#But in the story In my head he does begin to dress differently

[zoriety]

Just for fun, I drew what he might be expected to wear if he ever finds reason to put on his formal attire again... (it's been left for years to get incredibly dusty). He'd find it very awkward and wants the indoor moping gown back ASAP

[calypso-rt]

She fell first/He fell harder request (pretty please, you are my one and only writer I ride or die for) She’s your typical sweet shy kind reader kook, a jeans/t-shirt type, a friend of Sarah. He’s always ignored her though in favor of the extroverted sexy kook girls. She glows up a bit becoming more of a woman and dressing figure hugging (though not revealing. She’s still her and modest) and has decided to let go of Rafe, feeling stupid for just having a crush on someone who couldn’t care less about her. Though now she has his attention and he’s feeling some type of way being ignored/the bare minimum short polite conversation when she used to sneak glances at him at the house or find reasons to linger around him…..and he’s def not okay with guys talking to her…while he is glancing from afar with heartache…..and he’s def gonna follow when a guy leads her away from the party and make some heartfelt declaration. I WANT RAFE SIMPING AND BEING A MESS, CHASE HEEEER

-> A/N: i saw this and just HAD to start writing immediately. I love it so much thank you, anon! <3

worth the wait

-> Rafe x F!Reader

It started years ago, slow and quiet, like a secret you kept even from yourself.

You were there, always there, floating around the edges of his world like a soft breeze he never bothered to notice. A friend of Sarah’s, a Kook by default but never quite the type to demand attention.

You were the quiet one. The sweet one. The one who lingered in doorways when he was around, sneaking glances when you thought he wouldn’t see.

(He never did.)

Rafe Cameron had always been too busy looking at girls who weren’t you. The loud, sexy, confident ones who draped themselves over him like accessories, all sun-kissed skin and effortless flirtation.

They knew how to keep his attention. You? You were just the girl in plain clothing, flipping through paperbacks at parties and blending into the background.

You knew better than to hope. But that didn’t stop you from feeling.

Maybe that’s why leaving for the summer felt like such a relief.

A few months away, an out-of-state camp, something new. You didn’t have to be that girl anymore. The one waiting in the wings, the one hoping for a glance that would never come.

You threw yourself into everything: early morning hikes, late-night talks by the fire, pushing past the edges of your comfort zone until you weren’t just existing, but living.

And somewhere along the way, something shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic. You didn’t come back with a whole new personality, didn’t suddenly turn into one of them...the girls Rafe actually looked at.

But you carried yourself differently now. Stood a little taller. Laughed a little louder. You still wore the same clothes, but they fit you better somehow, hugging the quiet confidence you hadn’t realized you’d built.

Most importantly?

You came back over it.

Over him. Over the way you used to linger, over the ache of wanting something that was never yours to begin with. It was stupid, really. A crush. That’s all it had ever been.

And if Rafe Cameron had never noticed you before?

Well. That was perfectly fine.

Except… now he did.

It happens at a party, because of course it does.

Figure Eight, same crowd, same overpriced liquor being poured into red cups. The air is thick with salt and smoke, music thrumming under your skin as you weave through the sea of familiar faces.

Nothing’s changed.

Except you.

You’re not lurking on the edges anymore, not pretending to be invisible. You’re here because you want to be, because, for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought in your own story.

And Rafe?

He’s exactly where you left him, stretched out in one of the patio chairs, a beer dangling from his fingers, his attention flickering between his phone and the girl curled up next to him. Some blonde, barely dressed, draping herself over his arm like she’s claimed him.

It used to sting, seeing him like that.

Now, you don’t even spare him a second glance.

It’s almost funny, the way his head turns when you walk in: slow and deliberate, like he’s making sense of something his brain can’t quite process. You catch the moment it clicks. The flicker of recognition, the way his easy, lazy smirk falters for half a second before sliding back into place.

You’re laughing at something Sarah says, not even looking his way. Your shoulders back, your head held high, the warm glow of summer still clinging to your skin. And your eyes—God, your eyes—don’t even flicker in his direction.

Maybe it was the liquor running through his blood, but he gets up, the wasted blonde grumbling in frustration as she's pushed aside, and makes his way over to you, heart beating.

“Didn’t know you were back.”

His voice is low, smooth, the same drawl you’ve heard a million times.

You glance up at him, barely breaking stride as you move away from Sarah. “Got in a few days ago.”

His brows pull together. “And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Sarah knew.” You shrug, effortless, like you don’t notice the way his eyes drag over you, lingering at the way your clothes fit just right. Like you don't care.

(You do. A little. But you’d rather die than let him know that.)

Rafe scoffs, taking another step, cutting off your path like he expects you to stop for him. “Right. Sarah knew.” He tilts his head, watching you too closely. “Guess you’ve been busy.”

You smile, all polite disinterest. “Something like that.”

And then you walk away.

No nervous laugh, no lingering, no waiting to see if he watches you go.

(He does.)

And for the first time in his entire life, Rafe Cameron feels something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his gut.

It takes him a second to recognize it.

Regret.

...

Jealousy isn’t something Rafe Cameron feels.

At least, not like this.

You’re different now. And worse? You don’t seem to give a damn about him anymore.

And he feels it, really feels it, when he sees you laughing with some guy at the party.

Some Kook douchebag he barely remembers the name of, leaning way too close, making you smile in a way that burns in his chest.

His stomach twists. His jaw clenches. His grip tightens around his drink until the cheap plastic cracks in his hand.

“Dude.” Topper’s voice breaks through the red haze, amused and knowing. “You good?”

Rafe doesn’t answer. Just glares at the scene in front of him like he can will it to stop.

(You haven’t even looked at him once tonight.)

You used to... always used to. Sneaking glances, lingering, hoping he’d say something. And now? He could be furniture for all you care.

The guy leans in. Says something that makes you tilt your head back and laugh.

And Rafe sees red.

Before he can stop himself, he’s moving. Drink abandoned, footsteps quick and purposeful as he crosses the room.

By the time you realize he’s there, it’s too late.

“Didn’t think this was your type.”

His voice is smooth, dripping with something too sharp to be casual. You blink up at him, surprised, before your expression flattens.

“I didn’t know I had a type.”

Rafe snorts. “Yeah?” His gaze flicks to the guy beside you, unimpressed. “’Cause last time I checked, you weren’t into desperate losers.”

The guy bristles. “What’s your problem, Cameron?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Rafe—”

But he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking at him.

His jaw is tight. His fists curl at his sides. Everything about him screams territorial, and he hates that he feels like this, like he’s been replaced, like you were his to lose in the first place.

And then you do the worst thing imaginable.

You smile at the guy.

A small, amused, totally dismissive smile, like Rafe isn’t even here.

Like he doesn’t matter.

And that’s when it hits him like a truck, like a gut punch, like a sinking, spiraling, helpless feeling.

He’s screwed.

...

Rafe has never had to chase before.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing now.

It starts with little things. Small, almost unnoticeable gestures that shouldn’t mean anything but do.

One: The Jacket

It’s late. Too late to be sitting out by the beach in just a thin hoodie, but Sarah begged you to stay for one more drink, and you didn’t want to seem like the same girl who used to fade into the background.

You shiver once, just once, and suddenly, there’s a heavy weight settling over your shoulders.

“Rafe—”

“Don’t start,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets like he didn’t just drape his very expensive hoodie over you without a second thought. “It’s cold.”

You glance up at him, suspicious, but he just stares out at the water like this isn’t a thing. Like this isn’t the first time he’s ever done something for you without being asked.

(You don’t give it back.)

Two: The Coffee

It’s early, and you’re buried in a book at a café, sipping on some overpriced latte when a familiar voice breaks your focus.

“You drink that caramel crap?”

You blink up, startled to find Rafe leaning against the table, a fresh cup in his hand. Before you can answer, he sets it down in front of you.

Your usual order.

The one you’ve always gotten. The one you thought no one ever noticed.

Your lips part, but Rafe just shrugs, casual. “Figured you might want a refill.”

Then he walks away.

You stare after him, utterly baffled.

Three: The Save

You weren’t going to call it a date.

Just a study session at the country club with some random Kook guy, an easy way to brush up on Econ while sipping from the drink in your hand.

But Rafe doesn’t see it like that.

He sees some guy sitting way too close, leaning over you like he has any right to, and before you can react, there’s a firm hand curling around your wrist.

“Come on,” Rafe says, voice low and final.

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

His grip isn’t tight, but it’s there. Protective. “We’re leaving.”

You scoff. “Since when do you get to decide where I—”

“Since you clearly don’t know when someone’s wasting your time.” He glares at the guy, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “Trust me. You can do better.”

And even though you should be annoyed, even though you should pull away, you don’t.

Because his fingers brush against your palm for half a second, just long enough for you to realize he’s trembling.

...

You’re not sure what you expected when Rafe finally snapped.

The party is long over. The music has faded, the bonfire burned down to glowing embers, and most of the guests have either gone home or passed out somewhere inside. But you stayed.

Not for him.

(Definitely not for him.)

You just like the quiet. The way the Outer Banks feels when it’s still. When the waves are the only sound, when the sky stretches wide and endless, littered with stars.

You tug your sleeves over your hands, exhaling softly as the wind rolls in off the water. You don’t expect to hear footsteps behind you.

But you do.

“We need to talk,” he says, voice low, words edged in something raw.

You sigh, shaking your head just enough to make a point. “We really don’t.”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah, we do.”

He sits down beside you on the sand, shoulders touching.

You cross your arms. “You can’t just—”

“Why won’t you look at me?” he blurts out.

You freeze.

He’s sitting too close, his expression a mess of frustration and something else. Something bordering on desperation.

You force out a scoff. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously.” His voice dips, softer now. “You used to. All the time.”

Your stomach flips. You hate that he remembers. You hate that he noticed now and not when it actually mattered.

“I grew up,” you say evenly. “I stopped wasting my time.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, and for the first time, he looks hurt.

“That what you think?” he murmurs. “That it was a waste?”

You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. “What else was it supposed to be?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he just stares at the ground, like he’s struggling to say whatever is clawing at his throat.

Then, finally

“I was an idiot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

Rafe lifts his head, and the look on his face nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because he’s serious.

“I didn’t see it. See you.” He shakes his head, almost like he hates himself for it. “I don’t even know why. I think—I think I was too busy looking at the wrong things, and by the time I figured it out, you weren’t there anymore.”

Your chest tightens. “Rafe—”

“I notice you now,” he says, shifting closer. His voice is rough, uneven. “I notice everything. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you get nervous. How you always pick the raisins out of the trail mix after you play golf.”

Your breath catches.

His jaw clenches. “And I hate it.”

You rear back slightly. “What?”

“I hate that I had to lose you to see you.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I hate that some other guy gets to stand where I should have been this whole time.”

Silence.

Loud. Heavy.

You stare at him, heart hammering, every instinct screaming at you to run, because this is too much, too late, too Rafe.

So you shake your head. Swallow down the ache in your throat.

“I don’t...” You inhale sharply. “I don’t believe you.”

Rafe goes still.

You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself. “You don’t get to do this, Rafe. You don’t get to ignore me for years and then suddenly—”

“I know.” His voice is hoarse. “I know. And I don’t expect you to believe me.”

You falter.

He shifts closer. Slowly. Cautiously. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

“I just…” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “I just need you to know that I’m trying. That I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You swallow hard, pulse hammering.

Because for the first time, he looks at you: not like a challenge, not like something to win, but like something he’s afraid to lose.

And that scares you more than anything.

...

Epilogue: The Payoff

Rafe dedicated any free time he has to you and only you.

It's not really a conscious decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be. He's utterly determined to prove to you the depth of his feelings.

You’re browsing the tiny, tucked-away bookstore downtown, running your fingers along the spines, when a book suddenly appears in front of you.

"Thought you might like this one," Rafe says, leaning against the shelf like he belongs there. Like he planned this.

You eye the book, one of your favorites. The same one you used to read at parties when he wasn’t paying attention.

Your lips twitch. "You think you can bribe me with books now?"

"Not a bribe." He shrugs, but there's a telltale smirk on his lips. "Just proving I do pay attention."

You try not to smile.

You fail.

Another time, it's late. You’re shivering outside after a bonfire, rubbing your hands over your arms, when Rafe suddenly pulls his hoodie over his head, a sliver of his toned abs showing, and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," he says, but his arms are already breaking out in goosebumps.

You roll your eyes but tug the hoodie tighter around yourself. It smells like him: clean, warm, safe.

He doesn’t ask for it back.

You don’t offer.

He's forever jealous although he's resisted making a scene, knowing how much you hate it.

You’re laughing with JJ at a party when you feel it. The heat of his stare.

You glance over, meeting Rafe’s narrowed eyes across the room, his jaw tight, fingers tapping against the glass in his hand.

You arch a brow. Oh?

"Relax," JJ murmurs, amused. "Pretty sure your boyfriend is about to combust."

You don’t correct him.

And when Rafe gets just frustrated enough to stalk over, hand resting at the small of your back, tugging you just a little closer...

You call that a win.

But he's a bit impatient in his love for you.

It happens in his car.

You're laughing—really laughing—at something dumb he said, and he’s just watching you, like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your jaw.

You stop laughing.

The air shifts. Your heartbeat stutters. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up.

But you pull away, grinning as you grab the door handle. "Not yet, Cameron."

His groan is tortured. "You’re actually killing me."

You smirk. "Good."

It takes time.

Little moments. Soft gestures. Proof that this isn’t just some fleeting fascination. That he’s all in.

And when you finally kiss him—really kiss him...

He swears under his breath, pulling you in like he’s terrified you’ll change your mind. Like he’s spent years waiting for this and refuses to waste another second.

His hands frame your face, his lips desperate and sure all at once.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he presses his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"You’re mine now," he murmurs, voice thick.

You smile.

"Yeah, Rafe." Your fingers curl into his hoodie. "I’m yours."

As if you weren't always.

[ghostsy]

The Other

yandere ! ITADORI YUJI x READER x yandere ! SUKUNA

WARNINGS: yandere, misogyny, nsfw, implied noncon

A/N: A bit different than usual, less story and more imagine, I just had a Thought TM that wouldn't leave me alone.

read at your own discretion.

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

What about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but it’s 19th century Gothic Yuji and Sukuna obsessing over their cute little lab assistant.

Where Yuji finds himself falling in love with the pretty little thing that turned up one night on his doorstep. How could a gentleman refuse a damsel in distress? She’d had nowhere to go, and a woman on the streets is a woman without dignity. He’d done her a favor taking her in, feeding her, clothing her, teaching her everything he knows. Well, almost everything. 

And it’s not that she’s not grateful, no, she’s always eager to please, pretty doe eyes blinking up at him with only the purest intentions of proving her worth. 

It’s when that voice in his head that he swears isn’t his starts to talk. 

Bend her over and spread her legs.

He’d had years of experience tuning the other inside of him out, and begrudgingly grew used to the snide remarks about the so-called useless pussy on legs. But it’s only when his more ignoble half begins to make suggestions with less than savory intentions that he finds himself wavering. He tries to reason that it isn’t him, not really. He can keep it under control. He always has. 

It’s the small things really, how she bites the tip of her pencil in concentration during his lectures, determined to be of some use to him. Pretty lips parted oh so delicately, hugging the tip to her teeth.

Let me out. I want to see that whore mouth painted white with my cum.

Or when she blinks dumbly at him from under butterfly lashes, a sheepish giggle and warmth on her cheeks because something he said went in one ear, through her ditzy little brain, and out the other.

Dumb little thing would sink down and suck our cock dry if we told her it was in the name of science, wouldn’t she? 

An involuntary twitch of his fingers sends his heart leaping to his throat.

Why don’t you find out?

He drowns it out until the cover of night shields him, locked inside his chambers before giving an inch to the monster. Stroking his cock to the image of her laid out naked and moaning beneath him, legs spread and welcoming. Where the thought of licking the sweat from the skin of her neck has him hurtling off that cliff, and into the resulting ocean of shame.

Little things build up, he finds, and even with her painfully female brain, she begins to notice something off. Though, he finds himself grateful when it isn’t disgust that meets him, but concern. Oh, bless women and their nurturing sensibilities.

She’ll fuss over him like a true lady, mothering but not smothering. Anything he needs to help soothe those pesky migraines. And he’ll finally realize an acceptable way to indulge in his impure thoughts. He’ll make the street urchin he turned lady his wife.

He ignores the rumbling of low laughter that rattles his brain at the thought, deep enough to shake something important but easily forgotten in his bones.

He’ll make all the appropriate preparations for a courtship, determined to woo her as a man would, as a man should. Dress her up, and take her on a promenade through the finest parts of town, introducing her to the finest people at the finest parties.

But he reasons that was his first mistake. Because when he watches her laugh, all airy and bright, intentionally tempting, entirely too close to that brooding dark-haired duke he liked to call brother, white hot fury spills into his veins. That distant familiar desire, heady in all its glory, bloodlust, is his only warning. And the other, who’d been quiet for quite some time, smugly returns. 

A whore is a whore no matter the clothes. You thought she’d choose you?

He’ll down glass after glass of scotch, determined to ignore it, but too focused on the brush of her delicate fingers alongside the Duke’s sleeve. There’s a look in his friend’s eye he’s never quite seen before; it’s soft, warm, and it’s all it takes for him to rush to the water closet and hurl up the contents of his stomach.

Pathetic. A man doesn’t wait to be chosen. A man takes what’s his. There’s only one between us. Let me out. 

A man takes what’s his. It’s a thought that settles too comfortably in his mind, and he resolves to keep her close. No more outings with those snobbish lords and ladies. Just to save her the embarrassment of exposing the unrefined nature of her peasant birth any more than she already had.

It’ll work for a time, but it’s just a little while later that his brother turned traitor starts turning up on the manor’s doorstep with his own intentions of courtship. Excuses of their preoccupation with scientific breakthroughs and studies only keep him at bay for so long.

I’ll do what you can’t. Let me out. 

He begins to wonder whether the beast had been wrong when he catches her wistful stares out the window, too conspicuously asking about the wellbeing of a man that isn’t him. A whore is a whore. When she comes back from town with the excuse of restocking food or supplies, why does she take longer and longer to return each time?

Let Me Out.

He’ll question why it isn’t enough. Why he isn’t enough. He isn’t, not if her attention still turned elsewhere. There’s a beating at the door of his mind that threatens to split at any moment. Finally, mercifully, she’ll relieve the struggle with two words.

He proposed. 

He proposed. He proposed. He proposed. He doesn’t hear anything after that, not as she sputters out empty placations and gratitude. Not when she solidifies her intentions of leaving him.

He just responds in kind with two earth-shattering words of his own.

Come out.

[23victoria]

shut up

pairing: 𝖿𝟣 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

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𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌?! CLICK HERE

f1 masterlist 1k celebration

Lewis

You and Lewis Hamilton are seated in the back of a sleek black SUV, the city lights blurring past as you head towards a charity gala. Dressed in an elegant gown, you can feel the weight of the evening's expectations pressing down on your shoulders. Lewis, ever the gentleman, reaches out and squeezes your hand reassuringly.

"Lewis," you begin, hesitating slightly. "People keep talking about our age difference. They think it's inappropriate."

He looks at you, his eyes softening. "What do you think?"

"I think they should shut up," you say firmly. "I'm grown, I know what I want. And I want you."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "That's all I needed to hear."

The tension dissipates, replaced by a sense of resolve. As the car pulls up to the venue, you lean over and kiss him, the heat of the moment promising more to come.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Charles

On a quiet night in Monaco, you and Charles Leclerc are strolling along the waterfront. The Mediterranean Sea glistens under the moonlight, casting a romantic glow over the scene. Charles has been quiet, his mind clearly occupied.

"Charles," you say softly, nudging his shoulder. "What's on your mind?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's just...people keep talking about our age gap. They're saying it's not right."

You stop walking and turn to face him, your expression determined. "They need to shut up. I'm a grown woman, Charles. I know what I want, and I want you. End of story."

He looks at you, a mixture of relief and admiration in his eyes. "I should have known you'd say that."

You grin, pulling him into a kiss, the world around you fading as you lose yourselves in the moment.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Max

You're backstage at a racing event, surrounded by the hum of activity. Max Verstappen is leaning against a wall, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"Max," you start, crossing the distance between you. "I've been hearing things...people talking about our age difference."

He straightens up, his jaw tightening. "Let them talk. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Exactly," you reply, stepping closer. "They need to shut up. I'm old enough to make my own decisions, and I've chosen you."

His eyes light up with a fierce pride. "Damn right."

The moment is electric as you press your lips to his, the kiss deepening with a promise of more to come later.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Oscar

In the quiet confines of Oscar Piastri's apartment, you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. Oscar sits beside you, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. Recently, there's been a lot of talk about your career and whether you're using Oscar to boost your own professional profile.

"Oscar," you begin, your voice soft but steady. "People are making a big deal about our relationship. They think I'm with you to advance my career."

He frowns slightly, turning to look at you. "Does it bother you?"

"No," you say firmly. "But it bothers me that they can't mind their own business. I'm a grown woman, and I want you for you, not for what you can do for my career."

His expression softens, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Then let them talk. They don't know us."

You lean in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that speaks volumes, the promise of more intimate moments hanging in the air.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Lando

You're at a racetrack, the roar of engines filling the air as Lando Norris pulls you into a quiet corner. His eyes are filled with concern as he looks at you. It's been a tough week, with rumors swirling about your relationship. People have been questioning if you're with Lando because of his fame and fortune, insinuating that you're just a gold-digger.

"Lando," you say, placing a hand on his chest. "I know what people are saying about us."

He nods, his expression serious. "Yeah, they're not exactly subtle."

"Well, they need to shut up," you say, your voice gaining strength. "I'm an adult, and I know what I want. And I want you, not for your money or fame, but for who you are."

His eyes widen in surprise, then he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You smile, pulling him into a kiss that leaves no room for doubt, the passion between you undeniable

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Carlos

In the warmth of Carlos Sainz's kitchen, you both stand side by side, preparing dinner. The conversation is light until Carlos suddenly grows serious.

"Hey," he says, turning to you. "I've been hearing things...about our age difference."

You place a hand on his cheek, your gaze unwavering. "Carlos, they need to shut up. I'm grown, and I want you. That's all that matters."

He smiles, his eyes shining with affection. "I love how straightforward you are."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss that promises more than just a shared meal, the air around you charged with anticipation.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Sebastian

In a serene countryside retreat, you and Sebastian Vettel sit on a porch swing, the world around you peaceful and quiet. Sebastian seems deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

"Sebastian," you say, breaking the silence. "People keep bringing up our age gap."

He looks at you, his eyes filled with concern. "Does it bother you?"

"No," you reply firmly. "But it bothers me that they can't mind their own business. I'm a grown woman, and I know what I want. I want you."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he pulls you closer. "Then that's all that matters."

You kiss him, the world around you fading as you get lost in each other, the promise of more intimate moments lingering in the air.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Jenson

In a cozy cabin in the mountains, you and Jenson Button are curled up by the fire, the warmth enveloping you both. Jenson looks at you, a serious expression on his face.

"Jenson," you say, your voice soft but firm. "I know people are talking about our age difference."

He nods, his eyes searching yours. "Yeah, they are."

"Well, they need to shut up," you declare. "I'm grown, and I know what I want. And I want you."

His eyes soften, a smile spreading across his face. "I love how clear you are about what you want."

You lean in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that speaks of promises and passion, the fire crackling softly in the background.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[aurorawritestoescape]

Joel’s twin x f!reader || 500 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie, m!oral.

A/n: this little thing inspired by the buzz cut Joel edit has been in my docs for ages but I’ve decided to post it bc I think it’s hot lol Beta-ed by my love @milla-frenchy <3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more twin action (different au)

“Yeah, just like that, baby. Suckle on ‘im.”

You‘re moaning, your lips wrapped around the fat tip of a cock. Joel’s twin is feeding you his salty precum, that’s oozing generously, thanks to your skilled mouth.

“You suck his dick like that?”

You shake your head a little, trying not to hurt him with your teeth, and he smirks,

“‘s what I thought. He’s probably too weak to ask it from you, huh? Always busy with our screw-up of a little brother. Fuck him. Fuck ‘em both. C’mon up, baby.”

He grabs your arm and yanks you off the floor. He plops on the bed and you clench your fists around his jacket, straddling his lap.

Your and Joel's bed.

He’s fully clothed, only his jeans and boxers pulled down to his mid thigh while you’re completely naked, your dress and panties wherever he ripped them off you.

“Does he even make you come, baby?” His chest pressed to yours, his voice at your ear, gruff and sultry, acts like gasoline poured into a fire, burning the whole of you up. It’s so similar to Joel’s, yet so much sexier that your pussy aches with need whenever he talks.

“Sometimes,” you reply truthfully and hover over his stiff cock while he guides his tip to your sopping hole. His hot head prods your entrance and you whine at first but then gasp when he pushes your hips down and pierces you with his fat cock in one go.

You bite your lip while your pussy stretches around his manhood with a dull pain and your walls spread, trying to accommodate his mighty girth.

He doesn’t let you get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you in two and a harsh slap lands on your asscheek, ringing loudly in the silence of the bedroom.

“Ride it”, just two words from him and you start eagerly bouncing on his dick like your life depends on it. You don’t even know why you let him do all this to you, why you sucked his cock, why your pussy is drooling on his big balls but you love it. Love the sensation of your husband’s twin fucking you on your marital bed. It’s nasty, filthy, wrong and so hot you're already coming.

Joel’s caring, soft, loving. But his twin brother’s effect on you can not be explained. He comes once a month or so, pumps your cunt full of his hot cum and leaves. He’s rough, dominant, mean, everything Joel isn’t. And you love how dirty you feel when you’re with him.

“Fuck, love your pussy, baby. Gonna come so deep in her, she’s gonna be crying me for days, ya hear? Til the next time I fuck you.” He chuckles through heavy panting and begins thrusting his hips up into you, forcing your pussy to fall on his cock harder, faster, sending his tip up to kiss the deepest part of you.

The sweet poison of his words is already coursing through your veins, you can’t get enough of him, and soon your pussy starts contracting, greedily milking his cock off every drop of his thick load.

Joel comes soon after in his cuck chair, loudly moaning at the sight of his wife unraveling on his twin brother’s cock. He loves how wrong and dirty it is. All three of you do.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST || another twin story (different au)

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[i-yap]

Hello how are you? I love everything you write and I'm obsessed with Dick Grayson. You could write Dick being obsessed with his pretty girlfriend (we readers) I like these stories where he is obsessed in a way that is not crazy and violent. Usually when they write Yanderes it ends in violence, I don't want anything crazy or violent. Can't a man be obsessed with his girlfriend without ending up like that? please

Heyy im doing well, thank you for asking. I love "pretty girlfriend (we readers)" lmao yes we are pretty readers

Obsessed Dick Grayson x reader

Once dick realizes that what he has with you, what he feels for you and what you mean to him is so much more than his past relationships. Like those relationships don't even come in sight to what this is. He loses it a little.

All of a sudden his easy charms, flirtatious nature and playboy game is just gone and that too when he needs it most.

He gets flustered easy and its really weird for him aka Mr most desirable man in dc.

But don't worry , he learns how to work around those palpitations and blushing-by throwing himself into acts of service. Bringing you water without you even saying by realizing you've been swallowing more than average. Making you dinner which comes out of the oven the second you walk into your home by timing your "I've left work" message and the time on google maps ( or maybe just a tracker on you with your permission)

On the same note..HE IS SO OBSERVANT!! like how did you know that y/n wanted chocolate muffin when she likes trying different flavours every day? oh you analyzed her taste pattern and since she had a fruit in the morning, she will want chocolate? oh okay not weird at all dick

That cringey ginny scene from harry potter of her tying his shoelaces? Yea he sort of does those type of things really often. YOU CANT BLAME HIM OKAY ITS YOUR FAULT MAN HAS LOST ALL HIS RIZZ.

He gets so much more jealous. Like in his past relationships, the girlfriends were jealous not him. He was the one being hit on by everyone. People don't even hit on him as much cause rather than him making charming talk he is just standing behind you, head on your shoulder talking sweet to your ear. In fact it has happened on multiple occasions where he just didn't hear someone because he was busy looking at you in the dress you were wearing. also if you guys ever had a fight in the beginning of your relationship about you being insecure ...he will make sure there is a 4 foot stick between him and any other girl who tries touching him. Will jump onto a chandelier rather than let another girl touch him and risk your relationship . you tell him that its okay and you know he isn't reciprocating their feelings and that he doesn't have to jerk away while loudly saying "no no where's y/n WHERE IS MY Y/N" but he doesn't care nothing comes between him and his baby.

He drops stuff too, forgets whatever line he was about to say and um he has giggled when you complimented him once( but you guys don't talk about that anymore)

He just sort of learns to live with it since this just shows how much he loves you and well..there's no fixing it. And he'll find new ways to fluster you.

i hope this was somewhat you were looking for, have a good day!

[zuzu-fairys-tail]

Just a little rant about the 100 Years Quest.

I think we've all realized that all the characters are really ooc in the hyq. Tbh i think the reason for that is that Mashima doesn't write them anymore.

I think the only part of the story he actually does the story board of, is like the main fights and just a general gist of what is to come.

The reason i say this is cuz the one shot that was released a few days before the hyq anime, was written by him and all the characters seemed much more in character.

For example, Gray and Natsu actually fought like they used too, Gray's stripping habit was more apparent, Ichiya just somehow appearing and Erza being her strict but goofy self.

I think smth that proves this theory is that a fan asked Mashima to draw Lucy in a Pisces star dress, but he had no idea Yukino was even able to use star dresses.

This also kinda explains why Natsu and Lucy's relationship feels so completely different in comparison to their relationship in OG Fairy Tail and why alot of characters feel so ooc.

Ueda doesn't know how to write these characters. He can't write them the way Mashima did.

This is also why Hyq doesn't have the super emotional moments that the OG Fairy tail had. The only one i can remember of the top of my head is when Lucy was afraid of Natsu's flames for the first time but i think Mashima did more of the storyboard in the beginning which is why it seems more fleshed out.

Also i absolutely hate Ueda's art style. They look like they're 15 when they're in their early 20s and Wendy looks like she's 10, unlike when Mashima drew them and Wendy actually grew.

I just had to get this out of my head lmao

[requiemforthepoets]

first encounter ⟢ CL16

⟢ part two of you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part three ☽

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x celestial!reader

SUMMARY: all thanks to leo, charles finally got the chance to meet you—the celestial being who has consumed his every waking thoughts, and managed to find out new things.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: bible angel names references, some people may find this fic offensive, concept of divine beings and heaven & life and death, no use of y/n, angels and devils, mentions of papa leclerc (beginning is set in 2017) and jules bianchi, fluff, falling (literally & figuratively) in love, named side characters, angst but with a happy ending, purely written fic, a little bit of world building (concepts), mentions of death, bad/evil people, cursing, not proofread, and typos.

WORD COUNT: 5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic may not be some people’s cup of tea, if you don’t like it, don’t read it. sorry it took me a LONG time to post the part 2 of this series, i already have this on my drafts but never got the time to check on it bc i’ve been working on my other series (fa14 series), but finally, here it is! the part 3 may take a long time to be posted again 🥲 but you don’t have to worry bc i intend on finishing this series. taglist is open for this series, so just comment or message me if you want to be tagged. your comment/reblog is highly appreciated, and i hope you’ll enjoy this second part of the series!

It was a warm late afternoon in Monaco, and Charles had finally pulled himself out of his apartment, hoping that some fresh air and Leo’s cheerful company might turn off the constant thoughts running through his mind. Since that night in Singapore, you had been all Charles could think about—the image of you standing before him, looking at him as though you knew the secrets he hadn’t even dared to ask himself. Charles had barely gotten a word in before you disappeared, leaving him with nothing but more questions.

The park was mostly empty, allowing him and Leo to stroll without the usual flood of cameras or people hoping to get a quick word with him. Charles enjoyed these rare quiet moments, watching Leo run through the grass, capturing photos of him mid-leap, his ears flapping, and his tail wagging in pure delight. For a while, it was peaceful—that is until Leo began barking persistently, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

“Leo, calme-toi.” Charles called, trying to soothe his normally docile dachshund.

Leo rarely barked at nothing, and Charles couldn’t see what had him all stirred up. As he looked past Leo, his heart skipped. There you were, standing at the edge of the park, just as he had remembered you, dressed in black, untouched by the brightness of the world around you, as if you had stepped from a different realm entirely. Slowly, Charles walked over, kneeling beside Leo, who was still barking.

“Can you see her too, buddy?” Charles asked softly, but Leo only turned his head back towards you.

His barks began shifting into a delighted whine, tail wagging as though greeting an old friend. To Charles’ amazement, Leo took off towards you, bounding across the grass with uncharacteristic excitement. You bent down on one knee as Leo reached you, his small body pressing happily against your touch. Charles just stood there and watched, captivated by the whole sight, how your hand moved over Leo’s fur, and how the dog responded, oblivious to the fact that what he felt was something beyond the ordinary. You then looked up at Charles and smiled, a gentle, knowing expression on your face.

“Hello, little one,” you murmured to Leo, reaching out to stroke him. Your gaze followed Leo’s figure as he trotted back toward Charles. “He’s a beautiful soul. It’s clear how well you take good care of him, he is very happy with this life.”

Charles swallowed, taken aback by the warmth of your words. He felt a huge wave of relief washing over him, and somehow, you were not a figment of his imagination. You were in front of him, speaking to him, your voice soft but firm, grounding him in the reality of your presence.

Noticing a bench nearby, you gestured, “shall we sit?” Charles nodded.

He followed you as you walked, though he kept glancing around as if worried that someone might catch him talking to thin air. The two of you sat side by side, your gaze focused on Leo as he scampered around, while Charles couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at you. The silence between you felt almost sacred, deafening, thick with all the unspoken questions he longed to ask.

“I know you have many questions,” finally, you broke the silence. Your voice was gentle. “Especially as to why you can see me, when others could not.”

Charles let out a shaky breath, nodding. “I—I don’t understand. I’ve seen you before, but you keep on disappearing, and no one else…they never see you.” his voice was a soft murmur, filled with confusion and wonder.

“Our kind, like myself, we’re not meant to be seen by human eyes. We’re here to watch and guide, but only from afar. Most humans only sense us as a passing feeling, a presence.” you softly said, as you studied him with a faint smile. “But in your case, you see me. Truly see me.”

“Why, though? Why am I able to see you?” Charles’ brows furrowed, his gaze intent on yours.

You turned to look at Leo, who was now sitting a short distance away, watching the two of you with a curious tilt of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Leo.

“It’s rare, Charles. But sometimes, there is a connection between our kind to your kind that goes beyond the veil. I’ve thought about it myself, and though I don’t have all the answers, it’s clear that there’s a reason you and I keep crossing paths.”

Charles’ heart raced. The way you spoke, as though fate had woven an invisible thread between you had left him reeling. He glanced around the park, reminded of how strange this conversation must look to anyone passing by, but he did not care at all. The need to understand, to know you, outweighed any risk of prying eyes.

“Maybe…maybe we should go somewhere less public?” Charles suggested, his voice low.

He did not want this moment to end, he couldn’t let you disappear on him again before he had the chance to understand this kind of connection. You looked at him for a long contemplative moment, then nodded.

“All right, lead the way.”

Charles led you quietly through the streets of Monaco and up to his apartment. He hadn’t said much on the way, clearly lost in thought, yet there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. When you entered his apartment, you immediately noticed how it held an essence of him. Warm, understated, and filled with memories. The walls were decorated with framed photographs spanning his life from childhood karting days to podium celebrations in F1. Trophies were all lined up on the shelf, and each piece seemed to carry a story of its own.

You were drawn to the photos, especially those capturing his relationships, the warm smiles he shared with his family, playful moments with his friends, and candid shots of him and his brothers. Then your gaze settled on one particular photograph, and a bittersweet feeling bloomed within you. It was a younger version of Charles, perhaps in his teens, standing alongside a man whose face you recognize. Jules Bianchi.

Charles noticed the direction of your attention as he finished filling up Leo’s dog bowl, and he stepped over to join you, his expression softening as he saw the photograph. Jules had been so much more than just a mentor to him. The man in that photo had shaped parts of his soul and his dreams. You could feel the weight of Charles’ emotions lingering in the air, a tender ache mixed with recognition.

“You knew him?” Charles’ voice was quiet as he stood beside you.

You nodded softly, your own voice taking on a gentle tone. “I was there in his final moments. I was the one who guided him when he was ready to go, helping him crossover.”

Charles’ face was a mix of expression, caught between surprise and disbelief. For a second, he seemed unable to respond, the information settling slowly. You watched him intently as he took a deep breath, grounding himself.

“You…you spoke to him?” he managed, his voice strained with a mix of sorrow and longing.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady but tender. “I spoke with his soul as he lingered between here and the afterlife. It was…peaceful. He was calm when I arrived, almost as if he knew he was not going to stay.”

You paused, “I then asked him about his life, what his favorite thing about life was.”

”He told me that his family meant everything to him. He then mentioned being a godfather, and his dreams for his protégé, a young man named Charles.” you added.

“He said that?” he whispered, breath hitched as he instinctively reached up to touch the frame, his fingers resting just over the image of Jules’ face.

“He spoke of you with such pride, with hope that you would go on to achieve everything he had dreamed for you. Jules saw himself in you, Charles. His last thoughts were with his family and you.” you looked at him softly. A quiet rage simmered in Charles’ eyes as he turned to look at you, his voice tinged with frustration.

“But why? Why couldn’t you let his family speak to him, too? They waited for so long, hoping he’d wake up, to say goodbye properly.” the raw pain and anger in his voice were unmistakable.

Charles had not meant to question your intentions, but the loss of Jules had carved a wound that had never fully healed, and in his grief, he momentarily forgot you were not human. You looked at him with a soft, understanding smile, letting the weight of his sorrow wash over you. You had witnessed this kind of reaction before, how those who are grief-stricken often felt deprived of closure.

“I understand, Charles. If I could have done differently, I would have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “But it wasn’t his body I spoke to, it was his soul. Jules was already watching from the other side, beyond the reach of the physical world. In those moments, he wasn’t in his body anymore, he was seeing all of you from a place where time no longer held sway.”

Charles looked down, processing your words, the anger fading slowly as he tried to keep his emotions steady. He tried to reconcile his emotions with the reality of what you had just shared. He ran a hand through his hair, gaze fixed on the floor as he took in a shaky breath.

“So he…he was watching us all along?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you assured him. “He was with you. Every tear, every moment spent beside his hospital bed, he saw it all, even if he himself couldn’t respond in a way you wished for it to be.”

“Souls don’t always leave the way we want them to. They transition gently, often lingering just to be close to the people they love.” you added. Charles’ shoulder slumped slightly, and he let out a shaky sigh, nodding as if finally accepting what had once seemed unimaginable.

“It…it makes sense,” he murmured. “Jules was always calm, even in the most difficult moments. Maybe he knew it would be easier this way.”

There was a peaceful silence that settled between the both of you, the only sound being Leo’s soft footsteps as he padded over to sit by Charles’ feet. Charles looked at you again, the sorrow in his eyes tinted by a glimmer of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a sincerity in his words that touched you deeply. “For…for being there with him, and for telling me.”

You gave him a reassuring nod, feeling the depth of his appreciation. “He is proud of you, Charles. More than you know. You are honoring his legacy every time you step onto the track.”

Charles closed his eyes briefly, absorbing your words, a new sense of peace settling over him. He knew that the ache would remain, but perhaps now, with you there to share this part of Jules’ journey, it would be a little easier to carry.

Eventually, you found yourself seated on the barstool, observing how Charles moved around the kitchen, gathering ingredients as he prepared a dish called pasta, and noting the way he moved with a quiet confidence. He seemed at ease, but you could tell by the occasional glance he cast your way that he was still processing everything. The strange connection he had with you, a Celestial he could see but others could not. As he stirred the sauce on the stove, he broke the silence, glancing over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“So…what exactly are you?” Charles asked, attempting to sound casual, though his curiosity was clear. “Are you like an angel of death or something?” his brows furrowed slightly as he added.

“No, Charles. I’m not here to take you away,” you assured him, tone gentle, and couldn’t help but smile at his suspicion. “Think of me as a guide and a protector. My duty is to help souls cross the afterlife, to make sure that they are not alone and lonely when they cross the other side.”

“So, you’re…you’re not here for me?” he asked, his voice tentative. You could see the worry in his eyes, as if he had been half afraid that he might be speaking with the very spirit that would one day guide him out of this life.

“Not at all,” you replied. “I’m here because, somehow, we have this connection. I was there in the hospital room, with your father, when you saw me for the first time. It was a natural part of my duty, I was waiting to guide him. Just as I was there for Jules.”

“So you only appear when…someone’s close to death?” Charles’ gaze dropped to the countertop, and he nodded slowly, as if piercing it all together.

“Typically, yes,” you replied. “Humans are not meant to see me. They may sense it, a presence, calmness, or even a cool warmth when I’m near, but that’s usually all. So, I could not quite understand why you could see me. It isn’t common.”

“But I can see you.” he said, almost to himself, as if still trying to grasp this phenomenon.

“Exactly.” you looked at him thoughtfully. “Over time, as I have watched over you, you’ve somehow become aware of me. It’s as if the bond between us allowed you to see me when others can’t.”

You let the words hang, hoping it answered the mystery that had puzzled him for so long. Charles turned back to the stove, his movements slower, as if he were allowing himself time to absorb what you had just said. After a moment, he turned to look at you again.

“Back in Singapore…I kept thinking of you, wondering if you were real or just in my head.” he hesitated, then continued. “And you appeared, it was like you sensed me or something.”

“That’s precisely what happened,” a gentle smile crossed your face as you saw the gears turning inside his head. “I could feel your thoughts, your longing to see me, and so I came to you. Your thoughts, they called to me.”

“But why do you always disappear?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and exasperation. “Every time I think I already have you here, you’re gone the second I look away.”

“It’s not by choice, Charles.” you met his gaze, understanding his frustration. “My presence here beside you is not permanent. I have duties beyond just watching over you, it is my duty to guide other people as well. My duty is to help those souls cross peacefully into the afterlife, which means I’m often called away. That’s why I can’t always be here, even if you want me to be.”

“I understand,” he said softly as he looked down, absorbing your words. “It’s…strange, but it does make sense.”

A comfortable silence fell between you and Charles as he took out a plate and transferred the pasta dish on it. You could still feel the wheels turning in his mind as he processed everything. After a moment, you spoke again.

“If you want me to be with you, well, there is a way.” you said.

He looked up at you, now intrigued. “A way?”

You nodded. “Yes. If you light a match or a lighter and call for me, then blow it out, I’ll hear it, and I’ll come to you.”

“Why a match?” Charles’ brows furrowed as he considered it.

“Fire.” you explained. “It is a symbol of transition. It’s an ancient element that is used to connect realms, to call forth spirits, and to bridge the distance between worlds. When you light a match or a lighter, you are creating a momentary flame that connects you to my realm, and when you blow the fire out, it becomes a message—a summons. I’ll hear it, wherever I am.”

“So, I just…call out to you, light a flame, and you’ll come?” Charles’ lips curved into a small smile.

“Yes.” you returned his smile, feeling the warmth in his gaze. “As long as you need me, Charles. Wherever you are, I’ll always find a way to be there.”

Charles looked at you with a mix of gratitude and something deeper, a newfound comfort that seemed to settle over him. In that quiet moment, Charles reached for his fork, but his gaze lingered on you, a newfound clarity softening his features.

“Thank you.” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He then placed a plate of pasta right in front of you, and you tilted your head, looking at the dish with sheer curiosity and slight confusion. Charles noticed your expression, stopping mid-motion as he raised his own fork.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but genuinely concerned.

“I don’t…eat,” you explained softly, gaze flickering between him and the plate, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Celestials don’t have the need for food, so I don’t know what it’s like to taste something, let alone pasta.” you could see a flicker of surprise and something that almost looked like offense pass over his face.

“What? You’ve never tasted pasta?” he asked, shocked, as he looked down at his beloved dish, looking genuinely horrified. “Pasta is…it’s comforting, it’s warmth and tradition. It’s something everyone has to try.”

“Okay, imagine this—it’s soft and a little chewy, warm and���kind of like a hug, but for your mouth.” he added, grinning at you with his eyes lighting up. “And with this tomato sauce, its got this balance of sweet and tangy, a bit salty too, it just…makes everything feel better.” his expression softened.

You watched Charles as he spoke, entranced and touched by his earnest attempt to describe something so familiar to him yet so foreign to you. Spending this time with him, watching his animated expression, hearing his heartfelt explanations, you begin to understand why his father and Jules had spoken of him so warmly in their final moments. Charles was not only passionate, but genuinely kind and unpretentiously funny. There was a gentleness to him that touched your heart, even if it couldn’t beat the way a human’s did.

Hours slipped by so fast, and you both found yourselves seated on his living room couch, talking quietly, the evening light fading around you. Charles asked questions after questions, fascinated by your world and by what you do. You answered each one as best as you could, and with each answer, his awe seemed to deepen. You shared stories of guiding other souls, moments of peace and love you had witnessed. He listened, hanging onto each word, and you could see a newfound calmness in his eyes.

While you were in the middle of telling him a story about guiding an elderly woman who had waited until all her children were by her side before letting go, you heard a soft sound. Glancing to your right, you found Charles with his head tipped back against the couch cushion, his breathing steady and calm. He had drifted off, exhaustion settling over him like a soft blanket. For a moment, you just watched him, studying his peaceful face. Charles’ long lashes rested against his cheeks, and a gentle warmth seemed to radiate from him, a stark contrast to the chill you carried with you.

A quiet yearning tugged at you as you lifted a hand, your fingers hovering near his face. You wanted, just once, to feel the warmth of human skin, to know what it was like to truly touch, but you know better. If you let your fingers graze him, he would only feel a cold wisp of air, a reminder that you didn’t belong to this world in the same way as Charles did. So, reluctantly, you lowered your hand and simply looked at him, memorizing the moment.

You had spent nearly the entire day with Charles, and though part of you longed to stay, you knew it was time to leave. Quietly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to where Leo was resting nearby. You knelt down beside the little dachshund, who lifted his head to watch you with those soulful eyes, tail giving a soft wag, and you reached out, your fingers ghosting over his fur.

“Leo, I know that your past life was not kind to you and had been cut short, but you’re safe now. In this life, you’re well taken care of and so loved.” you spoke softly, as Leo seemed to tilt his head, like he understood every word you say. “Charles is a good man, he will love and take care of you, always.”

As you straightened up, Leo continued to watch you, his eyes filled with a sense of understanding. You turned to take one last look at Charles, still asleep on the couch, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. A soft smile crept over your face as you watched him, there was a wave of warmth washing over you, even without a heartbeat to drive it.

With a final, quiet glance at Leo, who looked back at you with trusting eyes, you let yourself disappear, and slipped back into the unseen world that had always separated you from the people you guided. Yet, for a short moment, you knew you had left a part of yourself with Charles and Leo in that Monaco apartment.

Charles woke up with a dull ache running through his neck, reminding him of the night he had spent sleeping on the couch. He rubbed the sore spot, groaning slightly as he tried to stretch out the stiffness. For a moment, he just sat there, gathering his thoughts, until the memories of last night’s memory surfaced. The conversation, quiet moments, and then the emptiness when he realized you had left. He sat back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as a sense of longing settled over him, a quiet ache that wasn’t so easily stretched away.

A small bark drew his attention to Leo, who was sitting nearby, watching him with an endearing tilt of his head, and noticing Charles’ contemplative state. He smiled and reached out, calling Leo over.

“What do you think, Leo? It was one strange night, huh?” Leo padded over gently, wagging his tail as Charles scooped him up, holding him close.

For a few minutes, Charles simply enjoyed and basked in the warmth of Leo in his arms, the familiar comfort that Leo offered in the midst of all the strange, unexplainable things that he was feeling. Last night had been a fever dream for him, but he knew that it was real, that it happened.

“Do you think it’s strange? Wanting to see her again?” he added. Leo just responded with a quiet, comforting look and nestled close to Charles.

After a while, curiosity began to gnaw at him. Charles could not shake the desire to know more about you, as to why he felt this pull, this connection that seemed impossible and yet so real. He padded into his bedroom, grabbed his laptop and settled in, typing Celestial Angels into the search bar. Countless articles, myths, and even fiction flooded his screen. Charles sifted through several pages, skipping over anything that seemed overly romanticized or far-fetched, until one article caught his eye.

The article spoke of Celestial Angels who formed deep bonds with their humans, describing how they acted as protectors, watchers, and guides. It mentioned the rare connection that could occur, a phenomenon where an angel might become so deeply intertwined with a human soul that they developed a sense of longing or even love, something that was both a blessing and a curse for the Celestial. As he read further, Charles could not help but wonder if this was what he had experienced, if this was the reason he kept seeing you, why he felt such a pull toward you.

Charles then stumbled upon a book: The Celestials by an author named Celestine Williams. The cover featured a faint, ethereal image of a figure wrapped in light, the silhouette barely discernible, much like he imagined you, and the description noted that it explored the stories and folklore surrounding Celestials and their interactions with humans, a deep dive book. The reviews were glowing, a few feedbacks talking about how the book shed light on the mysteries of these beings and the unique connections they could form. Without a second thought, Charles clicked buy, hoping the book would give him a glimpse into your world, something that might help him understand you much better.

Charles then returned his attention back to the article. But his focus kept drifting, thoughts of you had surfaced in his mind unbidden, wondering where you were right now, what you might be doing, if you were watching over someone else or wandering through some hidden place unknown to humans. The pull to see you, to call you, was growing stronger by the second, becoming a quiet ache that settled deep in his chest.

He set the laptop aside, exhaling as he mulled over the idea. Charles remembered what you had told him when he needed you—that he could call you by lighting a match or a lighter, a summon that would draw you to him. He doesn't know if it would even work, or if you would even come, but the need to see you was already overriding any doubts that he has. So he then grabbed a small lighter that he kept somewhere hidden in his kitchen and went to his living room, sitting down on the couch with Leo curled up beside him.

Charles knew it was kind of absurd, like it was something straight out of a fairy tale of a late-night ghost story, but last night, you had told him that if he wanted to see you, all he had to do was light a flame and call out to you. A part of him, the rational side, wanted to shrug it off as nonsense. But then the other part of him had witnessed things that were impossible and felt that strange connection to you, urging him to at least give it a try.

“Am I really fucking doing this?” he murmured, looking down at Leo for approval. But Leo just looked at him, with a face that said ‘what’s the harm in trying?’ “Ah, fuck it.”

Finally, with a deep breath, he flicked the lighter on, watching the tiny flame flame dance as he whispered out to you, a barely audible plea for you to return. The flame flickered as he called out to you, then he blew it out gently, his eyes lingering on the wisp of smoke that rose and faded. His heart was pounding, unsure if should expect an immediate response or if he had simply made a wish to the empty air.

A hush settled over the quiet living room, and for a moment, nothing really happened. Charles felt a pang of disappointment, even a touch of embarrassment at how eager he was and had hoped. He let out a disheartening chuckle, letting out a quiet sight right after, and lowering the lighter, thinking that maybe he had been mistaken or that the depth of the bond he felt was just his pure imagination.

Just as he stood up, about to return the lighter back into the kitchen, Charles felt a shift in the air, a delicate, almost undetectable shimmer, like a faint breeze brushing across his skin. He looked up, and there you were, standing in the soft morning light, an almost imperceptible glow framing your presence. The world seemed to pause, the weight of the day fading away as he took in the sight of you. You stood there, a soft, otherworldly light around you, the faintest hint of warmth in your eyes as you looked at him. Charles felt his breath hitching, he had not realized how much he missed seeing you until now. He began feeling a strange mix of relief and happiness.

“You called for me?” you asked softly, your voice like a distant melody.

Charles nodded, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrassed, but unable to look away at you. “I…I did, I hope it’s okay. I just…” he paused, fumbling over his words. “I wanted to see if it works, and to see you again. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“You’re allowed to call for me, Charles. That’s why I told you how you can reach for me.” you smiled gently, a warmth in your expression that seemed to reach him despite your distance.

“I’ve been reading about Celestial Angels, trying to understand.” he let out a soft chuckle, placing his hands inside of his pockets, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I came across all these stories about angels who…form connections with their humans.” Charles looked down, collecting his thoughts.

“I guess I just wanted to understand what we have. Why do you keep on appearing, and why does it feel like I know you, even though I don’t really.” he added.

“The connection between an angel and their human isn’t something that happens every day. It’s rare, something beyond explanation.” your expression softened, and took a slow step forward, closing the gap between you. “We’re not supposed to form attachments, but sometimes, it’s as if the universe allows it, just for a moment.”

“So…it’s real, then? I’m not imagining it at all?” his gaze never leaving you, but filled with curiosity.

“No, Charles,” you shook your head. “You’re not imagining it. It’s real. You were always different, even from the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t know what this all means, but I want to understand.” he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, voice quiet, and a raw honesty was lacing his tone as he held your gaze.

“Sometimes, understanding isn’t possible, not in a way humans desire. Some things simply are.” you said quietly.

You then placed a hand near his, close enough that Charles could almost feel your presence, but not quite touching. The silence stretched, rich and weighty, filled with words left unsaid. Finally, he managed a faint smile.

“Thank you. For you know, for coming.” Charles said softly.

“For you, I always will.” you replied, smiling at him.

taglist : @charlesgirl16 , @chloes-book-corner , @wierdflowerpower

[joemama-2]

THE BALLERINA

synopsis: Gojo Satoru is a man of power, status, and strength. nowhere in his life does he have time for relationships, let alone love. but he starts to question his boundaries when a pretty ballerina catches his attention.

tags/warnings: gojo x fem reader, minor fluff, angst, major character death, depression, strong language, sexual content, self-harm

word count: 2972

divider credit @cafekitsune

This story begins with a man and a woman. These two are from completely different worlds. They were brought together by nothing more than a simple bump-in occurrence. At least, that’s what the woman thinks. In reality, the man has been watching her for a while now. A man like him shouldn’t be nervous, but the woman makes him feel just that. She doesn’t even know she does it, it’s natural. And that scares the man.

Anywho, there’s a man and a woman. 

This man is named Gojo Satoru. The woman….is you. 

Now, this is not about how two strangers fell in love. It’s about how time got the best of them. How simple mistakes led to a downfall. Pay close attention because as soon as you think you have him, you don’t. Or maybe…it’s him who doesn’t.

Gojo first sees you while you’re on stage. You look beautiful, stunning, shining (literally). There’s others on stage with you, but his eyes stay on you for some odd reason. The auditorium is large, many of its attendants dressed up for the formal occasion. They watch on in awe, some even recording subtly. There’s others who whisper amongst themselves about the entertainers. 

“Wow, look at that one, her form is excellent.”

“Oh my, I love this part.”

“So beautiful.”  

The last part is muttered by him. He says it to no one, considering he’s alone. But a small part of him hopes you can hear the praise that’s directed at you. Of course you can’t. But he hopes. Hope is something funny to have, isn’t it?

His arms are crossed over his chest, a small smile on his face as he focuses on the way your body twists and twirls, toes pointed high in the air. There’s a smile on your face too, it’s fitting for the setting. The white fabric looks stunning on you, but you know what looks even more stunning?

Your eyes.

Gojo Satoru admitting someone has prettier eyes than him? How comical. But really, he’s right. He almost jumps in his seat as your eyes make the briefest of glances to scan your audience and he swears you saw him. Again, he hope you did. 

Hope will be a recurring theme in this story, you’ll come to find out.

Gojo is the first to stand and clap once the performance finishes, the rest of the attendants following soon after. You and your other girls smile, giving a small bow of appreciation. And just like that, the curtains close and the lights slowly start to turn back on. He wants to rewind time and watch it from the beginning, watch you from the beginning. If only being the holder of the Six Eyes and Limitless allowed him to time travel, that would’ve been very helpful in this story. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Here you are.” Gojo’s arm reaches up to grab the canned pineapples the employees just had to put on the highest shelf. 

You’re a little shocked by the presence of this strange man, but ultimately smile politely. “Oh, thank you so much.” with a nod, you grab the can from his hand and place it in your basket. “Don’t know why they do that, it’s a bit of an inconvenience.”

He chuckles, head tilting. “I bet. Luckily I was around, huh?”

Your laugh almost puts him in a daze. “Yeah, luckily.”

You thought that would be the last time you would ever see the man, you were wrong, of course. At first, it was creepy. You remember calling him out on it.

“How come you’re everywhere I turn?”

“I’m a magician, that’s why?”

“Or a creepy stalker?”

“More like a curious one.”

After that conversation, it didn’t help your suspicions. But he never went further than talking. Your optimistic, or maybe naive, side took over. So eventually, you let it be. If Gojo was there, that would mean you weren’t too far away. Days turned into weeks, then months, then a year.

A whole year since you met him. It’s almost baffling how time moves so quick. Just like Gojo, you wish you could go back. He never misses a recital, practice, anything. Gojo is always there to support you whether that’s on the sidelines or helping you stretch. 

His hands feel too warm for you, like it’s a familiar sensation that you haven’t yet recgonized where from. That thought throws you off a little bit but you’ve been pushing it away for a while now. Within the year you’ve known each other,you’ve come to learn that not only is he incredibly handsome, but he’s incredibly secretive. You don’t like secrets. You never have and never will. Secrets for what? What is that other person hiding? The uncertainty draws you away and the fact that he’s not even comfortable telling you. When in all honesty, you’ve told him too much.

He’s only told you he’s an only child and that he’s loaded. Well, he didn’t exactly tell you the first part. But the second he pulled out his black card when buying you a new pair of slippers after you others ones have been used for too many years, that was when it clicked. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gojo and you became close, maybe even too close. Labels and boundaries have been lost anf thrown to the wind. Maybe you’re friends. Maybe you’re more than that? I mean, do friends really touch each other like you guys do? Say the things you guys say? Well scratch that, there’s one boundary Gojo has set in place.

He doesn’t do relationships.

You were okay with that, really. Because at the same time, you weren’t looking for a boyfriend. You were too focused on yourself, learning the new dance for each upcoming recital, making sure you’re form was the best of the best. You were a perfectionist. So essentially, you agreed to his terms.

But can you really blame yourself? Who wouldn’t begin to feel a shift with the way he held you and fucked you like you were his lover, his wife, his soulmate? Never did you voice your opinions because you were conflicted. He was the first man who showed you everything, he was your first. You tell yourself it’s normal and that if you get involved with others, these weird feelings will fade.

However, you should’ve thought twice about saying this to Gojo while he was balls deep in your sweet cunt.

“I…I have a date tomorrow night.”

He freezes mid thrust, muscles automatically tensing. When he pulls his head back from the crook of your neck, the looks in his eyes in different, unrecognizable. Theres a frown on his face, a stark contrast to what it was before and he almost seems angry.

“You what?”

With hazy eyes, it’s hard to focus on him as his face hovers above your own. His hand holds your jaw, titling it up. The silence is tense. You suddenly get the feeling that you made a big mistake because although there’s anger in his eyes, you can see a hint of betrayal hidden underneath. Your lips part but words fail you.

“What did you just say?”

“What’s….what’s wrong?” you ask back, wincing as he pulls out completely. Immediately, you clock in on the fact that he’s turning around, reaching down for his boxers and pants he discarded on the floor. Panic sets in and you sit up hastily, using the duvet to cover your bare form. “Satoru, why–what are you doing?”

“Getting dressed.”

“But why? I thought we were–”

“Have some things to take care of.”

His response scares you and you almost want to cry with how things have changed so quickly. Your hand reaches out for his arm. “Are you mad at me? Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Gojo hates how your voice can make his expression falter, but he pushes through, gently removing his arm back as he stands. “It’s not you, I just realized something.”

“Satoru–” you stand with him, tears threatening to fall down. He doesnt turn around to face you, even while buttoning his shirt back up, grabbing the dark glasses he left on the bedside table. You don’t even realize you’re trembling before a broken sniffle leaves your lips.

He hates the sound, hates when you’re like this. He hates that he caused this. For a moment, he closes his eyes and he turns around, forcing his casual smile back on his face. You see right through it, he knows you do. So why is he still faking? “Don’t worry, okay? I’ll see you around.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was weeks until you saw him again. And when you did, you knew things weren’t the same. His touch never lingered longer than it should, no more stupid flirty remarks, no more winks, no more sex. It was strictly…..friendly. 

You didn’t know if you hated it.

You fall to the ground with a frustrated huff, shaky hands clenching into fists at yet another failed attempt of a cabriole. The recital is in five days and you can’t get this part right. It doesn’t help when the others have moved way past this point, sometimes regarding you with looks of concern and impatience. You were disgusted with that, but you were even more disgusted with yourself. You force yourself back on your feet and walk back to the starting position.

“Maybe you should take a break. You’re obviously frustrated and you won’t be able to–”

“I will.” your sharp voice cuts off his, gulping down the lump that has formed in your throat. 

Satoru knows better than to try you when you’re like this, so he swallows down his words and keeps off to the side, a water bottle in hand. His glasses are still on and when you give him a glance, your irritation skyrockets. Did he really not even want to look at you? Has he become that repulsed by you? He has some nerve, blowing you off and treating you like a stranger. You didn’t even do anything and he’s being a complete asshole about everything for no rea–

Your thoughts are cut off by a sharp pain shooting through your ankle. You hadn’t even felt your body move, it was as if it had a mind of its own. While your thoughts were filled with vile insults, you failed yet again. Why are you failing so much all of a sudden?

Your form crumples down to the floor with a shriek, instantly holding the injured limb. Satoru’s body moves on its own too, within the second he’s by your side with wide concerned eyes.

“Shit, are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

His words don’t do anything. You can’t even offer a response because you’re too preoccupied with pain and anger. You can’t do something that you’ve been spent years dedicating yourself to. Sleepless nights and injury upon injury, this should be a slice of cake. It should be easy. But just like with Satoru, you feel different. Forcing yourself to dance, forcing yourself to a blind devotion, forcing yourself to be unhappy. But, since when has ballet made you unhappy? You didn’t know.

“Get away.” you mutter quietly.

His brows furrow and he leans closer. “Wha–”

“I said get the hell away from me.”

Using your upper body strength, you push him away. You wished you hadn’t. But he pushed you away that night, so why can’t you return the favor? “Get out and don’t come back. You’re making me mess up.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Gojo Satoru speechless is a funny sight, if this were a different situation, you would’ve laughed. But you don’t, you can’t. He finally finds his voice. “You’re not serious.”

That pushes you even more, gritting your teeth as you look up at him. “I’m dead serious. Get the hell out. Don’t touch me and don’t even talk to me. Your entire presence is a distraction and I hate you for it.”

You knew what you were saying was wrong and hurtful. You were aware of that fact. But they still tumbled out. You still cried in front of him once more. And he still turned his back on you.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working with an injured ankle isn’t for the weak. It isn’t for anyone. Your teacher and doctor would’ve advised you not to, but they didn’t know. You didn’t even remember the last time you slept or ate properly. Everything disgusted you and you intentionally avoided the mirrors in your apartment, covering them with blankets. 

However the pain of forcing yourself to use your ankle, the pain of starving yourself, the pain of just existing is something you started to savor. You would laugh to yourself wondering what went wrong. How long have you been feeling like this? Was meeting Satoru just the catalyst to your inevitable destruction? 

As you stand on stage in front of the suddenly blinding lights in a suddenly uncomfortable attire, you pray in your head to whatever god that’s listening to save you. To take you away from whatever hell you were being subjected to. You’re holding your tears in so it won;t ruin the makeup you spent hours on. Your movements feel stiff and forced, hands tembling while you can barely even present a smile on your face.

You just had to have a solo segment. You just had  to say yes to it. You’re people pleasing even to the end.

Gojo Satoru just had to be in the crowd. 

You two just had to make eye contact.

And you just had to fall in front of everyone. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A sudden call too late at night alerts Satoru while he’s sitting at is dining table that’s too big for one person. He almost doesn’t want to answer, but as soon as he sees the familiar name, he’s answering on instinct.

It’s silent on the other end for a second and he begins to think you buttdialed him. That’s until he hears your voice for the first time in who knows how long. And God, you don’t sound like yourself at all. “Satoru?”

His heart is cracking while listening to you. You sound defeated, almost scared. But why? “Y/n.”

There’s a breathy chuckle on the other end. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Of course not.” he wants to say it’s because he can barely sleep at a regular time, but he holds back. “I’ve been up.”

More silence. 

“Ah, I see.” he can hear the contemplation in your voice. “I didn’t mean to call so suddenly, I’m just….thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

Satoru’s heart clenches and twist in an ugly manner. “Funny, I was just thinking about you too.”

And you laugh again, so does he. For once, it felt nice. For once, it felt like how it did before.

“Are you busy right now?”

“No.” is his automatic response. 

“Okay, I’m glad. Can you…come over?”

Come over? He hasn’t been over since that dreadful night. Anxiety porus through his veins and he gulps, hesitating for a small second before nodding. “Of course I can.”

“I’ve just….I’ve missed you. Wanted to hear your voice.”

He’s already grabbing his keys and heading out. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His long legs lead him to his car quickly, getting in and balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. “I’ve missed you too.”

You smiled and you wish he could’ve saw it. 

“I’ll see you then.”

“...See you.” 

Three words are on the tip of you guys’ tongues. Three words. But even three words can be hard to admit. So, you hung up on him.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your apartment is empty when he walks in, confused using the spare key you know he knows about to get in. For some reason you always left it there. It’s like you wanted him to come and see you even when you said you didn’t.

After some wandering, he goes into your bedroom. Flashbacks and nostalgia hits him like cold water. His legs feel shaky all of a sudden and his breath hitches. There’s a small box on your bed that draws his attention. It’s white and wrapped with a red ribbon. Carefully he unwraps it, dread filling his stomach and heart pounding fast. Static is the only thing he hears.

As he opens the box, a pair of ballet shoes greet him.

Yours. 

Not just that, but a small letter.

He opens it with too much force, hands shaking. 

“I’m sorry. I really hope you don’t stay mad at me.

I had so much fun meeting you and giving you everything I had.

Please, live on for me.”

His feet are moving before he can fully register it, calling you as he searches through the apartment for you. Tears fill his pretty eyes and short labored breaths are emitted from his mouth.

His world stops spinning when he hears your phone ring in the barely open bathroom door. In truth, Satoru had a feeling he knew what he was going to find once he entered. His mind knew, but his soul didn’t want to.

Because before him is a sight he can never erase from his memories. 

A bathtub filled with dark water. A bathtub he would bathe with you in sometimes, rubbing your back and combing shampoo through you hair while you giggled.

You’re in it still.

Laying upright with no life in your eyes, a knife in your hand that has toppled over the rim.

If you asked Satoru what he thought in that moment, this would be it.

He wished he died with you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so that’s it. The story of the man and the woman. Happy endings are something neither were familiar with. 

The man now only has a memory that he’ll keep burned into his brain forever, of the woman.

The memory of,

The beautiful ballerina.

a/n: this story was loosely based off the korean film "ballerina". i loved it so much and it was just SO beautiful to watch. anyways, thank you all for reading! much love!

[mi-i-zori]

A Tiny World

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Snail really likes to play Animal Crossing to relax. Turns out, Ghost does too.

WARNINGS : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

OC Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A Little Snail Under the Rain - Masterlist

Playing Animal Crossing is Snail’s way to escape the world whenever she can’t do or focus on anything else.

At the beginning, her first goal is to fill the museum to the brim - which she does pretty quickly, allowing her character to sit on a bench in front of the exhibits and enjoy the music playing in her ears. The aquarium is her go-to place to fully relax. Sometimes, she even falls asleep, leaving her little persona to bob her head left and right while watching the fishes.

When she really wants to empty her mind, she focuses on building her own little world. She’s quite indecisive about the theme she wants to follow to decorate her island, which leads her to divide it in multiple « regions ». Each one has an aesthetic that progressively gives way to another one, like a natural border that allows her to create a smaller theme in-between.

To go with these regions, she’s made different characters. They, too, live in a house and are dressed to fit a specific theme, and she enjoys crafting stories for each one of them. Her favourite house is like her own little museum, filled to the brim with curiosities of all kinds. Insects, fishes, plants, skeletons… The main room looks like an old apothecary shop, and a part of her longs to be able to make her own apartment a real version of this virtual house.

Ever since he stumbled upon her playing quietly in the common room, Ghost has been sharing this moment of peace with her, watching her play, learning about the game and the little world and characters she’s bringing to life. He rejected her offer to create his own character in there, but it doesn’t stop him from sitting next to her and throwing a few glances at the screen while reading or watching TV, or fully focusing on it while sipping on a cuppa.

« You sure you don’t even want to try playing a little bit, LT ? » Is what Snail keeps asking every single time - and, at some point, Simon gives in.

He finds that he really enjoys fishing the most, hunting bugs being a close second. Snail excitedly explains every single mechanic of the game to him, and the roles end up being reversed. She’s now the one watching him play as he keeps catching the most expensive things for her to sell as if he’s been doing this for his entire life, and he quietly listens as she blurts out random trivia about whatever fish or bug the little character is showing off.

There’s a moment when a neighbour actually manages to steal the expert’s target, immediately digging their own grave. Simon now sees a mortal enemy in them, and is ready to unleash hell on their life whenever he can. Snail taught him how to use the net as a weapon, causing him to whack the poor fellow on sight, despite her asking him to not be too mean. She likes this neighbour - it’s a frog, after all, and they’re nice to her. She does her best to keep them on her island, making it up to them after Simon’s spent at least an hour bullying them.

To try and salvage what’s left of her friendship with that neighbour, Snail introduces him to the islanders she actually wants to move away.

« LT, this one said the custom mushroom dress I made for myself wasn’t fashionable. Can you please help me unleash Hell on them until they leave ? »

« This guy put his house on the beautiful patch of rare flowers I’d made for my new zone. It took me weeks to get them all and now I have to remake everything ! »

« I don’t vibe with this islander. They’re mean to everyone, and made my best friend sad. »

« Equip your net, » is what he always says in return, settling comfortably on the couch before grabbing the controller.

Simon never realised how satisfying it could be to whack the characters of a cute video game on the head in-between a few sessions of fishing. So much that it’s become a little ritual now.

Though he still adamantly refuses to create his own character.

[goldenlaquer]

Woahhhh if asks are open... can I ask for Gintoki trying really hard to impress this girl he likes, but everything goes to absolute shit because this is Gintama? Totally fine if you delete! I still devour all your old stuff to fill my soul with life 🥹 Never come across anyone who writes Gintama as accurately as you bebe 😘

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

If Gintoki made a list of pros and cons about himself, it would probably read like this:

Pro: he has a big dick. (Big dick reading as BIG DICK, in bold, all-caps. Triple underlined.)

Con: he's a perfectionist. (Con: he's a liar.)

So, it isn't all that hard to imagine impressing you would be a Herculean task for Gintoki.

Asking Kagura for advice is like shooting yourself in the foot. Gin-chan is penniless, she says matter-of-factly. No lady wants a broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend. A pause to let him absorb these insults, and then, Papi brought Mama three heads, she kindly tells him like it's the secret to your heart, and that's very romantic in Yato culture apparently. Which reminds Gintoki that Kagura is from a different species just as much as her barely counting as female to begin with. Well, in human culture, he could give you as many heads as you'd want— but that's bases away and he's been swinging strikes all throughout this sad, unrequited game.

Asking Shinpachi— no, no. Now, that's a lost cause.

He tries. He does. He really tries.

He tries complimenting you. Suavely slide in a comment about how your teeth looks like it could bite into hard candy, no problem. That your hair doesn't look as dry and brittle today than it did yesterday, and oh wow, your tits look... wow. Double thumbs up.

He tries paying for your meal, to show that he can provide for you, that he's not going to be the broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend Kagura deemed him to be. Work a few odd jobs and have all the correct bills in his normally depleted wallet, even break a comb on his hair and get dressed to the nines in his nice, regular clothes that passed the sniff inspection when he shook it out from a pile of unwashed laundry— and it's just, while on the way to his favorite family diner he invited you to, he's passing by a pachinko parlor, with all of its flashy get-rich-quick displays and bright dinging noises from within, and that was when he's suddenly sensing it... the taste of victory. Long story short, the only thing he'll end up tasting is the strawberry parfait that you paid for.

Whatever poor progress that manages to inch forward always ends straight back to the negatives. Damn the perverted stalker and her masochistic plays she forces on him. Damn the timing and whatever deity has pitted against him when you step onto the scene to the sight of him wielding a paddle as the stalker squeals happily while tied to the wooden cross. No, this isn't— he wants to tell you, but your expression has already smoothed into a carefully blank canvas before you turn your back to him and walk away to leave him to... it. No, this isn't what it looks like, he wants to scream.

In a mood of desperation and shots deep in cheap gutter sake, he'd even wrote a poem in the dead of night, detailing the color of your eyes and all the things they reminded him of, invented a new word just to make a rhyme with your name, how the sound of your voice catches in his chest when he hears it— shit if he knew anything about pretty words, he'd never wrote anything longer than a drawn penis before— and once he was done, what he did next was ball the whole sheet up, open the nearest window, and pitch it to the stars. The lamest shit he ever did in his life will be taken to his grave.

Sometimes, because his name is Gintoki, and he is the protagonist of a septic tank for low hanging fruit comedy series called 'Gintama', sometimes the whole universe is against him.

There is a two episode-length arc the occurs, but due to the time-constraints of these headcanons and the writer's own laziness, the details of it shall not be outlined, but please know it involves an exposition, conflict, rising action, a climax (and not the good kind), falling action, some explosions and a tiny grave misunderstanding that leaves you storming from the wreckage in fury and exasperation, and Gintoki catching your wrist, spinning you around to face him. Emotions and adrenaline running high, chests heaving in exertion, and seeing your face covered in soot and sweat and your eyes huge and wet, looking damn more beautiful than you have any right to be, that's when Gintoki finally decides to put his big balls to use and confess himself to you. Opening his mouth and—

Plotfully, the wind picks up, and then suddenly a wadded ball of paper rolls to hit your feet. Both you and Gintoki look down to stare at this interruption. You bend down to pick it up and unfold the ball, startling at whatever you find, snapping your eyes up to him. "Gin, your name is on here?"

Shit! Gintoki realizes, recognizing the paper now. This is the worst possible timing! My stupid shitty poem somehow found its way to the woman it was written for. And why the fuck did I sign it!

He looks left and right, searching for a vending machine to put his head through, and when there are none, he's scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you and the damned poem he wrote that found it's way to you, as if was meant to be there. "I wrote it." He finally grumbles. "For you. Don't be creeped out."

Your eyes scan the page from top to bottom, reading. Your eyebrows shoot up, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"This is really what you think about me?" Your trembling voice barely above a whisper.

Gintoki pauses. Then nods. "Yeah. Every word."

Your expression blanks. You turn the wrinkled paper around. Gintoki squints.

Shit! Gintoki thinks. I was so drunk I never wrote anything down, I just drew a penis!

[crowsofdarkness]

A Fight For Darkness: Chapter Three

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard) x Female!Reader.

Content Warnings: language, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of taking own life, black mail, blood, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use, arranged marriage, 18+ smut that I will mention at the beginning of the chapter.

Summary: An unknown text and a list full of questions for what happened to your sister leads you down to the underground fight ring that belongs to none other than Eric Draven, The Crow. Once he captures your eyes with his, the web you were desperate to untangle suddenly tightens.

Authors Note: This is not cannon to The Crow(2024). Shelly nor her and Eric's love story exist in this series. Eric does have his fast ability to heal thought. Tags are open for this series as well!

A Fight For Darkness Masterlist

ERIC

Anyone who knows me knows that I strive by my routine, I don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of that. Every morning I wake up in my loft apartment above my fight club, do exactly fifty push ups, shower, eat toast with butter with my black coffee and head down to the club where I spend all day either doing the day to day grunt office work. Or train for the next fight. Then by eleven p.m when I closed the fight club, I sauntered back up the stairs to my apartment where I shower and then climbed into bed at exactly midnight only to wake up by six in the morning to do it all over again. 

I’d done this every day the last three years since I’ve opened up the fight club, only deterring when the occasional hook up decided to show up but that was so far in between. Especially the last few weeks. I had some girls show up on fight nights wanting to celebrate my win, to which I indulged in a couple. But every time one of the women would lay underneath me, all I could picture was a certain pair of fear filled eyes that flamed with defiance. 

Ever since Y/N’s eyes began haunting my hook ups, I put an end to them. Not only were they disrupting my routine, they were getting in the way of my current mission. 

Again, anyone who knows me knows I never deter from my routine. 

So tell me why I was sitting on my bike across the street from this stupid frilly cafe watching those fear filled and defiant eyes scanning over something on her laptop? 

Y/N didn’t heed my warnings not to look more into her sister's disappearance. Instead, she went full force into it, meeting with random men who either played her along wanting something more or others who sent her off in different directions to make her run into another cold lead. 

It had been almost a month since I told her I never wanted to see her face again yet I’d been watching her every movement for the last two weeks. Either she would hang inside of her apartment which was on the ground floor which made it easy for me to watch her through her windows or she would hang out at different cafe’s. Y/N never noticed me watching since I made sure to keep some distance between us. She had been at this cafe for over four hours now, running through three cups of whatever green drink she’d been drinking. I couldn’t see exactly what she’d been looking at on her laptop due to my position but I knew it had to do with her sister. 

I too had been looking into her missing sister the last few days and what I found out wasn’t exactly shocking, given what happened at my fight club the night Y/N showed up. Which, I was still metaphorically cleaning up by the way. I had my guys dispose of the two bodies and scrub the room with bleach from top to bottom and I wiped clean the security footage after I studied it for hours on end. The first few times, I watched the two guards of Roeg and how they got inside of my club. But I soon found myself watching Y/N on the security footage. The way her dress fit her body like a glove that night, the tops of her breasts exposed due to the low cut. Or the way she turned away in disgust as I fought my opponent that night. 

Every single time I replayed the security footage, my cock would throb inside of my jeans before I’d pull it out with a grip so tight, it made my breath catch in my throat. How the hell had this little minx come into my life unexpectedly and completely turn it upside down?

You know it wasn’t unexpected. There was a reason why Y/N showed up at your club that night. 

Running a hand over my jaw, I continued to watch Y/N as she sat on the patio of the cafe, typing away at her laptop. There was a soft breeze in Detroit today causing the hem of her dress to blow off of her thighs, giving me sight of her skin begging to be marked by me. As long as the weather allowed it, she always wore a dress. I’ve realized she loved to show parts of her body whenever she could and everytime I caught sight of her, my cock begged to be let out. To feel her cunt clench around me. 

“Fucking focus,” I grumbled to myself, seconds before my phone buzzed in my pocket. 

Forcing my eyes away from Y/N, I pulled out my phone to see a new message from Greg, one of my guards. 

Greg: Fight tonight at eleven. Main event. Any invites you want me to send out? 

My eyes flicked over to Y/N across the street, letting them linger for a few moments before I clicked out of my text thread with Greg and opened a new one. Once I finished, I pocketed my phone in time to see Y/N grab hers which was on the table next to her laptop. Her furrowed brows extended as her eyes wideband when she read the text I had sent her, her face looking around rapidly to her surroundings. With a wicked smirk, I placed my helmet back on before she caught sight of me and brought my bike to life, peeling away from the curb for the first time in four hours.

READER

I stood in front of the familiar door, weighing my options. Ever since I received the text earlier today, the one with the bloody crow and some words attached to it, all I could think was if it was a good idea or not to go. 

Unknown: Try not to turn away when I fight tonight, little crow. Also, green is your color.

Immediately after I read the text, I looked around my surroundings because I had been wearing a green dress earlier so they were watching me. It was insane how one word could set my body ablaze even though I had no clue who sent that text. 

Correction, I knew exactly who sent that text. 

Eric Draven. 

I hadn’t seen nor heard from him since that night in his club almost a month ago. I’d been busy doing the exact opposite of what he told me that night. I continued to look into what happened to my sister only this time, it was all I focused on. I took time off of work to put my all into it. There was a reason why I was invited the first time to that fight club and given what I found during my research, I didn’t stumble into that double murder by accident. 

My sister knew the female victim, the hooker as that one guard called her. My sister and her met at a nail salon two weeks before she disappeared. Then, six months later, this other girl ends up murdered. Even though the trail between them ran cold after their initial meeting, I knew this was all connected somehow. I just couldn’t figure out how Eric’s fight club was connected. 

Hence why I’d been contemplating going tonight. 

I absolutely hated violence, couldn’t stomach it due to my past, so the thought of going to the fight club again to watch him fight brought a very sour taste to my mouth. But the prospect of being able to snoop in Eric’s office for more answers was too loud to ignore. 

The part that confused me the most about this entire thing? He told me he didn’t want to see my face inside of his club again so why did he send me another invite?

While I didn’t have proof, along with everything else I’d been looking into, it was evident that Eric had been watching me today due to knowing what color dress I wore. 

To which I reiterated to myself the earlier thought. Why the hell did he want to see me after telling me to stay away?

Blowing out a breath, I glanced in the mirror next to the familiar door I’d been standing in front of; my familiar front door. I was dressed in a pair of leggings and a green hoodie, for no other reason than comfort. As soon as I slipped on my shoes, I paused when I reached for my door, doubt encasing me. The last time I went to this fight club I walked in on a murder, nearly dying in the process. But there was a reason why Eric invited me and I would have been stupid not to go, right? 

It had nothing to do with seeing those bright eyes again. Or drink in the sight of those tattoos that littered his sweaty skin. Absolutely not. It was because he could have answers to the questions I had. That’s all. 

Right. 

Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I opened the door to my apartment ready to step out but halted when a pair of dark eyes pinned me in place. 

“Caught you,” the man smirked before everything went dark.

ERIC

Black. 

Inky black took over my vision, creeping from the inside out as my fist lay into the man's face below me, cheers from the audience edging me closer. My body and mind weren’t communicating together, my fists doing what they wanted as I continued to lay my fist into this man who long ago gave up the fight. I already won, the ref determining me the winner minutes ago, but that didn’t stop me. From the moment I entered the cage, I’d been on a high I couldn’t explain to anyone. No one would understand the rage that filled my veins at knowing she didn’t show up tonight. 

Before my fight, I asked my guards posted up outside the back alley door if Y/N had shown up to which they simply shook their heads. I even double checked my systems to see if her invite was scanned in case the guards didn’t recognize her. She hadn’t shown. 

Of course she wouldn’t show. I meant nothing to her. My fight club meant nothing to her. She wasn’t meant for something like this, like me. I let this woman crawl her way into my routine, my life, and for what? Because I liked the way her legs looked in a dress or how the fear filled her eyes the first time she was in my club. Y/N didn’t belong here and I was an idiot for sending her that invite. I told myself over and over on my way to the ring that I simply invited her so I could remind her to stop looking for her sister, not because I wanted to see her upclose, growing tired from watching Y/N from afar. 

“ERIC!” 

A noise which sounded like someone banging on the cage broke through the inkey haze but that did nothing to stop me from my onslaught on my opponent. 

“CROW!” 

More banging. “You have a phone call! It’s important!” 

My head snapped over to the voice, seeing Greg urging me through the open door, the sounds of the cheering crowd white noise. I let out a broken breath, wiping the blood that gathered on my hands over my chest and pushed away from the broken man beneath me. Rising to my full height, I let the rowdy crowd boost my ego as I took the steps down out of the cage and followed Greg towards my office. I quickly flicked my gaze through the crowd hoping maybe that Y/N showed up but her pretty eyes never met mine. 

Swallowing the disappointment in my throat, I slammed the door shut to my office as Greg handed me my phone. 

“Who is it?” I questioned. 

“Unknown. They won’t tell me who they are or what they want, they demand to speak to The Crow.”

I raised my brow while glancing down to the call that was on hold. “You know I don’t take random phone calls like this. You interrupted my fight for this?” 

Greg snickered. “That find ended long ago, we both know that. But I wouldn’t interpret you unless it was important, you know that.” 

When I urged him with a nod, he hesitated while running a hand over his face. “Whoever is on the other end of the call said you would be interested in this call because they said one name.” 

“Which was?” I sighed, growing aggravated. 

“Y/N.”  

My jaw clenched when the familiar blank ink filled my blood stream again, seeping into the depths of my vision with the mention of Y/N. 

“Get Jay, now! I don’t care how you do it or whatever you have to pay, do it!” 

I ordered while pointing a finger at Greg, whose eyes widened before he scurried out of the office, the noise from the crowd breaking into the room for a few seconds before the door closed.

While Greg was my go to guy, one of my best guards, Jay was my second in command. He was the only one I could trust with situations like this. The only problem? Jay had been picked up by the police three nights ago on a drunken disorderly charge and had been held on no bail since it was against a cop. On top of all of my stalking on Y/N, I’d been dealing with how to get him out of jail. 

Letting out a few steadying breaths, I finally took the phone call off of hold to be met with deep and unsteady breathing. 

“Where is she?” My voice an eerily calm. Something I did not feel inside of my body. 

“Who is she to you?” The voice, definitely Russian, asked. 

Sitting behind my desk, I eased into the old leather seat with a quiet groan. “Why does it matter? Tell me where she is.”

“You know,” there was some rustling on his end. “I’ve spent weeks wondering why this woman showed up in an underground fight club and stumbled upon my boss’ death.”

Alexi Sokolov. This was one of his men. 

“How did you find her?” I asked. 

He hummed. “Pretty easy actually. She asked around about a missing family member and demanded to know if the Russians had anything to do with it.” 

I bit my tongue trying to keep my curses at bay and ran a hand over my mouth instead. 

“Did you have anything to do with it?” I questioned. 

Silence was all I heard for a few beats before the man spoke again. “She’s a pretty one. Put up a great fight while we tried to get answers. So color me surprised when we tossed her place to find your card in the drawer of her desk.” 

“I’m going to-,” I clenched the phone tight in my hand. 

“Check your phone.” 

I blinked at the man's words, taken aback slightly, before pulling away my phone to see a new message pop up with a picture. Y/N was tied to a chair, dried blood stuck to her forehead but fresh blood pooled at a wound on her cheek. Her eyes were filled with fear and not the kind that turned me on. 

It was the kind that scared me. 

I wasn’t completely sure on how she managed to sink her imaginative claws into me so deeply. I didn’t give a fuck about the girls I fucked let alone dated and that was less than two. But seeing Y/N fearing she was about to die, it made that inky black intensify in my vision. 

“So again, I ask. What is she to you?” The man’s voice spoke when I brought my phone back to my ear. 

The office door clicked open and in walked Greg followed by Jay who wore a smug smile on his face. I didn’t have time to note how quickly he’d been sprung from jail or how Greg made it happen because I held up a finger and set the call on speaker. 

“It’s none of your business,” I said. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Draven. This bitch was in the room where my boss was killed. She knows who did it and unless she tells me who it was in the next two minutes, you can find her body at the bottom of the river.”

Muffled screams followed my cries echoed loudly through my phone. 

“That bitch you’re talking about is my wife!” I seethed without thinking. 

Greg and Jay stilled while sharing a look but I didn’t bother trying to explain myself, too busy focusing on the picture still on my screen. 

“Well, this is a turn of events,” the man chuckled darkly. “Half a mil. Parking garage in Greektown. Two hours. If you even think about doing something funny, your wife dies.” 

Before I could respond, the line went dead and I threw my phone across the room, shattering it against the wall. A slew of curses roared from my lips as I pushed myself away from the desk and stormed over towards the closet. 

“Eric,” Greg said with a hesitant voice. “When the fuck did you get married?” 

Quickly tossing on a shirt and throwing a pair of sweats over my shorts, I let out a noise. 

“I didn’t.” 

Jay still wore that smug smile, his blue eyes shimmering with deviance. “I was in jail for less than fifty hours and you went and got married?” 

A muscle in my jaw ticked as I slipped on my boots. “I didn’t. Look, the only way to save Y/N is to protect her the only way I know how. No one will touch her now knowing she’s protected by The Crow.” 

“This guy is requesting half a mil. Is this broad worth all that money?” Greg asked. 

In a flash, I had him pressed up against the wall with a thick forearm against his throat, my eyes blazing with that inky blackness. The only thing that seemed to break through it was the picture of Y/N tied up. 

“That is the second time you called her that. If I hear you utter that word again, I’ll make sure no one will be able to find you,” I said. 

Greg, unable to breath due to the force against his throat, only nodded so with a grunt, I let his body fall to the floor and turned towards Jay. 

“Alexi’s men have her at her apartment.” 

Jay raised a brow. “How do you know?” 

“The picture was taken in her living room,” I answered while grabbing the keys to my bike. 

“Stalking her, huh?” Jay teased. 

I sliced my eyes into him. “I can get to her place in less than ten minutes on my bike. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me.” 

While I went over the plan with Jay, Greg slowly rose from the floor and coughed a few times. “How do you know she’s still alive? That picture could be old.”

My heart thundered in my chest at the idea that Y/N could be dead but I refused to believe it. These were Alexi’s men, they not only wanted revenge but they wanted the money more. They wouldn’t risk killing her before getting the hand off. 

But it wouldn’t come to that. 

READER

Exhaustion clung deep into my bones, and consciousness slowly faded in and out. But the pain was worse. My entire body screamed with the fresh cuts and bruises, the ropes digging into my ribs and arms, keeping me tied to the chair. I could barely see, blood pooling into my eyes from the wound on my forehead and the gag in my mouth was soaked with my saliva. 

All I wanted to do was sleep, the fight inside of me long gone. I wanted to give in, let the darkness that had been trying to take me under finally succeed. I’d been fighting for the last two hours, I couldn’t do it anymore. 

The two men were off in my bedroom, conversing to themselves about something, I didn’t know what. I’d been in and out of sleep for the last hour, ever since they hung up the phone on whoever they called. I could barely hear the conversation because my ears had been ringing due to the pain in my head. I only could scream when one of them wrenched my hair back to contort my neck in a way that ached and brought tears to my eyes. 

Whoever these two men were ransacked my apartment while they rambled on about this other guy, Alexi. Something about revenge and soon, we would all pay. When I told him I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, the taller of the two men hit me upside the head to knock me out. I awoke tied to the chair where they took turns hitting me until I gave up who killed this Alexi dude. I feared they would do something worse than beat me so in order to keep myself safe, I bit back on the sass and tried to make them believe I had no idea what they were talking about.

“Do we believe him? I mean why would she be staying here and not with him?” The shorter one asked the taller one. 

Even through the white noise haze that filled my brain, I could tell they had some kind of thick accent. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here,” the taller man began to pace my bedroom. “I told you this was a bad idea! We’re drug runners, Jeremy! We shouldn’t be doing this. We don’t kidnap and torture people. And now The Crow is after us!” 

I lifted my heavy head at those words. The Crow? As in Eric? 

“Which means he’s good for the money,” the shorter man, Jeremy, snickered while smacking his partner's chest. “I’ll call you when I have the cash so you can put a bullet in her brain.”

That seemed to breathe life into me because as soon as the taller man began stalking towards me, I fought against my binds. The urge to fight once more filled my veins and just as the man reached me, my front door busted open. It happened all at once, Eric stepping through the threshold with a gun aimed at the taller one, dropping him with a bullet to his head. Jeremy slipped behind me and forced the muzzle of his gun to the side of my head. 

“Drop it! Or I’ll put a bullet in your wife’s head!” 

Wife? 

What the fuck?

Eric continued to hold his gun directly at Jeremy’s head while those bright eyes lingered on my injuries. My green hoodie had been cut away from me so the bruises on my arms were prominent under the light of my apartment. I saw a thick vein twitch in his neck as Eric swallowed thickly. 

“I’m only going to say this once. Let her go,” Eric said. 

Jeremy pressed the gun deeper into the side of my head causing me to cry out in the bind in my mouth. My face was a mess of tears and snot. 

“Your wife knows what happens to Alexi so I’m not-.” 

Jeremy’s body dropped to the floor beside me, his blood spraying all over my face, and I cried out some more into the bind in my mouth as fresh tears spilled from my eyes. I thrashed against the ropes around me, the chair nearly falling over until Eric was there, kneeling in front of me to pull the bind from my mouth. 

“Hey, hey,” his soft voice cooed while he cupped my cheeks. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” 

“I didn’t-I don’t know.” I shook my head rapidly, the realization that they were dead and this was finally over suddenly sank in. 

“You killed them,” I whispered while Eric cut away the rope that tied me to the chair. 

He gently helped me up, slowly when I hissed out in pain and kept my gaze on him. 

“They most likely were going to do the same to you, Y/N,” he stated. 

My body felt weak, unable to stand, so Eric helped me through the mess of my apartment towards the kitchen when he had me rest against the counter. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

With a wheezing breath, I held my arm against my ribs where they had kicked me a few times, and I replayed the events of what happened from the moment I opened my front door to the second he stepped through. 

“I don’t know who they called though,” I licked my dry lips. “Or how you knew they were here.” 

“They called me. Demanded I pay them half a mil in order to get you back,” Eric said. 

I weakly narrowed my eyes at him. “Why would they call you?” 

He hesitated for a few beats and it was then that I noticed he had dried blood on his hands and I remembered he had a fight earlier. One that I was personally invited to by him. 

“Did you win?” I asked, nearly blurted out. 

The corner of Eric’s lips lifted in a smile that made something low in my gut burn. 

“One thing about me, little crow, I always win,” he winked. 

I shifted on my feet, hissing at the pain that shot through my body, but it paled in comparison to the way it felt when I heard Eric call me crow. 

“Why did they call you?” I asked again. 

With a sigh, he rested his hand on his hips. “They found my card on your desk. They worked for Alexi and wanted answers for his murder.” 

My eyes widened when I realized why that name sounded so familiar. He was the man in the room that night, the head of the Russian mob. A sob escaped through my lips and my body began to shake. All this time, I thought it had something to do with my digging into my missing sister but it was in fact because of the murder I had stumbled into. 

“Hey,” Eric lifted my chin with a finger, cringing at the wounds on my face. “It’s alright.” 

“No,” I shook my head in his grasp. “It’s not. These guys found me, they knew where I live. What’s stopping other members of Alexi’s group finding me?” 

His gaze hardened. “I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“How?!” I cried, the tears mixing with the wound on my cheek which caused it to smear my face in blood. “Why did they call you? Why did they want you to pay half a million dollars for me? I’m nobody!” 

Eric cursed before taking off his shirt to press it against the side of my face to stop the bleeding. I couldn’t even find the urge to gaze at the tattoos on his chest like the last time I saw him shirtless. 

“The reason why they let you live as long as they did was because they thought you were my wife,” he informed while gazing down at the two dead bodies that continued to take up space in my apartment. 

“I’m sorry, what?” I stood up straighter, the room nearly tilting on its axis. “What gives you the right to claim we are married when we don’t even know each other!”

“It’s the only way I could make sure you were safe until I showed up,” he snapped his head back towards me. “They would have killed you if I didn’t!” 

“So you say we are married?!” I screamed. 

“To save your life, fuck yes!” His voice matched mine, anger evident on his face. 

“Why? You don’t even know me. You told me to stay away yet you invited me to your fight club tonight. Why?!” 

He shrugged. “I wanted to see your face.” 

I stared at him with a blank expression, how nonchalant he quickly became, and scoffed. “Get out. If I never would have met you, none of this would have happened! You don’t know the hell I went through the last few hours, I thought they were going to-.” 

The words died off on my tongue, unable to finish my sentence because the tears began to burn in my eyes. It was true what I said before. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Eric’s fight club that first night and I was stupid enough to almost go again tonight. 

Eric’s eyes flashed with an unknown emotion as he pointed back to the bodies. “And how were you expecting to deal with this, hm?” 

Dropping his shirt to the counter, I let out an aggravated groan. “I’ll call the police. Say they broke in and attacked me, which is the truth, and I shot them in self defence.” 

Eric let out a deep laugh, one that shook me deep to my bones. “The cops? They’ll dig into you and find out you’re searching into your missing sister. Illegally may I add.” 

My jaw dropped slightly. “I’m not-.” 

Quickly he had me pressed against the edge of my counter by his hips and I bit the inside of my cheek when I felt the hardness of his thigh between my legs. 

“Do not even think to lie to me, little crow. I know you’re still looking into your missing sister even after I told you to stop.” 

I glared up at him with defiance flaring in my eyes. “I don’t listen to you. You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do. And you certainly cannot tell people we are married. That’s so fucked up!” 

“I’m doing this for you,” Eric sighed. “You don’t realize the shit you stepped in. Alexi’s men? They’re child’s play compared to Roeg’s men. They’re the ones who chased you that night and it’s only a matter of time before they find you. And the lie of you being my wife won’t keep you alive.”

“What does that mean?” My voice wavered. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his warm breath fanning over my own. 

“We need to make it official. The only way to keep you safe is for us to get married and you come live with me. There’s an unspoken rule that no one messes with whoever is connected with The Crow. I can keep an eye on you until everything blows over. Keep you safe.”

I ignored the way my body ignites as I did my best to gather my next words carefully. 

“Why can’t we keep up the lie?” 

“Roeg’s men are too smart. They’ll look into it and find out it’s not real. I promise you, as soon as this blows over, we can divorce and you can go back to your life.”

I snorted. “You would like that, huh? Having a wife against your will to heighten whatever your agenda is against Roeg? You haven’t even told me who this guy is.” 

Eric shook his head, the earring on his left ear dangling. “This isn't about me, little crow. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why me?” I asked, just above a whisper. 

His finger grazed over the cut on my cheek. “I have no fucking idea.” 

I found myself leaning into his touch. “I’m not important, Eric.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he mused while pressing his thigh deeper against my pussy, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. “You’re more important than you think.”

“If I agree, what do I get out of it?” I forced myself to ask after pulling away from him, knowing that if I didn’t I would do something I regret. 

“Besides not dying?” He teased with a sly smirk. 

“I’m serious, Eric. I’m about to uproot my entire life to be married to a total stranger who runs an illegal fight club because people want to kill me.”

When I finally said it outloud, it sounded even more ludicrous.  

Eric ran a hand through his hair before locking his eyes with me. “Once we are married, I’ll help you find your sister.”

[professorsnape394]

DAY 11 - Unrequited Love

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Rating: 😡

Prompt: Buried

Summary: Long Buried feelings finally come to light and Severus does not know how to react.

A/N: For this one I took inspiration from the last Snapetober I participated in (2021). I found an half-finished unpublished story in my drafts, so here is it finished and fully fleshed out. Enjoy :-)

Warnings:  Angst. Rejection. Spoilers: Unhappy Ending.

Word Count: 2307

Credits to Gif Creator.

Hogwarts Christmas Ball, 1978.

Y/N stared across the dance floor longingly, her gaze captivated by the slender boy on the other side of the room. Despite his tattered dress robes, and slightly greasy hair, Y/N always found herself drawn to him. In fact, her attention was rarely on anything but him. Severus Snape had stolen Y/N’s heart long ago; it was just a shame he knew nothing about it.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of Severus approaching a familiar red-head. While Y/N spent her days watching the boy, Snape spent his trailing around after Lily Evans.

It did not come as a shock to see them at the ball together since it was rumoured her infatuation, James Potter, was absent due to a bad batch of pumpkin pasties. What was surprising, however, was the fact that Severus was supposed to be attending the ball with her. A fact that seems to have slipped his mind.

Fighting back a second bout of tears that week, Y/N turned her gaze elsewhere. While she was under no illusions that Severus would return her feelings, she had hoped that the two of them might enjoy one dance together, even if they remained only friends. She watched on from afar, as her date laughed with another girl. Her face burned with a mixture of jealously and embarrassment.

It wasn’t the first time Severus’ feelings for Lily Evans made her feel small. But it was the first time her best friend had betrayed her so blatantly.  

Hours passed and without a single offer to dance, her classmate’s uninterested in anyone else besides their own dates. Severus remained on the opposite side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the girl whose heart was breaking over him.

Finding the night to be a lost cause, Y/N resided to return to her dorm. With one last glance over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Severus and Lily dancing arm in arm to a slow song; her head positioned intimately on his chest, his lips brushing against her auburn hair.   When he turned in time with the music, Y/N recognised the unrequited look on his face as the same one she often wore around him. It was in that moment she lost all hope of ever ensnaring the man she so longed to love.

That night forever haunted Y/N’s memory even years after she had graduated from Hogwarts. It was the night she had lost all hope on love, and despite trying to overcome her teenage infatuation, the remnants of her feelings still remained. It was this that prevented her from finding love elsewhere, thus leaving her just as alone in her twenties as she had been as a teen.

Diagon Alley, 1985.

Y/N’s usual weekend ritual consisted of a trip to Flourish and Blotts to purchase a brand-new novel, then visit a local café to begin her next literary adventure. It seemed the only way to escape the bitter thoughts of reality that often creeped up on her whenever she was alone.

The familiar chime of the doorbell welcomed her into the shop, the wall of heat easing the sting of the cold winter air outside. She took her time browsing the bookshelves, roaming up and down the aisles multiple different times before settling upon her final pick.

Y/N finally reached for the hardback, tugging only to find it would not budge. The witch crouched to inspect the issue, finding a second hand tightly gripped the spine from one aisle over, seemingly as reluctant to let go as she was.

An irritated grunt echoed through the silence of the shop, and the book was ripped from her grasp.

“Excuse me, what exactly do you think you are doing?” Y/N exclaimed, marching her way around the shelves. “I had that book firs-“

Her voice trailed away, the sight of her competitor stealing all the breath in her lungs.

“Severus.” She gasped.

“Y/N?” He turned to the woman in surprise.

“It’s… good to see you.” She bit back the tone of shock in her voice. A sickly feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

“How long as it been? I can’t remember the last we spoke.”

“I can.” She blurted without thought.

After that night at the Christmas Ball, Y/N swore to never speak a word to the man again. Though it pained her, it was ultimately the right decision to try and lessen the hold he had on her. What hurt more was that he never once tried to reach out after that night; it hadn’t occurred to Y/N that their friendship had meant so very little to him.

Snape raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for the woman to elaborate.

“I should get going. It was nice to see you again, Severus.” She made a dash for the door.

“Wait. Your book.” He called after her, feeling nothing but utter confusion.

“Keep it, it’s yours.” She disappeared from his sight.

Struggling for breath, Y/N planted herself in the far corner of the café, peeling off her layers of scarfs and her winter coat. Her encounter with Severus had sent her blood boiling, flushing her face with colour and breaking a sweat out on her forehead. He was both the first and the last man she wanted to run into on any given day, she just never expected it to actually happen.

He looked so different now; no longer the lanky teenager she first developed feelings for. Yes, his face had aged, but his slight wrinkles only added to his appeal. At least when she thought back on him, she was picturing the scrawny boy with clothes that barely fit him. Now, however, she would forever see him as the man he had grown to become; tall, broad shoulders, and not completely lacking in the muscle department. And it didn’t escape her notice how strong his grip was when he forced the book from her hands.

Burying her head in her palms, Y/N wanted to scream, cry and throw up all at once. What had once been a distant memory of a childhood crush was now back in full force and she couldn’t get the image of the man out her head.

There was no way of telling how long she sat like that, except for the fact her tea had long since turned cold and the busy streets of Diagon Alley had almost emptied.

Had her hands not been pried away from her face, she may very well have sat like that all night. Her eyes first landed on the leather-bound novel that had been placed gently in front of her, not daring to look at where it had come from.

“Y/N.” Severus spoke softly, announcing his presence.

“How did you know I was here.” She croaked, burning a hole into the cover of the book.

“I remembered how much you liked tea. There was only so many places you could run to.” He took the seat opposite hers. “Why did you run?”

Y/N fought the urge to bury her head in her hands again. How was she going to explain the bizarre reaction she had to seeing him again after all these years.

“What can I get you, Sir?” A waitress interrupted, buying her time.

“Coffee. Black.”

“That’ll be with you in just a moment.” She smiled, returning behind the counter, leaving the two of them to sit in silence once more.

The loaded silence between the two threatened to swallow Y/N whole. Her need to see the look on Severus’ face, outweighed the need to hide the embarrassment on her own. She appreciated he did not push her for an answer, but his intense stare had a similar effect. There was no escaping his question.

“Seeing you again, after all these years… it’s too painful.” She stuttered.

Severus swallowed; it was clear he did not expect such an answer from her.

“Care to enlighten me as to why an encounter with me is … painful for you?”

Y/N searched his face for a semblance of understanding, surely he was not entirely oblivious to her feelings for him.

“Do you remember the last time we spoke?”

Severus didn’t bat an eyelid at her swift change of subject.

“I didn’t think I did.” He started. “But upon seeing you again, I think I remember when it was.”

“It was the day before the Christmas Ball in our Seventh year. We were sat in the common room by the fire. I was telling you about my dress, I was so excited to wear it for the ball.” The memory of the moment had her blinking back tears, it hurt to recount the events. “We were complaining that we both had to attend the ball alone, almost everyone in our year had dates and frankly it was a bit embarrassing that no one had even thought to ask me. You on the other hand made your own choice by refusing to ask anyone at all, considering the one person you wanted to ask was already taken.”

“I recall.” Severus clenched his jaw at the mention of the late Lily Potter.  

“Do you remember what happened later that night? You came to me in my dorm; slightly dishevelled I admit, maybe you had been drinking? I don’t know. But you came to me and asked me to accompany you to the ball.”

Severus froze, the memory slowly coming back to him.

“I don’t think you ever knew how happy that made me. I was completely over-joyed at the thought of having a date to the ball. Not just any date; you. You were the only one I truly wanted to go with and I felt like my dreams were finally coming true. I could barely sleep I was so happy. I spent the whole next day prepping and primping, making myself look the best I possibly could, in the hopes I could somehow manage to impress you.”

“You did not need to impress me.”

“Didn’t I?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as a tear fell from her eyes. “Because if my memory is correct; despite my efforts to prepare for a magical evening with you, I spend all of it alone. I arrived in the Great Hall to find my date had apparently been double booked.”

Suddenly it all dawned on Severus at once. He had completely fucked up. Not only by forgetting his arrangement with you, but for leaving his friend on the lurch when she had no one else to go with. He had been so blind by Lily’s request to replace James; he had forgotten everything the two of them had spoken about the night before.

“Y/N.” Severus sighed, massaging his forehead.

“I discovered through my own humiliating research that Lily Evans had become short of a date at the last moment and came to you for help. Which you so graciously offered.” She swiped at the stream of tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Snape reached across the table to take her hand in his.

“It’s done now.” She sniffled. “But you never even spoke to me after that. All those years of friendship forgotten about in an instant.”

“You were avoiding me like the plague, Y/N. I had no idea what I had done to piss you off, all I knew was that you were mad at me. I thought it would be better if I left you alone.”

“I wasn’t mad at you Severus. I was in love with you.” She looked teary-eyed into his pitying gaze.

Her confession left Severus speechless. Had he really been so blind, that he hadn’t noticed his best friend was in love with him?

He swallowed, clearing the ever-growing lump in his throat.

“I had no idea.” His words were nothing more than a whisper.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you? While I was staring at you, you were too busy looking at her.”

Severus closed his eyes, taking a second to think back. She was right, his entire youth was memories of pining after. He hadn’t even taken a second to appreciate the one girl who stuck by him through it all.

“That still doesn’t explain why you ran away from me just now? Did I hurt you so bad that you’re still annoyed with me?”

It was Y/N’s turn to fall silent now.

“I think I should go.” She said after an uncomfortably long pause.

Y/N rushed to stand from the small wooden table, Severus stood just as quickly, blocking her exit path.

“Tell me.” He stared intensely into her eyes, his cold hands wrapping around her dainty wrist. “Please.”

The length between his words and hers seemed to go on for days. Finally, she gathered the courage to say the words she had been holding in for so many years.

“I think… I think I might still be in love with you.” His hand fell from hers, retracting as if he had been burned.

While it was her instinct to run away as far as she could, Y/N suspected this would be the one time she would regret fleeing. She needed to hear what he had to say.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

Her heart sunk.

“Nothing.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “If the obvious doesn’t occur to you, then the best thing to say would be nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated sincerely.

“It really is time I should get going.” This time Severus stepped out of her way, allowing her access to the door.

“Your book.” He lifted it from the table.

“Keep it. If you ever have a change of heart, I might borrow it from you someday.”

Severus nodded, understanding her words.

Y/N took one last glimpse of him before leaving, flashing him a sad smile that might haunt his memory forever.

[mydadleft471]

A Jester Indeed: Part 2

Children, I have returned! Glorious day!

I FINALLY wrote Messmer shit again! Yippee! Thank you all for waiting so patiently. I also have over 500 reblogs which is crazy! I'm so happy.

Anywho, here you go. Enjoy your dinner.

Link to part one here!

Link to my Masterlist here!

You’ve been having a fantastic time in the Shadow Keep.

Putting aside the demigod who you may or may not have been annoying for the past few weeks, there’s so much history to delve through. His Storeroom, which you had begged him to let you go into, held a great many mysteries about the Shamans and the Hornsent. The books you’ve been pouring over alongside shambling shades were fascinating; so much so that you often brought them back to your quarters to read until you fell asleep in your very comfy bed.

Messmer, as promised, had your quarters cleaned. The dust was gone practically overnight and you had fresh clothes, sheets, and as much food as you could ever want. Perhaps this was Messmer’s way of thanking you for sparing him?

Speaking of that, he hardly had time for you. When he wasn’t shut away in his quarters, he was out training with his men. You had often watched him work, muscles rippling and his soldiers watching with as rapt attention as you did. He truly was a fearsome warrior.

You got really lucky.

There was one occasion when he came and visited you not long after you were settled in your new home. He had knocked on your door long after the moon had risen into the starry sky, and you welcomed him in. He looked around the room, inspecting it with a scrutinizing gaze. But his anger quickly dissipated once you let him know just how much you loved your time here. You spared no detail, exclaiming about the lovely clothes you were given and how comfortable your bed was.

He looked so pleased.

As you run through your memories of the last few weeks, a discarded book about Hornsent religious practices on your lap, a loud knock sounds at your door. You get up, carefully placing the book on your side table, and make your way over to the door and open it. It was Salza, a longtime friend and confidant of Messmer’s. He was the most agreeable of his high-ranking men in your eyes, as he had no problem walking you through the Storeroom and loading your arms full of books as he regaled stories of old battles. 

“My Lady,” he bows respectfully.

You sigh. “Salza, how many times have I reminded you to just call me by my name?”

“And how many times have I ignored you?”

“You make a fair point.” You gesture into your room, inviting him in. 

He shakes his head. “As much as I would like to continue my stories of my long-lost days of grandeur, Lord Messmer requires you today.”

“Requires me? What am I, a concubine?” You scoff.

Salza opens his mouth to say something, then quickly shuts it, shaking his head. “Would you accompany me? Lord Messmer does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

As you begin to take a step forward, Salza’s arm shoots out and stops you. You shoot him a puzzled look.

“Not like that. Wear something nicer.”

You look down at your clothes, a simple tunic, pants, and boots. Not very fitting for a lady, you say to yourself mockingly.

“Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes.”

“I’ve brought servants with me to help you, my Lady.” A few shades linger behind him in the dim light of a chandelier.

You quickly wave them in and shut the door. They all wander over to your wardrobe and pull out a few dresses that are, of course, all differing shades of red. You pick the one closest to the fiery red of Messmer’s hair, and the servants nod at your choice approvingly. They quickly get to work ridding you of your garments and lacing up your dress. A nice pair of sandals is placed at your feet and you quickly slip them on.

You move to sit at your vanity, which had to be replaced with one that was more your size. It’s made of a beautiful dark red wood, carefully carved with intricate linings of ivory and ebony. The servants flutter about you, two combing your long hair and taming it, and another picking out earrings and a lovely choker with two silver serpents. A light dusting of blush on your cheeks and some crimson is laid carefully on your lips. Looking into the mirror, you appreciate how beautiful you look. Sometimes, you hardly recognize the battle-hardened warrior you were before coming here.

The servants do one final pass over you and decide you look perfect enough after a few sprays of floral perfume that makes you cough and sneeze.

Finally returning to your door and opening it, Salza looks you up and down.

You hold up a hand. “Don’t say it. Just lead.”

He begins to walk and you follow him closely, your dress gently swishing as you move.

“I was merely going to ask you if you think My Lady fits you now.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess it does.” You say wistfully.

Soon, you arrive at the large door to Messmer’s chambers. The last time you stood in front of these heavy doors, you were trying to kill him. The irony is not lost on you.

The guards stationed in front of the door open them wordlessly for you, the metal screeching against the rough stone floors in protest. Salza stands at your side, and as the doors open, you see the chamber is fully lit up. And very occupied.

All of Messmer’s top men are gathered around his large throne, with the man himself perched impatiently on his seat. He flexes and relaxes his fingers as if he’s summoning his spear.

Salza leads the way inside and you follow, hot on his heels as your sandals scrape against the floor. He takes his place at Messmer’s side and positions you next to him, only a man away from his Lord. You don’t notice so much as feel Messmer’s eyes watch your every movement. As you take your place, Messmer gives you a look of approval, a soft gaze that sends your mind reeling.

“My Lord, I believe everyone is here. Shall we begin?” Queelign says.

Fucking simp.

Messmer nods and raises his hand. The doors open again, and a man with dark robes and a hood over his head is escorted inside. He’s moved to the middle of the room when the hood is taken off his face.

You almost pass out on the spot.

It’s Sir Ansbach, a fellow Tarnished serving Miquella the Kind, like Lady Leda. His mask has been taken off and is dropped at his side. He can’t move with two guards at his back and his hands bound.

“Speak thy name, trespasser.” Fire Knight Kood rumbles out.

“I am Sir Ansbach, loyal follower of Lord Mohg, and the last of the Pureblood Knights.” His voice does not waver despite the circumstances.

“A follower of Mohg? Here?” Messmer speaks, and you notice his men straighten even more at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, Lord Messmer. I have nothing to hide, nor have I any reason to disguise my allegiances.”

When Messmer doesn’t speak again, Queelign does so for him.

“Have thee any relation to Miquella the Kind?” God, his voice is annoying.

“Once, perhaps, when my heart was stolen by him as I tried to save my dear Lord. No longer, however, as his charm has broken.”

“How many of Miquella’s followers are in the Realm of Shadow?” Kood inches closer to Ansbach.

“Five that I know of, my Lord. I do not know their whereabouts or if they have been freed from the charm as well. I came here for knowledge, nothing more.”

“Speak their names.” Messmer summons his spear.

“Lady Leda, Moore, Freya, Hornsent, and Dryleaf Dane.”

You knew all of these names, except one. Dane remained a mystery to you.

“Is it the truth that spills from thy lips, or venom, Sir Ansbach? I do not know you.” Messmer’s voice sends a chill down your spine.

“Perhaps not, my Lord, but she does.” He gestures to you.

The room goes silent except for the rapid beating of your own heart. If Messmer considers you a traitor, you don’t have your weapon. You don’t even have your flask. You are sure to lose horribly.

“Speak.” Messmer narrows his eye at you.

You take a deep breath before beginning. “It’s true, Lord Messmer. I know Sir Ansbach, and every word he says is true. I know of these followers of Miquella, except for Dryleaf Dane. He remains unknown to me. But I trust Sir Ansbach. I would ask that you do the same.”

Queelign, unfortunately, butts in before anyone else can speak. “My Lord, how can we be so sure that she is not a follower of Miquella herself? How can we be sure this is not some elaborate plot to infiltrate the Shadow Keep?”

Messmer tenses at his words. You narrow your eyes at Queelign.

“Forgive my harsh words, my Lord, but I don’t give a shit about Miquella. I killed his sister and harbor her Great Rune, for Marika’s sake. I never came here to enact whatever master plan he has; I came here for the adventure. Might I remind you of our first meeting, my Lord?”

“My Lord, she how do we know–”

“Enough. She has spoken.” 

You could kiss Messmer right now.

Queelign, fuming, but not wanting to do anything to disobey his Lord, sulks back to his spot. With a raise of Messmer’s hand, the guards behind Sir Ansbach cut his bindings.

“Thank you, Lord Messmer.” Sir Ansbach bows deeply, as he was more than likely not expecting to get out of this situation alive.

“Do not thank me. If not for my advisor, thy fate would have been decided in this room.” Messmer looks over at you, something you can’t quite place in his eyes.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, and his lip twitches into an almost smile. Cute.

“A pleasure to see you again, Lady Tarnished. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Oh, it was nothing. I do this every day.” You joke with a dismissive wave of your hand.

“What does thee know of Miquella’s plan?” Messmer sets the conversation back on track.

“Very little as of now. I came here with the intent on pursuing knowledge so I may know what to do next.” Sir Ansbach replies.

“My Storeroom is open to thee. Pursue to thy heart’s content, but thou wilt harbor no ill will towards my men. Should thee disobey my warning, there will be no mercy.”

“Of course, Lord Messmer. Should I find anything, I will tell you immediately.”

“Salza,” Messmer begins. “Show him to the Storehouse.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

With an audible creak of his bones, he leads Sir Ansbach out of the great chamber. The rest of Messmer’s men stand still awaiting his orders.

“Return to thy posts and sharpen thy blades. A war may be approaching.” His words echo through the room, sending a chill down your spine.

Everyone begins to leave and you go to join them, but Messmer gently grabs your wrist.

“I would have thee stay.”

“Okay. I mean, yes, my Lord.” You curtsy to him.

Once the rest of the guards leave and the large metal doors are shut, Messmer releases your wrist and begins to walk behind his throne. You follow, trying to catch up with him with your much smaller legs, and you notice another large door at the very back of the room. It’s adjacent to the large statue of Marika and partially hidden by deep crimson curtains.

“Come.” He holds the door open for you and you tentatively make your way inside.

With reddening cheeks, you realize that this is his personal chamber. A large bed with red blankets and various furs sits imposingly in the corner, and a few desks and tables litter the room. It is luxurious, but not extravagantly so. You wonder if perhaps he does want you as a concubine.

He clears his throat and you realize he’s waiting for you at a large table covered by a map. As you hurry over, you realize it shows the layout of the Land of Shadow.

“Why have you brought me here, my Lord?”

Something about your flustered face must be funny because he lets out a small chuckle. “I seek your advice.”

“Oh, okay! Because when Salza came to my door and told me I needed to look nice I thought you’d be taking me as a concubine or something like that.” Words rush out of you faster than reason can reign them in, and you find yourself the bringer of an uncomfortable silence.

Messmer’s cheeks flush and his one eye looks around rapidly as long as it doesn’t linger on your form. He places his hands on the table in front of him, and, after some time, he looks down at you with a look.

“Not that I wouldn’t be honored!” You interject quickly. “I just, uh, would like to get to know you better before we did anything like that. But you’re very handsome and… I think I’m going to stop talking.”

It was probably a good thing you did. Messmer looks ready to keel over where he stands from your words. His face is a deeper red than his hair and he opens and closes his mouth rapidly in search of words that never seem to come to him.

Eventually, he gets his mind straight enough to quietly utter a few words. “Thou wouldst consider me handsome?”

“Of course.” You say smiling.

“I am naught but a horrid war-beast.”

“Would you please just take a compliment?!” You all but screech.

“Wouldst thou stop rambling like a child?” He counters.

“You’re impossible. I can’t believe I picked this dress for you!”

Once again, silence encompasses the room. You nervously pick at your cuticles to give yourself something to do.

“Thou lookest radiant. Red becomes you.” He mutters.

“Oh. Thank you.” 

He reaches to take off his helmet, sighing as the weight of it rests on the table beside him. His fair, though a bit messy, frames his face beautifully. You just wish you could tell him that without sending him into a spiral.

“I brought thee here for militaristic purposes, nothing more, I assure thee.”

“Oh. That’s boring.”

“And thou wouldst have me take thee as a concubine instead?” 

Your face flushes for the millionth time today. “No! I mean… maybe? Can we– can we just get back on track? Please?”

“Wouldst thou take a compliment?” He mocks you.

“I should’ve let you tear your eye out.”

He laughs and it makes you shrink even further into yourself. You do have to admit that he is so handsome when he smiles.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your sudden serious tone has his smile falling off his face faster than it arrived. He nods.

“Why did you trust me so much back there? Your men might not like the fact that you’re listening to a Tarnished.”

His gaze hardens. “Thou hast seen many battles rather recently. My men and I have lingered, burning away hastily-formed groups of remaining Hornsent, but we have lingered nonetheless.”

“Is that all?” You push.

He pauses before replying. “I owe thee mine own life. Engaging thy whims is a small price to pay.”

Your heart swells at his words and you place your hand gently over his. His gaze lingers on your small hand and curiosity gets the better of him. He holds your hand and inspects it, noticing a few callouses from battles fought, but overall, your skin is smooth. He feels unworthy of your touch and quickly drops your hand.

Perhaps privy to his internal battle, you move forward and gently wrap your arms around him, his serpents nuzzling into you. He stands so still, almost as if he can’t believe this is real. How long it’s been since he was given a loving touch.

“You’re sweet.” You mutter those words into his armor that’s been splattered with blood more often than it’s been polished.

He takes comfort in the knowledge that you, his strange Tarnished, does not care.

[starryytales]

More Manipulative Ragatha.

ACK-

This was meant to be ~500 words and one part of a short story that went into detail of Ragatha doing different things on different days to push Pomni's boundaries, get her closer, etc. And was inspired by yesterday's ask about Ragatha intentionally throwing herself into harm's way to get hurt and get Pomni's attention.

Instead it ballooned up into a little over 2000 words and will be something of a standalone.

I would like to give my thanks and dedicate this to @miguxadraws whose enthusiasm helped push me to hit the ground running with this one!

With that said: small TW for needles (the sewing kind), and I hope you all enjoy..!

“I’m never sure how to start these things…”

I muse to myself as I tap the colorful pencil’s eraser against the empty, waiting page of my journal. Being the second longest lasting person in The Digital Circus changes how you think about information. Unlike Kinger, for example, I’m doing my best to not go insane by holding on to every piece of information until my mind snaps and I become amnesic. That means writing things down. Journal writing and compartmentalizing things. Separating the bad from the good and keeping the good close and the bad locked away.

“I suppose starting with this morning wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I flip the pencil around and begin jotting down what all happened…

Pomni woke up on me today. I didn’t bother with sleeping. Instead I just enjoyed watching her quietly snore throughout the night. God, she’s so cute when she’s asleep. She’s even more cute when she’s startled. She woke up, adorably mumbling about whatever dream she was having (I heard my name!!!), and stared up at me for a few moments. I didn’t say anything because she was clearly still out of it and wouldn’t have understood me anyway. When she realized she was using me as a full body pillow she let out wildest little yipe I’ve ever heard. She nearly hit the ceiling from jumping off of me so hard! It took a hot moment and a re-heated, leftover salmon cake to calm her down after that. I let her get dressed in peace (thank you again, God, for giving me a button eye to stealth watch with) and she left with a sweet little smile on her face.

I pause writing for a moment when I hear someone trying to stay quiet while working on something outside my door. Probably Jax. Probably with a bucket of insects and some kind of mechanical trap setup. I shake my head irritably but stay quiet. Jax would have been a lovely boy toy to keep if not for the fact he can’t stop being a punk for more than ten seconds. My single regret with him is that he only had one heart to break. The sound of his trap construction jolts me back to writing by jogging my memory.

The adventure!

How could I have nearly forgotten that when it was a huge amount of progress with Pomni?

Caine rounded us all up just like he does basically every other day.

“HELLO MY MUTANT MASHED POTATOES TODAY’S ADVENTURE BLAH BLAH BLAH-”

It was some kind of movie-like, ancient temple we had to find the treasure room of. The important part was Pomni and I took the ‘medium’ difficulty route, and we did it by ourselves. I was just about to see how well she dealt with an unprompted hand on her shoulder when I realized I had seen the hallway we were in before on a different adventure. Caine doesn’t just re-use NPCs, he re-uses chunks of levels sometimes. And I knew we were about 15 steps away from a circular saw trap that would shoot out from the wall and try to leave us with a nasty cut, to put it lightly.

My first instinct was to let Pomni walk into it. I thought it’d probably go right through her leg, maybe even both of them. I’d have to carry her all the way to the end and she’d have no choice BUT let me hold her. My better judgment got a hold of me, though. That was an awful plan. She’d hate being useless and dependent on me (at the moment, anyway). But I could still use the trap to my advantage to make her touch me…

I suddenly remembered why I nearly forgot the whole thing. Ever feel so much pain your body and brain try to factory reset?

“Hey, I think I’ve seen this hallway before.” I told her as I switched the side of her I was walking on. I picked up my pace slightly to make sure I triggered the saw without catching her as collateral. I braced myself as hard as I could without letting on something was up. A small part of me was begging to just not do this, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Really?”

“Yeah! From a different adventure!”

And I think she was going to ask if I remembered anything helpful about it. That’s about when a single stone beneath my foot pressed down and I let out probably the longest running censor-bleep in Digital Circus history. The saw was as quick as lightning. My left arm, right above my elbow, was effortlessly sliced off, and the blade tore through my side like I was made of paper. I screamed and fell away from the blade. I landed against the wall opposite of it and started sliding down to the floor. Good God it hurt so bad I was seeing stars. Pomni shrieked and rushed over to me, hovering over me like she’d found a murdered body in an alleyway. I was in too much pain to get her to stop screaming for a moment so I could tell her what to do, and then she said that she would go get help.

That lit quite the fire under me, because:

1. I needed to get her used to touching me by getting her to patch me up, and, perhaps more importantly-

2. I’M TIRED OF HER RUNNING OFF WHEN I AM IN INCREDIBLE PAIN.

I have to say, despite the pain I was in, I was pretty slick with my next words.

Any person scared and hurt might say ‘don’t leave me,’ but if I left it at that, she might have just offered me a platitude about being back as soon as she could be. I had to twist the knife. She managed a single step away before I lunged at her foot and seized her ankle. I didn’t need to pretend to cry, as there were plenty of real, agonized tears.

“Please don’t leave me again!”

The ‘again’ sold it like beer at a college ball game. Oh, it hurt to see so much remorse in her eyes but it’ll make her think twice before running off again in the future. She dropped to her knees next to me and sputtered a dozen apologies before going quiet when I placed my hand on her upper leg to get her attention.

I remember gritting my teeth and having to hiss through the pain to direct her to my dress pocket (conveniently on the same side I was missing an arm on, and oh my how those little hands wander in a pocket) where I had my emergency sewing kit. Ugh. I could have died from cute-overload while watching her fumble so shakily while trying to thread that needle. When she finally managed it she looked at me with huge, worried eyes for guidance on what to do next.

I pause again to enjoy the memory of her looking at me that way. It’s almost dreamy to picture her like that. So nervously hanging off my every word… I could REALLY get used to that. Where was I? Oh, right, my little jester doing doll surgery on my side.

Feeling her touching me gently was so, so nice. And she listens so well. I bet if I told her that the stitching would only hold if she barked like a puppy, she might have actually done it. I’m so used to sewing myself up that the little pricks of the needle barely registered to me, so I up-sold the pain they caused. Clenching my teeth and (remaining) fist, and scrunching my eyes while hiccuping every few seconds as if I were holding back a breakdown. She paused once and held my cheek, and told me if I needed a break she would stop. AGH. I could have eaten her alive on the spot for being so sweet! Instead I sighed, enjoyed the touch, and thanked her but said I was okay...

I love Pomni to bits but she sews like a blind grandmother with arthritis. No cut like that is ever good or easy to work with, but even Gangle manages a cleaner stitch on a bad day. Still, that meant we got to spend the rest of the adventure like that. Her pressed up against my side, trying her best to hold as steady as possible, while keeping my stuffing from falling out as she stitches me back shut. Definitely worth every ounce of pain. When she was done she even crawled over to my arm and offered to try putting it back on. Absolutely precious.

I told her not to worry about the arm. Caine could fix it when we get back, and about when I said that our AI Overlord’s voice rang clear throughout the structure. Caine congratulated Gangle and Kinger for reaching the treasure room first, and declared the adventure over. Pomni and I fell through a portal that suddenly opened beneath us, and just like that we were back in the tent.

Caine looked me over and quipped I had gotten “too adventurous for my own good,” before snapping his fingers and fixing my arm. He then said something about seashells and vanished. The others were already heading their separate ways when I walked over to Pomni and hugged her. She jumped slightly, but didn’t pull away. I thanked her as warmly as I could for staying with me, and I saw on her face that same guilt from earlier being soothed slightly. It wasn’t enough to put her at peace, but enough so she knows I will happily praise her for doing something good.

I let her go and I offered her another meal tonight – if she was feeling up to it, that is. I could see her putting real thought into it-

My writing is once again interrupted by a dainty knock at the door.

“Ragatha? I’m here for dinner, but-” I quickly slam my journal shut and hide it away again. The last thing Pomni needs to see is the contents of that book. I hop up from my chair with a spring in my step and grab the doorknob, only for Pomni to suddenly shout.

“D-don’t open the door yet! There’s a bucket full of something on the door frame. It’s attached to some kind of trigger. Kinger’s getting it down now.”

I hear Kinger scraping something metallic away from the door before the man himself speaks up.

“Oh! That’s where you’ve all been. How do my centipedes keep winding up in buckets..?”

I had clean forgotten Jax trapped the door. The thought of being stuck with a bucket on my head as all of Kinger’s little hellspawns crawl over my face is almost enough to make me throw up, pass out, and start writing a manifesto. All at the same time. Did I say earlier I only have one regret about Jax? I have two. And the second is that I can’t drown him in the cellar.

“Okay! It’s safe now!”

Cautiously I crack open the door. My eyes are drawn to the movement of Kinger walking down the hallway with a bucket full of nightmares in his arms, but I quickly focus back on to Pomni. I let out a low, tired sigh and smile at her.

“You saved me twice in one day.” I try not to swoon, but it still kind of comes out that way. The little blush she starts sporting on her face doesn’t help.

“Ah- don’t worry about it.”

God she’s so cute when she’s bashful. I open the door and step aside to welcome her in with a playful flourish.

“Well, come on in! A hero deserves her heroic feast! I’ll get on it right away.”

“A heroic feast of spaghetti and meatballs?” She laughs, the sound as sweet as wine, as she enters and steps passed me. I laugh back with her as I start to shut the door so we can start another night off right.

“And garlic bread, that’s the really heroic part!”

[szynkaaa]

Hi, I just read your story on AO3 and I loved it a lot but it also left me with a lot of questions about Oz and his relationship with Sun Wukong, especially the part where you mentioned that Oz after recovering the relics couldn't return to his world but at the end it gives the impression that she is no longer with him and at the beginning you also mentioned that this isn't a fanfic as such but like a diary or letters that she left him and that's eating my head in a good way that I need answers 😆😆😆😆 By the way, I know this is a bit long but I really love your content, your art, and your writing 😆☺️😊🥰

would you believe me if I said I came up with the idea to add those paragraphs at the end of each stories to make it sound like they are not together anymore literally as I was uploading my fic to AO3 LMFAO

ok ok, since I'm not an eloquent writer and will enver write a fully fledged fic, I will just spoil the ending of my non-existing story.

Basically after Black Myth Wukong story line, Oz did not manage to go home like she thought she would after helping DO. I've also mentioned that her ancestor were part of the Celestial Court but got fucked over by the court, so "book 2" of my AU would be SWK and Oz dealing with the Celestial Court, trying to figure out what what the fuck happened.

Everyone is like trying to use Oz as a scapegoat for the shit her ancestors did. She's just like, I wanna live my life and idc what my ancestors did that was like over 1000 years go for me. but 1000 year in celestial court is like 83 years ago in celestial heaven time, so like not thaaaat long ago for them. WW2 is for us like 80 years ago. it's a long time ago but also not really. people who lived through the war are still alive. So anyway, court wants her to serve them again like her ancestor did, or die I guess. reason is tied to some power that flows in Oz because of her ancestor, which I do plan to explain in another post at some point.

something something happens, where either Oz has no choice but to return to her homeworld, oooor someone from the Celestial Court forcibly sends her back. If you watched Barbie the nutcracker, the same shit the rat king pulled on Clara. Or maybe even SWK pushed her through a portal to send her to safety.

also in my AU, time flows differently between the Oz's world and SWK world. A day can pass in her world, and it could be few weeks or months or even years in SWK world.

ALSO important thing is SWK at some point gives Oz a ring made from the birthstone, like he found rock pieces and asked Yin Tiger to make him a ring ("I'm not that kind of smith, monkey"). Traditional Chinese Wedding does not include an engagement ring, but SWK was there when Oz was explaining to monkey kids how wedding traditione worked in her world, and he loves her so he made the ring, gave it to her when confessing to her.

She still has the ring when she went back to her world, and there it's like not much time has passed, maybe a week at most. She still made it to her Taylor Swift concert.

Time pass, maybe like three years or so. She never stopped thinking about SWK, and tried to find way to get back but couldn't. maybe the portal got severed idk. and then something something happens (which I will need to think about), where one day the ring on her finger felt warm and she was able to return to Mount Huaguo, landing where the birthstone stood on the mountain.

I think like 100 years passed in that world, where SWK never stopped visiting the birthstone place, where Oz also went back to her world.

Here is a comic I made of their sweet sweet reunion:

She's wearing a fancy red dress because she was attending some fancy event before she was able to return to SWK. But also traditionally the bride and groom wore red in a Chinese wedding, so her wearing the red dress when she is reunited with SWK after all those years is a symbol for that they are finally able to be together and live their happily ever after. it's also symbolism for Oz.

Before that, depsite SWK confession and basically proposal, she has a bit of commitment / abandoment issues from her parents divorce, so yknow they didn't get married before that. but it is very clear to anyone that they both loved each other.

so yeah. Sorry for the long post LOL i get super excited talking about my problem children. there is angst and implication that Oz will be gone but ultimately it ends on a happy note.