jagged. his body shook, a mix of fury and something more fragile, a deep, unspoken torment etched into his expression. his eyes betrayed him, scorned and sorrowful.

˚ ༘♡ “i will not,” you replied softly, your soaked hair sticking to your melancholic face. “i won’t fight you. i can’t.” your breathing troubled as you continued, words tumbling out between the harsh pouring of the rain. “even if i won… what would it matter? what’s left for me to go back to? the money won’t mend this. it can’t rid what’s been done, the people we’ve lost, the pieces of ourselves we’ll never get back.”

˚ ༘♡ for a split second, his grip on the knife loosened, his fingers moving as though fighting an internal war, but just as quickly, they tightened. blood trailed down the cut across his face, mingling with the rain, streaking his skin with crimson. “damn it!” he barked, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “stop being so difficult and come here! let’s finish this!”

˚ ༘♡ “no, sang-woo,” you said firmly, taking a step toward him, unarmed, your hands open at your sides. “if the money is all you care about, if you’re so desperate to go back and see your mother, to undo all your mistakes, to lead the life you desire, to have a beautiful home, a loving wife, good children, then kill me. go ahead. take the knife and end the game.”

˚ ༘♡ tears burned your eyes, falling hot and salty down your face before the rain could wash them away. you moved closer, mere inches from him now, your voice low and steady, almost a whisper. “do it,” you murmured. “you’ll have to, or neither of us gets anything, and i won’t hurt you, sang-woo.”

˚ ༘♡ his arm lifted, the knife angled toward your chest. his jaw tightened, his breathing ragged, but he didn’t strike. the blade hovered between you, shaking ever so slightly. “i… i can’t kill you,” he said, his voice breaking as the words escaped him.

˚ ༘♡ “but you could kill sae-byeok?” you asked, voice hoarse, choking on your words, your lips curving downward in a frown. “you could kill gi-hun? their lives meant less than mine? sae-byeok had her little brother waiting for her, and gi-hun has a daughter who will never understand why her father didn’t come back.” your voice grew softer, mellowed by despair. “their lives were important, sang-woo. their lives held no less value than yours or mine.”

˚ ༘♡ his face became grim, a flash of anguish breaking through his hardened mask. “don’t you think i understand that?” he shouted, his voice catching on the words. his free hand pressed against his chest as though the pain inside was physical, unbearable. “i didn’t do it because i wanted to! you think i enjoyed it? you think i’m a sadist?” his voice cracked, his desperation bleeding into every word. “everything i’ve done… i had no choice! i have to fix this. i have to make it right. otherwise, what was all of this for? the sacrifices, the suffering, it will mean nothing!”

˚ ༘♡ the rain fell harder, drowning out the quietude, as his words hung in the air, each one more bitter than the last. you could see it, the guilt embedded into his aged face, the torment tearing him apart, but it didn’t undo the blood on his hands.

˚ ༘♡ your fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, guiding the blade to your throat. the cold metal kissed your skin, and your voice was composed despite the tears falling freely down your face. “go home, sang-woo,” you said softly, your grip strengthened to keep his hand close to you.

˚ ༘♡ his face was streaked with rain and tears now, his composure unraveling. his breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he tried to pull the knife away. “i won’t do it,” he choked out, his voice hoarse, trembling with something between anguish and resolve. his fingers curled tighter around the hilt, but not to push forward, only to keep it from you. “i won’t kill you.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rain pounding against the earth. your gaze shifted to the stormy horizon, staring blankly at the void ahead. “sang-woo,” you whispered, your tone solemn, distant. “do you remember that night you stayed over at my place? you said you liked my cooking, even though we both knew it was awful. and i laughed at all your ridiculous, outdated jokes and listened to your business jargon, even when i didn’t know half the terms you used, i liked being the woman you spent your days with.” a faint, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, though it was short-lived, disappearing as quickly as it came. “that’s the day i remember the most. not the gifts, not the trips, not the money. none of it mattered to me. only mattered. i wanted you, nothing else.”

˚ ༘♡ his breath snagged, his lips parting to speak, but no words came. you turned your tear-streaked face toward him, meeting his tormented gaze. “it will never be like that again,” you said, your voice breaking. “we can’t go back, sang-woo. not after everything.”

˚ ༘♡ before he could react, you wrenched the knife from his hand with a sudden, sharp motion. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he reached for you. but it was too far too late. the blade pierced your throat with brutal precision, and the warmth of your blood poured over your trembling hands. you staggered, the world moving and fading around you, your legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo…” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you crumpled to the wet sand. scarlet-red ichor spilled out in thick rivers, melding with the rain-soaked earth.

˚ ༘♡ “no!” he screamed, his voice raw and broken, as he fell to his knees beside you. quivering hands reached for you, lifting your head from the wet sand as rain pelted down in icy sheets. his tears mingled with the blood streaking your face, his sobs shaking his entire body. “please, no… don’t do this,” he choked out, desperation lacing every word. “stay with me, please.”

˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to speak, but the words came weak, barely audible over the thunderous rain. “my… my family,” you sputtered, your voice thick with the blood flooding your throat. each breath was a struggle, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. “tell them… tell them i won’t be there anymore, okay?” your fingers, trembling and cold, lifted to brush against his bloodied cheek. your touch was feather-light, tender despite your waning strength. “sang-woo… please, don’t forget me, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ his face was agonized, tears streaming past the injuries that marred his angular features, it was rare to see him so emotional, so delirious with grief. “i won’t,” he swore, his voice cracking beneath the strain of his grief. “i won’t forget you. i’ll never…” he stopped, his words caught in his throat as he pressed his hands to the gaping wound on your neck, desperate to stop the flow of blood. it was a futile effort, the red blood spilled through his fingers, staining the sand beneath you. “please, stay with me,” he whispered, his voice shatterred into a sob. “don’t leave me. please. i can’t live without you.”

˚ ༘♡ his desperate efforts were all in vain. the life was draining from your body, the world dimming around you. your breaths came slower, softer, each one feeling close to your last. his frantic cries grew distant, muffled as if you were slipping underwater. your vision blurred, the storm above fading into oblivion. and yet, through it all, his face remained clear as could be, the pain in his dark eyes burned into your thoughts.

˚ ༘♡ the last sound you heard was not his voice, but something colder, emptier. an emotionless voice echoed through the air, chilling and robotic, void of anything human.

˚ ༘♡ “player 177, eliminated.”

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled one final breath, your hand falling limply from sang-woo’s bloodied face as the darkness consumed you.

a/n: another cho sang-woo fanfiction!! he’s my favorite character so there will definitely be more for him!!! please let me know you if any requests and your thoughts on this story! 🤍

[esccpism]

[…] love is my religion—I could die for that.

it’s valentine’s day. ceo!ambessa gifts you flowers.

abstract: ambessa wants you. more: she wants you to chase. the problem is the time it takes—you’re a tough nut to crack, and the woman has never been good at waiting.

cw: ceo!ambessa x assistant!reader, groping, kissing, shy ambessa for .002 secs but don’t tell anyone, sub/dom themes, corporal punishment (r!reader), voyuerism, ambessa has you masturbate in front of her, older woman x younger woman, reader is fat/plus sized

wc: 3.9k

fic inspired by this artwork by @/RoseYSD13 on twitter. heart skipped like 12 full beats. header inspired by the lovely @hcneymooners.

the year marches onwards.

if you catch the day early enough, time seems to pause and suspend; a breath you could almost hold in your hand.

it’s four in the morning—and so ambessa changes in her office today. and you stand, staring forward, only stealing glances when her back is turned.

she gets ready for as long as two hours, at times, when it’s early enough and the preliminary steps of her routine haven't already been run through at her home. such days are rare. she’s perfect in every other instance, she’s perfect even now. skin and scars, tight and flexible, choking up the room with her overpowering perfume. 

you don’t know why she allows you to guard her incompletion. but then again, you’re fresh, and new. you aren’t worth much to her at all.

“haven’t i taught you manners, child?”

your eyes snap back to position. she hasn’t turned even a modicum, but of course it’s a gamble worth taking—her muscles practically ripple like water. the sun simmers against her skin. it’s asking the impossible to not watch them stretch and contract as she bends. 

you allowed yourself it and nothing else, avoiding the dip low in her back where safety ends and the curve of her ass begins. 

“come,” she beckons, “and help me out of this suit.”

you bob your head, and no hair spills out of your tight bun this time. 

dress shoes click and reverberate in the wide and endless room, traveling ages before bouncing off the walls. she says nothing and so neither do you. the time passes, you can tell only by the morning waking outside. unbuttoning the corset becomes your primary objective and you do it with steadfast attention, ignoring her stomach tensing each time your fingers brush the vulnerable skin. ignoring her stomach entirely. ignoring the fact she is wearing no bra underneath and how her full breasts swell towards you beseechingly. 

when you finish unraveling the intricate set of satin ribbons and pull the heavy fabric away from her torso, she lets you fold it neatly and place it atop her desk before pressing in, correcting your posture for you. 

a hand tickles your stomach, finger under your chin, raising your line of sight until it meets with hers. 

”don’t steal glances. i won’t remind you again.” 

you nod as best as you can. your post might be fucked—though you don’t have a moment to let the grief wrack through you. “take wholly, or not at all. i won’t have any nibbling around me.” 

gripping now, ambessa carries your chin and levels it so you are staring directly at her bare body. 

“tell me. what are you feeling?”

“satisfaction, ma’am. i am honored to learn from you, and happy i was able to be of service to you.”

she sighs, and tuts. ”i told them to get rid of that stupid training video. i don’t want a robot tending to me. do you understand me?”

you nod. no hesitation, because she hates the scent, smells it like a dog smells fear. 

“once more.” she relaxes your face and steps to your right, curls around you like a lioness circling its prey. “what are you feeling?”

”curiosity.” your eyes flicker to follow her, then keep straight ahead.

“around?”

“around you, ma’am.”

“good girl.” she stops her orbit directly in front of you, and drags her seat over. leans back, body open, legs spread. “satiate it.”

you pat your hands briefly on your dress pants—she interjects with a wily smile, “don’t be afraid, dear.” and you bite back an i’m not before it snaps from you, sharp as a knife.

you sink forward, distantly aware of your hanging cleavage. growing far more aware from how unabashedly she stares at it. you trail your nails down from her ear lobe, across her neck, watch her shiver at the pressure on her throat. you dip then, and politely squeeze her tit in your hand.

she scoffs, and then laughs, a tinkling, rich, barberry sound. 

“callow,” she says. “you search like you are reading off my monthly estimates. have you no hunger?”

“i have hunger,” you retaliate, eyes alight. you pinch, and her brows flicker, arching into the pain near imperceptibly. 

“but my job does not demand my hunger, ma’am. it only requires that i compartmentalize.” quite literally. you retract your hand and fold it behind you. ”allow me to return to my work.”

she leans her head back, face unreadable as she takes you in. seconds pass, and then the cloud passes as well. she waves you off, sounding bored. “very well. i’ll call you should i need you again.”

⚘

she tends to need you often.

it would seem actually, that she couldn’t do anything by herself were you to be zapped away tomorrow.

she enjoys when you pull the chair out for her, and requests it each time she returns to her desk. says heartily that it makes her feel regal. the cafe on the ground floor has a daily special that she orders three of, at three separate times in the afternoon, sending you on a fourth trip with a lofty tip for the barista should she have enjoyed all three instances. the lines are unbearably long, since the coffee tends towards being delicious. you make the fourth trip often.

her write ups, the real work: which loan repayment negotiations are still underway—there are many—and which partnering fell through—there are many. getting cussed out over the phone on her behalf. day trips across the city and long nights bent over blue light and ass-early mornings, awake even before the sun.

it’s…a demanding job, at its worst. 

work breaks are terse at their best, and your coworkers are a restless bunch. they ask you questions, hoping the pressure will, at what is perhaps the 20,001st attempt, eventually give way. 

ruler with an iron fist. does she even have emotions pulsing in there? you must’ve seen it, seen her slip. it’s psychopathic, how she’s so good at smiling. a wolf trying to hide its teeth. 

here, these people, they don’t nurture expression. self wilts and dies here. that’s what got you at her side in the first place. you were always so loud, anyway, always too much. your mother told you to swallow yourself before the earth tears open its mouth and does it for you.

so you swallow, and you keep your teeth together, and you don’t say a word.

they’re right. you have seen it. ambessa’s smile befalls you often, and her touch is kind, when it grazes the small of your back. 

she takes like a tyrant. she desires unceasingly. this you know. 

you leave an afternoon with her mangled or otherwise changed, fundamentally at the parts. she so easily finds the fleshy soft of your belly, where it gives way with no resistance, and wraps a jaw around it. settles down to the marrow. your training was this, over and over, every mundane afternoon. eaten and spat back out. you’d be lucky to leave the night with any part of you still intact. 

it was meant to make you human—this you couldn’t understand. i don’t want a robot tending to me, she’d instructed.

tell me. what do you feel?

what your coworkers don’t acknowledge is that absolute deference weakens in the face of idiosyncrasies. it's far more effective to strip a thing naked and leave it trembling out in the cold—completely numb the senses. a tyrant cannot rule a person. your brain must be empty so that they might squirm inside. 

ambessa does not squirm. 

she digs. afternoons change and shift, not yet stretching towards the light, but stretching nonetheless.

you pick inside yourself and place it down before ambessa—at her bequest: your runaway mother, how you hadn’t cried at your brother’s funeral, your bite-sized calico, your tamagotchi collection—and she watches every item splayed like a buffet with a fever that warms, that singes—you nearly snatch yourself back from the simmering air, afraid to lose yourself in her belly. to the licking flame of her tongue. 

her hand extends across the table. it crosses the sheets of daily agendas and your laptop and the stack of reports, crosses seas towards you. she lands softly on your chin, and travels to cradle your cheek.

“are you happy here?” she unloads.

“of course, ma’am.”

her frown makes a hearth of her face. “give me the honest answer.”

“here at this position, or here with your fingers taking my face?”

“either,” she says, lowly. “both,” she corrects. 

you ease a foot on the gas pedal. you aren’t sure what’s gotten into you, but it drums in your thighs like a second heartbeat. ”then, if i said i wasn't?”

she’s silent, and then her hand slips off. the heat follows her, and your body creaks forward before your brain catches up. chasing. 

“then i would release you.” she folds her hands. “and i wouldn’t allow anyone else to have you.”

“i would no longer be yours, ma’am.”

“i may have no use for a pet with reservations, that does not mean i could stand someone else having what i can’t.”

“then must i repeat myself, too?”

the air quivers. the admission breaks inside your chest. her smile curls tight inside you and doesn’t let go. 

“indulge me.”

“i’m happy here,” you indulge her. you really say—i’m happy it’s you. you press it into the gaping, leaking space between you, right next to your stewn out innards and idiosyncrasies. right to where her fingers fold on the table. “you’ve got a hand like a fireplace. i don’t mind when you touch, or when you take. above everything it’s the warmth i feel first.”

⚘

the pet names begin shortly thereafter. 

only in private, but strong contenders each time—

would you fetch me another coffee, pet?

ah, my pretty dove. you’ve cleaned up sharply today.

come closer, little one. sit. there’s space for you, and i want you near me. 

each cuts accordingly, chips at you in intentional ways. she’s relentless and unmerciful. she drags you around and does so easily; you bend for her like a lily. under her strong hands she directs you how to stand during meetings, at what angle to arch when pouring her drinks, at what angle to bow at each of her contemporaries as they enter.

she’s sat with her legs splayed, gaze sharp as she pushes in between your shoulder blades. a shudder slides down through the tendon until your knees threaten collapse. 

”head low, and shoulders squared, little lamb. even in civility don’t forget whose you are.” 

you couldn’t, not with the dents her fingers press into the tumbling skin of your back. it’ll surely leave marks. it’s only fair.

⚘

ambessa smiles when you enter—she always had, but these are toothier as of late, more disarming. you are startled by them each time. 

you offer her one back that probably more closely resembles a wince, and then duck your head and the indignant flush that rises.

⚘

”i’ve brought coffee,” she announces with gusto, swishing in one morning. the pinks and lilacs outside grace the silhouette of her broad shoulders as she swoops down to place one of two in front of you. “tell me if it’s to your liking, so i may have someone replace it if not.”

your mouth unhinges, staring up at her dumbly. “ma’am—coffee runs are my job.”

“and an overly drab one. i didn’t know the lines were so long.”

she waits expectantly, and with a start you reach for the cup, hesitating, slowly tipping it back. it tingles on your tongue—spice and caramel. she watches it slide down your throat with rapt interest, eyes finding yours immediately when you settle the cup back down. 

“it’s—good. it’s delicious.”

her grin spreads like wildfire. ”i’ll have them preserve it on the menu. it will be our daily order.”

“ma’am,” you try helplessly, but she pushes forward, leaning her weight on the desk.

she towers, casting a harsh shadow as the sun erects behind her. she might be glowing, or maybe it’s your eyes crossing as she tips over, far too close. ambessa dabs at the corner of your lip, carefully moving around your makeup and the mauve paint to your mouth. 

“you’ve a stain, pet.”

her carefulness promptly exits her body through parted lips as she pushes, slipping her thumb into your mouth.

your body jumps. ambessa’s eyes lid as she regards you. “clean it off,” she says.

no hesitation. your tongue snakes out and wraps around the thick digit, suctioning softly. her large hand swallows the line of drool that escapes. 

she pops it out, stained now with worse than mere coffee. 

“you were saying?”

heart thundering in your throat, you slowly shake your head, swallowing around a newly dried mouth. “‘wasn’t. ma’am.”

she smiles. reaches sideways for your tissue box, and draws away.

⚘

in a turn of events, ambessa has you over her lap—fifteen strokes for standing too closely behind an attendee.

she says it’s because he’s a propagandist, how do you think it looks having my attendant whine herself against my biggest proponent? but her voice had clipped sharply and she'd demanded you untuck your chin from your chest and lower your skirt and recount exactly how it had happened.

her hand collides with the bare flesh of your ass, and it ripples, sharp singing through you at the point of contact. you gasp out, a strangled thing. she shushes you quietly, soothing the bruising spot. 

”how did he feel against your cunt? hm?”

her finger slips, just grazing just grazing the damp folds through the thick pulp of your thighs. you whimper softly, pushing back against her touch.

”like nothing at all,” you pant, “ma’am.”

“i was under the impression you were happy here.” it’s sudden as a thunder clap, her hand lands again, and your body locks with divine will so as not to rock forward on the muscle of her thigh. 

your voice breaks around a hiccup. you wish you hadn’t in you to be embarrassed, but all there is is ambessa. she overtakes and overloads. even the cold walnut desk smells of her. “yes ma’am. i am very happy here.“

“then display it to me better.”

you nod, tearily, frantically. your face buried in your folded arms makes it hard for your yes’m to make itself intelligible. ambessa doesn’t mind. isn’t finished.

“anything you need you must receive from me. understand? your robust pain, your inane pleasures. only through me.”

her hand presses against your back, testing your state, and your breathing jumps and shudders under her fingers. she coos softly, gracing them up your back and carding her fingers through your hair, massaging at the scalp.

“i’m going to sit you up, sweet girl. let me see your face.”

you’re all over her thigh when she lifts you. you gape, she gazes. swipes at your slick and licks it into her mouth.

“would you like me to handle it?”

“no, ma’am, i’m terribly sorry—i’m not sure what came over me—“

”if you wish to handle it yourself,” she interrupts, and swings her arm out before her, gesturing at a low seated sofa and pile of pillows, “sit right there where i can see you.”

her legs rest eagled, arms bent over her knees, eyes ravenous as she watches you pound your fingers into yourself. your moans jump out stilted and quiet. it’s not enough, it’s nowhere near enough. you need her inside you. you know she could stretch you out so good.

it’s chasing you, it’s chasing you, and your body rolls into your stuttering fingers, your heel reaching pathetically for your clit. 

“such a good girl,” ambessa murmurs.

and the moan bubbles out of you like a wail, body climbing towards heaven as your orgasm ascends on you. white hot crashing waves you ride yourself through, hips jumping and twitching until you collapse back into yourself. pleasure tingling in you like an aftertaste.

she strides over immediately, presses a kiss to the top of your head. leaves and return, cleans you off with a warm, wet hand towel and dresses you with fresh clothing, helping your hands through the sleeves, slow and deliberate. she says nothing the whole while. so you say nothing in return. 

when she’s finished and she’s satisfied, she sits you in front of a hearty meal.

it’s still hot and you don’t know when she had called for it—but you’re drained and you're grateful, and you take her kindness without complaint.

ambessa sits across from you, watches you eat. satisfaction smoothes her face out. 

“are you happy here, little one?”

you glance up from your fork of chicken. she cradles you with her eyes.

it’s a given that you won’t report tonight. too many HR violations to count and technically it’d be your job to file and forward them all. you’ll have to reach for the CCTV footage as well, aware contemporaries come with varying intentions. you know the footage will not be bad at all. it was merely a brush, a push, a passing by—and you know it will not matter. just as it had not tonight.

despite it all stillness resides in you. just the way you like it.

“yes, ma’am. i’m happy.”

⚘

your work continues as usual. her hands remain gentle. you remember them on your body like the frozen earth remembers spring. 

⚘

“i’d like your opinion,” her voice sings through the air, and you rise from your chair to indulge her. “which of these three do you believe suits me better?”

you hum, crossing your arms over your chest. it delights her, and mirth dances in her eyes.

“mahogany, as always. brings out your eyes.”

she lets the other two fold over her arm. ”well. aren’t you a sweet talker.”

”i’ll adjust my speech with you if you enjoy it, ma’am.“

“watch yourself,” she points. after a moment you allow yourself a little grin, one she drinks in and guzzles, exhaling sharp. berating on hold, too busy grinning back.

⚘

she wants you, and she leaves it scattered all over the place. makes it so obvious as to practically scream it from every rooftop.

she stares, she appears around your desk, hovers, frets when you are dressed too light for the weather—frets. the iron fisted tyrant. too warm to let you numb to the cold.

ambessa continues to change in front of you again and again, now with your added commentary. she welcomes your input, lets you see every curve of her breast and dip in her stomach—eyes follow you like incandescent light, curiosity, or more so daring your gaze to dip, to explore. to devour like a rabid tongue. 

shouting from the rooftops without hearing herself echoed back isn’t something she’d ever commit to long, anyway. 

ambessa grows increasingly frustrated with your fastidiousness and pushes and presses inwards. suffocates, encircles. as she does.

“i wasn’t trained for massages,” you tell her in vain. it verges on complaint, and she waves it off.

“you weren’t trained for many things, yet you hold up excellently.”

it’s high praise, she knows what she’s doing. your cheeks bruise, anyway.

“if you wish to be paid for it, i can arrange that.“

“no payment.” you say. “…ma’am. it stains it.”

“ah.” her head tips back, catches your gaze, a small smile at her mouth at the fluster in your face. “i see.”

with sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hands work her shoulders. dips into her sharp clavicle, unwinds and unravels the string of muscle and the plate of bone.

“lower, dove.” she crumbles under your touch, and your chest pangs where her silvery, pillowy coils tickle your stomach, as she sags into you. “deeper. you’ve the arms for it. i won’t break.“

she’s broken already. fragments of her spill supple into your hands, drenching your fingertips, caking under your nails. she melts like candle wax and swallows the flame. 

it’s a simple revelation, and nothing that you hadn’t known. she’s beautiful. nips the breath right out of your lungs. you know she’d gleam if you told her—and so you do, rehearsing her lines in your head the microsecond before she acts them each out, a tensing, a shifting, a pleasant hum, rising in pitch. pride, preening like a bird. a charmed grin about her. 

like water in a river. she’s predictable these days, but you’ll keep that one for yourself. 

⚘

february marches onwards.

a quirk of her’s you’ve noticed: she decorates for every holiday without fail, even the ones she does not formally celebrate. 

you would wonder what sub-intelligent lick your coworkers have to offer about it if you were given the chance to think at all.

you sign out of your laptop that night and step through the sliding doors the next morning, bright and early and instantaneously the bursts of red and gold slap you right in the face, just as if you’d stumbled into the sun. 

every floor is like this, until you reach hers—and she’s waiting for you, the most flabbergasting yet—and swathed in her arms is a bouquet of red carnations and roses.

your stunned gaze picks out a single golden rose among the bloodbath. it’s an unimportant detail. but her face waits right above it, and you don’t know yet what to do with that.

“thank you for the hard work,” she starts, extending the garden towards you. “you’ve been a good employee.”

you stare. ambessa hates hesitation, you know this, but your head and your heart pull pitilessly in opposite directions with you inbetween, tearing like a piece of paper down the middle. 

with steeled hands you relieve it from her, and have to hoist it against your body—you aren’t as strong as she is. 

“why?”

“take it as an investment. you strengthen me, my vision. my life’s work. i hope to rely on you for a long time.”

you search for a tell on her face, but she gives you nothing. exasperation enters your voice as a last ditch effort. 

“a note on my desk would have sufficed.”

“do you know me to merely ’suffice’?” ambessa crosses her arms, shoulders rising towards the ceilings, like you’re the one being difficult. “read between the lines, dear.”

“i am. it’s why i’m asking why.”

she exhales. raises her chin. “and i’ve told you. personal afflictions.” she gestures towards it, arms waving vaguely before folding back under her chest. “i wasn’t—sure what color you might like.”

her arms unfold as if relenting, relinquishing—bearing her chest open. she leans back to regard you, hands supporting her weight behind her. the words are quiet and cut thin through the air. 

“are you dissatisfied?”

“no. never, ma’am. never with you.”

you stare at her, then down at the flowers you can barely peek over, then back at her, across her face, her neck beginning to resemble the bouquet the wider the silence expands—and—and—

you extend your hand to her arm, reaching blindly until you land, and her bicep tenses once under your touch. 

“just hungry.” your eyes flicker to her lips. 

she sinks into you like a feeding wolf. you aren’t sure where the flowers crash to, you don’t care. her mouth is as the rest of her—tender and all consuming. you offer yourself to her as a sacrifice, whimpering as you crumple in her arms. her skin smells overwhelming under your hands, her face cradled by your shaking fingers—of creamy vanilla, of baby powder and fresh sheets, enchanting, clothes drenched in amber accord. powerful and near unbearable and expanding like a balloon in your throat.

the urgency rises like a migraine, the need to gasp for air. gently, you shove it back down. not now, you whisper to your weeping heart. more important matters at hand.

©esccpism

RAHHHHHH thank you so much for reading. she’s perfect. i want her to bend me like a plastic fork.

[hd-erised]

Thank you so very much to all our amazing writers, artists, pinch-hitters, readers, commenters, and reccers who once again made this fest such an amazing success!

If you haven't had time to make it through all the fantastic works here yet, we hope that you'll still read and leave some love for our writers and artists! Comments are appreciated all year round! ;) As are commenters—like you amazing readers and participants, including the phenomenal 440 people who have left an incredible total of 1898 comments on H/D Erised works this year—thank you for all you do to make this community what it is!! And a special shout-out, again, to our ever-expanding list of all-star commenters, who have commented on more than half (and sometimes way more!!) of this year’s works: blueheart_V, @sorrybutblog, khalulu, @nv-md, @hoko-onchi-writes, and veradubhghoill!! Thank you!!!

We'll be going through the works today, revealing the authors on AO3, removing the mod account as a co-author, and adding the creator names to the tumblr headers. We'll be sending the participants a wrap-up email when we've finished with all the final admin things on our end.  

Thanks again for making this another brilliant round of Erised! We hope to see you all again next year! <3 @epitomereally @honeybeet @nv-md

Art:

@elizah321 drew Brewed Awakenings for @jessixaluci [T]

@bicholsdrarrysideblog drew The Case of the Mysterious Baker for @sorrybutblog [G]

@discessio drew Ceilings. for @karamelised [M]

@threading-fate drew Us, again? for @nv-md [M]

@frm9pm drew Unemployed and On Guard for @makeitp1nk [T]

@legendrarry drew No One but Me for justlikewriting [M]

@faiell drew Stolen Glances for @dodgerkedavra [T]

@sharperthan drew Hauntingly Familiar for @moonflower-rose [T]

Fic + Art:

@fantalfart wrote & drew A Dragon to Call Mine for @annanother-thing [E, ~24,000]

Fic:

@agentmoppet wrote Where Starlight Falls for @citrusses [E, ~33,700]

The magic concealing Sirius’s Last Will and Testament doesn’t reveal the full extent of Harry’s inheritance until two years after the war. When it does, it turns out that Harry has inherited more than just the Black Family vault—he’s inherited the family’s magic, too. He just has to find it first. And he needs Draco Malfoy’s help to do it.

@sorrybutblog wrote Runaway Train for @lqtraintracks [E, ~18,100]

Harry was already keen to figure out what’s been causing a series of disturbances in the London Underground before Draco Malfoy showed up acting suspicious. Two explosions, several very confused Muggles, and a cloud of mysterious sticky powder later, Harry and Malfoy can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Can Harry shag his way to the answer to all of his questions? Seems unlikely, but what can a man do but try?

veradubhghoill wrote At Night All Birds Are Black for IzRoan [E, ~51,800]

Harry loves being an Auror—the long hours, adrenaline-fuelled chases, and even the paperwork. But when a haunting leads to his suspension, he’s forced to continue his investigation in secret. As he unravels the murder of a young girl, he turns to the one person he never expected he’d need: Draco Malfoy.

@oknowkiss wrote The Melting Point of Wax for @vukovich [M, ~10,500]

Harry Potter is many things: captain of the Chudley Cannons, the fun uncle, a good enough friend, comfortable in the life he’s built for himself. Comfortable, that is, until a risque broom advertisement and a rumor about a fellow athlete come together to send him spiralling into the world of high-stakes broom racing, high-flying turtles, and the chaos of falling in love.

justlikewriting wrote Body and Soul for @a-sentimental-man [M, ~22,200]

When the headaches became worse and it got more and more difficult for Draco to work, he was left with no other choice but to recognise his stupid problem exactly for what it was. Even if that meant realising that the best, or perhaps even only, solution could solely come from one person: the one person he hadn’t seen for months, the one person he was still in love with. The one person who should never know. Because, clearly, Harry would never be able to give Draco what he needed anyway.

@citrusses wrote The Pain From an Old Wound for @sharperthan [T, ~31,100]

Getting hit with a mysterious blood curse is all in a day’s work for Harry Potter. Having to work with his former colleague, rival, bully, and boyfriend, is not. Harry’s not sure which is going to do him in first: the curse sucking his magic dry, or Draco Malfoy, as frustrating, condescending, and painfully attractive as he’s always been.

@lqtraintracks wrote The Most Splendid Thing for @sleepstxtic [E, ~61,200]

Star Quidditch rivals Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter become accidentally bonded. They still hate each other, but now it’s untenable to leave each other’s sides—and my, but it feels oh so good to touch. They’re either going to murder one another, or fall in love. OR: A story in which Draco finally allows himself happiness, and Harry finally learns that he deserves to be whole.

xErised wrote Borealis Green for @faiell [E, ~47,200]

Draco left Harry on the night of their first kiss, when they were eighteen. Ten years later, Harry, now Deputy Lead of the Norwegian Aurors, barges back into Draco’s life at the Ministry, seeking his help—both personal and professional—for a case, to re-capture Rodolphus Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood. Turns out that Draco couldn’t really get over Harry, either.

IzRoan wrote Don’t Fear the Reaper for @thehoneybeet [E, ~36,900]

Harry anticipates it’s Luna or maybe Hermione at Grimmauld Place, here to rouse him out of purgatorial listlessness once again. Instead, Harry finds an opinionated crow, a scroll with his name on it, and one exhaustingly persistent Draco Malfoy, who insists that Harry is his latest soul to Reap. The only problem is…Harry’s still alive. Or so he thought.  Quote: Learning how to live takes a whole life, and, which may surprise you more, it takes a whole life to learn how to die. - Seneca

@tessacrowley wrote Sub rosa for @hoko-onchi-writes [E, ~37,100]

After the tragic and unexpected death of his mother, Draco Malfoy’s quiet life as Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts professor gets upended—first by the manifestation of mysterious and inexplicable magic, and then by the revelation of an inheritance deliberately hidden from him his entire life.

@thecouchsofa wrote Bare Moon Rising for xErised [E, ~15,500]

Potter moved towards him, sticking his hand out. “If that’s the case, we’re both doing it. You do the nude Tornados calendar, and I’ll do the Auror one. Most sales wins.”  Oh no.  “Are you backing out already?” Potter leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Finally admitting that mine’s bigger than yours, then? Or do you want to cop a feel first?”  Charities could bugger off. Nothing good ever came of them, really.

@jessixaluci wrote Fighting the Chill for @bicholsdrarrysideblog [M, ~25,400]

What should have been an average and dull day for Draco Malfoy, turned rather south when he’s attacked in the middle of Diagon Alley.

@garagepaperback wrote palindrome for @threading-fate [E, ~25,800]

“Why did you let me kiss you?” Potter smirks.  “That’s not how I remember it. Why did you let me kiss you?”  “I’m stuck in a time loop. You’re not going to remember, so,” Draco’s tongue drags, calcified around the words. “Why not.”  Potter’s brows furrow but the smile stays intact. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

@amomorii wrote A Soft Place to Fall for @epitomereally [E, ~142,500]

When Harry arrives for his first year teaching at Hogwarts and is struck with a bizarre malignance, how on earth is he supposed to react when Draco Malfoy suddenly cares?

@starquestingfordrarry wrote All These Winding Threads for @amomorii [E, ~35,400]

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat.  He needs a solution. Unfortunately, that solution looks an awful lot like Harry Potter. 

@annanother-thing wrote Second Chance Resort for @elizah321[E, ~42,800]

A holiday forced on him by his friends after the latest in a long string of failed relationships might be a chance for Harry to relax, but all that is thrown up in the air by the appearance of one newly divorced Draco Malfoy. Mainly because they had been together almost fifteen years ago before Draco broke it off to marry the woman his mother chose for him… Feat. a matchmaking hotel, a spa day, an all-knowing Weasley, and friends who do try their best, but can get a little distracted.

@jtimu wrote Seven-and-sixpence for @oknowkiss [E, ~35,700]

The entire plan of Harry’s life had been defeat evil, become an Auror, marry Ginny. Not necessarily in that order, but it seemed to be going that way, the first two managed and the third in easy limbo. He can be better, though. He can be more. Draco will see to it.

khalulu wrote Slip Slidin’ Your Way (In a Land of Fire and Ice) for @frm9pm [T, ~9,800]

How does a war-scarred young wizard recuperate and create a new identity? Harry opens himself to the magic of the land. Draco learns to wonder at the humblest of creatures. Years later, Magigeologist Evan Jameson and Malacologist Derek Black begin an enthusiastic correspondence. They’re in for a shock when they finally meet. Or: Science nerds go to Iceland and fall in love. Or: Why should kelp have all the fun?

@epitomereally wrote Pillar of Salt for @agentmoppet [E, ~62,200]

From the lake in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knows three things: 1. Mirror universes exist, and he’s going to find the best one—the one where he did the right thing. 2. Harry Potter and him are awfully cosy in some of these other universes, whereas Potter in real life is starting to act very odd around him indeed. 3. Draco’s reflection—the mirror version of him, the worst version of him—seems to be growing crueler. And stronger.

@a-sentimental-man wrote Prescription for @fantalfart [G, ~2,600]

Draco couldn’t say he hated his job, not really. In fact, he loved it⁠—and wasn’t that something surprising, a Malfoy being a Healer, when most of them hadn’t worked a day in their lives?—and most of all, he loved knowing that he was helping people heal, above anything else. (And if there was a part of him that craved the normalcy of something that helped instead of what he had been taught to do his entire life? Well. That was between himself and his journal when he remembered to write in it.) (And maybe there was another reason too.)

@traylalascrisis wrote Old love don’t rust for @drarrydoodles [E, ~20,600]

“Why do you keep coming?” Malfoy asked at last. Harry mulled over the question. For a moment he debated trying to turn the tables and asking Malfoy the very same thing. But this time he didn’t want to hold back. “Because I can’t stop,” Harry said.

@karamelised wrote Equipoise for khalulu [T, ~88,200]

Ten years of peace have settled over the wizarding world, leaving Harry Potter feeling strangely adrift. Teaching Defense at Hogwarts is fine and all, but when mysterious magical blackouts start sweeping across the country, he can’t help but jump at the chance to investigate. It would be the perfect outlet for his restless energy - if he didn’t suddenly find himself tangled up in an elaborate charade, pretending to date the Prophet’s most illustrious journalist, Draco Malfoy. Between hunting down the cause of the blackouts and maintaining their ruse, Harry’s beginning to think that peacetime might actually be trickier - and far more surprising - than he’d bargained for.

@vukovich wrote Victory Lap for @traylalascrisis [E, ~4,700]

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat first.” For emphasis, he pinches the skin at my waist. I want to cover myself in him. I want to roll in him like a dog. I want to devolve on top of him. And he wants me to sit nicely and use a knife and fork first?

@maraudersaffair wrote My Mate for veradubhghoill [E, ~26,300]

Harry is a new Alpha and Draco is his Omega Healer. Draco wants to help Harry but Draco struggles to control himself whenever he is around. And Harry wants to breed Draco. Desperately so. Things come to a head when Draco and Harry become trapped with one another. Draco doesn’t have his suppressant and it sends them both into heat. While they wait for help, will Draco be able to avoid being claimed by Harry? Does he even want to avoid it? Harry is gorgeous and strong, and Draco would love to have him as a mate. He just can’t fathom a world where Harry Potter willingly chooses him.

@smehur wrote Just a little liquid luck for @shiftylinguini [E, ~5,400]

Tracking the movement of Potter’s eyes, Draco runs a greasy finger over the thickest of his scars. “You like them, don’t you? Pervert.” Potter tosses his head back, jostling the mass of his curly fringe from his forehead. “I bet you were into scars long before you had any of your own, Malfoy.” Yes, Draco wants to say. I want to lick yours. What he says instead is, “Fuck you.” “Fuck you,” Potter echoes, putting the same pregnant emphasis on the F. Draco bites his lower lip, wrestling down the rise of euphoria. “Your turn,” he says. “Take that off.”

@sleepstxtic wrote As Luck Would Have It for @smehur [E, ~12,800]

In Sixth-Year, Harry and Draco both win a vial of Felix Felicis from Slughorn and, under its influence, have sex in the Room of Requirement. In the aftermath, can Draco and Harry navigate their respective roles in the war, while grappling with their burgeoning feelings for each other?

@hoko-onchi-writes wrote In a Year’s Turning for @maraudersaffair [E, ~89,400]

It’s been nine years. Surely, Harry can handle Draco being back—for Teddy’s sake.

@shiftylinguini wrote Storm’s Eye for @jtimu [M, ~12,400]

Harry’s surprised that Draco didn’t have wards up preventing mortally wounded former school mates-turned-ghosted work fellows from bursting into his house. In Harry’s addled mind, this seems like a great opening line to say to Draco’s gobsmacked face. He doesn’t get that far, though.

Or: Harry gets hurt, Draco is a vanishing alchemist who may or may not be able to save the day, but under no circumstances are either of them willing to talk about Their Feelings. Well. Maybe "mortal peril" circumstances will do it, actually.

@thehoneybeet wrote housewarming for @garagepaperback [E, ~6,000]

First, they had to decide where to live. It worked, until it didn’t.

@dodgerkedavra wrote Go Up to Gilead for @tessacrowley [E, ~106,700]

Harry Potter’s sense of purpose drops dead with Voldemort. So does Draco Malfoy’s freedom. Nine years later, Harry’s still a soldier. Draco’s still a sacrifice. Harry’s going to die in his Auror uniform, and Draco doesn’t deserve to live. But when the clock runs out on Draco’s sentence, a new one starts ticking. As it was, so it will be: they’ll survive together, or not at all.

@makeitp1nk wrote do you (one) better for @legendrarry [M, ~4,200]

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter abruptly loses his Favourite Hogwarts Professor title to none other than Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. He swears it’s fine, really, but the feelings boiling within him say otherwise. Until Poppy Longbottom, Pansy and Neville’s hellion daughter, forces Hogwarts faculty and staff to engage in a very controversial Pureblood family tradition.

@doingthechachaslide wrote Of Stolen Glass and Burning Clover for @saintgarbanzo [E, ~27,800]

A week long international conference. A political scandal? A Malfoy beside the fruit tarts.

@saintgarbanzo wrote Baker’s Modern Wands for @starquestingfordrarry [E, ~43,600]

At Baker’s Modern Wands Lavender Brown is starting a revolution, Draco Malfoy is trying his best, and Harry Potter is really annoyed about it all.

@nv-md wrote Kiss Me, Fuck Me, Love Me for @doingthechachaslide [E, ~5,100]

Harry and Draco are running very late—they’ve got shirts to find, puppies to save, and champagne to buy. They’re also terribly, ridiculously, extraordinarily in love.

@moonflower-rose wrote Equally Cursed and Blessed for @thecouchsofa [E, ~18,200]

Harry’s back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he’s sure there’ll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there’ll be a few.

[httpsserene]

congrats on 3k!! can i pls have a policy states for op81 and the letters A and C? tysm xo

🧾the policy states: cuties don’t pay! — send me a driver and two (2) letters from this nsfw alphabet !!!

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. this is for oscar's third home race of the season (there's only been three races so far and each one has been a home to him)! i consider suzuka a home race for osc cause he inherits it from his adopted brother yuki LMAO happy 3k🩷 tysmmm for celebrating with me !!!

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭: 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐦 fem!bipoc!reader x oscar piastri. explicit content under the cut.

[ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 ] — how they act after sex | any routines? what's their behavior like?

aftercare is something oscar refuses to compromise or cut corners on. making sure your emotional, psychological, and physical needs are met after sex is more important to oscar than it is for you, nearly. the act of tenderly putting you back together after he’s steadily unraveled you is his aftercare as well. skin-to-skin contact is mandatory, whether it’s him holding your hands, scratching your scalp, or pulling you into a cuddle. he needs you to speak to him, to tell him that you’re okay. he needs you to drink an entire glass of water, to eat a few slices of fruit, to let him clean you—yes, he’s caring for you, but doing takes care of him as well.

[ 𝐜𝐮𝐦 ] — where/how do they like to release? can they manage multiple times or do they need a break?

truly, oscar’s preference on where or how he gets to cum is whatever you prefer. it makes sense to him—you’re the one he’s going to be cumming on/in, therefore it’s your choice on where you want him to release. sometimes, he does fuck into you noticeably rougher in hopes that you’ll be persuaded to choose for him to finish inside of you (the primal undertones of him branding you from the inside and getting to watch it leak out does it for him) but he’s not going to be mad if you want him to pull out and spill on the sweat-slicked skin of your inner thighs. it’s not like he’s unable to get it up for another orgasm—there’s always a chance that his next release is the one where you let him finish inside. it’s what keeps him going until you’ve drained him dry. 

© httpsserene — do not reupload.photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[xoxo-sarah]

Okay here is another idea because I love spamming you with them! It’s for our Stevie boy! Okay so basically neither Steve or the reader have had good role models for relationships. So because of this they kinda have a bad relationship, but know this so they sit down and talk and make a promise not to yell or storm out. So they fight and the reader is like whatever and leaves but Steve yells. It’s just their way of showing they care(the reader doesn’t like to fight so they leave to cool off and Steve needs to talk it out). Again this one is really just for me because I’ve never had a good relationship and my one relationship I had I dipped when things got semi hard 🤦🏼‍♀️ but like she tries that after they had their talk and Stevie won’t let her blah blah happy ending please because I need happy endings

Promises Between Us

(The headers have nothing to do with the fic but I didn't know what else to put)

↝a/n: quick fic. thank you for requesting! Enjoy 🩷 ily 💋

↝pairing:Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: relationship problems, bad family issues, parent issues/ arguing, Steve's parents mentioned, crying, not proofread & rushed

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 12.23.24

Steve was terrible at relationships.

He had never been good at them and would let you know if you were to ask him.

Growing up, he didn't have the best examples to follow. His parents were always away, and when they were home, they barely spoke to each other. Out in public, they had the "white picket fence and happy couple" fecade perfected. Honestly, it irritated how fake his parents were. They were the perfect couple to anyone who looked their way.

You, on the other hand, had your own set of issues. Your parents fought constantly, and you learned early on that sometimes it was better to just walk away. All the grief you felt as a child, stuck with you through your children, teenage years, and the start of your adulthood. It probably always will.

When Steve and the you started dating, you both knew it wouldn't be easy. You both cared deeply for each other, and tried to make it work with everything in your being.

But the past made it hard to navigate the complexities of a relationship, some days. You had your fair share of arguments, and more often than not, they ended with you storming out and Steve yelling after you. You always came back, and Steve always apologized. He made sure to make it up to you. You spent more time together, talking, asking each other about the other's day. Anything to erase what was said in the heat of the moment.

Today was one of those days where it was all too much. Steve came home from work, pissed. You simply woke up in a mood. Those two didn't mix well together. After one small comment, it all unravelled.

"You're not listening!" The words echoed through the house, yet seemingly not making their way to Steve, who stood heaving in fury.

"I don't want to deal with this right now- i shouldn't have to!" Steve scrubbed his jaw, feeling it clench.

You two stood across from each other, tired, yet too stubborn to see it from the other perspective.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, "Whatever, Steve." And walked to the bedroom, already getting ready for bed at 5 P.M. Steve stayed in the living room, grabbing something to drink. You both needed to cool off, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

Steve tiptoed his way to the bedroom, with night having already fallen. He stood in the door way, watching as you read a book while leaning against the bedframe. His chest fell.

"I'm sorry."

When you looked up, Steve immediately wanted to kick himself. Around your eyes was red, along with under your nose. The tissue box on the bedside table didn't help extinguish his assumption. You had been crying.

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have brought it home and taken it out on you." He moved forward, toward you. Putting the book down, you sniffled, before nodding.

"Yeah, and I should've been more understanding." You watched as he sat beside you on the bed, before he grabbed your hand.

" I don't like arguing."

So, you both made the promise: no more yelling, no more storming out. You would talk things through, no matter how hard it got.

But promises are easier made than kept.

A few weeks later, you found themselves in the middle of another argument. This time, it was about something trivial, but it quickly escalated. You felt the familiar urge to leave, to cool off before things got worse. The living door invited you more and more as the argument escalated. Air, and quiet. That's all you wanted in the moment.

"Whatever, Steve," you said, turning towards the door.

"Wait," Steve's voice broke, desperate. His dark eyes were pleading, any hint of anger long gone. "We promised, remember?"

You stopped, hand on the doorknob. "I just need some space."

"No," he said, stepping closer. "We need to talk this out. I can't lose you."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I don't want to fight." The air that had become thick from the tension, released. Vulnerability aired out the living room, nipping at your fingertips like the cold weather in December.

"Neither do I," he said softly, taking your hand. "But leaving won't solve anything. Please, stay."

Looking into his eyes, you saw the sincerity there. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

You sat back down, and for the first time, you both really talked. You shared your fears, your insecurities, and your hopes for the future. It wasn't easy, but it was a start.

By the end of the night, you were both exhausted, but there was a new understanding between you two. You knew it wouldn't be perfect, but you were willing to try.

Steve pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

"Me neither," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[eternaldarknesswitch]

Ikemen Villain (Williams, Victor and Roger) As Your Yandere Boyfriend (Headcanons). Part 1.

Header Credit: Ikemen Series

Pairing: Multi Scenario x gender neutral!Reader. 

Tags : Villain x reader, Obsessive Yandere, Dark Romance, Psychological Control, Manipulation, Obsession, Possessive Love, TwistedLove, Emotional Manipulation, Caged Affection, Powerful Yandere.

Warning : Mention of Psychological Manipulation, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Isolation, Yandere Themes (Obsessive/Possessive Love), Power Imbalance, Subtle Threats & Contro, Destruction of Relationships (Friends/Family), Ruined Reputation/Career Sabotage, Unescapable Love (Caged Romance), Dubious Freedom.

A/N : For today there will be no Quotes, but I have different plans, including creating several headcanons (hc), which I have postponed for almost several months due to several obstacles that have prevented me from completing them. The following is my interpretation of what I believe Williams, Victor and Roger would say and act, and I kindly apologize if it does not align perfectly with the character or if you have a different understanding. Please bear in mind that it is intended purely for entertainment purposes and should not be taken to heart.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

Wiliam Rex

As a Yandere Boyfriend: The Golden Cage of Obsession

William Rex is not the kind of yandere who lashes out violently or traps you in chains. He doesn’t need to. His love is far more refined, more intoxicating—a slow-burning poison that seeps into your life until escape is nothing more than a distant fantasy. On the surface, he is a dream: a perfect lover, a devoted partner, a man of wealth and status who showers you with love and affection. But beneath that elegant exterior lies something far more sinister. His love is not a gift—it is a gilded cage.

He doesn’t just want you. He wants to own you, to shape you into the perfect lover that exists only for him. And if that means bending reality itself to make sure you stay, then so be it.

✨ The Good Side: A Love That Feels Like a Dream

At first glance, William is every woman’s fantasy—a charismatic, powerful man who treats his lover like royalty. He has a way of making you feel as though you are the center of the universe, the only one who truly matters to him. And in many ways, he believes it. His devotion to you is absolute, his love unwavering.

Devoted & Protective

William ensures you are never in danger—not from others, not from the world, and certainly not from yourself. If anyone dares to hurt you, even in the slightest way, they will find their lives unraveling overnight.

He tells you that with him, you will never have to suffer. “You are mine, my love. And I protect what belongs to me.”

He is always watching, always ensuring that nothing disturbs your perfect little life. Even if you don’t see him, his influence lingers in every shadow, keeping threats at bay before you even know they exist.

Luxurious & Romantic

He spoils you endlessly—gowns tailored from the finest silks, extravagant jewelry, private dinners in candlelit mansions. If you so much as glance at something with interest, it will be delivered to your doorstep the next morning.

Every moment with him feels like a fairytale. He will dance with you under the stars, whisper sweet nothings against your skin, remind you again and again that no one could ever love you as much as he does.

“Why settle for mediocrity, dear? You were meant to be adored.”

Charismatic & Gentle (At First)

Unlike more aggressive yanderes, William plays the long game. He doesn’t trap you outright—he makes you want to stay. He builds a world where leaving feels like the worst decision you could make.

His charm is effortless, his presence intoxicating. Even if you suspect his intentions, even if something feels wrong, you can’t help but be drawn back in.

His touch is always soft, his voice always smooth. He never raises his hand, never forces you outright. After all, why would he need to when he can make you choose him over and over again?

❌ The Bad Side: The Inescapable Tyrant

But love, in William’s eyes, is not something to be shared freely. It is something to be controlled. What starts as gentle affection slowly tightens into an unbreakable hold, suffocating in ways you don’t even realize until it’s too late.

Possessive & Overbearing

William does not tolerate the idea of sharing you—not with friends, not with family, not with anyone. He doesn’t demand that you cut ties outright, but slowly, subtly, he makes it clear that you don’t need anyone but him.

Friends begin to drift away, business partners start avoiding you. Every attempt to seek comfort elsewhere is met with quiet, calculated sabotage.

“They don’t understand you like I do. They don’t deserve you.”

Manipulative & Gaslighting

If you ever question his actions, he will twist reality so smoothly that you start doubting your own mind.

“Oh, my love, why would I ever do such a thing? Are you feeling unwell? Perhaps you should rest—come, let me hold you.”

He makes you question your own thoughts. If you try to leave, he will paint a picture of a world that is cruel and unforgiving, convincing you that without him, you are nothing.

Any resistance is met with a knowing smirk, as if he is merely waiting for you to realize the inevitable: that no matter how far you run, you will always return to him.

No Escape—Only the Illusion of Freedom

Unlike more violent yanderes, William doesn’t need to lock you up. He simply ensures that every path leads back to him.

If you try to run, you will find that every door is closed, every ally suddenly distant. If you manage to escape, he won’t chase after you—he will simply wait for the world to break you.

“You are free to leave, darling. But do you truly believe you’ll be happier without me?”

And when you do come back—tired, broken, desperate—he will welcome you with open arms, as if he had known all along that you would return.

Ruthless & Unforgiving

If anyone dares to take you away from him, they are dealt with swiftly and cruelly. Careers are destroyed, fortunes lost, reputations shattered.

He never dirties his hands—there’s no need. A single whisper from him is enough to ruin a person’s life.

And if you betray him? If you ever try to love another? His punishment will not be physical, but it will be absolute. “Tsk. A shame, really. I had hoped you would understand by now.”

💔 The Inescapable Love

William Rex, as a yandere, is not a man who simply wants you—he is a man who owns you. He does not resort to chains or threats; instead, he weaves a web so intricate that you do not even realize you are trapped until it is too late.

He is gentle, kind, devoted—a lover who worships you with every breath. And yet, beneath that warmth lies something dark, something terrifying.

Because in his eyes, you are not just his lover.

You are his possession. His prize. His obsession.

And no matter how far you run, no matter how hard you fight— In the end, you will always belong to him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

 Victor

As a Yandere Boyfriend: The Devil’s Unbreakable Grip

Victor may appear to be a gentleman on the surface—charming, elegant, and endlessly patient—but beneath that polished exterior lurks a ruthless, possessive nature that refuses to let go of what he deems his. His love is a deadly game of chess, where every move is carefully calculated, every outcome already decided. He doesn’t need to resort to wild obsession or desperate pleading; instead, he ensures that you have no choice but to love him back.

Unlike a yandere who rages or lashes out, Victor’s obsession is as cold and inescapable as iron chains wrapped around your soul. He is a master manipulator, a devil in silk gloves, whispering sweet words even as he ensures you can never leave him.

✨ The Good Side: The Devil’s Gentle Embrace

Victor is a man who knows exactly how to love you in a way that makes you dependent on him. His affection is overwhelming, intoxicating—you may not even realize the moment he begins to consume you whole.

Devoted & Protective

There is nothing Victor wouldn’t do for you. You are his queen, his goddess, the one thing in his life that he will not lose.

If someone so much as dares to disrespect you, they will soon find their lives ruined beyond repair. He does not threaten. He does not raise his voice. He simply destroys.

“A person who does not value you is not worth existing, my love. Don’t trouble yourself over them—I’ll make sure they never bother you again.”

Luxurious & Indulgent

Victor ensures that your life is filled with nothing but pleasure and comfort. The finest clothes, the most extravagant jewelry, nights in candlelit ballrooms—everything he gives you is designed to make you feel like royalty.

If you even glance at something with interest, he will acquire it before you can even ask.

“You deserve only the finest, my dear. And I have every intention of spoiling you until you can never live without me.”

Patient & Manipulative (But in a Way That Feels Like Love)

Victor never forces you into anything. Instead, he guides you, shaping your thoughts so subtly that you believe every decision is your own.

He will never raise his voice or act cruelly—not outright. Instead, if you displease him, he will simply act disappointed, as if your actions have hurt him more than words ever could.

“Is that what you truly want, darling? To see me suffer? I never imagined you could be so cruel…”

❌ The Bad Side: The Devil in Silk Gloves

Victor does not love like an ordinary man. His love is an unbreakable contract, a cage woven with velvet and gold. Even if you try to resist, you will find that every escape route has already been sealed.

Possessive & Controlling

Victor does not share. He does not ask for your loyalty—he expects it. Any hint of rebellion is met with gentle, terrifying correction.

He does not demand that you cut people off. Instead, he ensures that they leave on their own. Friends become distant, family becomes unreliable, and the only person left to turn to is him.

“You see, my love, they were never worthy of you. But I am. I always have been.”

Master of Gaslighting & Emotional Manipulation

Victor is a man who twists your thoughts until you no longer know what is real.

If you ever try to accuse him of controlling you, he will make you feel like you are the cruel one, the one who is hurting him.

“Do you truly believe I would ever harm you? Everything I do is for you. And yet, you doubt me? That wounds me more than you know, my love.”

Escape Is Not an Option

Victor is not the type to chase after you wildly if you run. Instead, he lets the world itself crush you.

Suddenly, everything goes wrong. Your finances collapse, your friends abandon you, doors that were once open are now locked. No one is willing to help you—not because they fear him, but because he has already erased any path that does not lead back to him.

And when you are tired, broken, desperate—he is there. Smiling, waiting, arms open wide.

“Come now, my dear. You always knew that there was only one place where you truly belonged.”

Subtle but Unforgiving Punishments

Victor does not hurt you—at least, not in the way you might expect. Instead, he punishes you by making you realize how much you need him.

A single mistake might earn you a day without his attention, his cold and unreadable gaze making you crave the warmth you have become addicted to.

And if you betray him? If you try to leave? You will not suffer. Instead, he will let you watch as the people you love suffer instead.

“I would never harm you, my love. But the world is cruel. And I cannot promise that it will be kind to those who try to take you from me.”

💔 The Love That Chains You

Victor does not love in a way that allows for freedom. His love is absolute, possessive, terrifyingly patient. He does not need to lock you away—because he has already ensured that you will never want to leave.

You are his queen, his goddess, his greatest obsession.

And no matter how far you try to run—you will always return to him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Roger Barel

As a Yandere Boyfriend: The Gentleman’s Deadly Game

Roger is the kind of yandere who never needs to raise his voice, never needs to chase after you—because by the time you realize you’re trapped, it’s already too late. He doesn’t bind you with chains or violence. No, Roger plays a longer, more sophisticated game. His love is woven from silver-tongued persuasion, playful deception, and a terrifyingly patient possessiveness that ensures you will never escape.

At first, it seems like a dream—Roger is charming, affectionate, endlessly entertaining. He makes you laugh, spoils you with gifts, and showers you with devotion. But underneath the warmth lies something far more dangerous. He doesn’t just want you. He wants every part of you—mind, body, soul—until you can never imagine life without him.

✨ The Good Side: A Love That Feels Like a Fairytale

Roger is a man who knows exactly how to love you. His affection is overwhelming, but never suffocating. He makes sure you feel cherished, protected, and utterly adored—all while ensuring that you slowly, unknowingly, become completely dependent on him.

Devoted & Attentive

Roger treats you as if you are the most precious treasure in the world. His every glance is filled with admiration, his every touch is a silent promise that he would do anything for you.

He notices everything—if you so much as frown, he’s already finding a way to make you smile again.

“You know, love, I think spoiling you might be my new favorite pastime.”

Playful & Affectionate

Roger is the kind of man who makes romance feel exciting. He flirts endlessly, always teasing, always keeping you on your toes.

His affection is intoxicating—he kisses your fingertips, whispers sweet nothings against your skin, holds you close as if he never wants to let go.

“Oh, my love, I think you’ve bewitched me. Now, what shall I do with this incurable obsession of mine?”

Protectively Possessive (In a Way That Feels Sweet at First)

Roger makes you feel safe. He always knows what to say, what to do, how to comfort you.

You never need to worry about threats or hardships—because before they can even reach you, Roger has already taken care of them.

“Come now, love. Did you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

❌ The Bad Side: The Cage You Never Saw Coming

But Roger’s love is not something you can escape. He ensures that leaving is never an option—not through violence, but through something far more insidious.

The Mastermind Behind Your Isolation

Roger will never forbid you from seeing people. He doesn’t need to.

He simply ensures that one by one, they start to disappear from your life. Perhaps they betray you, perhaps they leave for personal reasons, or perhaps they suffer an unfortunate accident.

And when you turn to Roger, confused and lost, he simply smiles and holds you close. “Oh, love, how cruel the world is to you. But don’t worry—you still have me.”

Manipulation Wrapped in Honeyed Words

If you ever question his actions, he laughs it off, making you feel as though you’re overthinking things.

If you ever accuse him of being possessive, he pretends to be hurt, acting as if you’ve wounded him with your distrust.

“Now, now, darling. Do you really think so little of me? I only want what’s best for you.”

The Illusion of Freedom

Roger doesn’t need to lock you away—instead, he makes you feel as though you have no reason to leave.

If you try to escape, you will find that every path leads right back to him. Your career? Destroyed. Your friends? Gone. Your reputation? Ruined.

And when you return, exhausted and broken, he is there to welcome you home.

“Oh, sweetheart, I knew you’d come back. Now, let’s forget this little rebellion of yours, shall we?”

The Price of Betrayal

If you try to love someone else, they won’t be around for long. He never makes it obvious, never gets his hands dirty, but… misfortunes tend to follow those who try to take what’s his.

“Oh, how unfortunate. I told you they weren’t good enough for you, didn’t I?”

💔 The Love That Laughs as It Chains You

Roger’s love is a game you cannot win, a maze with no exit. He never raises his voice, never forces you to stay—he simply makes sure that there is no other choice.

You are his greatest prize, his most cherished possession. And no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight—you will always belong to him.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

Written by : @eternaldarknesswitch ♕

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[letsgobarbs]

Hi! Welcome to my masterlist :D

If there is anything you like in my work please comment or reblog! I started writing a few months ago and the best part is someone enjoying what you made and then fangirling over it together. It also helps make new friends <3

The header and divider are from @saradika-graphics page.

Love, Marriage & Affairs

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Summary: Convinced your husband doesn’t want you, you turned to Jack for some help. The situation unravels and all secrets come to light.

Length: 3 Chapters (Complete)

His Priestess

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Summary: Marcus Acacius finds his life spared at the behest of a Vestal Virgin who faces unimaginable consequences for challenging the Emperors. Accused of unchastity and sentenced to a live burial, Acacius follows his saviour through her last night in this world. He knew the Gods could be merciless, but to tempt him with love before ripping her away from him was an act of cruelty he had not imagined. 

Length: 4 Chapters (Completed)

His Young Wife

Summary: A spin-off series of His Priestess. An alternate life of Acacius and his anaticula, where she never became a Vestal and they married young.

Length: 7 Chapters (WIP)

Christmas With Jack And Marley

Pairing: Jack Daniels x F!OC

Summary: Agent Whiskey invites himself to Agent Gin’s family Christmas celebration as a cover for a very important mission. He only has a day, just until the Christmas Gala Dinner, to complete his mission. But will he be able to complete his mission? And evade discovery? Especially with Gin’s niece watching him too closely over Christmas Eve.

Length: 6 Chapters (Completed)

Homecoming

Pairing: Dave York x Queer Muslim!OC

Summary: Just like any other war, coming home was no easy feat. He had returned from his fight with McCall more broken, lost and alone than ever before. He'd lost his friends, his brothers. His family had moved on with their lives. With both his legal and not-so-legal jobs on hold, he finds purpose, direction and an anchor in Maryam. She is the bright spot in a world he has stopped caring about, and far too sweet and innocent for the likes of him. Dave is nothing if not a selfish man and he will find a way to bottle his personal ray of sunshine— if only he can convince her to take a chance on her friend’s ex-husband.

Length: 3 Chapters (Ongoing)

Note: This story is only available on my ao3 for now, I will move it to Tumblr once I have written more. The progress is a bit on the slow side but I will not be abandoning this work because it is something personal and brings me joy.

A FOOL'S TRIP

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Summary: Just as Harry Castillo is about to divorce his wife, who is obsessively in love with him, he begins to hear her thoughts. And she doesn't seem to be as enamoured with him as she had led him to believe.

Length: Prologue

A Groom On The Bride Train

Pairing: Hard of Hearing!Pero Tovar x Facially scarred, F!Reader

Summary: Short of employment opportunities in a cold winter, Pero decides to interview for the servant's post advertised on the tavern wall— a decision that lands him abducted and bundled into a wagon full of women, bound for a mysterious town where he is supposed to be married.

Length: 1/3 Chapters (Ongoing)

One-Shots:

Carpenter!Joel Miller x Reader x Lumberjack!Logan Howlett: Just smut. You forgot to place an order with the local lumberjack that your boss Joel has asked you to. Logan takes a little fee to expedite your order; Joel doesn't like that Logan got to you first.

The Plant Nanny: Fluffy and sweet. Javier Peña fails to keep up with his New Year’s Resolution and reminisces about life with his sweetheart after quitting the DEA. Javi P x GN!Reader.

Crying Cryptids and Canoodling Cupids: Javi G has a very bad day and accidentally makes his soulmate cry. Meet ugly. Javi Gutiérrez x Plus Size F!Reader.

Kermit (Pedro Pascal Close Encounter 50th) x AFAB!Reader: PWP, stinky kermit and pegging.

Moodboards:

Javier Peña x South Asian Reader

Joel Miller x Black, Muslim Reader

Retired!Javier Peña x Muslim Reader

Dieter Bravo x Muslim Reader

Marcus Pike x wheelchair user Reader

Clint (Freaky Tales) x Reader

Joel Miller x Reader

Ramadhan with Frankie and Family

My Lore Masterlist

Drabbles and Ideas:

Reed Richards Series of Smutty Ideas

Javi Gutierrez x Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Tommy x Reader x Joel (smut)

Clint (Freaky Tales) x Camgirl!Reader (smut)

Cult Leader!Lucien de Leon x Reader (smut)

Retired!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience)

Dieter Bravo x Reader

Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (fluff)

Retired!Whiskey x Neighbour!Reader (Playful fluff)

Stalker!Frankie Morales x Reader

Jackson!Joel Miller x Reader

[amuseoffyre]

Got thinking today about the first pieces of queer media I experienced and how formative they were for me when I didn't even know queerness was a thing. Double-whammy of super religious family raised in very religious community and then ending up slap bang in the middle of section 28 in the UK, where it was illegal to teach kids anything about queerness.

But it was there. It found me, even when I didn't know I was looking for it.

First up was the double-header of To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything Julie Newmar and Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

It was 1996/7, I was in my mid-teens. I was having a sleepover at a friend's house and she asked me if I wanted to see drag queens. I didn't know what they were, so I said yes. My wee little mind was blown. Until that point, the only time I had seen anything like it had been as a joke, especially Pantomime Dames.

I know that now these films are very dated, but then? When the only other mainstream films with vaguely trans-ish characters were things like Silence of the Lambs and The Crying Game? Having some of the biggest stars of their respective countries playing sympathetic, fun, silly, loving, happy drag queens and trans characters was so staggeringly new and out of left field. I didn't even know what I was feeling but those films curled up in my chest for reasons I couldn't even understand then.

A few years later, doing my English studies and one of the assigned texts was a book called Trumpet by Jackie Kay. I had never heard of it, had no idea what it was about going in, and again, eyes wide open after it. A trans man who kept his whole life a secret from everyone but his wife, only outed after his death. It's beautiful and poignant and wrenching as his kid tries to unravel and understand their father and who he was.

It's been two decades and I've seen a lot of queer media since then, but those three pieces were the foundation of me figuring things out and realising what I had been told all along wasn't compulsory or necessarily even right. It showed me a glimpse of something else, that maybe all the parts of me that I had been chipping away at, trying to make them fit, didn't need to be chipped away at all.

Took a lot longer for me to put all the pieces together consciously. The trauma and self-hate will do that to you. But I got there :) I got there in the end and I can look in the mirror like Miss Vida and smile like she did.

[violetwifey]

𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭 🧁

Roommate Vi AU

Eyes wide open, Heart still sleeping ( one , two )

Unraveled

Villain Vi AU ( tw: dark content )

Haunted

Other AUs

Vi as your genius college girlfriend

Stay still, pretty

Blush for me, Sugar

Dividers from @anitalenia

Header pic edited by me, pictures taken from Pinterest 🫶🏽

[viviennevermillion]

Mortals and Fools — First Look #1 (Coming Soon)

Want to read a SFW coming-of-age fantasy novel with evil gods, two adult aspec protagonists and magic? Consider supporting this project!

Author's Note: After a total of 8 years of posting fanfiction on this account, I am excited to announce that I am finally starting my first long-term original work as an author! Goal is to get this series published as an actual novel but until then, I will be uploading chapters online as I write them, hopefully building an audience in the process! Mortals and Fools will be available on Wattpad and potentially other platforms. The first 4 chapters will be uploaded to Tumblr as well. Over the next few weeks I will keep uploading promo posts with new characters and more info! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported me as a writer over the years and welcome to everyone who's new here!

Summary: In the land of Elsthess, brilliant but arrogant Dr. Immanuel Faust is doing his best to follow the teachings of the Goddess of Wisdom, live up to his late grandmother's expectations and hide the fact that he has been seeing strange, mystical apparitions all his life. When his pupil becomes afflicted with an ancient curse and the things he has seen turn out to be more than just hallucinations, Immanuel must forge a contract with Morgan, a being from another realm who's ready to humble him at every turn, and learn his religion's most despised art: magic. As he steps outside of the simple world he has grown up in, he slowly comes to realize that there is much more to learn for him still.

Themes:

The Meaning of Wisdom & Growth

Unlearning harmful narratives and prejudices

Religious Trauma

Healing from Abuse

Rebuilding trust in others

Learning to understand others

Navigating radical changes during adulthood

Elitism and class inequality

The problems with the ideal of meritocracy

Queerplatonic & Alterous Attraction

Addiction

Gender Dysphoria

What this story contains:

A variety of fun magical powers!

Evil Gods & Forces from other Realms!

Queer rep! (demisexual & aroace protagonists, a trans man and a wlw couple)

Mysteries to unravel

The coming-of-age fantasy adventures you're used to from YA novels but with characters in their 20s and struggles of adulthood

Humor

My blood, sweat and tears as an author

The Cast: Introducing 3 Characters

Here's some info on the three characters in the header, from left to right!

#1 — Dr. Immanuel Icarus Faust

❝ It wasn't supposed to be like this... I've failed... as both a doctor and a man of faith. I wanted to follow your teachings, dear Goddess, and guide those who seek wisdom and knowledge, as grandmother did... but I couldn't even save one innocent girl. Have I become godless? ❝

Raised by his grandmother, the High Priestess of Solbrynn's temple, Immanuel was taught from an early age on to aspire to be the best in everything he attempted to do and dedicate his life to wisdom, in order to make the Goddess Adira proud. Having become a renowned physician at the age of 28, Immanuel understands himself as his kingdom's ideal of a self-made man: a scholar who can achieve everything he puts his mind to, no matter the circumstances. As a result, he has put himself on a pedestal, believing that those who achieved less than him had all the chances and merely didn't use them. Fearing nothing more than failure and becoming anything like his absent, alcoholic father; Immanuel is bound for a rude awakening.

#2 — Morgan Miralaith

❝ While you were having your existential crisis in the mad scientist laboratory you call your bedroom, I took the liberty to read your grandmother's diary. The good news is, I finally understand where all the hubris comes from. ❝

Morgan, belonging to a long-lived species from the realm of Calliah, is the second-in-command for the Elsthess Resistance against the Plague Avatars. While the Resistance on Mhorunn regards her as a capable leader and a skilled fighter; using fire magic to blaze her way to victory; it is clear to most that she has many secrets and ulterior motives. She cares about others in her own way, yet hardly lets anyone close to her. With her mischievous demeanor and cynical nature, Morgan has made it her new mission to recruit Immanuel for the Resistance and, while at it, shatter his very distorted self-image and worldview. Upon forging a contract with her, Immanuel believes that he has sold his soul to a demon. It is only upon meeting others of her kind that he realizes that really is just her personality.

#3 — Mortis Grimm

❞ People reject that which is foreign to them. You of all people should know this. Still, my personal aspirations and origins are of no concern to you. Remember that. ❝

While there are several people from the Realm of Calliah in Elsthess, the realm that Mortis Grimm originated from is unknown. He seems to be the only one of his kind and there is something sinister about him. Wielding powerful magic that matches no other in recorded nature, Mortis, despite being the leader of the Resistance, is a big mystery to all of its members. Usually donning a Plague Doctor mask, Morgan is among the few to have seen his face. He is Mhorunn's greatest ally, but hardly a trusted one. Most understand that he could just as well become its greatest enemy one day.

Interested in reading more and receiving updates as they're posted? Comment on this post and tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Reblogs are appreciated to spread the word! 💞

Taglist — @gwaaaaar @silveryloneliness @noxochicoztliv @justletmeon12 @averytirednerd @letsallsleepoverwork @styrofauxm @non-pressurizeddiamond @mangoinacan13 @amateurmasksmith @kenobiblue @soru-dee @pictures-of-the-stars @elf-osamu @animusicnerd @jaytherat-hometothereblog @watcherofeternalflame

[angelseraphines]

: ̗̀➛ cho sang-woo x oc!roh seong-ah¡!

╰┈➤ [roh seong-ah, born anvara kulov, is a young woman who leaves russia for south korea, yearning for a fulfilling life and the chance to pursue higher education. during her time in seoul, she crosses paths with cho sang-woo, a refined and successful businessman, who serves as her guiding light in the foreign nation. as they spend more time together and develop an intimate connection, mutual affection blossoms, yet their lives are complicated by individual financial struggles. ignorant of one another’s melancholy and troubles concerning acquired debt, both make the desperate choice to join the squid games, and their fates become intertwined within the deadly competition.]

: ̗̀➛ park gyeong-seok x oc!albina ruslov¡!

╰┈➤ [albina ruslov, a young bride trapped in a loveless marriage to a cold and cynical russian oligarch, discovers her husband’s dark ties to the squid games and his malicious collusion with the enigmatic front man. her life unravels further when she loses those she holds most dear, leaving her heartbroken and consumed by a desire for vengeance. determined to infiltrate the games, she disguises herself as a guard, using her cunning and resourcefulness to maneuver through the precarious environment. although, albina quickly realizes she cannot achieve her goals alone. during the games, she saves the life of park gyeong-seok, a desperate player fighting for his ailing daughter. together, they form a fragile alliance, combining their strengths to uncover the truth behind the games and exact justice, even as danger threatens to consume them at every turn.]

: ̗̀➛ seong gi-hun x oc!han ye-rin¡!

╰┈➤ [han ye-rin, a bright and creative young woman with dreams of becoming a painter. her family was abandoned by her american father at a young age, she grew up with her korean mother, finding solace and expression through her art. her vibrant and optimistic personality contrasts sharply with the hardened, despairing seong gi-hun, whom she encounters under unexpected circumstances. despite his stoic demeanor and guarded presence, ye-rin is drawn to the layers of pain and resilience hidden behind his stoic exterior. with her gentle persistence and empathetic nature, she begins to chip away at the walls he’s built around himself, uncovering the humanity and vulnerability he tries so desperately to conceal. their connection becomes a delicate balance of hope and healing as ye-rin helps gi-hun rediscover a sense of purpose, even amidst the shadows of his troubled past.]

a/n: thank you to @lumillsie for the beautiful headers and layout as well as for helping me develop these characters and narratives! these are graphics i made for my original characters for squid games and their love interests! 🤍

[commonwealthcass]

I am of the mobile may I have link please 🙏

Hi @tutvault! Thanks for reaching out!

I think Tumblr made an edit and I was able to add this to the header of my page. Im hoping it shows now for everyone but in case it doesnt, this is the list thus far:

Commonwealth Cass

The Travels Begin

Walking Disasters

Baked Bloatfly

Super Mutant Suiciders or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Getting Down To Business

Daytripper

Blood and Thunder

Sins of the Father

Respite

Don’t They Know It’s The End of The World?

Where It All Went Wrong

Knife

Contract to Kill

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Don’t Be Afraid

Jet

Riot

Getting Closer

I Dont Want to Fall In Love

Reel Me In

Girl, Look At That Body

Don’t Go

A Shot in the Dark

Unravel

Can’t Pretend

Lunchbox

So Long, Brother

One More Tomorrow

Desire (Easter Egg NSFW)

He’s a Tramp, But I Love Him

I Don’t Want You To Get It On With Nobody Else But Me

I Believe in Yesterday

Political Suicide

I’m Only Human

I Just Want To Die Anywhere Else

A Hole In The Earth

We’ve Got A Score To Settle

One Step Closer

Honest

The Writing’s On The Wall

Reluctant Heroes

[bunnytalksf1]

McLaren are fastest. So why do they keep losing out?

The general consensus for the duration of the triple header (since Monaco, for some people, who aruged that Piastri's fastest sectors proved that he could have taken pole with an "ideal" lap). For the purposes of this post I'm going to count Barcelona as the first race they were fastest.

So, what unravelled them? For the most part, it's Norris. He just can't seem to shake up under pressure, and it's costing them results bigtime. He started on pole in Barcelona, and a stupid, overly defensive move that pushed Verstappen onto the grass cost him two places when George Russell jumped down the outside and kamikaze'd his way into the lead. This was Norris' fault, he drove desperately, and made a very difficult job for himself to catch up later in the race, and ultimately couldn't do it. The gap to Verstappen was still two seconds, in the end.

I don't want to stoop to the lows of the stuff I'm seeing online about Norris, but what I will say is this: he seems to really struggle under pressure. This isn't just when he's in a championship fight, it was making the difference in the stint of races last year where McLaren had a competitive car. Qatar, where Piastri won the sprint, Lando had issues with track limits. The inability to keep cool under pressure really affects him in quali, and he tends to underdeliver. He's not a Leclerc, or a Verstappen in quali, where they push and push. I can handle a mediocre qualifier. His racecraft is more than enough to make up for it, and his overtakes are usually smooth and calculated.

Then we go to Austria. Verstappen is making the difference this whole weekend and starts the sprint from pole, Norris from P2. The McLaren is faster and by lap five, Norris was brave and lunged down the inside, but he got worse traction. He came from very far back, and his acceleration out of the corner was sub-optimal, allowing Verstappen AND Piastri to collect him in the next corner where he also ran wide. And then after that he got stuck behind Piastri, who is typically slower in race trim, and Verstappen checked out, losing the win. I do think in the sprint it was less of a indicator of Norris' lack of quality and more so an indicator of the quality of the racers around him in PIA and VER.

Same order for the GP. Norris started P2. Honestly, I turned the race off as Verstappen checked out and my ferrari heart couldn't handle the race after charles' lap one contact (lol, if only i knew about today!!) and then my friend turned around and showed me the george russell graphic, so I didn't watch this live. Clumsy racing from both VER and NOR cost both of their races, VER moving under braking and NOR with divebombs that were never going to work or stick.

The issue for me in Austria is that the damage to Norris' car was manageable to go back out and fight for points, which he sorely needed. He made the call to retire, as far as I'm aware. If I'm correct, he did have to pit twice regardless though, so I'm not sure if that was an influence. The decision to DNF cost them valuable points (even if the max was only two or four, he should've gone back out) and extended Verstappen's lead.

Now we go to Silverstone.

Honestly. A brilliant race. You can argue that Norris and Piastri both underdelivered slightly in quali, but Mercedes were rapid, and Hamilton (at Silverstone, at least, lol) and GR are phenomenal qualifiers. P3 for Norris, P5 for Piastri (after they screwed him with timings on his last Q3 run).

Here's where I'm going to criticise McLaren. Both Lando and Oscar did a phenomenal job today. By the time it was time to pit for inters, Lando and Oscar were P1 and P2, after mistakes from both Mercedes drivers. They then pitted Lando for inters from the lead and left Oscar out, and he lost position to both Mercs, Verstappen and Sainz. Working up to the last stint on slicks, oscar managed to pull back past Sainz, but Norris led the race.

Hamilton pit first, and went to the soft, with twelve laps left to go. The McLaren pit wall had already put Piastri onto the mediums at this stage and the team had all the data, and a new set of mediums. They then asked Norris which tyre he thought was best, and went on a used soft to "cover Hamilton". This, as most of the pundits have already pointed out, was the wrong call, and probably lost McLaren the race win. Norris blamed himself in the post-race media, but it's much less a driver issue here than it has been in previous race weekends.

McLaren has a long standing issue where they seem to over-rely on driver feedback rather than the data that they collect, which is frustrating to look at. The internet at large can be incredibly cruel, and its trendy to hate on Norris right now. Whilst I don't like him, nor rate him as highly as I do LEC/VER/HAM, he's definitely earnt his place on this grid and he's got some very good racecraft. Onto my point: Sochi 21 was NOT HIS FAULT. Controversial opinion, I'm aware. But as a team, you don't trust your drivers, particularly when your driver is a 20-year-old under immense pressure for his first race win in F1. The team had the data, it shouldn't have been a discussion. Pit for inters, pit for wets. Yes, Norris' attitude was awful, but Verstappen is similar with his engineer, and I can't blame him when he wanted it that badly. The team needs to take unequivocal responsibilty for its strategy, and rely less on dialogue with their drivers. They don't have the data. And today was a prime example of that.

Norris would have won today on the mediums. Piastri also could've been in the hunt had they double-stacked. But this is a problem that has existed for a long time and needs to be changed fundementally: the team has the data. Make the strategy decisions, and let them drive. It doesn't always cause them problems, but neither driver is used to fighting at the front and they need their team to lean on. That's the point of a strategy department.

Although Andrea Stella acknowledged much of this, so hopefully the only way is up?

[loozerboykisser]

back in the day networking software was what is defined as monolithic: it was all one big blanket of code that handled everything from the data to send to what headers and information add to it before sending it to the Cables(tm)

problem is, get one problem somewhere, you have to unravel all of it to find where the problem is, and the network stops netting and/or working

enter, drumroll please,

iso/osi stacks

the guys over at iso (the organization) came up with this nifty little trick to slice up the Big into many Smalls: 7 layers (or abstraction layers if you are a big nerd)

application: here are the high-end protocols! like http, ftp (file transfer protocol, what were you thinking?) and the dreaded simple mail transfer protocol which i can say after studying it, it is not simple

presentation: applications dont speak internet, so presentation handles (de)codification, (de)encryption and (de)compression however the Protocols see fit

session: most protocols don't have functions or buffers to remember who sent what so session handles keeping connections alive with sessions: little tin cans with a string so the two members of the communication remember each other

transport: this guy is responsible for whether you want to use tcp or udp as a transport protocol (tcp is slower and has data validation for the recipient, udp is faster but fails more often) and chopping up data in tidbits to actually be able to wring them around the net

network: handles ip addresses, routing and telling the other guy everything is okay because that fuckass udp lost me two whole packet fragments

data-link: the oddball of the bunch because it has a dash in its name. and also because it's two sublayers under a trenchcoat

physical: takes whatever the upper layers gobbled up and zip-zaps the cable to send electricity

basically what happens is application concocts the data, hands it to presentatiom and one it is done, it hands it down to session, so on and so forth until physical sends it to the recipient who is going to do the opposite! physical takes the data, gives it to data-link, d-l chews it up a bit, gives it to network until application gets the oh-so-coveted picture of a cat the sender was sending

it's not over yet as those cheeky bastards managed to wedge the stack open with a lego brick remover and stick a little guy called secure sockets layer in to secure the sockets (woah.). he's dead and now we have transport layer security which is that, but better

whevernevr you see an s at the end of a protocol's name, it means one of these two motherfuckers meddled with your data to make it secure and unreadable to the big mean hackers typing dir /s in green letters in the command prompt

Huh