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leascorner · 3 months

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b.b. | With child

Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader

Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.

Words Count: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!

“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.

Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.

His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.

You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.

He did not mind, or so he thought…

Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.

Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.

The ride home that night was particularly quiet.

Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.

On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.

He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?

He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.

When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.

Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.

Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.

“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.

Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.

You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.

Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.

He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.

He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.

He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.

In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.

All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.

It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.

“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.

“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.

He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:

“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”

“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”

“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.

It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.

“My love, this is not your fault.”

“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.

“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”

“Ben, of course, no!”

“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.

You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.

He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.

“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”

“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.

Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.

“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”

“Ben, of course, I want your children!”

Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.

If he could not tell you, he could still show you…

Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.

“We should just take some time away from here.”

“What do you mean? The season only began-”

“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”

Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.

His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.

“France, it is then.”

Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.

One of the many to come.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x female reader #lea's writing #benedict bridgerton fanfiction

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elumish · 3 months

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In the wake of what's going on in the world, I see a lot of rhetoric that basically boils down to the idea that everyone has a responsibility to watch every bad thing that's going on in the world all the time. That awareness itself is a responsibility that everyone has always.

I'm not going to say that people do or don't have a responsibility to be aware of things, but I want to talk about how to take care of yourself and others while doing so.

For some context, I spent close to a year and a half reading about every terrorist attack in the world as part of my work on the Global Terrorism Database. It was 2015/2016, so this was the height of ISIS/Daesh, it was a major time for Boko Haram, and it was when there was a lot of political violence that we weren't sure how to classify in places like Yemen, Crimea, and Libya (stuff the GTD didn't know how to classify had all of is information recorded, and then it went into purgatory until someone above my paygrade decided what to do with it). What this means is that I was spending 10-20 hours a week reading about hundreds or thousands of attacks a month and, in my case, recording infomation about the type of attack and the type of weapon. Much of my life was reading terrible things.

Limit what you do in isolation. One of the worst changes for me during that time, mental health-wise (even though it was great for my commute) was when I went from working in-person to working remotely. With other people, there are ways to diffuse the pain. A burden shared is a burden halved and all that. That may mean talking about it, or joking about it, or finding some other way to engage with it that isn't just reading about the most horrible things in the world and then stewing in your own thoughts about them.

Find something to do that's totally unrelated. I highly recommend finding something to do with your hands, if you can (knitting, Lego, cooking, whatever), but regardless of what it is, you should have some time when you entirely switch away to something different. During a fair amount of my time with the GTD, I was also doing my undergrad thesis about terrorism on TV, so a huge amount of my life was about terrorism in some way. The only other thing I watched was Great British Bake Off, and I would just rewatch the episodes, over and over.

Be compassionate about how you share information and with whom. Use trigger warnings, and consider using consistent tagging on places like Tumblr so people can blacklist it if they need to. Also consider whether it's appropriate or necessary to share photos of bodies or other results of horrible violence. What is it accomplishing, to show that? Can that goal be accomplished other ways that don't require the equivalent of jumpscares of unexpected photos of dead or brutalized people? Are you just showing it because you think that everyone should have to see it? If you are showing it, are there ways to mitigate against harm it may do?

Do what you can to avoid an echo chamber. Sometimes, when everyone around you is upset or angry about the same thing, it just amplifies itself, and you all get angrier and more upset in perpetuity without accomplishing anything.

Work towards action. Watching terrible things happen for the sake of saying that you haven't looked away isn't as meaningful as taking action in some way. Write to your Congressperson. Donate. Do whatever is appropriate for the thing you want to stop. But penance via watching terrible things happen doesn't accomplish anything.

Recognize compassion fatigue and do what you can to mitigate it. If you spend long enough doing this, you start to lose context, and you start to become less able to have compassion about things. If you're reading about attacks with dozens or hundreds of deaths regularly, five can start to not seem like that many. If you're reading only about the worst suffering in the world, "lesser" suffering of those around you can start to seem unimportant and petty. Do what you can to mitigate that.

Be kind to yourself. You do nobody any good if you burn out. Look away, if you need to. Take a break. Do things so you can enjoy life, because otherwise you are just another person suffering in the world. Other people's pain isn't a hair shirt for you to wear.

#elumish blogs #compassion fatigue #activism

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thestarsarebrightertonight · 26 days

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i love you , its ruining my life!! // lorenzo berkshire x fem hufflepuff reader

playlist : fortnight - taylor swift

summary : lorenzo berkshire is so completely infatuated with a girl in hufflepuff , its ruining his life!!

y/n used , hufflepuff reader , ttpd was amazing, fluff

a/n : im the queen of slytherin boys x hufflepuff reader lets be honest ,also fortnight is a sad song but i did a different take on it bc fluff is just better !! LMAO

masterlist tppd series masterlist

its been three months since the very first time lorenzo berkshire saw you in class. he had never seen you before despite your presence being a constant since 1st year, and to say you hadnt gone unseen since was an understatement.

lorenzo berkshire has found himself in nothing but trouble since his little crush on you first blossomed , the very first time he saw you , that fateful day in potions - he had lost 20 points for slytherin in one lesson. and the reasons for his points deduction was simple , he just couldnt focus.

you pushed your hair behind your ear , he dropped his ink pot onto the floor , the loud smash interrupting snapes monotone first lesson back speech.

five points.

you laughed at something your male seat partner said , lorenzo clenched his fist so hard that he snapped his quill as the ink and snapped up feather made a mess of his desk.

five points.

you spoke to lorenzos best friend , theodore , making him misplace an ingredient into his cauldron that caused it to explode back into draco -his seat partner and friends- face.

ten points.

to say his friends and whole house were infruriated with him after that ,was an understatment - enzo had gotten them into points debt on the very first day. thats never even been done before!

but they were even angrier with him a few weeks ago.

it was the day of the highly anticipated , very first, gryffindor vs slytherin match of the year - and enzo bottled it because he was looking at you in the stands.

who could blame him! you were stood in the stands wearing a slytherin scarf with the number 13 on your cheek in green face paint , his number!!

the amount of quaffles he failed to catch and goals he missed completely because of his focus being elsewhere , became too much to count by the end of the match. that slytherin lost by the way.

but even when draco screamed in his face and theodore pushed him into the changing rooms , his mind couldnt leave your happy face as you watched him - and only him.

the most recent incident was when he sat in an exam , not writing a single word because he couldnt stop thinking about how you smiled at him and said hello to him earlier that day. he tried to play it off as hufflepuff friendliness but the red tint in your cheeks and beaming smile blocked out any thought of doubt - and charms knowledge.

that charms test was the first fail he has ever gotten at hogwarts.

all because of you and your pretty stupid smile!

as he stared down at his paper a week later with a horified expression and a sympathetic pansy rubbing his back , he decided enough was enough , he needed to get this off his chest.

so later that day he now found himself sat in the great hall , staring at where you usually sit , except the spot was empty.

his leg bounced under the table as he played with his hands and tie , loosening and re-loosening it every two seconds.

"lorenzo please stop." pansy begged with her head in her hands , trying to will the sound of lorenzos tapping foot to become white noise.

snapping out of it he stopped all movement and looked down with a somber sigh , maybe something happened to you? maybe youre avoiding him? maybe you hate him? maybe youre not hungry?

"enzo chill mate shes just walked in." theodore said looking at something - or someone - by the enterance to the great hall.

without sparing a seond enzo stormed over to you , grabbing your hand softly and stopping your walk to the hufflepuff table.

"please come with me," enzo said as more of a command as you nodded with concern and followed him out the hall and to an empty corridor.

he stopped you so you were stood against the wall and began to pace.

after many seconds of silence you began to question why you were there ,"lorenz-"

"i love you, and its ruining my life!!" he said loudly , stopping in his tracks staring at you , not with anger but instead despiration.

he now stepped forward as you stepped back and hit the wall , "ive lost points , matches , i failed my test for the first time ever!.....please. please say no and let me move on."

you stared up at him in complete shock , "lorenzo you dont know me-"

"i do. oh trust me i do , i know you prefer cats and like muggle classics as well as poetry. your favourite colour is yellow but you dont really tell anyone as to not be called a stereotypical hufflepuff. and...i know theres things i dont know but there is nothing else on this planet i want to learn more about, than you."

you began to beam your signature smile up at him , bringing your arms to wrap around his neck as he melted under your touch, "i failed charms too."

it was his turned to now be confused , "but charms is your favourite?-"

"there was this really handsome guy sat in front of me who i just couldnt stop looking at. he was distracting me."

lorenzo expression fell as his heart broke slowly , "w-who?..."

you looked at him teasingly , "seriously? you enzo!"

he let out a gasp of realisation as you pulled him down towards you for a kiss.

lets just say since that day you both got straight As! but thats not to say enzo doesnt still like to admire in lesson.

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save-the-villainous-cat · 1 month

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So sidekick is like the protective younger sibling (or younger sibling figure) of hero and they find out their older sibling is having a thing with the villain so they go and confront the villain and is all like “you don’t deserve to date my big sibling you sick, nasty villain”

But then villain pulls out the reverse uno card and is all like “oh please as if i don’t know you’re secretly seeing my henchman at the club every Friday night 🤨” then sidekick is like “😦😦they’re your HENCHMAN?-“

“I swear, if you touch them—”

“Oh please, they beg me for it.” They took a sip of their drink and leaned back, satisfied by the entertainment the sidekick gave them.

They were a lot like the hero, the villain realised. An angrier and smaller version of their nemesis.

“Ugh. Ew. Argh— I mean it, if you hurt them, you’re done.” The sidekick raised their finger but the villain couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you gonna do? Uninvite me to your birthday party?”

“You—”

In a sense, it put the villain’s mind at ease. To know that someone was there who was just as worried, just as protective over the hero was comforting. The hero needed to be protected with all their hot-headedness and impulsive decisions.

They could get into a lot of trouble, into a lot of fights. The villain had seen the scars.

“Listen, kid. You’re worried. But I promise, I don’t have any ill intentions.” They tapped their fingers against their glass.

The villain couldn’t get their mind off the hero. It was an actual problem at this point. It was more than a crush, more than dating. The villain was so helplessly devoted they found themselves pathetic.

A few months prior, they would’ve loathed this. But it was easy to forget everything when the hero’s hand was on their arm. When their fingers intertwined. When the hero held onto them when they got scared.

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly trust a villain. Do you think I’m dumb?”

“No. You’re clever and that’s why you’re going to believe me,” the villain said. “If I wanted them dead, they would be. Instead, I am stitching them back together.”

“That’s my job.”

“It shouldn’t be. You’re a kid.”

“I’ve been taking care of them my entire life.”

The villain tilted their head, smiling sadly.

“And that’s rather sad, don’t you think? The amounts of blood you’ve seen, the variety of wounds someone can endure — no child should see something like that.”

This time, the sidekick didn’t say anything, they just stared at the villain’s desk rather angrily. It was frustrating, the villain was fully aware of that.

It must’ve been difficult for the sidekick to realise something was changing, that their role as a caretaker was shifting. It must’ve been difficult not to feel replaced.

“I know you don’t agree with my methods. Neither does my lover. But I can promise you to take care of them, whatever it takes. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

“It’s not a burden,” the sidekick snapped and the villain realised that the sidekick could’ve become a villain easily. They were angry and didn’t know how to handle that anger. They were frustrated and didn’t know how to express it. If they had been around the wrong people at the wrong time, they would’ve made a perfect victim of manipulation.

The villain wasn’t going to let that happen.

“They talk about you all the time,” the villain said. “Brag about your grades and awards.”

The sidekick looked up, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You play the violin, don’t you? And you’ve been obsessed with this new video game, aren’t you?”

The sidekick nodded. Suddenly, they seemed a little embarrassed.

“But you also get into a lot of trouble at school. Can’t stand bullies?”

The sidekick shook their head.

“They couldn’t be more proud,” the villain said. For a second, all was quiet. The villain was reminded of a lost childhood, of tears and fear. Of feeling alone, of losing everything. “Listen. They love you more than anything and I cannot change that, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I guess I am trying to say that there’s two people now who can protect them. Plus, they’re not completely helpless.”

Now, the sidekick smiled softly.

“They’re stupid, though.”

“Oh, totally,” the villain agreed.

“They need me.”

“You need them just as much. They can’t give you that when they’re exhausted and need stitches all the time.”

“…I guess you have a point.” The sidekick let out a big sigh and rubbed their face with their hands. And that was the moment the villain knew they had changed their mind. It wasn’t easy to let go of habits and the villain was fully aware that this wasn’t over, that the sidekick would try to slip back into their role every now and then.

But this was a great start. That kid needed more free time.

“I always do.” The villain grinned. “They’re in good hands, don’t worry. I’ll take over the bloody parts and the tears, you do the video games and laundry fights, alright?”

“Ugh. Fine. That doesn’t mean I like you,” the sidekick said. They stood up, false annoyance all over them.

“Mmm, don’t worry. That’ll kick in later. Now get lost, don’t you have a science project or something to take care of?”

“You’re so annoying.” They were heading for the door but the villain had one last sideswipe. They couldn’t help themselves.

“Oh, tell my henchman to do their work on time when you see them tomorrow, will you?” They tried not to smile when the sidekick turned around.

“Excuse me?” The villain stood up, walked around the table.

“Tomorrow at the club, I mean. I’ve heard you’re quite the wildcards together.”

“Hey, what do you mean, your henchman?”

“Just try not to devour each other in front of other people, I don’t want to hear anything about that.”

The villain gave them a smile and pushed them gently out of the room.

“Woah, wait, hey—”

“Bye bye.” They closed the door of their office with a cheery demeanour. They’d always been a sucker for a little drama.

pt. 2

#to carry home my little soldier #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #sidekick #sidekick x henchman

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abbyromanoff · 2 months

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hellooo, i wanna request some story, this is kinda angst of something so basically, yn and lizzie have a date plan or dinner plan or something and yn like spent 2 days just fixing everything to be perfect for the plan but yn spent hours too just to wait for lizzie and unfortunately yn get the voicemail that lizzie cant catch up anymore because she has to do something else... so that's it... joint it with the conclusion if you want !!

PICK AND CHOOSE

PAIRINGS: Elizabeth Olsen x reader

WORD COUNT: 1863

WARNINGS: angst, guilt, arguing, kinda mean!Lizzie, jealousy, fluff, think that’s it :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The candles were the only light illuminating the room, the dinner you had prepared sat patiently on the table, and you wore her favorite dress.

She was meant to be home early tonight seeing as the two of you had been planning this for a few weeks. But as the clock continued to tick, your hopes slowly lessened. You had tried calling her eight times already, and six messages were left in her inbox now.

You sat with a frown, sighing with sadness lurking in your body. You rubbed your tired eyes that had tears prepped and gathered the food into a container, placing a sticky note on the top and writing ‘you missed date night again, here’s leftovers.’ It took up until an hour later when she finally answered your call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’ Really? You’re asking me what’s up?” Her brows tightened, her confusion growing.

“Uhm, yes? What did I do? I’m confused.” You were growing angrier as she continued to speak, and you felt your hands clenching until they were reddened.

“Hm, I don’t know, Elizabeth, what did you do? Oh, that’s right! Our fucking date night is missed once again, what a surprise!” You heard a deep breath coming from the other side before a mumbled curse shot from her lips.

“Look, baby, I’m really sorry-“

“I don’t feel like hearing it right now, this is the third fucking time in the past two months alone that you’ve stood me up! Do you know how embarrassing it is to dress up all nice, make dinner, prepare candles and a bath, and clean every inch of the house to the brim just so we could have one nice night that you promised you’d finally make it to?”

“I know, I know, okay? I’m really, really fucking sorry, baby. I promise to make it up to you, I do.” You shook your head in disbelief with a chuckle.

“No, don’t promise me shit anymore. I can’t trust a word you tell me.” The both of you were suddenly interrupted, her by the director asking for her presence, and you by a call by your friend.

“Go ahead and leave, I’m getting a call anyways.”

“Wait- look, can we talk about this later?”

“Yes, bye.” You nearly pressed the button before her voice quickly entered once again.

“That’s it? No ‘love you?’”

“I have to answer Scarlett, Lizzie. Love you bye.” You cut off her last few words that came in revult and answered the call quickly, apologizing for taking so long the moment her voice met the sound waves.

“Don’t worry about it, I was just seeing if you were doing anything. I’m all alone and usually I would love that but I need some company.” You chuckled, leaning against the counter once you grabbed the glass of wine you earlier poured for yourself.

“Yeah, I’m all alone too. Me and Liz were meant to have a date tonight but she missed it again, so I’m all yours.” You could hear whatever actions the woman was doing come to a halt quickly.

“Are you serious? Again, Y/N? Why are you still letting her treat you like this?” You looked down to your glass, the reflection from the red drink making you realize how crappy your life was slowly becoming. If it wasn’t for Scarlett, you’d be all alone.

“I don’t mean to. Can you just come over maybe? I made dinner for us and, well, she didn’t touch it so it’s all yours.” Twenty minutes later a knock was placed on your door before she walked in. She didn’t need to knock, she only insisted on doing so to alert you of her arrival.

“Hello, darlin’, where’s my food?” You handed her a plate that you heated up, as you had taken the foot out of Lizzie’s container and redid your little table design. She oohed at the candles and pulled out your chair for you before heading to her own.

“Mm, this is delicious, sweetheart; you always know how to feed me right.” You chuckled softly, picking at your own.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t let that bitch get you down.”

“She’s my fiancé, not a bitch.” You didn’t sound entirely sure or convincing on your answer, and she rolled her eyes jokingly.

“You know I don’t like her.”

“You used to. You know, before me and her got together, you guys were friends.” You felt as though you ruined the small bond the two had, and you didn’t want to be the fault. While you found it hysterical whenever your best friend would make fun of your lover, you still didn’t want to be the cause of their damage.

“Yeah because you two together opened my eyes on how aggravating she is.” You hummed and twirled the engagement ring on your finger, your eyes seemingly getting lost in the pearls that adorned it.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. Look, I’m sorry but if she can’t even show up to a few dates how is she going to show up to other important stuff? Like, I don’t know, birthdays, or something.”

“It was just a few dates though, it’s not like she missed our wedding.”

“It’s not just a date, it was something that was clearly important to you that you worked so hard on. She couldn’t even care enough about your date to remember it, what makes you think she’ll care about anything else?” You felt all your witty comebacks falling short as you had no response. She was right, Lizzie obviously didn’t care enough to show up now, who’s to say she ever will?

“Someone would have to be a complete idiot to stand up a pretty girl like you, and I don’t think those five years at college have been doing her any good apparently.” You grinned as she shrugged her shoulders, knowing herself that she was right.

“Well, now that the better person is here, why don’t we have some fun?” You failed to notice the dinging texts from your phone, and you failed to care. You fully engrossed your mind in the moment with Scarlett, because nothing brought you more joy than doing so.

‘youre hanging out with scarlett? wtf it was a date that’s it’

‘you know i dont like her Y/N’

‘fucking answer me already’

‘im on my way home, you better be there when i arrive’

‘why cant you just take sorry? i told you i was sorry is that not enough’

‘im nearby’

‘stop fucking ignoring me Y/N’

‘baby im sorry imma make it up to you just answer me please’

‘this shit is seriously starting to piss me off’

To anyone else, she would’ve seemed incredibly overbearing and possessive, but you never once saw her that way. She was anxious and worried to lose you, was all.

“You don’t use your phone anymore? If I’m the one paying for that shit then you can fucking answer my texts, Y/N.” Your eyes met hers as you placed your card down for the game the two of you had engaged in. It didn’t help you case how close you two looked as you sat opposite to hide your deck, your legs entangled and your bodies close enough to cause suspicion. You didn’t see it this way, and you assumed Scarlett hadn’t either, so you didn’t understand why Lizzie was so mad.

“Shit, I didn’t know you texted me, I’m sorry.” You quickly responded, but Scarlett was hot on your tails.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to like that?” Lizzie clenched her jaw tightly as she removed her jacket in a quick manner, throwing it on the couch as she spoke.

“I’m talking to my fiancé, Scarlett, and I don’t think you have any place in this. So I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” But she didn’t budge, only crossing her arms over her chest as you watched a small dispute form between the two. It felt like your world was slowly caving in even deeper, and every piece of it was caused by Elizabeth. Scarlett was the one helping you repair her damage, but it didn’t help when you continued on with your relationship still.

“Please stop arguing. I’m sorry, okay? I tried making this house perfect for you and I prepared a nice dinner and a bath, I even wore my nicest dress for you when knowing the pieces cut into my shoulder blade. You didn’t show up and that’s not my fault, and I’m tired of waiting on you for everything. So can I please just have one night where I get to be with my friend and actually laugh and smile before I have to deal with this again? I’m tired of it, Lizzie, it’s so tiring going back and forth with you constantly and I need some time away from you right now.” Their words came to a halt, and they both turned to face you. Your fiancé stared at you with a hint of sadness covered by disbelief, while Scarlett gave you a sorrowful look.

“Seriously? You’re this pissed over one date? We can reschedule or something, I was busy at work because some of us actually have jobs and have to make their own money for a living.”

“It’s not just a date, Liz. You put work before me now and everything has changed. Just because I’m not the one paying for it doesn’t mean I’m not the one putting food on the table, I do just as much as you by taking care of this place.” Your best friend stood closer to you now, rubbing your shoulders soothingly as she took your hand and walked you away. Lizzie followed after you two with complaints, but Scarlett closed the door to your bedroom before she could enter. The lock was turned, and while you felt horrible for not letting your partner into her own room, you knew you didn’t want to see her right now.

“Alright, beautiful, I’ll deal with her and you stay here and try and get some rest for me, yeah?” You nodded and stared at your fingers that tapped against your leg nervously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this a big deal.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, the woman outside that door is the one who did. This will never be your fault, and if she tries to make that seem true you let me know right away.” You were lucky to have the blonde help you so much, and you just wished Liz was able to do the same as her. But they could never compete, Scarlett would always win the way to your heart in the end and deep down your lover knew that, which is why she was so mad you chose her instead of waiting. But she also knew you deserved better than her, and she knew she couldn’t give you the same love you deserved. But she would never be willing to let you go, whether she knew it was wrong or not, you would always be her girl.

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deliciousbasementtrash · 7 months

Text

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things.

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right?

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.”

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask.

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet.

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way.

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat.

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears.

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.”

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me.

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care.

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date.

Thursday, May 19th.

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight.

So, I walked home. Slowly.

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure.

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes.

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less.

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered.

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest.

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist.

God, this guy had a lot of injuries.

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again.

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts.

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman.

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

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thewitchqueenofharrenhal · 16 days

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I’m sorry but Rhaenyra fighting in the war is Mary Sue behavior and if true will prove once again the writers …will likely be unable to write a compelling women.

Which is a real shame because I love book Rhaenyra.

They would rather do the usual people are just mean and hate a girlboss shtick then have to write about the nuances of a woman trying to become the first Queen in her extremely cut throat dynasty.

A woman dealing with the ramifications of (likely) postpartum depression. A woman who was meant to rule since she was a child and instead she is now recovering from a traumatic agonizing birth. A birth where her own husband ignored and later assaulted her. Who is going to protect her now that her father is dead? What does it mean to be a Queen when you have suffered beyond belief in childbirth and now you cannot even ride your dragon, that dragon that marks you as “better”, no your male children must fight for you. Then die for you.

The woman lauded as the Realm’s Delight who told her fierce aunt who did fight not only for her own rights but Rhaenyra’s that the realm denied her as Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was but bent the knee to her.

What’s the difference between The Queen Who Never Was & The Realms Delight?, what’s the difference between a Queen who fought and one who didn’t? and what does it mean that they both ended up dead?

A woman who becomes increasingly paranoid and fearful (rightfully so) after being wronged so many times. A flawed woman, a woman who’s entitled, a woman who wants to rule but has internalized misogyny. A woman who believes she’s above the rest. A woman who has never had any physical training in war or battle because she has always lived in the lap of luxury and privilege and now finds herself in a war.

So she dresses up in the style of her warrior ancestress despite never taking up arms. Is it for comfort? Or strength? If she could ride her dragon would it matter? When Syrax like her has only ever known peace and her son’s murder rides her warrior ancestresses own mount Vhagar. A dragon that helped win Seven Kingdoms against one that has never known violence?

Things weren’t suppose to be that way, and every wrong makes for a crueler and angrier woman. She won’t die in battle she means to sit on that throne.

She never wanted to make a better world, she simply wanted to enjoy the rights every other entitled man of her lineage has had but instead she must go to war? Saera Targaryen was punished for thinking she could have multiple partners like the men in her family. Rhaenyra Targaryen is punished and compared to one of the worst men in her lineage.

What does it mean for a woman to be vile and STILL have been wronged and STILL have been robbed of what was hers because of her gender?

Why must she be this paragon of perfection?

For better or for worse the writers are terrified of making Rhaenyra unlikeable and it’s just so boring.

#rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #asoiaf

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skyeslittlecorner · 2 months

Note

Some headcanons about Mc who suddenly leaves hell without anyone knowing (no notice (?) too, i mean not saying anything about their leaving).

I imagine that the kings have separation anxiety (hohoho love some angst stuff here 😈), but kinda wonder what's gonna happen when MC returned?

I feel allowed, and even encouraged, for some yummy angst~ We will switch order a little this time. And I *may* be a *little* biased, don't mind me.

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Leviathan tries to live without you as he did before he met you, but it's not the same. When you finally show up, he wants to hang you. But what if you leave again? No. He won't allow it. From now on, you are under constant surveillance. You're not even allowed to go to the bathroom alone (no, there's no negotiation.) He's lost too much to lose you too.

Beelzebub won't even know you're gone. You would have to literally disappear from under his nose during sex, well, a date too. In such a scenario, he would be furious. You wouldn't come back because he would find you; he has a whole army of clones, a lot of time, willingness and knowledge of the whole world geography. He would even snatch you back from heaven. Afterward, when he had you in his arms, he would think it was quite a lot of fun. But don't do that again.

Mammon has already ordered mourning in Tartaros, a huge site has been built for the construction of your own mausoleum. Have you seen the Taj Mahal? This is a dollhouse in comparison to the plans for your posthumous palace. But you're back, and you're alive! Or at least you're still alive, because Mammon is hugging you so much that nothing is certain. Now that you're back, maybe you want a huge palace to live in? He will do anything you want. Just don't leave, Master. Of course, you can do whatever you want, but... he will do anything to make you *not* want to leave.

Satan

It feels... so quiet here. So alone. His beautiful country shambles in ruin, his strong people lose their heart. He, as a king, must stay strong, but with every soldier bleeding out on the pavement, every devil loosing their limbs, every child losing parents his own will crush slowly. All he wanted to do was to help them. To make their lives easier. To take their pain and bear it himself.

"...prise, Your Majesty?"

Satan lowered the bazooka from his shoulder. His gaze was as empty as the sky beneath them. All the angels disappeared in a powerful explosion.

There was a ray of hope for Gehenna, for him, or rather... have been. But Descendant of Solomon disappeared. He looked for you everywhere. Trashed half of Mammon's palace, tore down Leviathan's ropes, damn it, he even found Beelzebub wandering around the pubs and shook all the information out of him. But nobody knew anything. He almost started a war with other countries and didn't care at all. This helplessness weighed was heavy inside him like a boulder.

"Your Majesty?"

Slowly, day by day, hour after hour, he was losing his strength. His will. Not to fight, but to live. This made him become quieter and angrier. Except for Sitri, all the nobles began to move out of his way. This only fueled his spiral of madness. He didn't sleep at night. Just fight, work and drink. If he didn't keep his mind occupied, the black void would fuel his wrath, and they had had to deal with his outbursts often enough. They were so strong that sometimes the entire castle lost consciousness.

Nothing helped anyway.

He was the king, he couldn't just leave it all behind and die. Even if he wanted to.

"Satan!"

"What."

Satan. His name. Nobody but you called his name here... He looked around frantically, but they were alone. Sitri tried to wake him up, it seems. His henchman looked concerned. It's annoying. So annoying. And he didn't mean Sitri's concern, but his own ridiculous behavior. Was it so obvious that he was worried again? He gritted his teeth and turned on his heel, heading to the hospital to assess the damage.

"Listen to me, won't you? I have significant information."

"If it doesn't concern them, I don't care."

"It does."

Satan stopped in his tracks and wanted to punch him. But this time with a hint of hope.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier!"

He did, but that wasn't the point now.

"They are waiting for you at the hospital. At least freshen up a bit before you…"

But Satan wasn't listening anymore. He ran towards the tents and tore the curtains, looking around like crazy. Only the touch of a hand on his shoulder stopped his hectic search. The voice that came poured into his emptiness, sweet and thick as honey. A familiar, beloved voice.

"It's okay, I'm back. I missed you too."

He couldn't answer, physically he just wasn't able to do it. There was a lump stuck in his throat. Stiff as a rock, he didn't want to turn around. What if this is a dream? A sweet delusion? But someone hugged him from behind, and hugged him tightly. Illusion couldn't do it.

He turned and hugged you, sliding to his knees. Kisses, caresses, love, he wanted to give you everything so that you wouldn't disappear. He needed you. His eyes were dry, but he felt like he was going to melt himself.

"Never do that again." Hoarse voice sounded like a threat, but both of you knew that it was out of love. "Never. Leave. Me. Again."

"I'm sorry." Your heart broke seeing him on his knees. "I won't."

"Promise."

You crouched down and grabbed his chin to finally look into his red eyes. For the first time since you left, hope sparked in them.

"I promise that I will never leave you, and if I do, I will always come back to you."

From now on, he won't let you out of his sight even for a moment. Not after you made him a promise that finally ignited his will to live.

PS. Try to disappear from him for a second, and he will shove Zagan's talisman up your ass.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb leviathan #skye's little talk #whb mammon #what can i do #it just flashed in my mind #love his depressed ass #I got permission for angst so now suffer~

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actuallysaiyan · 2 months

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Let Me Into Your Heart(Rufus Shinra x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, use of pet names, smoking, drinking, general lewd stuff, love confessions, promiscuity word count: 1.8k pairings: Rufus Shinra x Fem!Reader summary: you were hired to be Rufus' cocksleeve when times get tough and he's stressed, but he fell so hard for you...yet he feels disgusted to confess to you because of how he's treated you before a/n: this is for he lovely @beneathstarryskies!! I love you and I hope you enjoy!!!

Rufus does all he can to control and contain himself whenever he is around you. You’re like a siren, calling to him dangerously. Your perfume smells a little too sweet, it makes his pants a little too tight at times. Sometimes he has to find a private place to take care of the issue before it becomes even worse.

You were hired specifically as someone who helps him with his stress and his problems. You soothe his needs whenever he needs it, which seems to be a lot more than you realized. When you were approached for this job, you figured you’d be giving a bratty heir to the Shinra company some tips on breathing exercises and some yoga stretches. But Rufus showed you almost immediately that you belonged on his bed, ass up and face down. Despite the sexual nature of your job, you kept your own feelings locked up tightly.

And Rufus believed he was doing the same thing. He thought for sure he could keep himself from falling so deeply for you. You were just a cute little cocksleeve. Nothing more, nothing less. But the more you tried to help him with other issues in his life, and the more you listened to him as you two stayed cuddled in his bed, the more he became aware of the growing feelings. It wasn’t long before he was growing mad at the fact that he had fallen head over heels for you.

You had been hired to soothe his needs, and here you were, invading his every waking thought.

You’re just too sweet, and too beautiful. He believes sometimes you’re an angel sent down to heaven just for him. Someone who would truly understand him whenever he wasn’t feeling very cared for. When the world wanted to beat him over and over and he couldn’t find the strength to hold on for much longer, you were there to show him that things were going to be okay. Your gentle touches and sweet kisses were what kept him up at night. And they were driving him mad…mostly because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

At times, he begins to wonder if he’ll just end up like his father. Horny and whoring himself around to anyone. He tries to hook up with a few people to forget about you, but none of these women know how to make him feel warm and loved. None of them know what he likes in bed. You know how to get him off without even really trying. He’s just worried that he won’t be able to keep it in his pants if he can’t continue to have you. If he falls deeper for you, then he’s going to have to claim you.

But the more time he spends with you, the more he’s realizing he’s falling deeper and deeper. Rufus grows angrier because this was never supposed to happen. It was supposed to be casual sex and blowjobs under his desk. Never was it supposed to grow into a warmth in his heart where your name remains etched. Never was it supposed to be something so soft and blissful like this. And yet, he can’t deny it anymore. He’s in love with you and this both scares and soothes him.

One night after a particularly long and hard day at work, Rufus finds himself feeling so antsy. He’s scared to ask you to come over, because he thinks this might be the night he confesses to you. He’s not ready for that right now. He can’t just spit out his feelings to you. It terrifies him to think about telling you how he feels about you, only for you to stare at him, or to laugh…or worse to tell him you never want to see him ever again.

Despite you being the person that was hired to soothe his needs, Rufus feels a little off about asking you to take care of him. He doesn’t want to worry you, because he knows you will worry about him. You’ll show him kindness and care, and you will offer to probably make him dinner. The thought doesn’t sit right with him. You treat him like he’s your husband, but it just makes him feel even more dirty.

He sits in his penthouse, sipping on a mixed drink and he’s indulging in his one vice he hides from almost everyone. Plumes of smoke float around as he puffs on a cigar. Usually it would be a cigarette, but he needed something stronger tonight. Something to get his mind off the aching in his cock and the aching in his heart.

One hand holds the cigar while the other begins to palm his cock through his fancy dress pants. He’s thinking about asking you to come here, but with every thought of you being on your knees for him, the more he becomes disgusted with himself. He needs to figure out a better way to deal with him being pent up, but there’s nothing else he wants besides you.

He begins to scroll through his phone, looking for other women he could contact so that he could just have a quick fuck. But he keeps seeing your posts and your selfies, and it makes his cock twitch even more. He takes another drag from his cigar, then he stubs it out in the ashtray. He finishes off the drink, grimacing as the alcohol goes down roughly.

Eventually, he gets too frustrated with himself. He gets up from his seat on the balcony. Nothing is going to quench his thirst like you. Nothing will make him satisfied like you. He texts his driver to come pick him up so he can go to you.

The minute he’s out of the car in front of your place, there’s something that snaps within him. He begins banging on the door, loudly and hard. He needs you more than even he can comprehend at this point.

“Come on, I know you’re in there. Let me in!”

His voice surprises and excites you. He’s ready to show you just how much he loves you, but you really have no idea of his intentions. You figure he must just be over for a booty call. When you open the door, he’s pushing his way inside immediately. You see something deep in his eyes, and you notice just how much darker they are. You’re hit with the scent of his natural musk coupled with whiskey.

“Rufus, what—”

But you’re interrupted with his lips crashing down on yours. It feels so good to be kissed roughly by the man you had fallen in love with. What he never realized was that you had been battling your own inner demons about confessing to him. You figured he’d never want to fall in love with someone so plain and not from a rich family.

“You’re mine, you got it?” He growls in your ear as he begins leading you towards your room.

He’s only ever been here a few times, but every time that he’s here, he’s filled with love and comfort. It’s so warm and cozy in here, Everything bears your scent as well, which only seems to make him want to claim you even more. Once inside the bedroom, he’s pushing you onto the bed. You try to ask him what’s going on again, but he’s shushing you with a deep searing kiss.

“My pretty little baby,” he groans in your ear as he begins to grind against you. “You’ve been on my mind all day.”

Your eyes widen, “Really?”

He kisses you again, this one makes your head whirl. You know nobody can make you feel the way he does. His hands cup your face, pulling you in even closer. Your hands softly caress his back, making him grunt as you begin to massage his tense shoulders.

“How am I supposed to stay away?” he asks, his eyes so dark with lust.

“You don’t need to.”

And with that, you capture his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. He drinks you in, relishing in the way your tongue is so soft against his own. With able hands, he begins to undress you. You’re doing the same to him. Both of you too pent up to take your time. You need each other and you need each other now.

Once you’re undressed, Rufus takes a moment to take you all in. You’re so beautiful, so angelic. A goddess made specifically just for him. You let out a sweet whine when his fingers begin to play with your soaked folds. He loves how you’ve become so wet for him just from some making out.

“I tried to keep myself from you,” he confesses between heated kisses. “But I can’t anymore. I need you,”

You pant, “Take me. I’m all yours.”

He spreads your thighs, and his eyes are locked onto your beautiful glistening cunt. You reach over and begin stroking his aching cock, making him hiss through gritted teeth. He’s in heaven right now, and he knows it’s only going to get better from here.

Slowly, he slips into you. Inch by delicious inch begins to stretch you out. Your eyes roll back the minute he bottoms out. Your hands weakly reach out for him as you try to grind yourself. It’s all too much, you can already feel your walls beginning to contract around him,

Rufus leans in for a sweet kiss, and he knows he won’t last long either. Now or never, he’s going to tell you just how much he adores you. He begins rocking his hips slowly, surprising you both. You figured you’d be getting pounded into the mattress tonight, but Rufus needs you to be so close to him.

“How I have longed for you,” he murmurs against your sweat-slicked skin. “I love you, my angel.”

You gasp at his words. He thrusts deeply a few more times, making the coil in your tummy so tight. You barely have time to warn him that you’re coming undone when the dam breaks. You cling to him as he fucks himself deeper and harder, prolonging that blissfully sweet pleasure. You’re sobbing and moaning and mewling, just holding onto him as he gives you the most heavenly orgasm you’ve ever felt.

“Shit–” he grunts. “Can I? Can I cum inside?”

You nod, “Yes, please! Please!”

His hips stutter as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. It’s intense, throbbing and messy. Ropes of hot cum begin filling up your awaiting womb. You both move against one another, prolonging the sweetest orgasm you’ve ever had. Then slowly, you two stop and hold onto each other.

“I love you too, Rufus.”

And for the first time in a little while, he believes that things can be okay. Things can be okay because he has you.

#bacon.writes #rufus shinra x reader #Rufus shinra x you #Rufus shinra x y/n #Rufus shinra smut #Rufus shinra fluff #Rufus ff7 x reader #rufus ff7 x you #ff7 x reader #ff7 smut #ff7 remake x reader #ff7 remake smut

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pickingupmymercedes · 3 months

Text

Under an Ipê tree - Lewis Hamilton

The three times your annual visit to Senna’s tomb brought something different

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Senna! Reader

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, AD 21', Lewis at Ferrari (rubbing salt into every open wound apparently)

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Not gonna lie, started this one with something in mind and it took a life of its own. I know Senna! Reader isn't everyone's cup of tea, so please, proceed with caution, because there is mention to real events and real emotions envolved with mourning. Also, AD 21', I'm sure as hell not over that, so here's another trigger warning.

a/n. 2: Those trees are how pink Ipês look in blossom, I know Brasil is not known for its colder months but those beauties come alive after the few cold weeks.

_______________________________________

Like most traditions it started without any intent on actually becoming a thing. You and Lewis would take a couple hours off on Wednesdays before the Brazilian GP every year, the destination a known one to everyone in the paddock. It was a journey you used to do by yourself until Lewis had been the brave, and first one, to ask you if he could tag along. He’d been to Senna’s tomb before, you knew that much, but the respect and adoration he held for your late father had you deciding he should be good company.

_______________________________________

“I swear I had never seen my mom angrier. Can you imagine her with the speaker at Interlagos shouting to everyone with an ear that I shouldn’t be racing and if anything happened Ayrton was to blame cause I wasn’t even old enough to be there” You told a laughing Lewis while remembering when your father faked an ID so he could sneak you to the track and teach you how to race in your brand new - Mclaren themed – kart. A Christmas gift he went out of his way to get to the famous Brazilian track circuit in time to open day.

“You know, my favorites snippets of his life are the ones you talk about, Sundays at the pool, ice cream dates, kart running without your mom knowing. Whenever someone talks about him it’s always about his wins, his hardships, his cars and battles … it’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond formula 1, like we froze just a fraction of him and forgot all about the rest.”

You smiled at him, you liked how Lewis never questioned your feelings towards f1’s out of this world idolatry on your father, mainly because at the end of the day, to your 8 year old past self, Ayrton was first and foremost “pai”, the dude that thought you not to be afraid by throwing you into the ocean when no one was looking, the one that cooked instant noodles for dinner in spite of your mom’s pleads, the one that constantly tried to show you that love is a feeling we should act upon in the present and never wait for a so promised tomorrow.

“He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure. But as a person, he would have probably seen you as one of the good ones, pointing out bullshit, fighting fia every chance you get, protecting the guys back at the garage, focusing on racing and not talking, looking out for everyone.” You answered truthly, as he respectfully held his hands behind his back looking at the tomb stone, while you casually sat in the edge of the stone, almost too comfortable around the place from all the visits you’ve done over the years.

“I think you should meet Galisteu someday, she’ll have way more interesting stories about him to tell you than I do.” You absentmindedly noted, remembering all she’s told you about your father, this other side to him you never got the time to see.

“Nah… we’re our truest around kids, his best version was the one you got to see. Now, what was that time he sneaked a stray dog onto your apartment?” he asked while reaching for your shoulder so you both could walk along the path back to the car awaiting to take you both back.

_______________________________________

“I don’t think I really remember the sound of his voice” you sighed looking up at the Ipê tree just beside the tomb. You had shown Lewis a photo of what it looked like once in full blossom before, in the Brazilian winter, and he promised you he would eventually find the time to come see it in its full glory in late June.

The walk in the cemetery, the light hearted banter, him opening his heart on dreams and the future and the confessions you would eventually make to Lewis about Ayrton were part of the annual occurrence you had both unspokenly agreed on, but that one line seemed to have hit him hard enough he just motioned you to go on, no answers or remarks.

“I mean, I know what his voice sounds like because there’s a thousand and one interviews with him, but I don’t think I can truly remember what he sounded like in real life … how he talked to me.” You explained it further, now looking at the Briton.

He engulfed you in a hug, the kind only he knew how, your tears leaving marks on his shoulders. You would rarely cry over anything related to your father, at least not in front of people anyway, but Lewis was… well, Lewis. You and Niki were the one who pushed, like hell, to sign him to Mercedes back in 2014 against everyone’s better judgment, and while you knew he would be every bit the driver and phenomenon he was, neither of you anticipated the friendship that came out of seeing him almost every GP you attended. A relationship that had crept its own way into your hearts, slowly allowing to see each other as something more than just good friends.

“He’s proud of you, wherever he is. I know that much” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss to your temple and bringing you even closer to his body.

_______________________________________

“He would’ve crashed into Verstappen back in 2021, wouldn’t he?” He prompted out of nowhere, gazing seriously at the tomb as you observed him pondering over the possible outcomes of a race that, like a ghost, had been following him nonstop, specially with the São Paulo GP fast approaching and with it his chances of securing his 8th title, two races before the end of the season.

“Start another Senna vs. Prost ?! ” You thought out loud, trying to read into his expressions and mannerisms, a talent of his you weren’t quite as good.

“Maybe I should’ve done it”

“You’re not like that Lew. You’re you and no one, not a single person, wants someone else” Your exasperation clear in your voice, hands reaching for his chin as his eyes locked into yours and he nodded, an unspoken agreement between the two of you, one you had to hammer into his head from time to time, that he may have Ayrton as his idol but he was just as much of an icon to the sport, and to a million of kids out there.

“On Sunday you’re going to reach that top step in your red suit, fulfill Ayrton’s dream and claim a championship for Ferrari. You. Not him, nor anyone else” and come the end of the race, he did just that. Smiling down at the sea of people in a mix of old Mercedes merchs and new Ferrari ones, dedicating his trophy to all the other people who believed in the impossible with him.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #ayrton senna #Senna!reader

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

I had a BRAIN BLAST on the way home today. So!

In the category of Readers Who Get To Do What They Want:

(CW for dark Simon, johnny, and “reader” with unhealthy relationship dynamics, gaslighting - not from who you suspect - and threats of violence)

A pair of identical twins who are basically opposites from birth. Twin 1 is obviously favored by their parents for being the “easy” twin that tries to appease them and keep the peace. Twin 2 a little hellion from birth, they think this kid is basically broken. Try to test for psychopathy but nope, their own kid has just picked up on the accidental favoritism from birth and just seems to dislike their own parents. But they still love their twin.

The twins grow up as complete opposites. Different social circles, hobbies, interests, clothes, attitudes. They’re incredibly close, but twin 2 will (and has) gotten violent on twin 1’s behalf because their parents are raising them to be “well behaved”.

By teen years, twin 2 is being sent to the countryside most summers to be handled by the grandparents. (Jokes on them, farmlife is nice and the grandparents aren’t exactly strict - mostly because twin 2 actually likes them and doesn’t see much need to rebel).

Meanwhile twin 1 is doing summer programs and learning arts, developing this intense aversion to conflict and has trouble standing up for themself. Especially without twin 2 there to lean on.

Come university, their parents insist on twin 1 staying close by for uni, essentially make the choice for them. Twin 2 decides to ship out of the country and plans on breaking off all contact. (Maybe due to some sort of unforgivable drama at the grandparents’ funeral?)

Before leaving, twin 2 gives twin 1 a burner phone with one number programmed in. Promises that if twin 1 ever needs to disappear, to be free of it all, they can call and twin 2 will be there in a heartbeat with bolt cutters for those chains. And then they just sort of… disappear.

Twin 1 doesn’t see them for *years*. Never uses that phone but keeps it.

So twin 1 lives their quaint pre-determined life with their acceptable job and it’s all mostly okay. Not bad at all. Quiet, if lackluster.

And then Simon comes along. Simon, who takes one look at this little angel and decides they have to be his. Theyre too good, too soft, unable to take care of themselves properly in this big scary world. And after all he’s suffered, doesn’t he deserve something sweet to protect? And hell, Johnny could use a kind touch every now and then too.

So he “seduces” twin 1 (aka, the dark!Simon move of just deciding someone is his and acting like it whether they like it or not). Manipulates them into stepping right into their own collar and leash, with him at the other end.

It’s too late by the time Twin 1 realizes what they’ve become - this man’s pretty pet. An agreeable little doll for him and his teammate to play house with. It’s not always bad, but it’s suffocating and scary. They feel trapped; they are.

It takes months until they get enough privacy to dig the old phone out of the place they nearly forgot about it.

Twin 2 picks up on the third ring.

In the intervening years, twin 2 has gotten into all sorts of trouble and mayhem. Become the demon their parents always accused them of being. Has, somehow along the way, joined up with KorTac and gotten all their files scrubbed. “Twin 2” no longer exists to the world at large. Nothing that anyone, even Kate Laswell, could dig up.

They get the call from their twin and break their contract on the spot. Get on a flight within hours. Sneak their twin out of the homey prison they’ve been locked up in.

Take twin 1 to a sunny, public cafe and get the story through their sibling’s nervous stuttering. Gets angrier and angrier with the more they hear, eyes fixated on the thin leather collar around their twin’s throat.

“Please just… I know it’s selfish and I’m sorry, but-”

Twin 2 already has a plan. They have a quiet, cozy cabin with comfortable funds in a rural part of Canada. Twin 1 will go there, rest and recover and be free. Twin 2 will take their place with Simon and Johnny to throw off suspicion and searches.

The scars from living the life they have? No worries. twin 2 will stage a car accident, reopen some of them to make it seem legit. Lie about head trauma to account for any lapses in their twin 1 act.

It’s decided within three hours. Twin 2 sends their sibling off to the airport and sets everything into motion. They’ve been dying to do something like this for years, after all the times their sibling stuck by their side and tried to stick up to them, to no avail.

Twin 2 instantly hates that fucking collar. Lets Simon put it on but not without the most dark look at the wall, thinking of all the ways to break his hands. Fingers twitching by their side.

The boys sit them down to watch scary movies because they always think it’s fun to spook twin 1 and fuck them while they’re all tense and shivery and but twin 2 is just watching, almost bored. Makes a few attempts to fake jump but keeps forgetting because all their focus is on not slamming a hand into someone’s dick for grinding on them.

Pretends to be asleep in the big bed they’ve been herded into when they kick Johnny or Simon off in the middle of the night. Purposefully aims for soft spots and bruises.

They try to act like twin 1 for a bit but the persona is so difficult to keep up when every little condescending comment from Simon or Johnny makes them want to start stabbing. The inside of their mouth is all torn up from biting onto their cheek and running their tongue over their teeth to resists snarling and snapping.

One day they’re going to snap… and it’s going to be so good to see these bastards bleed.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #twin!reader #twin 2 reader #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #themboss really

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artificial-transmutations · 11 months

Text

Relationship goals

The moment Toby's butt touched the couch, he could start counting seconds. Five, four, three...

"Toby! Where are you again?!" The shouting voice of his girlfriend, Norah pierced the peace before it had even started. Fuming like a small steam engine, she turned around the corner.

"I see. Slacking off again." She gave him a stern look, but still didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she walked over to the kitchen where they usually ate breakfast together.

"I'm sorry," Toby mumbled.

"Don't be sorry, be useful!", she snapped. Toby had heard this sentence a lot. "Did you make me any tea?"

"No..."

Norah sighed. "Well, I guess I'll have to do without."

She sat down at the table and took out her phone. She scrolled through the messages there for a few minutes before looking up.

"Where is my tea?" she asked annoyedly.

"I thought you didn't want any, because you said..." Toby began, but was cut off by the sharp voice of Norah.

"I don't need excuses! Just do it! I made myself perfectly clear, I think."

So, Toby stood up and started preparing tea. Living with Norah had become... difficult. She used to be a sweet and caring girl, or at least that's how he remembered her. But now, she was constantly angry about everything. Ever since they moved in together, she had been getting angrier and angrier every day. Not to mention controlling. He even had the thought of breaking up with her because of it, but he had quickly discarded it again. They were together for so long now, and they were engaged. Not to mention that he didn't think he would find anyone else like her again...

"Toby! Where. Is. My. Fucking. Tea?" Her voice echoed through the apartment once more.

"Coming!" He replied while pouring hot water into a cup.

He put the kettle back on the stove and looked up at Norah. She was sitting there, glaring angrily at him.

"Here you go, sweety." Toby said in a calm voice, trying to soothe her mood.

"Right now, there is nothing sweet about me!" She snarled. "Just give me the damn tea."

"Okay..." Toby sighed and walked over to her, placing the cup next to her.

As Toby sat down on his chair, her eyes glared at him once more. "Don't you have anything better to do than sitting around? Did you already do the dishes?"

So, Toby sighed and went to do the dishes. On some days, it was really bad, and today was one of these days. It was probably his fault, though. If he just tried harder, she probably wouldn't be so angry all the time. He looked over to her, swiping on her phone while drinking the tea, and sighed. Still, in moments like these, he sometimes wished they had a different kind of relationship. There was nothing wrong with a dominant part in a relationship, if the other one still enjoyed it, but sometimes what they had felt just wrong. Besides, with her being angry all the time, their bedroom activity had pretty much come to a halt entirely.

His thoughts and wishes continued as he was working the soaped dishes in the sink. Perhaps he just needed to be a bit more confident. Yes. Perhaps that would help. He finished his work and got back to the kitchen, where Norah was already waiting for him.

"Took you long enough. Now, head to the garden, the lawn needs mowing." She commanded.

Toby was just about to follow her order, when he remembered he wanted to be more confident, so he replied: "I don't want to, sweety. Perhaps you could do it?"

Norah stared at him like he was an alien.

"What? That's a man's work!" she hissed.

"Then perhaps you need to be a man about it." Toby said, his voice a bit firmer now.

He would have expected about every reaction from Norah except the one she did: Obviously at a loss of words for a few moments, she finally said "Fine!" in an angry tone and stood up, walking to the garden. Toby was more than a bit surprised, and he followed her outside, sitting down in a garden chair, while Norah was getting the lawnmower.

As soon as she started it up, though, Norah started to change. The most obvious and immediate change was her height. While she had trouble handling the mower at first because she was just a bit short, that problem quickly solved itself, as she shot up at least a dozen centimeters. Moving the device forward became a lot easier, too, because her arms and legs packed on muscle mass quickly. She looked really ridiculous like that, with muscular arms and legs, but still her petite female torso in-between and her narrow girly head with the long blonde ponytail on top of it.

That was about to change, too, however. Her torso filled up with muscle while at the same time, her boobs receded into her body, leaving only a pretty masculine chest covered by a white t-shirt behind. Toby's mind told him to be disappointed by the loss of boobs, but he really wasn't. She looked good that way. Toby wasn't gay, but that firm chest got him excited pretty quickly. Perhaps he was bi, to some extend?

He got really curious of how Norah would look like if her face and the contents of her pants were male in anatomy as well. He didn't have to wait long for an answer. As if whatever magic that was changing her had noticed his thoughts, her face became somewhat more masculine. Her hair got shorter until it was a medium length male haircut, and sharp, somewhat masculine features became prevalent.

As her tight jeans transformed into a pair of long blue shorts made of nylon, Toby could see a small bulge forming in the front, clearly a sign of male anatomy. At the same time, Norah's butt grew larger and firmer, as it filled up with muscle.

Toby was really enjoying the view now. His dick had grown hard in his ...speedo? Toby took a double check. Yes, he was lying in the lawn chair only wearing a tight fitting speedo now, that was clearly showing his erection. However, Toby felt confident enough not to hide it! Why shouldn't he hide his hardon from his girlfriend? Was it even his girlfriend anymore or was it a boyfriend now? It didn't matter right now, and Toby continued to check out his own body. Unlike Norah's, his body had become a bit more compact, smoother, more elegant. He was probably even less muscular than before. What little strength remained was well hidden in a lean build, not a trace of bulging biceps. He made sure to keep his body always in his best condition, though. He shaved his chest and pubes every morning along with his face, to keep his smooth boyish charm, but there was more to him than that. Sure, his dick was on full display right now, the slightly above average length straining against the speedo, but his real asset was his juicy behind, an ass worthy of a gold star bottom like himself.

He turned back to the man mowing the lawn, shouting across: "Hey, Noah! Loose the shirt! And the shorts! I want to see your meat!"

'Noah'? Wasn't he called something else?

Noah shook his head to get rid of the distracting thought. Thinking had never been his strong side, no need to start with it now. He looked back to Tobias and answered in his considerably deeper voice than before: "Sure thing, boss!"

He started to pull off his shirt, which was getting more and more difficult along the way. His upper body continued to stack on muscle, and with each pound of muscle added, his intelligence diminished further, leaving him not much more than a drooling idiot once he had finished peeling his shirt off. He chuckled dumbly. He just loved to expose his muscular, hairy body, especially for his boss. As he pulled down his shorts, exposing his filled to the brim jockstrap underneath, as always in a state of arousal, as the wet patch from his precum on front of his underwear proved.

He had really been lucky to have met Tobias and got together with him. He was so smart, and he didn't mind thinking for the two of them. Noah knew fair well that he was dumb as a brick, but that didn't matter. He loved following orders, so his boss and him fit together like... something that fit together well.

"Yo, Noah. When you finished with the lawn, I need you to fill up a hole back here!"

Noah grinned. He understood that order (at least he was pretty sure about it) and his fat cock strained his jockstrap even more, as he got back to mowing.

Here it is! The first story to come out of early access and hit tumblr! If you like to always get the earliest possible access to all my stories PLUS awesome exclusive content that will never reach Tumblr, consider subscribing at my riot page!

#muscle transformation #dumbing down #female to male tf #male transformation #straight to gay

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galacticgraffiti · 7 months

Text

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

Summary: Astarion changes after his Ascension, and while you hate what he has become, you cannot seem to love him less.

Pairing: Ascendant!Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Explicit (for a few nsfw lines and mature themes) Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: Reader is not described in detail, though there is one (1) line implying that they bottom when they have sex. TW: Angst, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, emotionally abusive situation, blood, biting, blood drinking, non-consensual drinking of blood, non-consensual... taking away of bodily autonomy (?)

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully. This is not smut, this is hella angsty and was - at least to me personally - somewhat emotionally taxing. Take care of yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!

Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3

I Am Nothing (Like You Thought I Was)

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

You can’t remember what changed, exactly. It was something in his eyes, perhaps, something about the way he looks at you. The corner of his mouth not forming the half-smile you have gotten so used to, or even the possessive sneers he adopts sometimes.

It has been so long since he looked at you as anything more than his… pet. His pretty little consort, if he is in a good mood.

In the beginning, you didn’t realise that that was what you had become to him: A pet, a companion only because he did not want to be lonely after all these centuries. A trophy he could show off at his dinner parties. His own personal meal, ready whenever and wherever he wants - especially in front of hungry guests who know exactly they could never have you.

Hells, you even enjoyed the thought of it at first: To belong to him entirely - to be his and his alone. Forever.

His fangs have marked you hundreds and thousands of times through the years, and you have borne it willingly. Because you love him.

There is nothing else to say, really. Astarion has just… captured you. He is it for you. You knew it the moment you laid eyes on him, knew it the second he held a dagger to your throat only to apologise and join your mission moments after. You knew it when he bared his back to you, bearing the scars of years of abuse, and of… the Ritual.

Ah, yes. The Ritual.

It changed everything. It changed him. Seven thousand souls, sacrificed - killed - in the name of your love, and all you could think about was that he would finally be free. Sometimes, you think back to that moment, and you try not to feel ashamed that you did not even try to persuade him otherwise.

But you had never seen him as scared as he was the night you faced Cazador. And you had never seen him angrier, either. So when Astarion ripped Cazador from his coffin, when he stabbed and slashed and twisted his sword in the belly of his abuser, you… let him.

He deserved revenge. He deserved to kill him, to be free of him, to never be made to feel small and powerless again.

You liked it. You loved it, even: Loved him, free of torment, bloodied with his eyelids heavy from violence. Because you thought it meant his freedom.

And when Astarion turned to you, face smeared with warm blood, the infernal runes on his back glowing, and his eyes so big and full of bloodlust and fear, you could not say no. When he carved the runes into the back of his tormentor, savouring every scream of agony, you could not say no. You watched, and you loved Astarion all the more for every tear of pain he wrung from Cazador’s wretched body. And you let yourself forget it would not just be Cazador who would die for your love to be free.

The Ritual is by far not the only moment of weakness you have ever afforded yourself throug the years, but it is the one that has changed your life the most.

Seven thousand souls. All for the happiness of your love. All for him, for his freedom and his might, for him to live in the sun and never know hunger again. For him to be able to love you without fear.

Thing is- the Ritual never made him happy. It just made him other.

Astarion looks at you different after the ritual. He looks at you like… he owns you. You don’t realise it in the beginning, not for a long time. His words are sweet as ever, his hands gentle when he touches you. His fangs are sharp but his lips are soft, and he calls you his pretty little thing and his love. He calls you His, and you take it to be an affirmation of love, not one of ownership.

Eventually, though, you start to understand what he really means. It starts to sink in when you deny him, and he talks of still taking what he wants. When you disagree, and he does not hear you out. When your neck is covered in bruises, and you still don’t find it in yourself to deny him. Because even with the blood of seven thousand souls dripping from his hands, even with the way his eyes turn cold when he looks at you, even with the things he asks you to do and the kind words he used to have so many of growing few and far between, you cannot stop loving him.

And so you stay, through the cruelty and the ecstasy, through the nightly soirées and the everchanging guests of the palace, through the dark masses and the bloodlust. The joy of his kisses is enough to keep you chained in place without needing to lock you up.

You remember how he used to be: scared and alone, eager to manipulate if only to save himself, because no one else had ever looked out for him.

You remember what he became as you travelled together: kind and thoughtful, even though he kept pretending like he wasn’t. Sweet and caring, protective and assured. How much he overcame to love you, and surely that must be worth something, mustn't it?

When you look at the man that stands in front of you now, in all his glory, bathed in the light of his Ascension, you decide that he is still worth staying for. Every time.

You sit next to him, you offer your neck to him, your wrist, your thighs and your shoulders, wherever he can reach, though he does not hunger for your blood as he used to. But he likes showing off, and you are his favourite trophy.

You can’t say how long you have lived in Cazador’s palace. Years, maybe.

Astarion takes you to bed every night, to drink from you, to hold you. And that is the thing that keeps you here, with him, even after all this time: He still holds you like he cannot sleep without you, and you are always there when he wakes up from his nightmares, gasping for air, crying out the name of his tormentor, of his long-dead parents and friends. In the darkness of these nights, there is a humanity to him that you cannot find when you look into his eyes in the sunlight that he so craves.

You are not so foolish as to think you could save him. You gave up on that thought long ago, after he made you sit at his feet with your wrists still dripping in blood, just to let it flow down the stairs before his throne and tell the guests of his soirée that they could never have you - that they were not even allowed to lick your blood from the floor - because you were his and his alone.

No, you can’t save him anymore. A small sliver of your soul holds onto the hope that he might… get bored. That he will grow tired of the favours that people ask in exchange for gifts of gold and knowledge, that he will grow tired of sitting in the sun while you read to him. That he will get tired of you. That he will make you leave, because you are not strong enough to do it on your own.

And as Astarion stares at you from across the table, his fangs showing as he curls his upper lip in displeasure, you think that, maybe, you will be so lucky.

You are not.

Astarion’s hand grabs your jaw and tilts your head into the light of the candelabra.

“What’s that?” he asks, and he sounds so disgusted that you nearly start to cry from his words alone. For all the hope you had that he might let you go, you never wanted him to hate you.

“What is what, my love?” The nickname falls easily from your lips, years of habit and a tinge of truth. Your love. For all his mistakes, he is still that.

His finger traces your brow in a surprisingly gentle movement, and your breath catches. But the look in his eye is still one of revulsion and contempt. He pulls at you until you get up to follow him, stumbling through the halls of the manor to stop in front of the big mirror he usually keeps covered.

The mirror. One of the only things his ascension did not fix: Astarion still can’t see his own reflection. Sometimes, you wonder if he keeps you around just to ask for accounts of his beauty that he will never be able to see.

Dozens of portraits have been made in his honour, the artists killed so they would never surpass their masterpiece: Him. None of the portraits manage to capture his ethereal beauty, the cruel twist around his mouth or the pain that still lingers in his eyes. None of the artists understand him the way he would need to be understood to be painted the way he wants to be seen. The way he wants to see himself.

You have caught him on bad nights, standing in front of the empty mirror you see before you now, staring into the silver surface with flaming eyes like he could will himself to appear if he only wanted it enough. It has been years since then. Now, he only asks you to describe him to himself, when he is buried deep inside you, when his pale hands glow on your skin in the moonlight, and his fangs are sunk into the bruised flesh of your neck. You excel at it, because after all, one thing is still true: You love him. You understand him in ways nobody else ever could.

The mirror has been covered up for a long time, collecting dust as you assumed its supposed function.

Now, Astarion pulls at the velvet cover, and your mirror image is revealed to you. Astarion’s hand wraps around the nape of your neck as he pushes you closer to the silvery surface.

“What is that?” he asks again, so accusatorily that you shy away from your own reflection. You see nothing out of the ordinary: Your own face, his mirror absence behind you. Maybe your hair is a little messier than you would like, maybe the bruises on your neck more prominent than you would prefer. But you look just like you always do.

Astarion’s finger traces your brow again - and you realise what has him this riled up.

A faint wrinkle, barely visible, stretches across your forehead like a thin, twisted branch.

You worry too much, as Karlach would have put it. Gods, you haven't seen her in ages. You don't even know if she still lives.

“I-” you set on to explain, though you don’t know what exactly you could say to calm him. When Astarion is in this mood, there is little to do but wait it out. The storm always passes eventually; with sharp fangs slicing your skin or cold hands finding their way beneath your robes to watch you writhe and beg.

Astarion’s gaze now is colder than it has ever been, and it makes you shiver.

“You are ageing.” He spits the words at you like venom.

“Such is the nature of things, my love.” Your voice is dry with annoyance, but you cannot find it in you to care. What a useless thing for him to lose his mind over.

Astarion’s face glows with the beauty of an anger that is senseless as much as it is boundless. You can barely look at him when he twists you around until you are pressed up against the wall, his body so close to yours you can feel the coldness of his skin. Nothing hurts more than to look at him like this, his red eyes devoid of any affection. He didn't used to look at you like this in the beginning… did he? You can’t remember.

His words are poison, his fingers digging into your throat with every syllable he spits at you.

“No, no no. Not in the nature of me. Not in the nature of my world, the universe I have created.” He is aflame with an anger you have not seen in years. It tugs at your heart. All of a sudden, he looks almost as he did before the Ritual: passionate and full of emotion. It doesn't matter that it’s not affection that sets his eyes aflame. At least it’s not indifference.

Astarion wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking you up and down.

“This… this just won’t do,” he mumbles, tilting his head and eyeing you up and down.

To say your heart leaps in joy would be a lie. It leaps in terror. You know what happens to things Astarion has no use for anymore. They are discarded, and if they used to be alive, they are discarded dead.

He might make an exception for you, for his consort, his pet, his trophy. But he might not. These days you can never tell.

“I have waited too long,” he whispers, almost like he has forgotten you are even there. His iron grip on your neck loosens, and you twist around, trying to escape his grasp, not to have to look at him anymore. You can’t bear it. You close your eyes and breathe.

When you open your eyes and see how he looks at you, tears fill your eyes at the expression on his face.

There he is.

After all these years of hoping, of waiting and praying to every god, he is standing before you again: Your love, unchanged by the years, eternally beautiful as he already was before his Ascension. His eyes glow red and his fangs are sharp as ever, but his face is delicate and full of fear. You have not seen him like this in… forever.

“I have waited too long,” he says again, sadness dripping heavy from his eyes. “I… We have waited too long.”

His hand runs up your side, caressing your face, and the look in his eyes is so warm that for the first time in years, you don’t feel like you are freezing from the inside out. You bask in his affection.

“What did we wait for?” you whisper as Astarion buries his face in the crook of your neck, his soft lips warm on your chilly skin. He presses against you and you let him, even though the wall is cold and hard behind you, because this is all you have dreamed about for so long. A sign that he is still in there, that he is still capable of loving you the way he used to.

His lips move against the delicate skin of your throat when he answers.

“For you to be ready.”

Your head falls back as his nails rake down your back, and his thigh presses between your legs. Your fingers weave into his silver hair as your breath catches at the warmth in your chest.

“Ready for what?” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. The familiar sharpness of his fangs sinking into your skin is no surprise.

“To be mine.” Astarion’s words sear holes into your skin, deeper than his fangs ever could. “Forever.”

You let him push his fingers into your mouth without resistance, your lips parting easily as blood red eyes burn into yours. Astarion smiles a smile that is only fangs and cruelty.

By the time you feel the world flicker, your consciousness fading into darkness, it is already too late.

You are not only His. You have become His Creation. Forever.

Dive into Angstarion - become insane with me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon02 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @darlingbravebelle @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @midnightdragonzero @thatweebitch @triangleshapewinner @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @fuckalrighty @meabravo @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @cometstail @beesherbsandivy @gub @codename-indigo @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion

#astarion #astarion bg3 #angst #astarion x reader #astarion x you #i cannot stress enough that this is not smut #bg3 #gala writes #angstarion

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ameliora-j · 4 months

Text

i’m a slut for mean! cold! heartbroken! aaron hotchner.

content: mean!aaron, like literally just an asshole, insults to intelligence

WAIT WAIT WAIT LET ME EXPLAIN BEFORE U SCROLL!!!!!

𐐪𐑂 aaron hotchner who just lost the love of his life and high school sweetheart

𐐪𐑂 aaron hotchner who was already stoic and standoffish but just became downright mean after foyett

𐐪𐑂 aaron hotchner that has a permanent scowl on his face in an attempt to mask his hurt

𐐪𐑂 aaron hotchner who immediately rolls his eyes when he sees a 20 something year old dressed head to toe in what was clearly daddy’s money walk into his office

𐐪𐑂 to clarify — it’s not the daddy’s money that bothers him

𐐪𐑂 it’s that awful. stupid. damned. fucking. smile that seems permanently painted on her face

𐐪𐑂 that bubbly personality and preppy voice that wouldn’t be ceased even by the meanest of his comments

𐐪𐑂 and it’s not that he doesn’t know he’s an asshole — he’s well aware

𐐪𐑂 even acts like one on purpose sometimes so that she’d just leave him the hell alone

𐐪𐑂 but GOD

𐐪𐑂 could she take a fucking hint????

𐐪𐑂 no matter what he says, what he does—you’re always practically skipping right back up to him the next time you need something

𐐪𐑂 “hey aaron?”

𐐪𐑂 “it’s agent hotchner to you” — even tho everyone else on the team calls him ‘aaron’ or ‘hotch’

𐐪𐑂 that’s only met with a nose scrunch and a bit of a frown before that stupid fucking smile is back

𐐪𐑂 and aaron can’t help but roll his eyes

𐐪𐑂 what. THE FUCK. was there to be so happy about?

𐐪𐑂 when i say even his meanest of phrases don’t wipe that smile off her face i mean it

𐐪𐑂 “agent hotchner, can you help me with x”

𐐪𐑂 it’s met with a gruff “i’m busy right now”

𐐪𐑂 though all he was doing was having a glass of whiskey with rossi in his office

𐐪𐑂 that stupidly cute fucking nose scrunch and frown appears on her face before she’s smiling again

𐐪𐑂 “well yes sure, i’m sure you are but this is urgent”

𐐪𐑂 “jesus fucking christ (lastname) how incompetent can you be?!”

𐐪𐑂 and even that doesn’t get her smile to falter

𐐪𐑂 it’s like her happiness is suffocating him

𐐪𐑂 not that he was wishing she’d be unhappy or anything but FUCK could she have at least ONE bad day????

𐐪𐑂 nothing that he says affects her

𐐪𐑂 until that one fateful day when she asks him which case he thinks is more pertinent to take

𐐪𐑂 it was a tough decision, really

𐐪𐑂 both unsubs taking low risk victims and escalating tapidly

𐐪𐑂 both unsubs absolutely sick and perverted in their violent torture methods

𐐪𐑂 and both unsubs rapidly escalating at nearly the same rate

𐐪𐑂 almost as if they were working together on opposite sides of the country

𐐪𐑂 “agent hotchner, whenever you have a chance could you look over these files please? i can’t choose which city needs us most”

𐐪𐑂 he lets out a deep sigh, followed by a loud froan

𐐪𐑂 “fucking christ!” he yells, his hand hitting the desk

𐐪𐑂 she flinches at his bang, biting your lip nervously

𐐪𐑂 “honestly i don’t even know why i hired you. you clearly can’t do your fucking job right”

𐐪𐑂 his words are causing tears to fill her eyes, a lump welling in her throat

𐐪𐑂 furthermore it feels never ending, every single word like a stab in the chest

𐐪𐑂 “i go out on a limb and hire a younger person and all you do every single day is remind me why i never should have given you a chance”

𐐪𐑂 she doesn’t dare to try to speak, and aaron is becoming angrier as he still sees the smile on her face

𐐪𐑂 “how fucking stupid are you? if you can’t decide on a case maybe you just aren’t cut out for the bau”

𐐪𐑂 before he walks away, shouldering his way past her to lock himself in his office

𐐪𐑂 she doesn’t miss the “i wish i never fucking hired you”

𐐪𐑂 that’s what gets her

𐐪𐑂 she could take the hits to her intelligence and her character

𐐪𐑂 but just something about her ability to do her job being questioned twisted her stomach in knots

𐐪𐑂 to the point where if began to feel like someone was taking a knife and twisting it in circles inside of her chest

𐐪𐑂 she swallows thickly, forcing her tears back as she makes a silent trip to her office

𐐪𐑂 for the next three days aaron doesn’t see her

𐐪𐑂 and for some reason he feels… empty?

𐐪𐑂 maybe not empty… he doesn’t know what he feels, but it’s not a good feeling

𐐪𐑂 she’s been sliding files underneath the crack in his door and sending messages through other agents when she needed it

𐐪𐑂 friday morning he walks into her office

𐐪𐑂 she’s sitting behind your desk combing through more case files when there’s a soft knock before the door opens

𐐪𐑂 “hey uh… (lastname)…”

𐐪𐑂 she doesn’t give him a chance to say more as she looks up at him

𐐪𐑂 one simple question leaves her lips

𐐪𐑂 one simple question that shatters aaron’s world

𐐪𐑂 it’s soft… broken—her voice cracking with practically every word she says.

𐐪𐑂 “why do you hate me so much?”

𐐪𐑂 “(lastname…)”

𐐪𐑂 “no, aaron! WHY?!” she yells

𐐪𐑂 “WHY?! what did i ever do to you for you to hate me so much?! you never even gave me a chance!”

𐐪𐑂 “BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU”

𐐪𐑂 the air is silent after his outburst

𐐪𐑂 it seems like all the air is stuck in your throat, no words forming as she stares at him

𐐪𐑂 aaron lets out a breath

𐐪𐑂 “i’m in love with you. and the last time i was in love with somebody it didn’t end well…”

𐐪𐑂 “so you were an asshole?”

𐐪𐑂 “i thought i was protecting you… from me”

𐐪𐑂 “i… i work too much and i’m a hard ass and i don’t let people in i… i’m hard to love. and i thought by being a dick to you i could get over you or… or make you go away but”

𐐪𐑂 “god you just kept coming back with that stupid fucking smile that lit up the entire floor and it just pissed me off because i wanted to be the reason for that”

𐐪𐑂 “and… i guess i didn’t realize that i was just hurting you worse by not being honest… and for that i’m very sorry”

𐐪𐑂 “i’m sure you are extremely hard to love” it’s a whisper

𐐪𐑂 “but if you give me a chance then i’d love to try…”

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