#I put way too much effort into these things

[roronoacherries]

zoro with a bookworm s/o ♡

you can always count on zoro to listen to you ramble about a book you’ve just finished. the second you’ve closed a book and (half) collected yourself, you search the ship for him.

he never needs to hear what you’re coming to tell him; he already knows, from the pleasant urgency of your step; the smile, not on your lips, but in your eyes; the bite of your lip as you try to contain the emotions threatening to spill out of you before you’ve managed to say a word.

you don’t slow down until you’ve stopped in front of him, your hands on either side of his face as you breathe out the words, “i finished.”

“did ya?” he says softly, in feigned surprised, a brow raised as a smirk settles on his lips in admiration of his bookish lover. “tell me about it.”

he doesn’t understand it at all, your love for books and fiction. he starts to yawn a sentence into any book he opens. he’ll admit to you (and only you) that he struggles to make sense of the characters on a paper, but even if reading came easier to him the world of stories was never one he felt a want to get lost in. not unless he could hear them from you.

he’d ask you questions. he’d hate the characters you hated, and when you talked about the ones you loved, nothing could keep his eyes from you. he’d hold in a playful laugh when you cried about a character’s death, without ever making you feel silly for it.

zoro would let you talk for as long as you wanted, not once getting bored (or at least, never showing it). he’d let you sit with him, resting on his arm, when you didn’t want to read in solace; listen to you read out loud to him when there was a part you loved so much you needed him to hear it too; stretching his arm around you when you held your breath, holding in a sob as you silently struggled through a tragic chapter.

if there’s a book in particular you love more dearly than any other, he’d make a genuine effort to read it himself (and does—because if zoro sets out to do something, especially for someone he loves, you can trust he’ll get it done). it’d be without your knowing, at first, struggling through the first chapters until he couldn’t quite put it down anymore, and only telling you he’d been reading it by asking you about the foolish thing he couldn’t believe a character had been stupid enough to do.

“you’re reading this?” you’d ask, unable to help the flutter you felt in your heart.

“answer the question, y/n.”

and if your ambition is to write a novel of your own, he’d be with you every step of the way. there to listen to your ideas. there to be blunt and honest when you needed it. there to ask the questions you didn’t think of. there to keep you quiet company while you wrote, and there to force you into bed when a creative madness had you fighting to keep your head upright and your eyes open.

he’d carry you to bed, tucking you in while you mumbled about needing to get this scene right, and even if he doesn’t quite get your love of stories, he’d be ever so grateful that you are an invaluable part of his.

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

Marvel Comics Characters with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

This headcanons is for all my friends who suffer from social anxiety like me!

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

- Peter understands your struggles in a way few others can. He was the kid who sat alone at lunch, the one who stammered through conversations, the boy who felt too much and spoke too little. So when you shrink into yourself at a crowded event or hesitate before speaking, he doesn’t push. He waits.

- He is patient with you, always. If your hands shake when ordering at a café, his fingers brush against yours—not grabbing, not forcing, just reminding you he’s there. If you struggle to meet a stranger’s eyes, he fills the silence effortlessly, making bad jokes until you breathe out a quiet laugh. He knows how much effort it takes, and he never belittles it.

- When you’re overwhelmed, he finds ways to help without making a big deal out of it. “Hey, let’s get out of here,” he’ll say casually, like he wasn’t watching you from the corner of his eye, counting the seconds between your anxious glances. He makes excuses to leave early, to find a rooftop where it’s just the two of you, the city stretching wide beneath your feet.

- He never forces you into situations that make you uncomfortable, but he believes in you, too. He knows you’re stronger than you think. “You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you after a stressful interaction, “but you did great. And I’m proud of you.”

- One day, when you stand your ground, when you speak up even though your voice shakes—Peter looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Like you’re the bravest person he’s ever met. And to him? You are.

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

- Tony is used to fast talkers and smooth charmers. He’s not used to you. The quiet, hesitant way you speak, the way your gaze flickers away when too many eyes are on you. At first, he doesn’t know what to do with it. But then, he realizes—he doesn’t need to do anything. He just needs to be there.

- Social situations? He handles them for you. If someone puts you on the spot, Tony is already redirecting the conversation before you can panic. If a gala feels too loud, too bright, too suffocating, he whisks you away with a perfectly crafted excuse. No one ever questions him—he’s Tony Stark, after all.

- But he also refuses to let you believe your anxiety makes you less. When you apologize for stumbling over your words, he raises a brow. “What, you think that matters to me? Have you met me? I stumble over my words all the time. It’s called being devastatingly charming.”

- He builds little comforts into your daily life without making a fuss. Noise-canceling headphones that match your style. A secret signal for when you need an escape. He makes sure you know—“I got you, sweetheart. Always.”

- One night, when you tell him you feel like a burden, he physically stops in his tracks. Turns to you, eyes serious in a way they rarely are. “You think being loved is a burden?” And when you don’t answer, when you shrink under his gaze, he exhales. Steps closer. “I don’t throw around the ‘L’ word lightly. But I love you. You get that, right?”

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

- Steve is a protector by nature, but he learns quickly that you don’t need protecting—you just need understanding. So he listens. He doesn’t try to fix you, doesn’t tell you to “just be more confident.” Instead, he sits with you in the quiet moments, in the spaces where words aren’t needed.

- When your anxiety flares up, his presence is a steady, grounding thing. His hand finds the small of your back in crowded rooms, a silent reminder that he’s there. If your breathing gets uneven, he murmurs, “With me, sweetheart. Deep breaths. In… out.” And when the world is too much, he shields you—not with his vibranium, but with his warmth.

- He notices the things you don’t say. The way your shoulders tense before you speak, the way you fidget when too many eyes are on you. He never rushes you, never forces you to talk before you’re ready. But when you do—when you finally find the courage to tell him what’s on your mind—he listens like it’s the most important thing in the world.

- He makes you feel safe. Not just physically, but emotionally. You never have to pretend with him. When you’re exhausted from socializing, he doesn’t take it personally. Instead, he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Want to stay in tonight? Just us?”

- And one day, when someone comments on how quiet you are, how shy—you shrink back, but Steve? Steve straightens. Levels them with that unshakable, unwavering gaze. “Not everyone needs to be loud to be strong.” And the way he says it—the quiet pride in his voice—it makes you believe it, too.

Thor (God of Thunder)

- Thor does not understand at first. He is a god, a warrior, a king—he has never hesitated to speak his mind, never faltered in the presence of others. So when he notices your reluctance, your anxious glances, he frowns.

- But he learns. He watches the way you grip the hem of your sleeve when you’re overwhelmed, the way your voice gets softer when too many people are listening. He learns, and he adapts. Because that’s what love is.

- If you are uncomfortable in a gathering, he makes it known. “My beloved tires of this company,” he declares in the middle of a conversation, and before you can protest, he is leading you away, unbothered by the stares. To Thor, your comfort is more important than social niceties.

- He does not see your anxiety as a weakness. When you apologize for needing space, he shakes his head. “There is no shame in feeling.” And then, softer, “I would battle a thousand foes, but I cannot battle your thoughts. So tell me, my love—how can I ease them?”

- And when you finally speak—when you let yourself be vulnerable, let yourself be seen—Thor looks at you like you are more powerful than any storm he has ever summoned.

Loki (God of Mischief)

- Loki is used to masks. Used to hiding, used to maneuvering through conversations like they are battles to be won. But you? You don’t wear masks. You don’t need to. You are soft-spoken, hesitant, but there is a sincerity in you that unnerves him.

- He sees the way people overlook you, the way they dismiss quietness as weakness. It infuriates him. But more than that—it intrigues him. Because he sees what they do not. He sees the way your mind works, the depths beneath the surface.

- When you struggle with your words, he fills the silence with his own. When you are anxious, he redirects the attention elsewhere. He will never let the world swallow you whole.

- But when you grow comfortable, when you begin to speak more freely with him—Loki listens. No tricks, no arrogance. Just listens. And if anyone dares to mock your hesitance, they will learn why he is called the God of Mischief.

- One day, you tell him you feel small. Insignificant. He tilts your chin up, his green eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You are not small,” he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You are the only thing in this realm that makes me feel real.”

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

- Clint notices things. He notices the way your hands tremble when too many people are watching, the way your eyes flick toward the door in crowded rooms. He notices the way your breath catches before you speak, the way you fidget when someone puts you on the spot. He notices because he’s been there too—the kid no one thought twice about, the one who had to learn to take up space in a world that wanted to ignore him.

- He helps in his own way. Casual, unspoken, never forcing. When he sees your shoulders tense in a loud bar, he makes a joke so ridiculous, so absurd, that you forget why you were panicking in the first place. If you start to shut down at a gathering, he suddenly remembers an “important thing” he has to show you outside—just the two of you, away from the noise.

- He doesn’t push you to talk when you don’t want to, but when you do? He listens like every single word matters. Because to him, it does. He knows what it’s like to feel unheard, and he refuses to let you believe your voice is anything less than important.

- He’s protective, but not in an overbearing way. If someone tries to rush you into speaking, he’s already cutting in, redirecting the attention, making himself the distraction. If someone mocks your quietness, his usual easy grin goes sharp. He doesn’t need to throw a punch—his words are just as sharp as his arrows.

- But what really gets him? The way you trust him. The way you let him see the parts of you the world doesn’t always understand. One night, after a long day, you let yourself lean into him, burying your face against his shoulder. And Clint? He just holds you closer, arms firm around you, like he’s never letting go.

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

- Natasha understands. She understands in a way no one else does. She was trained to be invisible, to fade into the background when necessary. She knows what it’s like to measure every word before speaking, to feel like too many eyes are on you.

- With her, there’s no pressure. No expectation. She never pushes you to be something you’re not. If you don’t want to talk, she doesn’t fill the silence with meaningless chatter. She lets the quiet exist, natural and unforced, because she knows sometimes words aren’t necessary.

- She is your shield in public. If she sees you struggling in a conversation, she subtly shifts the focus onto herself. If someone tries to pressure you, she gives them a look—a cold, unreadable thing that makes them shrink back immediately. No one messes with you when Natasha is around.

- But in private, she’s different. Softer. When you tell her your fears—your worries about being a burden, about not being enough—she listens, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your forehead. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

- And one day, when you stand up for yourself—when you find your voice even though your hands shake—she watches you with something like pride. Because she knows exactly how strong you are.

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

- Bucky knows what it’s like to feel out of place. To feel like the world moves too fast, too loud, too much. So when you get overwhelmed, when the anxiety becomes too sharp, he doesn’t tell you to “calm down.” He just takes your hand. Grounds you. Stays with you.

- He’s not much for words, but he doesn’t need them. He knows when you need space and when you need him close. If you’re panicking in public, he subtly moves in front of you, blocking the world from view. If you need an out, he makes an excuse without hesitation.

- He’s fiercely protective, but he never treats you like you’re fragile. He knows you’re strong, even if you don’t always believe it. “You don’t have to be loud to matter,” he tells you one night, his voice quiet but sure. “I see you. That’s enough.”

- When you have bad days, the kind where speaking feels impossible, he never makes you feel guilty. Instead, he just sits with you, silent but present. Sometimes, he’ll read aloud, his voice low and steady, filling the empty spaces with something comforting.

- And when you finally whisper, “Thank you,” he just shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me, doll.” And the way he says it—like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love you—makes your heart ache.

Matthew Murdock (Daredevil)

- Matt hears everything—the shift in your breath when you’re nervous, the way your heartbeat speeds up in crowds. He hears the words you don’t say, the ones caught behind your teeth, and he never pushes them out. He lets you speak at your own pace, in your own way.

- He’s a lawyer, a talker, a charmer—but with you? He is patient. Gentle. He knows the weight of words, the way they can soothe or break, and he chooses them carefully when speaking to you.

- If a social event becomes too much, he senses it before you even say a word. “Wanna get out of here?” he murmurs, already reaching for your hand, already leading you somewhere quieter, somewhere safer.

- He never lets anyone make you feel small. If someone talks over you, dismisses your words—his easy charm vanishes. His voice turns sharp, his lawyer’s precision cutting through their ignorance like a blade.

- But when it’s just the two of you—when the city quiets, when the weight of the world is gone—he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me.” And for the first time, you believe it.

Frank Castle (The Punisher)

- Frank is not a man of many words, but he doesn’t need them. He sees you—the way your hands curl into fists when you’re anxious, the way you shrink back when too many eyes are on you. And without a word, he adjusts. He puts himself between you and the world, silent and steady, your shield against everything too loud, too much.

- He never tells you to “just relax” or “get over it.” He knows what it’s like to have demons clawing at your throat, to feel like your own mind is working against you. So instead, he stays close. A hand at your back. A steadying presence beside you. A quiet, unspoken promise—I’ve got you.

- If someone mocks your quietness, Frank’s entire demeanor changes. His voice drops, his posture shifts. “You got a problem?” And suddenly, the room is very, very quiet.

- But when it’s just you and him—when the world is far away and you don’t have to be anything but yourself—he’s softer. He pulls you into his arms, presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “You don’t gotta be anything but you.”

- And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you finally believe him.

Marc Spector (Moon Knight)

- Marc is a man of chaos, of violence, of war. But with you, he learns the art of stillness. He sees the way you hesitate before speaking, the way your hands tremble when too many eyes are on you, and he knows that kind of fear. He’s lived with it—not the fear of people, but the fear of never truly belonging.

- When crowds press in too close, when anxiety wraps around you like barbed wire, he moves instinctively—positioning himself at your side, shielding you from the world. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t pry—he simply becomes a wall between you and whatever is making your breath hitch.

- He’s rough around the edges, all sharp angles and battle scars, but when it comes to you? His hands are gentle, his voice low and steady. If you can’t meet his gaze, he tilts his head just slightly, lowering himself to where you are—never forcing, always waiting.

- If someone dares to mock your quietness, Marc is not a man of restraint. He looms over them, voice eerily calm but laced with danger. “Say that again.” He doesn’t need to throw a punch—his presence alone is enough to send them running.

- But when you’re alone, when the night is still and the world is quiet, he holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered. “I get it,” he murmurs into your hair. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” And you know, without a doubt, that he means it.

Johnny Storm (Human Torch)

- Johnny is fire, and you are the quiet ember he never knew he needed. He is loud, bold, reckless—the center of every room he walks into. And yet, when he’s with you, he finds himself softening, lowering his volume, learning to exist in the quiet without burning it away.

- He doesn’t always understand your anxiety, but he tries. He notices the way your fingers twitch before speaking, the way you flinch at unexpected attention, and he makes it his personal mission to be your buffer.

- If you ever feel overwhelmed at an event, he pulls you aside with the easiest excuse in the world—“Sorry, gotta steal my girl for a sec.” And just like that, you’re swept away, safe in the warmth of his presence, away from prying eyes.

- When someone comments on how “shy” you are, he grins wide, throws an arm around your shoulders, and says, “Yeah? Well, she’s also the smartest, kindest, most beautiful person in the room, so I’d shut up if I were you.” And somehow, you know he means every single word.

- At the end of the day, when the world feels too big and your voice feels too small, Johnny pulls you into his arms, presses his forehead to yours, and whispers, “You don’t have to be loud to be heard. I hear you.” And for the first time, you believe it.

Reed Richards (Mister Fantastic)

- Reed’s mind moves faster than most, always ten steps ahead, lost in equations and theories. But with you? He slows down. He listens, truly listens, because he knows how hard it is for you to speak sometimes—and if there’s one thing he values, it’s the power of a voice that chooses its words carefully.

- He’s observant, even if he doesn’t always show it. He notices the subtle shifts in your posture, the way your breathing changes when anxiety creeps in. And without a word, he adjusts—offering his hand, shifting attention away from you, giving you space when you need it.

- When someone talks over you, dismisses your words, Reed is not an aggressive man—but he is precise. He calmly redirects the conversation, effortlessly reinforcing your point until the offender realizes their mistake. It’s a quiet kind of defense, but it leaves no room for doubt: your words matter.

- He never forces you into situations that make you uncomfortable, but he encourages you in the gentlest ways. When you whisper your thoughts to him, he repeats them out loud, ensuring your ideas are heard. He never takes credit for your brilliance—he amplifies it.

- And when you’re alone, when the weight of the world is too much, he pulls you close, resting his chin atop your head. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” he murmurs. “You are enough, exactly as you are.”

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat)

- Felicia is a storm wrapped in silk—a whirlwind of charm, confidence, and mischief. And yet, with you, she is something softer, something gentler, something she never thought she could be.

- She adores the way you shy away from attention, how you linger in the background—not because she wants you to hide, but because she loves the way your beauty is something only those who look closely can see.

- When you get anxious in public, she drapes herself over you like a shield, whispering teasing remarks into your ear until you laugh and forget why you were nervous in the first place. She makes the world feel smaller, safer—like it’s just the two of you, even in a crowded room.

- If someone insults your quietness, her entire demeanor shifts. The playful smirk sharpens, her eyes go cold, and she takes a single step forward. “Wanna say that again, sweetheart?” No one ever does.

- But when it’s just the two of you, when the night is quiet and you’re curled up in her arms, she presses a kiss to your forehead and murmurs, “You don’t need to change for anyone, least of all me. I love you exactly as you are.”

Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange)

- Stephen is a man who has faced horrors beyond comprehension, who has seen the vastness of the cosmos and returned unchanged. And yet, you—soft-spoken, hesitant, shy—unravel him in ways he never anticipated.

- He is a man of logic, of knowledge, and yet he finds himself studying you as though you are the most intricate spell he has ever encountered. He learns your tells, your fears, the quiet ways you ask for help.

- When your anxiety becomes too much, he doesn’t try to “fix” it—he simply exists beside you, grounding you with his presence. If words fail you, he conjures illusions of calming landscapes, filling the space with something serene, something safe.

- If someone belittles you, his voice turns cold, clipped. “Do you always judge people based on volume, or is it just when you lack the intellect to comprehend quiet strength?” His words cut deeper than any blade, and the offender is left stammering, humiliated.

- But when you’re alone, when the world has faded away and it’s just the two of you, he takes your hands in his, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and whispers, “You don’t need grand gestures to be extraordinary. You already are.” And for the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

Namor (The Sub-Mariner)

- Namor is a king, a warrior, a force of nature that bends to no one. He is fire and water, fury and grace, and yet when he looks at you—quiet, hesitant, soft in ways he has never been—his arrogance falters. He has ruled the depths for centuries, but he would kneel for you.

- He does not understand your reluctance to speak, the way your hands shake in crowded halls, but he does not mock you for it. Instead, he watches, learns, and makes sure his court knows that your words carry the weight of a queen’s decree.

- When you feel small, when your voice wavers, Namor’s is strong enough for the both of you. If anyone dares to belittle your quietness, his voice booms across the room, regal and unyielding. “You would do well to remember that power is not measured in volume, but in presence.”

- He encourages you to stand tall, not because he wishes to change you, but because he knows the depths of your strength, even when you don’t. He will remind you as many times as necessary—until you believe it, until the ocean itself whispers your name with reverence.

- And in the moments when the world is too much, when the pressure of existence weighs heavy on your chest, he takes you to the water. He carries you effortlessly through the waves, where silence is sacred and your anxiety cannot reach. Here, with him, you are weightless.

Johnny Blaze (Ghost Rider)

- Johnny Blaze has stared into the abyss and walked away burning. He has made deals with devils, has felt Hell’s fire in his veins, but nothing terrifies him more than the thought of you feeling like you are alone.

- He knows what it’s like to be trapped in your own mind, to battle demons no one else can see. So when he sees your hands tremble, your voice falter, he doesn’t push—he just stays. A quiet, unwavering presence, reminding you that you don’t have to fight alone.

- When your anxiety is a storm raging inside you, he lets you borrow his fire. Not in words, not in force, but in touch—a steady hand at the small of your back, a whispered joke to pull you from the darkness. He doesn’t try to fix you. He just makes sure you know you’re not broken.

- If someone mocks your quietness, Johnny doesn’t bother with threats. He just looks at them, eyes burning gold, voice like gravel and embers. “Wanna run that by me again?” One glance at the fire flickering beneath his skin, and they never do.

- But when the night is still, when his demons are quiet and yours are loud, he holds you close, presses a kiss to your temple, and murmurs, “You don’t need to be louder to matter, sweetheart. You’re already everything.”

Eddie Brock / Venom

- Eddie has never been good with words, and Venom has never needed them. But when it comes to you—shy, hesitant, unsure of your place in the world—they both learn a new kind of patience.

- Venom is fascinated by you. “WHY IS SHE SO QUIET?” the symbiote demands. “SHE IS STRONG. THEY SHOULD FEAR HER.” And Eddie just sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, buddy, but not everyone wants to be feared.”

- When your anxiety flares, Eddie keeps you close, shielding you from the world with the ease of a man who has spent a lifetime on the outskirts. And if that isn’t enough? Venom coils around you, a silent, watchful protector, daring anyone to make you uncomfortable.

- If someone ever makes fun of your quiet nature, Eddie lets out a slow, measured breath—then smirks. “You really wanna keep talking?” And before they can respond, Venom grins wide, teeth gleaming. “WE COULD EAT THEM,” the symbiote suggests, only half-joking. (Probably.)

- But in the quiet moments, when it’s just the three of you, Eddie rests his forehead against yours and sighs. “You don’t have to change for anyone, least of all me.” And Venom, surprisingly gentle, echoes, “WE LIKE YOU AS YOU ARE.”

T’Challa (Black Panther)

- T’Challa has ruled nations, fought wars, stood against gods. But when you look up at him, eyes hesitant, voice barely above a whisper, he feels like a man first and a king second.

- He is deliberate with his affection, precise in his understanding. He does not rush you. He does not try to fix what is not broken. Instead, he offers his hand—steady, unwavering, waiting for you to take it when you’re ready.

- When your anxiety makes you withdraw, he does not let the world swallow you. Instead, he ensures that you are given the space to exist on your terms. You are not just "his" in the public eye—you are your own, and he will defend your right to be exactly as you are.

- Should anyone dare mock your shyness, his response is quiet but lethal. “Do not mistake her silence for weakness,” he says, voice like the edge of a blade. “There is power in stillness. And wisdom in restraint.” And just like that, the room remembers why he is king.

- But when the throne room is empty, when the world is quiet, he cups your face with hands that have known both war and tenderness. “You do not need to raise your voice to be heard, my love,” he whispers. “I will always listen.”

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra moves like a shadow, speaks like a blade. She has spent a lifetime in the dark, but with you, she learns that love does not need to be loud to be real.

- She understands your silence in a way few others can. She does not push, does not pry—she simply exists beside you, unwavering, patient. If you need space, she gives it. If you need grounding, her hand finds yours, steady and sure.

- When your anxiety takes hold, she does not fill the silence with empty words. Instead, she teaches you how to fight—not because she expects you to, but because she wants you to know that you are strong. Even in stillness. Even in silence.

- If someone ever dares to mock your quietness, Elektra doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. One sharp glance, one tilt of her head, and suddenly, the offender remembers they have somewhere else to be.

- And when the night is quiet, when it’s just the two of you tangled in silk and moonlight, she runs a slow hand down your spine and whispers, “The world does not deserve you.” And you believe her—because in her eyes, you are more dangerous, more beautiful, more powerful than anyone could ever understand.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

♡.ᐟ his hands know you better than you do ˚⋆

a/n: sorry if this is self-indulgent but i just needed to write something where Ford fucks the stress and depression out of me. honestly, wouldn’t mind if Stan did too. this started as princess treatment but derailed into filth, but whatever

tags: Ford x reader, princess treatment, mostly nsfw, soft Ford, praise kink, worshipping, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingerfucking actually lots of fingerfucking because Fords fingers deserve their own category, petnames, dumbification

there’s something tragic about the way you struggle with the clasp of your necklace, standing in front of the mirror with your fingers fumbling at the tiny silver hook. it's such a small thing, but frustration gnaws at you nonetheless. and Ford is always here to wash that feeling away. you feel his warm hands, six fingers sweeping your own aside, “allow me, please.”

he stands behind you as he secures the chain at your nape, admiring his sweetheart in the mirror. his fingers linger, pressing lightly against the fragile dip where your spine begins.

“there. perfect.”

Ford is always fixing things. adjusting the strap of your dress, tugging your coat tighter around your shoulders when the wind picks up, brushing stray lashes from your cheek with the soft drag of his thumb. he notices. he always notices.

there is a gravity to the way Ford Pines touches you, like the sea is pulled to the moon. six fingers softly grazing over your cheek as if you are precious, at if you're some rare, undocumented star he has been searching for his entire life. nothing has ever captivated him like you.

it's the little details that ruin you. when he pulls your gloves off finger by finger in the winter. when he cups your jaw in the middle of a conversation, just to tip your chin up and look at his sweetheart properly, murmuring about how your eyes catch the light just so.

when he says “there you go, sweetheart” whenever he helps you into a coat, a car, a chair. and you bite your lip when you catch the envious glances of other girls.

his hands, oh, his hands. meant for research, for careful sketches of interdimensional maps, for scrawled notes in the margins of mysteries unsolved and yet, they belong to you now.

Ford always pulls you closer in crowds, putting his firm hand at the small of your back because he needs to make sure his sweetheart is safe and near

if your feet ache, if your delicate ankles are too sore from those pretty little shoes, he’ll sweep you into his arms without a second thought. he grumbles though, muttering something about you being reckless for wearing those ridiculous shoes, but you know it's just because he cares.

you poor, delicate thing. you look so lovely when you’re tired like this, slumped on the edge of the bed with your heels kicked off haphazardly, body aching from a long day. too much effort, too much weight carried on your dainty little shoulders. but don’t worry, Ford will take care of you.

he kneels before you, a man who has spent decades chasing the unknown, kneeling at your feet like a man finally bowing before the only mystery he never wants to solve. calloused hands reach for your ankle, undoing the delicate strap of your shoe, fingers tracing the curve of your instep. and you sigh when you feel his warm lips pressing against the skin just above your ankle.

“you look so tired, my dear, please let me take care of you.”

his hands travel higher, peeling off the layers of the day, undressing you carefully and that feels almost ceremonial. fingers working at the zipper of your dress, pushing it from your shoulders, watching as the fabric pools around you. his breath is warm when he leans in against the curve of your thigh, kissing, kissing, kissing, an exploration, a devotion.

your hands never open doors, never carry bags heavier than a dainty purse. Ford notices everything. if your lipstick smudges after a kiss, he’s already smoothing his thumb over your lower lip. if your hands are cold, his are already cupping them, rubbing warmth into your skin, bringing your fingers to his mouth to breathe warm air over them.

in a moment of hesitation you'll always hear “don’t trouble yourself with that, love. let me handle it.”

you struggle with your hair and Ford is already reaching for the brush, pulling you between his knees as he gently, meticulously combs through the strands, what makes shivers bloom down your spine.

because Ford's sweetheart should never struggle, not when he can do something about it.

but that treatment does not stop at the threshold of the bedroom.

always kissing your wrist like a proper gentleman before pinning them down and making you sob.

when you straddle Ford's lap, rocking against him with slow, teasing rolls of your hips, he doesn’t stop you, only leans back, watching you.

“mmh, you’re making quite the mess of me, sweetheart.”

you know his hands have built machine leading to other worlds and dimensions, but now, they exist for you.

and in bed they are worshipful. you dont have to work for pleasure, you receive it. his pleasure is your pleasure.

you melt when his big hands hold you steady, guiding you against the hard press of his cock, letting you take what you want. if you decide to ride him, he always settles his hands on your hips, just because he wants to be close to you.

but oh, he likes to give, too.

you are his subject, his obsession, the one thing in all the dimensions that he has deemed worthy of true complete devotion.

you cum first, always, that's his rule. even while he’s making love to you, even when he’s right there on the edge. you'll always hear him groaning “cum for me, love,” and he means now.

fingers, fingers, fingers, obsessed with them, using them on you, making you cum on them.

because damn, he needs to make sure you’re ruined and twitching before he fucks his own release into you.

“look at you. dripping all over my hand. such a pretty little thing”

and thats a fact. his fingers always come first. they have to. he’d never think of fucking you without it, not when your little pussy flutters just from the slow push of his long digits inside. two first, then three, stretching, pressing, working until you’re soaking and weak.

Ford fingers you so often and naturally, that you start to think it’s just second nature to him. you’re sitting on his lap, buried in one of his oversized sweaters and his hand is already under it, teasing at the waistband of your panties, rubbing soft circles over your sensitive clit. or you’re in bed, drowsy and half-asleep and Ford is already between your thighs, lazily sliding two fingers inside you, curling them deep as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

“just relax, sweetheart, let me take care of you.”

Ford never rushes. six fingers, six places to hold, touch and tease. one teasing your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. another smoothing over your hip, keeping you still. but the two buried inside you work you open, coaxing wet little sounds from your lips, stroking that soft, aching spot deep inside.

his voice is always deep and soothing, even when his cock is aching, even when he’s watching your slick drip down his wrist. Ford is patient. determined. he won’t fuck you until you’re trembling, begging, nearly crying for it.

“that’s it, love. such a sensitive little thing.”

your nipples, he just adores them, rolling them between his fingers, sucking them slow, teasing, making your back arch so pretty, your fingers digging into his hair as he kisses, licks, bites, its never enough.

“so soft. you’re beautiful like this. love you so much.”

yeah, Ford knows you love his fingers because you always run your mouth about them, without even realising. you’ll watch him turn a page in his journal and murmur “ohh your hands are so strong, Ford.” or when you trace your fingertip along the veins of his knuckles and hum, “beautiful, so big.” you say it without a thought, praising him for nothing, really

and Ford never comments, never says a damn thing, but he burns with the knowledge that you have no idea what you do to him

so later, when his thick cock stuffing you up, filling every little space, fucking you open, that’s when he gets his little revenge.

“Ford, w-wait—“ you gasp when he pulls out suddenly, leaving you aching and empty when you were so damn close, in response you feel Ford rubbing his broad palm down your belly, down between your thighs. “shh, just for a second, just let me. here we go,” its two first, then three, pressing inside, stroking that spot that makes your body jolt.

Ford kisses your neck. “this little pussy loves my fingers more than anything, doesn't she?” fuck, you do, you can’t help it. you whimper, nodding so fast it makes him grin. “so go on, starlight. cum for them.”

there's nothing he loves more than making you cum around his fingers.

Ford, although quite awkward, insists you sit on his face and you know his mouth was made for worship when you perched prettily on him. greedy hands gripping your thighs, trying to keep you there forever. six fingers press into your flesh, keeping you open and spread, keeping you exactly where he wants you with your thighs trembling around his head.

his tongue moves with purpose, slowly lapping at your pussy like he has all the time in the world. you tilt your head back when he sucks your little clit into his warm mouth, moans against you like he's the one getting fucked, groans deep and filthy when you grab his hair.

“you taste divine, darling.”

Ford lovers to press his forehead to yours when he bottoms out deep, stretching you good enough that you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. he kisses your lips, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, memorising every inch of you, letting you feel every inch of him, holding himself still so you can adjust.

and Ford hates making you cry, he swears he does. but god, if he doesn’t love the way your little tears stain his lips when he devours your mouth with kisses.

“i know, darling, i know,” as his thumb catches the first tear that spills, swipes it up, brings it to his lips like he’s starving for it. “look at my pretty girl, getting all teary for me.”

he can’t help it. his hands tighten as he ruts faster into you.

It's his guilty pleasure but damn, Ford adores it when you get dumb for him, too far gone to even think as he fucks into you so deep, the bed creaking. your knees trembling where they hook over his hips.

“sweetheart, still with me?” he’s got your wrists pinned, forehead to forehead, mouth brushing yours as he drinks up every little sound.

“fuh—Ford, too much—c-can’t—“

he’s not even touching you anymore, just watching how your lashes flutter and your mouth stays open, how your chest rises and falls in rapid helpless gasps. you can’t think straight. he’s hitting too deep, ruining you too slow and that feels too good.

“you can take it. just let me make you feel good.” he cups your face, wipes the mess off your cheek.

but Ford loves it when you use him too, when you ride him, rolling your hips in teasing circles, grinding down just to hear him groan. Ford always lets you take what you need.

and when you collapse against his chest, tired, trembling, whining softly into his neck about how good he feels, he fucks up into you, slow and sweet, holding you close, cradling you.

“i’ve got you, baby, i’ve got you. let me love you.”

ever the gentleman, Ford always asks you where you want his cum.

“tell me, princess. where do you want it? inside? on your pretty stomach? your soft thighs? tell me, sweetheart. let me give it to you. im so close.“

it. . . doesn't really matter that he wants it inside you, that he needs to fill you up, keep you full and watch it drip from your spent little cunt. no. the most important thing is what his beloved wants.

even afterwards, Ford doesn’t roll away, but stays pressed against you, holds you through it all. whispers soft things against your temple, kisses your fingertips, your shoulders, your belly as he thanks you for letting him ruin you.

because princess treatment doesn’t end when the sex does. Ford cleans you up gently, tugs you against his scarred chest, runs his six fingers through your hair until you fall asleep, safe in his arms.

“there, there, sweetheart. took me so well. so proud of you. just rest. i’ve got you.” and here you are, worshipped, fucked, adored

[melanchoire]

can i request a minji x female reader. Where minji is y/n sugar mommy ?

I KNOW the chanel princess would be a complete sugar mommy because she has this vibe of wanting to spoil a pretty girl and treat her like a baby

the way you met her was casual and nothing planned. you’re a college student with several part-time jobs and you find yourself with a cashier and waitress position in a luxury cafeteria where the rich part or people with good pockets usually go

minji witnesses how one day a demanding customer dares to raise his voice and mistreat you, perhaps you made a mistake with the order or put too much sugar in his black coffee 😞 and on a whim, minji steps in and defends you from the rude customer who was giving you a hard time. also leaves a generous tip that pretty much solves your financial problems of paying rent this month 👀

minji starts frequenting the cafe, always leaving extravagant tips and engaging in brief conversations with you, like asking you questions about the menu options when she always orders the same thing. one day, after you mention a major financial hurdle (tuition, rent), minji jokingly suggests a “mutually beneficial arrangement,” but the suggestive look in her eyes and the smile growing on your face makes you doubt if it’s just a joke or an honest insinuation 🫣

you’re initially hesitant, but you feel more and more tempted by the offer… and that’s how you got here!

minji being the sweetest, most chivalrous woman to you :(

minji spending an exaggerated amount of money on you because she loves the smile that appears on your face when she does small or big actions just for you; book a small venue or rent a piano for a private concert just for you, playing your favourite songs or even writing one specifically. exclusive shopping trips such as shopping trips to designer boutiques or art galleries, with minji encouraging you to “treat” yourself. take a private cooking class together, with lots of funny jokes and lots of fun. late night talks like cozy nights at minji’s apartment, sharing secrets and vulnerabilities while you sip wine or tea. escape the city for a romantic weekend in a secluded cabin or luxury resort.

or attend a charity gala for minji’s work, where you can see her in her element, but you also feel a little out of place and self��conscious because this isn’t your thing :( but minji makes an effort to make you feel comfortable and included, always keeping you close to her by putting a hand on your lower back or a hand on your hip

she doesn't fuck, she makes love genuinely so sweet and so loving in bed 🥺 showering you in kisses, murmuring sweet nothings against your skin, holding your hands and intertwining fingers as she makes you feel good 😵‍💫

OMG AND FUCKING IN HER CAR minji would be taking you for a ride, maybe going to dinner or shopping. she is the type that drives with only one hand on the wheel because the other is placed on your thigh, running up and down your leg and caressing your soft skin with her palm… you would try to ignore the heat between your legs if it weren’t for the fact that she is looking so handsome and casual, a formal jacket or coat or maybe those suits she usually wears for work — but noticing your gaze on her and how you move uncomfortably in the seat, minji has no problem parking the car in a random parking lot, making you climb onto her lap and ride her fingers or maybe even taking you to the backseats if you’re in the mood for more 😉

or there are times when she is in her office at work or when she is in the office she has in her apartment, sitting at her desk doing paperwork while the glare from her computer hits her face and reflects off the lenses of her glasses, not feeling stressed at all because under her desk she has a pretty girl who is in charge of eating her pussy and providing her with relief from work stress <3

[voitier]

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... your angel of a boyfriend always respected your wishes and boundaries. but what happens when you feel your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [smut!] teasing, making out, mentions of dry humping, fingering, reader's first time, softdom!gguk × inexperienced!reader, gentle sex, mentions of discomfort during penetration.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬: 2𝓴 +

There were certain things you absolutely loved about your boyfriend, like the way his eyes lit up in excitement when you cooked him his favourite meal, or the way his natural non-toxic masculine energy immediately put you at ease, making you slide into your soft feminine energy naturally. This was probably one of the first things you noticed even before you got together, slowly becoming aware of how well you fit into a balanced dynamic that you both felt comfortable in.

But, most of all, you loved the way he never pushed you to do things you weren't keen on doing, never made you feel like you had to something for him "because he said so", never forced anything. Always treated you so well, so gently, so lovingly. He held you at night tight enough like he was afraid you would slip from his arms, but also so delicately like he was scared he could break you if he made a tiny mistake, the same way glass shatters to the ground if you're not careful enough.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise when you told him you weren't ready to have sex just yet, tears striking down your face in fear he would leave you right then and there, and he didn't even appear to be annoyed by that. If anything, he ran you a warm bubble bath, hugging you from behind while cuddling you and whispering sweet nothings to reassure you that no, he wouldn't leave you for that and yes, he would wait as long as you needed. 

"Thank you," you had whispered, sniffling softly as the sobs finally subdued. Jungkook gathered the bubbles in the palm of his hand, blowing them in your face. His expression visibly relaxed as you giggled, wiping the scented bubbles that landed on the tip of your nose. 

"Princess, I don't want you to feel pressured about doing anything with me, got that? I could never leave you, I love you too much. Also, your cute little face got me wrapped around your pinky."

A few months had passed from that moment, and he had kept his promise. This doesn’t mean that you never shared moments of intimacy, but rather that you both opted for things that you liked and were comfortable in, like grinding while making out, or giving and receiving oral. And you always felt so at ease, so sure that he would never take advantage of you in any way or form.

But as time went on, you felt your resolutions slowly crumble to the ground: it all started with following him on set, watching mesmerized as he posed for the camera. He was magnificent in his expressions, in his demeanor, in the way he rocked the outfits given by the CK company. He was confident, alluring, his muscles moving in a way that made you feel tingly all over. His eyes caught yours, crouched on the chair behind the camera, trying to be invisible to the eyes of all the professionals that hurriedly walked around you. You watched as a weird glint sparkled in his eyes, his lips curling in a knowing smirk briefly before he snapped back into character, leaving you a flustered, breathless mess. You weren’t entirely sure, but after that it looked like he posed even sexier for the camera, manipulating his body so that it could allure you in the same way a siren’s song allures pirates before devouring them. and god, did it work…

You shifted around uncomfortably, fiddling with your phone, looking around at anything to tear your eyes from your boyfriend, trying to ignore the wetness pooling between your legs. and Jungkook took notice of every effort you made to hide your need, quite amused by it all. Soon after, the director called for the end of the day, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear “good job, guys, see you tomorrow!”, clapping his hands and stopping by the photographer to discuss something about the lightning of some photos. 

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, stretching his body to relax his tensed limbs before making his way to you, chuckling darkly when he noticed you acting like you weren’t paying any attention to him. he leaned over you, trapping you between his arms as his lips hovered your ear. “What's wrong, princess?” he purred, nibbling softly your earlobe. Your breath struck in your throat at his sultry tone, and you prayed he couldn’t hear your heart thrumming in your chest, or your hands shaking by your side. You felt like you were floating in a bubble where nothing mattered aside from his presence, and his musky cologne that clouded your senses and made your head dizzy. You closed your eyes breathing it in, parting your lips slightly to let out a soft breath.

Jungkook hummed pleased at your responsiveness, cupping your jaw with his warm hand. He traced your bottom lip with his thumb, staring at it almost as if hypnotised by his own action, pulling it down softly before murmuring “let’s go home, princess”, a tinge of urgency lacing his words. 

The drive home was probably the quickest you’ve ever been in, with Jungkook’s foot slamming the pedal to the ground, one hand grabbing possessively your thigh and fingers touching where you most need him with featherlight pressure. As soon as the car pulled into the driveway Jungkook was quick to pick you up and bring you inside, pushing your back against the door as soon as it closed behind you. 

His lips immediately found yours, pulling you into a desperate kiss. He gently pulled your hair at the back of your neck, angling your face better in order to deepen the kiss. You moaned, the sound swallowed by your boyfriend’s lips, hands tugging at his shirt to take it off. Jungkook pulled back slightly, groaning at the sight of your swollen red lips and hooded eyes. “Bedroom?” he asked, throwing his shirt on the ground.

“Yes, please” you whispered, following him around the house as more kissing and more stripping occurred, ending up in the bedroom already half naked and even more worked up than before. You wiggled out of the shirt that covered your chest and your panties-clad bottom, straddling your boyfriend’s lap as he sat against the headboard.

“C’mon, princess, you know what to do” he said, hands holding your thighs firmly while you rocked back and forth, whimpering as his still clothed boner provided the perfect friction against your aching clit. “Want… more,” you cried out, hips rutting desperately. Jungkook’s lips latched on your skin, sucking deep purple spots all over your neck and collarbones. “Yeah?” he asked against your flesh, “what is it that you want, princess?”

Your cheeks burned at the embarrassment, yet it didn’t stop you from whimpering “want you inside me”. You felt your boyfriend’s body tense beneath you, his kissing stopping on the spot. His hand cupped your jaw, keeping you in place as his eyes locked with yours. “What did you say, princess?”

If possible, you felt your whole body catch on fire just from his tone alone, trying to divert your gaze as you repeated shyly “want… want you inside me. Please”. You swore you felt his cock throbbing at your words, his pupils completely blown out in lust. The fingers that held your jaw twitched briefly before he asked “you’re sure, princess?”, struggling to hide the restraint in his voice. You nodded, rocking your hips tentatively to spur him on.  

He bit his lip, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to break over his face. He failed at that, though, and a happy giggle escaped his lips as he switched your position, letting you fall on the soft pillows, your back landing on the mattress. He showered your face in excited kisses before he finally calmed down, a serious expression on his face. “Promise you’ll tell me if I'm hurting you or if you want to stop”. You smiled, nodding your head. “Pinky promise”. And just like that he was on you again, reaching a hand behind your back to flick your bra off your chest, sighing in pleasure once he cupped your breast in his hand, gently rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Always looking so pretty,” he purred, reaching a hand down to unzip his pants, trying to take some pressure off his painfully hard member. He groaned, muttering a small “fuck,” before lowering his head on your torso, kissing his way down all the way to your panties. He pressed a hand on your thigh, keeping you spread over in front of his eyes. He smirked pleased at the wet patch on the baby blue fabric of your thong, rubbing his thumb up and down your clothed slit, then pressing his finger on your clit. “Oh fuck- please, Kook,” you moaned, bucking your hips up to gain some more friction. 

“Patience, princess,” he whispered, blowing softly on your clothed sex. You gasped at the feeling, trying to press your thighs back together, but you were stopped by Jungkook’s firm grasp that pinned you to the bed. “How sensitive,” he chuckled, teasingly licking a stripe up the drenched fabric. You whimpered, a string of pleas falling repeatedly from your plush lips as you grew progressively more desperate for more.

“Oh I know, I know, princess,” he cooed, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and pulling them down, throwing them somewhere on the floor. “Gonna make you feel so nice,” he continued, stopping to admire your glistening folds, all wet and leaking just for him. He ran his pointer finger between your folds, gathering your moisture before slowly slipping the finger in. 

“Oh-” you gasped, closing your eyes as Jungkook’s finger stroked your walls, curling it just right. “Gonna put another one in,” he murmured, slipping another finger in. A loud moan escaped your lips, spurring your boyfriend to move in quicker and deeper movements, his fingers hitting repeatedly your g-spot almost as if in a quest to let you release as many sounds as possible. Slick sounds and ragged breaths filled the room, your mind clouding into a hazy state. The bands in your stomach threatened to snap at any moment now, your walls fluttering around Jungkook’s fingers.

Said man, of course, wanted to toy with you a little longer before giving you the relief you needed, and that’s why he immediately pulled his fingers out, chucking darkly at your disappointed whines. He slipped the same two fingers in his mouth, moaning around them as your juices dripped on his tongue. “Always taste so good,” he groaned, leaning down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “Think you’re ready for me, princess?”

You nodded eagerly, though you couldn’t hide the nervousness pricking at the back of your neck. “Can you just… be gentle? Like, a lot? Pretty please”.

“Of course, princess, you don’t even have to ask. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, yeah?” of course there was no doubt that Jungkook already planned on taking it easy with you, nevertheless the confirmation was much needed for you, helping your nerves ease even a tiny bit. 

The man sat back on his knees, taking off his pants and briefs in one go. Even though it wasn’t the first time you had seen him completely naked, you couldn’t help but stare at him mesmerised. He was just that good looking, his body built the same way the greeks carved their most beloved statues. Your mouth ran dry at the sight, and your hands itched to explore every inch of flesh. 

Jungkook leaned back down, caging your head between his arms. He stroked your cheek lovingly, kissing you softly before asking “Do you want me to put a condom on?”

You shook your head, whispering “I’m still on the pill, it’s fine. Wanna feel you raw”. Your boyfriend closed his eyes at the confession, your desire of feeling him bare both arousing and touching. “Okay,” his hand reached between your bodies, holding his member in a firm grasp as he ran his almost purplish tip over your folds, gathering your wetness. 

“Oh god,” you choked out, your walls clenching around nothing. Finally, Jungkook aligned his cock with your entrance, looking at your face one last time before slowly pushing it in, holding you closer to his chest as you gasped in discomfort. “Kook…ngh, wait…”

“I got you, princess,” he cooed, stopping his motion immediately. He stroked your hair, and he didn’t even wince when you bit his bicep to ignore the discomfort between your hips. “‘s alright, love. I promise it’s gonna feel nice really soon, hold tight for me”.

You nodded, taking a shaky breath in before your boyfriend pushed a couple more inches or so inside you, settling deep before he stilled his movements, waiting for you to give him permission to do anything. Despite the uncomfortable sensation, you couldn’t ignore how full you felt and how good it felt to have him nestled inside your walls completely bare, allowing you to feel even the littlest throb. Meanwhile, your angel of a boyfriend did everything in his hold to distract you, from kissing your lips to nibbling your earlobe, wanting you to feel good yet feeling guilty because he couldn’t do anything to let the pain subside faster.

“Mmh- Kook… I think you can move now,” you croaked out, catching Jungkook’s attention. The man whispered a soft “okay,” then locked your lips in a slow and passionate kiss as he began moving, pulling out almost entirely before pushing back in, over and over again. Soon, you whimpers of discomfort turned into moans of pleasure, and Jungkook followed you by example. Noises of skin slapping skin echoed in the bedroom, almost harmonising with your moans and grunts. 

“Princess… can I- fuck, can I go faster?” you nodded again, throwing your head against the pillows as Jungkook’s hips picked up their pace, almost snapping against your body. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, jaw hanging low while your boyfriend got drunk on the sight, hissing as he felt himself approaching his orgasm at light’s speed. His hand reached down, toying with your clit to bring you closer to your finish line. However, he almost lost it all when you let out a loud, almost pornographic, moan, your walls sucking him in greedily. 

His brows furrowed in concentration, determined to make you cum before he did. “C’mon, princess, give it to me,” he grunted, applying the right pressure to your clit to make you completely unravel under him, whimpering and shaking as your walls fluttered around his dick. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, pulling out just in time to spill his warm milky white cum on your tummy, decorating your skin in ropes of white. 

He laid beside you with a huff, scanning your body with his eyes to check that everything was alright. He took a strand of hair falling onto your eyes and lovingly pushed it behind your ear, smiling at you softly as you opened your eyes back. “Doing alright, love?”

You hummed, feeling too weak to mutter out anything. Your body still shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you felt your sensitive sex still pulsing uncomfortably, but overall you felt great, and your mind wasn’t running miles per hour for once. 

Jungkook pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. “C’mon, I’ll run us a bath. You’ve been so good, I love you so much, princess.”

© voitier 2025

⭒ a.n: first fic on here! let me know what you guys think, I'm so excited!

[violetkittyy]

★ 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑!𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

cw: inexperienced!cait × experienced!fem!reader, sub!reader, top!caitlyn, oral (r! receiving).

THINKING ABOUT how loser!caitlyn would be a nervous mess when she saw you, her sweet girlfriend, spread out on the bed in just your underwear, waiting for her. you could see the nervousness in those blue eyes behind the rectangular glasses, but you thought it was cute anyway.

"Come on honey, don't be so shy. Come closer" you instruct, receiving a nod from her as she slowly approached you. when she was already sitting on her heels on the bed, you smile. "very good"

she takes a deep breath, as if it were the most difficult thing in the world — and in a way, for her was —. "Come on, it's not that hard, right?" she says more to herself before reaching a shaky hand down to your panties, gently running her long fingers over your slit, drawing a gasp from you. she continued her movements, deducing that what she was doing was something good and made you feel good.

"Is-is it good?" she asks nervously, looking at you and studying your expressions. seeing you there, with your brow furrowed as you felt her caress you so slowly and sweetly sent a wave of heat between her legs.

you open your eyes and look at her, only to smile. "It's great, please don't stop," you beg and focus back on the feeling.

she feels more confident, starting to touch you with a little more fervor (but not too much). feeling bolder, she hooks her finger into your panties and drags them to the side, revealing your soaking wet pussy to her alone. this caused a great feeling of power and excitement in her — after all, she was the one who made you this wet.

she lays face down on the bed and brings her face closer to your pussy, slowly starting to get almost drunk with the way you smelled. when she's close enough, she puts her hand on your thighs and stops to admire how beautiful you and your pussy looked there. her heavy breathing hit your pussy, making you more and more anxious for when she finally put her tongue inside you.

and when she does, oh, you feel like you're in heaven. her licks were slow and soft, like she was insecure, you stroked her hair to make sure everything was okay, which worked as she gradually got the hang of it.

she ran her tongue through her folds slowly, sucking her clitoris and stimulating her entrance, the way she learned when she researched the subject further (yes, she researched precisely to be perfect).

"oh, cait..." you moan as you grind on her face, feeling her inexperienced tongue make you feel unbelievable things. When she gets completely confident, she starts going faster, focusing directly on her clitoris and making her moan louder. she sucked, licked in circles and flicked it with the tip of her tongue — God, it felt so good you wondered if she was really inexperienced or if it was just a lie.

you were getting closer to orgasm, gripping the sheets behind you as your body went rigid. she realized, doubling her efforts and in seconds you came in her mouth, dirtying her lips and chin.

you panted, tired from the intense sex. when you stabilized your breathing you looked down, seeing Caitlyn also panting, with her glasses fogged up and looking at you like a needy kitten.

"did i do well?" she asks, her blue eyes uncertain and her expression giving away how much she wanted your approval. you just smile and caress her cheek.

"well? no, babe...you were perfect" you say and smile, bringing her close and kissing her gently, drawing a shy and cute smile from her.

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓─

Warnings/MDNI: Angst, slight fluff, abuse, extortion, mentions of non-con. // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: Reunions you didn't expect. ✰ 9.2K.

★ Prev I concept m.list

Charles drove the wagon with steady precision, fast but careful. While you sat in the back, your body was frozen from the pain, and Grimshaw's firm grip was the only thing keeping you upright. The sharp, searing ache in your hand drowned out everything else, past grievances, and future fears. The only thing that existed was the torment of the present. The pain of the wound that you felt in your soul was more than physical.

At one point, as the wagon jolted over a rough patch, you caught yourself thinking, half delirious, half desperate, that maybe they'd have no choice but to amputate. The thought although exaggerated perhaps, wasn't entirely unwelcome. A missing hand might finally convince him to leave, to see you as damaged goods, no longer worth the effort. And no other man would dare approach you either.

But the idea of Arthur walking away, cutting his ties with you at last, made you laugh bitterly through clenched teeth. The absurdity of it. You knew better than to hope for an escape so simple.

You begged them, though, pleaded through the haze of agony. "Drop me off somewhere. Anywhere. Please." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to find even the faintest sliver of mercy.

But you already knew what the answer would be.

"We can't," Charles muttered, his voice steady but laced with quiet regret.

"Wouldn't do any good, you need to stop clinging on that hope. The sooner you accept....the less you suffer like this." Grimshaw added, her tone sharp this time, though there was something softer buried underneath, something she refused to show too openly. So she had finally said this too huh? Had become frustrated at your whining?.

Not surprised at all.

And deep down, you couldn't blame her. Grimshaw risking her place, her family, her sanctuary, for you? It wasn't a possibility.

When they finally laid you on a bed, the voices around you blurred a distant hum against the pounding in your head. The sheer relief of being off that wagon, of being around people, new people, people outside the camp, lulled you into the edge of sleep. The muffled chatter of the town filtered through the walls, a strange sort of comfort amidst everything.

But then...

Wait.

That voice. It tugged at something deep in your memory, something warm and long-forgotten. It couldn't be....could it?

Your eyes fluttered open as your body stiffened slightly. The familiarity of her tone, the way it carried... It was her. Edie. Your heart skipped a beat. Your Edie. A friend so close she might as well have been family once before everything fell apart. You had helped her financially and emotionally when she ran away from her family to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine she'd end up here.

Yet even as your soul surged with recognition and warmth, you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. Pretend. Pretend you didn't know her. And damn her sharpness, because you knew she was clever enough to already be piecing it together, your circumstances, your forced silence. Her eyes didn't betray much, but you caught the faintest flicker of something. Understanding, surprise, sadness perhaps.

"What's happened here?. " she asked, her tone clinical but careful, as she put on her gloves.

Charles cleared his throat. "Uh... her hand. It's injured."

Edie nodded, her movements swift and efficient as she approached. Her eyes met yours briefly, just briefly, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. "I'll check, just relax." she said simply.

She took your injured hand in hers with a gentleness you hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Her fingers worked quickly, inspecting, prodding lightly, and each touch sent sharp bolts of pain racing up your arm. You couldn't stop the hisses and whimpers that escaped your lips, but she shushed you softly, her tone soothing as if speaking to a child.

"Hm," she murmured, her focus entirely on your hand. "We'll need to set it properly. Possibly splint it, maybe more depending on how bad the break is." Her voice dipped slightly, quieter, as though addressing you directly. "Do you feel immense pain?"

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling. "Y-yeah. Kind o-of....it's...it feels numb."

"Okay, this might hurt a bit but just trust me." Edie's voice was soft, almost soothing, as she prepared the syringe. The pinch of the needle barely registered in comparison to the ache that had taken over your hand. She moved efficiently, murmuring occasional reassurances as she began the procedure, but you couldn't focus on her words.

Instead, your gaze shifted to Grimshaw. She needed to be out of this fucking room.

Think (Y/N), think---

Your pitiful whimper grabbed her attention. "Yes, dear?" Grimshaw immediately leaned closer.

Thank God Charles was still in the lobby, out of earshot.

"I-I need... some cloth... y'know, for periods," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest. "Some new ones... Charles brought less than I needed, so can you... go buy them? Arthur gave you money, right?"

Grimshaw's expression flickered with hesitation, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I understand, but-"

Before she could finish, Edie looked up from her work, her sharp eyes meeting Grimshaw's. She nodded subtly, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Don't worry," Edie said, her tone firm but kind. "We'll take care of her. This might take a while anyway, so she'll be in good hands."

Grimshaw hesitated, glancing between the two of you, but Edie pressed on, her words leaving no room for argument. "Also, how about you grab some herbal medicines from the store while you're at it? We're out of stock here, and trust me, they're excellent for pain relief."

She turned her head slightly. "Marlee! Can you give this woman the names of those herbal pain relievers?"

A younger nurse appeared in the doorway, a slip of paper in her hand. "Here you go," she said, smiling and handing it to Grimshaw.

Grimshaw looked at the list and then back at you, her mouth tightening as if she wanted to argue. But after a moment, she nodded briskly. "Alright, I'll get what's needed."

The moment she left...

You both hugged tightly, and the dam you had been holding back for so long broke. Tears spilled freely as you sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her like she was the only tether to sanity in your chaotic world.

"(Y/N)..." Edie murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. "Oh God! I had heard what happened, from Edna. She told me what happened at your wedding. Otherwise, I wouldn't have---God, look at me." Her words stumbled over themselves, her hands gripping your shoulders to steady you and to take in the sight of you. "What have they done to you?! God...you look so different. Did he do this?!"

A faint nod was only what you could muster.

"Oh...my..." Edie's voice broke as she hugged you again, her arms wrapping around you with such ferocity, as if she could shield you from the horrors you had endured.

"The things they're saying about you and him back there-"

"D-don't! NO! Please!" you whimpered, pulling back, shaking your head frantically. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna go through this again! Please..."

Her face softened instantly, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I get it. I get it. I'm sorry. So sorry," she whispered, her hand brushing soothingly over your hair.

"Li-listen to me," you stammered, gripping her wrist tightly, desperation lacing your voice. "I'm gonna tell you the location, and you're going to my parents and telling them where I am, alright?"

Her eyes widened slightly, then hardened with determination. "Hm, got it. Got it, (Y/N). I'm with you."

"Have you been in contact with them though?"

"No," she admitted, frowning. "All of this...all the information about the tragedy, I got it from Edna through a letter. But don't you worry, okay? I'll go to Sable Creek today, right away. I promise."

And with that, you gave her the directions, which she quickly noted down before returning to bandaging your hand. Her voice dropped to a hush, soothing and steady, both of you painfully aware of Charles' presence just outside.

"Listen, take this too."

Before you could question her, Edie slipped something into your pocket, quick, deliberate, and leaving you no chance to inspect it.

"W-what-"

"It's for preventing pregnancy," she whispered sharply, her eyes darting to the door.

"Wha-" Your voice rose, but she cut you off with a firm glare.

"I'm doing this for you. What if you can't come back-"

"No, I get that, idiot," you hissed back, shaking your head. "But why would you even think, do you really think I'm gonna let him touch me? No way in hell!"

Edie's gaze softened, though her expression remained grave. "(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?" Your eyes welled up as a shiver ran down your whole body. Painful whimpers shook your body. "I don't wanna hurt you but I am helping you by telling the truth. So be practical. It is for prevention and it is...taken after...God forbid-."

Your throat tightened due to fear and disgust but also realization as you had totally overlooked this part, and you couldn't stop the trembling in your voice. "G-got it. Thank you so much-"

"Shh...it's fine. Relax. Just take these herbs in a little amount with tea. Remember , little amount."

The door creaked open just then, and both of you instinctively fell silent, slipping into the facade of normalcy. Susan stepped in with a warm, reassuring smile, her voice soft as she began asking questions about your health.

And just like that, Edie had to step away.

When it was time to leave, you couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but you swallowed it down, telling yourself it was fine. It had to be fine.

Because soon...soon, you would be free.

❀˖°

The shopkeeper glanced from the quiet, starry night outside to the tall, broad-shouldered man now examining a rack of ladies' clothing. It was an odd sight, this burly figure flipping through fabrics and inspecting delicate jewels as if weighing their worth.

"Need a hand, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, more out of curiosity than necessity.

"I'm good," the man replied, not looking up.

Fair enough. The shopkeeper watched as the man added a few dresses to his growing pile. This was turning into quite the shopping spree. Last customer of the night, and judging by the variety of items he was grabbing, jewels, perfumes, and now clothes, it seemed like he was sparing no expense.

Finally, the man strode up to the counter, dumping his haul unceremoniously. Without missing a beat, he pointed at a shelf behind the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper followed his gesture. "The shampoo? Which one, strawberry or vanilla?"

"Both."

Damn.

"Your lady's a lucky one. Here you go," he remarked, handing over a neatly folded scarf as requested.

"She ain't. I am. Why you think I'm buyin' these?"

The owner chuckled at the response. "I bet, sir. Anything else?"

"Total."

The shopkeeper began tallying up, muttering numbers under his breath before hesitating. "All of this would be well... $200-"

Click.

"Now?"

"I-s-sir, don't-"

"Now?" Arthur lifted the revolver just enough for the shopkeeper to see the glint of silver, all while keeping it angled away from the store's windows.

The shopkeeper's face paled. "F-f-free!".

Arthur chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "That's what I like to hear. Now pack 'em. And properly. Otherwise, you're the one getting packed tonight."

"I-uh-yes! Please don't-" The shopkeeper's hands shook as he hurriedly wrapped everything, his eyes darting nervously to the gun and then to Arthur's face, hoping for some sign of mercy.

When the parcels were finally ready, the shopkeeper slid them across the counter. "T-there you g-go, sir."

"I'll take some chocolates too on the way out... if you don't mind of course." Arthur holstered his revolver with deliberate ease, taking his time as he gathered the packages. "Good night, Mister," he said smoothly, tipping his hat with a smirk before entering the cool night air.

❀˖°

Arthur went through the motions clinging to the routine like it might steady him. A nod by the fire. A stop at the camp fund box, tossing in whatever he had. A quiet word with Dutch, though neither of them really said anything, and then to Ms. Grimshaw...

"She'll be fine," Grimshaw said when he mentioned you, when he asked, low and almost ashamed, about your hand. "The doc said it'll heal, but it'll take time." She paused, a flicker of sympathy softening her sharp tone. " She's been... quieter. More than usual. Not eating...and just...holed up."

Arthur nodded solemnly, muttering his thanks, but the guilt in his chest only grew heavier.

Time. Healing. Pain.

He hated every damn word of it.

"Bill," The man glanced over from the fire, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Arthur stopped a few paces away, crossing his arms. "Anything happen while I was gone? Any fights? Any trouble?"

"No. Ain't been much of anything. The camp's been quiet." He took a swig from his bottle and shrugged. "You'd think it'd be good for once, but it's been downright dull."

"You're sure?"

Bill sighed, waving a hand. "Yes, I'm sure. Nobody's said or done nothin'. Least, not that I know of."

Arthur didn't answer right away. He glanced back toward the tent, then shook his head. "And (Y/N)?"

"No screamin' or fightin' this time."

Arthur huffed at his words but nodded and finally, he reached his tent.

He stepped inside, bracing himself, his hands heavy at his sides. But instead of finding you curled under the covers, as he'd expected, you were sitting upright on the edge of the cot.

You didn't look up when he entered. Your shoulders were hunched, your bandaged hand resting in your lap as your uninjured fingers absentmindedly toyed with the edge of the fabric. Suki lay curled beside you, her head resting on your thigh, but you didn't seem to notice her either.

Arthur froze, his throat tightening. Seeing you like this, quiet, defeated, looking so damn small, hit him harder than any blow he'd ever taken.

Now what?

Stop being a coward, Morgan.

He cleared his throat, a low, awkward sound breaking the heavy silence. "Hey," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

You didn't flinch, but you still didn't look at him, your eyes fixed on your lap. And that, somehow, was worse. He took deliberate steps toward you, his thoughts muffled as he sat down beside you. Clearing his throat gently, he murmured, "I'm back... much to your dismay." He awkwardly held up the bags of gifts, his grip tightening as he noticed your lack of reaction.

Suki perked up, her tail curling up faintly, and Arthur nearly smiled. At least she seemed calm.

His eyes drifted to you again, your figure still hunched and quiet, and his heart clenched. "(Y/N)? You... okay?" He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering near your cheek. What surprised him most was that you didn't recoil, didn't push him away or claw his hand off. The absence of resistance stung more than rejection.

"I... lost myself that night," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I... I am sorry. You jus' said his name and I-how can I just...listen to that. You need to understand. That is not something I will tolerate-"

"You were right." Your voice was steady but hollow, each word cutting through him like a blade. "Remember what you... said? That I had nothing.....That was true."

No.

His heart twisted painfully. 

"I... I was a fool," you interrupted his spiraling thoughts, your tone flat and resigned. "A fool to think that as a woman... I could have anything."

"That's....not true," You have me. Arthur rasped, his hands curling into fists, but you didn't seem to hear him.

"I thought... one day, I'd be sitting where my dad is now," you continued, your gaze fixed on some far-off point as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. "I thought I'd build something... be someone."

Arthur froze, his hands curling around the bags as his chest tightened. He didn't know what to say. Stop it. The pain he felt hearing the emptiness in your voice was too much. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit seeing you like this. It broke him more than he ever thought it could.

"Please..." he murmured, his voice soft and almost desperate. "Look what I brought for you." His movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he went to the hamper like an eager child, pulling out items and presenting them to you with trembling hands.

"Look, everything you told me you like," he said, his voice gaining a pleading edge. "Your favorite chocolates, the ones you liked as a child, they were so hard to find but I got em', and... look at this. This set. It's yours." He held it up, a delicate piece of jewelry, then a neatly folded fabric, but his eyes weren't on the gifts anymore. They were on you, on the way you sat there, unmoving, fragile. That's when it hit him.

You looked...weaker.

"Did you eat at all when I was gone?" His voice dropped lower, tinged with worry, but you didn't respond. "(Y/N)? Look here, at this stuff while I go and bring food, okay?"

He waited for a moment, hoping, praying for even a flicker of acknowledgment. But there was nothing, and his patience snapped. 

Arthur hesitated for a moment outside the tent, running a hand over his face. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. You hadn't spoken much, barely reacted to his presence, and now that he thought about it, the whole camp felt quieter than usual. Your silence was the loudest thing he encountered till now.

"Arthur! C'mere!."

"Yes...Dutch?" Arthur's reply was quieter, his eyes darting to Molly, who sat quietly on the cot behind Dutch, who returned his nod.

"Well, you weren't here...and the girl, y'know, I just couldn't bear to see the state she was in. So...I took her to see her parents. Hosea and I handled it."

Arthur's stomach dropped. 

They what? 

"Dutch--but why?-"

"What? Got a problem?"

"No- I just-"

 "She needed that, Arthur. A proper closure. And... needless to say, due to certain rumors now circulating about you two... well, it's affected them. They think she should stay here. For the better. And that's all it took for her father to say this and for her to shut herself...." Dutch trailed off, but the implication was clear. "She hasn't eaten or spoken since."

Is that why you said all that..?

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted to yell, to demand why Dutch had taken such a step without him, but... what could he say? Maybe Dutch had meant well, he always means well,  and maybe it was for the best, but knowing what you must've heard, the rejection from your family, the weight of those rumors... it crushed him. How could you bear it? He couldn't fathom. He should have been the one who took you. Guess, it was for the better, it would have been worse if he had been there.

"Yes... Dutch," Arthur muttered, barely finding his voice.

Dutch's hands clapped onto Arthur's shoulders, his grip firm but meant to be comforting. "I care for you all, alright? She's part of us now, Arthur. And I want you to be happy, too, son. Just... take care of her. Make sure she's eating, resting, and you need some rest yourself."

Arthur nodded stiffly, his lips twitching into a broken semblance of a smile. "I will."

"And, um..." Dutch paused, tilting his head slightly. "Also, Mr. (L/N), well, I came to know he's facing some problems with the O'Driscolls. So I figured it'd be best to offer some help. And the price would only be that he stops funding Pinkertons to find us. What do you think about that?"

Arthur blinked, his breath hitching. "W-what? Since when?"

"Just some days ago before the girl's wedding was about to happen. When we went to meet him, he brought it up. Turns out, it's true. So, what do you say? We help him out? After all, they're your in-laws now, aren't they, boy? And getting rid of those pieces of shit is always worthwhile."

Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. "Yes, Dutch. 'Course. I'll do it myself if I have to."

But the words felt hollow, like he was agreeing to something he couldn't quite understand. All he could think about was you, what you'd heard, how you felt, and how he could even begin to make it right. But somehow he also felt responsible and protective of your family. It's the least he can do...after this. Protecting them...was protecting you, you were once a part of them.

"I know you can. But remember the boys and I are here as well so when things get too much, we are available. Maybe (Y/N) will appreciate that too, y'know. See? We can be all nice when we wanna be." Dutch leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "I'll keep you updated if I hear anything about the 'Driscoll boys. Now, go on, go to your girl."

Arthur gave a brief nod, his jaw tight, and turned on his heel. He grabbed a bowl of stew from the fire, his movements mechanical as his thoughts churned.

He appeared back at the tent but you were under the covers already....and somehow he expected it...

Arthur hesitated for a moment, the bowl trembling slightly in his hands as he stood over the cot. "Here," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You need to eat. Please, they told me you ain't swallowed a single bite. At least half...please."

Again no response which only left him the option to sigh and put it aside.

He wanted to say more, to bring up the meeting with your parents. But the words caught in his throat. How could he comfort you about something that, in some twisted way, he had set into motion? The rumors, the whispers, the decisions made without you or him, it all tied back to him, to his mistakes.

He took out his journal, desperate to get these thoughts out of his mind as he began scribbling.

"I miss you, (Y/N).

Miss your smile, your laugh, the way you’d go on and on about things and make jokes out of anything.

I know you miss it too. The life you should be living. Not this. Not with me. You should be wrapped in silk and drowning in gold, not stuck in the mud beside a man like me. You should be surrounded by normal people, not outlaws and killers. You should be sleeping in a fine bed, not lying awake beside the same bastard who ruined you.

But don’t you see? The more you fight it, the more you tear yourself apart. And I can live with a lot of things. I can live without your laughter, without your warmth. But I won’t live with you shutting yourself away from me.

And you, you, should’ve known better than to utter another man's name..."

His pencil halted as he realized what he had written. His mind had gone in another direction. The other side. The one he hated to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. A primal side that found a grim satisfaction in the fact that your parents had pushed you away. That closure, painful as it was, came from them. Maybe now, with nowhere else to turn, you'd stop clinging to the past and start... accepting this. Accepting him. He hated himself for the thought, but it lingered all the same, buried beneath layers of guilt and shame.

It was necessary.

Shutting his journal he laid down beside you. He wanted to reach out, to hold your hand, to apologize, hell, to beg if that's what it took.

"I know... it ain't easy," he murmured after a long pause, his voice rough with emotion. "But... I'm here, alright? Always will be."

But who was to tell him that the real truth was a trip that had resulted in you having a gun barrel pointed at your head.

❀˖°

Few days ago.

It was the third day since he had left and thank God he still wasn't back, nobody told you when he would be and you didn't give a fuck to ask anyway. The camp was...empty almost. Dutch, Hosea, and the women resting in their places. The boys had been sent away to different jobs. Oh yes, Bill was here too.

That's why you now sat beneath the shade of a tree, a book resting in your lap, one you had finally felt sane enough to read. Suki lounged by your side, her soft purring a rare comfort. She got it so easy huh? Free to go wherever... whenever. An animal is in a better place than you. But even as you tried to focus on the words on the page, your mind refused to stay quiet.

Did Edie make it? Did she tell your parents? And if she did...why-

A sharp cough pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, accompanied by the faint smell of a cigar. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was, the shadow looming over you confirmed it.

One bitch out of camp, so what? The bigger one's still here.

"Ms. (Y/N), there. Happy?" Dutch greeted, his tone casual as he crouched down, extending a hand to pet Suki, who sniffed him indifferently.

"I wanted to..." He trailed off for a moment, the smirk transformed into a complete look of shame, shocking you.

"To ask you something," he finally continued, his eyes meeting yours. "I feel like maybe I was a bit harsh that day. So, as a form of compensation...How about I take you to meet your parents?"

No way.

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah. You ready?"

"But--Arthu-

"He isn't here and he won't be for a few more days. I figured you both needed a break, so I sent him for a good amount of time. No need to thank me." He stood up with a gentle smile.

"See? I can be nice. Now, missy get up and I'll be waiting for you at the stables."

Slowly, you made your way back to the tent, Suki trailing at your heels. But as the hope began to settle, so did the gnawing pit of anxiety bubbling in your stomach. What if this was some trick? Or worse, what if this wasn't?

You sank down onto the edge of your cot, your hands trembling slightly. For a minute, you just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, trying to calm the storm that raged inside you.

Wait.

What if... you go there and, like-

Breathe.

Your mind spiraled, the what-ifs circling like vultures. If Edie had already informed your parents, you shouldn't even be here right now. This could have been the perfect time for help to arrive. Arthur isn't around, but now Dutch is offering to take you there himself?

But then again... what if Dutch finds out about Edie through your parents?

No. You shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You're overthinking. Relax. Your parents aren't fools. They would know how to handle themselves.

Just... get ready and leave.

Still, the pit in your stomach didn't ease. It churned with a deep unease, one you couldn't shake even as you tried to calm yourself.

You sat stiffly behind Bill as the three of you finally reached town. The journey to Sable Creek had taken half an hour or so, but your home was still a few minutes away. The familiar surroundings should've been comforting, but the unease bubbling in your chest refused to settle. How would your parents react and...how would you calm yourself in front of them?. The pain was bubbling over the surface, ready to be spilled in the form of tears and broken words in their embrace.

"Why are we stopping here?" you asked, your voice cautious as you slid carefully off the horse, mindful of your injured hand.

Dutch dismounted gracefully, tying up his horse with practiced ease. "A work needs to be done first. C'mon."

You shared a hesitant glance with Bill, who offered a grunt in response, ignoring you completely.

The building in front of you came into view, and your brows furrowed. A notary office?

You knew the place well enough, Mr. Mason was the officer, and you'd been here before for work-related errands. But what on earth could Dutch, of all people, want at a notary office? The man and legalities seemed as mismatched as oil and water.

"Appointment?"

"You can go in now. Mr. Mason is awaiting you," the receptionist announced to him with a polite smile.

As the three of you entered, Dutch greeted Mr. Mason first. "Oh, Ms. (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you," Mason said, gesturing awkwardly toward a chair. "Um, please, have a seat."

Warily, you lowered yourself into the chair opposite Dutch, who was already leaning back with somewhat a serene expression. Whilst, Bill lingered quietly near the wall.

"So," Dutch began, exhaling a puff of smoke from his freshly lit cigar, "let's get to business, shall we?"

"What is going on here?" you interrupted, turning your gaze sharply to Mason. "Mr. Mason? Care to explain? You know him?"

Mason hesitated, smoothing the papers on his desk with trembling hands. "Well, yo-u could say, Ms. (Y/N), that we are... acquaintances-"

"Excuse me?"

"Now, now," Dutch cut in smoothly, waving his cigar like he was conducting a symphony. "Calm yourself, missy. Let's just get the work done, shall we?"

Before you could respond, Mason pulled out a stack of documents, sliding them across the desk toward you and Dutch. Also, you didn't fail to see a certain...a certain fearful look in Mr. Mason's eyes too, the most jolly man you had come across. Your stomach churned as you reached for them instinctively, your fingers trembling as you flipped through the pages.

Dutch, unbothered, leaned back in his chair, puffing his cigar as if this was just another leisurely evening for him.

Your eyes darted across the bold lettering,

PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT

Grantor: Ms. [Y/N] [L/N] (hereinafter referred to as "Grantor").

Grantee: Dutch Van der Linde (hereinafter referred to as "Grantee").

Your breath hitched.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?" you demanded, glaring at Mason, then at Dutch, who remained infuriatingly calm.

"Huh!?" Your voice trembled, the words barely forming as your eyes scanned the papers again. "What is this?".

Your hands trembled as you scanned the document again.

Your land. The plot in Cinderpoint. Nearly an acre of pristine property, yours. A perfect spot, rich with greenery, near the railway. And you knew exactly why Dutch was doing this.

He could afford to buy land elsewhere, hell, in the Heartlands, where an acre went for as little as fifteen dollars. Even this plot wasn't much more, maybe four hundred and fifty at most.

But this wasn't about money.

It was about being on the safe side.

He wasn't buying it and being a criminal he couldn't, that was too risky and too much work but having it "granted" ...it couldn't be easier.

And by having the deed, in his name, Dutch gained three things, legal cover of course, on paper, the land would belong to him, resale power, he could do as he pleased with it, and worst of all, long-term security if he planned to develop it, which you feared was his real goal.

No. This can't be happening.

"Now, (Y/N), listen," Dutch began smoothly, leaning forward with that predatory calm that made your stomach churn. "What we're doing here is mutual business. Since you live with us now, it's only natural, makes sense, really--that your property remains safeguarded. With us. With you. No?."

"You son of a bitch!" You exploded, slamming the papers onto the desk with your uninjured hand. "You think I'd hand over my assets? To you!? Are you out of your damn mind? This is mine! And what the fuck do you mean by 'safeguard,' huh? Just say it, say you're fucking looting me! You need it because then the law can't arrest you for illegal occupation!"

"Ms. (Y/N)-" Mason began nervously, his voice faltering under your glare.

"No! You---shut up! How can you do this, Mr. Mason? You... you know Dad, right? I've-I've worked with you. Please, don't listen to these people."

Dutch chuckled darkly, dragging his chair closer with a deliberate scrape against the wooden floor. "I'd say the sooner we get done with it, the better, darlin'. I am doing this for all of us. Including you. And looting? I prefer the term, 'acquire'."

He leaned in, his leg brushing against yours, boxing you in completely. You were trapped between his looming presence and the desk, his cigar smoke curling lazily around you like a noose.

Just then, the door burst open.

Another man entered, blond, with the weirdest mustache you'd ever seen.

"Ah, Micah, come on in," Dutch drawled, not even glancing up. "We just got started."

Micah smirked, his sharp eyes flicking to you like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Did the bitch agree yet?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The sheer disgust and fear this man evoked made your skin crawl.

"W-who th-!"

Before you could finish, the back of his hand cracked across your face. The impact sent you reeling, stars bursting in your vision.

"P-please, don't treat her like this," Mason stammered, standing abruptly. "Please-"

"Did we ask for your permission? And I am gonna do much worse to your wife Masey, now sit down!"

Your ears rang. The world tilted, your vision blurred by pain and humiliation.

Then, warm breath ghosted over your ear.

Micah's hand gripped your chin, forcing your face upward. His voice dripped with mockery.

"Arthur must be coddling you like some baby, but not us, sweetpea. We are, you could say... a bit tougher. So how about you be a good girl and sign-"

"Go to hell."

With a sharp snarl, you clawed at his hand, drawing a hiss from him.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fingers darted for the pen on the desk, gripping it tight, ready to stab-

Click.

"Sweetheart, cursing ain't gonna get you anywhere." Dutch's voice dripped with mockery, smooth and unbothered, as if this were all just a friendly transaction.

The cold barrel of his revolver pressed hard against the side of your head.

He winked at Micah, who stood right behind your seat, his hands gripping the back of the chair, fingers just barely grazing your shoulders.

Bill remained silent. Micah, on the other hand, let out a wheezing chuckle.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Never in your life had you felt so... degraded. So helpless. Locked in a room with three men who could do whatever they wanted with you.

"It's just paperwork," Dutch continued, as if the gun against your skull was merely a formality. "Sign it, and you can rest easy knowing your little patch of paradise is in safe hands."

Safe hands.

"I am not doing it. I am NOT giving you as-sholes anything! You tricked me into coming here?! How low can you possibly go?!"

Micah clicked his tongue, then suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

You flinched, a sharp gasp escaping you as you thrashed against his hold.

"Now, now, Micah," Dutch drawled, not even looking at him.

Micah scoffed but obeyed, his grip loosening before he shoved your head forward again.

"As you say... boss."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breath. Your heart told you to fight, but logic whispered otherwise. You were outnumbered. Cornered. And Dutch still had his gun pressed against you.

For now, you had no choice but to play along.

But for now wouldn't last forever. You prayed. God is with those who are patient, right? You have to remain strong.

Be strong...please.

"We're not leaving this building until you sign. And as for Mr. Mason here, well, sweetheart, it doesn’t take much to bribe a government officer… or to persuade him through other means." He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, letting it curl in the air between you. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are we doing this the civil way, or…" So that's why Mr. Mason looks disturbed. The bitter scent of his cigar filled your lungs, making you gag.

"You don't know half the things I'm capable of. Don't worry, though, you'll learn everything soon enough and then you will be thanking me. Now, sign the papers, or I'll blow your brains out right here. And after that... let's just say that poor little cat back at camp won't be so lucky either-"

"Don't! Le-eave her outta this! Ple-ase!.."

"Sobbing isn't going to change anything, so quit it. Just. Sign. The. Damn. Papers."

"You'll regret this. One day... you'll pay for t-his, you animals."

With trembling hands, tears streaming down your face, you signed.

...Done.

Just like that?

Your heart pounded, a dull, heavy ache in your chest as Dutch slid the pen from your grasp, his smirk stretching wider, the smirk of a winner.

"Wasn't so hard, was it now, pumpkin?" Micah sneered. His voice, his breath, everything about him made your skin crawl. He finally stepped back, standing behind Dutch this time, watching him sign with a look of twisted satisfaction.

When will this end?

"There. All done," Mason muttered, clearing his throat. His movements were stiff, reluctant, but he stamped the papers nonetheless, finalizing the transfer of your land.

He slid them across the desk. "There you go, Mr. Van der Linde."

Dutch leaned back, examining the documents with a pleased nod before turning his gaze to Mason. "And the security matter?"

"Handled," Mason confirmed, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "You won't have any problems with the law. My contact's taken care of it, and your real name won't be on record.. Just present these original documents, and that'll be proof enough. After that, you can use any alias you want, so if the law comes sniffing around, they won't have a clue. And even if you use your real name, they can't just arrest you for owning this land."

Dutch grinned, tapping a finger against the papers.

"Perfect."

Your head remained frozen in time.

Memories blurred into the present, forcing you back to that day, the day you turned twenty. The day your father handed you the deed with a proud smile. You had visited Cinderpoint once, offhandedly mentioning how much you liked it. That was all it took for him to make it yours.

And now... it was gone.

A sharp knock broke through the silence. The trio stirred, but you remained motionless, no more than a hollow shell in your chair.

Dutch chuckled, his voice thick with amusement. "Mhm. I think it's who I think it is. Well, gentlemen, let's give Miss (Y/N) some privacy. She does deserve this sweet reward now, doesn't she?"

Their laughter echoed as they shuffled out, the door creaking shut behind them. Muffled voices faded into the distance.

Your father who rushed in, didn't speak right away. He just looked at you really looked at you as if memorizing every bruise, every tear-streaked inch of your face. His lips parted, but whatever words he wanted to say never came. Instead, he reached out, hesitantly at first, before pulling you into his arms.

The moment his embrace tightened around you, he broke. A choked sob escaped him, his body trembling against yours as he buried his face into your hair. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you felt his tears soak into your shoulder.

"I failed you," he whispered hoarsely. "God help me, I failed you."

You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. But the words wouldn't come.

Your hands clenched weakly at the fabric of his coat, gripping it as if holding on for dear life. He held you for what felt like forever, gently rocking you back and forth as your sobs wracked through your body. His calloused hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down like he used to when you were a child frightened by anything.

"Shh, my girl, my sweet girl. You're safe now. I'm here."

His words, meant to soothe, only made your chest tighten further. Safe? When had you last felt truly safe? His arms might have shielded you now, but what had been stolen from you, your land, your dignity, your freedom...it was too much...

You felt him take a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to calm down before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks. "Breathe with me, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just breathe. I am here."

You tried. Slowly, painfully, your ragged gasps evened out into something steadier. Your father did the same, his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting moment of quiet understanding.

And then, at last, he spoke.

"Just... a month before your wedding, I began having trouble with some of my merchants and clients being robbed on the trade routes. I kept it a secret as I didn't wanna worry any of you, especially you. It was the O'Driscolls," he started, his voice heavy with regret. "So, of course, I began funding the Pinkertons to deal with them..."

He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And... after-" His voice broke as he wiped away a tear. "After they took you away from me, I began paying for you to be brought back too but...I was also suffering a lot of losses in business. The agency was demanding too much from me and doing so little. Then Dutch...came, and he told me I needed to stop. Instead of wasting my money on Pinkertons, I pay him half to...fight the Driscolls. If I didn't stop interfering, if I didn't pull them back, then the next shipment to disappear wouldn't just be goods. Dutch will also start looting my clients. Will kill them. It'd be...bloody. My men. My family. And especially you, (Y/N)...even you and I just-- I couldn't!"

His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to go on. "So I had a choice. Keep funding the Pinkertons, who were looting me in their own way, keep fighting against Colm who already had me by the throat, and risk losing everything... or cut my losses and trust that Dutch, twisted as he is, would at least keep to his word that he'd deal with the O'Driscolls himself for me...." He exhaled sharply as if disgusted by the words leaving his own mouth. "It wasn't much of a choice at all."

So...he is valuing his money right now? Is that what it is? You just can't understand anything at this fucking point.

He looked at you now, his eyes pleading. "Please, (Y/N)... you have to understand. I didn't just fold because I was scared. I did it because there was no winning against him. Not like this. And I want you to be safe among those vultures! I can't sleep knowing that...they might do something to you!"

"Stop it, Dad," you interrupted sharply, your voice trembling but firm. "Just stop."

He fell silent, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all had finally crushed him.

You reached for the glass of water on the table, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the fire raging inside you. Setting it down with a clink, you stood up, your gaze distant.

"You're giving up, aren't you? Edie must've come to you, and that's why you didn't send...any help? Because business is everything to you? You just believed his....silver tongue? He manipulated you Dad! That's all he did! That's all he knows to do!"

"(Y/N)-"

"You were my ideal dad." A whimper escaped your lips as you stepped back, your voice trembling with pain. "So perfect... I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You weren't just my dad, you were my best friend. And now? You kept me in the dark about this?" You gestured around you, the betrayal evident in every movement. "Tell me, was staying here, this business, this country...was it worth more than me?"

"(Y/N), when I make decisions, I have to think of everyone," he replied, his tone heavy with pity and pain.

"Your mother-who, I might add, is still in trauma-and Rayan-"

"Was it worth it?!" you interrupted, your voice rising to a shout that reverberated through the room.

"Leaving and starting over from scratch isn’t easy. And right now, with the recent robberies, it’s even worse. My most valuable clients… they’ve lost trust in me, (Y/N). And of course, they’ve heard about the whole incident." He exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his words. "Now they think I was in bed with outlaws all along, that I’ve been using them to loot, to scam them, God, it’s all a mess." His voice wavered, quieter now, but no less burdened. "That I gave you away… as some kind of prize-"

"Stop."

"Not just me, (Y/N)�� you too. You were my partner, after all. They’re raising questions-"

"Were?"

A heavy pause.

God...

Your chest burned with the new, agonizing reality that settled in, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as you stepped back, as far from him as you could, though the room felt like it was closing in. The space between you both, once filled with warmth and trust, was now an abyss you couldn't cross.

"These people... they may be heartless," you continued, your voice trembling, "they may have destroyed me because that's what they do. They're criminals, Dad. Bu-t you? You were supposed to be my father. You were supposed to p-rotect me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words faltered, breaking on the edge of his throat. "I still am, what more can I do?! I am stuck here." he pleaded.

"No, you're not! You did not..." The words tore from you like a scream trapped in your chest. "If you had, I would've been in my house. In the arms of Mom. Not with a gun to my head, not being tossed around like a ragdoll by a man who calls himself my husband! I thought...you are the most capable man to do that...Dad. There must have been a way! You always had a s-solution for everything! Taught me everything and yet... " Tears blurred your vision as you looked at him, your voice trembling with fury. "Do you see this? He-he did this! And now this? You're giving up everything for this?" You gestured wildly, as though you could point to the ruin of everything he had once stood for.

His face twisted in pain, the guilt heavy on his brow. "Forgive me, but... I can't. You have to accept reality, (Y/N). If you don't--if I don't-then we're all dead. At the hands of either Dutch or that bastard Colm. I can't suffer more losses. I don't even know anymore what's right or wrong. These people--they're targeting everyone. And you...you were too supposed to be sensible. Did I raise you to hang around with an outlaw? And tell me... tell me why? Why did you--Doreen told us about you meeting Arthur! Why did you? Why did you let it go that far? Your mother even warned you! Do you know how disappointed she is? Where were your senses at the time?! How can you be so foolish (Y/N)?! You took advantage of our trust!. And this went on for a whole year?! Then what the hell did you expect?!". His voice cracked with now anger and confusion.

The rush of guilt hit you like a wave, and your hands shook, gripping the armchair in an attempt to steady yourself. You shook your head, frantic. "I--I know! It's ALL MY FAULT, isn't it?!" The tears came then, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the helplessness and sorrow you couldn't contain. "Oh my God. I can't..." Your vision blacked out for half of a second making you nearly fall on the table.

"(Y/N)?!" His voice cracked with concern, and he moved closer steadying you. "I'm sorry. Please, don't..."

"No....I am sor-ry...M' so sorry. I shouldn't h-ave..."

Your words, your hurt, they couldn't be contained. And so, you let them spill out in a torrent, once again in his chest, not caring anymore whether he understood or not.

"Omar?" Your voice softened, cracking as you remembered the horrifying day once again. "Omar, Papa-?"

"Dear..." His voice faltered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he tried to explain. "He--he tried. He tried to find you. But his family... they weren't having it...weren't happy he was in contact with me and the law regarding you and just....took him to another state with them. They left. But he... he did try. I know he still loves you."

Not for long...he'd find someone else, a normal woman, with good reputation, with no connection to any gang and live happily ever after...

"At least he... tried," you muttered bitterly, pulling away from him. Your chest tightened, the ache inside growing deeper, suffocating you.

He pulled you closer, his fingers trembling against your arms. "Please, (Y/N)... one day, things will be different. I promise. I-I’ll find a way. When I can afford it. These people will be caught, and you’ll come back. I know you will. We will never turn you away."

Empty words. Promises...

"So… it’s your clients, then? Your business. Society mattered to you, after all-"

"Yes, one way or another, it does. It was a tragedy the first time, something we could all move past. But this time, you chose to be part of it. You shouldn’t have, dear. You shouldn’t have."

You see it now. He isn’t fighting for you, he’s asking you to accept it. To wait. To bear it for as long as necessary. Maybe forever.

It's over.

"Do you--are you hearing yourself? I can't take it... papa. I ca-n't-"

A loud smack on the door made you both jump. It was no less than a siren, indicating your return to hell.

This is it then...

A strained silence filled the room as you both matched eyes one last time, your heart heavy, more broken than it was before. There was nothing else that could be said to lessen the pain, no wish to be made, no comfort to be found. And here you thought you might have had a peaceful reunion with your family...

"Tell Mama and...Rayan...I love them."

❀˖°

The ride seemed endless, the hooves pounding against the dirt road a cruel rhythm to the vile words surrounding you. How long were you supposed to endure this? These men... these animals.

It wasn't until the camp came into view that he cornered you again, this time pinning you against Bill's horse. And you, despite the trembling in your hands, met his hardened glare with all the strength you could gather.

"If he can break one hand, I can do worse."

"Dutch!? What are you, stop it! And you both--fuck off!" Hosea came running, intervening immediately. He stepped between you both, and his voice panicked. He shoved Bill and Micah away. "Why didn't you inform me before leaving Dutch?! I was gonna go too! You couldn't let me-" But Dutch silenced him with only a lift of his hand.

"Not everything needs to be handled with gentleness, Hosea. And make sure she understands," Dutch said, his voice cold. "Listen here now, Arthur, he's not to get wind of this. Nobody does. You keep it to yourself missy. He'll know when I want him to know."

"Now you see everything, don't you?" Dutch's voice dripped with mockery. "Your father is practically grateful to me for agreeing to defend his caravans from the O'Driscoll boys. So you'd better be grateful, too. Because if your family can eat and sleep safely to this day and comin' ones, it's because of me."

"You see these people?" Dutch gestured toward the camp. "They have my name attached to them. You are a Van der Linde first and a Morgan second. That means you listen to me. And you'd better damn well listen because if you think for a second I can't harm your family, you're sorely mistaken."

His words hung in the air, suffocating and filled with poison. They twisted the air around you, wrapping themselves around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But trust me, you'll come to realize this is all beneficial for you, too. When I build on the land, I'll make sure you and Arthur get the most spacious room. After all, you deserve nothing else."

A gasp of pain escaped you as Dutch left, Hosea's voice drowning around you. His hands reached out to comfort you, but you violently shrugged them off, backing away, further and further, until you were now curled into a cocoon on the cot, shaking like a leaf.

Vultures.

Selfish.

Greedy sons of bitches.

That’s all they are. That’s all they will ever be.

❀˖°

The night was deathly quiet, the kind of silence that gnawed at his insides. Arthur lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent, listening to the faint rustle of the wind outside and the soft, uneven sound of your breathing. You were finally asleep, or at least, he thought so.

He couldn't stop seeing your face from earlier, the emptiness in your eyes, the way you barely reacted to anything he said or did. It haunted him. That hollow look, sunken eyes, that broken silence, it wasn't you.

Arthur shifted, propping himself up slightly to look at you. Your hair was a mess, splayed across the pillow, your bandaged hand resting limply near your face. Even in sleep, your brows twitched, as if the hurt followed you there too.

It was unbearable.

His hands trembled slightly as he moved closer. He didn't care if you woke up, didn't care if you lashed out, screamed, hit him. Hell, maybe he deserved that. But he wasn't going to let you lay here like this, drowning in whatever torment--- the world, had handed you that day.

Arthur slipped an arm around your waist, his touch cautious at first, but then firm. He pulled you into his warmth, pressing you close, his chin resting lightly against the back of your head. His heart pounded against your back as if it could somehow beat hard enough to protect you from the woe and despair that were clawing at you.

You stirred slightly, before settling again. Arthur's breath caught, but he didn't loosen his grip. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Even if you woke up and pushed him away, even if you cursed him for this, he couldn't let you go. Not when you needed this, even if you didn't want it.

He tightened his hold, his hand smoothing over your arm in slow, steady motions, as though trying to will away the hurt through sheer proximity. "I gotchu," he whispered against your hair. "I gotchu, darlin'."

You're not gonna sleep so broken. Not after whatever you heard back there.

─AN: Interactions are always appreciated and I will always love reading your guys' comments. To be added or removed from the tag list you can mention it. I hope this chap fed you guys well-〒▽〒 (●'◡'●)

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[kindaasrikal]

Hold onto me if you must, a blade that rusts.

Sorry guys i cant hold back the rant my art posts always have i yap too much

Anyways an alt colour and silly version (and now ANOTHER alt version because I’m indecisive)

They so silly look at them they definitely wont murder each other <3

I spent a time amount of time on it that should’ve felt long but didn’t, i had way too much fun with the fill in lasso tool that made my life easier when i had no idea where to go after the sketch. And how to do the line-art for it, my God the amount of times i suffer when at that phase.

If I’m being perfectly honest, i think this is okay, but i’m not entirely sure if it’s good. Like i feel like it could be sm better. Anyways i just remembered exactly why i did this drawing and its because my amazing mutual @rusted-fairy-wings sent an ask on my birthday to draw possessed Kai and this is the result omg thank you sm for that its like you slapped me with the realisation i’ve never drawn them like this before. I know its not really possessed Kai but i hope it gives the same vibes 😭

Ehehehhe i feel like a cool pro posting a little coloured quote with my art damn

Also i took the rust thing because, you knowwww, Kai was a blacksmith and fire can cause rust. And i think if Morro were to possess Kai, that guy would put in so much effort to ruin himself so Morro wouldn’t and couldn’t use him as a tool. Especially with such a huge loss of control as a man who is so used to being in control with everything he’s been through. But thats why i used ‘hold onto me’ rather than ‘hold me’, because Morro would either gain entertainment from Kai’s suffering, would feel some sort of kinship with Kai due to their similar (yet differing) circumstances, or because he knows how to use Kai in the state he had forced himself into against the ninja.

Okay i’ll stop yapping take this i’ll run away now

Edit: okay im gonna edit and change the colours and positioning for this in the morning so look out for that 😭

Edit: okayyyy ive changed the colours and positioning a bit in a new ver but im scared it looks bad now so i refuse to touch this again anyways

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🍰┆sweet disaster

kang yeosang x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one with the failed cake

│genre: fluff

│trigger warnings: none

│ prompt 10 + yeosang + baking

You were on the verge of a mental breakdown, in the middle of the kitchen, flour everywhere, as you desperately tried to bake Yeosang an anniversary cake. You wanted to do something for him, something that would scream how much you loved him. You weren't good at crafting, so a handmade gift was out of the question, but baking? You thought, what could be hard about baking?

Turns out, everything. The recipe you found online looked simple enough, but three hours in and you had managed to burn the first attempt, drop the second one on the floor, and now this third one just wouldn't rise properly. Your hands were shaking, tears threatening to spill over as you stared at the sad excuse of a cake before you.

That's when you heard the front door open and close. Yeosang wasn't supposed to be home for another hour. You panicked, trying to hide the mess, but it was too late. He walked into the kitchen, eyes widening at the disaster zone that greeted him.

"What happened here?" he asked, taking in your flour-covered form and the failed cake attempts.

"I-I just wanted to make you something special for our anniversary," you stammered, feeling defeated. "But I can't even get a simple cake right." You were supposed to surprise him with something beautiful, not this chaotic mess. Yeosang moved through the disaster zone with careful steps, coming to stand in front of you. He reached out, gently wiping a smudge of flour from your cheek with his thumb. "I... I just wanted to..." you stammer, your hands still covered in flour and batter. "The recipe looked so easy online, and I thought I could surprise you with something special, but nothing went right, and I kept messing up, and now you're home early and everything's ruined and—" Your rambling explanation tumbles out in a rush, words tripping over each other as you try to justify the kitchen catastrophe surrounding you both. You gesture wildly at the failed cake attempts, accidentally flinging a bit of batter onto Yeosang's shirt in the process. You gasp, horrified as a glob of cake batter lands right on his white shirt. "Oh no! I'm so sorry, I—" But before you can finish your apology, Yeosang breaks into laughter, you freeze, your mouth dropping open slightly.

His laughter turns into a fond smile as he shakes his head. "You're adorable." Yeosang chuckles, watching you fumble with your words. "Didn't expect me to say that, huh?"

You stare at him, unable to fully process how he can be so calm in the middle of your culinary disaster. Yeosang hands gently come to rest on your flour-dusted shoulders as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The way he looks at you—like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen, failed cake and all—makes something warm bloom in your chest.

"You know," he says softly, "this is actually the best anniversary gift I could have asked for."

"A complete kitchen disaster?"

He shakes his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "No. Seeing how much you care. How much effort you put into trying to make something special for me." His thumb traces your jawline, "That means more to me than any perfectly baked cake ever could."

"I still wanted it to be perfect for you," you mumble, unable to hide your disappointment despite his words.

Yeosang laughs softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you with such affection that it makes your heart skip. "You're perfect," he whispers, leaning in closer. His hand cups your cheek, "Messy kitchen and all." Before you can protest further, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips softly against yours. The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as he pulls you closer, completely unconcerned about the flour and batter that transfers to his clothes. When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "I love you," he breathes, the words falling softly between you. "Not for what you can bake me, but for who you are. For moments like this." Despite the mess surrounding you both, this moment feels perfect in its own chaotic way. Yeosang's smile, the warm press of his body against yours, and the genuine love in his eyes make all your failed baking attempts worth it. "So," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "want to try baking together? I'm not much better at it, but I think we could make a decent mess together."

You can't help but laugh, the tension finally melting away as you nod. "I'd like that."

As Yeosang rolls up his sleeves and reaches for a clean mixing bowl, you realize that sometimes the most perfect moments come from the most imperfect situations. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[chokkzou]

PART. 1 ! the bllk boys discovering that they are your cute submissives (?

characters: isagi, reo, nagi, bachira, hiori, ness and kaiser.

tw?: top! male reader x sub! bllk. i speak spanish so sorry if there is any mistake or idk

link to part two !

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Yoichi Isagi has always been someone who thrives on recognition and validation. He lives for those moments when his skills are acknowledged, when he feels like he’s making a difference, when someone tells him that he’s doing great. But it wasn’t until you came into the picture that he realized just how much your words affected him.

At first, he thought it was normal—after all, he liked being praised, right? But then you started doing it in ways that left him completely off guard. A simple "good job, yoichi," said in a low, smooth tone after a match, your fingers barely brushing his sweat-dampened hair? That had him completely losing focus for the next few minutes.

And you noticed. It didn’t take you long to realize that whenever you praised him directly, with intensity in your voice, isagi would react in the most adorably helpless way. His lips would part slightly, his eyes would flicker with something unspoken, and sometimes—if you were close enough—you could hear the way his breath hitched for just a second.

One day, you decided to take it a step further. After watching him score a goal, you pulled him aside, leaned in close, and murmured, "You looked so good out there." His face turned completely red. His hands clenched into fists, his body stiffened, and he stammered something incoherent before looking away, desperately trying to regain his composure.

That’s when you knew. Compliments were his kryptonite. And if you ever wanted to see him break, all you had to do was whisper something sweet with a bit too much confidence.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Reo Mikage is used to taking the lead. He’s confident, he knows what he wants, and he’s never had a problem going after it. But for some reason, when it’s you taking control, he absolutely melts.

It started with small things—placing your hand on the small of his back to guide him through a crowded space, casually hooking a finger under his chin to tilt his head up, pulling him by the wrist with just enough force to make it clear that you were in charge.

At first, he brushed it off, laughing it away like it was nothing. But you saw the way his breath faltered each time, the way his fingers twitched slightly, the way he swallowed a little too hard when you did it without warning.

The moment you realized how much he loved it? You had casually placed your hands on his hips to move him aside while saying, "let me through, reo." He froze.

It was barely a second, but you saw the way his pupils dilated slightly, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something but completely forgot how to speak. And when he finally stepped aside, he did it almost robotically, like his brain was still catching up with what just happened.

After that, you made sure to test the limits—pulling him into you when he wasn’t expecting it, whispering "stay still" in his ear just to see if he could obey. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ Seishiro Nagi doesn’t care about a lot of things. He’s lazy, indifferent, and rarely puts effort into anything unless it’s truly worth his time. But for some reason, he cares so much when it comes to you.

It started out simple—he began noticing the small things you did for him. You’d grab his water bottle before he even asked, adjust his hoodie when it slid off his shoulder, remind him to eat when he got too distracted with his phone. And each time you did something for him, he’d just… stare.

Not in a creepy way. More like in complete awe.

One day, when you casually handed him a towel after practice, he took it but didn’t move. He just blinked at you, gripping the fabric a little too tightly, before mumbling, "…you’re spoiling me."

But he didn’t stop you.

And you noticed something else— nagi never initiated much, but when you did, he followed effortlessly. If you tugged on his sleeve, he’d move. If you tilted his chin up, he wouldn’t resist. If you told him to do something in that smooth, confident voice of yours, he’d do it without even thinking.

So, naturally, you started pushing the boundaries.

One evening, as he lazily lay on the couch, you ran your fingers through his hair and said, "sit up."

And without hesitation, without question, he did.

That’s when you knew— nagi wasn’t just being spoiled. He was waiting to be led.

[laswells-ashtray]

I had a thought about Kate fucking Sarah just in a tactical vest and I got lightheaded. That singular thought has since spiralled into what the COD cuties would wear for their partner.

I think Nik would be utterly frothing at the mouth to fuck Price in HIS flight suit.

I NEED Alerudy to have cowboy getups with holsters/belts slung low on their hips, proper western boots and hats.

Gaz in a well made men's corset vest? I'm drooling.

Ghoap just trying various murder baddie masks 😭

(Sorry Rem, woke up with thoughts and HAD to throw them your way)

I fucking... I started reading this and I'm not kidding when I say right as I clicked on this to answer it, Careless Whisper started fucking playing.

Selkie, this was like repeatedly getting slapped with the greatest thing you've ever thought of but with no time to process each of them between taking a backhand.

Kate's faintly shocked at how well a tac vest holds her tits in place when the only other thing she's dawning is a strap. If Sarah could keep eye contact with her without feeling fiercely overwhelmed by the desire to suck her wife's fingers then she'd have noticed how nicely the blue of Kate's strap compliments her eyes.

Nikolai is aware of two things, one is that if he isn't too careful with manhandling John in a desperation to fuck him then he risks tearing open a hole that he'd yet to fix, caused by snagging it on a nail when he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. To be read as eyes glued on John's arse. He's also aware that he's going to have to clean cum, spit and passionfruit lube off of his flight suit tomorrow.

Alejandro and Rudy, well they're a mess. Alejandro is already panting like an excited puppy as he tries to fiddle with the buckle on Rodolfo's belt without looking, taking up an art career specialising in purple, specifically covering Rudy's neck. Rudy's considering how much effort it would take to clean the cum out of the ridges of his boots if he were to make Alejandro drop to his knees and hump his foot as he sucked Riudy's cock. The answer is not a lot, cleaning cum off of leather is something he could do blindfolded, he's had more than enough practice at it.

Gaz in a fucking corset vest had me staring at the screen like an idiot for a while. He's braw, he knows it and that's exactly why he wears a corset vest to his friend's wedding. With no plus one, why would he turn away the attention? He can't quite choose what he prefers more, the lassie hanging off of his shoulder waxing poetic about the intricate lacing on the back of his corset or the bartender who handed him a drink on the house, trailing his fingers down Gaz's chest and purring about how it was on the house.

And because this appeals to me specifically. Simon wants to bite him, he wants to trail his teeth over Johnny's skin and watch him shiver before he sinks his teeth in but the metallic white mask covering his lower jaw puts an end to that thought. He'd have torn it off already if he wasn't cuffed to the bedposts with Johnny riding his cock like he's performing for a hidden camera. Simon resents ever entertaining the idea of watching Hannibal with Johnny.

[rosy-hollow]

Among the UA staff, an unspoken rule existed: no dating between coworkers.

…Good thing the rule was unspoken, right?

That’s what Aizawa tells himself as he lounges in the background, watching you take over his class for the day—demonstrating how the next training exercise would go.

The way the muscles in your forearms flexed as you jumped up to grab the bar above you, maneuvering through the obstacle course with ease—it was mesmerizing.

The exercise itself was quirk-free, focused solely on physical ability—your specialty as the conditioning instructor.

Aizawa snorts. The way the students watched you, they clearly thought it would be easy—they had no idea how much work you put into getting your current physique. It was something he’d always admired about you.

Once the students had dispersed per your instruction, you padded over to the tired teacher, a teasing smile on your face.

"Enjoying your relaxation time?"

He rolls his eyes, a rare smile stretching across his face. "You know it."

You hum, plopping down next to him on the bench. "You should wear your hair up more often," you quip, noting his hairstyle of choice for the day. "Suits you."

Aizawa lets out a choked sound, red creeping up his neck, but he makes an effort to hide it. He dismisses you with a smirk.

"Don’t get too used to it. I don’t normally get up early enough to do anything with it."

"Well, you never know~" you tease, noticing Kaminari getting stuck in the rope ladder. "I’ll be right back—got to deal with this."

The moment you walk away, Shota’s face flushes slightly at your comment, his heart thumping.

Walking away from the poor man, your back turned, you smirk.

As slick as he thought he was being, you knew him too well. Luckily, you felt the same—but you were way too petty to confront him yourself.

You were going to be the death of him.

A/N: kinda lazy but here's our favorite sleepy man :)

[meelusinee]

Is it cheeky to ask for more of that Mattheo and love potion thingy 🦎

of course not anon! i especially enjoyed writing this one

OBSESSION'S BEST FRIEND | M.R X READER

word count \ 908 | not so fluff | slash / mattheo riddle / fem!reader

in which mattheo figures out the lasting effects of amortentia

minor cw & tw: use of amortentia (which is considered drugging) & manipulation

Mattheo felt his face’s temperature rising as he looked at the scene currently unfolding, teeth clenched together so hard he felt they might snap out from his gums. He could hear the blood running through his veins, could listen to the laughter of his best mates next to him if he focused hard enough. 

“What are you laughing at?” he spat.

Theodore was stood next to him, arms crossed against his chest. “Your face is funny when you’re jealous, you know that?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes before he heard Lorenzo’s voice from behind, most likely behind the bar that he was leaning again. “Why are you so worried anyways? She’s your girl, you know.”

“By potion.” Theodore hummed and nudged Mattheo. Mattheo huffed at that.

Theodore and Draco often reminded him of the fact that you were only won over by a love potion, joked that he wasn’t good enough to charm you naturally. He knew that was true, at least to a certain extent. He was too broken for you to love naturally.

So he had to add a bit of incentive for you.

He could hear Blaise and Pansy walking to the bar, Pansy’s hand squeezing his shoulder from behind his back. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Some Ravenclaw is talking to his girl.” Enzo snorted.

And wasn’t that a crime? 

Some guy talking to you. You, his perfect angel that could never do any wrong. Those innocent eyes peering into whoever was talking to you with a dazed expression. You didn’t know that they were trying to trick you, to get you away from him. Your actions were so precious to him that he was tempted to scoop you up and place you into a blanketed cocoon with no escape. 

“You do realize she can’t escape the Amortentia anymore, right?” Blaise asked blankly. His voice was always rather deadpan.

“Course she can,” Pansy muttered confusedly. “Doesn’t it run out?”

Mattheo looked over at Blaise confusedly as well, eyebrows furrowed together. He was running on the same notion, that the potion would run out. He always made sure to bake you a batch of chocolates every week or so, wanting to make sure that you always had Amortentia in your system.

“How long have you been giving her Amortentia?” Blaise asked Mattheo.

“Almost six months.” Mattheo muttered.

“Well there you go.” Blaise shrugged simply. “Most things usually build tolerance in people’s brains, but Amortentia works in the opposite kind of way. You’ve probably doubled it so much that she won’t even react to an antidote anymore. That combined with the extra effort you put in your potions?” he said, chuckling quietly. “Her mind is fucked.”

“What, so she’s stuck like that?” Theodore asked. Lorenzo was howling laughing at that, but Mattheo’s attention was focused solely on you.

Blaise shrugged again. “The chocolate might run it down a bit, but she’s probably too gone now.”

Mattheo could feel his ears ringing at that. Did you need to take the potion directly? Would you take it willingly, or would he force it down your throat.

He was willing to find out.

You felt your wrist burning slightly as your body landed on Mattheo’s bed, shivering at the anger you could feel radiating off of him.

“Matty?” you asked quietly, sitting up to look at him confusedly. You didn’t know why he was mad. Even still, you wanted to help. He was your boyfriend, and you liked seeing him happy.

He was currently digging through drawers, obviously trying to find something. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” you asked him quietly.

Mattheo found what he was looking for before walking over to you, kissing you as roughly as he could. “I’m just in a mood today, love.” he said.

“Can I help you?” you asked him, glad that it wasn’t anything you had done.

Mattheo smirked devilishly at that, kissing you breathless over and over again. He had a heart-shaped bottle of something in his hand, though you weren’t sure what it was. 

“What’s that?” you asked.

“You want to help me, right love?” he asked.

You nodded at his words, the need to help him overrunning your curiosity for him. “I do.”

“Then you’re gonna drink this for me, ‘kay?” he asked, holding the bottle up to your lips. His hands gripped at your chin so you couldn’t escape, fingers stretching your mouth open. You could feel drool running down the side of your face as he poured the liquid down your throat, eyes shut tight.

You grimaced at the taste before you started panting, looking at Mattheo with eyes in the shape of hearts. “Mattheo?” you panted confusedly.

“Did you like the taste of that?” he asked.

You looked at the bottle before nodding again, leaning your head forward with your tongue sticking out for more.

“Oh, you want more?” he asked, still keeping his grip on your chin as he poured more down.

Mattheo kept pouring, pouring the drink until there was nothing left to pour. He placed the glass down on the nightstand, the clink echoing in your mind as you looked up at him. “Mattheo.” you whined.

“Y/N.” he said with a small smirk on his face.

Your eyebrows furrowed confusedly, trying to figure what that was. “What was that?”

“Just a drink.” he whispered, kissing your neck up and down. 

You found yourself believing him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

a bit shorter, but mattheo nonetheless! i also like the idea of his friends knowing what was going on but not really saying anything, since we all know the slytherin boys can really be toxic guys and gals (and yet we love em still)

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! have a lovely day!

[sturnsblogs]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆More than best-friends‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Chapter 3: The Shift

You weren’t sure when things really started to change, but they did.

Maybe it was the little things at first—Chris taking longer to text back, missing your usual after-school hangouts, or forgetting inside jokes you both used to laugh at. You told yourself it was fine. He had a girlfriend now, and things were bound to be a little different. But as the weeks passed, it became harder to ignore the growing distance between you.

And the worst part? He didn’t even seem to notice.

The tension from your last argument still lingered in the air. You hadn’t spoken to Chris much since that night, both of you too stubborn to reach out first.

Kenzie, your best friend since forever, had been your rock through all of it. “You’re not wrong, you know,” she had said when you first told her about the fight. “He’s been acting like a total idiot.”

Still, you hated fighting with Chris. It felt wrong, like something in your world had shifted off-balance.

So when your phone finally buzzed with his name, a mix of relief and apprehension hit you.

Chris: “Can we talk?”

You hesitated before replying.

You: “Sure.”

He showed up at your door twenty minutes later, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Hey.”

You crossed your arms. “Hey.”

Chris exhaled. “Look, I—I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important. I swear, that was never my intention.”

You stayed quiet, waiting.

“I know I’ve been distant. And yeah, I have been spending a lot of time with Avery, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re my best friend. You matter to me.”

His voice was genuine, and for the first time in weeks, you saw a glimpse of the Chris you knew. The one who used to put you first, who used to notice when something was wrong.

You sighed, glancing down. “I just… I don’t want to feel like I’m always coming second.”

“You’re not.” He stepped closer. “I swear, you’re not.”

There was a beat of silence before he held out his arms awkwardly. “Can we stop being weird now? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped into the hug anyway. “Fine. But you owe me pizza.”

Chris grinned. “Done.”

And just like that, things felt okay again.

That night, Chris invited you over to his house. “Movie and pizza, just like old times,” he had said.

For the first time in a while, you were excited. Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe this was Chris’s way of making an effort.

But then, as you settled onto the couch with your plate of pizza, he cleared his throat.

“Hey, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you mind if Avery comes over?”

You froze mid-bite. “What?”

Chris shifted in his seat. “She just texted me. She’s bored, and I figured—since we’re all friends now—she could come hang out with us?”

You set your plate down. “Chris.”

“What?”

“This was our night.”

Chris hesitated, looking at his phone. “I know, I just—“

“Just what?” You let out a bitter laugh. “Can we seriously not spend one night together without her being involved?”

His expression shifted. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Because it is a big deal, Chris!” You gestured between the two of you. “We barely hang out as it is, and when we finally do, you want to bring her?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh my God, what is your problem?”

“My problem is that I feel like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

Chris let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Do I?” You crossed your arms. “Because lately, it sure doesn’t feel that way.”

He clenched his jaw, his expression shifting from frustration to anger. “I’m not your boyfriend! I don’t have to spend every second of my time with you.”

The words hit you like a slap. You felt your stomach twist as you stared at him.

Chris scoffed, shaking his head. “Are you jealous or something?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“What?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“That’s what this is about, right?” He gestured vaguely. “You don’t like that I’m with Avery. You don’t like that I actually care about someone else.”

You swallowed hard, your hands curling into fists at your sides.

“And I’m not fucking jealous, Chris.” Your voice was sharp, firm, filled with frustration and something else—something deeper.

Chris let out a sarcastic laugh. “Really? Because you sure sound like it.”

You took a step closer, glaring at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to be thrilled that my best friend suddenly treats me like an afterthought?”

Chris clenched his jaw. “That’s not what’s happening.”

“No? Then what is happening?” You crossed your arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re replacing me.”

He let out a sharp breath. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” You scoffed. “Because you never used to ditch me for anyone. But now? Now it’s Avery first, Avery this, Avery that. And what do I get? I get scraps of your time when she’s busy.”

Chris shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, but this is fair?” You gestured between the two of you. “You ditch me, barely talk to me, and then expect me to just be okay with it?”

“I don’t ditch you!” Chris snapped. “I just—things are different now.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “No shit.”

Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t get why you’re making this such a big deal.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “Because you are a big deal to me, Chris. But I don’t think I am to you anymore.”

His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “Enjoy your night with Avery.”

And with that, you grabbed your jacket and walked out, slamming the door behind you.

Chris didn’t come after you for the first time. he didn’t come after you.

A/N- Well this was fun. i’m very sorry i didn’t come out with the third chapter last night i was very tired. Butttt what do we think? if you have any requests for anything you can always tell me in my inbox.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @chrislilcumslvt @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04

TO BE ON MASTERLIST TAGLIST

CHAPTER TWO

[habibisagi]

HAIIIIII i am taking a hiatus / lil break from the app !!!! ^>_<^

TLDR; swamped with school stuff, i want to write and finish my longfic and hope to have it ready to post by isagi's birthday [april 1st], + anxiety being on here no good ^_^

also, coincidentally, RAMADAN KAREEM!!! ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ i love you so much, please take care of yourself and your loved ones this month, as will i ^_^ <3

-> back to navi. ^¬‿¬^

ok first off peep the pic dude it's fucking frying me so bad KJHSDFJK i saw the cat with an apple on its head and went omg. what if i put a soccer ball instead. and then horrified isagi because the ball is stolen by the winner cat and he lost. ^¬‿¬^ i'm a genius i fear

anyway KJSDH OMG okay SO. this is my first hiatus YIPPEEE!!!! specifically, my first one since i got back on the app last year in may lol and before that i was gone for over a year (but that was unannounced like i just randomly disappeared KJHSDFK). cuz usually if i wanna be gone for a few days or take a little break i just don't get on tbh lmao like i don't need to make an announcement or say i'm taking a hiatus since it's no big deal!! especially since i'm not really actively posting writing or anything, so no real need for one.

however, for this one i am not too sure how long!! and so that's why i figured i would make one!! ;3c jic anyone was curious why the sudden disappearance ehe AND so i can like. force myself to be off here completely. like "girl you made a hiatus post now it would be embarrassing and bad to be on here still so shoo. and do your thing creature." but you will definitely see me back by april 1st ^_^ maybe earlier than that if i can get my shtufffff together quicker <3

and before you ask, no it is not because of ramadan! it's a pure coincidence actually, and it's making me smile and emotional a bit because ramadan is a month about forgiveness and taking care of yourself/sticking to yourself, among finding inner peace within yourself, so it was just meant to be and a sign for me to take time off <3

one of the first reasons is i'm behind on a lot of assignments rn and i have important deadlines coming up and so i need to get back on track for that, and the app is a huge blocker for me because i have 0 self-discipline v_v

the second is also another deadline but this one i wanna set for myself and not school related! and that is i'd like to focus and write my shoujo isagi fic and finish it while having fun at my own pace, and hopefully have it done by his birthday, which is april 1st!! >_< so omg exactly a month from now ehe (this part wasn't planned but the coincidence is bananas. truly a sign...). but yeah my adhd is poopoo farts and tumblr distracts me so much and i will have fun / even no fun on here for hours and get nothing done on what i actually wanna do </3 LOL. that is my shawty bae princess pookie pie boyfriend and i wanna focus on his fic and do something FOR ME for once :3!!!!! i wanna get so lost in the sauce as i write i forget i have tumblr and that i have to post it. that it gets done and i would be like "ohh i could def post this" NOT "omg i wanna finish this to post it". DOES THIS MAKE SENSE okay cool beans

the main part, however, is just some unexplained irrational anxiety i've been getting on here that makes me feel chronically online in a bad way and it hurts me LMAOOO. some interactions not seeming equally reciprocated and passive aggressive or even dry and then i feel isolated lol. even feeling like i'm being taken for granted. and I HATE THATTTTTTTTTTTTT booooo. i can be a deadbeat myself fs but i never actually ignore anyone and i am always interacting and putting in that effort and responding eventually and equally (off the inbox). and while no one is obligated to give it back or owes it (since DUH everyone has a life and stuff and no one owes you anything), as it's no one fault - it still stings a bit and i'm allowed to feel sad and pissy about it!!! v__v

(i'm not vaguing anyone specific btw, so really like. /nbhs ig i'm just saying in general this is how i've been feeling! and i'm valid for it ehe.)

yk that saying that's like "if they wanted to, they would"? i want to accept that ^_^ if someone wants to match my energy, interact in the way i do, they would. and if they don't they don't. BOO. i can't keep feeling upset about it. cuz like we are here having fun being silly about fictional characters at the end of the day, so truly it is not that serious LMFAOOO and maybe i am just being a wee bit dramatic, but my anxiety really is off the charts rn. so don't blame me ok.

you can always take time out of your day if you cared enough, and some just don't. and that's okay :3c!! when you give too much of yourself that is when you STOP and take a step back. and that is what i shall be doing ehe. not worth my time, not worth my energy.

i will be logging off completely and not checking notifs or the dash as soon as i post this >_> TIME AWAY WILL DO ME GOOD ONCE AGAIN. i won't even lurk or look up blogs to keep up or anything tbh because right now i just feel anxious and weird and i don't wanna be here >_< tumblr smelly and stinky right now i want me time

MUTUALS I WILL DEFINITELY STILL BE ON DISCORD IF YOU WANNA CHAT WITH ME BTW i am just getting off this app for a bit. I LOVE U i'm putting my discord in the tags :>

[squidwithamelon]

Nightmare has no formal education, he never went to college, hell never went to school as a matter of fact. His ability to read was through pure chance that someone taught him.

And while his reading level and vocabulary is very advanced. And while, yes, he is smart in many ways! He still never got a formal education.

He learned math on his own, digging through books, and only after the incident. He knows the basic concepts of so many things!! But that's only surface level.

He knows basic biology to the point where he can harm humans and monsters more affectively. But he never had the passion to explore any deeper.

He knows basic chemistry, how to make poisons! But again, outside of direct usefulness to him? No passion.

But again that's just a part of the larger issue; Nightmare has formed his identity so much based on what happened and his status of 'god of negativity' that he really doesn't have anything left.

He's so devoted to his own cause, to his own suffering that he has no passion for (mostly) anything.

I did mean to bring it up, but I do think he enjoys baking. He's decent at it. It's a science compared to cooking, he just has to follow the instructions.

He tries to decorate his baked goods every so often to. . Mixed success. His decorates are too advanced, too. . Complicated for someone that casually bakes like him, even if he's been doing it for 500 years.

He'll never put in the effort to become better at it.

So once again he's stuck pretending to be something he's not.

Which I think is a fun character trait for Nightmare. He pretends to be upper-class, he pretends to be royalty, he pretends to be a skilled baker.

Now is that due to the sheer pride that he has for himself? Or due to the fact that he knows he doesn't really have anything anymore?? And while yeah I do think corrupted and passive are the same person, corrupted is a very different passive.

A very traumatized passive.

But hey, he still enjoys reading. Trashy to classics he is capable of interacting with literature at a deeper level, looking for deeper themes and such. (Like that one Orger meme with Ulysses except the orger is cocky about it).

I'm also like really tired lmao, all-nighter goes brr, so I might not make the most sense.