#x reader insert

[hyunsuloves]

super shy.

synopsis … squid game women with a timid s/o ꨄ︎.

pairings … se-mi, sae-byeok, no-eul, jun-hee, ji-yeong, hyun-ju x fem!reader (separately)

warnings … fem reader, non game au, and a few are maybe ooc?

lovely notes … two posts in two days, we rejoice again!

꩜ [ 855 words ]

se-mi / player 380 is the polar opposite of you. while you’re timid, she’s a very assertive woman who isn’t apprehensive about expressing herself.

if needed, she’d speak up or defend you from someone without a second thought. she often finds herself doing simple things like ordering your food for you or speaking for you in awkward social settings.

she finds your timidness cute at times, like when you shy away from her compliments.

“hey, you look pretty with your hair down.” “oh, thank you se-mi. it looks, like, average.” “be honest, you look stunning with it down. you should wear it like that more, pretty.”

the way she was able to fluster you every time will never get old to her. she loved to say flirty things for the hell of it, and to of course catch you off guard.

she has a habit of including you in whatever conversation she’s having, whether she realizes she’s doing it or not. it’s more of a subconscious doing of hers. though, she knows when and when to not drag you into discussions of hers.

she hates to see someone targeting you, especially if they know your shy personality. she steps in without a second thought to handle the situation for you.

sae-byeok / player 067 is alike to you in many ways. she never makes an effort to put herself out there unless completely necessary.

in social situations, she doesn’t mind stepping in and doing most of the communication for you.

she’s the first to defend you if someone tests you, because how dare someone come to you when they’re aware of your timidness? especially in her presence?

“hey, i got you. lemme know if they say something to you again.” “it’s fine. i can handle my own, sae-byeok.” “mhm. you better tell me.”

she coaxes you to keep to yourself rather than speak out. weirdly enough, she likes being the only person you trust enough to be vocal around. she likes the dependency.

no-eul / guard 011 doesn’t exactly lack courage or confidence, she just isn’t an outspoken woman. she keeps to herself most of the time, similar to you.

similar to se-mi, she likes to fluster you at every waking moment. she enjoys seeing the bashful look on your face whenever she constantly compliments you.

while she encourages you to speak up for yourself more often than not, she doesn’t mind stepping in for you.

“hey, defend yourself next time.” “i was planning to. you just.. beat me to it.” “whatever you say.”

she knows how you struggle to express yourself, but she teases you nonetheless. it’s all in good faith, though. she knows when you’ve reached your limits.

jun-hee / player 222 is similar to you in numerous ways. while she isn’t exactly timid, she doesn’t find herself speaking out in a lot of situations.

if it comes down to it, she’ll speak for you without a doubt. but if she knows you can handle your own, she’d leave you to it.

she frequently teases you for how bashful you are, as if she isn’t so similar to you.

“you’re so shy, so quiet.” “jun-hee, please shut up.” “oh, so she does speak?”

the two of you can often sit in silence for hours on end, basking in the presence of one another. you don’t speak many words because the solace between you two is more than enough.

she’s the perfect person to be around if you find serenity in quiet rather than deafening settings.

ji-yeong / player 240 is a bright difference from you. she’s very bubbly, outspoken, and animated.

you two look like an unlikely couple, like opposites that people wouldn’t expect to be together. but ji-yeong is adamant about the idea that opposites attract.

if needed, she can always speak up for you. as odd as it sounds, she enjoys speaking up for you when you’re in a non-verbal state.

“hey, want me to speak for you?” “ji-yeong, as much as i love you, i need to speak up for myself.” “okay.. but please take me up on my offer in the future.”

she feels a sort of protectiveness around you. given you’re her partner, but especially with your shy nature. it’s like a need to shield you from anything and anyone.

hyun-ju / player 120 is quite the contrast, as she was never really nervous or bashful. she asserts herself in most circumstances, unlike yourself.

she stands up for you without hesitation, mainly because she knows firsthand what it’s like to be belittled by others.

she’s been in so many situations in which others have degraded her so she knows how to deal with it easily.

“come to me if they say something else to you, yeah?” “of course. thank you so much, hyun-ju. i don’t know what i’d do without you.” “don’t mention it.”

even though it’s hard to believe, you’re able to fluster her rather than the other way around. any lovey-dovey thing you say has her gone.

she enjoys sitting in silence with you, just like jun-hee. comfortable tranquility with someone she cherishes cannot be beaten.

[no-144444]

Are you still working on your Lando serie?

chapter 8: monaco munchies

꩜ summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

꩜ pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

꩜ a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past/ in school

If you could’ve gotten out of it, you would’ve. You’d just gotten out, just gotten away, just finished with Lando. Why were you even thinking about going to his stupid Quadrant dinner in celebration of his Monaco win? Well, he must’ve remembered you were a foodie, and he picked the most expensive and up-and-coming Monaco restaurant that would have you on a waitlist for 3 months at least. So, you joined the table with Liam in tow, and you two sat together, keeping conversation between yourselves. That’s what worked best, not giving Lando a chance to annoy you. 

Still, there was a tiny little part of you that was proud of Lando, despite the bad taste he’d left in your mouth. You thought back to that little Lando who knew you so well, that little Lando who dreamed. Wished on stars to win races for a series he wasn’t even part of yet. Monaco was a dream. He’d made it a reality, and that teenage girl inside you, the one who loved him, she still felt that passion from him, even if adult-you knew it was gone in favour of negativity and statistics. 

You took another sip of wine, and leaned your head on Liam’s shoulder as he explained your business model to Lando’s parents. If they remembered you, they didn’t let on. It hurt, in a way, but you pushed that down and reminded yourself of your mantra. You’re smart, you’re loved by the people that matter, and you don’t need someone who won’t show up for you. But they had shown up for you, Christmas after Christmas when your parents would insist you stay in boarding school, they signed you out and you experienced what a real Christmas should look like. They had attended your shows, congratulated you after with flowers, and they had cared. Lando too. His siblings too. It bit into your heart as you sat across from them, but when you looked close enough, you saw that same twinkle in Cisca’s eye, the one that made you think she still saw you. 

And maybe it was nice to be seen. 

Across the table, Lando watched you with a clenched jaw. The way you lay your head on Liam’s shoulder, it was just too… domestic. Too normal. He shook his head. His food tasted like cardboard, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the sight unfolding in front of him, or the fact that the girl he’d brought had an insane amount of perfume on, and it was overpowering his senses. The hand he had placed on her thigh (hoping you’d notice, you didn’t), tightened, and she jumped in her seat a little. 

“You wanna get out of here?” she asked, her voice low and seductive. No, was the immediate answer in his head and he covered it with a cough. He took a deep breath and tried to quell the memories of you in his head. Nervousness and empty dorm rooms, giggles and zero pressure. He missed it. He missed you. 

“Why do I have to close my eyes?” you asked him as he led you into his dorm room, which he’d skipped a class to decorate for your birthday. You hadn’t seen each other in 3 months. He’d been busy racing, and you’d given him his space, especially after what he’d done before he left. Regardless, you two fell right back into it that day, your birthday, and he wanted to do something special. 

“It’s a surprise, isn’t it?” he scoffed. He led you into the middle of the room and stood behind you, dropping your hand. “Alright, ready?”

“Sure Lando, but do be aware that Melissa is sobbing crying over Marcus again, and I’m supposed to be back by at least the third ice cream tub-”

“Just open your eyes!” he demanded, and you did as he asked. His dorm room had transformed into a haven. Piles of duvets, blankets, and pillows. A blanket hung from the ceiling, and you smiled at him. “I thought you’d like a blanket fort, since you never got to make one,” he shrugged, awkward energy invading his posture in ways only a teenage boy could live through. “Do you like it?”

You smiled. “I love it, Lando. Thank you.” His smile got wider and you both jumped in, ready to play Mario Kart. You’d told him once that your parents never let you make pillow forts or do any of the camping inside stuff, and you felt like you’d missed out on a big part of your childhood, because after that you were straight into theatre. 

A few hours passed, and you were very much losing in Mario Kart. It didn’t matter though, because you were genuinely having so much fun. But you had your head on his shoulder, your eye-lids were seemingly much heavier than before, and you knew you’d surpassed the third tub of ice cream in Melissa’s post-breakup meltdown. You lost at rainbow road yet again, and dropped your controller down. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you groaned. “You’re so annoying,” you chuckled, standing up.

“I’m just good,” he shrugged. 

“Try-hard,” you corrected, and he laughed. “Alright, I’d better head back,” you checked your watch. “I have a feeling Melissa is getting to the calling him stage, so I might just swoop in and save that-”

“I didn’t give you your gift yet,” he frowned. You raised an eyebrow as he searched around his room to find it. 

“Was this not the present?” you questioned, talking about the room-sized pillow fort that definitely took him hours to set up. He shook his head as he produced a small black box. 

“It’s mostly from me, but also my family,” he explained. “My mom was going to get you some clothes and my dad wanted to get you some sort of school supplies,” he rolled his eyes. “So I said I’d pick something out and give it to you from all of us.” 

You picked up the box from his hands and gently opened it. It contained a necklace. A gorgeous necklace. You felt emotion build in your throat. “Lando this is-”

“Happy Birthday,” he smiled, and leaned in for a hug. “Love you,” he added, but it didn’t feel like it usually did. You loved your friends. You loved Lando. You liked his stupid hair and ridiculous accent. You loved that always smelt like motor oil, and that he smiled bigger than anyone you’d ever met. You stared at his lips as he stood just inches from you. He stared at yours, and contemplated doing the thing that had made you not text or call him for the past three months. 

He did it anyway. His hands circled your waist as yours went around his neck, and he felt it. That heat, that love, that passion. He loved you. God, he’d never stop. 

“Stay,” he whispered, pleading. 

You stayed. Because you always did what Lando asked. 

Yeah, you’d ruined him for other women. But that voice at the back of his head screamed at him. You could’ve had her. It’s your fault she hates you. You should just leave her alone. All true, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. 

You stared at the redhead that was practically in his lap, and you couldn't stop yourself from thinking. He hates when people touch him when he eats. He hates perfumes that are so pungent it overcrowds you. You pushed it back, and turned your attention back to your plate. The food was great (when you weren’t smelling perfume), and the wine was great too. 

“It’s like they’re fornicating at the table,” Liam whispered and you genuinely couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, even with a mouth half full of wine. He ended up with wine on his trousers, but he didn’t seem to care. He just laughed anyway, helping you as you laughed/ coughed, gaming the laughter of the rest of the table. What people didn’t know about you, was that you were actually a really easy-going person, just not when you were under a strict deadline, and or working with Lando Norris. Both things brought out the worst in you. 

You and Liam left quickly, and you promised to get his trousers dry-cleaned. 

Lando watched as you two left, thick as thieves, every bone in his body screaming at him. That should be me. 

He walked the streets of Monaco, the streets he’d owned just hours before, with a kind of mournful sadness. He mourned his relationship with you, for the things that could’ve been, and he mourned the little boy inside of him that would be livid he ever let you get away. 

“Y/n looked happy tonight,” his mom interjected into their silent conversation. “Is that her husband?”

Lando shuddered at the thought. “Her friend. They work together.” 

“She’s so smart,” she continued. “Beautiful too, she really grew up,” she smiled fondly, like she was remembering the 15 year old version of you that was too polite for her own good. “Funny how she still wears the necklace.”

Lando stilled. “What necklace?” he could feel his heart in his stomach as he turned to his mother. 

“The necklace you got her for her 18th?” she explained, confused. “She was playing with it all night, you didn’t see?”

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” his dad, who had been quiet for most of the night, finally spoke up. 

Lando sighed, finally letting all those emotions he’d piled up for months, out. He practically fell into his dad's arms, hiding his face in his neck “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, the first tears falling. “She hates me now.” 

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

taglist:

@justaf1girl @mayax2o07 @sltwins @idkwtdwml123 @bicchaan @littlewhiterose @celesteablack @pinklemonade34 @martygraciesversion381 @sarx164 @freyathehuntress @gandalfthegoatsblog @jensiscourtney-blog @suns3treading @larastark3107 @cryinghotmess

twists and turns masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[ghostedbunnie]

older bf!simon who is trying to keep you alive during your exam season in uni. he has to wrestle the caffeinated drink out of your hands as it makes your anxiety so much worse.

older bf!simon who has to force you to take breaks and he is not nice about it either. he'll throw you over his shoulder if he has to, doesn't matter if you hid in the library on campus, he will embody the caveman he is on the inside.

older bf!simon who helps you revise. honestly it feels more like a military drill than revision at some points, you fear he'll tell you to drop down and give him twenty when you mess up a definition, he never does but he definitely thought about it once or twice.

older bf!simon who doesn't go overboard with the praise when you succeed just a plain ol' "that's my girl." and a smooch on the side of the head is all you need to feel like you've won at life. and if it doesn't work out, he'll let you cry it out if you need to, doesn't grumble about the snot on his hoodie and then simply helps you out so you ace the next try because he hates to see you cry.

older bf!simon who was holding back on his urges the entire exam season so you can focus but once you're done with the last one he is going to town on you. i'm talking order some food for the weekend, lock the door and hold on because he is going to ravage you on any and every surface inside your home.

[doodle-pops]

Sweets and Treat

Fingon x modern human!reader

A/N: I have arrived with my beloved Fingon and another modern reader fic (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

Warnings: none, absolutely fluff and sweetness, modern human reader

Words: 3.7k

Synopsis: An attempt to bake your favourite treat, ends in burns, bandages and a sweet confession.

Masterlist | Navigation

The soft scent of crushed athelas and lavender hung in the warm air of the apothecary, mingling with the crisp breeze that filtered in through the open windows of Elrond’s homestead in Valinor, where ivy clung lazily to carved stone archways and light fell like gold through the treetops. There you stood elbow-deep in mortar and pestle duties, sleeves rolled to your forearms as you worked with slow deliberation to grind dried herbs into a fine powder after a long morning of bandaging over-eager hunting injuries and tending to minor wounds.

The healing house was quieter now since the earlier flurry of activity had dwindled to a few murmured conversations and the occasional bark of laughter from the ward beyond. Not too long ago, you had just begun to sort a small pile of freshly laundered bandages when you heard the sound of familiar footsteps, accompanied by the subtle rustle of robes and the telltale clink of vials in a tray.

“Is it safe to enter,” came a teasing voice from the threshold, “or will I be assaulted with flying gauze and foul language again?”

Looking up and arching a brow at Calwen, a fellow healer whose wry smile always hinted at mischief, and had taken to delight in troubling you at any available opportunity.

“Depends,” you replied, brushing a strand from your forehead with the back of your wrist. “Are you bringing news of another poor soul who mistook a sword for a walking stick?”

“Worse,” she said with a grin that immediately set your internal alarm bells ringing. “We’ve got a new patient in the east wing. Rather urgent, or so he says. Requested you specifically.”

That alone prompted you to frown. “Is it that reckless idiot who tried to cauterise his own arm last week?”

Tilting her head while her lips twitched, she bore a ‘clueless’ expression. “Couldn’t say. Though I do recall a certain someone promising to throw the next fool who lit themselves on fire into the nearest fountain.”

“Glad you’re keeping track of my threats.”

“Always. They bring such flavour to the place.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?”

There was no reply, only a suspiciously bright smile as she handed you a rolled up parchment of paper and turned sharply on her sandals before disappearing around the doorway with the flounce of someone who knew far more than she was willing to say. You didn’t know what else to possible say or do. Being around a class of people in a league entirely above you, left you exhausted as you tried to understand their love for being poetical, theoretical, hypothetical and metaphorical. You didn’t have time for such a brainrot moment.

Keeping the last of your two brain cells sane, were your jot and comfort in this foreign land.

Sighing, you set aside your tasks, you wiped your hands on a cloth, and snatched up the parchment as you moved out of the back room and into the airy corridor that connected the treatment wards. The moment you stepped through, the lingering scent of sweet herbs gave way to a subtle waft of chocolate and something else…something suspiciously like burnt flour. It made you wrinkle your nose.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath as you stalked toward the east wing, muttering to yourself as though you were gearing up for war. Maybe you were because dealing with people who lived like ‘you only live once’ didn’t exist since they were allowed to have second chances. “If this is that same overconfident fool who thought boiling salve didn’t need gloves, I swear I’m going to light him on fire. One more elf walks in with a burn injury and I’m submitting a formal request to ban anything fire from existing.”

Protesting like a lunatic to yourself as you marched through the hallway, your footfalls echoed faintly along the marbled floor. That glimmer of the halls glowing with that ever-present soft illumination that Valinor seemed to bestow on everything it touched, but you paid it little mind, too preoccupied with rehearsing a scolding worthy of the ages.

“I’m starting to regret opening my mouth and go “Hey, I know medicine!” the minute I dropped out the sky to save my ass. I should have let them throw me into the ocean or something.”

Rounding the corner with the intention of storming in, expecting the worst—probably someone trying to show off for one of the fair-haired maidens in the training courts again—and flung open the door, ready to unleash hell. But alas, it wasn’t some arrogant warrior sprawled dramatically on the healing cot.

It was him.

Fingon.

His dark hair was half-loose, braids falling lazily over his shoulders, the ends tied with a golden ribbons that looked slightly singed. From your angle, his cheeks appeared flushed, and fingers emerged in cool spring water which, from the look of it, had been mercifully given to him by someone with enough grace to buy him time but not much more. And then there were his robes, ever finely embroidered, were singed at the sleeve, and in his uninjured hand he held a covered dish carefully balanced on a folded towel.

For a long moment, you just stood there, the words you’d been crafting, caught somewhere between your brain and your throat.

Sheepishly he looked up, but hopeful, as though he wasn’t entirely certain whether you’d laugh at him or throw him out. “…Hello,” he said, with a slow dimpled smile that would do dangerous things to anyone’s composure. “I seem to have run afoul of the culinary arts.”

You blinked, dumbfounded. “You…cooked?”

Gently he lifted the dish. “I tried.”

There was a beat of silence passing before you exhaled, letting your shoulders drop with a quiet sigh of disbelief as you closed the door behind you. “Ah, uh, what, how, um—What did you do, throw yourself into the oven to see if it was warm enough?”

“Not at all,” he cheerily beamed, holding back a laugh, “just the tray. Though in hindsight, I do wonder if it had it out for me.”

Stepping forward, already reaching for the bandages and ointments, your eyes flicked toward the dish he held with curiosity now tinged with concern.

“Is that the dish? What did you whip up?”

There was a small puzzled expression crossing his face, resembling a puppy, before recognition. “A peace offering,” he replied shakily, as though all his confidence vanished at his pre-confession. “Brownies. I followed Glorfindel’s instructions. Mostly.”

There was a sudden pause as you looked him over, teetering on the edge of disbelief. “Glorfindel taught you to bake?”

Fingon nodded with utmost seriousness. “He claimed it was the quickest path to someone’s heart. Though he failed to mention how hazardous the process would be.”

And in spite of yourself, you laughed softly, like a bubbling spring because the image of the fierce and golden-haired Balrog-slayer teaching Fingon, High Prince of the Noldor, to bake brownies for the sake of wooing someone was so utterly absurd and endearing that you couldn’t help it.

Turning to set down your supplies, you shook your head. “Well, I suppose we should take a look at the damage. Your hand, I mean. I’ll see about the brownies after. Hopefully they’re still alive.”

“It isn’t burnt that terribly,” he whispered depreciated, feeling as though you might view his attempt as failure if you deem it needing ‘saving.’

As you began to gently unwrap the compress, your fingers working with the familiarity born of long hours spent in this house, you caught the way his gaze lingered on you with the an observational reverence of someone who saw more than what you showed to others.

It was the same look he always wore when he visited under the guise of wishing to see Elrond and learn more stories about Middle Earth through the ages.

Shaking your head at the notion, you drifted your focus to the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers—warmer than usual, reddened and delicate where it had come into contact with the offending tray. You handled his hand with practiced care, gently dabbing the cool salve along the burn in slow, even strokes, watching his knuckles twitch ever so slightly under the cooling touch. Callouses had decorated his broad hand from years of training, strong and sure in ways you had always noticed and tried not to dwell on.

The silence in the room shifted into something softer, the kind that always stretched between you and Fingon whenever he visited—full of things unsaid. It was filled with his quiet, steady gaze and the careful way he spoke around you, never too forward, always leaving space for you to step toward or away. His gesture always made you flustered and you hated how your heartbeat sped up at his nearness, how his mere presence made the room feel smaller, warmer. More intimate.

“You really burned yourself baking brownies?” you asked again, anything to resist awkwardness settling, though your voice had lost its earlier sharpness. “That’s a new low, even for you.”

There was a faint tilt of his head, and a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, his gaze never leaving your face. “It is a rather undignified wound, is it not? Shall I conjure a better tale? One involving a great hunting tale, perhaps?”

“I might believe it more,” you airily chuckled, smoothing a salve-covered thumb across the edge of the burn. “You’d look more at home hunting than in a kitchen.”

“Then it pleases me you’re tending to me now. You’re far gentler than Glorfindel was with his ‘lessons.’”

That led to a soft snort. “I’m surprised he didn’t teach you with a sword in one hand and a spatula in the other.”

“You are quite the seer. That is close to how he appeared,” Fingon beamed with all the solemnity of someone recounting a great personal trial. “It was chaos. I nearly lost an eyebrow.”

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips, though you kept your head ducked slightly to focus on his hand. “Well, I suppose it’s commendable you’re still alive. And you made it all the way here without dropping the brownie, so really, you should be proud.”

“I am,” he whispered quieter, almost thoughtful. “Though I might be prouder if you agreed to share it with me later.”

That made you looked up slowly, your eyes meeting his, and there it was again—that look. As if he were studying something he didn’t quite understand but very much wanted to. As if the room contained only you, and nothing else in Valinor could possibly matter. You held his gaze for a moment too long before you cleared your throat and gently set his bandaged hand aside to retrieve fresh gauze.

“I’ll wrap this,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not severe, but you’ll want to avoid using that hand for a few days.”

A silence fell over you two once again as he watched you work without flinching, unmoving, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer, almost hesitant.

“You know,” he murmured, “when I asked Glorfindel to teach me, it wasn’t only for the brownie.”

You paused, not looking up. “Really?”

“No,” he reassured, and now his voice carried a note of quiet conviction, the kind that unnerved you more than a storm ever could. “It was for the question I intended to ask you when I brought it.”

A pregnant stillness lingered in the air, forcing you to halt, fingers hovering above the bandage, your breath catching before you forced yourself to resume wrapping, slower now. “What kind of question?” you asked, though you felt like you knew, though you felt the answer humming under your skin already.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he flexed his uninjured hand slightly in his lap, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not from here,” he spoke up at last. “You’re not of Arda. Not even of the race of Men that my people once knew. And yet…you are here. Amongst us. Amongst me. And I find myself thinking of you more often than I ought.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening just slightly as you secured the gauze and fastened it in place.

“That’s not an answer,” you said softly, unable to stop the tremor in your voice.

He leaned forward, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you could smell the hint of chocolate still clinging to his robes, enough that his gaze became inescapable.

“I wanted to ask if I might court you,” he announced, simply. No fanfare, no embellishment—just quiet honesty. “Properly. Despite what separates us.”

You froze, fingers resting lightly against his wrist, your heart hammering as your mind tried and failed to conjure the right thing to say. There wasn’t a time when you had imagined this moment in foolish, lonely hours—always dismissing it as impossible, as something out of place and time. Because he was Fingon. High Prince of the Noldor. Reborn from the halls of Mandos, a song made flesh, heir to a house that shaped the fate of kingdoms.

And you were just…you. A human, displaced and strange, a creature of science and sarcasm, stitching wounds and fetching herbs in a world that still felt too luminous, too vast for your understanding.

Looking up at him slowly, words suffocating somewhere behind your teeth but refusing to come out. And he saw it—your hesitation, your disbelief. So he did what Fingon always did best.

He smiled.

“I know it is much to ask,” he said gently. “And I know our paths were never meant to cross. But they have. And I would not ignore that.”

You breathed out shakily, forcing yourself to step back and busy yourself with cleaning up the used bandages, because if you stood still any longer, you feared you might say something you weren’t ready to understand.

“Fingon,” you began, then faltered, eyes on your hands.

“I am not asking you to decide now,” he corrected quickly and earnestly. “Only that you think on it. That you know it is not a jest, nor some fleeting interest.”

Dared not to glance back at him, but you did and saw the sincerity etched in every line of his face, every soft curve of his lips, and something ached inside you, deep and old.

He didn’t press.

He only stood, slowly, cradling the brownies with his good hand and offering you the faintest of bows.

“I will return once the hand has healed,” he said, though something in his voice hinted he would return far sooner than that. “You may decide then whether to eat this with me…or scold me further.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving behind a strange warmth in his absence, and the faint scent of cocoa and burnt flour lingering in the air.

The healing house had grown quiet by the time the sun dipped low beyond the pearl-white trees and into the soft gold veil of twilight. Most of the other aides had long since gone home, leaving only a hush behind—the kind that settled thick over stone corridors and turned idle thoughts into wandering ghosts. You remained at your corner station, but your hands had grown still, unmoving for a while now, your mind elsewhere entirely.

You hadn’t been able to shake Fingon’s voice from your ears. The way he had said it—I find myself thinking of you more often than I ought. So simple, and yet spoken with the same conviction you imagined he might’ve once used before galloping into battle. No elf had ever spoken to you like that before, and certainly no prince. Not with intention. And definitely not after burning his hand trying to impress you with dessert.

A short, unwilling laugh escaped you at the memory.

He had really done that. The valiant, golden and hearty son of the House of Fingolfin had burned himself making brownies. For you.

When the door to the healer’s quarters creaked open, you were certain it was one of the senior healers come to check on late records. You didn’t glance up right away. But the moment you did, you found Fingon standing there again—cloaked now, though still informal, the hood pushed back to reveal the soft unbraided tumble of his dark hair, loose in a way that made him appear younger, more relaxed.

He held the same small covered dish in one hand. The other, the burnt one, was still wrapped in your handiwork. And you stared at him, stunned.

“You were meant to be resting,” you said dumbly.

“I did rest,” he replied, stepping inside. “Long enough to convince myself that if I waited until morning, the courage might drain right out of me. And then you’d be left with half a brownie and a full silence.”

You blinked. “Sooooo, you came back tonight?”

“I had hoped,” he said, a little more carefully now, “that you might be willing to share it with me. Now. If it’s not too bold.”

That should have been your cue to send him home. You should’ve told him you were tired, that it had been a long day, that patients were exhausting, that you needed to sleep and think and breathe—but you didn’t say any of those things. Instead, you stared at the hearty dish in his hands, the scent of sweet chocolate wafting from it as he stepped closer.

“Are you sure it is edible?” you asked warily.

“That depends,” he chuckled with a slight smirk. “Will you eat it even if it’s not?”

Your expression twitched. “If I die, Elrond will kill you.”

“Then it’s fortunate you are the healer,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “I assume you know how to revive yourself.”

You huffed, unable to help the small laugh that escaped as you shook your head and moved to the table near the corner hearth. Fingon followed, settling across from you as if it were the most natural thing in the world—as though he had done it a thousand times before and would again, for years still to come.

Producing two forks from the drawer, you slid one across the table toward him. He uncovered the dish with a flourish that would’ve been comical had it not smelled absolutely heavenly. You blinked at the warm, brown crust, bubbling edges, and faint caramelised glaze across the top.

“Well fuck me,” you muttered. “You actually pulled it off.”

“I am capable of more than I appear,” he proudly boasted with mock gravity, lifting a fork with the grace of someone raised to dine beside kings. “Though I dare say the presentation is Glorfindel’s doing. I only barely avoided burning it twice.”

Humming at his words, you took your own bite, and to your immense surprise, it wasn’t just edible—it was good. Warm and bright and syrupy with melted chocolate. You made a soft, delighted noise despite yourself. That response made Fingon’s eyes lit immediately. “That sound,” he said, too quickly, “—forgive me—it pleased me.”

Your fork paused halfway back to the bowl, and you looked at him across the modest firelight and shadows of the stone walls, feeling suddenly shy in a way that annoyed you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you reminded him. “I still haven’t agreed to anything.”

“I know.” He didn’t flinch. “I said I would wait.”

And he meant it. It showed in the steady way he looked at you, never pressing, never insisting, only offering his presence—his real presence—as if to say, Here I am. If you want me.

It had been a long time since anyone had made you feel like the choice was yours.

“I don’t know how it would work,” you admitted finally, the words barely above a whisper. “I’m not from this world. I say strange things, do stranger things. I don’t have kin here. No lineage. No...destiny. And human-elven relationships…” You trailed off, glancing away. “They never end well. You know that. You’re ancient, Fingon. I’m a blink.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, spoon still resting untouched in his bowl.

“And yet, for all my age, I have never met another like you,” he whispered quietly. “Not in all my days of fire and war, nor in all the years I have wandered since. You carry strangeness like a torch. You shine in ways that make my kind curious, and sometimes confused, but never unmoved. You remind me of the world we nearly lost—the one we fought for.”

You blinked fast, your throat tightening at the rawness in his voice. Then he placed his fork down, looking suddenly uncertain, hesitant.

“I do not ask for forever,” he said. “Only…for a beginning.”

And it was then—only then—you understood. It wasn’t just affection he was offering, it wasn’t about courtship the way your world understood it. He wanted to build something with you. Whatever shape it could take. He wasn’t afraid of the human-elf barrier because to him, the time he had now meant more than the memory of what time had taken.

You didn’t speak for a moment, only reached for his hand again—the one you’d wrapped in bandages earlier—and rested your fingers lightly over his wrist.

The gentle touch of your hand upon his, he looked down at the contact, then back up at you with a quiet, surprised hope.

“I’m not promising anything eternal,” you reminded, a smile tugging weakly at your lips. “But…we can start with brownies.”

Just hearing your response, accustomed to your playfulness, his laugher echoed softly, yet disbelieving, eyes shining in the firelight.

“I would’ve burned both hands for that,” he proudly stated. “And I’m ready to try another sweet.”

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @feanorynz @6esi @will-0-wsps @the0twst0shrimp0mc @ella-error505 @xximmortalkissxx @gauntletgirlie @zheiya

If you wish to be tagged, click on the Taglist Link to join.

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[wisteria-bae]

“Reader has black hair and blue eyes-“

THEN ITS NOT AN X READER!!???

Edit below cut

Hey guys, so when I made this post, I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. Now that I’m way more mellowed out and had the chance to read a lot of reactions and responses, let me act my age and actually clarify some things.

First, I want to apologize to those who were deeply upset by my post. My post overall was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with adding certain details to your reader, such as gender or body type. The issue comes in when you don’t properly title and tag it as so, or completely ignore it altogether.

If you see my post as an eye opener and want to change up your work, then you have every right to do so, but please do not think that this is an attack or jive directed at you. It’s just that some of us readers want exactly as promised. That’s like blindfolding someone, telling them that you’re gonna feed them an apple, and then making them bite into a banana - peel and all.

I know some writers have said that they want to be more inclusive in response to my criticism. If that is what you truly want, then by all means, but I cannot stress enough: write what YOU want to write. Do not feel as though you’re being pressured to change what you put out; it’s just a means of how you categorize it.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, respond, and engage with my original post. I truly appreciate the perspectives shared, they’ve helped me see things more clearly and refine my thoughts.

[shortnsweetsposts]

Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

[bluublu-blub]

yan! ex husband

yan! ex husband who just won't move on. It's been months since the two of you divorced and he still can't get his mind wrapped around the fact that you guys are not together anymore. It seems like everytime he turns, he sees you. He hallucinates a lot and tries to hug you but all he catches is air. 

yan! ex husband who will snap back to reality after realizing that he is alone in the house you both brought together. 

yan! ex husband who is slowly going insane. His memory is deteriorating bit by bit caused by stress, lack of sleep, and nonexistent eating habits. He does know you won't come back to him but he hopes so badly that you did.

yan! ex husband who doesn't remember when the divorce happened and the reason for your split. But he does know the reason why you left him. He just can't remember at all.

yan! ex husband who only remembers you crying a day before you filed divorce papers to him.

yan! ex husband who just stared blankly at you when you gave him the divorce papers, signing it and ignoring you. 

yan! ex husband who lets you go because he couldn't be bothered.

yan! ex husband who fucked up.

yan! ex husband who decided that living without you isn't a life he can live and decided to make sure you get back to him again. 

yan! ex husband who will do anything for you both to get back together. 

[cowboybeepboop]

Perfection

 "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

Genre: smut

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: You’re Sergei’s closest (and only) friend, one night things become more than just friendly.

a/n: as always send any request you have my way! I’ll get to them asap 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the foliage above, you felt an eerie presence nearby. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught a flicker of movement among the trees. It was Sergei, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. 

You'd found him in this very forest when he had first left home, and now, years later, he remained a silent guardian. 

Sergei stood amidst the shadows of the forest, his form blending seamlessly with the surrounding foliage. His gaze lingered on you, studying your every detail. The familiar scent of the forest and your presence filled his senses, stirring a mix of nostalgia and concern within him.

"You've been here a while," he observed, his voice a low rumble. "Looking for something?"

"Just watching," you murmur, standing as he approaches your side. you brush your hands over your jeans, grinning as you look up at him. 

Sergei, towering above you, stands close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes study your every movement, taking in the way your hands brush over your jeans. A faint smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Watching, eh?" he remarks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate through the forest around you. "Find anything interesting?"

"Not particularly, well at least not before you showed up," you observe his strong features in the sunlight, hands aching to touch him.

Sergei's smirk widens as he notices the way your eyes roam over his features, taking in the play of sunlight on his chiseled face. He can feel the subtle tension rising between you, a familiar pull that has always been there.

"Is that right?" he responds in a low, amused tone. "So, I'm more interesting than the scenery then?"

"But of course," you glance around, "the forest doesn't exactly talk back, does it?" 

Sergei's lips quirk into a crooked smile as he considers your retort. His eyes follow the movement of your gaze, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

"True, the forest is a silent spectator." he muses, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But I happen to be a little more engaging than a few trees and squirrels."

Then, his tone shifts slightly, a touch more commanding yet laced with an underlying softness. "You should join me for dinner. It's late, and I doubt you've eaten anything substantial."

"What's on the menu?" you grin, linking your arm with his as he begins to guide you to his home.

As you link your arm with his, Sergei lets out a chuckle at your question. It was never a struggle to get you to come along when food was involved.

"Nothing fancy, just a simple meal," he replies, his hand instinctively resting on top of yours as he guides you through the trail he and his family had made years before. "Some stew from a rabbit I caught earlier, fresh bread, and maybe a few berries if I can find any."

"Sounds perfect, Sergei." you lean your head against his shoulder, enjoying the heat that's radiating off of him. 

As your head rests on his shoulder, Sergei glances down at you, a warm smile playing on his lips. The familiarity of your touch and the way you lean into him stirs emotions within him. He'd always been protective of you, seeing you as someone he needed to keep safe.

He continues to guide you along the path, the sound of nocturnal creatures filling the night air. "You're quiet tonight," he notes, his voice gentle. "Everything alright?"

Your eyes widen as he catches on to your distracted mind, thoughts filled with the idea of being in his home and surrounded by his scent rather than making conversations. "Of course..." you murmur, "Just a little.. preoccupied." you grin up at him 

Sergei narrows his eyes slightly, a mix of concern and curiosity in his gaze. Your vague answer and the hint of a grin on your face pique his interest, making him even more curious.

"Preoccupied, hm?" he muses, a hint of humor in his voice. "With what exactly?" His arm tightens its hold on you, pulling you closer as if to physically keep you from drifting away in thought.

"That's a secret," you retort, eyes glued on the building ahead of the both of you, Sergei finally guiding you inside his home. 

Sergei's smirk only widens at your response, your words fueling the curiosity further. He watches the way your eyes dart towards his home, knowing exactly what you're thinking. With a slight chuckle, he leads you inside.

The interior is cozy and warm, lit by a few oil lamps that cast a soft, flickering glow over the room. The scent of woodsmoke and herbs fills the air. Sergei closes the door behind you, locking it securely.

"A secret, huh?" he muses, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now you've got me genuinely intrigued."

You take a seat on the couch, relaxing into the plush fabric. "I'll tell you after dinner, I'm too hungry to wait." you pull a blanket over your body, instantly making yourself at home in the familiar environment. 

Sergei watches as you settle into the couch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Your ability to make yourself at home in his space doesn't go unnoticed, and he finds it almost endearing.

"Fair enough," he smirks, moving towards the small kitchenette area. "Dinner won't take too long. I promise I'll have you spilling your secrets soon enough." He grabs a few items from his cupboards and sets to work on preparing the meal.

"Take your time pretty boy," you murmur, eyes glued to his back as he moves around the kitchen.

Sergei's shoulders visibly tense for a moment as your voice drifts over to him, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. Your playful nickname causes a familiar heat to rise up within him, and he can feel your gaze on his back.

Without turning around, he responds in a low, teasing tone, "Careful, I might get used to the praise."

"Youre right, I cant inflate your ego too much." you giggle softly. He finally finishes the meal, bringing you a bowl of the stew.

Sergei carries the bowl of warm stew back to the living area, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he sets it down in front of you. He doesn't miss the way your eyes light up at the sight and smell of the food, and it only adds to his amusement.

"Here," he says, placing the bowl gently in your hands. "Be careful, it's still hot."

Once you have the bowl securely in your grasp, Sergei takes a step back, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. He watches you closely, his gaze taking in every movement, as you bring the spoon to your lips and take a tentative taste of the stew.

"It's perfect Sergei, amazing." you hum in satisfaction, your eyes meeting his while you enjoy the meal he prepared.

Sergei's smirk blossoms into a satisfied smile as he watches you relish the meal. Hearing your genuine praise and seeing the contentment on your face brings a sense of satisfaction to him. 

"Glad you like it," he replies, leaning back a bit as he observes you. His smirk morphs into a wry grin, and he adds, "I promise I didn't poison it."

"Well of course not, you can't go poisoning your only friend." the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish your meals. Once you place the empty bowl on the coffee table you feel the intense stare boring into the side of your head, Sergei watching your every move.

As you set your empty bowl aside, you can feel Sergei's intense gaze on you. His eyes meticulously watch you, cataloging every movement, every flicker of emotion that passes across your face. Being the center of his unblinking attention is a sensation that never fails to awaken the butterflies in your stomach.

After a moment, he breaks the silence. His voice is low, with a hint of huskiness in his tone. "So... about that little secret you've been holding onto..."

"Well, I was thinking.. about asking you if I could stay here for the night." you turn to him, expression pleading. "Look I know it's a little inconvenient-" he interrupts you.

Before you can finish your statement, Sergei cuts you off. You sense a hint of surprise mixed with something else in his expression, but it's quickly concealed behind his usual smirk.

He crosses his arms over his chest, a slightly challenging look in his eyes. "Let me get this straight," he says, his voice taking on a dry edge. "You want to... crash here for the night, no explanation?"

"Well I was going to explain but you interrupted.." you murmur, voice soft as your gaze falls to your hands. "It's just I really like spending time with you.." 

Sergei's expression softens as he hears the note of disappointment in your voice. The hint of challenge in his eyes fades, replaced by a touch of guilt. He doesn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your lowered hands.

After a moment, he sighs heavily, his voice holding a hint of resignation. "So, that's your big secret then? You just want more time with me?"

"Yes.." you whisper, silently cursing yourself for ever bringing it up. You always knew that your affections were one sided yet the confirmation of it hurts more than you were anticipating. 

Sergei's eyes are unreadable as he absorbs your words, his expression neutral. A moment of silence follows, the only sound in the room the soft crackle of the fireplace. His gaze is fixed on you, studying your expression and the subtle change in your demeanor.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, a hint of sympathy lacing his words. "Is that the only reason? You just... want to be around me more?"

"I like your company, you're comfortable, *familiar*." you carefully gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes. 

A muscle in Sergei's jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your big, pleading eyes meeting his. The sight stirs something within him, but he's not entirely sure what it is. 

After a moment, he lets out a heavy sigh, his expression a mix of resignation and something else. "Fine," he mutters, looking away. "You can stay here whenever. But only on one condition."

"Anything you want." you smile, moving closer to him, your eyes filled with excitement. 

Sergei notices the way you shift closer to him, the gleam of excitement in your eyes making it obvious how much you want to be close to him. He lets out a huff, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Anything, huh?" he muses, his voice a low rumble. "Careful, you're giving me free reign to make all sorts of demands now."

"You're free to make any demands, it is your house after all." you bring your hands to his knees, fingers gently digging into his clothed skin. "But what is your condition?"

As you place your hands on his knees and dig your fingers into his skin, Sergei can feel a slight shiver run down his spine. The mixture of surprise and a sudden flare of heat takes him momentarily off guard, and he has to force himself to focus on the conversation. 

He takes a moment to reply, eyes flickering down to your fingers before fixing on your face again. "My condition..."

He pauses, swallowing back a sharp reply and instead opting for a straightforward request. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then where will I sleep?" your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you move closer.

Your closeness causes Sergei's breath to hitch ever so slightly, his eyes roaming over your face as you approach. He takes a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. 

"You can take my bed," he says bluntly, his gaze not wavering from yours. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No," you begin to protest, "can we share the bed? I don't want to steal it from you..."

Sergei blinks, clearly not expecting your response. The idea of sharing his bed with you had never occurred to him before, but now that you've suggested it, he can't deny the spark of heat it ignites within him.

He clears his throat, trying to maintain his cool composure. "You... want to share the bed?" he repeats, his voice a touch huskier than usual.

"Yes.." you grin sweetly, "I'd love to." Sergei can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as you grin sweetly up at him, your eagerness obvious. The thought of sharing his bed with you - of having you that close to him for an entire night - is suddenly far more appealing than he wants to admit. 

He swallows, trying to regain some sense of control. "Very well," he manages, his voice rough. "You can share the bed with me, then."

"Shall we head to bed then? It is getting a bit late.." you yawn quietly. 

With your yawn catching his attention, Sergei glances at the nearby clock. It was indeed getting late. The thought of sharing a bed with you is still on his mind, but he has to admit, he's also feeling rather tired.

"Right." he agrees huskily. He stands from the couch, offering you a hand to help you up. "Let's get some sleep then."

"Lead the way, handsome." you follow close behind as he guides you into his bedroom.

As you follow behind him, your light footsteps echoing quietly against the wooden floorboards, Sergei leads you into his simple yet cozy bedroom. The space is just big enough for a queen-size bed and a small dresser, but it's kept tidy and neat.

He steps aside to allow you to enter first, gesturing towards the bed. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmurs, his eyes on you the entire time.

"Thank you, Sergei." you silently creep into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed before sliding out of your pants, folding and placing them on the nightstand. You're blissfully unaware of his tense gaze, watching as you pull your bra off from under your shirt, placing it off to the side. 

Sergei stands in the doorway, watching every one of your movements with unblinking intensity. His eyes seem to follow your every gesture like a hawk tracking its prey. Your casual actions - stripping off your pants and then your bra - are like a slow, torturous reveal to him. 

His jaw clenches, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggles to maintain his composure. He cannot deny the effect your presence in his space - in his *bed* \- is having on him.

With a final small stretch you slip beneath the covers, eyes wandering to look at him in the doorway. "Are you coming in?" you murmur, not wanting to steal his space from him.

Sergei's eyes remain glued to you as you slip beneath the covers, a mixture of desire and restraint clearly visible in his gaze. At your question, he snaps out of his trance, realizing he's just been standing there staring. 

He clears his throat slightly, steeling himself before slowly approaching the bed and pulling back the covers on the other side. "Yeah. I'm coming in." 

He slides into the bed beside you, trying to maintain a distance but finding himself drawn to your warmth.

"Good night Sergei.." you whisper in the silent and dark room, eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into the sheets. The sound of your soft voice whispering goodnight only serves to heighten his senses, the intimacy of the situation making it difficult for him to even breathe. 

"Good night," he mutters in response, his eyes lingering on your form for a moment longer before he turns his gaze to the ceiling. It's going to be a long night.

As the minutes tick by, Sergei finds himself unable to sleep. Your body is a mere arm's length away from him, causing the most primal part of his brain to struggle against the temptation to pull you flush against him. 

He tries to think of anything else - anything that could distract him from the overwhelming desire surging through him. Yet, no matter what he tries, his mind drifts back to you, lying so close but still just out of reach...

You shift in your sleep, soft incoherent murmurs slipping from your parted lips as you move closer to him, craving the heat of his body, the feel of his skin against yours. 

As you shift closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth in your sleep, it takes every ounce of Sergei's willpower not to react. He feels the heat of your body as you press up against him, your murmurs sounding like a soft siren's song to his lust-fogged brain. 

He grits his teeth, his muscles coiled tight as he struggles to resist the urge to pull you even closer. "Fuck..." he mutters under his breath, his heartbeat increasing with every inch that separates your bodies.

Your bare leg wraps around his thigh as you pull yourself flush against him, your cheek pressing into his chest. You stir slightly, eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly. 

You place your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his abs as you turn your head to look at him. Your lips curve into a gentle smile as you make eye contact with him, "Is everything alright?" 

As you stir and awaken, the innocent brush of your fingers against his chest sets his nerve endings ablaze. His skin tingles wherever you touch, the feel of your bare leg wrapped around his sending a jolt of heat through him. 

He meets your gaze, his own eyes dark with poorly concealed desire. "It's... fine," he manages to rasp out, trying to ignore the way his body is reacting to your touch. "Just... can't sleep, that's all."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" your eyes lock with his, full of sleepy affection.

Your sleepy gaze, full of warmth and affection, only makes Sergei's self-control slip further. He swallows roughly, his hand itching to reach out and touch you, to pull you even closer to him. 

"I... I don't... know..." he whispers hoarsely. His gaze drifts down to your parted lips, the temptation to lean in and claim them nearly overpowering. "You're making this very... *difficult* for me, you know." Your eyes widen as you realize his implication, your body tensing slightly. 

Sergei can feel the tension in your body as you realize the meaning behind his words. He curses himself silently, hating the way your slight recoil makes him feel. 

He loosens his grip on your hip, shifting to create a small gap between your bodies, his voice dropping to a more soothing tone. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... your presence here, in my bed... it's stirring up some unexpected... *desires*."

"Do you.. desire me?" your voice is a breathless whisper as you scan his features, your heart pounding rapidly inside you.

Your quiet question hangs in the air, and Sergei finds himself hesitating for a moment, the weight of his answer almost too much to bear. His gaze fixates on you, unflinching, as his fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip. 

"Yes," he finally responds, his voice a rough, low rumble. "I do. More than you could possibly understand."

You take a shakey deep breath, gathering the confidence to make a move on this gentle giant. You slide the blankets off of your bodies, moving to straddle his hips, your eyes full of desire as you gaze down at him. 

Sergei's eyes widen slightly as you remove the blankets and boldly straddle his hips, your unexpected move taking him off guard. The sight of you looming over him, your eyes full of desire, sends a sharp thrill of heat through his body and straight to his core. 

His hands fly to your hips, gripping them with a possessive force. "What are you doing...?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice thick with restrained desire.

"Sergei.. I want you." you press your palms to his chest, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his. 

As you begin to rock your hips against his, Sergei feels a growl rumble in his chest, his fingers digging further into the flesh of your hips. The pressure builds between your bodies, the friction of your movements driving him wild. 

He grabs your wrists, pinning them down on his chest as he looks up at you, his eyes full of a primal need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he hisses, his voice barely recognizable.

You continue to grind against him, soft unintelligible noises falling from your lips as you get lost in the feeling of his hardness pressed into your cunt.

With each movement of your hips, Sergei's control unravels further. The feel of your body, grinding against his hardness, sends a surge of raw need through him. He groans loudly, his grasp on your wrists tightening as he fights to maintain some semblance of restraint. 

"Fuck... You... You're going to drive me insane," he mutters, his voice rough and hoarse. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me right now?"

Sergei's eyes flare with a wild, almost desperate hunger as he watches you, his restrained power a stark contrast to your unbridled passion. He releases your wrists, allowing his hands to glide up your arms, feeling the softness of your skin against his calloused fingers. "If we do this..." he warns, his voice strained with need. "There's no going back." His words hang in the air, a silent question and a promise wrapped in one.

"I know..  know but I need you, Sergei please." you whine, lost in the intoxication of his body against yours. 

Sergei's eyes darken further, the raw desire in them unmistakable. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and for a moment, it seems like he's fighting an internal battle. Then, with a low growl, he surrenders to the need, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss that steals your breath away, his tongue demanding entry as your bodies become one in a tangle of heat and passion. The bed beneath you creaks as he rolls you over, his strong arms holding you firmly in place as his hips surge up to meet yours. 

Breaking the kiss, Sergei's eyes never leaving yours, he reaches down to tug at the hem of his shirt. With a swift motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing the defined planes of his chest and abs, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. 

His gaze is intense as he watches you, his movements deliberate as he undoes the button of his pants and slides them down, his erection springing free. Without breaking eye contact, his hands move to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt and lifting it up over your head. 

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down just enough to expose your bare skin to the cool night air. The anticipation is palpable, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down further, exposing your wet, eager cunt. 

He groans low in his throat, the sight of your nakedness driving him closer to the edge. With one swift move, he rids himself of his own underwear, his cock bobbing heavily with desire. His hand moves between your legs, his fingers sliding through your slickness before he lines himself up, his tip brushing against your entrance. 

"Ready?" he asks, his voice a harsh whisper, his eyes burning with need. At your nod, he pushes into you with a slow, agonizingly sweet motion, filling you completely as he buries himself to the hilt.

You nod, unable to find words as his cock slides into you with an agonizing slowness that makes you quiver with anticipation. Your eyes never leave his as he continues to fill you completely, stretching and claiming every inch of your body with a passionate dominance that sends shivers down your spine. 

His grip on your hips tightens as he starts to move, his powerful strokes setting a rhythm that echoes through the quiet night. Each thrust is punctuated by a guttural groan, his eyes never leaving yours as you both get lost in the moment. 

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the faint aroma of the stew from dinner. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the coolness of the sheets, creating a delicious friction that sends sparks of pleasure dancing across your skin. 

As he moves within you, Sergei's eyes burn with an intensity that you've never seen before, and you can't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you are exactly where you're meant to be. His every touch, every kiss feels like coming home, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly alive and desired.

With each powerful thrust, Sergei's control frays further, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal. His hands grip your hips, guiding your body to meet his with a perfect rhythm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

You moan his name, your nails digging into his back as your body arches off the bed, begging for more. The room is a symphony of your muffled cries and his feral grunts, the sound of flesh slapping together in an intimate dance. Your eyes are locked in a silent conversation of passion, the fire in his gaze igniting a fierce need within you. 

You can feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as the pressure builds. "Sergei, I'm... I'm going to cum," you gasp out, your body trembling. 

He responds with a low growl, his strokes becoming faster, deeper, pushing you over the precipice until you shatter in his arms, your climax ripping through you like lightning in a summer storm. He follows close behind, his own release a powerful wave that crashes over both of you, leaving you breathless and spent, your bodies tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets.

He falls to the bed next to you, satisfaction filling his body as you cuddle into his warmth. As you both lay there, the night's passion still lingering in the air, Sergei's thoughts whirl with conflicting emotions. 

He can feel your gentle breath against his chest, the weight of your body against his own, and a sudden realization hits him like a punch in the gut. He can no longer deny the depth of what he feels for you. 

The way he had just made love to you - as passionately, hungrily, almost desperately as he had - betrayed his true feelings. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer as he tries to make sense of his thoughts.

"Sergei," you breathe out his name, your eyes fluttering shut as you cuddle into him. 

As you breathe out his name, Sergei's arms tighten around you instinctively. He feels a sudden wave of protectiveness wash over him, a fierce need to keep you safe and loved. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Yes, my darling?" he mutters into the darkness, his voice thick with an emotion he doesn't dare name.

"That.. that was good," you murmur sleepily, body slowly relaxing.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Sergei's lips as he listens to your sleepy murmur. He can hear the contented exhaustion in your voice, the way your body is melting into his embrace. "Good, huh?" he replies, his tone soft and faintly teasing. "Just good?"

"Perfect." you correct yourself, causing a satisfied and cocky smirk to rest on his lips. 

A cocky smirk forms on Sergei's lips as you correct yourself, his ego swelling at your praise. "Perfect, hm?" he repeats, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. 

He leans down, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. "I'll have to try even harder next time then. Can't have you downgrading me to just 'good' after all.”

[dreamauri]

If reqs are open we get some more Oscar one shots?? just binged them all lmao 🙏🏻🙏🏻

♪ — 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗞 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri might seem like a stoic Kimi R reincarnation but really, he's a sweetheart who carries you so you don't sand in your shoes (549 words)

( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

The sky is painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the kind of sunset that makes everything feel a little bit dreamlike. The waves roll onto the shore in a lazy rhythm, brushing against the sand with a whisper. It’s the kind of evening that begs for long walks and quiet confessions, but instead, you find yourself cradled in Oscar’s arms, held securely against his chest.

“You know, I could walk,” you point out, but you make no effort to move.

Oscar glances down at you, his expression neutral but his grip tightening just the slightest bit. “You didn’t want sand in your shoes.”

You huff, both amused and endeared. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I didn’t think you’d actually carry me the whole time.”

He shrugs, adjusting his hold effortlessly. “Not a big deal.”

But it is, in the way that matters. In the way he does things for you without a second thought, never making a fuss about it. You rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to his skin. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing is as steady as the waves.

Eventually, he slows to a stop, setting you down carefully on a patch of sand untouched by the tide. His hands linger for a fraction of a second before he lets go. “Better?”

You nod, slipping off your shoes and wiggling your toes into the cool, damp sand. “Much.”

He watches you for a moment, his lips barely twitching in what might be the ghost of a smile, then extends his hand. You take it without hesitation, fingers fitting perfectly between his as you step toward the water’s edge.

The tide kisses your ankles, cool and refreshing. You hum in contentment, swinging your intertwined hands slightly as you start talking—about anything and everything. About how the sunset reminds you of a painting you once saw, about the funniest thing that happened at work last week, about how you read somewhere that seagulls mate for life and isn’t that kind of sweet?

Oscar doesn’t say much, but he listens. He always listens. His thumb moves idly over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment. Every now and then, he hums in acknowledgment or squeezes your fingers lightly, little signs that he’s with you, that he’s absorbing every word.

After a while, you stop, tilting your head up to look at him. The golden light of the sunset softens his features, his brown eyes reflecting the sky’s fading hues. “You’re quiet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I usually am.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “Yeah, but…what are you thinking about?”

He’s silent for a beat, then, with that same quiet certainty that defines him, he says, “You talk a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to protest, but he beats you to it, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like it.”

The words are simple, but they settle warm in your chest, spreading through you like the tide coming in. You smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

And so you keep talking, and he keeps listening, walking side by side as the ocean sways in time with your laughter.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Fall of an Empire

Summary: The fall of an empire began because of the love for a woman.

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader (romantic), Emperor Caracalla x Reader (platonic)

A/N: I will be honest, wish I had written this as soon as I left theaters but it's as good as I could make it. 😅

Warning: Major character deaths and some movie spoilers if you haven't seen it yet

Divider credits @saradika

It was never meant for her.

To most onlookers, it became quite obvious that should anything ever happen to the empress, that it would not take long for the twin emperors to descend into madness. The two had a penchant for violence, one that was difficult for them to be ever satisfied and somehow it came to be that Geta, was consumed by the love and affection he held for his wife from the moment their eyes met on the day they were wed.

While Caracalla viewed her with a brotherly love, calling her sister the day they met and appreciating her all the more when she gifted him with his prized monkey Dondas. Her gentle but firm hand was quick to soften the temper of the brothers, there was still a madness that brewed beneath the surface and all knew, it would all turn to ruin should anything befall the young empress.

She shouldn't have been there that day.

Still in the early months, the empress' pregnancy was an open secret amongst everyone in the senate and many were cautious to incur the wrath of their emperors as their protectiveness seemed to reach even greater heights than was the norm. Her recent symptoms had her spending much more time in the royal couples chambers, hiding away to let the nauseousness abate. The same symptom that had kept her from being by the side of her husband and brother by law during the first initial days of games in the colosseum meant to celebrate the conquest of Numidia.

The fateful day had begun like most in its mundanity for the young Emperor Geta and his lovely wife (Y/N), both rousing slowly with the rise of Helios in the sky with their legs tangled together and in a tender warm embrace as they had slept. Geta was careful to cradle his wife in his arms, his hands languidly caressing her small bump that had only recently begun to show in recent weeks.

"How is the little one treating you this morning, beloved?" Geta whispered between soft kisses to her neck.

Stretching tiredly, she cupped his cheek in her hand, "Much better than usual. I think the concoction made by the healer has finally had an effect because I actual feel like joining you and Caracalla today."

"Are you certain?" he asked softly. "There's no need for you to join us if you aren't feeling up to the task. I can come up with another excuse if needed."

"Stop fussing, my love" she giggled. "I truly feel leagues better and the gladiators will be fighting by water today, do you think I would want to miss such a feat?"

His brow creased in uncertainty. He knew that if his wife was truly not up to the task of being by his side that she would make it known. But there was an uneasiness that he couldn't seem to shake off.

He gently untangled himself from their loving embrace, quickly dressing himself in a robe and took strides to the jeweled chest atop of her vanity, clutching the box to his chest and returning to her side. Carefully, Geta helped his wife put on her jewelry and pressing a kiss to her hands or lips for every adornment that he placed on her.

"Your well being is my top priority," he said kneeled by her side. "The moment that you feel anything amiss, we leave. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my love" she conceded with a smile.

Geta wasn't given a chance to say anything more as the doors to their chambers were pushed open by none other than Caracalla. The younger brother giggling in amusement when he stepped in.

"Lovely morrow for a bit of violence and blood, wouldn't you say brother? Will my radiant sister join us at last or has your little parasite incapacitated her once more?"

"I will be with both of you, little brother" (Y/N) said gently. "And please refrain from calling your niece or nephew a parasite, you wouldn't want to upset them before they have even arrived."

Caracalla waved her off and smiled, "The little parasite can complain when they're older. Until then, I can call them whatever I like because they seem to enjoy making you suffer." He leaned down and spoke to the small bump, "You'll be an absolute menace, isn't that right little parasite?"

Geta huffed out in mild annoyance and began to push his brother out of the room, "You can make more complaints about my progeny later. My wife and I are still not dressed."

"Oh, I don't mind staying."

"We will see you in the colosseum brother," Geta said with a shove and closing the doors. When they were shut, he turned back to his wife. "Let us make haste then before he tries to come bother again."

It was chaos below in the arena, the barbarian Hanno had led his group of men into ramming their boat against the opposing side and there was so much to see that it all became difficult to track. Smoke from the flames burning the boat made the task near impossible, but it didn't stop the adrenaline from coursing the veins of the young emperors from the glimpses they could see.

"My love," the empress called to her husband in worry. "They're too close, it's too close. We must leave or take caution, the men and boats are too close."

"Don't make such a fuss, sister" Caracalla said but his gaze stayed on the carnage below. "Things are getting interesting."

Below their sight, Hanno had a crossbow in his hands with the clear intent of killing the General Acacius. The aforementioned man had no chance to warn his empress that was seated in front of him of the gladiators intentions.

It all happened so fast.

It was an accident.

The crossbow was jostled in Hanno's hands as the arrow was let loose and it struck dead center between the two emperors.

And into the empress' chest.

The two men screamed in horror, unused to the violence being so close and it having any true impact to them. Caracalla was hysterical as guards pulled him away; screeching, hitting, and calling for something to be done for his sister. While Geta was enraged as he tried to temper his emotions and pushing the guards aside.

"Everything will be alright, wife" Geta said as he held his wife's hand in his own that trembled. "We will bring the healer and then find the gladiator that is to be dealt with!"

The empress could not respond, choking on her blood as she tried to reach for her husbands face before her final breath left her body.

When she went limp in his grasp, there was no halting the enraged wail from Geta as he lost his beloved bride and unborn child in a single moment.

Nothing could stop the spiral of destruction that followed the demise of the empress.

It was General Acacius' fault as the arrow was meant for him.

It was Lucillas fault for birthing the bastard that did it.

It was their fault

It was THEIR fault

It was Geta's fault.

Or so Caracalla's mind was led to believe as he and his brother sought refuge away from the hordes of people that sought to remove them from their seats of power.

His beloved sister (Y/N) and her little parasite were gone because Geta had failed to protect them.

Dondas and he would soon follow if Geta was permitted to reign alongside him any longer.

With every slash, the voices calmed in Caracalla's mind, and it soothed him to see the same rivers of blood flow down his brother's chest just as he had seen happen to his lovely sister.

Geta although unwilling, was to be reunited with his wife and child.

Caracalla would join them soon enough.

[hyunsuloves]

boyfriend myung-gi in the games.

warnings … uhm spoilers ☝🏽🤓

lovely notes … i’m back after five months, we rejoice. & this low key trash cause i haven’t wrote in forever.

꩜ [ 526 words ]

bf!myung-gi who didn’t intend to tell you that he was entering the games because he didn’t want to worry you. he spewed out some half-assed lie so you wouldn’t be worried about him.

bf!myung-gi who makes it his lifelong mission to protect you once he realizes you’re in the games with him. though, he tries not to show how he feels to the others.

bf!myung-gi who had you stand behind him for the entirety of the red light, green light game, ultimately putting your safety first.

bf!myung-gi who lets you scold him after the first game ends in front of the rest of the players because he loves you, and he knows that he’s in the wrong for not telling you the truth. in any other situation, he’d drag you away from the prying eyes of other people, but he knows it’s best to let you unleash all your fury onto him.

bf!myung-gi who immediately seeks your comfort after the entire situation with thanos and nam-gyu. he was well aware that he was somewhat in the wrong, but it didn’t stop him from pursuing the warmth of your arms.

bf!myung-gi who defends you from thanos, despite how inadequately the last situation ended. the last thing he wanted was people such as him getting their grimy hands on you, the love of his life.

bf!myung-gi who has you sleep in his bed every night, without a care for the passing glances the both of you receive from the other players.

bf!myung-gi who doesn’t want you to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because of the possibility of someone attacking you. it wasn’t entirely improbable, and if it were to happen, he wouldn’t be there to protect you.

bf!myung-gi who teams up with you for the six-legged pentathlon game because he doesn’t trust any other team to ensure your safety.

bf!myung-gi who holds you in anticipation while watching the other teams. from time to time, he grips you a little too tightly, but he makes sure to sooth the area by gently rubbing his hands up and down, and of course, whispering low apologies in your ear.

bf!myung-gi who hugs you so intensely after every game that you start to get slightly concerned. he can’t help but want to feel you, to make sure you’re tangible.

bf!myung-gi who votes to leave the games, despite his debt because the possibility of you dying here tugs at his heartstrings. he’ll figure out his financial situation with you by his side.

bf!myung-gi who won’t let you go for the entirety of the mingle game. he wouldn’t forgive himself if he lost you amid the moronic crowd.

bf!myung-gi who seeks you out, once again, after the brawl with thanos and nam-gyu in the bathroom. you’re the first person who he thinks of when needing consolation.

bf!myung-gi who hides with you when the fight breaks out at night, vowing that he’d protect you no matter the circumstances.

bf!myung-gi who stays with you when the revolt takes place, once again, unwilling to leave your side. he’ll eventually get the both of you out of here, no matter what it takes.

[no-144444]

the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me. 

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday. 

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories. 

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married. 

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again. 

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff. 

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence. 

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.” 

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you?  He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too. 

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters. 

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him. 

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded. 

“Oh yeah.” 

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium. 

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.” 

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and he fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food. 

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying. 

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.” 

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were. 

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.” 

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were. 

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately. 

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.” 

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.” 

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek. 

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!” 

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!” 

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding. 

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.” 

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you. 

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out. 

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[ghostedbunnie]

there's something empowering in holding the razor to simon's throat when shaving his face for him. it's peak intimacy for someone like him who doesn't trust easy.

but to you he is like a well adjusted cat, purring with his eyes closed while showing his belly. his most vulnerable parts.

it warms your heart and you need to show it so you take the razor away from his throat for a second to drop a barely there kiss on his freshly shaved cheek. simon only reacts with satisfied hum and cracking one eye open.

"what was that for?" he asks.

"just felt like it." you shrug not wanting to be all sappy.

[sadburntbread]

BATFAM X NEGLECTED! MALE READER

----- Warnings before you read ----- Child Neglect, Bullying, Death, Violence, Slight swearing, Angst

"My child, my pride and joy" your mother's voice was soft and quiet, she touched the side of your cheek still chubby with baby fat "should there ever be a day when I am not here with you, then you must learn to care for yourself. You must never give your heart to those unworthy". Her words carrying the weight of years of personal experience. She was the wife of the Bruce Wayne, although it was because of an unwanted arranged marriage. her long hair framed her face as she sat in the bay window, overlooking the rain falling down on Gotham, the moonlight casting a soft glow on her face.

"Mama?" your confused face caused her eyes to soften, she picked you up and sat you in her lap. She casted a sad look at you and hugged you tightly.

"M/n, listen to me" Her voice turned stern, you nodded and focused your childish doe eyes on her "you are only eight my boy, you do not yet understand how cruel this world is.", She let out a sigh "I pity you; your father is a busy man, who never spares us the time of day. Your mother is weak in both will and heath. You only have Alfred to truly rely on". Tears were streaming from her eyes as she looked out the window, no longer being able to look you in the eyes. "I wish for you to break out of these chains that bind me. Live a life where you can smile freely. promise me that, m/n".

Over the next few years Bruce brought in many children. Dick was nice, he was cheerful but never had time for you, much like father. Jason was the best brother, you two always spent time together, however, one day he died. Tim... was ok... you were still grieving from Jason's death, and Tim never cared to look your way. Cas and Steph were just... there, Bruce was always training them, and they didn't think you were worth their time. After all, you were simply the spoiled young master Wayne. Lastly, Bruce, he never spent time with you other than at galas. When you went to the galas with your parents and adopted siblings, Bruce would treat you as his precious son. However, your mother could never look at the scene for long, knowing the true neglect that you didn't even know you were experiencing. Aside from that, life was fine. You still had your mother who loved you more than anything, and you had Alfred. Alfred thought of your mother as his own daughter and treated you as his grandson. You did good in school, always wanting to see your mother's smile when she saw your grades.

However, your whole life turned upside down the year you turned 12. Your mother died; her health had been deteriorating ever since you were born.

"Baby..." her voice was shaking, you held the had she reached out, watching as her dazed eyes couldn't find you. The only other person in the room was Alfred, " 'm sorry" Her voice broke into a sob "I'm so sorry for bringing you into this terrible place, please... Please forgive me". Her hand trembled in your grasp; tears streamed down your face.

"I could never blame you mom" you promised, at your words she smiled. With the last of her strength, she spoke again.

"Remember.... don't give... your heart to... these people". Her voice faded and her hand went limp in your hold.

"MOM!", you yelled "MOTHER PLEASE!" Alfred pulled you away from your mother, you cried in his shoulder. Your sobs echoed through the halls of the manor.

Your light was gone.

Her funeral was miserable. Bruce and your adopted siblings came, but only for appearances. As soon as the basic courtesies were over, they all left. You stayed there for the whole day and deep into the night, until Alfred made you get some rest.

After your mother's death, Bruce had you train like all your adopted siblings, it was grueling. He never taught you one-on-one, he had you watch him train the other then practice on your own. He always got so disappointed when you couldn't match pace with the others. However, you wanted to please them. Make them proud. "Foolish child" you could hear your mother say

It was around this time when Jason returned, you were so excited. finally, someone who you could spend time with, you were so lonely. But he was never the same boy you once knew, he was now cold and distant. He looked at you in annoyance... Just like the rest of them.

Days in the Wayne manor passed slowly, you followed your regular routine day by day. Wake up, got to school, go home, do schoolwork, do night watches, sleep and repeat. Things changed when father brought in your half-brother, Damian. Sure, at first you were upset that your father cheated on your mother, but now you had someone you could spend time with and relate to. You thought he would go through the same neglect, instead, he was loved, welcomed. Nothing like you.

"He's had a hard life", they'd say "you wouldn't understand, you've had everything handed to you and all the love you could want". It repeated in your head, all you did was ask why he got more love than you.

It wasn't fair... IT WASNT FAIR!

No... Calm down, take a deep breath. Hold it. Release it. Repeat.

Your mother taught you that when you'd start throwing fits, she was right. There was no use in getting upset over something you couldn't change... You'd just have to prove them wrong, be the best vigilante there ever was.

Damian was the worst. He thought of you as competition, you just wanted to be his friend.

"You know", Damian began, you had asked him to hang out, he was your younger brother after all, and you have to be a good brother like Jason used to be "It's your fault your pathetic mother died".

"...What" It wasn't a question. It was a dare, "Say that again. Do you have a death wish?" Now you were standing right in front of him, your frame towering over him. The empty living room became even more silent.

"I said", He didn't back down, instead, he stood tall "You caused your mother's death. I mean, think about it. If you hadn't been born than your mother wouldn't have fallen ill". you pushed him against the wall, pinning his shoulder with enough strength to break it, if he were a normal person. "Never mind, it wasn't your fault" Oh? was he back down? No... his smirk spread "it was your mother's fault for being so weak"

WHACK

you punched at his face; he moved but you still hit the side of his cheek, then he started punching back. it became a back and forth of fists. The two of you scuffling on the floor before a voice rang out.

"What the hell is going on here!?", you both looked over. It was dick, he was followed by the rest of your adopted siblings. Both of you let go of the other, your breathing ragged. You noticed Damian's breathing was steady, as if he hadn't just been fighting. Monster

'"He-" You tried to explain yourself, but Dick cut you off. He stormed up to you, his expression was furious, and he smacked you...hard. You stood shocked, your head turned to the side and your eyes wide in disbelief, you put your hand to your burning cheek.

"You are older than him! I don't care what excuse you have, you should know better!" Dick yelled, he grabbed you by your wrist and began pulling you. "We're going to see Bruce, you can explain yourself to him". Dick dragged you to Bruces's office, his grip was painfully tight. When you two stood Infront of the doors to his office you felt dread fill you. It wasn't your fault. It was Damian's. you repeated in your head. Dick pushed the doors open quickly, Bruce looked up at his arrival, waiting for an explanation. He always just ignored you; he'd say that he was too busy and to come back later. "He was fighting with Damian. The kid just started punching him." Dick explained. You froze as your father's disapproving eyes turned to you.

NO! that's not how it happened! You had to defend yourself, say something...ANYTHING. "He-he said mother was weak! That I was the reason she died!" You stuttered as you tried to explain. He'd understand, surly. However, your hopes were crushed when Bruce's expression didn't change, when it didn't soften in understanding.

"Dick, Leave us. I'll talk with him". Bruce instructed. Dick sent you a quick disappointed glare then left, the door closed with a slight slam. The office was quite before Bruce let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I understand that you were upset. However, that is no reason to hit your younger brother". His gaze turned to you, then back to the papers on his desk. "Aside from that, I've been meaning to talk to you".

Oh? He wants to talk to you? That has never happened before. You felt yourself getting excited, forgetting all about the scuffle with Damian.

"I have decided to make Damian the heir to the Wayne Enterprises". Bruce didn't even look at you. He never does.

"...What?" You couldn't stop the question from slipping out. No, you had to defend your position, Mother's position. Consequences be damned. "No, you can't! He is an affair child; I am supposed to take over the company!"

That was a mistake. Bruce glared at you, his piercing eyes shutting you up quickly. "Do not fight with me child. The decisions already been made. Now go get ready for your night watch". That was it. The conversation was over. When you walked to your room you passed by the living room full of your adopted siblings, all joking with each other. You watched them for a moment before made eye contact with Damian, then, he smirked.

After it became public that you were no longer going to take over Wayne Enterprises, people outside the manor stopped being kind to you. After all, you were no longer the heir to the company, why should they care about you?

That leads us a couple years in the future, to tonight, the night was hauntingly beautiful. On this night Batman and his crew of sidekicks were all out because the Joker had gotten a new toy. Some beasts with something akin to tendrils. You all had to split up, Cass and Steph, Dick and Jason, Tim and Damian. you were sent off on your own, like always. But it was fine, you were used to it. You had gotten stronger, both emotionally and physically.

but tonight was different, you couldn't handle it. you and Batman were in the same general area; however, you were both distracted with your own fights. Then a quiet voice could be heard, one that was not the joker's, you looked over and saw an elderly lady in the middle of the shopping district you were fighting in. A tendril flew at you before you could run to her, you blocked it and turned to the lady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?", you yelled at her, she looked at you, a helpless look in her eyes. She was confused. "EVACUATE!" At your yelling, Batman looked over to you two, his eyes widened as he noticed the lady. Batman quickly finished off the beast he was fighting then turned to the lady, a tendril rushed towards her. Batman rushed to grab her first, it was close, but he successfully caught her and dropped her nearby safely.

However, the tendril turned and rushed towards you. Too fast for you to react, all you could do was yell. "DAD!" The first time you had said that in such a long time.

It was too late. The tendril pierced through your stomach.

It went quiet. You couldn't hear or see anything. Couldn't hear Batman's yell of your name, couldn't see him rushing to you. All you could see was the black tendril in your stomach. your vision got hazy, and you dropped.

You were caught, but you couldn't see who. It was terrifying, the cold you felt. Did mother feel the same way?

There was a voice... Who's? Their tone was begging. Was there anyone who cared enough to beg you to stay?

You were so, so tired... Then you saw her....

Mother

"DAD!!" Your voice cut through the air; Batman looked to you. His eyes widened at the sight of you being pierced through.

"M/N!!" Batman didn't even know he could sound so desperate. His son was going to die, just like Jason. He rushed to your side, pulling off his cape to wrap the wound. when the cape was tight enough, he grabbed you, carrying you to a distant building, one untouched by the enemy. He had to fight his way through the area, it was difficult with you in his arms, but he made sure you didn't get hurt any more than you already had. "Don't you die on me, m/n! I promise to treat you better. Don't leave me, not like your mother". He mumbled pleas as he carried you, and even more after he set you down. After he was sure you were still breathing (Although shallow and rough) Batman spoke into the communication device all of his children shared. "M/n is injured. Clear your area and hurry to [-----]. I have him resting safely in an abandoned building, we need to take him back to the manor, I'm not sure how much longer he'll last". It was less than a minute before multiple worried voices came though the mic, promising to be there soon. Batman pushed the hair from your sweaty face, "I won't let you die". With that he rushed back to the thick of the battle.

It was less than 20 minutes later when the rest of the Batfamily arrived, with them all working together they were able to take down the beasts and the joker relatively quickly. As soon as the battle was over Nightwing turned to Batman.

"Where is he!? Where is M/n?!" Nightwing's voice was rushed and out of breath from the fight, the others behind him listened closely for Batman's answer, they were all in a similar state as Nightwing. Batman pointed to an abandoned building, still untouched by conflict. No words needed to be spoken; they all took off in that direction. However, they paused as a laugh cut through the air, they all looked over to the source, it was the Joker. In a weak voice, Joker spoke.

"Boom" At his word many nearby buildings exploded, including the one batman set you in.

"NO!" Red Hood yelled, he felt terrible, he took his anger for Batman out on you, his baby brother. The same brother he swore to protect. They all took off, rushing to the building, holding onto hope that you somehow survived. The building you were set in was completely destroyed, but they all keep searching, they needed proof you were truly gone.

Damian paused his search, before quickly moving stones. His sudden hurry caused the others to all join him. they found something...

bits and pieces of batman's cape, then.... an arm... your arm...

You were gone, and they never had the chance to apologize, to spend movie nights with you, to take you out to eat, to celebrate your birthday.

It only took your death for them realize they failed you.

TO BE CONTINUED

[fromduck]

(Satan x Fallen Angel Reader)

(A/N: From the minute I saw him I— 😳😩)

-Imagine being Satan’s small wife.

-You a little fallen angel that hangs around his shoulder. Being his voice of reason whenever he gets pissed off.

-You fit in the palm of his hands and he’s always picking you up by the scruff of your neck— as if you were an unruly kitten (with how mischievous you get, throwing harmless pranks on him and his followers, could you blame him?)

-You’re always fluttering your wings and trailing after him. Cooing at him, calling him your baby girl when he’s a 20 ft gigantic demon that can spit fire and roast you in a second.

-After a long day of meetings and trials for some sorry hell spawns, he’ll call you over to go home for the day.

-You cuddle next to him in your guys’ gigantic bed, talking his ear off about how your day went while he mindlessly strokes your fluffy wings.

-He huffs at you when you place a big smooch on his snout, wishing him a good night. Huddling next to his face for warmth.

-He may be one of the most fearsome sin out of the seven, but in your eyes, he’s your gentle giant husband. And even though he might not show affection in a normal way—— you know that he loves you too ❤️‍🔥