#with hurt/comfort... because it's my downfall

[yurinaa-world]

Sylus and Rafayel with a fem Sunday please!! You know how Sunday has that duality thing (Like Rafayel) I just love men with dualities😫 it's chefs kiss💋✨ Thank you in advance!!🥰

“𝓓𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮.”

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Rafayel & Sylus x Female reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader that's like Sunday

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: sorry if this isn't good enough; my brain has been blank these days!

💫𝒮𝓎𝓁𝓊𝓈 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒪𝒻 𝒪𝓃𝓎𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓈"

“You should be more careful Sylus.” an exasperated sigh left your lips with a seemingly permanent frown on your face while your hands went to wrap bandages on his arm—ironically treating him like he was some kind of doll.

Sylus, however, seemed completely unfazed by the scolding—in reality, he might be enjoying it. He leaned back slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you work. “Ah, but where’s the fun in being careful, sweetie,”

“I have you as my nurse.” He raised his uninjured hand to tap lightly at the side of his forehead, a teasing motion he always used when he felt like being particularly charming.

And, of course, he stared at you lovingly—completely unbothered by the situation. His gaze was gentle. “Really? What’s your excuse?” You muttered, your focus wavering under his gaze as you tried to finish bandaging him up. The intensity of his look had a way of making your heart race, despite your best efforts to remain frustrated with him. He knows how cautious you could be. 

You hesitated for just a second before finishing up the bandages, the soft pressure of your fingers brushing against his skin making you feel all sorts of things you weren’t ready to admit. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, your cheeks warming, but Sylus simply leaned closer, his smile softening.

“I know.”

💫𝑅𝒶𝒻𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓁 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝒷𝓎𝓈𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝑒𝓇"

“You're acting a tad bit dramatic, it’s only a twisted ankle,” you smile, while trying to be gentle with your words and also not trying to be dismissive.

Which just makes Rafayel sigh dramatically at your words. How! How can you not be worried about him?! He slipped so embarrassingly on a paintbrush! You know how painful that was for him! His foot feels like it’s been cut off completely. 

But because of his ignorance when it comes to actually cleaning his place up—you’ve told him thousands of times not to leave his painting supplies around his house, or else he’ll end up getting hurt by them. But he never listens to you, does he? He’s sprawled out on the couch like some kind of maiden while lamenting over his poor injured foot.

But Rafayel just sighs dramatically, his hand pressing to his forehead like he's some tortured soul. "It's not just any twisted ankle, darling. This... This is the downfall of my graceful existence," he murmurs, his voice laced with a touch of sarcasm.

All while you were on the floor with an ice pack in your hand as you pressed it against his twisted ankle—which was already thinly bandaged by you. “You’ll be fine; you’re under my care, aren’t you? I’ll make sure you’ll recover quickly.” you comforted. 

He lets out an exaggerated groan, then peeks one eye open to look at you, a playful smile curling on his lips. "You know, I would be much more comforted if you gave me something else," he says, his voice laced with teasing.

You blink in surprise, but before you can react, he adds in a softer tone, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Like maybe... a kiss to make my suffering go away? I hear it works wonders."

“Of course.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[calamitoustide]

"are you crying?" from the prompt list (also hi gabby 🤗)

hi zar! so funny story. I completely forgot about this ask and game until I was sitting in class today not paying attention and thinking about this little scene and then I realized it fit the prompt you gave me so I used it. Even though I'm supposed to be focusing on so many other things right now... I wanted to write Regulus with Harry so that's what I did <3

"Papa, are you crying?"

Regulus' breath hitches at the noise. He would've thought if anyone would catch him like this it would've been James, he was kinda expecting it honestly. He didn't think it would be little feet running over to him, and a soft voice so small it weakens his heart every time he hears it. Through his blurred vision, he sees Harry rushing towards him, his little Spiderman shoes lighting up with every step he takes. He takes no hesitation clambering onto Regulus' lap.

"Hi, mon cheri," Regulus murmurs, his voice catching on each word, keeping Harry steady, even if his hands are shaking.

Harry's face scrunches up, "What's wrong?"

Regulus opens his mouth to speak but no explanation comes. His chest caves in more with every breath he takes. He wouldn't give the real one, even if he had one, but he can't come up with a false one either. The panicked breaths and brittle chest are something he's so familiar with, and yet it feels like a new feeling now. It's been so long since it's overtaken him, that he's not sure what to do with it. He learned things to make it better. He's learned the signs so he can call someone to help talk him down. He felt them now too, but he brushed it off. He feels sixteen. He never thought he'd feel sixteen again.

It's stupid. He knows it's not just something that goes away, it's built within him, and yet he had so much hope.

"Papa?" Harry calls out again, his fingers reaching out for the side of Regulus' face. Regulus almost wants to push him away, little tendrils reach for his brain begging him to find a quiet corner far from the light, but he doesn't. He just tries to take another breath, even if it comes out more like a wheeze.

Regulus wants to be able to explain this to him. He wants to explain that he's okay, he's just a little panicked for no good reason. He hates worrying him, especially for things like this. He's too young to see this. Regulus never wanted him to see this.

Harry sits back before suggesting, "Do you want a hug?"

Regulus' chest splits in two. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying again to take a deep breath but it's hard, and the most he can do is a hitched breath before he's consumed by it again. He feels himself nod even if anyone else's touch would feel like sandpaper against his skin right now.

Harry wastes no time wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Regulus holds him back keeping his eyes closed. He can feel his tears soak into Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was crying until Harry asked him about it, he couldn't feel anything, but he feels it now. It's an endless ache, not enough to really hurt him, but he feels it still.

It's been years since he's felt this trapped. He's not other sure what word to use even if it doesn't sound quite right. He grew up as nothing more than a kid trapped in his room. Trapped in a life he didn't want with no options of leaving it. Trapped in skin that didn't feel like his own and a brain that was working overtime to go against him. He's better now. He got out of his parent's house, and he fell in love with a man who showed him all the colors he could only dream of before. He has Harry now. He loves his life. He's even surprised to admit that but he does. He has no reason to feel trapped. He has no reason for his chest to fail him, but here it is caving in again.

Sirius used to tell him there's no straight line for progress. It's not linear. Going backward doesn't truly mean going back, you're always moving forward even if it doesn't feel like it. Regulus doesn't know. He thinks he might've believed it once. He tries to. He tries to be good. He just thinks no matter where he is in his life he'll always be that sad little kid who's trapped in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid it'll never leave him.

"Daddy's taking me to the park," Harry tells him, still refusing to let go. James taught him to not let go first if someone really needed a hug, and Regulus isn't ready to let go yet.

He can't manage to say anything, he only hums instead, feeling the texture of Harry's sweater underneath his fingertips.

"Do you wanna come?" Harry asks him, "We can go on the swings."

Regulus hums again, he wants to say more but all he can manage is, "Sure."

"Good," Harry tells him, "I like when you come."

Regulus' heart aches, but it's a good one this time, he takes a breath. It's shaky but it still fills his lungs all the same. He takes another letting his shoulders drop. He pulls away and finds Harry still smiling softly at him, it's like taking a first breath after you've just almost drowned.

"Better?" Harry asks.

Regulus only manages to nod before kissing the top of his head.

He doesn't have the time to say anything else before James is walking through the doorway, "Kiddo, you ready to go? I thought-" he cuts himself off.

"I'm okay," Regulus beats him to it, letting Harry off his lap.

James' eyes still flicker over him like he's trying to find an open wound he can stitch closed, "What happened?"

Regulus shakes his head, "Just..." he sighs, he knows he can't get out of it. James has never been known to just let these things go. "Worked myself up," he ends up on, "It's okay now."

James doesn't seem convinced, he opens his mouth to say something else but Harry beats him to it.

"Papa's going to the park with us," he says, grabbing at his hand to bring him to stand.

James looks over at him, "Are you-"

"I'm okay," he tells him, giving into Harry's pulling on his arm. He can't make it to the door before James stops him, forcing Harry to slip from his grip making a break for the door.

"Reg..."

Regulus sighs, "I'll talk about it later, okay?"

James' gaze flickers between his eyes before he nods, "Alright," he says, "If you promise you're-"

"James," Regulus stops him, "I'm fine."

Before either of them can say anything Harry's voice calls out from the hall, "Hurry up!"

Regulus smiles softly, "If we leave him waiting he'll kill us you know it."

James rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, yeah let's go."

James goes through the door first. Regulus stays back to take a breath, he thinks he still feels that crack in the middle of his chest. He knows it'll never go away, but maybe he's okay with that, for a moment anyway. The water doesn't always have to be violent, it can be kind and innocent too.

"Papa! Come on!"

Regulus lets out his breath, dispersing the ocean around him, "I'm coming!"

[genderfluidcrowley]

"because all he'll see is me" is a line that's absolutely killing me

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend quinn headcanons

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!quinn!

wc:703

warnings: fluff, cute soft quinn, smut 18+!

authors note: hi guys!! i randomly had this idea this morning so i thought id write about quinn and how i think he'd be as a boyfriend! hes been taking up too much of my mind recently LOL. i hope you guys enjoy!! more fics are coming up later this week! like and reblog if you like <3. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Sfw/fluff: 

Bf!quinn: quinn would be the type of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses all over your body, tracing his hands all over your back. Quinn would love looking at you while you're sleeping, not in a creepy way, in a loving way, that he couldn't believe that you're his.

Bf!quinn: he would give you one on one skating lesions, holding your hand whenever you feel like you're going to fall. He'd insist that he put on your skates, tying them extra tight and patting your leg to make sure you're okay. Quinn would laugh at you when you get excited about skating on your own finally, giving you a forehead kiss, saying he's proud of you. 

Bf!quinn: After a long day at work, when he knows you've had a bad day, he'll cook you your favorite meal. Even drawing you a bath, that you then insisted that he had to get in with you. He would ask you about your day, you would tell him as you lean comfortably into his touch as he runs his hands all over your body to help you relax. 

Bf!quinn: quinn lovesssss when you wear his jersey to a game, he loves seeing you in the stands in his jersey, cheering for him and the rest of the team. He loves the support that you always give him. Waiting for him by the locker room, giving him the sweetest hug and kiss. Always letting him know that you're proud of him, win or lose. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves how you are around his family, how you think of them as your family. How you laugh and joke with his brothers, talk hockey with his dad, how you embarrass him and smile with his mom. He loves the relationship that you have with them. His family jokes that if you guys ever broke up, his family would be more hurt than you or quinn. 

Bf!quinn: quinn would definitely get baby fever when seeing you around children. Imagining if they were your kids, wanting nothing more than to pull you home, and make his dreams come true. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves to be babied, he loves when you let him be the little spoon. His favorite way of being babied is when he comes home after a long road trip is throwing himself into your arms, dragging you to the bedroom, quickly getting changed and laying down on top of you. His face finding its way to your neck, nuzzling himself in your body breathing in your scent. He'd quickly fall asleep as you play with his hair, and rub your hands up and down his back.

nsfw 18+ below: 

Bf!quinn: quinn is definitely a munch. He could spend hours in between your legs, even when you try to push him away he always comes back. He could never get enough of your cunt.  

Bf!quinn: He loves marking you up, showing everyone that you're his. He can't help but feel a sense of pride when he looks over the marks. Smirking to himself, knowing you'll yell at him when you see how dark they are the following day. 

Bf!quinn: quinn is obsessed with your boobs, he considers himself a lover of both ass and boobs equally but his downfall is your boobs. Any chance he has to kiss, bite, lick them he takes advantage of it. You can't even count on your fingers how many times you guys have been late to dinners because your boobs are “calling his name.”

Bf!quinn: quinn loves when you take control during sex, it's a side of you that he doesn't get to see a lot but he loves it when he does. The view of you on top of him riding him, never fails to take his breath away. 

Bf!quinn: Your moans? Oh gosh your moans. They make his knees weak, He loves hearing how responsive you are. His favorite is when you moan lowly in his ear, feeling your warm breath fan his face. When you drop your head back and your mouth is hanging open as your body shakes in pleasure. 

Bf!quinn: loves everything about you.

[spdrvyn]

SOMETHING STUPID — [ wc: 1k. post-btsv. hurt/comfort ] in the aftermath of his downfall, miguel tries to cross the threshold to securing his sense of humanity. he doesn't get why you're here with him.

very much inspired by @spiderman2-99's post! wrote this instead of reviewing for my math final LOL. sorry for the inactivity but i hope this makes up for it :) also yes. the graphics are making a comeback

Gentleness never came naturally to Miguel.

Not to say that it has never been sparked in him before, because it most certainly has. With his past lovers, with Gabriella, with his other family members at the opportune moments, but that didn’t change that alien feeling that welled up inside of him when he tried his hardest to be, or when at the rarest times, he was met with softness on his own.

He’s believed for the longest time that whatever ounce of clemency remained in him would never see the light of day again and that he would suffer the rest of his living days in loneliness, punishment for his misdemeanors and mistakes. Long nights of being beaten down, brutalized, and even longer nights of making sure that no other person would experience what he did too. He would never be able to come back to that, from what has happened to him, and what he has done unto others in result of that.

But, on you? Tenderness looked like a dream on you. It’s a language that he knows you’re completely fluent in, especially now that he’s been heavily encouraged to take a brief suspension from his Spider Society duties ever since the debacle with the Spot and Miles Morales had been wrapped up.

Of course, you weren’t the first person to come by his place but he’s sure that it’s your visit that he will remember the most in the weeks to follow. How your love translates so easily into words and actions; he will never be able to perfect, he thinks. It comes in the form of fresh take-out for dinner, musings of how your day has been going to distract him from the dark whispers in his mind. Now, you line kisses from the scars on his arms to the lingering bruises on his knuckles.

And because he can never allow himself to fully melt under the affliction of your care, “You shouldn’t be here. This was supposed to be a punishment, I’m serving my time.”

You pause dispensing your affections for a moment to simply stare at him, he casts a despairing glance at you from how content you look to be in his presence. Because you shouldn’t be, but you just are. “What makes you think I’m rewarding you?” is your easy reply, “I’m doing what I want, because I can. I thought you’d understand that by now.”

“But I—”

“Do you regret what you did?”

Miguel blinks, taken aback by your sudden interrogation. “I— Yes. Very.”

“Are you going to do something that will make up for it and try not to do it again?”

“Of course, I will. I’ve already asked Peter and Jess on what I could say, bought gifts, and I plan to—”

Before he can begin to unravel the precise details of his redemption plan, you press a delicate finger to his plush lips. “That’s all I needed to know, Miguel.”

He sighs so heavily that it practically blows the air out of your lungs too, as he leans forward so that his head is perched on your chest, where he is comforted by the consistent thud of your heartbeat. Like moths to a flame, your fingertips find home on the curls at the back of his neck. He noses the veins close to your sternum and follows a trail up to the juncture of your shoulder, where he murmurs to you:

“I don’t get how it’s so easy for you,” You can feel his frustrated huff against your skin, “To do this. To love other people so easily.”

Only because Miguel had a language of his own too.

Destruction. It’s all he knows, and all he’ll ever know. When he was younger and naïve, he knew to do what you do now so eloquently. Now time has withered him, as the lines on his face grow deeper and his hairs become greyer, his love is misinterpreted for hatred, his passion mistaken for rage, or maybe all of those feelings were never so separate from each other after all. Still, if he is not a beast, like how people have seen him as, have understood him for, then why is he as depraved as one?

“Isn’t this love though?” Your voice rumbles against his cheek, “You love, so you put a blanket on me when I fall asleep in your office. You love, so you argue with Gwen when she goes off on her own on missions. You love, so you let Peter show you pictures of Mayday while you’re working when you can easily yell at him to get out. You love, so you let me bring you food, kiss you, and tell you corny, stupid things like this.”

Your deft hands cup his cheeks, lifting him off of his hiding spot in your neck and his arms slide around your waist because as much as he needs to, he can’t let go. He needs to, because he despises how pathetic you’ve made him. You’ve sanded his sharp edges and blown the dust off of the traditions set in his life from his traumas, and it definitely wasn’t easy because he has hurt you in an attempt to do the opposite, to save you from the rotten work that is taking care of him in any capacity, yet you’ve stayed and he’s let you stay. Maybe that’s how he’s loved you, all this time.

The warmth in your gaze emboldens him and he leans forward to press your lips together. It can barely be called a kiss, but your faces mold together and the feeling of it practically captures the stillness of one.

From how intangible the success of keeping you in his life is, it almost seems like the universe is making a joke and Miguel patiently waits for the punchline. He waits and waits, but it never comes. The border between his monstrosity and humanity blur the longer you stay around, he would have hated this, but he doesn’t. This, too, is love.

missed writing for him really badly... i've been so swamped with school work but being a diligent student is probably what miguel wants 🫡

[solxamber]

Heartbyul, "for you anything" , comfort pls 🥹🙏🏽 could you please make the character say it? Have a nice day 💜💜💜

i didn't know if you wanted hurt/comfort so I made just fluffy

Light of My Life || Trey Clover

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

The door to Trey’s room creaked open, and the two of you stumbled inside like a pair of zombies. Both of you were utterly drained from the day.

"Never… again," Trey muttered, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

You groaned in agreement, tossing your bag onto the floor and collapsing next to him. "I swear, the freshmen are plotting our downfall. Why is it always us?"

"Because no one else has the patience to deal with them," Trey replied, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know how hard it is to stop Ace and Deuce from throwing cake at each other while Cater’s livestreaming? And Riddle’s just in the corner writing his execution list? I had to confiscate a fork as a weapon today."

You snorted. "I spent half the day as NRC’s official delivery mule. ‘Hey, can you bring this to the library?’ ‘Oh, while you’re at it, can you swing by Sam’s shop?’ ‘Hey, Prefect, got a sec?’ Spoiler alert: I didn’t have a sec."

Trey sighed, his head lolling back against the couch. "Rough day."

"Yeah," you agreed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Can we just… sit here forever?"

There was a pause, and then Trey shifted slightly.

"I’ll make dinner," he said, starting to rise.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Trey, no. You’ve been refereeing a food fight all day. Sit down."

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "No way. You deserve it."

"But you’re just as tired as I am!" you protested.

He placed a hand on your cheek, his eyes warm and unwavering. "For you, anything. You’re the light of my life, you know that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. "Trey…"

"Don’t worry about me," he said, his smile widening as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. "Just sit tight. I’ve got this."

You watched him go, feeling simultaneously touched and terrible. It wasn’t long before the delicious scent of your favorite dish began to waft through the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

When he returned with two plates, you reached out and gently tugged on his sleeve. "Hey. Thank you."

Trey sat down beside you, handing you a plate and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Always."

As you ate together, the exhaustion of the day began to fade away, replaced by the quiet comfort of each other’s company. Trey might have been tired, but he looked content—his shoulders relaxed, his smile easy.

And as you leaned into him, your plate balanced precariously on your lap, you couldn’t help but think: maybe the chaos was worth it, so long as you had Trey by your side.

Masterlist

[bitchface24-7]

Hi V! I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing a fluff fic of reader x viktor or jayce comforting reader on her period ?

All goods if you can't!!

I really enjoy your writing and I live all the attention to detail you put into your stories !!

THIS SUCKS… - VIKTOR & JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you're on your period, you feel bloated, agitated, and your stomach hurts. You can't tell if you're hungry, if you're cramping, or if you really need to shit. Your lovely boyfriend sees you struggling, and takes care of you the best he can.

warnings: menstruation (obviously), pain, fluffy fluff of our boys taking care of us.

genre: m/f or gn/m

p.s. I'm going to write this in the style of bullet points. Also, why not get both? This isn't Jayvik, so if you prefer one over the other, you can just read one part. Love ya! ❤️

VIKTOR X READER

You dread everytime your menstrual cycle hits you. It's painful, messy, and makes you agitated at the littlest things.

It makes you unintentionally be snippy with Viktor, something that upsets you even more since he hasn't done anything to deserve that treatment.

He's incredibly understanding. As someone who deals with chronic pain he understands that pain can make you act in ways that you typically wouldn’t.

Your pain may not be 24/7, but he knows it comes once a month for a week straight.

He has pain killers, a heated weighted blanket, and light food that surprisingly fills you up ready for you.

He’ll even make you sweet milk when you ask for it.

You typically do parallel play, he’ll continue to work, but he’ll make sure he's in the same room as you.

More times than not, he's cuddled up with you in bed, your pleading eyes and pouty lips will be his downfall. He can never say no to you.

Viktor makes this part of your life so much easier, and you can't thank him enough for it.

(its actually his way of thanking you. You take care of him all the time. Adjusting his spinal brace, his leg brace, making sure he has his cane. Helping him take off his assistive devices when he asks. Making sure he eats, he sleeps. He appreciates your care and love more than you'll ever know. So he tries his best to help you when you need it.)

JAYCE X READER

Jayce has a good idea how to take care of menstruation aches and pains. He's practically Cait’s older brother. He was around when she went through puberty.

It was not a pretty sight.

He knows you'll crave sweets, chips, sushi, fried chicken, really anything super flavourful and bad for you.

He knows teas help with cramps, so do heating pads, and lightly massaging your lower abdomen.

He knows you'll alternate between wanting to be alone, and being cuddled.

He knows you'll accidentally get snippy, feel bad, and want to hug him.

He knows it all.

It’s like it was ingrained into him on how to take care of you. He just appreciates that the hellish years he had to deal with a pubescent Cait paid off in the end.

(no he swears she was going to kill him at one point)

Being able to cook delicious food because of his mama makes it even better. He’ll make so much food you honestly wont know where to start. But they'll for sure be something there you can stomach.

They'll always be there to take care of you ❤️

Hi Anon! Thank you for the compliment! Sorry this is much shorter than you probably expected, I just don't deal with my period often? I go like one to three months in-between cycles and I just take care of myself when it happens. I medicate myself and essentially sleep away the pain for a day and a half, then I'm back to normal, I’m just bleeding now as well.

The longest time I went without a period was six months back in 2022 (I was 20 and had gotten it in November after my assumption of extremely early onset menopause LMAO, after that I got a tracker app to help me remember when I get it) and no I was not pregnant. Unless I’m Mother Mary reborn, that wouldn’t be possible.

[mimi-cee-genshin]

A Slight of Hand Makes Colour - Lyney x f!reader

Summary: You think Lyney hates you. He's never used his charm on you. Lynette's response? If you look behind his ear, just under the stands of his hair, the answer will magically appear. (A cute and heartwarming getting together fic that I hope will make you smile.)

Other info: fluff, cute, some hurt/comfort, some pining, family, getting together, yes I know it's "sleight of hand", 2.5k words

*****

"Does Lyney hate me?"

You sat in front of the cafe with Lynette, enjoying a late night drink, and typically you'd be enjoying the silence and scenery together. But your thoughts slipped out of your mouth before you could snatch them back, ruining the peaceful moment you were having.

"Forget what I said," you said, eyes darting back to your drink.

Lynette placed her cup down and put a new cake slice on her plate. "Why do you ask?" she said with no hint of shock on her face.

"No. It was a stupid question." You took a sip, hoping she'd drop the topic.

"I see… Have you finally begun to wonder why Lyney has never used his charm on you?" she asked.

Your drink went down your throat the wrong way and you began to cough. "How did you know?" you asked, a little embarrassed.

"I could tell from how you were eyeing him as he welcomed our newest guest," she explained.

Nothing got past Lynette. You knew better than to try to hide anything from her. You'd often wondered if her greatest talent was actually reading minds.

She was right. You had never noticed the slight difference in Lyney's behavior towards you, even though you had known the twins for a long time now. He had always treated you with care and respect, but lately, you felt ill whenever he showered others with his suave words. You used to be happy just to see him smile.

You sighed, knowing exactly why you felt this way. You just didn't want to admit it.

"I think it's the right time to tell you this," Lynette said.

"Hm?" you asked. "Tell me what?"

"There's a reason why Lyney acts differently around you," she said.

You raised your brow, but you placed your cup down anyway and to listen for her next words.

"I'll give you a hint," she said. "If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way."

What? It was always hard to tell what Lynette was thinking because of the lack of emotion on her face. But even if she'd crack a joke once in a while, she wouldn't do so when you had a genuine concern.

Lynette took another sip of her cup and returned back to standby mode, drifting somewhere within the stars.

You weren't sure what to make of her comment

*****

It was four in the afternoon and the workshop needed to be cleaned before you could start any work. You took the vacuum, which Lynette fortunately didn't break yet, and removed the sawdust on the floor from this morning.

Next, you wiped down the workshop's two-way mirror, knowing Lyney would need it to test another trick today. The majority of the cleaning fell on you, which you didn't mind. You used to be a maid after all – a maid to a cold and cruel mistress. You had never expected to see the twins again after her downfall.

Lyney walked to the entrance after the doorbell had rung and greeted the lady here for a delivery. You smiled as he chatted up a storm with her, always happy to meet new people, and he even added a magic trick to top it off.

"And that concludes today's mini show," he said, returning his hat on his head. "With your lovely shirt and trousers, I hope to see your excellent style at my next performance."

Ah. Another compliment, another knot in your stomach.

At the door, Lyney received the package which reached just above his eyes when he carried it. You placed your rag down and got the other package that was left at the front door.

"Thank you, Y/n," he said with a smile.

It was a short and simple statement of appreciation, which you typically didn't mind. Yet, he didn't say, 'Thank you. Whatever would I do without you.' Nor did he say, 'You're just as reliable as always. Why, I must ensure that you never leave us!' You'd often hear these words when he talked to your co-workers.

But not with you.

You placed the package on the table beside the retrofitted vase and the room went quiet. The two of you typically didn't mind a comfortable silence, but today felt different. You went on with your work anyway, cleaning up the scraps on the work table as Lyney worked at his desk. He didn't even hum a tune as he usually did when the others were around. It was only silent with you.

You sighed, thinking you would've noticed earlier if you were as observant as Lynette. You weren't sure if the subtle difference in behavior was something you should be concerned about.

Once you were done cleaning, you peeked over Lyney's shoulder as he sketched out a mechanism he'd need for a trick. He smiled at you and pointed to the drawing, explaining to you how the system worked.

"But if I place this gear here, its axel would obstruct the door of the hidden compartment," he told you. "I'm not really sure how to solve this one."

"I see…" you said, pulling out a stool beside him. "You said the axel needs to be at least an inch long... Could you add a slot for it on the door itself?"

He placed his pencil's end on his cheek. "That could work since it's hidden anyway," he said.

He continued to alternate between thinking and drawing, often erasing his paper and even getting another sheet to redraw it. You had always admired the work he put into his shows. You enjoyed watching him passionate about his craft.

"If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way," Lynette had said.

You lifted your hand up to brush his hair away from his right ear.

Lyney's pencil stopped moving and his hand was frozen in place. "W-what are you doing, Y/n?"

You were right. There was nothing there. You didn't expect anything, but you thought maybe there could've been a secret magic trick the twins set up for you. There was nothing of that sort.

And then you saw it.

"Lyney, why is your ear…"

His hand rushed to cover his ear. "I-It just turns red sometimes. That's all," he explained. "It's unfortunate that most of my tricks are done at a distance, so I don't have any plans to create tricks that involve me turning red."

"What are you even talking about–"

His hand… He was tapping his finger and counting down from five. Lyney would only do this to activate his 'performance mode', when he needed to calm his nerves.

"Lyney, is there something wrong–"

"Oh, would you look at the time... The sun is about to set," he said, leaving his chair.

"Lyney, wait!"

Crash!

The pieces from the broken vase were scattered next to your knees and under the table. Memories flooded back of your mistress's twisted scowl and piercing eyes, and you quickly bowed your head and apologized. Your breathing became shallow and your eyes didn't leave the floor.

A fan of cards appeared in front of your face.

"Now you see them, and now you…"–he pulled the cards together–"Hey, hold on a moment, why didn't the vase disappear?" Lyney said before sighing. "I guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

You looked up to see Lyney's smile and outstretched hand.

"Would you like to be my assistant for today?"

You had never forgotten how you first met Lyney. Two magicians on a secret mission and your mistress and her husband had a lot to hide. And yet, Lyney had taken the time to redirect your mistress's anger and given you a hand, just like he was doing now.

You took his hand and stood to your feet, not once leaving your eyes from his.

"Now, where were… uh…" he said, breaking eye contact. He released his grip from you hand, but you held him even tighter. "You're not going to let go, are you?" he said, running his hand on the back of his neck.

"No," you said. "I'm not."

You wanted an answer. You wanted to hear it – that this man in front of you was attracted to you. A wonderful magician who won you over not only because of his magic tricks and charisma, but also because of his kindness, hard work, and love for his siblings. And yet this same person whom you admired all this time had the tips of his ears burning red at your gentle touch.

"Lyney…" you managed to say. "Do you like me?"

He sighed and laughed a little. "I guess the cat's out of the bag. There isn't a way for me to escape out of this one, is there?"

You shook your head.

He gave you a gentle smile. "Do you remember our second meeting?" he said. "When you showed up at our rendezvous point?"

Panic had covered his face when he saw you instead of Lynette, his posture revealing he wouldn't hesitate to attack you if you had harmed her in any way. You had to quickly explain how you hid Lynette in a storage room after she almost blew her cover.

"You had come up with a detailed plan that helped Lynette escape and sacrificed your own food for her as she hid. And you did all of this while you were terrified of your mistress. How could I not have fallen for you then and there?"

You had never realized that Lynette noticed you gave her your food. You would've done it for anyone, knowing what the punishment would've been if she was caught.

"Anyway, that's the story of my one-sided love. We should really fix up the vase that had fallen earlier," he said, quickly returning to the scattered pieces.

"Lyney, but…"

"Be careful now, or you might get hurt. I wouldn't want to see any tears on that beautiful face of yours–" His eyes saw the mirror behind you before he covered his face. "Um… pretend you didn't see that."

You grabbed his face and pulled it back, observing his red blush up close.

"Uh…" he said, eyes darting away. "What are you doing–"

"You know, I wondered why you never used your smooth words on me," you told him. "Why did you hide it?"

He took your hands from his face and placed them back by your sides. "Nothing good would come out of it," he said with a sigh. "Especially with my association with the Fatui."

"And what if I want to take the risk?" you said, still clinging onto his hand.

"What?"

"You've always meant a lot to me Lyney, even before my feelings turned romantic," you told him. "I've taken risks for you before. And I'm willing to do it again."

He lifted his other hand to fix a strand of hair on your head, gently pushing it back and getting a better look at your face. "You shouldn't do that to yourself, Y/n. You deserve more than that."

"We can work together," you said. "Just like we always have."

He pulled his hand out of your grip. "I… I can't," he told you. "I can't do it. How…" His voice wavered as he turned away from you. "How can I take care of you too?"

A door clicked open and you turned to look behind you. Lynette had walked into the workshop from the other room.

"Oh…" Lyney looked at her with a nervous smile. "Did you see all of that?"

Lynette pointed to the two-way mirror. You wouldn't be surprised if she heard the whole conversation.

"Lyney," she said. "Do you remember when we jumped off the cliff, and you shielded my fall before going unconscious?"

"What?" he said, turning towards her. "How could I forget? That was the day you received your vision."

Lynette placed her hand on her chest. "You've taken care of me so much for as long as I could remember," she said. "But I love you too and care dearly for Y/n as well. So if any issues arise because of your relationship with her, let me help. I'll protect you."

"I…" Lyney lowered his eyes.

"I'll be alright, because as always…" she began.

"... Lynette is by my side," Lyney finished. Yet his shoulders sagged. "I… I don't know Lynette. What if something goes horribly wrong? I don't want Y/n to take the fall too."

"Don't worry," she told him, shaking her head. "I've already gotten some ideas to get you two out of any sticky situation. Keep it a secret as long as possible and I'll prepare for any contingency plans for whatever comes up."

"I'm still not so sure…" he said.

"Both of you are also discreet and know how to keep secrets," she continued. "The rest of the family would be excited and 'Father' would be fine with it as long as she doesn't hinder any missions. We both know that won't be a problem."

You stared at Lynette, amazed she thought all of this through. She really wanted this to work out, wanted us to work out.

Lyney placed his hand on his chin and thought for a long while. Both you and Lynette gave him a chance to think and didn't mind the silence he needed.

"So what's your plan?" he finally asked.

"For now, the biggest issue is that Lyney needs to figure out how to stop blushing." Lynette turned to you. "I figured that giving you the hint would get Lyney the help he needed with that."

"You gave her a hint?" exclaimed Lyney. "About my blushing? Lynette… I told you to keep it a secret."

"It was going to show sooner or later," she said. "Better here in the workshop than in public."

"Oh Lynette…" Lyney whined. "I can't believe you were the one who started this."

The tips of your mouth tugged back into a grin, seeing Lyney's arms relax a little. "So is that all he needs to do?" you asked. "Just stop blushing?"

"It's not that easy," Lyney said, a bit embarrassed. "Which was why I've been cautious with my words around you."

"Then why don't you practice now?" you said with a smile.

"What?"

"Practice flirting me until you can stop going red."

"I… uh…"

"What? Is the great magician who's a master at winning hearts actually at a loss for words?" you teased.

"I can't help it. You leave me breathless," he whined, sounding more like a complaint than a flirty remark. Yet his face turned red once again. He looked up at the two way mirror behind you and covered his face with both hands. "Okay, I need help," he said through his fingers.

"Keep practicing on me," you said with a smile.

"Can't we start tomorrow?"

"Nope. You need to make up for all the times I got jealous."

"You got jealous?"

You giggled as you scooped up his hand. "Of course I did. I just wish Lynette had given me the hint earlier."

*****

I hope you liked it. Please check out my other fics if you're interested. :)

[adventuringblind]

Don't Leave Us

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: With the mass amount of online hate and a relationship that's not public, it all gets too much.

Warnings: graphic depictions of self-harm, graphic depictions of suicide

Notes: I hope you're doing okay, Nonny! Maybe this will help you like it does me :)

side note: I am not above begging for interaction. Fill my inbox with feral driver thoughts! Interact with my posts! It feeds my praise kink and makes me giggle and kick my feet 🥰

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like the toxicity of social media is a new thing. She's always known that it could happen. She just wasn't expecting it to be so... much.

Her relationship with Max and Charles isn't out for the public. There are dangers that come with opening that up for everyone to get a glimpse of. Reporters waiting to make snide remarks. Fans that want to bash on the drivers they dislike.

Plus, she's not famous. People don't notice her. At least - they didn't until recently.

Some WAG account had managed to get photos of her with either Max or Charles. Not the three of them together. Speculative fans determined she must be playing both of them.

Not all of them, some people defend her. Those comments make her cry out of relief that at least someone isn't trying to tear her down.

She doesn't bring it up to either of the boys. They have enough on their plates as is. Stress and sickness become her new best excuses to not go out in public.

Sure, she's isolating herself and not talking to anyone. Carmen and Lily keep trying. She's just not ready to show her face.

Nothing is sacred anymore. The rumors are too much. Even avoiding all social media isn't enough. She can't even leave her house without someone trying to discreetly take her photo.

Her skin burns with attention every time she steps out the door. She can't eat knowing people are always looking at her. She can't even go to the shop to get groceries or to her mailbox.

It gets worse by the day. Soon enough, someone figures out where she lives. Knowing she has a stalker makes every ounce of security she once had vanish.

It's miserable seeing her information leaked out for everyone to see. Privacy is now a luxury of the past. It's enough to send her spiraling.

When her safety is called into question, Max and Charles bring her to Monaco. They are willing to risk it for her. Their attempt at giving her some piece of mind by staying in the same apartment only makes her thoughts darker.

She's the reason there is so much negative publicity. The sharks are circling them, just waiting for one wrong move. Is she ready to be the catalyst for her lovers' downfall?

The thought sends her stomach up her throat. The thoughts swirl around her head, paralyzing her body into a perpetual state of fear. Stuck in a luxurious Monaco penthouse. Because people being toxic and stalking her is such a horrible problem to have. She should just suck it up; pretend everything is fine.

So then, why is it so hard? Why can't she just be alright?

One week. A plan in her head and a smile plastered on her face. The boys haven't asked about it. Their concern shows in the facial expressions, but they don't push. Maybe it would be better if they did. Send her already crumbling walls to the ground.

She deep cleans on Monday. She does her best to make sure the apartment isn't in disarray, that her own things are packed away, so they won't have much to deal with. The contrasting red and blue of Max and Charles' clothes are the only things left in the closet when she's done.

Speculations start again on Tuesday. Max and Charles spend all day in some PR meeting about it. It gives her time to sort out her affairs without them hearing her. She cooks them dinner to help ease the frustrations. Their teams don't want them to come out, but they do.

Wednesday, they leave to their next destination. She doesn't leave the hotel room despite the concerns of others. Carmen and Lily come around at some point. They eat in with her and kick out the boys. It feels normal for the first time in months. She almost breaks and tells them.

Thursday is media day. She feels for both boys as they get asked invasive questions about their love life. They look stressed. She gets hugged a little tighter that night. It calms the thoughts, but it's not enough. They hurt more every day. She's just wants it to stop.

Practice on Friday goes well for both. Max and Charles are in better spirits. She drags herself out to eat with them. the boys don't care who sees. She does. The anxiety nearly suffocates her. eyes crawling over her skin. Please, make it stop.

Saturday is a wreck. The qualifying is difficult for both her partners. Their relationship status is once again coming under fire. The speculating is becoming extreme, enough for the whispering of the paddock to become deafening to her ears. She spends her time hiding away, writing her last thoughts in messy scrawl.

Sunday, they turn the weekend around. The podium has always suited them. Smiling for everyone to see and dousing each other in champagne. She smiles too, even though it hurts.

They fly back to Monaco that night. Conversation turns to going public despite team wishes. They are willing to risk it for her. She can't bring herself to say yes. They worked hard to live their dreams; she won't ruin it for them.

Monday comes around again. The notes are laying out on the table. The boys are with their friends, some kind of brunch get together.

She leaves the bathroom door unlocked.

The bath filled, her clothes still on. Her thoughts finally still. Tears streak down her face.

The water is cold.

Then it's red.

~~~~~

"I worry about leaving her alone." Charles pulls the car back into its spot.

"Well, if we brough her along it wouldn't be much of a surprise, yes?" Max checks his watch again. "Plus, what could she have done in the fifteen minutes we were gone?"

They haul the ridiculous number of snacks to the front door. They decided last week they would see if they could coax the female out of her depressive state, just for a little while. Maybe get her to confide in them. If not, then at the very least a therapist.

The distance is damn near suffocating. She's so close physically, yet so far away mentally. Always staring at the walls with a distant look in her eyes.

The apartment is eerily quiet when they step inside. The kind that Charles despises after living in a chaotic house with two brothers and three busy schedules his Maman had to keep track of.

He drops the bags and peers around the entry way. Then searches the corridors until he finds one of the bathroom doors closed.

Charles knocks on the door but receives no response. "Cheri? Are you not feeling well?"

Charles almost dives out of the way when Max comes barreling down the hallway. The Dutch tries the doorknob, heavy breathing filling the odd silence.

Charles pales at the sight revealed to him. Paralyzed that this horrific scene could even be a possibility. Is he dreaming? He has to be - there isn't any way for this to be real... right?

"Charles!-" the Monegasque is dragged from his thoughts. Real or not, Max needs his help. Scratch that - she needs his help. "- Get an ambulance!"

Charles fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes the call. Max is desperate trying to stop the bleeding from the vertical slit traveling her forearm. "Is she...?" He can't finish the thought. Heart being through his chest at the possible answer.

"Pules is there but faint." Max sounds like he's desperately trying to hold back his tears. His mind working desperately to keep her alive.

Charles must space out. He doesn't remember opening the door or watching her be carried out by the swift paramedics. The car ride doesn't register, not until they are already in the waiting room.

Max hands him her notes. The paragraphs she wrote to them. A final goodbye in messy scrawl, but the tails of her letters still curled.

"She did it for us, Charlie, because she thought she was hurting us."

They both break down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Charles violently sobbing. Neither of them respond to their messages. Phones buzzing with calls that go to voice-mail.

A doctor comes calling her name. Charles is only half listening. Specifically looking for either a confirmation of death or the relief of hearing that she's okay. Max seems to be paying attention. His shoulders sag, and there is a soft look on his face when they are left to their own devices.

"She's alive, Charlie."

He erupts until tears once more.

~~~~~

Everything hurts. Her thoughts are fuzzy. There is something soft beneath her.

The white ceiling is paired with the burning smell of alcohol. A sterile environment. Meaning-

Fuck. How did it go so wrong? How had they managed to keep her alive?

The beeping on the heart monitor picks up. A sign that she's definitely alive and in a hospital.

Her attempts at moving are futile. There is too much pain and exhaustion to do so. A pulsing behind her ears drowns out the thumping of her heart.

"Rest now, amour."

It takes a single stroke of Charles' fingers on her cheek to make her entire facade shatter into nothing.

She's mumbling incoherent words. It's a string of apologies, rants of anger and embarrassment, and confusion at why they are even here with her. They are continually reassuring her. They coo into her ear how they are so glad she's alive. That she doesn't have to fight whatever battle through hell this is alone.

Recovery is difficult. They have to put her on a suicide watch, but Max and Charles somehow manage to keep her out of the psychward. Mostly because they want to be with her at all hours of the day.

They miss a singular race for her. Then drag her to the next. Part of the deal they had made was that they won't sacrifice their careers for her.

They negotiated with the teams. Managed to wriggle around their soft spots and get them to approve going public. Max and Charles want to openly defend her. No more public executions. They'er pulling her out of the shark infested waters that is the media.

It's slow. People ask about it sometimes; why Charles and Max had missed that race. None of them give an answer. They aren't obligated to.

"Why fight for me?" She asks. a year after the events.

"Because chéri, we love you enough to help you carry the burden."

"Honestly liefste, we fight for what we believe in. We believe in you and the love you have for us."

"Maybe it's selfish, but we want to share that with you. Keep you here with us to go on adventures and explore the different paths life offers."

"So don't leave us yet. You are worth every sacrifice."

[simpjaes]

now that I have had the time to actually think and write out my feelings, here's what i stated earlier except worded better because every time i read my original post about the situation, it doesn't get my message across.

Despite me only having one (now deleted) work dedicated to that piece of undeserving shit, Moon Taeil, I will no longer be writing for nct, period. [ referring to ao3 and ncteez]

One reason being that as much as I enjoyed writing for NCT and as much as I adore(d) the members, I cannot realistically know who was or was not aware of what Taeil was doing. I am not saying that they were well aware and swept it under the rug, I am simply stating that as much as I hope they didn't know, I am no longer comfortable as a fan because it is unlikely that we will ever be able to do anything more than speculate. My second reason being that I have grown a lot as a person and have drifted from NCT in the past half year. The news we all came online to today was something that ultimately made me stop clinging. 

Additionally, i want to remind you all that I will never judge you for continuing to support NCT, but I will judge you if you continue to support Taeil.

I sincerely hope the victims who were hurt by him are not only finding joy in his downfall, but healing. It's not easy to heal from such a thing, as so many of us have experienced it ourselves, but I do hope that seeing justice will make those wounds a little easier to handle. And if you're a fan, or biased Taeil previously, remember that you should not feel guilty or bad for loving him before this. It was his job to be lovable and to be seen in his best light. He manipulated many people but let's hope that he can no longer do that.

fuck moon taeil. 

and just to add, i see people on twitter saying "i heard from somewhere blah blah blah" and "my friend said she saw taeil do this" etc. do not take these things random fans are saying and treat them as truth. we are well aware that taeil has done something awful but I want to make it very clear that with each new allegation that ends up being false, people may begin to question and downplay the whole situation. I'm talking "well this was proved false so clearly he's innocent with the other things too!" etc. DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING IF THEY DO NOT POST SOURCES FROM LEGITAMATE PLACES. I know we are all angry and hurt, but get your information from trusted sources, not the person with a haechan pfp on twitter trying to express their anger by spreading information that could, ultimately, take awareness away from the real victims and/or make people second guess the investigation as a whole.

[wicked-barbie]

To be loved by death

Interview with the Vampire: Santiago x fem!reader 

Rating: Explicit 

WC: 1.5 k 

Prompt: “That’s an awful lot of blood” for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Heavy on the blood play, stalking, oral (f receiving), manipulation, mind control, biting, thigh riding

Summary: You become Santiago's prey

A/n: Ben Daniels as Santiago has a hold on me. First time diving into writing for this fandom that I've loved for so long

A sense of dread crept up your spine as you took the last sip of your coffee at the quaint cafe on the corner. Your eyes darted around, but nothing suspicious lingered in your view. You placed the cup back on the saucer, the ceramic clinking together as you stood and left the money on the table. You hurried across the cobblestones, feeling like someone or something was following you. It was a feeling you couldn’t explain, but it felt like danger loomed in the distance, concealed in the shadows of night. 

Your pulse pounded in your throat. Heady and unstable. The pavement slapped beneath your worn leather shoes, the pointed heels scraping against the grooves. One unsteady movement caused your downfall and sent you spilling across the ground. Your palms scraped against the concrete as the rough surface tore through your stockings and resulted in skinned knees. Tears of humiliation burned your eyes as you swallowed down the pain. You were thankful this pathway through the park was abandoned this time of night; otherwise, you would have curled into a ball of shame.

“My, my, you took quite the spill.”

You lifted your head at the sound of the voice, shaking the loose curls out of your face as you peered around, your heart racing with anticipation. It was quite odd because it sounded like the voice surrounded all sides of you, echoing through the stagnant night air.  You gasped as a man appeared in front of you. Older with coiffed white hair and stunning blue eyes. Eyes that were not of this world, and something about them made you shiver. The black cape he wore surrounded him ominously as it billowed around his legs.

“What were you running from, ma chérie? Was a wolf chasing after the little lamb?”

You scooted away from him, your palms leaving a trail of blood along the cold ground, frowning as he taunted you. How dare he? He didn’t know you and had no right to be so condescending. If you were in a better mindset, you would have slapped him across the face for his brazenness.

“What’s wrong, chérie? Cat got your tongue.” A smirk crossed his face as he loomed over you. He was taunting you, and it made your blood boil.

“You are rude, monsieur,” you frowned, finally finding your voice while you slowly stood as pain surged through your body. You felt wobbly and lightheaded from the sight of your blood smeared against the concrete—a crimson gash reminding you of your folly.

“I have been told worse,” he chuckled. His demeanor shifted as he followed your gaze to the ruby blood sparkling in the dim light of the lamppost illuminating the park. “That is a lot of blood, chérie.” 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern,” you murmured, pushing your stinging palms together and cursing yourself for not wearing your evening gloves.

He tutted gently, stepping forward with intricate grace, and instinctively, you wanted to run. A cold dread set over you. Had he been the one you were running from? The looming dread from the shadows, the breath on the back of your neck, the mysterious figure who had set you on edge that sent you sprinting through the park toward the safety of your apartment. This feeling had followed you for a week; perhaps now, the answer stood before you.

“Of course I care, ma chérie,” he chided, stepping closer and drawing your hands into his. His long nails reminded you of spun glass. You stood frozen, fixated on his unnatural, spectral blue eyes as he lifted your palms to his mouth. His warm pink tongue rolled from his lips as he lapped at the tiny droplets of blood that clung to your scraped flesh. A scream felt caught in your throat, yet you were paralyzed. Pointed fangs extended from his mouth, dragging across your wounded flesh and splitting it wider. He reminded you of a cat enjoying their dish of cream.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice faint and cracked.

“The sweet essence of fresh youth,” he sighed happily, your blood splashed around his mouth, “You are going to be quite the treat, ma chérie.”

You trembled like a lamb caught in the wolf’s jowls.

~~

You waited in your apartment every evening at the same time. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months progressed and still, he kept the same schedule. The night ticked away, and the city of Paris was still alive as people enjoyed the treasures offered in the seclusion of darkness. As if on cue, you rose onto your bare feet and padded onto your balcony. The gentle breeze wafted through your loose hair as the hem of your black dress tickled your calves. You were mesmerized every night as he floated above the dimly lit streets and toward your balcony. Santiago. You were his dark bride, offering your flesh and blood to satiate his voracious appetite.

You gazed up as his hand cupped your chin and pondered how easily those long glass nails could puncture your skin. His lips were cold as ice as they pressed against yours. Warmth spread through you as blood bubbled to the surface, spilling down the corners of your mouth as he laid the first mark of the evening. Wordlessly, he took your hand, guiding you into the privacy of your apartment as the doors closed behind you. You moved as if under a laden spell as your fingers unbuttoned your dress, letting it pool around your ankles and leaving you in silky undergarments. Ones you had scrimped and saved for, savoring the delicate fabric as it slipped through your fingers.

Santiago stepped closer, using his claws to tear them to shreds until you stood naked before him. Not a single tear dribbled from your eyes at the loss of the treasured garments. You moved in a daze, slowly dancing in place to an invisible tune as he removed his cape, leaving him in dark trousers, a white undershirt, and suspenders. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on you as you continued your silent dance before he pulled a chair into the center of the room. You straddled his thigh before skimming your hands over his muscled arms, marveling at how an older man kept in such shape. You supposed there were many mysteries about him that you would never uncover.

His mouth grazed over your neck, leaving the flesh pure and unmarked until he reached one of your breasts. His tongue rolled over your nipple until it stiffened under his touch. The sharp pain made you gasp and rock against his thigh as your blood oozed into his welcoming mouth. It was intoxicating; the pain was quickly replaced by euphoria. Lust unraveled through your body as Santiago continued to claim your flesh, savoring each drop of warm, delicious blood. Your arms circled his neck, one palm pressing against the back of his head to hold him closer.

Moving gracefully and quickly, he lifted you into his arms and placed you on the bed. He kissed his way down your belly, leaving a light trail of your blood over your quivering flesh until he lay between your splayed thighs. Pain and pleasure blurred together as he feasted on your thighs while his tongue claimed your slick cunt. Blood and arousal intermixed and clung to your flushed skin as your fingers buried in his white hair. The sweet release rolled through your body like waves crashing through the ocean. You knew he savored the blood more.

“Sleep, ma chérie. My sweet little lamb. I will return to you tomorrow night,” he whispered as his fingers gently slipped against the tender skin of your eyelids and closed them. A deep slumber grasped your body, pulling you under the swirling darkness of dreams.

Santiago tucked the blanket around your body, a few sparkling, wet, ruby droplets clinging to your glowing skin as the rest dried into a vexing crust. The next day, you would indulge in a hot bath and scrub yourself clean. He lingered for a moment, watching your chest heave with your shallow breaths, hot blood pumping through your veins—an intoxicating ichor that called to him. How selfish it would be to drain you and deny him such a treat.

“What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?” The words rolled from his tongue, ever the skilled orator and performing, falling onto deaf ears before he disappeared into the black night. You were left to your dreams.

You dreamt of your malcontent Santiago, giving your being over to him as his fangs and claws ripped apart your flesh. Consuming you until you were nothing as blood dripped from him. The wolf feasted upon the lamb. To be loved by death. To be wrapped in it’s tender embrace. What divine bliss. 

The next evening, Santiago did not arrive at your door, but instead, a courier who delivered a card and a wrapped box. Nestled inside the box, between layers of white tissue paper, lay a set of silky undergarments to replace the ones ruined the previous night. Inside the white envelope was an invitation to the Théâtre des Vampires on an evening of your choosing.

Join me, ma chérie. Perhaps you will welcome the dark gift. 

Your thumb traced over the elegant cursive of his signature. Answers awaited you. Time to let death embrace you.

[miss-musings]

It’s so funny how in The Bad Batch 3.01 “Confined,” Crosshair and Batcher are parallel characters:

• Omega visits both of them regularly. While they are confined, she has some amount of freedom within Tantiss.

• Both are initially closed off/withdrawn and antagonistic toward her.

• But, through continual positive interactions with Omega, they grow attached to her. (You could say she domesticated BOTH of them … as others joked about here! 😂)

• Both of them are hurt — Batcher, physically and Crosshair, emotionally/physically — and Omega helps them both to heal.

• Both of their lives are threatened because of Omega’s actions. Batcher is slated for termination after Omega domesticates her; and Hemlock threatens to kill Crosshair if Omega’s misbehavior continues.

• Omega eventually frees both of them, and they both prove crucial in their collective escape in Episode 3.03. (Note: all three of them escape Tantiss the same way — via Batcher’s kennel chute.)

• Both Batcher and Crosshair are always ready to Square Up ™️ anytime someone threatens Omega.

• “S/he deserves a chance.”

• Hemlock only ever uses their designations — CT-9904 and LH-201. Omega only ever uses their names.

• The irony of Hemlock saying “actions always have consequences — sometimes not in the ways we imagine”… He literally arms Omega with two individuals who help in her first escape, and pairs her with Emerie who helps with the second escape. And later, Crosshair and Omega team up with Hunter to kill Hemlock. None of this would’ve happened if Hemlock had supervised Omega more closely, or not given her as many freedoms during her initial stay.

• Same thing with “Emotion and sentiment have no place within these walls. You would do well to remember that” … considering it’s the Bad Batch’s love for each other that causes Hemlock’s downfall.

• Omega refuses point-blank to leave either of them behind throughout S3. “I wasn’t going to leave without you.” / “I’m not abandoning her.”

• Also, Batcher and Crosshair save Hunter together in 3.05. 😂

• Batcher almost exclusively follows Crosshair in 3.05. But, after he reconciles with Hunter and Wrecker in that episode, Batcher seems more comfortable hanging out with Hunter and Wrecker too. Like, she fully integrates into the family when Crosshair does.

• UPDATE: Hemlock’s line of “And your domestication of LH-201 only made her vulnerable” also applies to Crosshair, as I talk about more in my Allegorical Analysis of 3.05 “The Return.” Despite his attempts to push her away, Omega makes Crosshair feel emotionally vulnerable for the first time in ages. But, just as Omega ultimately protected Batcher *by* domesticating her, so too does Omega protect Crosshair emotionally through the bond they form on Tantiss. As I speculated about in my CrossDad Episodes Ranking, seeing Omega regularly on Tantiss is probably a big reason — maybe the primary or only reason — why Hemlock’s CX conditioning didn’t work on Crosshair. Yes, Omega made both characters “vulnerable” in a way they weren’t before, but she also ultimately saved their lives by doing so.

[alloftheimagines]

roy kent | just friends

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | KO-FI

words: 3k

warnings: strong language because it's roy fucking kent, mentions of alcohol but not intoxication, bad date experiences with rude and not nice people, including comments on reader's body.

single parent!reader (they/them, bi/pan) x uncle roy in which he is your best friend and go-to babysitter when you have an awful date that ends early. protectiveness, hurt/comfort, and a heated confession ensues.

prompt: Roy Kent x Reader, Friends to lovers?

You’ve never been more relieved to be home, even as the sound of screaming children drifts from your house. You press your forehead against the cool door, taking in a deep breath. “Past their bedtime. Again,” you mutter, but your best friend allowing your daughter to have a late night with his niece, Phoebe, is the least of your worries after what you just experienced. 

Horror. Pure horror. 

“Oi!” you hear the deep, gritty voice of Roy Kent echoing down your hallway. “Come back ‘ere and do my other hand! Can’t be walking around with only one set of fucking nails painted!” 

Giggles follow, and you smile despite yourself. They give you the energy to open the door finally, and you step in to find your hallway lit brightly, Phoebe flying out of the kitchen with chocolate smeared across her face and bright blue nail polish in her hand. 

“Don’t be getting that on my carpet!” you warn, alerting everyone to your presence. 

Your daughter, Maisie, skips out next, waving. “We’re painting Uncle Roy’s nails!”

“Lucky Roy!” She’d been calling him “uncle” for the past year, though neither of you is related to the footballer-turned-manager. Maisie picked it up from Phoebe, and Roy hadn’t seemed to mind, since you’re practically best friends anyway. You’re constantly trying to tire the kids out with play dates at one another’s house, or else exchanging babysitting duties so one of you can have a free night. Of course, Roy isn’t a single parent like you, but he watches Phoebe enough that you’ve formed a bond over the years, one that stemmed from your shared love of your chaotic children. 

That bond has blossomed into something much more than you bargained for, though. After all, he is Roy fucking Kent, and his rough exterior matched with his hidden, softer side was always going to be your downfall. But since he’s been in and out of relationships and never made a move, you’ve let the small crush lie, trying to distract yourself with dates. 

Terrible, terrible dates.

Like the one you had tonight. 

“You’re back early.” Roy emerges last, leaning against the doorframe as he blows on his wet-varnished nails. “It wasn’t the one who speaks like someone’s pressed fast-forward on the TV remote again, was it? I told you they’re a loser.” 

“No. No, it was someone far, far worse than Fast-forward Frank.” You sigh and try to ignore the flickering in your chest, because gruff footballer Roy Kent is currently being pampered by two ten-year-olds and seems to be enjoying every minute. 

“Fuck,” he deadpans. “I’ll grab the wine.” He wanders back into the kitchen. 

You huff again, kicking your shoes off your aching feet and heading into the living room, where the girls are painting one another’s nails. It was at least nice to snuggle up on your couch and watch, legs curled under you. They’re arguing, of course, but you’re good at tuning that out most of the time. 

“You look very nice, Y/N,” Phoebe compliments. “Are you dressed up for my Uncle Roy?”

“No.” Even so, your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but hope he noticed your appearance before you left earlier. In fact, you’d been wondering all through dinner why he’d pursed his lips, jaw ticking, as he’d looked you up and down with shiny, dark eyes. It hadn’t exactly been the look of a man who lusted after you. More the disapproving stare of a father about to tell his child to go and change. “I went on a date.”

“What’s a date?” Maisie asks.

“14th of April,” Phoebe answers confidently. You smirk, glad when they return to their own little world. 

“Right girls,” Roy says as he comes in. “Go and play upstairs, now. We’re talking about adult stuff now.”

“And you should be in bed,” you remind, because you suppose that one of you has to be the responsible parent, and it certainly isn’t him.

The kids groan but trudge out of the room, leaving you in peace. Somehow, that’s even worse. You don’t really know why; you’ve had lots of awful dating experiences, but tonight, you’re just… exhausted. You don’t want to have to keep searching for something that most people find without a problem. You don’t want to meet new people who you don’t connect with, don’t even really like, just because the alternative is sitting at home with only a child for company, or sometimes Roy. 

Roy places the wine on the coffee table and raises his brow. “Go on then. Tell me what was wrong with this one.” 

“It’d be quicker to tell you what’s right. They started by telling me to put a blanket under me in their car so I wouldn’t scuff their leather seats. And then when I told them I had a kid, they looked me up and down and said ‘ah, yeah, I can tell. Have you looked into cosmetic surgery?’” You wrinkle your nose as Roy scoffs. 

“You’re joking!” 

“I wish I was joking.” You rest your head against the couch cushion, closing your tired eyes. “They tried to order a salad for me after that. I told them fuck off, I’m having the garlic bread. They didn’t like that.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Do you have their address?” Roy is already scrambling to get up, and you aren’t sure if he’s joking or not. 

You roll your eyes and tug him back down. “Stop it.”

“I’m not fucking joking. Where does this wanker live?” 

Okay, you realise. Not joking. His jaw is clenched, brows even more furrowed than usual. You’ve seen him angry before, but never… seething. It rolls off him until you yank him down a second time. 

“I don’t need you to beat them up. I need you to drink wine and tell me I’ll find the right person one day.” You pout as you pick up your wine glass, only half-joking.

His nostrils flare, but he settles down. “You will find the right person,” he reassures. “People are just dicks. You deserve better than all that shit.”

“I wonder sometimes,” you admit. “Nobody wants a single parent. I’m a package deal, and… well, there’s a reason I’m still single after all this time.”

“Oi.” He nudges you, draping his arm around the back of your couch so you smell his aftershave. You turn into the warmth, the comfort, though there is so much space between you still. More than you’d like. In another life, he might have been the one you were looking for. In another life, you weren’t searching for a good, healthy, passionate love, because you’d found it long ago, in the schoolyard where you met. 

But you’re in this life, you remind yourself, and you’re a far cry from the people Roy has dated before. It’s clear you’re just friends. You always will be. 

You lift your brows, waiting for whatever lecture he’s about to give you. 

His eyes pierce yours. “Don’t even bother going there. You and Maisie deserve the fucking world, and fuck anyone who isn’t going to give it to you.” 

The words pierce your heart, and something damp and warm trickles from the corner of your eye. A tear, you realise too late. 

Roy sighs, the rough pad of his thumb brushing it away. You’re not surprised by his gentle touch, though most people might be. You know him too well to think him anything other than tender-hearted and caring to his core. 

“Don’t get fuckin’ upset over that prick. Please, sweetheart.”

“No. I’m not.” You sniff, feeling pathetic. “I’m just overwhelmed. Tired. That’s all.” 

His touch drifts to your hair, brushing through the strands and tucking a few behind your ear as your eyes flutter shut again. You could stay like this for a long time. For forever. He has no idea just how much you need him, how much better things feel when he’s around. It would just make sense, you and him — if you took away his fame, at least. You love one another’s kids. You’d become family over the years. You trust him with every fibre of your being as the one steadfast person you can count on. 

“Y’know, you’re the person I’d call in the middle of the night if I needed to bury a body. Or if I thought there was a ghost in my house or something,” you admit. 

His face crumples. “Ey?” 

“Just…” You lean into him, burying your cheek against his chest. “You’re the only person who hasn’t let me down or left me.” 

His movements are stiff as he wraps his arms around you, but he melts into you quickly, holding you to him until you’re not sure where you end and he begins. You hear his heart echoing in your ear. Feel the prickly bristle of his beard against your skin. It’s the safest you ever get to feel, and it’s rare you allow yourself to be so vulnerable. But tonight, you can’t find a reason to keep pretending. 

“I never would,” he whispers. “If it was me, if you gave me a chance at a family like yours… I wouldn’t fucking waste it. They’re idiots, all of them. You and Maisie are precious. You deserve the best. Don’t stop until you find it.” 

You pull away, pulse racing. It’s never felt right to address your feelings before, and perhaps tomorrow you’ll regret it. Maybe you’ll lose him, even, but you believe him when he says he isn’t going anywhere, and you have to know…

“What if I already have?”

His frown lasts for minutes, hours, as he looks down at you. And then you see it dawn on him, and you don’t want to hear how this story ends. You don’t want to be rejected twice in one night. You stumble up. “Forget I said that. I had a couple of drinks at the restaurant, and I’m all… loopy. I’m going to get some snacks. Are you hungry?” The drinks were non-alcoholic, but he doesn't need to know that.

“No,” Roy says. 

It’s all he gives you. The message has been delivered loud and clear. He doesn’t want you. Tears sting your eyes as you leave the living room, heading into the kitchen. You catch your reflection in the window and almost break down entirely. You’re an idiot, and you’ve gone and embarrassed yourself in front of the one person you can be yourself around. 

You grab a tissue, drying your tears, but fresh ones fall all the same. 

And then your back prickles and you know he’s followed you. 

“Oi,” he breathes gently, tilting your chin up as he reaches you. “What are you getting upset for?”

“I’m not,” you lie pathetically, looking anywhere but at him. “You can head off if you want. I can watch the girls tonight and drop Phoebe off—”

“Can we just rewind a minute? Do you… Do you think that you and me…?”

“No! God, no. No. No, no, no.”

“Oh.” He nods, leaning back on his heels. "So no then?"

“No!” 

“All right, I fucking get it.” He lifts his hands as though they might wipe it all away. “I just thought that’s what you were saying before, on the couch. I thought…”

“You should stop thinking, Roy.” You offer him a flustered smile, your face burning. “Honestly, let’s just forget about it.”

“Right. Fine.” More silence. And then: “What if I don’t want to?” 

“Don’t want to what?” 

He shrugs. “Forget about it. What if… we’ve both already found the right people?” 

Your body is electricity now, and you can barely breathe. “What… do you mean?”

He scratches his stubble, lowering his gaze. “Well, I could take you on a date. I’d be much better at it than the losers you’ve been seeing.”

You’re caught off-guard, hands trembling, “Is that what you’d like?”

“Well, I did. I mean, I’ve wanted to. I just… you’ve already said no. Several times. So I suppose I got my answer, and that’s that.” 

“Well, I didn’t think you saw me that way. You’ve never asked before. Is this, like, a pity thing?”

“Fuck no!” he blurts too quickly. “I mean, no. 'Course not. And you’ve never mentioned it before either, by the way. You’re always going on all these fucking dates. When was I supposed to ask? Between Fast-forward Frank and that fucking woman obsessed with her pet ferret?” 

You blink, puzzled. “I mean… if you asked, I wouldn’t have gone on dates with Ferret Fiona.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Now she fucking tells me.”

You don’t like the implication that you’ve been the one holding him back. “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever tried, is it? I mean, I’ve been single for years and you’ve never made a move, even before all this online dating palaver! And you’re not exactly easy to read, by the way. You’re always frowning, even when I’m trying to bloody well impress you! What was I supposed to think? That you fancy me when you always look like this?” You moulded your expression into a big, dramatic, brooding glower and hope it encapsulates everything that is Roy. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking angry now. Proving your point. “Oi! I don’t do that with my lips,” he points out. “And you’re always talking about how badly you want to find someone when I’m sitting right fucking here! That’s mixed signals, mate.”

“It was me hinting! Hoping!” you shout. “I was just waiting for a sign, or something, but you never treated me like anything more than a friend!”

“Because I didn’t want to be like that creepy Allen bloke you dated last year! He was your friend too, if I recall!” 

You sigh, realising the conversation is going in circles. You look at him. He looks at you. Both of you are breathless, wild-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and you know you’ll always remember the way he looks, standing in your kitchen, infuriated and perhaps more open than ever before, because you see it now; that dark look in his eyes was never a guard, never a sign of being just friends. It was want, need. 

It was everything you already feel. 

“Why are you two arguing?” a meek voice interrupts. You both look to the door to find the girls hovering in the hallway. 

“We’re not arguing,” you assure quickly. 

“It’s adult stuff,” says Roy at the same time. 

“We don’t like it when you argue,” Maisie says. “Especially when you’re supposed to get married.”

“What?” you question sharply, turning red all over again. 

Phoebe nods as though corroborating Maisie’s story. “We’ve planned it all. It will be next June at McDonald’s, and Uncle Roy will bring you flowers, and we’ll all have milkshakes afterwards.”

You put your head in your hands, peeking through your fingers and surprised to find that Roy is smirking. “Sounds like a shit wedding, Pheebs. Where’ve you got this idea from?” he says.

“Well, Mum said you two will end up together because you clearly fancy Y/N and it is invevitable.” 

A laugh bubbles in your own throat at her attempt to say inevitable, though you’re still too stunned to speak. 

“See?” Roy whispers. “Everyone else knew. It's fucking invevitable.” 

You shiver, lowering your hands to meet his gaze properly. It’s soft and intent, nothing like the anger of a moment ago. 

“All right, girls,” you say. “Get your pyjamas on. We’ll be up to say nanight in a minute.”

You usher them away, closing the door to when you hear their footsteps on the stairs. You’ve never been more aware of his presence, the fact it’s just the two of you — you don’t even know who you are without the kids jumping about, sticking their noses in. 

“Have I fucked it all up?” he asks finally. 

“No. Have I?”

He shakes his head. 

“Then what now?” you question. “What does this… mean?” 

“Well…” He leans against the counter, fidgety as he smiles again. “I’ll take you on a decent fucking date for starters. No kids, and no more of whatever the fuck this argument was.”

The thought leaves you feeling cracked and seeping with excitement, though you try to play it cool. “Okay. That’s a good plan.” 

“Right. Good. Then… are you free Friday night?”

You inch closer to him, timid suddenly. “I don’t know. My usual babysitter is busy.”

He rolls his eyes and tugs you toward him so that your torsos collide, and then his fingers curl around the nape of your neck and you can think of nothing but the way his lips look, and what it must feel like, having them between your thighs, beard grazing your skin. 

“You’re an idiot,” he rasps. 

“Takes one to know one.” You lick your lips, then his mouth his on yours, rough and ready and desperate. You let him in, let his tongue explore your mouth. You know you shouldn’t. The girls might come back in, might already be listening, but you’ve wanted this for so long. 

You both have. 

You’re breathless when he stops, his hands lingering just above your belly as he bites down on a groan. “If I don’t stop now, there’ll be trouble.” 

You’re not willing to let go, though, and you rest your hands on his chest as you kiss his jaw. “And?”

“And I’ve waited a long fucking time to do this properly. Give you the care,” he kisses your nose, “you deserve. Sweep you,” another kiss, this time at the outer corner of your eye, “off your fucking feet. So I’m going to.” He steps away. “Friday. Seven. Find a new babysitter, and make sure they’re free all night.” 

With that, he steps away, leaving you wanting more. 

“Uncle Royyyyy!” Phoebe is calling. “Will you read us a story?”

He grins, kisses your forehead, and then is gone. You’re not sure your knees will hold you up if you follow, but you listen to him talking to the girls, making them laugh, and you have never felt more right, more complete. 

You’re a fool for thinking anyone else could be perfect for you when the man you love has been here all along.

[ambigiousorganfailure]

i swore my next post would be a continuation of the previous about adler/bell and harrow/case parallels. but i have thoughts rattling away.

bell’s faded, half-baked image of adler and his memories, what makes him as a person, and the fact their cover was as his protégé strikes a cord in me. it isn’t just that they’re comprised entirely of adler’s thoughts and ideas, but the fact that they were suppose to be a successor to him. they’re supposed to surpass him in the ways he’s failed-his aloofness and emphasis on authority creating a vacuum for human connection, to genuine human trust, that gut-wrenching level of manipulation and power. his brute force, persona, and implied penchant for violence being a downfall for any advantageous long-term relationships that he could use.

and i just get a sick kick out of thinking of classical “bell didn’t really die at solovetsky” and adler being haunted by this piece of him he’s killed, marred, destroyed by his own hand that has left such a large hole in him he can’t even lie about how he feels, he can’t even say anything at all, all cottonmouth and overwhelmed by that foreign swell in his chest that he doesn’t recognize (regret? guilt? affection, even?) haunted by it, them, for the last decade.

and here comes bell, wandering in, a ghost once fizzled in his vision and dreams now upright and full of life. and what’s a kick to the stomach, a real “fuck you” to the person who made them out of his own marrow and memory, is that they’re better. their facade of concern, apathy, anger, all these fronts to worm their way into damn whoever they please comes so naturally, a simple coin flip and it’s done. their methods are precise, subtly, stealthy in a way he isn’t. it seems their awareness is tenfold, always noticing the way adler seems to fidget with his lighter or how he keeps turning his head ever-so-slightly to their direction. the piece off of his chopping block, his shadow, made better. a greater strategist and soldier than he ever thought they would be, seemingly fine without him, not needing the one person who has been yearning for them for what feels to be an eternity.

(but bell can only hide so well, even if they’re snarling teeth at him, always trying to stay on opposite sides of the room, because there’s always going to be a pull, magnetic-“i know you, better than anyone else could or can, better than anyone you’ll ever let in. and you get me in the same way i just can’t shake.” it hurts, in those private moments, because bell still yearns for the other half they’ve tried so hard to reject, that their body twists and turns for in the night in hopes of someone to comfort them, someone who knows them. left hand and right hand, severed, always trying to find each other even if they don’t know it, aren’t willing to ever say it.)

[morganas-pendragons]

burn | annatar

i cannot BELIEVE i did this but here I am. i tried!!

this is heavily based off of burn by David Kushner. Hurt, no comfort. I am not sure I got his characterization right but I tried! This is not really "Sauron friendly'' as it very much focuses on the evils of his character.

before you proceed: there are themes of abuse in this. manipulation, gaslighting, etc. nothing physical, much of it is emotional. read at your own discretion.

Enjoy!

@thatlittlered

***

All you've ever caused was pain

You can say you're sorry, the evidence is on my

body but I never complain

He had known he was done for when your sweet, innocent spirit had crossed his path in Celebrimbor's forge. You had seen good in him where there had been none. That marked the beginning of your downfall. The beginning of a cruel, unjust end. One you did not deserve.

His words, though only words, were the crack of the weapon against flesh and blood. The weapon that inflicted the wounds you could not heal, no matter how hard you tried to do so.

Blood kept seeping through shaking fingers. You kept trying anyway. No matter what Annatar said, what he did, how hard he pressed, you still kept coming back.

You kept coming back until it killed you.

It's too late, too late to save me, oh, oh, oh

Celebrimbor had tried to warn you. He'd tried to warn you about the lure of the Lord of Gifts, about his covert manipulations and his insistence in making the seven and the nine Rings of Power. You didn't believe him. Why would you?

Not with the way Annatar sought you out in the middle of the night, whispering words of love - false, all falsehoods, every word from his tongue the lies of a snake - against the pliant form of your mouth while his hands wandered and he took, took, took. He always took.

"Why do you continue to seek me?" You ask him one night. It has been weeks since you've fallen into his lure, hungry for the words and touch, for the companionship.

"For the sweetness and innocence of your spirit, little one."

You watched me Burn, burn, burn

It became harder to discern truth from lie. He never professed those feelings in front of others and often changed his entire demeanor and attitude in his interactions with the other smiths. It's confusing. You try to smile through the words others believe are jests, but it is simply him using your own weaknesses against you.

Your chest constricts. The pain flares. You keep going anyway.

As the days go by, you find your mind more jumbled, a mess of words and emotions you cannot place as you fall deeper and deeper into Annatar's machinations. What remains of your innocence begins to slowly burn away. Burning away those precious pieces of you, those piece of you that made you you, until there is nothing left but ash.

You began to recognize yourself less and less.

You watched me Burn, burn, burn

You work diligently with Celebrimbor in a futile attempt to distract yourself. The lure of him is there, a strong tug at your chest that pulls you against your will, despite every rational part of your mind telling you to remain steady.

When you witness Annatar repeatedly hurt the others around Celebrimbor to make him complacent, you've decided enough is enough. The Master Smith does not deserve the cruelty of the snake.

You, however, are willing to be bitten to preserve him. Annatar has already taken so much of you. What more is there to lose?

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, you're not a prophet Have you forgotten that you're godless?

You step in when the veil is torn in front of Celebrimbor's eyes and the reality of Eregion's fall becomes astonishingly clear. The Elven Smith cannot find it in him to stand against the Dark Lord, but you square your shoulders and swallow the fear as you meet the eyes of the one you love - and you hate that you love him, you hate it so much because you're ashamed of it - before you. They are as dark as the night, and just as ominous.

Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, you're on your knees, and You're tryna speak, beggin' me please, but

"Spare him," You beg. You are willing to grovel, to fall at the altar of sacrifice if it means Celebrimbor will be spared any pain. You don't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this. "I sought you of my own volition. I will take your scorn. Spare him."

Tears burn your eyes as you square your jaw and are forced to look up at Annatar Sauron. He curls his fingers under your chin and holds your gaze there. "Remember," He coos. "You asked for this."

Did I though? Did I ask for the physical pain? Did I ask for the sharp words, the harshness of your tone, the way you isolated me..

Celebrimbor screams as you're swept off your feet and collide hard with the floor of the forge. Blood fills your mouth. Your head spins with the force of the impact, and you're just able to twist your head enough to spit the blood from your mouth onto the floor.

Better you than Celebrimbor.

Don't even say what you're gonna say It's too late, too late, baby

"You know, you really had me," You force yourself to your feet and shield Celebrimbor's body with your own, despite very well knowing that Celebrimbor's body is impacted by the arrows that impale his skin and the blood that coats his face and arms. "I really, really thought that you loved me the way you claimed. It was all a ruse. You needed me to help you get close to Celebrimbor, and when I wouldn't do what you wanted, you tore me down in the process. Are you-"

A single arrow pierces through your chest. Despite the pain that radiates through your whole being, you remain on your feet and meet his gaze head-on with a flash of bloodied teeth.

"You win. Are you happy now?"

It's too late, too late to save me, oh, oh, oh

He wanted so badly to spare you. Sauron wished to be able to succumb to that ache in his heart that was eased by your presence, but you were so sweet and easy to corrupt. It would be better this way.

"There is no happiness in suffering," Annatar remarks. You brace yourself for the second arrow. "Especially when suffering is sought of your own volition, little one. I wish you did not have to feel it."

Tears slide down your cheeks, but you do not cry for mercy. Neither does Celebrimbor. There's no point.

You intend to make him remember you.

You watched me Burn, burn, burn

It is the fifth arrow that falls you. You fall to your knees in front of Celebrimbor, close enough that he can comfortingly wrap his fingers around your arm so you remember that you are not alone. "You, Sauron, will be haunted for all your days by the presence of the Ring Maker," You snap weakly, grimacing when he twists the arrow deeper into your chest. "And will be felled by one with too much to lose, who will cause you nothing but utter devastation. Then you will remember."

He cannot help it. Your words pique his curiosity.

"Remember what?"

You crane your neck as high as you physically can before you hiss, "Pride cometh before the fall."

Fire blazes behind his eyes as, with a mighty cry, he plunges one of the discarded daggers on the floor into your heart. Celebrimbor weeps for your loss as you slide out of his hold and onto the floor. You peer up at Sauron as the blood fills your lungs, the shadow of death looming over you as relief washes over your body.

He can't hurt you anymore.

The darkness claims you, and for the first time in months, you are finally at peace.

***

You are not present to the tears that fall at your loss nor at Celebrimbor's loss.

Sauron stands in the tomb of the Great Forge that holds the two bodies of the people who tried so hard to oppose him the most, the one he loved the most, the one who believed so hard that there had been good in him.

How naive.

"Are you him? Are you Lord Sauron?"

Annatar blinks away the tears and turns to face the Uruk, expression grave.

"I have many names."

***

"Lord Celebrimbor fell when the city did. They say that Sauron was his end. He opposed the dark lord until he claimed his life. But the rumor says there was another... someone else who fought with him and sacrificed themselves to Sauron."

"Do you know who they are?"

A shrug. "We never learned their name. Maybe their legacy will be written into the histories of Middle Earth." Forlorn, longing eyes cast themselves upon the smoking ruins of Eregion. "But we will never know."

They will never know you, for he burned you away until there was nothing left to be found.

A shame.

You watched me Burn, burn, burn