#like you know of the world it’s just that THIS one won’t be THAT world

[maxtermind]

“your opinion of me won't change, right?” + lando (who kinda has a fuckboy reputation but fell for the reader)

“your opinion of me won't change, right?”

( event masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ★:summary:: the one where a fuckboy gets turned into a loverboy? ★:feat:: lando norris x reader ★:genre:: hurt/comfort

the knock on your door comes around midnight when you're almost going to bed. you don’t expect anyone, especially not him.

for a second, you stand still, unsure of what to do with heart thudding. but the persistent rapping doesn’t stop, and despite the days of silence between you two, you already know who it is.

when you swing the door open, lando stumbles in, his shoulders slumped, eyes clouded with alcohol and something darker. his hair is a mess, damp from the rain, and he reeks of whiskey and regret.

“y/n,” he breathes out, almost as if he’s relieved to see you. but you’re not relieved at all. you’re angry, confused, and hurt and looking at him really hit you so hard that you had to squeeze the ends of your his t-shirt to not stumble.

you close the door behind him, and he sways unsteadily. he’s drunk—drunker than you’ve ever seen him. his clothes are disheveled, his usual cool confidence replaced by something pitiful, something raw.

"lando, what the hell are you doing here?" your voice is sharp, meant to sting, because his presence alone already rips at the wounds that haven't even started healing yet.

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he looks at you with those familiar blue eyes, the same ones that once made you weak in the knees, but now… they just bring back the pain. his lips tremble as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t.

"you—" lando slurs slightly, stepping forward, hands outstretched. "you weren't… supposed to leave. you—" it washed over you like a bucket of cold water and you're already moving away from his touch.

"don't." your voice cracks, and you hate how fragile you sound. you take another step back, putting more space between you two. "don’t come here like this again."

lando rubs his face, pacing around your small living room slowly, stumbling over air. he’s spiraling, trying to collect his thoughts, but the alcohol muddles his brain and you can see the struggle on his face.

“i didn’t mean to… i didn’t want you to leave,” he mutters. he turns to you, desperation in his eyes. "i messed up, okay? i know that. but i… fuck, i’m trying, y/n."

you cross your arms, every muscle tense. "trying? you’re drunk, lando. that’s not trying."

his face crumples at your words, and he stumbles back, this time collapsing onto the couch like his legs can’t hold him up anymore. his hands run through his hair, pulling at it in frustration, in agony.

you vividly remember what happened a few nights ago when a girl texted him asking if he was up for 'another' great night. it wasn't easy being with someone while knowing he could have anyone in the entire world and with his past, you were already always on the edge of letting your insecurities out.

it just led to a bigger argument where instead of assuring you how you were the only one he ever wanted, he asked you to either start trusting him or leave.

so you left.

"do you know how much i fucking hate myself?" his voice is hoarse now, barely above a whisper, but the rawness in it cuts through you like a knife as it brings you back to the present. "i tried to be better for you. i… i tried."

you swallow the lump forming in your throat, trying to stay firm, but it’s hard. it's always been hard with him. "you have a funny way of showing it."

he lifts his head slowly, tears brimming in his eyes now, and the sight is enough to make your resolve crack just a little. you've never seen him cry before. not like this.

“your opinion of me won’t change, right?” his voice breaks, and you freeze. the vulnerability in his question sends a jolt of pain straight to your chest. he sounds small, defeated, like the weight of everything he’s been carrying has finally crushed him.

“lando…” you whisper, but he doesn’t let you finish.

"because everyone else—" he pauses, taking in a shaky breath. "they all think they know me? that i’m just some… some asshole who doesn’t care, who’s not capable of… anything real? but i’m not. i’m not, y/n. you know that, right?"

the room feels heavy, like the air is thickening with every word. you want to say something, to tell him that you believed in him once, that you saw the good in him, the real lando, but it’s not that simple anymore.

"i fell for you," he says, voice trembling, eyes glistening as he stares up at you like you're the only thing that can save him. with the rapid blinking of his eyes, tears start to fall and so does your resolve. "i wish i didn’t put you through this, but i did. and i didn’t know how to be that guy… the one you deserved. but i tried. i’m still trying."

it’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of his ragged breathing and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you look at him, really look at him. his face is flushed from the alcohol and the tears, but beneath that, you see something more. he’s broken in ways you never let yourself see before.

all the cockiness, the bravado, the charm—it was all just a shield. he never thought he was good enough for you either, and maybe that’s why you left. you repeat it to yourself but it was a losing war.

the old lando wouldn’t be here, in front of you, crying and baring his soul. he wouldn’t have admitted any of this. isn't that reason enough to give him another chance?

he was selfish before, reckless, hiding behind his reputation as the playboy, the fun guy who never cared too deeply about anything. but now, now you see the cracks. you see the vulnerability he’s tried so hard to bury and it kills you to give in but the words leave you before you can stop yourself.

"i thought you didn’t care," you admit softly, feeling all your defenses start to crumble. "that’s why i left, lando. i didn’t think you could care."

"i fucking love you," he lets out a bitter laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. not believing what you were saying at all. "i care too fucking much. i just… maybe i don’t know how to show it right."

you sigh, sitting down beside him on the couch, still keeping a little distance between you. "it’s not about showing it right. it’s about showing it at all."

he looks at you, his gaze softer now, more open. "i’m sorry. i know i’ve been… i know i fucked up. but i’m… i love you, y/n. i really fucking love you. and i didn’t know how much until you weren’t there."

his words hang in the air, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel anger or hurt. you just feel… sad. sad for him, sad for you, sad for all the misunderstandings that led you here.

you reach out, gently brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead. he closes his eyes at the touch, leaning into it like he’s starved for your touch. he probably is because so are you.

"i’ve changed," he murmurs, his voice thick with exhaustion. "i swear loving you has changed me."

you don’t respond right away. instead, you lean forward and press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. his skin is warm beneath your lips, and the simple gesture feels more intimate than anything you’ve ever shared before.

when you pull back, lando looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his emotions raw and exposed. "i love you too," he mumbles, his voice barely audible, like he’s falling asleep or slipping into a dream where things are better, where you’re together again.

you don’t know what’s going to happen next, or if you can really fix what’s broken between you. but for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe… just maybe, you can try.

and maybe this time, it’ll be different.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★:a/n:: thanks for the request love! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :3

[lovrsm]

“ꜱʟᴜᴛ!”

sum: Ferraris golden boy moves over to RedBull Racing Team.

Daughter of the CEO of Red Bull, you’ve grown to love racing, and in the way making new friends. Even if you felt like your world was falling apart, even when you denied it, he was the only one you needed. And there was absolutely nothing that could change his mind about your beautiful self, the way he loves you.

word count:idk, prb 2k

pairing: rb!charles leclerc x horner!reader

warnings: name calling, alcohol, smut f! receiving, first time writing real horny shit!

a/n: sorry for the long intro, I swear it’s worth it😔✋ LOOOL, I WROTE THIS LIKE A YEAR AGOO, and I rlly wanted to clear up my drafts but this is too good to not come out. Yet idk if I have any mistakes, if I do let me know!! Also, checo acting as a dad (#IloveCheco)

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“and I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman”

Clink, clink, that’s what our champagne glasses sounded like together.

“Congratulations, what a wonderful year. It’s been a pleasure being with all of you.” Sergio, Checo Perez, made a brief goodbye to your team.

He was leaving Red Bull. Everyone here loved him, and loves him, including yourself. He became quickly your family after seeing him every day for more than 3 years.

“We will miss you” your dad palms his back, making Checo break a smile.

“It isn’t the end yet, you know that boss.” He laughed.

His reasons? Family, everything for him, he couldn’t bare leaving them anymore alone, so he decided after, several years, to leave formula 1. After helping Max to win his championships, he is a fucking legend.

“Well, I won’t leave you alone, I will still drag you everywhere, you know? Even after you leave.” Max and Checo have developed a very special bond, even if social media said otherwise.

“We, wont leave you alone, you still owe me those therapy sessions” I winked at him, he became a very big emotional support for me, believe it or not, he’s got some great advice to give.

“Lovely dinner” I took a picture of all of us with my camera, a goodbye dinner for Checo, and tomorrow, all of the world would see this on the newspaper.

-

“I really don’t know what to do, do you know how many drivers have reached us out in the last 2 hours? I mean, I have a few options but they keep giving me more reasons and… I just don’t know.” My dad was stressed, typing in his computer as if his life depended on it.

“It’s going to be alright, okey? You don’t necessarily need to worry about it right now, we still have a championship to win, you know?” I gave him a cup of tea, just so he could relax a bit.

When something is about work, everything else doesn’t matter. At all.

“We’ll watch your options, alright? I can help you with anything you want” I smiled at him.

“When did you became such a great business woman?”

“You’re my father, of course I’m hardworking.”

-

“Red Bull did it again, Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez, world champion and sub-champion!”

Screams from Max and Checo blasted my ears, P1 and P2, again. Absolutely no mistakes. The internet going crazy. And somehow it all became quiet.

“Who will get that Red Bull seat next year? Will he be a fit to Sergio Perez place?”

Everyone went outside to celebrate, while I stayed so I could hear the TV and media.

what do people want?

“Ferrari didn’t have a great year, let’s hope they both get a better car”

“I agree! Great drivers, such a shame Ferrari has been getting worse every year. What a waste of talent.” The other interviewer said.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz appeared in the screen. Both with an obvious forced smile plastered in their faces.

Charles, my secret crush ever since… forever. Was I obvious? Not a single soul knew, well, except him.

-

Charles Leclerc signed in RedBull that was the only thing appearing on my feed right now . Red bull? Bullshit, you mean? What kind of a big lie is that?

Internet was filled with Charles leaving Ferrari for RedBull.

In what twisted universe does that even happen?

I later learned, I am living in that twisted world, and I discovered the great news in social media, and not my own team.

“What do you mean Charles Leclerc, dad? Why wasn’t I even informed about this. Wait, hold on, when did it even crossed your mind?!” I was dignified.

Following around the kitchen.

“I didn’t have to, oh, I do think I need to tell you this, he’s coming to dinner tonight so wear something nice.”

Wear something nice.

Thanks dad, as always, you’re so, so great.

Night time came sooner than expected, if my dad hosts a dinner, even if there’s a million, or just one person coming over, he likes to be extra.

-

Almost time, 8:00 and it is 7:50, all that was missing was the dress. It was placed on my bed. Showing all of it’s beauty.

Navy blue, our color. It was my dream dress.

Light, silky and fancy dress.

I walked downstairs, watching people running and arranging everything, doing just the final touches.

I’ve come to learn, that people arrive late, or just in time. Never earlier.

“Ah, what a beautiful young woman I have here!” Geri, my father’s wife came to greet me.

“You look amazing, I knew that dress would be perfect for you!”

“Geri, you are amazing, seriously. Thank you, and look at you! We both look gorgeous.” I smiled at her and we linked arms, she and I were walking towards the garden, where would be the dinner.

Some big, round, wooden tables were set in the middle. Each seat would have a name, decorated with a white flower in the middle of the plate.

It was easy to find my place. I was at the biggest one of all, where the most important people of this night would be seated.

Lucky for me, his name was right next to my plate.

In a matter of seconds, people started to arrive, old friends, and new faces passed through those doors.

This will be a great night.

“Funny to find you here, it’s been some time since I last saw you…” I rolled my eyes, I (sadly) recognized that voice anywhere.

“Go away Mike.” I grabbed my wine glass and took a big sip out of it. “C’mon princess, where are your manners?” He got too close to me.

“Hey y/n! Your dad was looking for you, like right now.” Max Verstappen here to save my day.

“Oooh that’s unfortunate, I’m so so so sorry Mike, hope to see you later!” I waved him off and quickly moved towards Max who then friendly linked his arm with mine.

“I owe you one.” I sighed. “You owe me much more than 1, little one.” I laughed at him.

We got close to my father, who now had a microphone at his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming here and be with us tonight. A toast for Checo here!” He announced and a light was shining on Checo, standing from his seat.

“It has been a wonderful year, sadly it has to end. And I know I’m not the first to tell you that an incredible young talent will be joining us for next season.”

There he was. Navy suit with our logo on him. His hair was messy yet perfectly placed. He showed his dimples and I’m sure I heard someone behind me moan at his sight.

My heart rate was increasing slowly but surely.

“y/n, you’re going to squeeze all my blood from my arm. Stop.” Max whispered in my ear.

Shit. I basically dug my nails into his arm due to my tiny crush.

“Yeah, It’s amazing to know that I’m to race with RedBull next year. I hope we can achieve everything we’ve dreamed of. Looking forward to race with my lifetime partner, Max here.”

Now the light was on Max and me. I discreetly let go of max so that he could have the spotlight. As Max waved I looked back at Charles.

The dimples in his face showed even more, he was looking at me too.

“I can’t wait to work with these wonderful people, and I hope we have a great year to remember, thank you and enjoy this night!” He raised his glass and so did all.

“Well, I hope we don’t have any inchidents” Max laughed at his own joke. Dad joke I must say.

“Well If you don’t push me off the track I think we’ll be just fine” his voice gave me chills. I felt his chest on my back.

I wasn’t strong enough to turn around.

“Oh, shoot, you hear that? I think P is calling me!”

“No, Max-” I tried to stop him.

Around Charles, I barely have control over myself.

“Uh-huh, yeah that’s P, she wants to go to the bathroom, and she needs food, ok have a great night bye!” He rushed to god knows where.

“You really don’t want to be with me, do you?” He whispered on my ear. Feeling the heat of his breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are such a lovely company, mr Leclerc.” I gathered the strength and turned around, and his beautiful green eyes shined at me, making me blush.

“Look at you, could you get any more beautiful?”

He lowered so he could whisper again. “I’ve missed you” I looked around real quick, thankfully Max took everyone’s attention on the other side of the place.

“Not here, Charles.” I whimpered.

“Yes here, I can finally be with you, do you think I would waste any more time pretending to not love you? If you do, let me tell you, you are completely wrong.”

He kept whispering, his hands slowly finding his way to my hips. And mine to his collarbone.

“It’s not even 9pm, Leclerc, this party hasn’t even started” I fighted against my own will to drag him upstairs.

“You know I’ll wait, just for you.” He winked at me, before slowly letting me go and walking away.

“You’re not coming, mon coeur?” Charles turned around to look at me. “If you insist.” I happily walked by his side.

We walked and talked for a few minutes before Mike magically appeared before us.

“Oh not even 5 seconds and you are already like a slut with the new driver” He looked at me with a disgusted face.

“Excuse her? Don’t tall to her like that. Do we even know you?” Charles used a very cold tone on him. And Mike started to stumble on his word.

“Uhm, no, she does, like I was something to her-”

“Was, that’s a key word, pal. Don’t you ever talk to her, no, don’t you ever talk to any woman that way do you understand?”

Now, I can defend myself just fine, but that right there soaked my pants in an unexplainable way.

“Get out of our sight, man.” And he crawled away.

“That was hot.” I whispered and he blushed. “Your mother did raise a gentleman.” I smiled at him and he gave me a cheek kiss.

-

Lost on the moonlit pool, drinking my… 11th (?) glass of wine at 1 in the morning while everyone was still dancing, was weird.

My feet swinging as I drink the last drop of my glass.

I went on a side quest myself just to get distracted for a bit. All the noise was going to hurt my ears if I stayed any longer.

“Here you are, you got lost?” He sat down at my side. Didn’t have to look, his thick accent gave him away immediately.

I took a long breath and rested my head on his shoulder . “Yes, Charles, I’m going to get lost in my own house.” I felt him move beside me. He then had his feet in the pool, just as I did.

I smiled to myself.

“Has anyone told you just how beautiful you look today?”

“You have, more than once.”

“I couldn’t let that slip, you do look beautiful with that dress. It suits you just perfectly.”

He paused.

“But I bet you’d look much better without it.”

I nervously chuckled at his comment.

“You haven’t talked to me in ages, you came back being a driver for my father, and now you want to have sex? Why don’t you already make me your wife?!” I dramatically fell into his arms

“Ages? I talked to you last week!” He showed his teeth to me in a smile. “That was a long time ago! Besides, you never told me about you and RedBull.” I sit straight up again.

“I needed your dad to love me one way or another. How else am I going to get him to approve of our marriage?” He joked.

“You are unbelievable Leclerc.” I stood up, and grabbed my high-heels on my hand, walking back to the party barefoot.

I surrounded part of the pool, my dad wanted to add a bar right beside it, and it was freshly cemented.

He quickly copied my moves, but instead, he went on a straight line to me, and in a step he covered his feet in cement, falling down and thankfully placing his hands before getting worse.

“Shit!” I ran back to help him. I stupidly placed my hand in the cement, the other helping Charles to get up.

“Look, we made a masterpiece! Your handprints and mine in wet cement.”

“And your feet.” I laughed

“And my feet… I really need to wash this off before it gets dry.” I grabbed his hand and he followed my lead.

If my dad sees that I’m getting his new driver to my room…

We rushed through the multitude of people on the garden.

“Ooh we’re going to your bedroom, can’t remember what happened last time there…” he whispered shouted as we were running up the stairs.

I jokingly rolled my eyes at him. We were giggling like children. He kept making dirty jokes and as much as I tried to control myself I’d end up giggling much more.

We got there quicker than I thought. With my clean hand I closed the door and he was already in my bathroom washing his hands, and feet with water. I ran to his side and did the same with my left hand.

“I’m done” I announced and got out of the bathroom. Deciding to do a touch up for my makeup, thankfully nothing was much out of place, but my lipstick faded.

I slowly applied it looking in the mirror, and through it I saw a curious Charles looking at me. “Why do you even apply lipstick?” He slowly walked towards me.

I took my sweet time spreading the color on my lips.

“Cause we are going back, party is not over.”

“But we don’t need to.” He grabbed me by the waist and turned me around to look at him and he swiftly placed me on the desk. A smirk plastered on his face, as he slowly got on his knees.

“Charles…”

He got to his knees, not breaking eye contact with me.

“You know that if you say no, I won’t do anything. But I’m not hearing those words, am I?” He lifted my dress planted wet kisses on my inner thighs, getting closer to my sweet spot. “You’re so fucking wet”.

“They will know we’re gone” I nervously whispered. He looked into my eyes and stopped, his hot breath making me squirm. “That isn’t a no.” He stood his ground.

And I’m not saying “do it anyway”, but we both know he is going to.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about the cons, his tongue was already doing its job.My legs were closing due to the pleasure, but his strong arms kept them wide open while he drew circles with his thumbs.

“Charles…” he hummed in response, sending me shivers all the way up. He kept licking my folds and as I looked down, he had his shiny green eyes looking at me. A hint of darkness in them that made me moan just at sight.

His head between my legs was surely what heaven looked like.

I curved my back and my hand gripping his hair so he could get closer. He groaned and sucked even harder.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy, I missed this.” His hand moved quickly into me, curling his two fingers finding my g spot. “Fuck, Charles!” I screamed his name while cumming all over him, his tongue taking all off of me, as he rose without slowly moving his fingers again. My hips rocking back and forth as he arose, keeping his hand busy. “Too bad that pretty mouth of yours can’t do much right now. I really would love to feel it sucking my dick.” I hummed imagining it and getting even closer to my second climax.

“I'll take care of you, just so my princess can remember who she belongs with.” His lips were on my neck, whispering sweet nothing between kisses and soft biting. My moans filled the whole room along with the sound of his fingers working on her center.

Charles, Charles, Charles…

Each time his name left your mouth his cock got even harder, to the point where it hurt. In a short motion his pants down and without any warning he thrusted into you. You both let out a pornographic scream. If the music wasn’t loud everyone would have heard you two. The sound of your slaps were evident, heat rising, the feeling of his beard in your neck was all too much. Curses along with moans were the only thing louder. He did a final thrust and immediately pulled out, jerking off and finishing in his hand.

“You just washed your hands.” I joked breathlessly, he messed up with my head real bad. “Couldn’t resist” he smiled, gave me a peck and disappeared into the bathroom. I melted on that spot.

“Come on mon coeur.” What I loved about Charles was that he always cared. we got into the bathroom and I washed my hands, in the reflection of the mirror his eyes were already in mine.

“What?” I asked as the blood rushed into my cheeks. “Nothing.” He gently smiled, and his eyes shined to me in a different shade of green.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @dreamergirlatpaddock @lercvlie

[roanniom]

For the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk

You lie in the quiet of dawn, cool rays of a hesitant sunrise filtering through the curtains, as Eddie plays with your fingers.

“I don’t want to go on tour.”

His words are so soft you almost don’t hear them muffled against your neck. It’s the first either of you have spoken since you’d woken up in each other’s arms. Distress pricks your throat.

“Why not? You’re going to have so much fun and the crowds are gonna be sick.” Your tone is cheery. You want the best for your man, even if that means feigning excitement in the face of his imminent departure.

Eddie shifts in bed in order to look at you.

“You won’t be there.”

In spite of the stubble that’s accumulated on his face over night, his crumpled expression leaves him looking boyish. Your heart aches.

“I will be there, silly. You know I’m coming to London to meet up with you.”

“Yeah, at the end of the tour,” he groans, burying his face back against your neck. The laugh you let out in response is genuine. You don’t want him to be hurting, but his petulance is endearing in this context. Plus, you secretly like knowing you aren’t the only one dreading your separation.

“I’ll just be a phone call away, you know.”

“Promise?”

You tap him till he looks up at you again so he can see your outstretched pinky. Grinning, he hooks his larger one around yours.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Eddie Munson,” you reply.

“And thinking impure thoughts about me?” Eddie asks hopefully, a wolfish grin lighting up his features. You slide your free hand down his chest and under the covers.

“I only think impure thoughts about you, babe.” You go to press against what you assumed would be his half aroused member only to find it fully rigid under your palm. You intake breath sharply with a laugh. “You’re already hard?”

“What do you expect? Your hand is on my dick.” Eddie says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

“Yeah, for like two seconds,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What can I say? That’s all it takes—fuuuck.”

Eddie trails off into a groan as you wrap your hand around his length in earnest under the waistband of his boxers.

It’s only a few minutes before he’s panting, head tossed back and wavy hair sprayed out against the pillows.

“Oh fuck, just like that, baby.” His voice is low. Gruff with lust and leftover sleep. “You’ve got the magic touch, you know that?”

You hum in response. You’re too focused on the “task at hand” to let him really distract you with his praise. You’re stationed between his thighs, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other fists up and down, squeezing and twisting over the mushroom head with a flourish each time.

Each time the tip is exposed, you flick your tongue over it, rewarded with his deep moans.

If Eddie was going to be on the road, you were going to be leaving him with plenty of material for his daydreams.

When you start bobbing up and down, taking him deeper in your mouth, that’s when his hips start bucking.

“Princess, it’s - shit - morning. You know I can’t…fuck. Can’t last long in the morning.” He attempts to push you off but you just look up with a grin, your hands still working him expertly.

“Oh I know.”

“I haven’t gotten you yet,” he practically whines, reaching to squeeze at your breast through your sleep shirt.

“I’ll sit on your face later. Right now I want you to cum, ok baby?” you ask before dropping back down to take him all the way down your throat without further warning.

Eddie gasps and his whole body jerks.

“Holy fucking…oh god. Yes ma’am.”

~*~

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I hope you enjoyed this little blurb as I get back into posting! Please let me know what you think! I’ve been gone a long time and would love to hear from you guys

[dovesdreaming]

Catching you

Summary: when you get injured while play fighting with Logan he won’t hear that your fine when your bleeding.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: blood

-

It started out innocently enough. A typical lazy afternoon in the cabin Logan had taken you to, his way of escaping the world for a while, away from the noise and chaos of cities and battles. The air was crisp with the scent of pine, and the afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a warm glow over the wooden floor of the cozy living room. You were sprawled out on the couch, teasing Logan from across the room as he sharpened his claws, something he did when he needed to keep his hands busy. He had that gruff look on his face, like always, but you knew him well enough by now to see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Those things are dull by now, right?” you joked, eyeing the adamantium claws as they caught the light. He snorted, rolling his eyes. “They ain’t toys, darlin’. You keep runnin’ your mouth, you might find out firsthand”. You raised a brow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh, is that a challenge?”.

Logan glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “You sure you wanna go down that road?”. Without missing a beat, you hopped off the couch, lunging playfully at him. You weren’t afraid of Logan, not anymore. Sure, he was all rough edges and tough talk, but you’d long since figured out that beneath that exterior, he was gentle with you in ways no one else ever got to see. You aimed for his midsection, a teasing jab, but Logan caught your wrist effortlessly, his strength always a bit shocking despite his casual stance. “Not bad” he said, holding your arm in place, “but you gotta do better than that”. “Oh, I will” you shot back, wriggling free and circling around him, your playful energy sparking off his calm demeanor.

For the next few moments, it was all in good fun a back-and-forth dance of dodging and light grappling, with you laughing every time he effortlessly blocked your attempts to catch him off guard. His smirk was infuriating, but also endearing. That was, until it happened. In one swift motion, you tried to tackle him again, but your foot caught the edge of the rug, sending you stumbling forward faster than expected. Before either of you could react, you collided hard with the coffee table, the sharp edge catching the side of your head.

The moment you hit the floor, the playfulness in Logan’s eyes vanished. His claws retracted instantly as he knelt beside you, hands already searching for the source of your pain. “Shit” Logan muttered, his voice tight with concern. “You okay?”. You winced, clutching your head. The sting was sharp, and when you reached a hand upwards your hand came back into view with a trickle of blood on your fingers. Your head spun as you said “I’m fine” trying to wave him off with a laugh that came out more strained than you intended. “Just... underestimated the furniture”. But Logan wasn’t having it. His brow furrowed deeply as he gently brushed your hand aside to inspect the wound. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to have him worried, and Logan didn’t like seeing you hurt. Not ever. “Let me see” he said, his tone soft but insistent, one of his large hands steady on your shoulder as he examined the cut. “It’s not bad, but you’re bleedin’”. You tried to shrug it off, but Logan was already in caretaker mode. He stood up, grabbing a nearby towel and pressing it gently against the cut on your head, his eyes never leaving you as he worked.

“Logan, really, it’s nothing” you protested, though the warmth of his touch and the concern in his gaze was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You sayin’ I shouldn’t care?” he muttered, his voice rough but low, the gravelly edge of it somehow soothing as he sat down beside you. “You’re hurt, and that’s enough for me to care”. You met his eyes, his expression a mixture of irritation and worry. The guilt in his gaze made your chest tighten, knowing that he blamed himself for something as small as a cut. “You didn’t hurt me, Logan. It was my fault. I got careless”. He shook his head, sighing as he pressed the towel against your side, holding it there with a tenderness that still surprised you sometimes. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still hurt. And I don’t like seein’ that”. You reached up, your hand brushing against his stubbled jaw. “You’re way too hard on yourself, you know that?”. He scoffed, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little as he leaned into your touch. “Yeah, well.. somebody’s gotta be”.

After a moment, he helped you sit up, still holding the towel to your head. His hand found the back of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he pulled you close, his forehead resting against yours on the non injured side. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. “You scare me sometimes, you know that?” he murmured, his voice gruff and low. “Not cause you’re reckless, but.. cause I don’t know what I’d do if somethin’ happened to you”. Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Logan. I’ve got you to look after me, remember?”. He huffed a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Damn right you do”.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that—wrapped in each other, the worry and tension melting away with the comfort of his embrace. You felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, and the familiar scent of him; Leather, whiskey, and the faint scent of pine grounded you. “Guess I should be more careful next time we spar” you murmured after a while, a teasing lilt in your voice. Logan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression softening in that way only you ever got to see. “Next time, maybe don’t fight dirty” he said with a smirk, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Or I’ll start winnin’”. You grinned, your fingers tracing over his hand where it rested on your side. “Oh, please. Like you ever let me win”. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss before he murmured, “I always let you win, darlin’”. You smiled against his lips, feeling safe, cared for, and more loved than you’d ever thought possible. Logan may have been rough around the edges, but with you, he was all warmth and tenderness, always ready to catch you even when you stumbled on your own. And in moments like this, it was all the proof you needed that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[wraithdance]

Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader

Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.

Note: F!Reader, No phys. description but reader has background story, no y/n use, Reader is LGBTQ (Bi/Pan) w/ Avoidant attachment issues. Content warning: Mature | avoidant attachment traits, mentions of slight self harming behavior, sexually explicit content, mentions of p in v sex, description of ptsd episode, brief mention of animal death plz skip the last sentence if that may be a trigger.

Chapter two: Soap won’t go home

[4:57 AM]

You were not ‘blissfully slumbering in no time’.

Instead you were having another panic attack in a bathroom.

It would be a consolation that this time you’re at home, but you know for a fact that the Scot you let come over for a quick screw is outside the door waiting. The thought brings more hot angry tears down your cheeks as another bout of trembling makes your teeth chatter violently. 

Johnny knocks on the door again. “Hen, are ye okay?”

You hope he feels your glare burning through the plywood separating you both. It’s so tempting to shriek ‘what the fuck do you think?’, maybe it would even be cathartic.

You wish you could say it. Mean and cruel in return for the simple kindness of asking after your rightness in the world. But the same something that always sits on your chest when you think about doing what you really want constricts you like a Boa.

Swallowing the bitter angry words like thick cough syrup you bite out a shaky, “I’m fine.” 

You know he doesn’t believe you, you can hear his weight shift on the creaky tile in front of the door that you never got around to fixing.

“Bonnie, can ye open the door, just want to check on ye.”

You turn on the tap to the bathtub instead to drown him out. Shoving your hands under the scalding hot water, attempting to focus on trying to get the freezing chill out of your limbs. 

Everything had been going so well. 

Johnny fucked like a dog. A dirty disgusting dog that wouldn’t take his tongue or cock out of your body long enough for you to think much less breathe. He’d had no issue with letting you dominate, had enthusiastically agreed after sloppily and relentlessly coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue and fingers. 

There was a point you thought you might have died a little, as the time between him pressing an exploratory tongue into your asshole before licking up to your clit with harsh pulls, evaporated.

You’d suddenly come back to reality to him pumping two, then three fingers into your sex and tapping on the bundle of nerves inside your body in a come hither motion.

Johnny had worn a self satisfied, shit eating grin on his face when he’d finally come up for air. His jaw and throat slick with your fluids. He’d been anything but subtle about how much it turned him on to see you fucked out and barely functioning.

It’d hurt your ego more than just a little bit. You’d prided yourself on being the one to leave your partners in utter bliss.

It was the least you could do for being a no good, emotionally destitute that only hurt them in the end.

With the intent to redeem yourself you had pushed him to the floor none too lightly, dropping to your knees and diving for his swollen cock. He’d tried to pull your hair and rut into your throat before you bit the skin at his hip and snarled threats at him. It only made the bastard harder.

You’d swallowed him deep, humming around the saliva and solid length of him, satisfied with the roar he lets out in his release.

It took him less than ten minutes to get hard again. He’d pouted at the box of condoms you’d thrown at him but had been pleased when you rolled the latex on his reddened shaft with your mouth.

That’s how you found yourself boneless on top of his body as he pressed long, steady strokes into your cunt. You’d ridden him for as long as you could before the burn in your knees and thighs became too much. Johnny cooed sticky sweet things in your ears with his arms wrapped tight around you like a vice.

“Aye hen are ye tired? Let Johnny make it better, just open for me, I’ll make it better, promise, look at ye, pretty thing I’ve got ya.” Every other word enunciated with an upward thrust.

“Aye I gotcha, yer doing good hen.” He’d panted in your ear with a rasp.

The combination of him hitting the spot deep inside of you like a game of ring the bell and the crooning affirmations, had been too much. To your horror your eyes had prickled with tears. You’d bitten the inside of your lips raw, desperately trying to muffle the broken sobs that clawed up your throat, pushing back against his chest fighting for space. 

Johnny had held you tighter, one palm against your back and the other tight around your neck as he worked you both through a pitiful orgasm that had you seeing stars. Until he’d flipped you over, pinning you into a mating press. 

You’d hyperventilated until you blacked out.

You’re scowling at the way your skin puckers beneath the rushing water. You’re still numb. The trauma therapist at the psych hospital was full of it, distress tolerance didn't actually do shit for distress.

The bathroom lock jiggles and you’re whipping your head to the opening door in panic as it swings open. 

Johnny’s blue eyes are remorseful but that quickly turns to horror. You jerk your arm out from under the water and try to hide it behind your side but Johnny is faster. He’s across the floor in less than two wide strides and forcing your arm from behind you despite your jerking.

“What are ye doing? Hen, look at your arm!”

“I was checking the temperature, I’m fine.” He gives you a look of disbelief and grunts something unintelligible under his breath. He ignores your protests and shuts off the water, freezing you with a warning look when you lift your hand to stop him. 

In the sudden quiet he searches your face, you glower. 

“Come here.”

He doesn’t wait for you to decide to be cooperative, he’s maneuvering his hands around you, one on the back of your neck and the other beneath your chin. Johnny sinks to the bathroom floor to his knees and presses his forehead against yours. 

“Breathe for me, ye can do it bonnie, deep breaths.”

He’s too close. His breath fans across your face, the sensation shocking a sob out of you.  You’re stiffening with panic at the sudden flood of feeling racing down your spine. 

“I’m fine, I just need you to back up-” 

Johnny thumbs his finger across your jaw in slow swiping movements. 

“Breathe. I’m nae asking.”

Fuck.

You take stuttering breaths, he counts each one telling you to hold on the exhale.

In. Out. Good lass, I’ve got ye.

He’s lying to you. But you do what he asks anyway.

Johnny lets you pull back only when the trembling stops. His watchful eyes are bright. Soft. It makes your stomach churn.

“I’m good.” you whisper “You don’t have to stay.” 

He gets the double meaning you're only marginally trying to cover up. Instead of offense he’s smirking and there’s a layered glint in his eyes, like you’ve challenged him.

“Are ye tryin’ to get rid of me?”

Yes!

“No,” Standing from the lip of the tub, you try to side-step his large form. He watches you like a hawk, observing your awkward inch towards the door into the darkened hallway.  “I just have an early morning, so I should get some rest, I’m sorry.”

Letting out a humorless laugh he rolls his shoulders back, ambling to his feet. He keeps an eye on your skittish retreat, taking a step for every one of your own until he’s in the doorway, lifting his arms to hold on to the frame. 

It’s the first time you notice he’s still bare ass naked. 

Tan skin and darkened hair coat the expanse of his body along with various scarring. You’re staring at the small circular puckered skin on his thigh when his cock twitches where it hangs. 

Johnny’s wolfish grin makes an appearance at your grimace.

“Aye, he’s a bit tuckered out as well, hen.” The Scot reaches for you, rubbing his hands down your arms, tucking his thumb beneath his stolen shirt, “We should get some sleep, yeah?”

No, not yeah. He really needed to get the fuck out.

You stiffen in his hold, panic rising in your chest rapidly and he notices. Johnny pulls back to look at you, guiding your chin back to face him when you try to duck your face. He tells you to breathe deep, you hate that you follow his instructions again.

“Ye won’t even know I’m here, promise. C’mon hen, I’ll make ye some tea.”

You’re quietly watching him from your seat at the island. He’s too comfortable in your small kitchen, yawning while he waits for the ancient kettle to heat up.

His thick arms are crossed against his chest and his head nods off as he falls asleep while standing. He’d had the decency to retrieve his boxers when you’d protested about his dick hanging around your food stuff.

You pick at the hangnail on your index finger until it bleeds.

“Why did you defend me?”

Johnny blinks, confusedly coming back from his half sleep. “What’s that, Bonnie?” 

“Tonight,” you say slowly, “why did you fight that guy at the bar? It was because of me right?”

Johnny is quiet. You’d suspect he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open but he cracks his neck after a beat.

“Cause you look like ye needed defending. Didnae like his gommy mug eith’r.”

That causes you to shift in the stool. Johnny takes the kettle off of the stove eye and pours the water over the expired green tea packet he’d found hidden in the depths of your cupboards. When he places down the cat mug Duckie had gotten you for your birthday in front of you, you hesitantly speak.  

“What do you mean by that? That I needed defending?”

Johnny looks like he’s weighing his options before he answers. Furrowed brow and dark lashes partially obscure his electric eyes but don’t dampen the intensity of his gaze. When he concludes some kind of internal war he leans his elbow on the counter in front of you and boxes you in. His eyes tighten at the corners when you lean as far back in the chair as you can. 

“Never been one to walk by when a bonnie lass is in trouble and you looked like ye were on the way to makin’ trouble. Had this look in yer eyes.”

You pretend to not know what he’s talking about. “So if you thought I was ugly you’d have let him maul me?”

His laugh is too boisterous for the early morning, it echoes in the small kitchen. It sends warmth down to your toes to hear it. “Nae I’d ‘ave still hit him, hen. Drink yer tea for Johnny yea?”  

He makes sure you finish every drop, rolling his eyes when you dump enough sugar to rot your teeth. He says something about you being like a stubborn friend of his but refuses to elaborate.

It’s a quarter past six by the time he argues you down about letting him stay with you. His wide form swallows up half the mattress and he still pulls you to him like it’s not enough. Your skin prickles where his touches, the synapses in your brain telling you to distance yourself as fast as you can. Johnny’s hold is tight, he redirects your form back into his every time you try to slip away, so you give up.

You have restless dreams of your grandfather’s rooster, Spirit.  The sound of the bird's neck snapping as corporeal and audible as Johnny’s snores against your neck.

A/N: plz I beg, don't ask me when the next update will be. I am insane in a way that is concerning to the DSM-5 and this takes a lot of my own personal experience and years of therapy to write lmao. Gonna up the rating in the upcoming chapters and start diving into the juicy shit so warning in advance.

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[copper-16]

Chapter 8 has been posted - but before everyone goes to read, a little bit of an announcement on my end:

This is going to be my last longer Mapi/Ingrid story, and probably the end of me being super active/posting on ao3 and tumblr. I might write the occasional story here and there, but writing is not bringing me the same joy it once was and I want to dedicate my time to other things. I’ll still be around reading on ao3 and somewhat on Tumblr, but I just won’t be posting a whole ton on either. I’ve been so incredibly lucky to get to know all of you guys on here, and to receive so much love for my work. It means the absolute world to me - and thank you all so much for welcoming me into this little community so wonderfully! I hope the stories I wrote were able to bring just a little bit of happiness when you guys needed it (even if I constantly left everyone on cliffhangers - I truly am sorry about that).

The rest of this is long, and you don't have to read it if you don't want to, you can just go ahead to the story now if you would like. I'm not known for my ability to keep concise, that is for certain. If brevity is the soul of wit - perhaps we know why my stories aren't very funny!

I’ve especially enjoyed joining tumblr and really finding a little community here. Getting to interact with so many people, both those who read my works and those who don’t, has been such a joy for me. I love getting to hear when people like the things I've written, even if it touches them in a small way. I love getting to interact with so many brilliant minds and am forever in awe of how much amazing talent there is in this little corner of the internet! I've made some incredible friends from getting to be on here, and it makes me so happy to have a little community of people I love. Thank you guys for letting me have space here even if I don’t write reader works or know how this app works most of the time.

I started writing seriously in September 2022 and I can't tell you how much joy it has brought me in the last two years. As someone who doesn't enjoy the college degree they are currently getting, this was such a fun creative outlet for me. It was so cool to have this blank canvas to work with, to weave things together, especially as I began to write longer stories. Writing was a place to destress for me and interact with other people who loved football as I was coming to love it. Every single kudos, comment, and bookmark meant so much to me. Even when it was something silly like someone dubbing the 'Copper Monologue,' it made me feel so seen. Someone cared enough to read enough of my works to pick out the fact that I do that? Absolutely mind blowing to me. It's crazy to hear that people cared about the silly little stories I wrote. When someone told me that I was one of the things to help inspire them to write their own stuff - I think I properly sobbed. It meant more to me than anything has in this entire world, and it still does! Writing has helped me to process, it's helped me to grow, it's helped me learn to identify my emotions and struggles and think through my own thought processes. I hope that maybe for someone out there, it could help them do that as well. It's a little strange for me not to want to do that anymore. Writing this last story solidified to me that for the most part it was time to be done, and HDITA was more of a goodbye than anything else. But even with that, it feels strange not to be thinking of my next idea, thinking of how I am going to create characters and relationships and plot lines.

I think for me right now, I'm just excited to be myself. Maybe this vessel of writing was what I needed to get myself through the last two years. I wrote la princesa when I was at my absolute worst in life, and as I've grown and matured as a person, I like to think that my writing has. I no longer find myself in a place where it fills a huge void in my own life that I once needed.

I've grown a lot as a writer these few years (those who read my earlier works will understand), and I'm excited to one day come back to it, maybe in a different sphere. I love the idea now of writing a real book. It always terrified me before - I didn't know where I would start or if I would be horrible at it. But you all have given me the confidence that maybe at least one person would like it, and maybe that's enough of a reason to try. So thank you all for holding my hand and encouraging me. I hope that if nothing else, everyone remembers that a little bit of kindness on here or ao3 or anywhere on the internet costs nothing, and yet can go a long way.

It did for me.

But enough of my sappy rambling, please enjoy this last chapter of mine. I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought me when I was writing it. Love you all so so much!

Chapter 8 of How Do I Trust Again?

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 13)

A/N: i'm sorry yall, i feel like my posting is getting slower and slower. I know this a short one too but i've been so stressed with uni

WORD COUNT: 862 words

Series masterlist

Both Safia and Rose are waiting for you when you get back from your supper.

“Gods, i’m nearly ready for bed. I’m so tired.” You groan as you walk into the room but both of the girls can see clearly that you walk as if you’re much lighter than you have been for the past few weeks.

“Yes, princess. Your ride was very long today. You entirely skipped lunch.” Safia muses, fetching yours and her own needlework. She hands you yours before sitting on a settee across from the armchair you rest on.

“I suppose I did.” You murmur as you make yourself comfortable, not yet looking at the needlework.

“Your meal with Lord Stark seemed to perk you up.” Rose comments and Safia shoots her a pointed look for her impertinence. She always was the more bold one of the two. 

“I look happier because he said we should have my brothers over for a visit, not because I shared a meal with him.” You say sharply.

“That is wonderful news, princess!” Safia states politely but her joy is clearly genuine as well. She’s loved nothing more than playing with little Aegon and Viserys since her brother died.

“Yes, very wonderful.” Rose adds. It isn’t that she is unhappy with the news, she just senses that it isn’t the only reason you’ve come back to your chambers with such a smile on your face.

Rose is higher born than Safia and you can tell in these moments. She is much less frightened to speak her mind than the lowborn girl is even if she is only the daughter of a second born son whose house is nothing close to prominent. You’ve always liked that about her; Rose doesn’t let her station define her and that’s one of the reasons she’s your closest friend.

“You have other thoughts on your mind, Rose. Speak them.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep, princess.” She replies. The girl may be bold but she isn’t stupid. She knows how easy it is to hit a nerve when speaking of your relationship, or lack thereof, with Cregan.

“You’ve never had that problem before.” You point out and Safia smiles at the comment, looking back down at her needlepoint right away.

“I just sensed that you were getting along better with your husband. It pleases me to see you smile once in a while. It used to grace your face so often back in Dragonstone, and even in Kingslanding. Now, it seems as though you haven’t smiled for weeks.” it's a sad notion but you aren’t regretful of your coldness.

“I am the last woman in this world to sit down and take the hand they’ve been given by an unfair dealer.” You muse. The anger all feels justified, thinking of yourself as an avenging angel. “If I am compliant in my own misery then every other woman will follow suit... They’ll have no choice. I’m the second most powerful woman in the world and I had no choice.” You say solemnly.

“Change is coming, princess.” Safia starts. “It is just… slow.”

“Look at your mother. Westeros had not seen a queen rule in her own right before her.” Rose says.

“At this rate, our children won’t even see a fair world.” You reply.

“But the later generations will benefit.” Safia says optimistically. “Prince Jacaerys will see that it is continued.”

“Yes… Jacaerys.” You murmur bitterly. “Is it so wrong that I want to benefit from it? More could be done.”

The girls ignore the slight against your mother and Rose speaks again, “It could take… unfathomable amounts of violence to accomplish such a thing.”

“Who cares for the lives of men who are unfaithful to their ruler?”

“And those men’s children, wives, families, are innocent but if you kill the head of their house, they would never forget it. They might not directly call for vengeance but most would resent a radical ruler. People of status rarely care for radicality. It diminishes their power.”

“Death would extinguish it.” You murmur. The girls know you aren’t truly serious but such laxness in reference to violence discomforts them. “Jacaerys will continue our mother’s progressions but that doesn’t make him any less of a man. He can’t truly understand.”

“I am sure Lady Baela will be of aid to him in that.” Safia adds thoughtfully.

But it could’ve been you aiding him. Though, the people would never chant your name the way they chant his.

“She will make a good queen one day.”

“Perhaps one day your brother will take you on as an advisor.” Rose suggests. She sees how badly you want control.

“If I’m not too busy tending to Stark’s children.” You scoff.

“They will be your children too, princess. I am sure you will love them as any mother loves their child.” Safia says kindly.

You ponder on her words for a moment, wondering if a mothers love if truly unconditional. Is there something inherent in childbirth that will make you fall in love with the babe that tears itself from your womb?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever love the children Cregan puts in your belly.

“Perhaps.” 

Comment to be added to taglist

[vigilskeep]

wait, Minerva "canonically" has a baby?? i want to know everything!! when how what - how does motherhood change her, pls elaborate, srry if you talked about this before, i just love them so much

she does!! i talk abt this less bc i think its self-indulgent jghsskks and that people are less interested in this, but it’s super fun to think about for me

the baby was a surprise, minerva was kind of being stupid about it lmao because she was being less careful than she might have been in the circle, especially because she’s a warden now so she’s less likely to get pregnant at all, without really thinking through what might happen. (i’m sure our local kinloch hold spirit healer companions both had their field days telling her off for this at some point.) but as soon as it does happen she wants the baby so badly. as a circle mage and then a warden she had never really seriously considered it a possibility for herself, but she loves children, and it’s been so long since she had a real family

it’s zevran’s and zevran is in antiva most of the time. i think she has a weird crisis about whether he’ll want anything to do with a baby, and she would despise for him to come back just out of obligation but also what if he doesn’t come back, and she ends up procrastinating telling him for, like, months. just a stupid amount of time. bc she was born to stress her man out and to give her wardens unnecessary grudges against him because they thought he had obviously chosen not to be here because obviously she would have told him. truly when will his suffering end. anyway he’s thrilled when somebody eventually does him the courtesy of letting him know

the baby’s a boy, she names him duncan, it sparks a whole other argument with alistair that we won’t get into here. he gets nicknamed junior a lot, partly bc he’s duncan jr, partly bc of the ongoing joke that he’s the resident Junior Warden. he was very much raised in warden blue since the cradle. because minerva is so busy and zevran is often away, he’s pretty much collectively raised in vigil’s keep by the awakening squad and whoever else gets added to that trusted inner circle. which works out bc wardens don’t often have kids of their own so they all just kind of... share this one lmao. (and possibly sometimes also oghren and felsi’s kid if they stick around?) it’s velanna who instigates this bc that’s what the dalish do and she’s also literally the only one here who knows what to do with a baby so thank the maker she’s here (minerva’s practised with kids but by nature they don’t have babies in the circle)

i’m so thrilled that spellblade is a crow-themed rogue-like mage subclass bc that’s exactly what i always pictured for duncan jr eventually. he’s a mage, his magic manifests very young, but minerva is very strict abt his studies and it has the unfortunate reverse effect of making getting his dad or nathaniel or sigrun to teach him combat much more fun. it works out really bc his magic having manifested is a tightly kept secret so it’s good for him not to have to rely on it

being a mother kind of changes/crystallises a lot of minerva’s priorities. it’s one thing to say, like, i would like to improve the situation for my fellow mages at some point, or, it sure would be nice to live past a warden’s usual limits. it’s another thing entirely to have a mage child and need to make a world that’s safe for him and live long enough to see it done. it ends up being a key issue of her conflict with the chantry between origins and inquisition because nobody’s quite certain what the rules are. obviously if she were still a circle mage any child of hers would be taken away. but she’s not a circle mage and arguably the chantry has no right to a child born outside of the circle, with no sign yet (as far as anyone outside vigil’s keep knows) of magic. (like i say it manifested younger than normal so this is believable even to those who think he will eventually show.) it definitely exacerbates tensions, shall we say, because obviously they can pry him out of her cold dead hands

he’s probably still only quite young in inquisition. six or seven? somewhere around there, i hate timelines. not sure where he is while minerva and her squad are on their quest, but given the very short list of people she trusts that much, i have to say that the most insane answer is likely: he’s in denerim as a temporary ward of the king. probably the first elven kid to be such

[christianbalesblueaddidas]

I have a prompt 🙋‍♀️👀 (a rlly long one). reader thinking noticing how Bruce always disappears/makes an excuse to leave at night (like on dates, events, or maybe while getting freaky (👀) he suddenly just gets up and goes like “oh sorry smth came up”) and he can never give a convincing enough excuse so she starts getting distant and cold coz she thinks he’s not rlly serious in the relationship and Bruce notices this and feels rlly bad but the reader only finds out why after she had to get rescued by him……. So yeah there’s my prompt yay!!!

I'm Sorry, Sweetheart

bruce wayne x f!reader

your boyfriend seems to hate being around you. it's time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: some smut in the middle, kidnapping, graphic language

word count: 3.4k

a/n: thank you for the request! i hope i did your idea justice.

Bruce Wayne is singlehandedly the most infuriating man you’ve ever dated.

Every week, you know him a bit more. Little by little, you get to know him — soul, mind, and body — more and more every time you meet. And it’s not the cute “let’s take this slow” type of getting to know each other. It’s the irritating kind, where you get to know more about him and his world and he suddenly takes it away from your hands.

Your first date goes smoothly enough, setting an expectation he can never reach since. Despite it being the bare minimum, you are happy he is there the entire time, physically and mentally. He never once looked at his cellular phone or his watch or a random clock in the room. It is just you and him and the company you share together.

On the second date, he starts off completely interested and later into the night, he inexplicably turns distracted — and almost anxious. He picks up his phone and says he has a call to make, he disappears into the corner of the room, then comes back to your table and tells you he has somewhere to go. Wayne Enterprises business. Ignoring your barely hidden disappointment and offense, you nod with a smile and tell him, “It’s alright, Bruce.”

Of course, he notices your hurt expression when he leaves. Even if you manage to hide your emotions well, Bruce is trained to notice it. To make up for that mistake, he invites you to a fundraising party. Frankly, it’s out of your league, but you can never pass up an opportunity to be with Bruce and to finally experience a fancy party.

Contrary to your expectations, it’s the most boring party you’ve ever been in, full of snooty millionaires and social climbers. You don’t know how Bruce endures this. You’ve read about and saw the models he brings — multiple at a time too — to his parties and you’re guessing that’s how. You push away the thought, not sure whether to be insecure that you can’t measure up to his models and actresses or whether to be proud that he chose you and only you to be his date tonight.

You stand in the far corner of the large ballroom at the top of his penthouse, subtly avoiding Bruce’s “friends” and thinking about him. And speaking of the devil, his arm snakes its way around your waist from behind. Despite him being so close and having his arm around your middle, his hand is flat and open, careful not to hold you in a way you won’t like.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Bruce whispers to your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You roll your eyes in amusement and turn your head to face his. Your breath hitches — a bit too obviously and embarrassingly so — as you realize that you’re so close to him. However, you quickly recover and reply, “Isn’t that line a bit too overdone for you, Bruce?”

He shrugs a shoulder playfully, his full glass of champagne sloshing in the flute.

“It always works,” he says. “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. But how about I try another line?”

With a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, his open palm grips your hip, just right above the curve of your backside. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and his grip hesitant, almost like he isn’t very sure of himself or of something else. Nevertheless, you’ll fall for his charm anytime.

“You wanna get out of here?”

That single question brings you to his bedroom, which is almost the entire floor if it weren’t for the foyer to give him privacy from the elevator. You’ve never seen a bedroom quite like it. Floor-to-ceiling windows that display a view of Gotham, frosted glass panes around his bed for some semblance of privacy, and a sitting area beside it that looks over the city. It’s an apartment without a kitchen, which you’d be more astonished about if your breath weren’t taken away by Bruce’s slow kisses on your lips and your neck.

He has you on your back on the bed, silky taupe sheets like clouds under you. He hovers over you, his entire figure taking over your vision, his muscles hidden by a black Giorgio Armani suit and gray tie. His lips and tongue move languidly against yours like he has all the time in the world. He holds himself up by a hand beside your head and the other presses your thigh against his hip. His hand idly runs up and down under your dress, but never quite reaches anywhere near where you need him the most.

“Bruce, plea—“

You’re interrupted by his phone on the nightstand. Your head whips to the side, glaring at the screeching machine. Who the hell is calling during this time of night? Well, perhaps that’s what you get for dating a billionaire. Rich people are always eccentric.

He suddenly stiffens up and gets off you. A pang of hurt in your heart rings as you notice how quickly he gets up like he got burnt. Your brows furrow, confused and a bit offended.

“Who is that?” you ask and you can’t help the way you sound so jealous. You’re aware of the fact that you shouldn’t be — not yet — but the fact that you’re in his bed is making you more sensitive about your feelings for him.

“Uh,” he reaches for his phone. He looks at the screen. “It’s Lucius Fox.” Lie. “I have to take this. I’m sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom to apparently take his call. In fact, it is just an alarm set with a ringtone to sound like a phone call. He feels especially bad about using you as an alibi, but his usual strategy to get out of parties that stretch on too late involve his dates.

Due to his playboy image, nobody questions when he leaves too early. He rarely sleeps with the women he invites to parties, and if he doesn’t, they never tell anyway because it hurts their pride to say that Bruce Wayne didn’t sleep with them. It never hurt him either. You, however, are different. He wishes he doesn’t have to use you.

He emerges out the bathroom with a regretful look on his face. You don’t know how much it also hurts for him to make you leave.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll have Alfred drive you home.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just work. But it’s urgent,” he replies and he almost winces at how uncharacteristically bad he is at lying to you.

“Oh, of course. It’s alright, Bruce.”

This time, you don’t hide your disappointment.

He tries his best to not abandon you every time you see each other. He scoots your meetups an hour or so earlier because Batman can’t adjust, not even for you. Then, he texts and calls you whenever he’s free and awake, giving you random updates that he doesn’t know make your day. His efforts reassure you eventually, and you’re no longer mad at his odd tendency to leave you so suddenly in the middle of the night or when it nears twelve. Now that you’re both content with how often you see each other and how often your nights don’t get interrupted, you’re both happy.

One day, you surprise him at his penthouse after work. It’s a random visit, to be frank, and you just wanted to watch television or do anything boring with him after you eat the dinner you have brought. What you don’t expect is that you’ll be on your back on his couch, stuffed full of his cock as the TV plays in the background, neither of you interested to watch it. No dinner yet either, but he's enough to make you full and wanting more.

Airy moans leave your lips as he thrusts into you, holding onto his broad shoulders by bunching up the fabric of his expensive shirt in clenched fists. It has never occurred to you that you’ve never seen him without his shirt off even during sex. You’ve always been too distracted to care.

Too distracted like right now. The stretch of him in your cunt is delicious, satiating your appetite in ways that no food or other pleasure could. His pelvis rubs against your clit and you cry out every time his tip hits that spot in you while your bundle of nerves grind against his firm body. With every grind of hips, you reach new heights on your way to orgasm.

Bruce is a sight to behold. His eyes half-lidded mouth parted, moans spill from his wet lips. His chocolate brown hair a mess on his head, a product of your hands mussing them up earlier while making out. His muscled chest heaves, pressing against your softer one when he inhales. When your eyes aren't rolling back, you love staring at him above you.

“I— 'm close,” you manage to mumble out despite being so cock drunk.

"Me too, sweetheart," he growls out, a lower register that sounds unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, considering that you've only heard this tone from him during intimacy.

Bruce has one ear for you and the other for the TV, even when he's already nearing climax. The television is now apparently showing the news. The reporter says something about a bank robbery organized by the Joker and—

His hips thrust roughly into yours out of instinct, shocking you and making you moan even louder. He doesn't go faster, knowing it doesn't quicken the job. He takes your legs by the crook of your knees and presses your thighs to your torso, essentially folding you into a position you never knew you can do. You let go of his shirt and tangle your hands into his already-messy hair. With this new angle, his cock reaches deeper inside of you.

"Bruce," you moan out, your eyes rolling back. "Oh, fuck."

You don't know that he's trying very hard to make this good for you while letting him have time to take care of the bank robbery. He doesn't want to leave you in the dust again, mostly because it'll be an asshole move and because you're both on the verge of orgasm and a hard-on isn't something to bring to a fight.

More importantly for him, he doesn't want to leave you hanging. He can't express his thoughts and feelings very well other than through gifts and sex, so he wants to show you how much he adores you, especially that he's leaving you again. He knows it isn't enough, but it's all he can do for now.

He leans his head down to kiss you, sloppy and all tongues. While you're distracted by his mouth and his cock, he reaches a hand down and rubs circles on your clit while he thrusts in and out of you.

He proudly watches as you unravel underneath him, masterfully played by him like an instrument made only for him. Your toes curl in the air as you stiffen up and relax. He swallows your moans with his kisses, eagerly drinking in your pretty noises. He helps you ride it out like the gentleman he is, still moving in and out of your pussy.

He follows suit, coming deep inside you and painting your walls white. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack.

He internally curses when he realizes he didn't have a condom on and he's only lucky that you told him before you take birth control — and that you even allowed him to come in you. But still, he curses at his lapse of sensibility.

You come down from your high. Bruce is counting down the seconds and the minutes. He needs to be out of here as soon as possible to deal with the Joker. He slowly pulls out of you, come dripping down your flesh mixed with your wetness. But you can't even bask in the afterglow because of his urgent task.

"You alright, darling?" he asks breathlessly. He looks you up and down, surveying you.

You can only nod and hum in affirmation. Eyes half-lidded and gaze trained on him in a daze.

"You don't mind if I have to go now? Something came up."

Oh, how you hate that. Why does something always come up when you're in the middle of something?

"It's alright, Bruce."

That evening, Batman is too late to catch the Joker. When he gets there, he was already in his getaway car. He pursues him, leading to a high-speed chase around the city. However, the Joker has traps ready on the way. He should've known that he'd anticipate his presence.

Bruce comes home to you weary and frustrated. He takes it out on you, inexplicably being rougher than usual for your round two. You take it, enjoying it anyway. But still, something lingers in the back of your mind, a thought rearing its ugly head since the time he left — maybe even since a few months ago.

Is he not taking your relationship seriously? You should've guessed he wouldn't, you think, considering he does have a reputation. But you're optimistic enough to have thought that perhaps his reputation is mostly the work of the media. Even then, you can't deny the photos and videos you've seen of him. Perhaps it's true. He doesn't value you as much as you value him.

You don't talk to him since that day. You don't outright avoid him but when he doesn't reach out, you don't either.

He notices you distancing yourself from him. He figures that maybe you need some space, which is one of the worst decisions he can ever do when it comes to this situation. He has never been good with relationships.

It further upsets you. In your mind, he doesn't even care when you stop approaching him. He doesn't care that you're not seeing each other or even talking to each other much. He's only there if you want him first.

To Bruce, it's fine that you need space. It's fine that he doesn't get to see you as much as he wants to — at least, that's what he tells himself. Batman feels differently. His punches hit harder, the bruises he leaves much darker. Even though no one else knows about you and him, Gotham knows there's something upsetting the Bat more than usual.

He thinks about telling you his secret but that involves putting you in possible danger. No one else can know he is Batman. Not even you, not even if he cares for you so much. He'd rather distance form between you than tell you. He's got eyes on you, anyway.

You don't know how to go about this. It seems too presumptuous to barge into his penthouse. You're obviously not on that level of relationship to do so. A call is too impersonal. So, you don't go about it at all. You have never been good at communication.

You spend days constantly on the verge of tears, bottling up every drop of frustration you've felt ever since Bruce started acting suspicious around you. When you're at work, you stifle the urge to cry. When you're at home, you hold yourself back from calling him — and then cry. It's a vicious cycle and it hurts even more than when he leaves you.

Sighing, you insert the key into your car, more than ready to drive home after work. Suddenly, strong hands grab you into a beat-up black SUV parked nearby. You scream and flail, but nobody is around to help, or maybe they're too unbothered and selfish to care. This is Gotham after all; these things happen every day.

You can't see or speak, blindfolded and a duct tape covering your mouth. You can only hear what the kidnappers are talking about as they drive you to an unknown location. It's an isolatory experience and how you wish you were actually alone instead of tied up and blindfolded. Tears wet the bandana tied around your head as you quietly cry.

"Wayne would pay so much money to get that back."

"Would he? He has a new bitch every week."

"Lucky fucker."

"Hope not too lucky. I wanna get at least a mill from this bitch."

A loud bang from the roof of the car startles all of you. The driver slams the brakes, flinging you to the back of the front seat, a cry of pain ripping from your throat.

"Shit! It's Batman!"

"Fuck! I told you we shouldn't mess with Wayne! He has him in his payroll!"

The doors of the SUV open and the kidnappers hit you on the way as they rush out. You hear scuffling and punching and metal banging on metal and bones breaking. A sob escapes you despite you trying to keep your resolve.

"Don't let me see you again," a voice growls out. Then, what seems to be a body slams onto the side of the car.

Wait, that voice sounds familiar...

A rough material brushes your skin as — you assume — Batman rips off the tape on your mouth. A gasp leaves you, heaving in a deep breath. You hear metal ripping fabric and you can see again. You blink through your tears, adjusting to the light, which isn't much as you're in a lonely road in the middle of the night. Eventually, your limbs are free too, but you're still too weak to stand or walk.

Black surrounds his eyes due to his cowl and, with his armor and cape, he is completely shrouded in darkness. But you'd know those eyes anywhere. You'd know those lips anywhere. He can't hide even in darkness, his own domain.

"Bruce," you breathe out in relief.

Surprising him, you wrap your arms around his armored neck, pulling him close to you in an embrace. It's not the warmest nor most comfortable hug in the world, but the fact that it is him is what matters.

His eyes widen. How did you guess it was him so easily? Nevertheless, without missing a beat, his arms wrap around you protectively. His muscular form and dark cape warm you up and shield you from the world. He is relieved that his tracker works and alerted him at the right time. You're safe in his arms now.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, holding back another sob. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, the armor pressing onto your cheek.

Now, you understand. You understand all his sudden leaving, the odd hours he replies to your texts, his persistent drowsiness, and the random bruises. You feel like an ass for being cold towards him when he's risking his life every night for the city. Not to say that you like the idea of your boyfriend running around beating up criminals during the night, but the fact that he is so selfless while you aren't makes you feel terrible.

"No... I should be the one who's sorry," he says and there's a sense of hesitancy in it, like he has never said those words before in that order. Still, you detect his sincerity and accept it.

In a moment of impulse, you pull away from the hug only to rest your hands on his covered cheeks and to press your lips against his. You tilt your head, the hard nose of his cowl pressing against your cheek. The pain goes unnoticed, your mind more preoccupied with how much you've missed his lips on yours.

As his tongue runs through the seam of your lips, coaxing it open, he pulls away as though he remembers where you are. Almost to placate you for the loss of contact, he runs a hand down your hair, petting you like a doll, a faint smile on his lips. It's a peculiar sight seeing the Batman with an expression other than stony emotionlessness or rage. The fact that you're the reason why makes the butterflies in your belly flutter even quicker. It makes you feel special.

"I'm bringing you home. I'll be there when the sun rises."

For the first time, you're not dejected nor disappointed unlike the other times you've uttered those words as you reply with a small grin tugging at your lips.

"Alright, Bruce."

[pampushky]

Teaser: My Name Is Brutus (And My Name Means Heavy)

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader

oooo what's this?? me dropping a juicy little teaser of probably one of my favorite things I've written??

so. this is basically an ABO au with a race engineer & lauda mc, with the wonderful trope of enemies to lovers thrown in, as you will soon see from the scene I'm releasing a bit early.

other things about the fic: slow, and i mean fucking slow, burn. exploration of what disabilities would look like in the ABO world (especially centered around the sense of smell and how that could be considered a disability if someone doesn't have one in a world where most things are communicated by smell), societal pressures about what the ideal alpha/omega/beta should look like to the rest of the world which leads to Lando making assumptions about MC's secondary gender/sex, mentions of past emotional & mental abuse, PTSD, scarring, and worries about self-worth. Oh. and obvious hurt/comfort. But again, and I cannot emphasize this enough. Slow. Fucking. Burn.

uhhh i guess i'll do a tag list too for this so. tell me if you wanna be on that.

“I do have… issues, with the way you run things here,” you scratch your claw into the wood of the table, a low rumble in your throat. The scent blockers you have on are distracting to Lando. He wonders, briefly, what your scent is like, when it’s not so medicinal. “You need more discipline. Less media. It makes you seem… soft.”

“Soft?” Lando leans forward, tilting his head. You look back at him with your constantly blank stare, a slight frown on your lips, icy eyes that challenge even the Lauda death stare. “What do you mean?” You hesitate, looking to Zak and Andrea, who both gesture for you to continue. You then look at Oscar, who bites his lip and makes eye contact with you, and shrugs softly, as if permitting you to say whatever you were about to say.

“....you will take offense to what I’m about to say, I’m warning you.”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” Lando waves it off, grinning lazily. His nose twitches. The heavily medicinal smell of your scent blockers is getting to him. Do you truly need to cover your scent that much? Are you worried that he’ll act aggressively because you’re also an Alpha?

“.... no. You won’t. I’ve seen your interviews.” You say dryly, and fold your arms. Lando balks. 

“I beg you pardon?”

“You don’t take criticism well.”

“I take it just fine!” Lando shoots back, feeling himself starting to get frustrated. Why did you have to wear them? Even if you are an Alpha, the medication provided by the FIA should be more than enough to keep anyone’s tempers from flaring.

“Then you won’t throw a hissy fit when I list out all my problems with the way you work?” 

Your tone is icy. Even. Perfectly calculated. 

“Oh, you know I want to hear about your issues with me,” Lando slams his hands down onto the table, and you just raise an eyebrow at him. He’s down to his undershirt, his fireproofs hanging at his waist as you stare at him. “So say it! Don’t hold back!”

Andrea just massages his temples as Zak looks like he wants to be anywhere else. 

“Only if you don’t throw a tantrum when I’m right.” You state, examining your nails from where you sit, as though this is boring for you. Monotonous and icy-calm. 

Lando hates your voice. Specifically how robotic and monotone it sounds. What little he knows about you— which is as much as the rest of the world, with how private the Lauda family is— is that you apparently have some vocal chord and brain damage. Nothing substantial enough to impede your thought process or the way you speak to make you mute, but enough to have caused the monotonous way you talk. A small enough problem that Lando doesn’t feel like a total dick for what he’s about to say.

“Oh, just fucking say it, you robotic bitch!”

That gets your attention. You pause, slowly bring your hand down, and look at him. With the classic, terrifying Lauda glare. Your eyes pierce his soul, and for a second, just a second, Lando considers apologizing. Tucking his tail between his legs, his ears folded back. But then, he remembers who he is, and he meets your glare with his own, lips drawn back to bare his teeth....

[miaoua3]

Heyyy girl I hope ur doing well. Thank u for the amazing works ur doing it never fails to make my day and I love u for that 💗 anwys I'm so excited to ask u this...could u do a girl and boy dad cheol hcs(or whatever u called it) or one shot or both?! It's up to u which one u want to do first. Thank uuu in advance mwahhh 😚🤭

hii! first of, im so glad to hear that you enjoy my work, it always makes me happy when you guys say something like that, it’s the bigger part why i do this😭🫶 and sure i can, i will do hcs because at this point it’s my trademark haha. anyway i hope you enjoy this!❤️

Girl/Boy Dad! Seungcheol Headcanons:

girl dad! seungcheol who cried like a baby when they first placed his little girl in his arms, who cried even harder when she immediately stopped crying once she was placed on his bare skin, as if she knew that it was her papa who was holding her❤️

boy dad! seungcheol who made it a competition with you to make your son say “dada” as his first word, always whispering to his son “say ‘dada’, can you say dada? hm? cmon, make daddy proud son, if you say it dad will buy you every toy that you want to” he’s so…ijbol i can’t with him lmao

girl dad! seungcheol who can go nights without sleep if it means he can stay next to her crib the whole night every night, looking at her with eyes filled with so much love, gently rubbing his finger against her chubby cheeks, softly humming to her until he gets discovered by you and dragged back to bed because it is the third night in the row he has done this

boy dad! seungcheol who put hours and hours of work into decorating his son’s nursery, making his own stencils to paint on the wall, putting on those glow in the dark stars all over the ceiling❤️ (if you’re wondering the theme of the nursery is the universe, with little rockets and planets painted all over the walls)

girl dad! seungcheol who cries more than his daughter on her first day of school, who literally had to call in sick because he couldn’t stop crying, wailing to you how much he misses his little princess and how she isn’t ready for the real world (read: it’s not her that isn’t ready, it’s him)

boy dad! seungcheol who puts so much effort into his son’s interests-if he’s into football count on seungcheol to have a whole day reserved just for his baby where they will play football and he will show him how to do some tricks, he knows all his favourite characters, knows all the names of his plushies, knows everything about his son, he’s just so attentive with him it’s so-😭

girl dad! seungcheol who has his first ever heartbreak when his girl comes home from school and admits that she has a crush on a boy from her class, he will literally go to the bathroom and stare at his reflection, trying so hard not to cry😭 that night you will have to assure him so much that he’s still her number one man and that she still loves him the most while he’s crying quietly (so so dramatic)

boy dad! seungcheol who has a talk with his son before he gets together with his first girlfriend about how he should treat women correctly and to not even think about doing anything stupid like cheating on her or something like that or he will be very disappointed in him

girl dad! seungcheol who cries like a baby on his daughter’s wedding day because what do you mean she officially won’t be sharing his last name with you two anymore? what do you mean she’s all grown up? what do you mean she now will have her own family and she won’t be able to pick up every call of his anymore because she will be busy with her own kids? he will cry so much on his day that the daddy-daughter dance will actually kill him

boy dad! seungcheol who is his son’s best friend and biggest fan and supporter, as well as his son’s biggest idol, so it’s only natural that his son makes him his best man on his wedding day, and what an honour it is to see how well his son has grown up to be, what a blessing it is that he turned out to be just as he predicted he would-and even more

dad! seungcheol who loves his kids unconditionally and raise them to be good people, who teaches them to choose their own happiness every day of their lives❤️

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

this was so much fun to write! if you liked this and want to see the same about the other members pls request it, i would love to do it for all of them!

[iamtired10]

sick in love

pairing - pham hanni x female reader

genre - pureeeee fluffffffffff!!!

synopsis - your girlfriend has this weird obsession with getting drenched in the rain, even though you’ve told her so many times not to. of course, she doesn’t listen, and now she’s sick—and somehow, it’s all your fault. now you’ve got to deal with this clingy, whiny kid, who's acting like it’s the end of the world while you play nurse.

warning - nothing much... just some fluff and whining

word count - 1.5k

a/n - guess who’s about to get super busy next week and won’t be updating for a while :)

it all started with the rain.

nah, scratch that—it started with hanni’s bizarre love for the rain, the way she romanticized every single drop that fell from the sky as if it were some poetic blessing from above.

you knew better.

rain, to you, was wet and cold, and most importantly, the perfect recipe for catching a nasty cold.

but hanni? oh, hanni couldn’t care less.

but you tried everything to convince her.

everything.

“hanni, it’s literally pouring out here! you’ll catch a cold!”

you had pulled out your umbrella as soon as the clouds started weeping above the two of you, but hanni had other plans in mind.

she beamed, those signature crescent-shaped eyes gleaming as raindrops began to land on her cheeks.

“come on! it’s just a bit of rain. what’s the worst that could happen?” she took a playful step backward into the downpour, her carefree giggle piercing through the sound of the rain.

“i’ll tell you what’s gonna happen—you’re gonna get sick, that’s what!”

you were grumpy by nature, the forever practical one, always two steps ahead when it came to worrying about things like catching a cold.

you tugged her wrist back, trying to shield her with the umbrella.

but hanni? nope.

she shook her head like a puppy and ran further into the rain.

“catch me!” she twirled around, arms outstretched, water soaking her through.

you couldn’t help but watch her for a moment. she was beautiful, even when she was being an absolute menace.

but now wasn’t the time to admire her stubbornness.

now was the time to stop her from getting drenched head to toe.

“i swear to god, pham hanni, if you get sick because of this—”

oops, too late.

three days later, you found yourself exactly where you didn’t want to be: sitting in bed with a feverish hanni clinging to your waist, her breath slightly hot as she buried her face in your shirt.

“you’re so mean,” she grumbled between coughs, her voice raspy and whiny, the kind of voice that made you want to sigh in frustration and kiss her forehead at the same time. “you didn’t stop me from getting sick…”

you raised a brow, leaning back against the pillows. “i literally tried. multiple times.”

“yeah, well…” she sniffled dramatically, leaning more of her weight onto you, practically becoming deadweight. “you didn’t try hard enough.”

she looked up at you with the most innocent pout. the fever had made her eyes a little glassy, but she was still just as demanding as ever.

you loved her so much, but oh god, she was getting on your nerves today.

“hanni,” you said in your most grumpy tone, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

she only responded by hugging you tighter, squishing herself against your side. “i don’t feel good… i need cuddles.” she nuzzled into your neck, her breath fanning over your skin.

you could feel her warmth.

and not just the warm-you-up-on-a-cold-day kind of warmth, but the i-have-a-fever kind of warmth.

you sighed, pressing the back of your hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

she was still a bit too warm for comfort.

“you need to rest, babe," you whispered, though the gruffness in your tone barely masked the tenderness in your voice. “you’re burning up.”

hanni shook her head, her hair brushing against your neck. “nooooo, i need youuuuu,” she mumbled, her words slurred together like a stubborn child.

you rolled your eyes but pulled her closer, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to give you any personal space until she felt better. hanni had always been clingy, but when she was sick?

she was ten times worse.

if you even moved an inch, she’d whine and pull you back into her arms.

it was cute, you’d admit, but it was also exhausting.

“stop moving,” hanni grumbled, tugging on your shirt to pull you back against her. “i can’t get comfy if you keep wiggling around.”

“i have to get up and get your medicine. and water. and maybe some soup.”

“noooo,” she whined, her voice muffled by your shoulder. “i don’t want soup. i want you.”

you sighed again, this time with a softer edge, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “now you’re literally attached to me like a baby koala.”

“not a baby koala,” she mumbled, pouting again. “a sick, sad koala. big difference.”

“oh, sorry. a sick, sad koala,” you corrected, rolling your eyes playfully as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her even closer. “better?”

she nodded, snuggling back into your chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “better… but i still feel awful. stay with meeeeee.”

you sighed, your grumpy exterior faltering as you softened under her gaze. it was hard to stay mad when she looked at you like that, all doe-eyed and needy.

you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, brushing some of her messy hair out of her face.

“okay, you big baby,” you murmured, “i’ll stay for a bit. but you need to promise me that you’ll take your medicine later, alright?”

“mm-hmm,” she mumbled, snuggling further into your embrace. “i promise.”

for a moment, it was quiet.

just the sound of her shallow breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets as she shifted closer to you. you closed your eyes, resting your chin on top of her head as you let the silence wash over you.

but of course, hanni had to break it.

“hey,” she whispered, her voice still soft but with a mischievous edge to it. “wanna kiss?”

you blinked, turning your head to look at her. “hanni, you’re sick.”

“so?” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in the most adorable way. “i still wanna kiss…”

you raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching as you fought the urge to laugh. “babe, you’re literally a walking virus right now. i’m not kissing you.”

hanni whined, her grip on you tightening as she buried her face further into your neck. “pleeease?”

“nope,” you said, shaking your head firmly. “not happening.”

“but i miss kissing you,” she mumbled, her voice small and pitiful. “just one little kiss?”

“hanni, you’ll get me sick,” you said, gently pushing her head away from your neck. “and then who’s going to take care of you?”

“i’ll take care of you,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the blanket she had wrapped herself in.

you couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead instead. “nice try, but no. you’re gonna have to wait until you’re not contagious.”

hanni pouted again, clearly not happy with your answer.

but before she could whine any further, a sudden fit of sneezes cut her off.

you handed her a tissue, biting back a laugh as she wiped her nose, her expression utterly defeated.

“fine,” she mumbled, slumping back against you. “but as soon as i’m better, i’m kissing you everywhere.”

you snorted, rolling your eyes. “yeah, yeah. we’ll see.”

later that evening, after coaxing her into taking her medicine (which involved more whining and pouting on her part), you finally convinced her to settle down for a proper nap.

she curled up against you, her head resting on your chest as her breathing slowed and evened out.

you gently ran your fingers through her hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as you hummed quietly.

she was so peaceful when she was asleep, all of the day's frustrations and complaints forgotten.

but you knew as soon as she woke up, she’d be back to her clingy, whiny self.

and honestly, you didn’t mind.

you loved taking care of her, even when she was being a handful.

there was something special about being the one she relied on, the one she clung to when she didn’t feel well.

as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself growing more and more tired. the weight of the day and hanni’s endless need for attention had finally caught up to you, and your eyes began to droop.

just as you were about to drift off, you felt a pair of warm lips press against your cheek.

you blinked, opening your eyes to see hanni grinning up at you, her feverish cheeks still pink. “gotcha,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of mischief.

you groaned, pulling the blanket over both of your heads. “go to sleep, han.”

she giggled, snuggling closer to you as she closed her eyes again. “okay, okay. goodnight, babe.”

“goodnight,” you murmured, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before finally drifting off to sleep.

and despite everything—the rain, the sickness, the whining—you couldn’t help but smile.

because at the end of the day, hanni was your clingy, whiny baby, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

a/n - fluff sucks..

[demigod-shenanigans]

Some more of my and @queenjunothegreat’s Sofía Valdez thoughts (this time specifically focused on her relationship with her dads when she’s little):

-Jason is the kind of dad who has more baby pictures than money in his wallet and you cannot convince me otherwise.

-The same would be true for Leo, except he doesn’t really have a wallet because he tends to lose those a lot. Instead, he just puts stuff into his tool belt and hopefully one day it’ll reappear lmao. He’s got lots of pictures of her up in his workshop, though.

-Leo makes her the most ridiculously elaborate baby mobile ever. He works on it for days. There are so many moving parts and she’s obsessed with it.

-Toddler Sofía loves sleeping on her papá’s chest because he’s always warm. She’s like a cat curling up in a sunbeam. Will also take her gloves off in the winter to take his hand instead. 10/10 would recommend having a dad who also doubles as a heat lamp.

-Leo and Jason take turns telling her bedtime stories. Leo’s are often grand adventures that somehow manage to be both cool and almost completely nonsensical. He also does goofy voices for all the characters. Jason’s are heartfelt ones about found family and love, which tend to be… a lot more coherent than Leo’s. Sofía loves them an equal amount.

-Her dads are the most sickeningly in love people Sofía has ever met and she finds it so so annoying (she loves them dearly and they’ve been her go-to proof true love is real since she first encountered the concept in a movie). They’re holding hands grocery shopping and when they split up to go into different isles they’ll greet each other with a kiss like long-lost lovers returning from a voyage upon being reunited. They will constantly hit on each other in the cringiest way possible for absolutely no reason. It’s unbearable.

-Sofía gets told so many stories about her abuela. She thinks Esperanza was the absolutely coolest person ever and loves sharing a name with her. There’s a six month period when she’s little where she won’t respond to anything other than Espi.

-The only family member on Jason’s side of the family Sofía actually meets/knows about is Thalia. She has no idea who Beryl Grace is. She’s never even heard the last name Grace before (Thalia stopped using it a long time ago and obviously Jason took Leo’s last name when they got married.) The only thing she knows about Jupiter is that her family doesn’t like him.

-Because Jason never talks about his mom, and because Piper makes so many jokes about wolf genes, Sofía was genuinely convinced her abuela on her dad’s side was a wolf for the first several years of her life.

-Sofía and Leo build the fanciest pillow forts together that anyone has ever seen. The Waystation thankfully has lots of space for it. Sometimes when Jason comes back from work, exhausted, he’ll just collapse into the pillow fort and nap there, which inevitably results in him waking up in a Valdez family cuddle pile.

-Leo gets very invested in some of the cartoons Sofía watches. Will this whacky found family of animated cartoon princesses save the world again this week? Probably. But he needs to know for sure. They always have a great time.

-When Sofía is around eight, she gets really into puzzles. When she can’t sleep after a nightmare, doing puzzles in the middle of the night is Jason’s go-to way to make her feel better.

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

AAAAA OH MY GOD<3333333 Please do a part 2 to hold me, console me, im eating it up

The angst is delicious, thank you<333333

Hold me, console me (part 2)

Theworst!logan x reader (part 1)

A/N: I know this goes without saying but I am a WHORE for broke men and the “I can fix him trope”, Logan fits just that. LEMME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK!! (not proofread btw)

You find yourself standing in front of a familiar door that morning—Wade's door. He had been the one to play matchmaker between you and Logan, always eager to meddle in his own chaotic way.

‘Sweet and sour, just how I like my cu-‘ he used to tease about your dynamic, though he never meant harm. How could he, when all you did was bring him and Al delicious dinners and baked goods? Wade would’ve married you himself if Vanessa weren’t in the picture. ‘You’re my twin flame,’ he’d often joke, even though you were nothing like him. You were quiet, reserved, and detested socializing unless it was within the comfort of either your or Wade’s apartment.

Now, here you are, on the morning of your worst heartbreak, clutching a tub of ice cream and a bag of microwavable popcorn outside his door.

Three sharp knocks echo in the hallway. You hear a clatter from inside, followed by a string of muffled curses, until the door swings open to reveal a face that knocks the air right out of you.

Logan.

“Oh...” Your eyes widen as you freeze, a storm of emotions brewing within you.

Before you can stop yourself, you push past him, setting down the ice cream and popcorn on a nearby table. When you turn around, your face is met with the solid wall of his chest. He looks down at you, sorrow etched deep into his features. And suddenly, everything boils over.

“You,” you spit, fire blazing in your eyes. You strike his chest, again and again, and he lets you—lets you unleash your frustration, your anger, because he knows he deserves it.

“You left. No warning, no note. You were just... gone! Clothes packed, phone off! What were you thinking? I begged you to stay, Logan. I begged.” Your voice cracks, and the tears come, burning hot down your cheeks. But all you notice is the tears in his eyes, and the soft rustle of movement from the kitchen where Wade is likely listening.

You try to ignore the thought of Al and Wade overhearing your heartbreak, keeping your tear-blurred gaze fixed on Logan.

“Bub—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “I know it’s hard, Logan. I do. I was there when Wade went through his worst. I’ve stood by friends in their darkest days. I want to be there for you, through everything. But you shut me out.”

Your voice trembles, betraying you, and you see him instinctively move to hold you, but you step back, wiping at your tears. The hurt in his eyes is unmistakable, but you continue.

“I’m sorry if you think I’m pushing you too hard. I’m sorry if I ask for too much. But I love you, Logan. And no matter how much you run, I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

The silence between you lingers, thick with unsaid words, before it’s broken by slow clapping from the kitchen.

“You really hit him with that one, sweets,” Wade’s voice calls out. “No, seriously, I was just telling him he should’ve dealt with his frustration by boning you—”

But Wade’s words are cut short. Before you know it, Logan’s grabbed your wrist and is pulling you toward the door, past Wade’s crude commentary. He leads you out of Wade's apartment, two doors down to your own, ignoring the continued yells from Wade behind you.

“Logan, what—?” you barely get the words out before his arms are around you, lifting you from the waist until your face is nestled against the crook of his neck. You feel the warmth of his tears against your skin, his body trembling with quiet sobs.

You hold him, your hands moving to comfort him, running through his hair, soothing his ragged breathing.

“You—” he starts, his voice breaking with the weight of it. “In my world... you died. I killed you. I let you die.�� His voice shakes as the sobs take over. “I never meant to... I didn’t mean to let them die, bub.”

You feel his knees give way, and the two of you sink to the cold hallway floor. He’s crying harder now, his grip tightening around you as if letting go might make you disappear too.

“I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“Shhh,” you whisper, cutting him off softly. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”

He clings to you, his desperation palpable. You pull away just enough to cup his face in your hands. “Look at me, Logan. I’m alive. You didn’t lose me—not here.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, feeling his breath begin to slow, then to his tear-soaked eyelids. You kiss him softly, murmuring gentle reassurances between each touch.

“I’m here. I’ll hold you. I’ll love you. Forever. Does that sound like a deal?”

As you cradle Logan’s face in your hands, his breathing starts to slow. The raw emotion in his eyes begins to soften, though the weight of everything still lingers in the air between you. He looks at you, truly seeing you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a small, shaky smile begins to form on his lips. It’s brief, but it’s there. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t say that,” you reply softly. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the cold floor grounding you both in the present. His arms are still tight around your waist, as though letting go might shatter the fragile peace you’ve found. You stay like that, the world outside your apartment and Wade’s chaotic energy fading into the background.

Eventually, you pull back slightly, your hands sliding from his face to his shoulders.

“Come on,” you say gently. “Let’s get up. You’re going to catch a cold sitting here, even if it’s for a little bit.” You say, aware of his super healing.

Logan hesitates, as if reluctant to let go of the closeness, but then he nods. You both stand slowly, your legs shaky from the emotional intensity. Without a word, you lead him into your apartment, closing the door behind you.

Inside, the dim lighting casts a soft glow over the room. It’s quiet, a contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that just unraveled in the hallway. You sit on the couch, and Logan follows, sitting beside you. There’s still a heaviness in his movements, a man weighed down by too many ghosts from his past, but he’s here. He’s with you.

For a few minutes, the silence is comfortable. You lean against him, his arm naturally wrapping around your shoulders. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest is a soothing reminder that despite everything, you’re both still here—alive, together.

“You don’t have to talk,” you say softly, sensing the turmoil still swirling inside him. “Not now. Not until you’re ready.”

Logan’s thumb traces slow circles on your shoulder, a sign that he’s listening. After a moment, he speaks, his voice quiet but steady.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” he admits. “But... I want to try.”

You turn to face him, your heart swelling with a mixture of hope and sadness. “That’s all I need to hear.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sorry for leaving,” he whispers. “For everything.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of his words. “I know. But you’re here now. And we’ll figure it out. Together.” You reach for his hand, giving it three squeezes before reaching up to give him a peck, one of reassurance.

For the first time in a long while, you both let the quiet settle, not out of avoidance, but out of mutual understanding. The journey ahead might not be easy, but it’s a path you’ll walk side by side. As the minutes tick by, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. You’re not alone in this—neither of you are. And for now, that’s enough.

Suddenly, a loud knock on your door breaks the silence that makes you jump, followed by Wade’s unmistakable voice shouting through the wood.

“Hey! Are you two done with the emotional stuff yet? I’ve got pancakes in here, and they’re getting cold!”

You exchange a glance with Logan, both of you barely suppressing a laugh. The tension in the room eases just a bit, the smallest sliver of normalcy creeping back in.

“We should probably go before he kicks the door down,” you say with a smirk.

Logan stands and offers you a hand, his expression a little lighter now. “Yeah,” he agrees, a small but genuine smile finally reaching his eyes.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both walk back toward the world—not broken, but healing, one step at a time.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#59: The Eternal Love (1.06)

What The Ones Who Live made clear is that even before this world belongs to those who can fight, it really belongs to the ones who love. The ones who don’t let this world permanently change or destroy their ability to love. And so of course that means this world belongs to Richonne. 😌👌🏽

And Rick and Michonne’s indestructible everlasting love is at the foundation of this finale’s explosive final act 💥❤️...

The events of the bridge in season 9 and the devastating aftermath that kept Rick and Michonne apart for years have now led them to know that there are ways in which they won’t always be the ones who live. But even though they won’t literally live forever, they know their love will. Their love is eternal. 🥹

Just when all seems lost, Richonne sees Beale step out of the tent and they make a run for it. Michonne tells Rick to pull the flag down over them as she douses them in liquid to fend off the effects of the explosion.

Pearl is in shock seeing Walker Beale and before she can fully process it, the bombs and gas explode, instantly killing all those CRM higher-ups…except Pearl somehow. 🤔 Now, outside of plot armor, I'm not exactly sure of a plausible explanation for how Thorne survived this with how close and unprotected she was. But we move. 🤷🏽‍♀️

gif cred: @nerd4music

The base is smothered in that chlorine gas and the CRM soldiers have turned into walkers. Rick and Michonne are okay as they stay under the flag and are covered by the water. Pearl shows up with a mask still on the prowl and Rick tells Michonne that he’ll rush Pearl for her gas mask while Michonne grabs the other one.

Michonne asks, “Why you?” And Rick replies, “You’ve got the sword. We go?” And Michonne assents, saying, “We go.” It's a small thing, but I like how this moment always reminds me of their Say Yes scene when Rick tells Michonne he gave her eight walkers to take out because she has the sword.

Next, Rick and Pearl get into a fight and Pearl yells that he destroyed their chance and "destroyed the whole world." Which Pearl, ma'am, that's a little much. The CRM is not the world. As Rick passionately said in ep 1, this isn’t everything.

Pearl and Rick continue to fight and neither are holding back. Pearl starts to get the upper hand but then she grabs Rick’s hair and you already know how Rick feels when someone tries to touch something that belongs to Michonne - so he has to yeet her.

gif cred: @nerd4music

When he tosses Pearl, he gets surrounded by CRM walkers. There’s something symbolic about Rick being surrounded by these masked CRM walkers. They’re like the embodiment of the dead soldier Rick lived a long time as and how the CRM was constantly trying to consume him. They tried to turn him into just another lifeless member of their force and now they try to turn him into another lifeless delt. 

Pearl looks like she’s trying to aim her gun at Rick but then she joins the long list of people who learn the golden rule - never come for Rick in front of Michonne. You’ll get handled everytime. 💯 So sure enough, Michonne approaches and takes a swing at Pearl with Beale's sword.

I gotta hand it to Lesley having to take on a role where you go toe to toe with both Rick and Michonne. Thorne had to go at two heavy hitters back to back. 😅

gif cred: ricksmarlene/nerd4music

Now, Pearl's fight with Michonne goes a lil different because she doesn’t ever get the upper hand in this one.

Pearl says, “You were the one he was always trying to get to. How did you get to him?” I like that she says, always trying to get to. She knows Rick was real relentless in his pursuits to get to Michonne. 👌🏽

And then one thing Michonne is never afraid to do is tell you about yourself so, knowing what she knows about Pearl from Rick, Michonne says, “I didn’t give up. I didn’t give me up like you did.”

According to Richonne, there is always time to throw a little shade. And as Pearl has tried them both, not even poisonous gas was gonna stop Michonne from letting Pearl know...

But also, I like Michonne noting how she didn’t give up and didn’t give herself up because Michonne knows if you lose yourself you lose your way. She knows it from personal experience, as we saw at the start of her TWD journey.

It makes sense that Michonne was the only character in TOWL who refused to give herself up. Her briefly having to be Dana was like a more external version of the way the CRM internally makes everyone feel like they have to trade who they are to be what the CRM expects them to be.

While Michonne tried to play along to honor Rick’s request for five seconds, she ultimately decided that this place does not get to change her because what they make you is a cog in their machine and so detached from who you are at your core. Again, when you give in to that you lose yourself and then you lose your way.

And considering Michonne's way is meant to lead her back to her babies she was never going to let them take her from her. Then once she found her husband, she was also never going to let them take Rick from her again either.

Even when Michonne left that apartment in ep 4, while I think she was always going to make a choice that led her back to her kids, I don’t think Michonne would be able to live with just knowing Rick was out there externally and mentally imprisoned. So I think at some point she’d absolutely try to save him again. She’d have to. Saving him is saving her, it’s saving their family and it’s always been made clear that Michonne will never give up on her family. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Determined to find Rick yet again during this fight with Pearl, Michonne yells “Where is he?” a couple times until Pearl finally tells her to turn around.

(Side note: I always feel like this whole exchange between Pearl and Michonne would have been the perfect organic opportunity to have Michonne declare she’s Michonne Grimes. Like if Pearl asked who she really is, after having asked her a similar question in the arena in ep 3, and Michonne said her name is Michonne Grimes...that would have had me turning up, ijs 🤩) 

Rick is struggling as the pile of CRM walkers grows and nearly overtakes him. Pearl fires shots at the walker that Michonne ducks behind. And then the way Michonne rises up when Pearl's murder attempts against her don’t work...it’s giving baddest chick in the game. 💅🏽

And Pearl seems to be realizing she’s come face to face with the baddest as she gets more desperate and says, “You don’t understand. In a dead world, love is dead.” Michonne shakes her head and says, “Love doesn’t die. Watch.” And then she grabs Beale’s sword and plunges it into Pearl as Pearl gets to learn this Dana lady is real good with a sword. 😋

Again, it’s quite ironic for Pearl to die by Beale’s sword. The sword she swore on and the symbol of the CRM philosophy she so badly wanted to believe in ended up being her demise.

And Rick had it right - he and Michonne really are the sword that kills and gives life. So much so that both Rick and Michonne used this same sword to take out two opponents within a short time span of each other. A couple that slays together stays together, it’s just the truth. 😌

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne repeats, “Love doesn’t die” and again I'll admit I wasn't crazy about the dialogue throughout this fight scene. It was a bit heavy-handed and I felt the 'love doesn’t die' sentiment could have perhaps been expressed with more subtlety and subtext but again...we move. Plus, Danai’s such a gifted actress that she makes that line work more than it would in lesser hands. 👌🏽

'Love doesn’t die' is clearly said one; because it’s one of the main messages of the show and two; because they want you to worry for a second if those are famous last words based on what happens next.

Cuz then Rick is swarmed by walkers with seemingly no way out and he has to use a grenade which leads to Michonne just seeing a big explosion.

In a moment that parallels Say Yes, Michonne drops her sword when she thinks she’s seen Rick explode. The moment also parallels Rick's last full TWD episode, as now Michonne has to think she's seen Rick blow up for the second time after he seemingly 'exploded' on that bridge. You just know that tragic bridge memory popped into Michonne's head after hearing the grenade. 😞

gif cred: nerd4music/michonnegrimes

I was thoroughly convinced that they were not going to have either Rick or Michonne die in a show called The Ones Who Live so I was positive Rick survived this explosion. Even tho, for just a split second there I did have to acknowledge this is the final episode and it’s a finale where Rick and Michonne aren’t as untouchable as previous finales so...maybe…but fortunately, the universe loves them some Richonne so Rick survives by covering himself in walker bodies. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

When Rick emerges, he immediately goes to Michonne and she runs to him and they embrace which is heartfelt. Especially because the last time something like this happened and it seemed Rick had blown up, they weren't able to run into each other's arms afterward and instead had to go years without seeing each other again. So you know it means a lot to them to be able to hold each other right now like they so longed to do that day on the bridge.

gif cred: @nerd4music

It's sweet that even amid these circumstances, Rick and Michonne still seek this moment of connection to let each other know they're glad they're okay. And there's big Say Yes vibes with this hug being similar to how they ran into each other's arms and embraced in 7.12, so you know I’m here for it. 🥰

As they make their way out, they stand over a wheezing Pearl and she expresses that she’s come to see that Okafor was right, but she adds, “You just have to hope Beale was wrong.” And then Pearl hands Rick the mask and it’s sorta like a final peace offering between them.

Rick silently takes the mask and then he and Michonne fight their way through walkers and make it to some upper ground. Again, the walkers have some practical use as Michonne uses them as a stepping stool. And it’s sweet seeing Rick urgently pull walkers away who are trying to grab at Michonne. 😊

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

Rick gets one more signature him-against-the-horde moment as he shoots a bunch of walkers. It made me think about the many iconic Rick vs Everybody moments he's had over the years in TWD.

And, being the resilient man he is, of course, Rick Grimes is the one still standing after all those fights and faceoffs.

So then Rick makes it to the top of the platform as Michonne helps. Once they're finally out of the swarm, Rick and Michonne remove their masks and have a moment as they look at each other and look around at their plan being a success.

I love the little moment of Rick putting his arm around her and then Michonne putting her arm around him. 🥰That’s another thing about Richonne - they’re gonna make any moment a coupley moment. 👌🏽

gif cred: @taiturner

So as they zoom out and we get a shot reminiscent of the end of the TWD pilot ep, I love how in contrast to the pilot - Rick isn’t alone this time. 🥹 He found his other half in this crazy apocalypse and Michonne is by his side through it all. Including taking down the most powerful people in the most powerful military.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

After looking around, Michonne and Rick start to hop from platform to platform to get up out of there. They did it, y’all. Mission accomplished. 🥳 As always, our beloved Richonne proved that they are...

And now, at long last it was finally time for Richonne to complete their ultimate mission and go home. 😭

And home isn’t just a place. For Rick and Michonne, most of all, home is their children. 👌🏽🥲

[curseddistinguishedly]

E!False vs HC!False is actually really interesting if we look at it through creation VS creator perspective

E!False is a reflection of HC!False‘s flaws and strengths. She acts the way False would in her situation, but she lacks the identity that comes from living experience of which she remembers none. E!False is in constant fear because she’s not in control of her life, she has no knowledge to understand this world, she’s been just thrown into, there are no previous achievements, events, people which would help her identify herself so she has to find these herself, but she’s unable to due to her debilitating paranoia, which ones again is a flaw we can in HC!False. E!False tells us of her faint steampunk memories and evil plans of revenge, but the return of full memory doesn’t do anything for her. She‘s already lost in identity that is not hers but of someone that is the reason for her suffering, and the saddest part is that she doesn’t really have time to explore herself beyond that. She’s broken by HC!False leaving, because that’s the only person who can see her, but she cannot get that closure.

HC!False on the other hand can identify herself and others, she is the 4X times MCC champion, 10+UHCs, one of the earliest Hermits, Queen of Heads Hearts and Bodyparts and also the main narrator of E!False‘s story. She knows everything and the moment she realises that, her paranoia that she had in her first crossover episode decreases by like a hundred. She’s unsure but knows enough that she understands how to deal with things surrounding her, although still with unnecessary caution. HC!False deliberately tries to hide her flaws from the viewer veiling the story to be more about how it was a necessary, not even evil, deed, to exile E!False, supposedly violent, without memories into The Rift, something she knows nothing about. False built her own reflection but the moment it started reflecting her own faults she disregards it as something to be afraid of, and she doesn’t understand (or accept) that she’s part of the problem. HC!False doesn’t see herself in this mirror, she sees something more twisted, out of her control and so she throws the mirror out as if she won’t see it again in the glass window of her castle.

HC!False tells us everything, E!False doesn’t acknowledge the viewer half as much as HC!False does. Instead we‘re shown what she‘s going through but it’s the HC!False that tells the reason for these events, many times contradicting them. Because HC!False would say that E!False is doing good:) and then the next episode E!False is showing us her head collection. And we don’t know why False contradicts the events, it could be lack of knowledge, lack of integrity, good faith and on and on.

The point is — E!False is HC!False, but HC!False isn’t E!False. E!False’s attempts to find that identity beyond are faulty because things outside it require experience she simply never had, but there’s recognition of herself as not a good guy, HC!False either doesn’t have or denies that she has.

I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches flith.

… or whatever