I Think That Destroying All Van Gogh Paintings And Other Things That Rich People Value Would Be A Great

Hard To Love (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,210

Inspired By: Puke by Ava Maybee I loveeeee this song

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is definitely for therapy lol I hope no one minds. Ya gurl feels very unlovable atm. Idk. It stems from something someone said to me once, someone who is supposed to love me unconditionally, they said I am hard to love. Of course I forgive them, I love them, but it still stings y'know? Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Is there something wrong with me? You don't know if you’ve spoken the words or only thought about them. Either way he rocks you both back and forth, arms around you, hushing your fears. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, his heartbeat rapid, playing a tune you can’t quite name. Is there? There must be. Some innate, genetic wrongdoing. Something must be missing from you to make you this way. Sensitive. Forgotten. An easy target. They shoot their arrows into you, through you, but you always come crawling back. Always. The pain, the blood loss, the look in their eyes, none of that matters. You don’t matter. They know they can do whatever they want and you’ll cling to them like a lost child. Because they’re your family. Because they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But they don’t. And that is not a fault on their part, but your own. You have done something to make them hate you, you have done something to make them turn on you, it is all your fault. You’ve seen them love others the way you have wanted to be loved. You have seen them be so caring, so devoted, so in love with someone it breaks you into pieces. It threatens to undo your very soul. There is something about you that is so undeserving, so unlovable, so broken that they could never fathom treating you that way. They could never see you as something to care for, to give a second thought. 

Is it my fault? No, he fights back, no, no, never. But he’s wrong, biased, blinded. You’ve done a good job fooling him. Everything is. Right? Everything, everyone’s emotions, their well-being, it’s all on you. You take care of them. You heal their wounds. You dry their eyes. And in return, you get nothing. You are forgotten. His arms grow tight around you, together, stronger, as if he thinks holding you will keep your brokenness from showing. Pieces of you slide off his lap, shattering against the ground. You want to fight against him, against his word, but you’re too tired. Exhausted. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to fall. It can’t be like this every time. You question why you come crawling back every time, hind legs wounded, but you do it. The moment they give you a second of attention, you forget everything that has ever happened. Every unkind word. Every look. Every comment. It sticks into your hair like gum. You are so hard to love. A direct quote. Spoken to you in a moment of fury, of anger. Does that make it any easier to swallow? Does it make it any better knowing it was spoken out of frustration? No. The anger bites back, chewing you to bits and pieces. It is the hard truth, the thing that needed to be said. He knows the sensation, that sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, the expectations you’ve been carrying for this single moment deflating, dying in your arms. 

Why am I so hard to love? You whimpered through the bathroom door. What, what are you talking about? He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. You sat with your back against the door, not letting him in. You wanted to, no you needed to be alone. To cry this out. I can’t help you if you won’t let me in. You didn’t want his help though, you didn’t feel worthy of it. You deserved to be alone, to feel alone. You were a burden, a hindrance, something people didn’t want alone. You kept running through the list in your head, all the reasons, the myriad of explanations. If they picked one, just one, maybe you could change it. Fix it. Fix you. Make yourself into something deserving of love. You pressed your face into your crossed arms, feeling small. Insignificant. He slid down to your level, speaking quietly, tenderly. You know whatever they said or did, it’s not on you. No one who loves someone would hurt them like this. Like his father. Like your family. You just shrugged, knowing he can’t see. You weren’t sure why you listened to them, why you let it get under your skin, it just did. Too sensitive, they called it, as if it were a bad thing. As if it were another reason to disregard your tears, your feelings. You never should have gone home, but you missed it, the idea of home. This grand notion that things would be different, they would be different. You always do. Hopeful, he calls it. Fucking stupid, you correct. It's naive of you to think they’d ever change, ever soften, ever share the same heart as you do. As soon as you go back you remember why you left, why you built this little life with him in your home, why you came home crying every time. 

Maybe he should have warned you. He didn’t want to dampen the mood. Roman could see how excited you were, proud to show yourself and all your achievements, no matter how small. Naming every relative, how much you missed them, how long it’s been since you’ve seen them. Maybe he should have gone with you, protected you, becoming your human shield. It wouldn’t have mattered. You wouldn’t have let him get hurt like that. They were smart in their cruelty, knowing just the right insecurities, the right buttons to push to shatter who you are inside. He watched you try on countless outfits, worried they wouldn’t like what you chose, worried you wouldn’t make the best impression. It didn’t matter what you chose in the end, they had enough choice words about your body regardless. Y/n, will you let me in? He asked softly, not moving. You let the question hang in the air, sniffling, letting yourself relax, take deep breaths. He checked your bedroom, the couch, kitchen, every nook and cranny where you might try to hide. This always happens. The disappearing act, the lack of self-worth, the hatred turn in on yourself. It’s them you should be mad at, but you can’t be. You love them too much. You need them too much to think harshly of them. The handle turns, the door creaking open. He moves with open arms which you fall into.  He doesn’t have any jokes to make it better, anything to lighten the mood, he knows better than that. Now, you need comfort. You need soothing and reassurance. Your head against his chest, the rest of you heavy with grief. You go back every time because you want to be loved the way you’re supposed to, the way all the songs and shows and movies promise you: unconditionally. And every time you’re disappointed. Because your life, this life, isn't a movie. It doesn’t have a happy ending. It just keeps going despite the heartache, despite the pain. It threatens to collapse in on you, cave in, when it gets bad. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he says to you, to himself, to the universe. Discarded like a kicked puppy. He can handle it from his father, Gerri, everyone, but you? You don’t deserve that. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he’s sure of it.

Two’s company, three’s a family - Part three

Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, not oblivious to the reason.

Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Warnings : Reference to "Red Flags" (Tom Cardy), quick s3x mention, non-con touching (not s3xual), depiction of anxiety, foul language, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.

Words : +3k

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The sweet light of a summer day pierced through the branches of the surrounding trees. The sky was unexpectedly blue, and the air was just starting to heat up, tingling your exposed skin. It was so enjoyable; as you basked in the environment, you were almost forgetting your clients.

You were currently sitting on the storefront awning across the cafe where the date was occurring. It was going really well, and their bond was amazing too. It took you six years to find your client's perfect match. You won't deny the fact that you were picky; however, you weren't going to apologise for it either. If your clients had to spend their whole lives with someone, you should at least try not to pair them up with the most infuriating person that God ever made (I'm looking at you, Joey !).

But dang, you had to admit, she was fantastic ! They were literally made for each other. They were so in sync, it was truly adorable. When two people were obviously made for each other, it was your duty to make sure Eternity would welcome both of them. Never to be apart. You rubbed your stretched-skinned right arm.

Ooh, you're going to get so much love from this, your numbers gonna skyrocket...

You send a wave of curiosity your client's way, inciting him to question her more; the more interest he shows in her, the more pleased she'll be. He reached out and rested his hand on hers.

"By the way, do you have a favourite film ?" He asked, eager to see if they also had the same cinematographic tastes. She was so cultured and sophisticated; it was really refreshing to encounter someone of her kind. Yeah, she was one of a kind, alright. Oh, how could you have foreseen what she was about to answer ?

"Oh yes, just basically the best movie of all ! A masterpiece of art, really. You may have heard of it." She was trying to hide just how much she was yearning to scream the name of that movie. Anxious even, for some reason.

"Mmh. Interstellar ?" He tried to guess playfully. But she was jubilant; you knew she wouldn't be able to play along. You frowned, becoming fairly worried, wondering if she would implode.

"Mh-hm ! Wrong !" She giggled, ecstatic. Now you're just scared. You gulped in sync with the client as she stood up and slammed her hands on the metal table. As she exclaimed, finally freed from her own guilt, you thought that some people should have a warning of their own. For the good of society.

"It's Human Centipede !" She clapped and beamed.

Oh, for the love of God... Obviously, your guy was rightfully alarmed since he believed he'd never see his mom again. You left your perch and flew their way; right now, you had to prevent him from running away. Both of your hands settled on his shoulder.

"Custom disguise was truly a highlight, but I mostly liked it for the plot." How can someone so cute fill you with so much dread ? Although your hold was already firm, you couldn't help but twist Arlo's shoulders. Yes, Arlo was his name, but he was closer to Denver, personality-wise.

"I'm not quite familiar with the plot, actually." Oh, you poor unfortunate soul. He didn't know, or maybe he'd rather live in full and hurtful denial his entire life than relive that abominable day when his soul was shattered into a million pieces... Mmh, he probably just didn't know.

"In a nutshell, a German doctor sews three people's asses to their mouths." Her wide brown eyes seemed to belong to the deadliest apex predator. Send help, please. Blinking was out of the question; turn your eyes away for a second, and she'll stab you right in the throat. You darted your eyes towards the butter knife. You exclaimed sharply and miraculously removed it. Better safe than sorry.

You exhaled; you felt so puzzled right now. Every human deserves love, despite having a passion for obscure and particular forms of art. But was this truly the best person for him ? The last thing you wanted was their misery. What if her interests were real signs of psychopathy ? Of future abuse ? She didn't give the impression of abusive behaviour.

You squinted your eyes and started analysing her heart through your own. Contrary to humans, your heart was nested in the very centre of your chest and could be used as a filter. Usually you'd pick up the scent—yes, every emotion had a smell, and thankfully it was faint when you weren't using your heart—guide it towards your chest, and find what you were looking for. Your heart is a great multi-function machine and an amazing tool to achieve your goals; you were thankful for it.

A relieved sigh passed your lips when you didn't sense any brutality or cruelty. And what you felt was passion, ambition, eagerness to start something new, quite a bit of lust, and straight-up horniness.

Mmh, you had to admit that this demon of lust was a talented lad.

"The narrative of character growth comes from a genius mind ! The Human Centipede is a wonderful tour de force; you should watch it. Or, we could watch it together, and I'll show all the little details."

You rolled your eyes and smirked. She was just quirky, but she was looking forward to hitting it off with him. But, still, you wanted it to be his choice; you wouldn't force someone into a relationship and spend eternity with someone they didn't belong with. But it might be the only true relationship they will ever have. You looked over to him and were honestly surprised to see him blush and watch her with such attention. Alright. You shrugged. His mind was sent.

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. You flew away, leaving enough distance to let them take off themselves. You stretched your arm, aimed, and silently hoped it was not morbid curiosity on his part. And finally shot.

Yay ! Right in our hearts!

Nice shot; you praised yourself.

They flinched and smiled brightly. The deal is sealed. Suddenly, the clocks in the watchmaker store struck eleven a.m. You struggle to swallow. Alright, here goes nothing.

You went down to the street corner and called out the invisibility spell. You walked casually through the street but couldn't help but overhear the lovebirds conversation.

"My dream wedding would 100% be themed "Human Centipede"." She laughed so joyfully. Everyone around was looking so distraught but didn't dare say anything. Mmh.

"That would be so cool! Imagine just how much we could save on the catering bill." He burst out in laughter; it was hilarious.

And that's another wedding you will not attend. Thank God they weren't in your department anymore.

Good luck with that, Adriel...

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You had arrived before Aziraphale, so you would have time to report to Chamuel. Yep, the Archangel of Love himself. No pressure... You weren't the same rank as Aziraphale; he was a Principality. You ? You were under the order of a Principality. Jophiel, to be exact. So meeting up with the Archangel was a big deal.

You rode the escalator while poking random fingers on your chest to calm your nerves and erase all of your emotions. You hoped they wouldn't notice the change. You hoped Chamuel didn't show up during the reunion concerning the Anti-Christ. You hoped that everything would be alright.

You exhaled for a long time, entering the endless building of light. Steadily, you made your way towards your bosses. Impassive. Calm. You spotted Chamuel and your principality, and you stopped a few feet away.

"Hello Y/N ! How are you today ?" What a dashing smile he had—too white to be human. His deep green eyes were scanning your own. His attention was nerve-wracking.

"I am fine; thank you, Chamuel." Your tone was as neutral as you could manage. Your posture was rigid, trying to stay as still as possible.

"I too hope you two are doing well."

"We are, thank you... Now, how's your heart ? Has it caused you any problems ?" His pale hand suddenly patted your mid-chest, too rough for your liking. You flinched but didn't dare say anything. Mmh. Behind him, Jophiel was looking at you up and down, keeping her distance. She still gave you a brief, tight smile.

"I am fine, thank you." You sounded straight-up robotic.

"Good !" He clapped his hands together and shook them. He took his place beside the dark-blond angel, his vivid blond hair harmonising with hers.

"Your recent results have been quite impressive, Y/N. Very good fuel for the upcoming war". Jophiel praised you while never fully looking your way.

You simply bowed your head, despite how geedy you actually felt. She didn't praise a lot, so you were delighted.

"Even from just a few minutes ago ! You are doing an excellent job. I appreciate the constant flow of love; it almost keeps the Bound together." He laughed heartily. You bowed your head again; you knew he didn't mean it.

The Bound is what holds everything together. Literaly everything. Earth, humans, animals ect. And Love is the fuel it needs to thrive. But when Armageddon starts, all cupids shall stop the love, let the Bound unfold, and fight along side the other angels, filled with the... ugh, power of Love. So cheesy... Help.

"Our sources have also confirmed the punishment of two demons who were prohibited from working on Earth for the remaining years; great job ! The least nuisance in the way, the better.."

Despite his sinister aura, he did appreciate your work. You just couldn't bring yourself to be happy about it.

"Now !" He slapped his hand on your shoulder and made you turn around. You grunted quietly. "I believe you must attend another meeting, right? I wouldn't want you to be late. Go on." He pushed you forward, and you had to catch yourself before reuniting with the floor.

"So... Darachiel and Requiel are up next..." Jophiel said it absent-mindedly, already forgetting your encounter.

Brief and concise, exactly what you prayed for. As you were leaving, you passed Darachiel and Requiel, on their way to their report. They observed you from afar, doing their best not to get too close to you. You just stared right in front of you. You didn't want to hear their gossip. It was almost as if their mouths had only been designed to talk behind your back. You teeth clenched. Focus.

You'll just have to deal with three more archangels, convince them the boy is turning into a saint, and hope they will not mention your role as a cupid. It didn't really bother me that Azirphale and Crowley might find out about your job; it's just that you were quite... private and wanted to make sure they wouldn't realise what your mission was. Be cautious.

You didn't want to lie to them. You sighed. Nevertheless, you comforted yourself, remembering that you wouldn't be alone against them.

Still, your heart echoed through your ears; the drumming was hurting your ribs and chest, like every fibre of your bones wanted to crawl their way out of your throat. You kept walking. Your breath was laboured, and your eyes were watering, blurring the awful images that rolled before you. Your gaze fell down, shielding yourself from the memories and those fucking intrusive fights. Mmh..

"Y/N ?"

The sweetest feather touch grazed your forearm, the concerned voice abruptly grounding you back into the dazzling reality of Heaven. Lost, you revolved slowly, and your pleading eyes searched for reassurance.

"Oh, Y/N..." Aziraphale whispered softly to not startle you.

"I'm sorry, I just.. I've never..-" You had to hold back a sob. The blond shushed, caressing the side of your arms.

"I know, dear... It's a lot." He smiled at you, tender. He delicately lifted your chin to meet your eyes. "But I'm right beside you; you won't have to face them on your own. You are the most intrepid angel I've met; you will blow us all away!" He jested.

"Mmh." You gave him a sheepish smile for an answer.

"Come now." He gestured forward into the meeting zone, not touching you. He walked beside you. "It's going to be just fine. I must confess, I've fooled them quite a lot before." His confession caused me to smirk as well.

Angel ? No, he was quite devilish, alright.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Mmh..." Aziraphale moaned, his mouth full of cream. You never thought you could bless someone through your Parfait. Your recipe was Aziraphale's favourite dessert, which he desperately tried to copy but could never get right.

Your afternoon was spent at Aziraphale's bookshop, sitting cross-legged on the comfiest couch, reading your latest acquisition. The anxiety was slowly draining its way out your veins. You turned another page and smiled softly. You have loved astronomy ever since you were created. You didn't have as much knowledge about space as Crowley, but the beauty enticed you so much that you couldn't help but be saddened by its upcoming destruction. You also cooked for the angel to really thank him.

"It's truly fantastic, Y/N." He took another spoonful. "You're sure you don’t want to share your secret ? Confess and feel even better." He teased.

"Confess, huh ? I should rather put a copyright on my recipe, you little thief."

Eden, thankfully on your side, was pushing Aziraphale's thigh, sticking her tongue out to get a lick.

"No, Eden, we were not talking about you- No !" He lifted his arm way up. If he thought it would stop your mini cow, he was deeply mistaken. She put all her efforts into her desperate attempt to steal the sweet, climbing on his leg. Aziraphale made a muffled squeal; Eden had her hooves digging in his flesh.

"Help..." He begged in a strained voice.

You giggled and got up. You took your time, really, dusting a shelf and bouncing quickly on your left leg. His eyes were almost stern as he observed your smug face. You waited a few seconds. You smiled innocently, petted Eden's head, and snatched the glass from his hand.

"Oh ! Y/N !" Alright, that gasp was just comical. Your lips let out a joyful giggle, and you jogged away, tasting the dessert with your fingertip.

"Mh.. Yum ! What a talented cook I am." You contemplated your work. Still, you saw the two hungry fellas in the corner of your eye. Too emotionally drained to play, you turned around and handed back the dessert.

"Thank you." He shook his head but smiled gratefully.

Eden nudged your right arm, demanding a treat as well. As you tossed it to her, you spotted Aziraphale stare your way. You stared back, confused. Caught in the act, he didn't back down and directly asked you what was on his mind.

"Did you hurt your arm ? I never noticed that scar before."

Oh.

You looked down your right arm and saw the tiniest bit of scar sneaking out of your pulled-up sleeve. You covered it back down.

You never thought he would notice that.

"I got cut by a demon claw. It never really healed properly."

"Maybe I could help... Let me see." He reached for your arm. You didn't mean to flinch, but still, you backed away.

"It's okay, Aziraphale. Really, it's fine."

You were charging your charm to chase him off, but the door suddenly burst open, and Crowley entered like he owned the place. He noticed the two of you, and his face went stolid. The three of you stood here for a minute or two before the angel broke the weird silence.

"Hello Crowley, How was your day ?"

The demon found his scrunched expression back.

"Awful. As expected... Some people just apparently can't believe that humans can be bad enough to end up in hell without having to be murderers! Ugh."

He sat nonchalantly on his designated chair and went limp to try and get rid of all of his frustration. He hated having to visit Hell, as one could understand. He didn't belong there. You don’t belong anywhere. You cringed. Mmh. He weakly waved in your direction.

"How about you guys ?" He hummed.

"Mmh, well, Azi' will tell you. I should get going !" You forced a smile and reached for Eden, petting her to calm her. You felt Aziraphale's eyes on you while Crowley tensed up slightly.

"Already ? Have I scared you away or something ?" He asked.

"Oh, don't be silly, Crowley; of course not ! Eden's tired; I've got to put her to bed."

"Well, can't she use the backroom- ?"

"Oh, by the way." Whoosh, quick, unnoticeable charm. "Here ! I finished it !" You threw your book on his lap, earning a grunt. "I hope you'll show me a real one day." The suggestion was true, but you knew it wouldn't happen. You didn't have the right to. Mmh.

"Bye bye ! Smooches !" You sang your way out of the bookshop under the concerned and puzzled looks of your clients.

You waited until you were around the corner before finally collapsing against the facade. Overwhelming—yeah, that's the perfect word to summarise your day. You brought your hands up to your head and rubbed your face. What am I so upset about? Why was your heart aching, burning your skin away? Why did their stares and comments feel like daggers in your back? You just wish you weren't alone. The light did nothing to warm up your frozen face as tears threatened to roll down. Mmh...

No... you didn't want to go back to this... You just couldn't.

The firm grip you had on your shirt snatched a bit of skin and twisted it. It had at least the benefit of shaking you enough to act.

You exhaled sharply and slapped your own cheek to knock some sense into yourself. You have no time. Eden was still rubbing her head on your leg when you bent down to kiss her forehead.

You straightened up, activated your blindness spell, and manifested your bow and arrows. Taking off from the ground and positioning yourself to get a good view of your clients You aimed with your right arm and lined up. Your breath was taken away by the glimpse of a scar that shone in the disappearing sun. You frowned, growled, and struck. Upper arms.

Alright, now shit was about to get real.

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I guess we all have to learn about our own back story, right Y/N ?

Anyway ! I promise we will see more of the ineffable husbands in the next part. You just needed a little bit of time for yourself.

Hope you enjoyed it ! Bye !

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Tag list : @legendary-maddie @kpop-athena @drugs-for-memes @emo-queer-boi @cunning-girl @mochikofi @brain-has-left @cup-of-tee007 @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @somekale08 @liyacreate @msyolocat-blog

They need more esims!

⋆ eat your young pt. 1

Felix Catton x gn!reader x Oliver Quick - 18+ mdni

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

They dangle on the leash of their own longing; their need grows teeth

warnings: smutty, nsft/nsfw, Oliver and Felix being creepy, mild somnophilia, non-con participation in masturbation, Felix jerks off, reader gets relentlessly objectified, dark themes, sexual fantasies, mentions of oral sex, mentions of cum, mentions of crying during sex, Oliver and Felix both want to make you their plaything, reader gets ejaculated on lmao, reader is implied to be shorter than Felix, 18+ MDNI

note: whew, baby. I genuinely like this one, and I hope you guys do too :> There'll be a second part involving the much anticipated threesome tee-hee. I'm working on making a male!reader version of this too! Kisses <33 male!reader version here

wc: 3.5k

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

Midnight draws closer, the world around the castle long swallowed by complete blackness. As though the only things to remain are its cold walls and the surrounding gardens, guarded by the looming beast at the labyrinth's heart.

Warm light spills through the crack in Felix’s bedroom door, casting an amber glow onto the hallway's floorboards outside. At its edge, with his head resting on the wooden door frame, stands Oliver.

Shrouded by the night's darkness, his eyes fixate on your figures lounging on the bed. A fiery glint within them, like a flame licking at the sight in front of him. Burning him from the inside out.

It nearly scorches the surrounding air, illuminating the corridors in a hellish red—or maybe that’s just Oliver’s mind playing tricks on him.

He rolls his shoulders back, muscles flexing and twitching beneath the thin fabric of his tank top.

You and Felix are both half bare, sprawled out across the bedsheets in underwear due to the merciless summer heat. The two of you are making sure to keep your banter hushed and giggle into the pillows to avoid waking the others.

But Oliver knows you want to be watched; that's why you left the door open after all. To lure him in, like a lone moth begging a bright, shimmering light to swallow it whole.

And it worked; you have his full, undivided attention now. You've sparked a ravenous, horrifying hunger deep within him. A need to belong, to join. To burrow his way in between the cracks and crevices of the castle walls.

He watches you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter as Felix just leans back, a satisfied grin on his face. It’s a picturesque sight, really, the both of you lazily draped over Felix’s bed.

So effortlessly beautiful and utterly mesmerizing as dim, golden light bathes your bodies.

He should've known that, where Felix resides, he was bound to find more gorgeous people. But he could've never imagined that someone could match Felix's mind-bending ethereality.

Venetia's best friend, so sweet and astoundingly kind, but more than often found at Felix's side instead of hers.

Oliver almost feels bad for her, but he's not certain that it's a conscious decision on your part. Felix has a way of wrapping people around his finger with seductive ease. Perhaps Venetia has less of a say in your visit than everyone lets on.

"Oh, I stay here every summer." You showed him around the premises along with Felix, excited to meet his new friend.

"It's always been like that." He nodded, playfully nudging you. "Part of the family at this point."

Maybe that is what is so inescapably intriguing about you. You've managed to carve your name into the castle's foundation and remain an anomaly among the countless faces that come and go.

There's something about you that has somehow allowed you to stay. 

So, Oliver naturally came to the conclusion that you were one of the missing pieces within his puzzle. The one thing to grant him fulfilment and bridge the gap between him and Felix. So useful and so sweet.

After all, he sees the way Felix looks at you, even if you may not notice. Glances that linger far too long, dopey smiles, and a feverish intensity in Felix’s gaze he’s never seen before. Sorely out of place among those angelic features, almost alien.

"Just make yourself at home." You'd both smiled so sweetly when you said it that Oliver could barely sleep that first night. Your presence quickly clawing its way into his consciousness to join Felix on his throne.

Haunting his dreams hand-in-hand, even during waking hours, it's unbearable—hours upon hours of pitiful fantasizing about you and Felix. He wishes you'd both just give in and accept that intrinsic craving gnawing at your bones.

Just let go and devour each other, as it should be. How delicious it'd be to watch you two press against each other, glistening with sweat and whispering filth, as teeth sink into skin in relentless fervour.

What a spectacle it'd be. He feels dizzy just thinking about it.

Your sweet face stained with hot tears as Felix pounds into you, and Oliver tenderly wipes them away to lick them off his fingers. His thumb in your mouth, your lips wrapping around it as you whimper and whine, looking up at him through your lashes. God, it'd be the death of him. 

He wants—no, he needs—for it to become reality. Otherwise, he'll really go mad in this godforsaken place. Oliver's eyes flutter shut as he palms his painfully hard erection through his flimsy boxers. 

Well, they're actually Felix's, but what does it really mean for something to belong to someone? Surely, Felix wouldn't mind sharing something as miniscule as underwear if he already so graciously took Oliver in for the summer, right?

He won't realize they're gone anyway, so who's to say Oliver can't indulge himself? He's here to enjoy his summer break after all and share with you all.

You wear Felix's clothes all the time, so who can really blame him for following suit? He just wants to fit in, really.

He slinks away from the doorway, silently skittering back to his own bedroom to settle in for what is ultimately bound to be another long night for poor old, lovesick Oliver. 

You two are wrecking him, reducing him to a needy, clingy mess.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

Felix leans against the edge of the open window, revelling in the cool night breeze caressing his skin. A sloppily rolled joint is loosely clasped between his index and middle fingers as he stares into the blackness outside.

He takes a slow, absentminded drag from it, holding the smoke in until it makes his throat itch. He blows it into the wind and lets it get carried away, disappearing into the night. 

Hopefully, the smell doesn't wake you up; he'd hate to disturb you when you look so serene, your chest rising with measured breaths as you cradle his pillow. It's cute—unbearably so.

Felix swallows thickly; shame burns in his chest as he tries to suffocate the thoughts with another deliberate drag. It's all futile, though; he's been trying to will these feelings away for years now, with no hope for success. You're just so sweet and so irritatingly platonic in the way you act towards him.

It drives him up the fucking wall.

Everybody wants him; people bend over backwards and throw themselves head first into self-destruction to get a mere slither of his attention, and you just got him wrapped around your finger since the first time he laid eyes on you as a kid.

You're entirely inescapable. 

Usually, being so used to getting every last one of his needs and desires fulfilled, someone playing hard to get just plain kills his interest. Why should he fight for someone's interest when there are countless hot people practically pouncing on him?

All he has to do is snap his fingers, and he gets some cute guy sucking his dick or multiple chicks littering his neck in love bites. Never once in his life did he have to beg for someone to covet him. 

Except for you. Unattainable in a world in which he gets everything he could ever possibly ask for. The sheer cruelty of it all is enough to strip him of any rationale.

Every person he fucks ultimately reminds him of you. Whether it's the way they look up at him, as if he's holy, or the manner in which they say his name, it all just leads back to you, and he can't fucking break free from the chokehold you got him in. 

He doesn't even remember their faces; they're all blurred by his sheer need to replace them with you. All of them sound like you in his head, crying out his name and begging him to slow down. 

He takes another drag, groaning at the heat pooling in his abdomen.

It doesn't matter how many people he sleeps with or how many people bend to his every will, because none of them are you. And he's slowly growing insatiable, itching and aching to feel you and to taste you.

Adoration grows teeth and claws, boiling over and oozing down over his deprived heart to singe it with obsession. 

You shift in your sleep, sighing blissfully. He watches your shirt ride up—his shirt—to expose more and more of your soft skin.

Is the universe testing him? Could the dear devil himself be tempting him to complete his transformation into the horrible monster he so longs to be right now?

And you're wearing his boxers too, too exhausted to run back to your room to grab your own. So, of course, Felix offered his clothes. Because he's kind, and perhaps because it's truly a precious sight to behold.

He licks his lips, his darkened eyes fixated on the way they hug your hips and thighs. As if they're made for you, not for him.

There's a part of him that never wants to wash them, preserve your smell, and bury his face in them.

He's done it before, but he's still riddled by the guilt he felt after cumming on a pair of tight briefs you'd borrowed from him. It was the hardest he'd ever climaxed, though, and he simply can't get rid of the urge to do it again.

He chews on his lower lip, the joint in his hand now completely forgotten as his shorts grow unbearably tight. A warm, fuzzy feeling crawls down his neck and along the expanse of his shoulders. His judgement being clouded by the weed.

It's almost painful to be so close to you in such a vulnerable state.

What have you done to him?

It's all too much for him—the anguish from restraining himself in such a way is excruciating at this point. Something animalistic lingers beneath his skin, snarling and scratching at his bones to break free. So eager and so monstrous.

He quietly walks over to the bed, careful not to rouse you. Completely silent as he looms over you, tall, larger than life, and shrouded in darkness. If he wanted to, he could so easily overpower you and make you his right here and now. 

But that's not the point.

He wants you to choose him and to crave him like all the others. The only way he'll be satisfied is if you beg and tear yourself apart for him, just as he does for you every night. He wants you to crack your rib cage open to offer him your heart, still beating and oozing blood. 

The mattress dips beneath his weight when he reassumes his position next to you, his large frame easily filling the free space and almost curving around yours. For a few moments, he just lies there, savouring the feeling of casually sharing a bed with you, the proximity, and its near domestic idyll. Tracing your features with his eyes in complete adoration.

Would you wake up if he tried to wrap his arm around your waist? He so desperately wants to hold you close, breathe in your scent, and never let go. Maybe waking up cradled within Felix's arms would finally make you realize how seamlessly you two fit together. 

How perfect he is for you.

You shift in your sleep, dragging the hem of your shirt further upwards in what Felix assumes is an instinctual attempt to keep yourself from overheating.

Oh, you poor thing.

He hesitates for a second, reaching out his hand and letting it hover above the bunched-up fabric before gently freeing your entire torso. Merely to help you cool off, of course. He wouldn't want you to feel all sticky and gross in the morning from sweating all night.

Well, it depends on what kind of sweating. Ew, gross, Felix. Don't think about that, he winces.

Nonetheless, he lets his fingers ghost over your stomach, softly tracing the boxers' waistband. Fuck, he just can't keep his mind clean with you looking like this.

He sucks in a quiet breath through his teeth before shakily pressing his warm palm to your crotch and rubbing up against it ever so slightly.

Your breathing falters for just a moment, a weak mewl falling from your lips at the welcome pressure. Felix nearly groans when you unconsciously buck your hips into his hand to chase after the pleasant feeling.

Felix Catton is a weak man, quick to indulge in his compulsions, especially when it comes to you. You're like that one crack in the dam, threatening to split it open and flood the lands of composure in him with pure, shameless debauchery.

He spits onto his other hand, swiftly slipping it underneath his own waistband and wrapping it around his agonizingly hard dick. Fuck, the things he'd do to you if you just let him.

The heat radiating off you crawls up his arm, making his hair stand up and sending waves of white-hot need washing over him. This is so wrong, so utterly wrong in every way, but fuck, it feels so good.

He simply can't find it within him to stop, far too spellbound by the way your brows furrow when he lets his fingers run along over your core.

He laps up every sleepy whimper and gasp he pulls from you, biting his tongue to keep his own moans from spilling out.

Though he can't help but let his mouth hang open when he pictures your plush lips wrapped around his girth, your eyes big and so full of adoration as you look up at him. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your face, hitting the back of your throat and forcing you to swallow every last drop of his cum. 

You'd be so, so good for him. 

Felix lets his head fall back against his headboard, drawing blood from biting down on his lower lip in a desperate attempt to stay silent as he releases all over his fist.

A coppery taste spreads throughout his mouth, but he's too dazed to care. Mindlessly observing the wet spot on his underwear, it grows larger as he catches his breath.

God, he made such a mess. 

He pulls his hand out from beneath, spreading his fingers to watch the cloudy, viscous fluid stretch between them. 

He watches it glisten in the dim light before leaning over and carefully smearing it on your waist, drawing a heart shape as though he's simply doodling in a notebook. His thumb gently digs into your flesh, trying to massage it in.

Ultimately, though, you'll seemingly be waking up feeling a bit sticky after all. Hopefully, you won't question it too much, or he might have to come up with some sort of lie.

Good thing Felix lies with a vexing, graceful ease.

Felix wriggles the soiled boxers off, carelessly tossing them into one of the room's corners, and lifts himself off the bed to grab a fresh pair. He looks over his shoulder, making sure you're still fast asleep as he slips them on.

You haven't even moved an inch.

He smiles, amused and comforted by your ability to sleep through all that. He should be feeling deeply ashamed, ablaze with the flame of gut-wrenching remorse, but he doesn't. 

Instead, his appetite has just grown ever more ferocious. As if someone has released him from the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles. Itching to get more, feel more. He's growing greedy. He's merely had a lick of what could be, savouring its heavenly taste on the back of his tongue.

For tonight, though, he'll let you rest. He wouldn't want to rob you of your beauty sleep. Not yet, at least.

Those nights will come, and he'll make sure of them.

Felix makes sure to keep the window open, crawling back into bed with you to settle in with his chest pressed to your side and his arm languidly slung over you. Your quiet snores softly lull him to sleep with a satisfied grin plastered on his face.

He'll have you caged in between his arms soon enough; just you wait, darling.

Such a beautiful, tranquil summer night, he muses.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

Oliver feels as though the sun has grown even harsher, grilling him alive as he tries to get comfortable on the crickety deck chair. They're not very luxurious—a very noticeable exception among the obscenely extravagant furniture inside the Catton estate.

But, nonetheless, they're still quite cosy; the problem is how tense and jumpy Oliver himself is at the moment.

You're lounging in one of the ponds, skin wet and glistening in the late afternoon sun, as you casually chitchat with Venetia and Farleigh. All three of you stretched out on your apparently designated pool floats.

Farleigh nearly caved Oliver's head in when he tried grabbing his. Lesson learned. So, like the sweetheart you are, you generously offered him yours that day. 

"Don't be afraid to grab it whenever you'd like too. I don't mind at all." You smiled at him, and Oliver swears a halo encircled your head then. "Doesn't really belong to me anyway."

Oh, but it does. Because they all adore you, and he's sure if you merely asked, they'd buy hundreds of those pool floats without batting an eye.

Elspeth cooed over you just this morning, going on and on about how wonderful you look today. And you do, of course, but it's just so curious to see the Cattons so enamoured with some common person. She's totally infatuated with you.

Could it be that, with time, they simply forgot that you're not really one of them? Felix did say you're part of the family at this point, whatever that means to people like him.

Oliver lets his gaze wander the length of your legs. Your feet dipped into the cool water, your head leaning back and your sunglasses sitting on top of your nose, threatening to slip off any second now.

Farleigh, the whole reason he's been feeling so fidgety today, shoots you a mischievous smirk before splashing you with a handful of pond water. You yelp, nearly tipping your float over from the icy shock.

He chuckles at your reaction, which sounds how sandpaper scratching against Oliver's brain would probably feel like. Grating and violence-inducing. 

As soon as you regain your composure, you move to return the favour, but with two handfuls. Farleigh gasps in mock offence, jumping off his float to wade over to you as you laugh and shout at him to fuck off. 

Oliver purses his lips, scowling at the playful scene unfolding in front of him. He looks at Felix, dozing in the chair next to him, with the book he's been pretending to read all summer resting on his belly.

He chews at the inside of his cheek, a malicious idea suddenly popping into his pretty head. 

He nudges Felix, who lifts his head to drowsily raise his brows at him. "'S matter?" He mumbles.

Oliver, as nonchalantly as he can muster, nods his head in your direction before setting his little plan in motion. Big, innocent eyes as he peers at Felix.

"Seems like Farleigh got himself a little crush, eh?"

"What?" Felix's brows knit in confusion before he peeks over the rim of his Ray-Bans to see Farleigh shove you off the pool float and into the pond. 

A huge, goofy smile is on your attacker's face as he watches you resurface. Your face lights up with an unbridled but light-hearted thirst for revenge. Farleigh is quick to play along, pretending to fear his impending doom as he allows you to chase him out of the water and across the chalet gardens.

Both of you are giggling and squealing like children; it's sickening.

Oliver notices Felix's leg begin to bounce up and down impatiently, his jaw tensing when you tackle Farleigh to the ground. You laugh when he pokes your side to escape your clutches.

It's a horribly childish display, really. And entirely unnecessary. 

Felix nearly seethes, his chest rising and falling in tandem with an agitated sigh. Oh, is that jealousy Oliver's smelling?

Putrid and foul as it pollutes the air around the two of them, like toxic fumes rising from their pores. Their skin almost turns green from their relentless loathing, with half a mind to gruffly put a stop to your games.

"You really think so, mate?"

"Sure looks like it, doesn't it?" Oliver mutters, a theatrically naive lilt to his voice.

Felix just hums in response, bitterness and disgust written all over his otherwise flawless features. Plush lips contorted into a vague frown as he silently lights a cigarette.

Oliver turns away, pretending to yawn, in an attempt to conceal the pleased smile on his face. 

He just managed to successfully plant the seed of resentment and faux competition deep within Felix's mind. And he knows Felix can't stand not getting what he wants, much less when it comes to losing to Farleigh out of all people.

There's something about facing defeat when it's at the hands of someone you've deemed trustworthy your entire life.

If he could, Oliver would absolutely pat himself on the shoulder right now. Excellent work, mate. One step closer to achieving his goal.

And you're ever clueless to the web Oliver's silently and meticulously stringing up around you and Felix, wrapping his string around your neck and leaving you both none the wiser.

This might be easier than Oliver expected.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

Part 2 coming soon :> !!

Please consider reblogging this if you enjoyed it! Likes are very much appreciated but sadly don't do much for writers and artists on Tumblr. By reblogging, you're telling us you'd like to see more and help our work reach more people that might be interested! Thank you so much :> ♡

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

11.01.2024

Do you know what, at least Käärijä will be the new Verka Serduchka. But Loreen? She'll be hated by so many people now and most won't even remember that she won.

Does anyone remember who won when Verka performed? No. But everyone remembers Verka.

Type "I am" in the tags and whatever follows is your gender today...

Trans women make the world a brighter place

Pyrexia (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Character/s: Kendall, Connor, Shiv, Rome, Logan

Word Count: 1,387

Requested: Hii! I love all of your baby Roy sibling fics, especially your new one with Rome. I love protective Kendall so so much, especially in the election so when he sticks up for Shiv against Tom. Could I request something with protective Kendall (maybe the other siblings if it suits) where they look after you while hurt or comfort you or something similar? If not that is fine!! Thank you so so much &lt;;3 - anon

Requested: ohohoh!! Maybe roy!sibling being very sick to the point where they go into self-isolstion mode not contacting anybody and their siblings worry about them? Adore your fics and I always get really excited when you post a new one!! Hope you are recovering well from the tattoo! - anon

Warning/s: sickness

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined your requests. I hope you like it!!! Thank you for such kind words my loves!!! My tattoo is healing perfectly!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Your mother used to run the bath ice cold. She’d guide you in, even as you shuddered, even when you cried. She placed a stern hand around your shoulder, ever so lightly pushing you deeper into the water. She’d pour it over your head, warning you to close your eyes. You played with cups, filling and refilling, too old for toys. You’re never sure how long you stayed there. She’d leave you there, the bathroom door shut, until your teeth were chattering. Clicking out of your skull. Sometimes it was one of your siblings who stood you up again. Your mother had fallen asleep, drink perfectly in hand, on the couch. Sometimes she would leave the house, forgetting all about you. Rarely would she find her way back to you, years it felt passing you by, wrapping you in a towel. Those times were your favorite. Falling into her, smelling her perfume and favorite drink on her breath. Mostly though, it was one of your siblings pulling you from the bath. They’d pick out mismatched pajamas and tuck you in beside them, hushing you to sleep, wet hair sinking into the pillow. You’d still be shaking, freezing, and they would wrap you up tight in as many blankets as they could get. 

A cold bath will break this fever, you can still hear her voice. So clear, so sure, so far away. You weren’t sure if it really did work, if any tricks she pulled out of nowhere actually worked, or if it just made her feel like she was doing something, but you tried again anyways. It made you feel like you were four years old again. Chubby little hands splashing through the water. Despite yourself, the ache in your little bones, you could find a small ounce of joy. This time it was your tub, massive and pristine, filling up. Your wet pajamas falling off your body, drenched in sweat. You had to hold on to the edge just steady yourself, dizzy, lightheaded. You weren’t about to be sick, there was nothing left in your stomach. Please work, you begged whoever would listen, please let this work. You grit your teeth, stepping inside. All the way up to your chin, you sink deeper and deeper. Holding your breath, you dunk your head under, the cold kissing your burning cheeks. It makes you shiver. 

You catch your breath, leaning your head back. You half expect to hear your mother through the door, her shrill voice, on the phone, talking nonsense. She’d stick her head into the doorway, checking if you moved a muscle. You lay completely still trying not to grin. They weren’t always happy memories. She wasn’t always there when she should have been, but this you could laugh at. How ridiculous it all was. Forgetting about your child in the bath? How many pills was she on? You think of your brothers and sister pressing the back of their hand to your forehead, looking at you with startled eyes. You were so fussy, pushing them away, beginning to cry. You just wanted to feel better. That was all. You wanted to feel like yourself again. You remember little, everything is a haze. Kendall called Connor over when you stirred in his bed, when you became hysterical. Big brown eyes watching you, fearing for you. They’d always calm you down. They’d always find a way. He never minded that your hair was wet, that you’d whimper in your sleep, in your fever dreams. You were his baby. Always. 

Your fingers prune. The cool settles. Your cheeks are still burning, your forehead on fire. You don’t remember climbing out, draining the tub. You don’t remember settling there on the bathroom rug, towel wrapped around you. Your muscles ache, your joints flare. Even if you wanted, the bed was too far. Besides, you’d been camped out on the couch in front of the tv for days. All your things remained untouched in the living room. Your phone, put on silent, in between the cushions. Cups lined the coffee table, an army of half-finished drinks. You think you’re dreaming when you hear his voice again. Y/n? Y/n? Come on kid, let’s get you up. Gentle hands guiding you up, those familiar eyes startled, scared. You forgot you gave him a key. He holds you close, your skin dry. How long were you asleep? He waits while you get dressed, painstakingly slow. Everything hurts.

You don’t have the energy to ask him questions, you can barely pull your shirt over your head. Why was he here? How did he know you were home? Wasn’t he supposed to be at work, with dad? Patiently, he waits outside the door, checking in every few minutes. You must look awful. His expression looked pained, as if looking at you made him hurt. I tried a cold bath, you start, but never finish. He nods, bringing you into the living room. You’d collected every blanket you could only to kick them all off, too hot for your own skin. He sits you down, trying to figure out what to do first. Indecisive, he grabs your phone and all the cups, putting them in the sink, grabbing a charger. You hadn’t noticed all the missed texts. From him, from Connor and Shiv and Rome. all of them worried about you. I’m sorry, I was so tired, I didn’t- It’s okay. His tone is so gentle, so tender, his expression melting into an understanding smile. No one’s upset, we were just worried, that’s all. 

He gets you capfuls of medicine, orange and berry-flavored. Thick, syrupy, sticky. You feel like you’ll throw it all up again. He tucks you in, pulling the covers over you. You look so small, so little, like you did when you were a child. You sleep the same way: restless. The fever dreams are vivid and scary and every time you wake up, he’s there. He’s always there. The tv changes, and his jacket is left on the other side of the couch. There’s a bowl of soup before you that is first steaming and then cold. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly. To your brothers, your sister, even your father. They are all worried. Just a fever, he assures them, though the lines on his forehead tell another story. Every once in a while he places his hand to your forehead. Slowly, so slowly, you seem to be cooling down. You’re not eating or drinking, just sleeping. In and out. The lighting has changed, the sun has set, and though you insist, he has no intentions of sleeping. 

Kendall should have known. He should have known because you always do this. You didn’t want to bother anyone when you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to worry anyone. It was easier to self-isolate, to crawl back to sleep and re-emerge when you were back to yourself again. He cleaned up the kitchen, the bathroom, and threw in a load of laundry. Anything to get this nervous energy out. Finally you calmed down a bit, your dreams becoming less and less vivid. He still remembers those long nights when you were a kid. Your wet hair, your baby breath, the colorful pajamas. How he’d sit and wait and worry until your fever broke, until the coughing stopped, until your shivering subsided. Your mother would check on you in the morning, but he watched you all night. He was your big brother. He had to protect you from everything. He should, at least, but he can’t. So he waits. He checks on you. He gives you more medicine, hating to wake you up. He assures everyone that it’s nothing, he’s got it handled. Even Logan, so unlike himself, was as concerned as he could be. No one had heard from you in days. They’re getting better, he says, and you are. He’s thankful. Grateful. Relieved. In the morning you’ll eat something. You’ll drink tea and water. You’ll talk with him about work, about Rava and the kids, about your family. You’ll laugh and for the first time since he got there he’ll see you through the sickness. You’re getting better. He wasn’t there in the beginning, but he’s glad he could be there now. He’ll  always be there for you.

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Weiterlesen

Connor tried to be there every time one of his siblings was born and visit them in the hospital. He went to great lengths to hold each one in his arms. Looking into their innocent wide eyes, he promised each of them the same thing. He knew that their father would try to shape them into the hounds he wants but that he would do everything in his power to give them the things he never had: moments of happiness, love, acceptance and refuge.