#Want in the sense of 'you have been weighed and measured and you have been found wanting'

[bijoumikhawal]

today's attempted Coptic translation for a project: "I want his heart"

When using a verb, you use a prefix (ti-) instead of the independent "I" (anok). There are two verbs that can mean "want". "Ouōsh" means to desire or wish for, even to love, something, which is fine to use here- but a bit soft. You can use "ouōsh" to refer to the desire you have for a soda, or for something more serious. The other is "kyrōh", which is more desperate. "Kyrōh" is you NEED something. It refers to being in need, starving, impoverished. If you "ouōsh" someone's heart, you don't necessarily need it, even though it'd make you happy. If you "kyrōh" someone's heart, you'll die without it. You're down bad, you're begging underneath their bedroom window. So, I would translate this first half as "tikyrōh".

The second half is much simpler- the masculine prefix for a masculine noun here is "pef" and heart is "het". Interestingly, "het" can refer to both the heart and the mind- which isn't surprising if you have some familiarity with the Pharaonic religion. Certain ideas from then carried on into Coptic, even as that religion became obsolete- there's even Coptic literature that adapts "the weighing of the heart" in to a Christian context! Similarly, you can say someone is "double hearted/minded" to refer to them being conflicted. A "man/woman of heart" is wise, and someone "small of heart" is inpatient.

So what we get in translation (from what I figure) is "Tikyrōh pefhet". ϯϭⲣⲱϩ ⲡⲉϥϩⲏⲧ.

@feluka any thoughts on how I did?

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[whateveriwant]

The 141 holding their baby for the first time

Can be read as a part 2 to this

Price

This man is so eager to hold his child for the first time, he almost doesn't wait for the nurses to clean him off first. So what if his son is covered in all sorts of blood and gunk? John has dealt with a lot worse before, trust him

So when he has to wait for the little one to be cleaned and then weighed and then dressed first, John almost steams from his ears he's so frustrated

Oh but the moment his child is finally placed in his arms, he just absolutely melts. Goes from a menacing grizzly bear to a harmless stuffed plushie in two seconds flat

With one hand supporting his bottom and the other curving along his back, John gently holds his son for the very first time. As he looks at the boy in his arms – his eyes, his lips, his little button nose – John feels a tickle behind his eyes, and he's quick to blink the tears away before they can form

He sniffs back his emotions and caresses the top of your son's head. “Hairy little bloke, ain't he?” he jokes, referring to the full head of hair the tyke's already been blessed with

Well, what does he expect when he has a werewolf for a father? Your jest gets John to chuckle lowly, muttering to the boy, “Just like your daddy, eh?”

He places the baby against the crook of his neck and softly pats him on the back, bouncing up and down ever so slightly. And when his son lets out a great big burp, John and you share a laugh. “Yeah, just like your daddy.”

Ghost

One thing Simon prides himself on is his sense of humility – knowing when his services are needed and when they aren't. In this instance, as the nurses flit around with his son, he knows it's the latter situation, so he waits patiently off to the side as he lets them work

Though he's sidelined, Simon watches like a hawk as his little boy moves about the room. Every hand-off, every measurement taken, it's all done under the careful eye of his father

But despite how cool he may appear on the outside, inside his heart is pounding, and that only increases as a nurse finally approaches him with his child in her hands

Simon goes to take the baby from her, stretching his arms out, but before the transfer is made, he remembers something. Quickly, he reaches up and strips the cloth mask from his face. He knows the little one doesn't have good eyesight yet, but first impressions and all that, right?

With the utmost caution, Simon takes his son into his arms, putting him in the crook of his elbow like a rugby player holding a ball. He feels like a giant as he holds the tiny boy against him. Like an ant compared to an elephant, he thinks to himself

Despite his size though, Simon is so delicate with his son, treating him like he's made of glass. He tucks him more firmly against his chest, and as the little one naturally snuggles closer, Simon can't help the smile it brings to his face

Rocking back and forth slightly, Simon tries to lull the boy to sleep. Unfortunately, his little cheek rubbing against Simon's chest has the opposite effect, and he begins to mouth at his pec, having accidentally triggered his rooting reflex

“Oh, he's…,” Simon mutters awkwardly, realizing what he's just done. He hears you giggle from your spot on your bed, and that makes him chuckle to himself. “Think he's hungry,” he says before handing the baby over to you

Gaz

From the moment Kyle laid eyes on his son, it was love at first sight. Even though he was filthy, wrinkly, and had a conehead to end all coneheads, Kyle was immediately smitten with the boy the moment he first saw him

He carefully trails after the nurses as they go about cleaning him/taking his measurements, not wanting to get in the way but wanting to stay close

Despite his watchfulness, however, when his son is finally offered to him, Kyle immediately freezes. His arms feel like they're locked down by his sides, like there's some kind of invisible force preventing him from reaching out and taking him

Though he's been preparing for this moment for months, when it's finally time to do it, he finds that he's scared. Scared to hurt him, to drop him, to do something wrong. He has to take a deep breath as he plucks up the courage, then has the nurse hand over his son

And the second the boy is placed in Kyle's arms, the tears he hadn't managed to shed during the delivery start streaming anew. “H-Hi, baby. Hi,” Kyle sobs, masterfully holding his son in one hand as he uses the other to wipe his tears away. “I'm your daddy.”

Though there's still a flurry of activity going on around them, it's like time seems to slow as Kyle admires the little boy in his arms. He leans in to press a soft kiss to the top of his son's head, holding his lips there as he inhales that sweet scent emanating from him

When he finally pulls back, he brushes another tear away, flashing a bright smile as he chuckles wetly to himself. Yep, he's in love alright. Truly, deeply in love

Soap

Johnny feels sluggish as he slowly wakes back up. It takes some effort for him to peel his eyes open, and when he does, he then groggily takes in his surroundings

He's slumped in some stiff hospital chair. Why? Oh, wait. He thinks he remembers. He was here to watch the birth of his first child, but the last thing he remembers was seeing a whole lot of red, and then everything went black

Johnny looks around the room for a moment until he realizes you're sitting in the bed across from him. He stands with a grunt, rubbing his forehead as he walks over to you. “What'd I miss?” he asks as approaches your bed

He notices something in your arms, but it's not until he gets close that he realizes what exactly. That isn't just any little bundle in your arms. That's your son you're holding

He finds he's frozen to his spot as you answer his question. Other than the birth? Not much. Just the first feeding… and the first burping… and the first swaddling

Johnny's lip threatens to tremble as he listens to you list off all the things he missed because he'd passed out. But when you ask in he wants to hold his son, all that sorrow immediately vanishes

Now, Johnny's held a lot of babies in his years (it comes with being part of the MacTavish clan), but there's something different this time as you pass the little boy to him. As Johnny looks at the baby in his arms – his baby – he realizes this is the most perfect, most beautiful, most amazing, angelic, awe-inspiringly wonderful–

There's the sound of a small whine followed quickly by a loud squish, and suddenly, the bum cradled in his hands feels about 2x heavier. The realization hits you before it does Johnny, and you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you

Congrats, daddy-o! Looks like he woke up just in time for the first nappy change

[cedarmoonzz]

between the bars •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

followed by: once more to see you and slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

warnings: brief mention of boners, making out, angst

summary:

being engaged to the world’s smartest idiot feels like navigating a storm while he’s engrossed in his portal research. you wonder if there’s anything you can do to help him.

Three months.

Ninety-one sleepless, tormented days. 

That’s how long you’ve watched Ford, once so full of life, become a shell of himself.

Each day seems to blend into the next, weighed down by the crushing demands of his portal. His bright eyes have lost their spark, replaced by a weary, distant look that suggests he is fighting a constant battle with exhaustion. He’s always buried in his research, disappearing into a maze of endless calculations and theories, only coming up to ask for coffee, food, or help with his measurements. Each interaction is a reminder of the distance that has grown between you, making you ache for the vibrant person he is beneath all the work. It allows you to realize something.

Stanford is an incredibly stubborn man.

You count your breaths, letting the full force of Ford’s distance fill you. Once a day, only in the evening, you allow yourself to feel abandoned, lost, and alone—but only here, only in the evening, before Stanford trudges upstairs for his third pot of coffee. Afterwards, you must set these feelings aside, for there is still so much work to be done, so much still at stake.

Stanford lets you handle all the paper calculations and complex math for the portal, trusting you with the intricate details crucial to his project. Yet, despite your role, he keeps you from seeing the fruits of your labor. You are barred from the basement, the place where the results of your hard work come to life. This exclusion only deepens your sense of isolation and frustration, as you toil endlessly without ever truly understanding the impact of your efforts. The distance between what you contribute and what you’re allowed to see only reinforces the feeling of being a cog in a machine, valued for your skills but denied any real connection to the end result.

Beyond the kitchen door, you can hear your lab mates arguing. The last light of day was leaking through the fissures of the window shutters, changing shape as they paced outside, their shadows stretching to where you sit, hidden, not yet prepared to face them. Though you could not make out their words, you could detect the urgency in their voices. You pressed your palms against your eyes and sighed, then rolled up the loose sleeves of Stanford’s (now your) sweater.

With a harsh, abrupt grunt, akin to the percussive crack of a twig beneath a boot, your fiancé wrenched the splintered door open, slamming it shut with a resounding thud. You were jolted from your thoughts, having been lost in your own reverie as the unexpected noise shattered your concentration. As he stood there, his face etched with a mixture of anger and exhaustion, you could see the deep lines of fatigue and frustration carved into his features. He muttered a stream of incoherent curses under his breath, his visible irritation and weariness painting a stark picture of his emotional state.

Softly, you encouraged him. “Ford, what is it?”

He didn’t answer; he only stood, looking at you as if he might scream.

“It’s Fiddleford!” Stanford growled. “He’s speaking nonsense! Trying to propose that only bad can come from the portal we spent months on! Your calculations, my handiwork and experience? All down the drain because McGucket is scared? It’s ridiculous! I should’ve never trusted him. It seems I can trust no one with my work these days!”

His words caught you between places: you stare down at the ring that graced your finger, the tea kettle whistling, trails of steam emitting behind you, leaving you in between your selves.

“No one?” you repeat, but did not elaborate further. You did not want to be cruel to him, but now that he had insulted you (now, of all times, when you were working so hard to understand him), it was difficult to resist lashing out at him.

Ford paused, words caught between his teeth as you stood in silence. “[Y/n]… my love.” Regret crept into his voice, daring to color his words with a warmth you were sure was genuine—but rather than comfort, it only wounded you. “Of course I can trust you. This portal… It wouldn’t be possible without your work.”

It broke you—or broke what feeble grip you had on yourself, the reserves of strength you used to keep your grief and despair in check all spent.

“My work,” you spat out, almost hissing the words through clenched teeth. You threw the kettle off the stove and pivoted to confront him, closing the distance between you with two broad, angry strides. Pointing a finger at him, you seethed, “Is that all the trust you have? Just your precious portal? Ford, when was the last time you actually talked to me? I can't deal with this anymore! I followed you all the way to Gravity Falls, to the middle of nowhere, and you barely let me see the full scope of my work. Always holed up in the basement.”

Your palm remains red from the heat of the kettle’s handle, but that does not burn as bad as the heat of your fiancé’s abandonment. And still, stupidly, in spite of it all, you wanted to trust Ford. To believe that there was a reason, an explanation for all the half-truths and deceptions. You want to protect him. You want your answers. You want to see him: not a passing nod of acknowledgment, or a pat on the back as you walk past him, or a fragment of him in a dream, but his skin in the flesh, and you loathe yourself for how badly you want it… but you turn that loathing outward, funneling it through the anger, and set the air around you crackling with fury.

As you glared at him, a profound sense of abandonment and worthlessness enveloped you like a shroud. It felt as though you had been reduced to nothing more than a glorified calculator in Ford’s eyes—a mere instrument, a cog in the vast machinery of his ambitions, used and discarded with no regard for your own significance. The weight of your perceived insignificance bore down on you, each moment in his shadow a reminder of how fleeting and unimportant your role had become. The very essence of your being seemed to diminish with every unacknowledged contribution, leaving you to wrestle with the crushing realization that your efforts and sacrifices had been eclipsed by his relentless pursuit, barely noted and even less appreciated.

Stanford’s eyes met yours, narrowing ever so slightly as he took in the gravity of the moment. He measured the tension between you, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he struggled to comprehend the full extent of your pain. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken remorse, before he finally cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow for the hurt he had caused and the realization of how far he had let things go.

“I'm sorry, [Y/n].” Stanford reached out to hold your waist—and did you imagine it, or did you lean into that touch, pressing your body to the warmth of his open palms? You swallowed. Softly, he asked you, “Do you want me to go?”

You shook your head, more as an excuse to look away from him than anything—now that you had reprimanded him, you realized just how close he was, and your hair fell in front of your eyes, offering you a moment of reprieve. It was difficult having him so near; when your rage subsided, you were left with a profound sense of abandonment and a wounded heart. In a voice tinged with desperation and hurt, you asked, “Why can’t you just let me help you, Ford?”

As the words left your lips, you found yourself instinctively moving closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity heightened the tension between you, the unspoken emotions crackling in the air. Your lips nearly brushed his as you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice blending with an undeniable, charged intimacy.

“[Y/n],” he begs, but he keeps his hands around your waist. “It’s dangerous…” But even as he speaks, his head is falling towards yours, his mouth ajar and questing, breath ragged.

You lift your hand from the collar of Stanford’s lab coat to hold his face, running your thumb tenderly over the stubble that graced his sharp jawline.

“I’m just as capable as Fiddleford,” you whisper, only inches between you now, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck as you speak the words. “Let me prove myself to you.”

Ford shudders. When his eyes meet yours again, they read something within them—perhaps some hidden fate or doom—and then, he remains. He holds you in his eyes like he is weighing you, or trying to carry a piece of you away with him. With a weary sigh, he lifts his hands to frame your face instead, tracing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward—you dare not breathe—and presses his lips to your brow, just below the line of your hair. You can feel the soft warmth of his breath against the top of your head. Your eyes sting with tears; you will your body not to shake.

“I know you’re incredibly intelligent, but what Fiddleford saw in that portal… it ruined him. I don’t want the same fate for you.” He pleads, raising a hand of his own as if to pry yours from his face, but it trembles instead, then covers yours, holding the warmth of your palm to his cheek. “It is not that simple.”

“It can be,” you insist, as you lower your other hand to rest above his frantic, pounding heart. “It is.”

The space between the two of you is shrinking before you know whether you or Ford had moved first. Then your palm was carding through the tangled brown hair at the back of his head, drawing him closer as you kiss. When your mouths first met, Ford flinched, as though he might retreat… but he parted his lips for you, and your knees weaken at the taste of his tongue. You clutched his lab coat; his hands danced across your waist to the small of your back and held you against him. His heat rose against you; you could feel him through his slacks, insistent against your thigh—

“I’m sorry,” Stanford whispers, his lips brushing against yours before he pulls away. He turns abruptly and exits the room. Without another word, he heads straight for the basement, leaving you standing there, your heart aching with the weight of unsaid confessions and unfulfilled desires. The intensity of the moment lingers in the air, a palpable reminder of the emotional distance that remains between you.

The way he looked at you was too much; so much unspoken between the two of you, so much you wish to tell him, confess to him: how he always makes you feel safe. That this whole research project, the calculations and all, had only ever been bearable because he had let you be by his side. That his presence is more valuable to you than anything; that you had treasured every moment spent with him. That you’re worried for him.

That you felt like he was in danger, and you were running out of time.

[httpvomitello]

Cold Heart *⁠.⁠✧ (part 2)

cregan stark x targ!reader

WARNING: angst, not a happy ending (?)

(part 1) (part 3)

The days following your outburst in the Great Hall passed in a haze. You avoided Cregan as much as possible, and he seemed content to let the silence stretch between you. The icy walls of Winterfell felt more like a prison than ever before.

Rickon, sensing the tension but not understanding its source, clung to you with a desperation that only deepened your heartbreak. He asked you once, in his small, hesitant voice, if you were angry with his father.

“No, sweetling,” you whispered, stroking his dark hair. “I’m just… tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you—not from the duties of being Lady of Winterfell, but from the constant ache of loving a man who would never love you back.

One evening, unable to bear the silence any longer, you sat at your writing desk and penned a letter to your mother.

Mother,

I have done all that was asked of me. I have been patient. I have been kind. But I cannot thaw the North, and I cannot make a man love me who does not wish to. My heart feels as if it has been crushed beneath the weight of a thousand winters. I wonder if this alliance was worth the cost.

You stared at the words for a long time, your quill hovering above the parchment.

Do you even know what you have done to me?

Your hand trembled as you added the final line. You folded the letter carefully, but you could not bring yourself to summon the raven. What good would it do? Rhaenyra would only remind you of your duty, of the importance of the alliance, of the greater good.

The letter remained tucked away in the desk, a secret burden you carried alone.

The tension between you and Cregan finally came to a head late one night. The storm outside was fierce, the winds howling like wolves at the gates. You had been restless, pacing your chambers, when the door opened, and Cregan stepped inside.

He looked as tired as you felt, his shoulders heavy with some unseen weight. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“What do you want, Cregan?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended.

“I came to speak,” he said, his tone measured.

“You’ve had months to speak,” you replied, turning away from him. “And yet you’ve said nothing.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never know what to say. You never know how to feel. You don’t even know how to look at me without seeing her shadow.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of anger in his eyes.

“Do not speak of things you don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and warning.

“Don’t I?” you shot back, turning to face him fully. “I understand better than you think. I understand what it means to love someone so deeply it consumes you. But you—” Your voice broke, and you forced yourself to continue. “You’ve never given me the chance to show you what we could be. You won’t even try.”

Cregan took a step forward, his expression stormy. “And what would you have me do? Forget her? Pretend she never existed?”

“I would have you see me!” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “I am not her, Cregan, and I never will be. But I am here. I have been here, trying, every single day, and you—”

Your voice faltered as he closed the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might reach for you, might finally break through the walls he had built.

But he didn’t.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The finality in his words shattered something inside you. You stepped back, your breath hitching as you tried to compose yourself.

“Then why did you marry me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Because I had to,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty that hurt more than any lie could have. “Because the North needed it. Because Rickon needed it. But I never wanted this, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. “But you have,” you said quietly. “You’ve hurt me more than you’ll ever know.”

Without another word, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence of your chambers.

The days that followed were colder than ever, though the snow had stopped falling. You threw yourself into your duties, avoiding Cregan whenever possible. Rickon became your solace, his innocent laughter the only thing that kept you from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume you.

But even he could not erase the emptiness in your heart.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you found yourself standing before the godswood. The heart tree loomed above you, its ancient branches creaking in the wind. You knelt before it, tears streaming down your face as you whispered a prayer to gods you didn’t fully believe in.

“Give me the strength to bear this,” you pleaded. “Or give me the freedom to leave.”

The gods, as always, were silent.

[moonselune]

I don’t know if this request works within the “canon” of the dark bg3 stuff but could there be something of them having a sort of “am I the baddie? No of course not!” moment. Like Mother Superior SH realizing her memory wipes have started to erase things she liked about her partner, but then still justifying it anyway.

omg this is all i could think about

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Am I the Villain?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, forced memory loss, blood, murder, F!reader

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

The grand hall is ablaze with light, the flicker of candles dancing off the gleaming armor of the elite and the polished stone walls. Minthara walks with you at her side, her usual commanding presence dominating the room, as she surveys the other attendees. A celebration of her most recent victory, another success in her endless conquest, and yet tonight, something weighs on her.

You’re standing beside her, dressed impeccably in her colors, red and black, a jeweled collar gleaming at your throat—a symbol of her possession. Your eyes, once so defiant, are now soft, almost distant, and Minthara can’t help but notice how different you’ve become. You stay close, your body language careful and measured, as if you’re constantly attuned to her, never straying too far.

But something nags at her tonight, a strange sense of unease that she’s never felt before. She watches you carefully, the way you hold yourself, the way you respond to the others at the gala with polite, but hollow words. The life you once had—the fire, the rebellion—it’s all been snuffed out, and for a moment, Minthara wonders if she’s gone too far.

She remembers the nights of resistance, the fight you used to put up, the venom in your words when you defied her. Back then, it thrilled her—your spirit, your defiance. But over time, she broke you down, bit by bit, until you were hers in every sense of the word. And now, here you are, completely loyal, utterly devoted, always at her side.

But is this what she truly wanted?

Her thoughts are interrupted when she notices how you glance up at her, a look of absolute obedience in your eyes. The way you move closer to her, as if seeking her approval, as if your very presence is tethered to her will. It’s an instinct now, a habit ingrained so deeply in you that it’s second nature. And for a fleeting moment, Minthara feels a pang of guilt. Had she damaged you beyond repair? Had she stripped away too much of who you were?

Her gaze softens as she watches you. There’s no fight left in you, no spark of rebellion, just complete submission. She knows she’s the reason for it—her relentless control, her possessiveness. Maybe she should feel guilty. Maybe this is her fault.

But then, as she watches you greet a lord with a curt nod, your eyes immediately flicking back to hers for approval, something inside her shifts. The guilt begins to fade, replaced by something darker, something more possessive. You belong to her now, completely. Every glance, every word, every breath you take is in service to her. You’ll never leave her.

The thought fills her with a twisted sense of satisfaction. She watches you move through the crowd, always keeping an eye on her, always staying within reach, and she realizes that this—this loyalty, this obedience—is exactly what she wanted all along.

You catch her gaze again, and she smiles. A slow, predatory smile that makes your heart flutter with a mixture of fear and devotion. She beckons you closer with a subtle gesture, and without hesitation, you obey, moving to her side as if you were born to be there.

As you approach, Minthara places a hand on your arm, pulling you just a little closer, her fingers brushing against your skin. She looks down at you, her eyes filled with something possessive, something deeply satisfied.

“You’ve done well tonight,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, meant only for your ears. “You’re always so perfect, always so loyal.”

You look up at her, a small, strained smile on your lips, and she can see the exhaustion in your eyes. But there’s no defiance there, no resistance. Only acceptance.

Minthara tightens her grip on your arm, her gaze softening as she leans down to press a kiss to your temple.

“You’ll never leave me,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, and it’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact. One she’s ensured.

For a brief moment, the flicker of guilt tries to rise again, but it’s drowned out by the sheer satisfaction of having you completely, utterly hers. She doesn’t feel bad anymore. Why should she? You’re exactly where you’re meant to be—by her side, forever.

With that, she straightens, her grip loosening slightly, though she keeps you close. The night continues, the sounds of the gala fading into the background as Minthara allows herself to bask in the sense of control, of ownership. And as you stand there, ever obedient, ever loyal, she knows she made the right choice.

You’re hers, after all. Always.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Mother Superior Shadowheart watches you from the edge of the room, her dark, piercing eyes following your every move. You’re sitting by the hearth, quietly stitching a piece of fabric, your once defiant spirit all but extinguished. It should comfort her—this docile, pliant version of you. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? The perfect companion, loyal and obedient, devoted to her in every way. She has molded you, stripped away every rebellious thought, wiped every memory that threatened her control over you, until there was nothing left but submission.

And yet, as she watches you now, there’s an uneasy feeling gnawing at her. There’s something missing. A spark, a fire, a certain light in your eyes that used to challenge her. She remembers the way you used to argue with her, your quick wit and sharp tongue, the way you’d make her feel alive even in your defiance. Now, you simply nod and smile, never questioning, never pushing back. It’s what she wanted, but the satisfaction is hollow.

Shadowheart clenches her fist, feeling the familiar weight of guilt creep up on her, though she shoves it back down where it belongs. No, this is what has to be done. Without the memory wipes, you wouldn’t be here at all. You would have left her long ago, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t allow that. She had to take control, had to make you forget, for your own sake and hers. If you remembered how things once were, the things you used to say, the way you used to resist her… you’d run.

“You’re quiet today,” she finally says, her voice soft, careful. She crosses the room, standing behind you and placing her hands on your shoulders. You stiffen slightly under her touch, just for a moment, but then you relax, leaning into her, as if the act is second nature.

“I’m just… thinking,” you reply, your voice almost too soft, too distant. There’s a wistfulness in it, something she doesn’t like. What are you thinking about? What parts of your old self are trying to claw their way back?

Shadowheart bends down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering a little too long.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” she asks, but her voice holds a warning, a silent threat that you might not even recognize anymore.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I was thinking about… something. I don’t quite remember.”

Shadowheart’s heart clenches. Something you don’t remember. Of course, you don’t. She made sure of that. The memory wipes have been thorough, meticulous, erasing anything that could ever give you a reason to defy her again. But in doing so, she’s started to erase things she liked about you—things she loved. She straightens up, trying to shake off the unease crawling up her spine.

“Good,” she murmurs, though it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself. “There’s no need to dwell on the past.”

But the truth gnaws at her. How much of you has she lost in this process? How many parts of the person she fell in love with are gone forever? She tries to recall the way you used to laugh, the way your eyes used to light up with mischief, the way you used to challenge her in ways that no one else dared. Now, all of that is gone—erased, as if it never existed.

But it had to be done. You would have left her. You would have abandoned her, just like everyone else. She had no choice. If you remembered the fights, the times you tried to escape, the moments of rebellion… you’d hate her. You’d leave her. She couldn’t allow that.

“I’m happy,” you say softly, almost mechanically, as if the words are rehearsed. “I’m glad to be here, with you.”

Shadowheart winces, and she quickly moves to sit beside you, taking your hands in hers. She forces a smile, trying to reassure herself that this is what she wants.

“You are exactly where you’re meant to be,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “With me.”

You look at her, that empty, vacant smile still on your lips, and it makes her stomach turn. There’s no fire, no spark, no defiance. Just hollow obedience. She once loved the way you’d look at her with fury in your eyes, how you’d challenge her authority, forcing her to assert control. Now, you’re just… complacent.

But she justifies it, as she always does. Without the memory wipes, you’d leave her. You’d run far away, and she couldn’t bear that. She tells herself it’s necessary, that you’re better off this way. You’re safe, protected, and she has you. That’s all that matters.

Shadowheart lifts your chin gently, making you meet her gaze.

“I love you,” she says, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if you truly understand those words anymore, or if they’re just another script you’ve been forced to follow.

“I love you too,” you reply automatically, your voice devoid of the passion it once held.

She leans in, kissing you deeply, trying to summon the old fire that used to burn between you, but it feels one-sided now. You kiss her back, but there’s no intensity, no heat, just a practiced motion. She pulls away, her chest tight, and she knows—deep down—that she’s destroyed something beautiful.

But it’s too late now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

Gale watches you move through his realm, his eyes tracing your every step. His once-human heart, now swollen with divine power, beats with an unsettling calm. He sees you—the god of the muse, the very embodiment of inspiration, grace, and passion—now reduced to something far more hollow. There is no spark left in your eyes, no flicker of the joy you once carried. Your movements are slow, mechanical, as if your purpose has long since evaporated, leaving you to wander aimlessly through the gilded labyrinth that Gale has constructed. His perfect world, made for you.

He knows what he’s done, of course. He sees it in your detachment, in the way your gaze drifts as though searching for something beyond the realm he has meticulously crafted. He sees it in the way your hands no longer create, no longer breathe life into the world. But he also knows why he did it. He tells himself it was necessary—that this was the only way to protect you, to preserve you as his forever.

You are his muse, his divine inspiration, but more importantly, you are his. You belong to him in the same way this realm does, in the same way the power of the Weave now bends to his will. Without you, what would this godhood mean? His ambitions would be empty. He cannot allow you to leave, to break free from his grasp, even if it means crushing the very essence that made you who you are.

“Come here,” Gale commands softly, his voice reverberating through the golden halls like a whisper of thunder. You hesitate for a moment, though not out of defiance, but from the weight of knowing what comes next. Your feet carry you to him as if on strings, compelled by more than just obedience. You stand before him, head slightly lowered, your once-proud form now a shadow of the muse that had once inspired entire realms.

Gale’s eyes bore into you, hungry, searching for something—some sign that your love for him has not faded, that you are still his. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, fingers cold and pulsing with the untamed magic he now controls.

“Tell me,” he says, his tone deceptively gentle, but you feel the underlying edge to it. “How much do you love me?”

Your heart stirs in dread, though your expression remains carefully neutral. You know exactly what he is asking. There is a quiet warning in his words, an unspoken promise of what he will do to the mortal realm if your answer displeases him. You have seen the devastation he is capable of, how easily he reshapes existence to suit his desires. His ambition knows no bounds. You, better than anyone, know how little it would take for him to unmake entire worlds just to punish you for a single misstep.

So, you answer him, your voice soft but steady.

“I am devoted to you, Gale,” you say, each word deliberate, each syllable spoken with the careful precision of someone walking a razor’s edge. “I love you. I adore you.”

For a moment, there is silence. His eyes search yours, as though he’s trying to find something deeper behind your words. You wonder if he sees the truth—the emptiness behind your declaration, the lifeless devotion you now perform like an act, all to keep him from destroying everything. But Gale smiles, and for a terrifying moment, you know he believes you.

“Yes,” he whispers, his smile widening as he pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I know you do. I knew it from the moment I bound us together.”

In his mind, your love justifies everything. It justifies the suffocating control he’s exerted over you, the gilded cage he’s built, and the countless lives that have been lost in his pursuit of power. It justifies the endless, obsessive need to keep you at his side, to shape you into the perfect companion—no matter how much of yourself he has stripped away in the process.

He brushes a lock of hair from your face, his touch reverent, as though he’s still captivated by the thought of what you once were. But you are no longer his muse. You are his prisoner.

“You see,” Gale continues, his voice low and soothing, “this was all for us. For you. I couldn’t risk losing you, not to the whims of fate or time, or to your own will.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, and you can feel the weight of his power thrumming beneath his skin. “No one will ever love you the way I do. No one will ever understand you as I do.”

You nod, even as the void in your chest grows heavier, more suffocating. You are trapped, bound by both his love and his madness. The realm around you feels like a beautiful prison, a perfect world in which you are a mere ornament—a shadow of your former self, kept only because you once inspired the god who now holds you.

And Gale, in his arrogance, in his infinite ambition, believes that this is enough. That this twisted devotion, this corrupted love, is the highest form of worship.

As you stand there, locked in his embrace, you cannot help but wonder how much longer you can pretend. How much longer you can wear this mask of adoration before the last remnants of yourself are lost forever.

But for now, you tell him what he needs to hear. You tell him that you love him. Because to do otherwise would be to unleash the full fury of a god, and the world cannot afford that. Neither can you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

Astarion leans against a crumbling wall, sat on a nearby crate, watching you with a quiet, almost predatory satisfaction as you tear through the night, drenched in bloodlust. He would have preferred more opulent surroundings but you had become ravenous after a meeting at a fellow noble's house. The moonlight filters through the shadows of the alley, illuminating the grotesque scene unfolding before him. Bodies litter the ground, drained of life, their faces frozen in expressions of terror as your fangs sink into another helpless victim. You are unstoppable, a whirlwind of violence and hunger, your eyes wild with the mania of the hunt, your hands stained red with the life you have stolen.

At first, Astarion feels a twisted sense of pride. This is what he wanted, after all. To make you like him—an apex predator, free from the chains of morality and guilt that once held you back. The two of you, together, are gods among mortals, unstoppable in your pursuit of power and blood. He remembers when you would hesitate, how your face would twist in sorrow even as you killed a simple goblin, trying to justify your actions to yourself. You used to care, used to flinch at the thought of taking a life.

But now? Now you are something else entirely. He watches as you throw aside a body, your lips stained with fresh blood, your eyes burning with the same insatiable hunger he once saw in himself. You’ve become the perfect reflection of him, the monster he always knew you could be. And yet, as the frenzy continues, something unexpected stirs within him.

At first, it’s just a fleeting thought—a brief flicker of memory. He recalls the way your face would soften after a fight, how you would stand over the bodies of your enemies, your eyes clouded with guilt. You’d tell him, in quiet whispers, how you never wanted this. How you feared becoming like him. It used to annoy him, how you clung to that sliver of humanity, as though it were some precious treasure. But now, as he watches the carnage, that memory claws its way to the surface, unbidden.

Look at you now.

The sound of your laughter, unhinged and wild, echoes through the blood-soaked street, and Astarion feels something twist inside him. His gaze follows your every movement as you finish off the last of your victims, blood dripping from your lips, your body swaying with the exhaustion of the frenzy. You’ve taken more lives tonight than you can count, and Astarion can see it—the mania burning through you, consuming you. You’re lost in it, no longer in control, just a vessel for the hunger that now defines you.

And it’s then that it hits him: he has done this to you.

A flicker of regret rises in him, sharp and unexpected. It’s not that he regrets the power he’s given you or the freedom to revel in your darkest desires. No, it’s something deeper. He remembers how you used to be—how you used to fight to keep your heart intact, even when it hurt you. He watches the way your hands tremble, not from fear, but from the adrenaline coursing through your veins, from the sheer mania that has taken hold of you.

It’s gone now, that humanity you once clung to. He’s broken you. Turned you into a creature of blood and death, a reflection of his own cruelty. And for the briefest of moments, Astarion feels a pang of something close to sorrow.

But then it’s gone—washed away as you collapse at his feet, utterly spent. Your body, drenched in blood, crumples to the ground, and before he can react, your head falls gently into his lap. You look up at him, your chest heaving with exhaustion, eyes glassy from the high of the hunt, and in that moment, whatever flicker of regret he felt vanishes.

Because this—this is where you belong. At his feet. You, the once-innocent soul who balked at the thought of killing, who feared the very darkness that now consumes you. You are his now, entirely, just as he always wanted. Your humanity is gone, and in its place, there is only devotion—to him, to the hunger, to the night.

Astarion smiles, his fingers brushing lightly against your blood-soaked hair as he gazes down at you with a mix of possessiveness and dark satisfaction. You are perfect. His perfect creature, shaped and molded by his hand. Whatever regret he had felt is meaningless now, drowned out by the reality of what you’ve become.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing, though there is a sinister undertone to it. “You’ve finally embraced what you are, my love. Doesn’t it feel… freeing?”

You don’t respond, still too exhausted from the bloodshed, but your eyes flicker up to meet his. There’s no need for words; he sees it in your gaze—the surrender, the acceptance. You’re his now, irrevocably and utterly. Astarion knows that whatever small piece of you once resisted him is gone, devoured by the darkness he helped unleash.

He tilts your chin up, his thumb gently brushing the corner of your bloodied lips, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. “This is where you belong,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “At my side. By my feet. There’s nowhere else for you now.”

And in the stillness that follows, as the bodies of the slain lie cold and lifeless around you, Astarion knows that he has won. Whatever part of you he might have mourned is insignificant compared to the power he now holds over you. You are bound to him in every sense—by blood, by darkness, by the very madness that he has instilled in you.

He feels no regret anymore. Only pride.

The regret was a fleeting ghost, and now it is gone, replaced by the absolute certainty that you belong to him.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

Halsin stood quietly in the shadows of the grove, watching you as you tended to the small group of animals you had rescued. You moved among them with a gentle care, hands stroking their fur, whispering soft reassurances. A faint smile played on your lips, a reflection of the compassion you still held in your heart, but something was wrong. He could see it. It was in the way your hands trembled, the slight stiffness in your posture, the way your eyes—though focused on the creatures before you—seemed distant, as if they were seeing something far away.

And then, there were the tears.

They slipped from your eyes silently, trailing down your cheeks like rain. You weren’t sobbing, nor were you visibly distressed. It was as if your body had decided to release the sorrow on its own, without your permission. You didn’t wipe them away or acknowledge them, instead choosing to ignore them entirely, continuing your work as though nothing was wrong.

But Halsin knew better. He could feel the ache beneath your surface, could see it in the way your smile faltered when you thought no one was watching. He had imprisoned you here in the grove, telling himself it was for the best—that you belonged to nature, that this was where you were meant to be, where he could keep you safe from the chaos and destruction of the world beyond. But now, as he watched you tend to the animals with a hollow, mechanical grace, he realized just how deeply that decision had affected you.

Your mind had shut down, he realized. It was coping, retreating inward, while your body simply went through the motions. The tears were your soul’s quiet cry, one you couldn’t bring yourself to voice. It was easier to focus on the animals, on the routine of caring for them, than to confront the prison that this grove had become.

A slight pang of regret stirred in Halsin’s heart, unsettling him. He had never meant to break your spirit like this. He had only wanted to protect you, to ensure that you stayed close to the wilds, where you could be one with the natural world. But had he gone too far? Had he mistaken control for love?

Just then, a small fawn stumbled beside you, its legs weak, its body trembling. You knelt beside it, your hands moving with practiced care, trying to find the source of its distress. But something was wrong. Despite your efforts, the fawn’s breathing remained labored, and its small body continued to tremble under your touch. Panic flickered across your face, and for the first time, your composure wavered.

Without hesitation, you stood, your eyes wide with worry, and you sprinted towards Halsin, desperation lacing your voice.

“Halsin, please! I don’t know what’s wrong with the fawn—I can’t help it!” Your breath was quick, your heart pounding, as you looked up at him, eyes wide with a raw, vulnerable need.

Halsin blinked, the regret he had felt a moment ago slipping from his mind as he moved toward the fawn, laying his hands gently upon its quivering body. With a soft incantation, he channeled the magic of the natural world into the creature, healing its ailment with the simple touch of his hand. The fawn let out a soft breath, its body relaxing as the magic took hold, its eyes now clear and calm.

You exhaled in relief, tears still streaming down your cheeks, but now they were different—born from gratitude, not grief. You turned to Halsin, your face breaking into a genuine smile as you stepped closer to him.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you. You saved it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to still around Halsin. The warmth of your lips on his cheek, the way you looked at him with such trust, such deep reliance—it stirred something deep within him. Whatever regret he had felt, whatever doubt had briefly flickered in his heart, was now gone. In this moment, he was reminded of why he had done what he had—why he had brought you here, why he had kept you close.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was giving you a life where you could be safe, where you could rely on him, where you could find solace in the wild, away from the chaos of the world that had threatened to tear you apart. You might not see it now, but in time, you would come to understand. This was where you belonged, with the creatures of the forest, with him.

You needed him, and that need justified everything.

Halsin’s large hand came up to cup your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the tear that still clung to your skin.

“You’re welcome, my heart,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me to help you. Always.”

He pulled you into an embrace, and though he could feel the stiffness in your body, the hesitation that lingered beneath the surface, he ignored it. You were here, in his arms, in the grove, and that was enough.

It had to be enough.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

Wyll strode down the hall with purpose, the weight of his title as Grand Duke pressing heavily upon his shoulders. He had dealt with emissaries, council meetings, and the ever-growing burden of ruling Baldur’s Gate, but his thoughts always drifted back to you. His spouse. His love. The one he had claimed as his, by any means necessary. To him, it had been an act of devotion—a way to protect you from the dangers of the world, to shield you from harm. His love for you was absolute, consuming, and he believed that it justified everything.

As he approached your chambers, the sound of muffled sobbing reached his ears. His brow furrowed, and a sense of unease began to settle in his chest. Something was wrong. Without thinking, he pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. His eyes immediately fell upon you, sitting on the edge of the bed, your shoulders trembling with the force of your silent sobs. Your hands were clutching a piece of fabric, as though trying to anchor yourself, and tears streamed down your face unchecked.

Wyll’s heart lurched at the sight, and he rushed to your side. "What is it? What’s wrong?" he demanded, his voice filled with concern but laced with an edge of possessiveness. He hated seeing you like this—broken, fragile. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had made sure you would be safe, protected, loved.

You gasped, startled by his sudden presence, and immediately tried to pull yourself together. You wiped at your face in a near-hysterical fashion, your movements frantic and clumsy as you struggled to hide your tears.

"Wyll—no, it’s nothing. I’m fine," you said, your voice strained, a weak smile plastered across your tear-streaked face. “I wasn’t expecting you—”

But Wyll wasn’t having any of it. His eyes darkened with frustration, his hand reaching out to stop you as you tried to stand and walk away from him. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as his fingers curled around your wrist, pulling you back toward him.

"Don’t lie to me," he said, his voice low and commanding. He wasn’t going to let you slip away, not like this. Not when you were clearly hurting.

You stumbled slightly as he pulled you to face him, his other hand gently but insistently tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. That’s when he saw it—the fear in your eyes. The way your breath hitched in your chest, the way your body stiffened under his touch. The raw, unspoken terror that you were trying so desperately to hide. His heart clenched at the realization. You were scared of him.

He hadn’t wanted this. He had taken you, yes— locked you away from the dangers of the world outside—but he had done it all for love. For you. To protect you. But now, as he stared into your tear-filled eyes, the truth was impossible to ignore. You were broken, fractured under the weight of his possessive love, and it was his doing.

A pang of regret stirred in his chest, an unfamiliar ache as he loosened his grip on your wrist. He had taken too much from you, pushed you too far, and now he could see the consequences etched across your face.

“Tell me what's wrong,” he murmured, his voice suddenly softer, as if trying to soothe the very wound he had caused.

But you shook your head quickly, panic flashing in your eyes as you tried to brush off his concern. “It’s nothing, Wyll, really. I—it’s just the pressure- yes, the pressure of it all. The responsibility of being your spouse, of being by your side all the time. It’s overwhelming sometimes, but I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here. You make it better.”

Your words were rushed, and Wyll could tell you were lying, though he wasn’t sure if it was to protect yourself or to keep him from feeling guilty. Maybe it was both. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care if you were telling the truth or not, because in the next moment, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. Your embrace was tight, desperate, as though you were clinging to him for stability, for some sense of safety amidst the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Wyll hesitated for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you firmly against his chest. He could feel your body trembling against his, your heart beating rapidly, and despite the regret that had momentarily flickered in his heart, it quickly began to fade. As he held you close, as he felt your warmth against him, all of his doubts and guilt melted away.

You needed him. You belonged to him. And in that embrace, he found the justification he had always clung to. Whatever pain you felt, whatever fear you harbored, it was all necessary. Because without him, where would you be? Lost, vulnerable, exposed to the dangers of the world. He had saved you, claimed you, and ensured that no one else could ever hurt you. He was your protector, your keeper. Your everything.

Wyll tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he whispered into your hair.

"I’ll always be here for you, my love, no matter what.” His voice was soothing, even as his heart swelled with possessiveness. He wasn’t going to let you go—not ever. Whatever regret he had felt was gone now, replaced by the certainty that he had done the right thing. He had to keep you close, had to keep you under his control. Because if he didn’t, if you left him, the world would tear you apart.

You held him tighter, your face buried in his chest, and Wyll closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. You, in his arms, relying on him, needing him.

And as he held you, any lingering remorse faded into nothingness, drowned by the all-consuming love—and control—he had over you. He believed, deep down, that this was for the best. For you. For both of you.

Because in Wyll’s mind, love justified everything. Even the chains he had bound you with.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

This was so fun but also so soul crushing to write, poor darlings, they will never catch a break. Hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[angelsworks]

His Frail

Yandere!Victor Creed x Reader

Chapter Two

Series Masterlist -> Here

Summary: Victor brings his frail home.

Warnings: Yandere/dark themes, etc

After he’s taken care of the men and pushed their van off a cliff for good measure, he returned home. Of course he wanted to chase you. Watch you run through the wood in fear. Follow your scent through the vast expanse of trees and snow. But he resisted.

Why?

The more you ran, the weaker you became. Why chase you down when you would run right to him. With you weak and tired you’d become pliant. It made it easier to gain your trust if he was the one to help you.

So instead he showered. Changed his clothes to fresh ones, clean of blood. He made sure his home was clean, everything was in its place and he had the right medical supplies to tend to your eventual wounds.

When the sun started to set, he started his hunt. Using his enhanced senses to pick your scent out from other wildlife in the wilderness.

When he started it wasn’t hard. He found it easy actually. Your scent appealed to him greatly. Much more than anyone else had. Ever. His life had been long so he knew he couldn’t let you go. Not before he’d been able to see you for himself.

Part of him hoped he’s find something in you. Something he’d been searching for, for all of his life. His frail. The feral mutants version of a mate. His submissive counterpart, his other half, his soulmate.

It felt like you’d been travelling for days. Your run had slowed to a walk, when your body started to give out. Your steps became heavy, legs weakening, shoulders slumping. You body pleaded for rest, while your mind pleaded for salvation.

You’d continued further up the hill and into the wilderness. The snowy mountain seemed to never end. You used the occasional spruce trunk to pull yourself up. The ground beneath you had long since frozen your bare feet. Your chest burned with every breath you took. Your hair stuck to your forehead from the sweat that had long since formed there.

The climb up the mountain stopped. However it brought you no relief. You saw more trees growing sporadically around you. More snow that was sure to freeze your feet. More mountains in the distance. You could have cried. If not for the shout you heard in the distance.

“Hey!” The voice was deep - a man’s. With a tired mind you made the connection that this man was surely one of John’s.

You let out some sort of plea as you moved in the opposite direction. You summoned the little energy your body had left and took off into a sprint. Ducking and diving between trees and branches as you entered fight or flight mode. It was clear you’d gone into flight mode.

Victor chased you at a distance. Keeping himself hidden in the trees as he jumped in a feline like manner from branch to branch almost silently. His eyes assessed your form, tired and ready to collapse. He was sure you’d fall down soon. Your body giving up from the stress of the chase. Just incase he’d packed plan B in a black case in his coat pocket.

You found yourself in the middle of a clearing. A small, tight clearing. Bordered by trees and a few shrubs. Your vision swam with black dots and your fingers tingled as they tries to push out the cold.

Finally after hours on the run. You collapsed. Falling to your knees and then to the floor. Eyes closing. Narrowly missing Victor as he strode over to you.

For a moment he watched you on the floor. Admiring your beauty, your body and your scent. It was perfect. He’d never smelt something so good before, without wanting to eat it.

He picked your up like you weighed nothing. Cradling you in his arms as he walked back to his cabin. He wrapped his coat around you, in an effort to keep you warm.

He’d build his cabin many years ago. Occasionally updating features of it to be more modern and move with the times. It was an isolated place. Surrounded by trees and snow and mountains. It was located in such a place that made it extremely difficult to attack or ambush.

It became a haven when he’d returned from his missions. A place without the smells and sounds of a town or city. The nearest town being hours away. Down roads that required insider knowledge to find and use.

When inside he placed you on one of his couches in the main room. He left you for a moment to light a fire and retrieve a warm cloth from the bathroom.

You were still passed out when came back. He placed the cloth on your forehead and held it there as he knelt beside you.

Your breathing was shallow, coming out in slow puffs past your lips. Victor could hear the faint beat of your heart. The exertion of the day had taken its toll and he became worried this would have long term effects. Looking down at your toes he could we that they were very red and when he reached down to touch, the skin was ice cold.

Victor tutted to himself. He moved away from your sleeping figure and lit a fire. Hoping the heat from it would help you to recover from the temperatures outside.

He pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa, wrapping it over your body.

“It’s okay Frail, I’ve got you now”.

[thevoidstaredback]

Phantom's Coffee

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant Side Story

There is a lot that comes with being a ghost. Most of that is really cool superpowers. The unfortunate side effect with the whole being dead thing is that he doesn't have need for human functions or sustenance.

It had been a horrible thing to discover, really. The lack of constant need for sleep and food and drink was sometimes useful, but that came with the realization that nothing affected him.

At first, Danny and his team thought it was because he was dead. No blood flow, no working organs, no metabolism. This lead to a lot of experimentation. Drugs and alcohol had no effect, neither did poisons. He didn't get sick anymore, no matter what he did!

And then he realized that coffee didn't work.

Naturally distraught, Danny went straight to Frostbite to figure out what was going on. It's finals season, damnit! Coffee was gonna be the one thing to pull him through his studies!

"From what I can tell," the yeti explained, "your human functions have stopped. Quite the opposite, really."

Danny blinked. "But, I'm dead. Ghosts don't have working organs or stuff like that."

"Indeed, but you're only half dead."

"What difference does that make?"

Why did Frostbite now have charts, and where did they come from? "I can only guess, but when you died and brought back, the electricity jump started everything in your body. It essentially supercharged you. I can only assume that it'll die down in time to the point of non-function, but we can't know for sure."

"Wait," Danny's voice was nervous, "What does that mean?"

Frostbite took a minute to think over his words, looking for how to phrase what he wanted to say. "When you are alive, your heart beats slower than it did before your death, yes?"

"Yeah."

"That would be the effects of the ectoplasm that reanimated you. Your heart rate is slower, breathing takes a more conscious effort, your blood flow is slower, your organs are all working at half of what they used to." He took another moment of pause. "When you are dead, your heart beats faster than it did, breathing is faster, blood flow is faster, your organs are working at twice capacity."

Danny's breathing, now that he was very aware of it, picked up. "What- But that- What?!"

"With a high enough voltage, electricity kills. With a high enough concentration, ectoplasm reanimates."

"Reani- but I'm alive!"

"Indeed."

"But that doesn't make sense!"

"Doesn't it?"

"No!"

"Perhaps I should try a different phrasing." Frostbite said. "When you are Danny Fenton, you are more dead than alive in the sense that your body has been killed and not fully revived. When you are Danny Phantom, you are more alive than dead in the sense that your body was revived and not fully killed."

Danny was quiet for a moment. "Reanimated and revived aren't interchangeable, Frostbite."

"In some contexts', no. In others, they are."

"Are they here?"

A beat. "Yes."

Danny knew he was lying, but he didn't call him out on it. That was a crisis for another day, thank you very much.

So, higher metabolism for Danny Phantom, lower one for Danny Fenton. Great.

All crises pushed aside to freak out about never later, Danny's ew mission was to find out exactly how much caffeine would be required to give him the buzz of wakefulness that he was searching for.

Normally, the course of action would to be to measure how much e weighs and look up the maximum caffeine intake his body could handle. It was the first thing he tried, and it failed.

By the tried and true method of 'Fuck It, We Ball', Danny learned that he needs to have 35,000 milligrams of caffeine in a single sitting before any effect takes hold when he's drinking as Phantom.

The calculations running at a 5:1 ratio, caffeine milligrams to weight pounds, the lowest end on the scale of average weight of a small female elephant (3,175 kilos), multiplied by five gives him the 15,875 milligrams that would be enough to give him a low buzz and keep him awake for a few hours. That's enough to kill the elephants on the low end of the scale.

(Jazz vetoed any kind of caffeine that wasn't naturally occuring in chocolate when he's Danny Fenton. She said that he's already died once and that he doesn't need heart problems to kill him.)

(Danny calls bull, but he isn't willing to risk his sister's ire.)

Because he can't let finals get the best of him, Danny decided to take it a step further.

The highest end of the scale for the average weight of female elephants is 4,050 kilos, multiplied by the same five, gives 20,250 milligrams of caffeine.

Essentially, the lower end of the scale would give him the same effect as 99 (and a bit) 473 milliliter cans of Rockstar Energy Drinks in one sitting. The higher end of the scale would be 126 (and a bit) 473 milliliter cans of Rockstar Energy Drinks in one sitting.

All that was left to do, now that he has the maths for the desired effect figured out, was to mix that in his favorite drink: A Red Eye.

Truly an abomination for the ages.

After way too much brain power, Phantom's completed coffee order looks like this:

A large Red Eye with 20,250 mg of caffeine

2 tablespoons of cinnamon

1 tablespoon of honey

1/8 cup of chocolate syrup

and 3 mint leaves or 1 teaspoon of mint extract

(he added 4 shots of vodka when he turned 21)

Danny is gonna kick his finals' ass, and be hyped up on caffeine while doing it!

Storyboard

[dark-l-angel]

RAHHH OKAY if you're still taking requests Maybe a damian x reader where they were dating, and the reader grew up in a family that always struggles financially, and is always telling damian that he spends too much money on her because she couldn't realize that some people don't have to worry about every dollar? Some fluff pretty please :)

Honey, money is not a problem with the wayne family.. sorry about the cringy title btw.. I'm getting out of ideas 😅

Crossing Paths of Wealth and Worth

Damian wayne x reader

The Gotham night wrapped around Damian Wayne and (Y/N) as they walked through the city, their footsteps echoing against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers and bustling streets. Despite the vibrant lights and the city's relentless pulse, an unspoken tension lingered between them—a tension born of contrasting worlds and unspoken anxieties.

Damian's posture was rigid, his expression guarded as he led (Y/N) through the labyrinthine alleys he knew so well. Beside him, (Y/N) walked with a thoughtful demeanor, their gaze occasionally flitting towards the opulent displays and gleaming storefronts that lined their path.

The silence between them was heavy, pregnant with unspoken words and unacknowledged fears. Finally, (Y/N) broke the uneasy stillness, their voice soft yet laden with a weight that hung heavy in the night air.

"Damian," they began tentatively, their voice catching slightly, "there's something I need to talk to you about."

Stopping in his tracks, Damian turned to face (Y/N) with a mixture of concern and curiosity. His chest tightened imperceptibly as he waited for you to voice the thoughts that had been weighing on their mind.

"I appreciate everything you do for me," (Y/N) continued, their words measured yet tinged with a vulnerability that tore at Damian's carefully constructed walls. "But sometimes... I feel overwhelmed. You spend so much, and I can't help but think about how that money could be used elsewhere."

Damian's jaw tightened, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he processed (Y/N)'s words. He had grown up in a world where money flowed effortlessly—a world of privilege and excess that stood in stark contrast to (Y/N)'s upbringing. He had always tried to bridge that gap with gestures of affection and lavish gifts, but now he realized the divide ran deeper than he had imagined.

"I've never known a life where money wasn't a constant worry," (Y/N) confessed quietly, their voice tinged with a mixture of guilt and longing. "It's hard for me to understand sometimes—how some people can live without counting every dollar, without feeling guilty for every indulgence."

A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and the faint echoes of Gotham's restless nightlife. Damian struggled to find the right words, torn between his desire to reassure (Y/N) and his own sense of responsibility.

"I don't want you to feel burdened by my wealth," Damian finally replied, his voice gentle yet tinged with an underlying determination. Stepping closer, he reached out to gently grasp (Y/N)'s hands in his own, their touch a silent reassurance of his sincerity. "I understand that my upbringing has been... privileged. But please know that I want to share this life with you—not as a source of guilt, but as a partner."

(Y/N) met Damian's gaze, their eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. They knew that Damian's wealth was not just a matter of convenience—it was a privilege that came with responsibilities and expectations. For (Y/N), money had always been a measure of security and opportunity, a resource to be managed carefully and with reverence.

"I know," (Y/N) whispered softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Leaning into Damian's embrace, they found solace in the warmth of his presence and the silent promise of understanding that bridged the gap between their worlds.

As they stood together amidst the city's ever-changing skyline, Damian and (Y/N) knew that their relationship would require patience and understanding. They would learn from each other—Damian about the value of empathy and (Y/N) about the privilege of financial security. Together, they would navigate the complexities of love and partnership, forging a bond that transcended the boundaries of wealth and upbringing.

In the heart of Gotham's relentless night, Damian Wayne and (Y/N) found strength in their differences and comfort in their shared commitment to bridging the divide—one step, one conversation at a time.

☆ i hope you like it ☆

[tainsan]

misfits XIII

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: self deprication but thats it I think :O, mentions of suggestive content

⇥ word count: 9.1k

⇥ a/n: hello guys, it has been a while. sorry for my inactivity and all the people waiting for new chapters, i havent been very well the past few months. i am okay though!! i hope you enjoy this chapter even though it is somewhat of a filler

⇢ masterlist ⇠

previous chapter ⇠ ⇢ next chapter...

Finishing typing the last sentence of your assignment, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. But even in that moment of triumph, the proposition from your roommates continues to occupy your thoughts. It had been a distraction throughout the day, and it had affected your ability to concentrate on your work.

The internal struggle you are experiencing is rooted in a mix of emotions. You yearned for the affection and love your roommates offered, wanting to be part of a relationship that felt incredibly meaningful. But doubts lingered in the back of your mind, like shadows in the corners of your thoughts.

‘Am I good enough?’ The question had haunted you throughout the day. You wondered if you were deserving of their affections, if you could truly measure up to their standards. Insecurity gnaws at you, and you can’t help but compare yourself to the admirers and fans your roommates had.

The cryptic message you had received added another layer of uncertainty. You were aware of the intense scrutiny and potential backlash that came with being in a relationship with the ‘famous’ campus group. The fear of facing hate and criticism from others weighs heavily on your mind, making you wonder if you have the strength to endure it.

Your curtains are open, allowing the dim, amber light from the streetlights outside to filter into your room. It's nighttime, and the glow of the streetlights casts soft, gentle patterns on your walls. The air in your room is crisp, and the faint aroma of dinner cooking wafts through the air, creating a cosy and inviting atmosphere. Your laptop sits on your desk, its screen illuminating your face as you sit in quiet contemplation, lost in your thoughts and the gentle ambiance of the night.

Closing your laptop, your roommates' proposition still loomed large, a complex and challenging choice that required careful consideration. You knew that the path ahead wouldn't be easy, but you also knew that your feelings for them were genuine and deep. 

Suddenly, a knock resounds on your door.

"____, dinner is ready," San's voice reaches you through the wooden door.

You close your laptop and push back your chair, acknowledging his call. "Coming," you respond, but the weakness in your voice doesn't escape San's notice.

Stepping out of your room, you find San waiting for you in the hallway, his brow furrowed and concern evident in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle, as he takes in the change in your usual behaviour.

You pause for a moment, meeting San's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. It is clear that he sensed something was amiss, and you appreciated his concern. You manage a faint smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes as you offer a reassuring nod. 

"I'm fine," you say, a small white lie slipping past your lips. You didn't want to burden San with your worries or concerns, not when they were already so caring and supportive.

“You aren't good at lying, sweetheart.” San's expression remains filled with concern, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. 

"It's nothing, San," you say with a forced smile, though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. You walk past him into the dining room without making much eye contact, leaving him with a gnawing feeling of concern in the pit of his stomach.

San watches you go, his brows furrowing deeper with worry. He knows you well enough to sense when something is wrong, and tonight, something definitely doesn't seem right. Your usual enthusiasm and energy have been replaced by a quiet reserve that's completely out of character.

As he makes his way to the kitchen, he can't help but feel a growing unease. San has come to know that you have a tendency to keep your worries to yourself, often trying to spare others from your burdens. But tonight, it feels different, and he can't shake the feeling that you might be going through something you're not sharing.

In the kitchen, he finds Hongjoong, who's busy with some last-minute preparations for dinner. San doesn't waste any time and approaches him, his voice low and filled with concern. 

"Hey, Joong, have you noticed anything strange about ____? She's been acting really off tonight."

Hongjoong, focused on his task, pauses and looks at San, his brows furrowing in response to the worried tone in San's voice. 

"Off? What do you mean?"

San briefly explains how you've been unusually quiet and distant, and how your smile seems forced. Hongjoong's expression shifts from curiosity to deep concern as he listens.

"Thanks for letting me know, San," Hongjoong says, his own worry now evident. He sets down the utensils he was holding and sighs, his thoughts consumed by concern for you. "We should keep an eye on her. Maybe after dinner, we can talk to her and see if there's anything she wants to share, just in case there’s something bothering her.."

Just as they're discussing their concerns, Mingi, who had been in the hallway and overhears their conversation, joins them with a troubled expression. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the gravity of the situation had drawn him in.

"What's going on, guys?" Mingi asks, his voice laced with worry. "Is something wrong with ____?"

San and Hongjoong exchange a glance, realising that their concerns had been overheard. Hongjoong explains the situation to Mingi, filling him in on your unusual behaviour and the sense of unease that had settled over the house.

Mingi's expression darkens with worry, as Hongjoong and San scurry to continue preparing for dinner, Mingi takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words pressing on him. He clears his throat, his voice steady but filled with concern.

"I've noticed it too," Mingi begins, his eyes darting between San and Hongjoong. “She was really quiet when we walked home today, usually she talks about her day in detail…”

Mingi’s voice trails off and Hongjoong notices he has more to say.

“What is it, Mingi?” He asks, concerned.

"I can’t help thinking about what she told us the other day, about her depression and the night up on the rooftop.”

San leans against the counter, his brow furrowed in sadness as he remembers your heart piercing words. 

“I'm worried that whatever's bothering her tonight might be related to that. I hope it's nothing too serious, but... I can't help but worry if it's making her have those thoughts again.” Mingi lowers his voice and walks towards the two, “her anxiety has been really bad recently, she had an extreme anxiety attack a while ago, I thought her mind had slipped completely."

San and Hongjoong exchange glances, their worry deepening as they absorb Mingi's revelation.

Hongjoong nods, his expression determined. "We need to talk to her, then. Make sure she knows we're here for her, no matter what."

Mingi and San both agree, and their shared worry for you becomes the driving force behind their preparations for dinner. They want tonight to be an opportunity for you to open up, to share whatever is weighing on your mind, and to remind you that you're not alone in this journey. Mental health is something they take seriously, and they're ready to offer their support in any way they can.

Seonghwa, who is seated beside you, shoots you a concerned glance as he notices your quietness as you enter the room, along with your distant expression. 

"Hey," he says softly, reaching out to gently touch your hand. "Is everything okay?"

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts and offer Seonghwa a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm just... thinking," you reply, your voice trailing off as you continue to wrestle with your internal turmoil.

Across from you, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho exchange worried glances, their usual lively banter subdued by the palpable tension that seems to emanate from you. They had all picked up on your unease the second you entered the room and were extremely concerned about your well-being.

Yeosang, who is sitting at the head of the table, clears his throat and speaks up, his voice gentle yet filled with genuine concern. "You've been really quiet today. Is there something on your mind?"

You glanced around the table at the faces of your roommates, each one displaying a mix of worry and care. They have been so patient and understanding, and you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for the bonds you had formed with them over time. You appreciate their concern, yet it feels almost overwhelming for them to be questioning you.

Taking a deep breath, you realise that they will likely not drop the situation until they have an answer. 

"Just a busy day," you reply, attempting to brush off their concern with a forced smile. However, you know that your roommates can see right through your facade. 

"You can't lie very well," Jongho's soft voice speaks up from in front of you, his eyes holding a gentle concern that's difficult to ignore. You can feel the weight of his worry pressing down on you, and it only intensifies your own anxieties. 

Before you can respond, the atmosphere in the room shifts noticeably. San, Mingi, and Hongjoong enter the dining area, their faces reflecting the tension in the room. They exchange quick glances, and it's clear that the others have noticed your change in demeanour.

Wooyoung, Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Jongho keep their eyes on you, their worry palpable. They know you well enough to recognize when something is bothering you, and it's evident that your previous statement didn't satisfy their concerns. They exchange subtle glances with each other, a silent form of communication that you're all too familiar with.

You continue to insist that you're okay, not wanting your concerns to burden them. You don't want them to know about the malicious messages you've been receiving, along with the fear of not being good enough. You were on the verge of saying yes to their proposition until those messages arrived, and they've left you feeling frightened and uncertain.

Despite your attempts to reassure everyone, they keep pressing you, their genuine concern for your well-being on full display. 

San leans in slightly closer, his eyes searching yours as he says, "love, we're just worried about you. You don't seem like yourself tonight."

Mingi adds, "Yeah, you're usually the one who brings the energy to the group. We hate to see you like this."

Hongjoong chimes in, "If something's bothering you, you can always talk to us. We're here for you."

Seonghwa nods in agreement, his expression soft and caring. "You don't have to carry your burdens alone, ____."

As their questions and probing looks continue, you can feel your patience wearing thin. You're caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between wanting to open up and fearing their reaction to your struggles. The thought of burdening them with your problems only adds to your anxiety.

Finally, you stand up, your irritation bubbling to the surface. "I said I'm fine, okay?" 

Your voice is sharper than you intended, and you can see the hurt in their eyes. You immediately regret your outburst, but the pressure of the situation has become too much to bear. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to…”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, the sounds of their worried whispers following you like a haunting melody.

Leaving the dining room, the tense atmosphere you've left behind still lingers in your mind. You're not sure where you're going or what you plan to do; you just need to escape the overwhelming concern of your roommates for a moment.

However, as you turn the corner towards your room, you unexpectedly bump into Yunho, who seems to be on his way out of his bedroom. His eyes immediately catch the distress on your face, and he can sense that something is wrong.

"Tiny, wait," Yunho calls out, his voice laced with worry as he takes a step towards you, trying to scan what is happening.

But you're already moving, your steps quick and determined. You can't handle the concern of another person right now, not when you're struggling to hold yourself together. With a mumbled apology, you hurriedly walk past Yunho, your heart racing with a mixture of emotions. 

Yunho watches you for a moment, concern etched across his face, before realising that you're not going to stop. He knows he can't force you to talk if you're not ready, but he can't shake the feeling that something is seriously bothering you. Yunho makes his way to the dining room, his heart heavy.

Back in your room, you shut the door behind you, your heart heavy with a mixture of emotions. You're not hungry anymore, and the thoughts of the messages and your own insecurities continue to haunt you. The room feels suffocating as you wrestle with your fears, wishing you could find a way to escape them and open up to your roommates about what's truly been bothering you.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, your roommates are clearly unsettled by your abrupt departure and your obvious distress. They exchange concerned glances, their worry for you evident in their expressions. 

Mingi is the first to break the silence, his voice filled with unease. "I'm assuming you all notice something is very wrong?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung nod in agreement, both clearly affected by your behaviour. 

Seonghwa speaks up, his voice soft but laced with concern. "She's been distant all day. I thought it was just stress or something, but this is different."

San clenches his fists, his frustration and guilt bubbling to the surface. "We should've noticed something was wrong. She's been dealing with something, and we didn't even realise it."

Wooyoung places a comforting hand on San's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "San, don't blame yourself. We all missed it. What's important now is figuring out what's going on and how we can help her."

Yunho chimes in, "You're right, Wooyoung. We need to support her. She's one of us, and we can't let her go through this alone."

Yeosang adds, "I agree. We think we should give her some space for now, but we can't just leave her like this."

Jongho, ever the caring and empathetic one, speaks softly, "Maybe we should send someone to talk to her. Make sure she's okay."

Hongjoong nods, considering the options. "I'll go."

Yeosang offers, "And bring her some food. She didn't eat anything, and skipping meals won't help."

With a unanimous decision to have Hongjoong talk to you, your roommates feel a mix of concern and hope. They know that Hongjoong's leadership and caring nature make him the right choice to approach you in this delicate situation. 

As they continue their meal, their thoughts are with you, hoping that you'll open up to Hongjoong and that whatever is troubling you can be resolved. They also feel a sense of unity and support among themselves, knowing that they'll be there for you no matter what. Hongjoong finishes his meal quickly, determined to check on you and make sure you're okay.

-

In the confines of your room, tears stream down your cheeks as you huddle beneath your sheets. The weight of your emotions presses heavily on your chest, making it hard to breathe. Negative thoughts swirl in your head, each one more self-doubting and destructive than the last.

“Why did I snap like that?” You question yourself, your voice barely a whisper amidst the tears. "They're going to think I'm a burden, that I can't handle this."

You bury your face in your pillow, muffling your sobs as you contemplate the possibility that your roommates might stop liking you because of your outburst. It's a fear that gnaws at your heart, leaving you feeling vulnerable and alone.

Thoughts of inadequacy and worthlessness swirl relentlessly in your mind. You replay the dinner table scene over and over, each time emphasising how you snapped and how you failed to explain what's been troubling you. The fear of being a burden gnaws at your soul, and you're convinced that your roommates must be tired of dealing with your issues.

"Why can't I just be normal?" you whisper to yourself, your voice trembling with self-recrimination. "Why can't I handle this like everyone else?"

The tears continue to flow, unabated, as you feel like you're drowning in a sea of self-criticism. You wish you could push these thoughts away, but they cling to you like a relentless storm, obscuring any glimmer of hope or positivity.

In this moment, you long for someone to rescue you from the darkness, to pull you out of this suffocating abyss of negativity. You crave understanding and acceptance, but the fear that you'll never find it keeps you locked in a cycle of despair, feeling more alone than ever.

Just as you feel like you're being swallowed whole by your negative thoughts, a faint but unmistakable knock on your door breaks through the darkness. It's a sound that pierces through the gloom like a ray of light, a glimmer of hope that someone cares enough to check on you.

With a shaky breath, you sit up in your bed, wiping away your tears as you call out, "Come in."

The door opens slowly, and Hongjoong steps into the room, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His presence alone feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the midst of your emotional turmoil. The moment his eyes land on your tear stained face, his heart tugs in his chest, feeling as if it dropped to his stomach.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice filled with compassion.

You swallow hard, your throat still constricted from crying, but you manage to find your voice. "I... I'm sorry for how I acted earlier. It's just... I've been feeling overwhelmed, and I didn't know how to explain it."

Hongjoong takes a step closer, his eyes filled with empathy. "Shh, you don't have to apologise. We all have our moments, and we care about you. You're not a burden, ____."

"I'm sorry, Hongjoong," you murmur, your voice heavy with emotions.

Hongjoong moves closer, his heart racing with the need to provide you with comfort. He stands before you at your bedside, hesitating for a moment before finally taking a seat beside you.

"Can I touch you?" he asks gently, his eyes filled with concern.

Looking at him, you see the glaze in his eyes. He looks nervous. You nod in response, granting him permission to offer his support. 

Hongjoong takes your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. His heart pounds in his chest, a silent declaration that he cares deeply about your well-being.

"You don't have to apologise, ____," he says softly, his voice filled with understanding. "We're here for each other, through the good times and the bad."

Your eyes meet his, and you can see the sincerity and compassion reflected in his gaze. It's a comfort to know that you have someone who genuinely cares about your struggles.

The contrast between the authoritative and sometimes stern Hongjoong you've seen before and the gentle, comforting side he's showing now is striking. It makes your heart flutter and leaves you feeling surprisingly vulnerable. 

You've always respected Hongjoong's leadership within your group of roommates. He exudes confidence and commands attention effortlessly. But seeing this softer, caring side of him makes you realise there's so much more to him than meets the eye. 

As he sits beside you, offering his support and understanding, you can't help but be drawn to him more than you have felt before. His caring demeanour is like a soothing remedy for your troubled soul, and you find yourself appreciating him even more.

"I appreciate you being here," you admit, your voice quivering with emotion.

Hongjoong responds with a warm, reassuring smile, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. 

"Anytime," he reassures you.

Hongjoong continues to offer you his comforting presence, yet he notices the lingering sadness in your eyes. He can tell that there's something more troubling you, something beyond what you've shared so far.

“I would appreciate knowing what is going on. We want to help you.”

You hesitate for a moment, struggling with whether or not to open up about the malicious messages. But his sincerity and the trust you've built in this vulnerable moment encourage you to share.

"It's…” you begin to talk, yet you feel the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your chest.

Hongjoong turns towards you, his worry evident as he scans your slightly shaking body.

“It’s okay ____.” 

“I want to say yes.” you say, “to be yours.”

The weight of your words settles in the air, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. Hongjoong's heart races, and the room feels charged with a new energy. Hearing you express your feelings for him so openly and sincerely is something he never expected, yet it's the most beautiful surprise he could have imagined.

His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mixture of surprise, joy, and a deep, profound affection. He searches your gaze as if trying to read every emotion, every thought that lies beneath the surface. Yet when he sees the hurt expression on your face, he wonders what else you have to say.

“I don't know if I can.” 

The moment your words leave your lips, a heavy silence settles between you and Hongjoong. His expression shifts from one of hopeful anticipation to a mixture of surprise, disappointment, and hurt. It's as if the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving behind a palpable tension.

Hongjoong tries to find his words, but his voice catches in his throat, and for a brief moment, he can't meet your gaze. He looks away, his jaw clenched as he processes your rejection.

“I… I see.” he finally manages to say, “why… is that?”

“The messages," you finally admit, your voice shaky. 

Immediately Hongjoong is confused about your statement. He doesn't understand what the messages have to do with you rejecting him.

“What messages?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes welling up with tears as you try to explain. "I've been receiving some weird messages… about all of you.”

“What do you mean? What do they say?” 

“Well, I only got one, but it was strange.” 

You show Hongjoong the message, "have fun with my boys…" and you witness as Hongjoong's eyes narrow in recognition, and his fists clench even tighter. 

It feels as if his world is crashing down on him as he pieces together the puzzle. Hongjoong's expression morphs into one of anger, his jaw tensing as he absorbs your words. The protective instinct within him flares, and he clenches his fists, visibly seething. He knows exactly who sent the messages. Despite his rising anger, he remains composed in front of you, not wanting to further burden you with his own emotions.

"It's okay, just ignore that message," Hongjoong says, and though he attempts to conceal his anger, you can sense the underlying frustration in his tone.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you press, "Hongjoong?"

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Don't let other people's opinions define our relationship. It's about us and no one else."

“Hongjoong, I’m scared of starting a relationship with you guys.”

Hongjoong's expression softens as he senses your vulnerability. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand," he replies softly. "Starting a relationship with us might seem daunting, but remember that we care about you deeply. We'll be here every step of the way, and you don't have to face anything alone. Please don't worry about what others think. It is just us in this, no one else."

His words provide you with a sense of security, and you begin to realise that you have a strong support system with the boys.

You let out a sigh, your worries spilling out. "It's just... I'm afraid I'm not good enough for you guys. You're all so amazing, and I don't want to hold you back or bring any problems into your lives." voicing your worries, a wave of self-doubt begins to wash over you. 

Before you can delve further into your anxieties, Hongjoong moves with a surprising swiftness. He places a gentle hand under your chin, lifting your head to meet his eyes, effectively silencing your anxious thoughts. His touch is feather-light yet firm, a reassuring gesture that instantly grabs your attention.

A split second later, your breath catches as he leans down, his warm lips tenderly pressing against your forehead. The kiss feels like a soft promise, an unspoken reassurance that sends shivers down your spine. You're momentarily stunned by this unexpected display of affection, your heart racing in your chest.

Without any hesitation, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. The embrace is warm, secure, and filled with an undeniable tenderness that envelopes you entirely. It's as if his arms are a sanctuary, a place where your worries and doubts can find refuge.

"My treasure," he murmurs, his voice a gentle whisper against your ear. "You are more than good enough. You're unique and special in your own way. We care about you for who you are, not for any other reason. Please don't doubt yourself. We're here because we want to be, and we'll support you through everything. We love you."

In his embrace, you find refuge and a sense of belonging that you've been longing for. The weight of your worries slowly dissipates, replaced by the comforting warmth of Hongjoong's presence and the knowledge that you are cherished just as you are.

In his embrace, you begin to feel the weight of your worries slowly dissipate, replaced by a warm sense of belonging and acceptance.

"You love me?" You pose the question, the words hanging in the air, your heart racing with a mix of hope and trepidation. Hongjoong looks at you, his expression a blend of surprise and realisation, as if he's just spoken without fully thinking through his words.

Chuckling softly, he pulls away from you, a confident and sincere look on his face. 

"Yes, I do," he affirms, his voice steady and filled with genuine emotion, yet you can see he is nervous for your response.

“Hongjoong, I think I love you too.” you admit, your face flushing hot. 

“Fuck ____.” Hongjoong swears through his teeth, then looks away from you. You look at him confused, your eyes wide.

“What?” You ask, confused at his reaction, scared of what he will say.

Hongjoong turns to glance back at you, his eyes meeting yours, and in that moment, he feels as if he's teetering on the edge of losing his mind and sanity. 

Your wide, doe-like eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and a hint of mischief, hold an inexplicable power over him. It's as though they can peer into the depths of his soul, unravelling the layers he's tried to keep hidden. He cannot seem to get over how adorable and innocent you look. The way your words have such an impact on him leaves his mind swirling with many thoughts.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I won't be able to hold back.”

His unexpected words leave you utterly shocked, the abruptness of the confession catching you off guard. Yet, the way they make you feel is nothing short of indescribable.

A rush of heat surges through you, starting from the tips of your fingers and toes, and spreading like wildfire throughout your body. Your cheeks flush as a wave of flustered embarrassment washes over you.

But beneath the shock and embarrassment, a more primal, intoxicating sensation takes hold. You feel an undeniable surge of desire, a raw, visceral attraction that courses through your veins. Your heart races in response to the unexpected intensity of the moment. Hongjoong's words have an electrifying effect on you, leaving you in a state of arousal that you can't quite ignore. It's as if the room has suddenly grown hotter, and every inch of your skin tingles with a newfound awareness of his presence.

In this moment of vulnerability and desire, you find yourself torn between your instincts and your rationality. His confession has unleashed a torrent of emotions that you never expected to confront, and the magnetic pull between you and Hongjoong is impossible to deny.

“Hongjoong,” you whisper, your fingertips on fire as you play with your clothes.

“We should discuss the relationship with the boys when you are ready with your answer.” Hongjoong says, quickly, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, a profound realisation washes over you: there is seemingly nothing in this world capable of undermining the unbreakable bond you share with the boys. After years of yearning for one another's company, you are now reunited, and it feels as though no external influence could ever drive a wedge between you. While you are fully aware that maintaining relationships can be challenging, with the boys, it all seems effortless. There's a natural understanding between you, a deep knowledge of each other that makes everything feel remarkably smooth and naturally occurring.

Amidst your personal struggles with mental health, a lingering concern lingers in your mind; the worry that these challenges might adversely affect your relationship. However, the boys have consistently demonstrated their unwavering support, proving time and again that they not only embrace your struggles but are also somewhat professional at navigating such turbulent waters. Their understanding and expertise in handling these issues have become a reassuring pillar of strength, reinforcing the belief that your bond can withstand any storm that life may throw your way.

“I want to say yes.” 

Hongjoong's eyes, once covered with nervousness, now lit up with an intensity you had never seen before. It was as if a constellation of stars had suddenly burst into existence within his gaze, filling the room with their luminous glow.

“Come, we need to talk to the boys.” 

Hongjoong's touch was gentle as he clasped your hand, coaxing you off the bed. You yielded to his pull, your feet finding the floor. But there was something lingering, something unsaid that held you back. You tugged him slightly, your grip on his hand urging him to pause. Confusion knit his brows, and his concern was palpable in his searching gaze.

“You don't have to hold back.” you whisper, with some fear as to his reaction, yet you start to feel confident upon seeing Hongjoong’s flustered state.

"Doll," Hongjoong whispers, his voice a seductive murmur as he closed the distance between you. His desire was evident in the way his eyes smouldered with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with promise, and they caught you off guard.

"Let's talk to the boys," he continued, his tone laced with anticipation, "and when the time is right, I’ll show you everything I have been waiting to do for years.”

The boldness of his statement sends a rush of arousal coursing through your body. It is as if a dormant fire had been ignited, and your heart races at the thought of what awaits. The anticipation of sharing your desires and fantasies with him, of finally giving in to the passion that had simmered between you for so long, leaves you breathless with longing.

“Let’s go.”

Hongjoong walks behind you as you step back into the kitchen where your roommates' eyes immediately turn toward you. There's a mix of relief and concern in their expressions, like they've been holding their breath until your return.

Wooyoung, who's drying dishes with Yeosang, flashes a warm smile your way, but his eyes are filled with concern. Seonghwa and Yunho, chatting at the counter, both turn towards you with wide smiles on their faces, but their gazes are searching, trying to read your mood. Mingi, Jongho, and San, who are seated at the island, exchange subtle glances, and it's clear they've been discussing something among themselves.

It's like a silent symphony of emotions playing out in their eyes, and you can sense their collective concern hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, realising that it's time to address the situation, to clear the air and let them in on your feelings, just as you've allowed Hongjoong to do. Before you can speak, they collectively pause what they're doing, waiting for you to make the first move, to share your thoughts and feelings.

“I’m sorry guys, for rushing out like that…” You begin to say, yet before you can continue, a chorus of ‘It’s okay’ and ‘don't worry’s sound out, filling you with an intense feeling of gratitude.

"I, uh, wanted to say something," you begin, your voice carrying a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The room falls into a hushed silence, all eyes fixed on you, their expressions a blend of curiosity and affection.

Taking a deep breath, you look towards Hongjoong, who gives you a reassuring nod, making you feel more confident as you continue, "I've thought about this a lot, and I want you all to know how special you are to me. I think we should give it a try."

Around you, the boys freeze in their tracks, their expressions shifting from disbelief to sheer elation. Your words land in their hearts like a gentle caress, and the impact was profound. It was as if a wave of pure joy had washed over them, leaving them floating in a sea of happiness. Their faces light up with radiant smiles, their eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. The room seemed to shimmer with an aura of warmth and contentment that only your words could bring.

Seonghwa, the embodiment of tenderness, takes a step closer, his voice filled with emotion. "You have no idea how much those words mean to us," he admits, his eyes glistening.

San, who had dreamt of this moment for years, is overwhelmed with gratitude. "I can’t believe this is happening," he said, his voice trembling with sincerity.

Yunho, the eternal optimist, can’t stop grinning. "This feels way better than I imagined!" he exclaimed under his breath, yet you manage to catch it, causing your heart to race even more than it already was.

Jongho, the pillar of strength, looks at you with profound appreciation. "Thank you for choosing us," he says, his voice steady with emotion.

Yeosang, usually reserved, couldn't help but express his delight. "I've been waiting for this for so long," he admitted, his eyes shining.

Mingi and Wooyoung, the jokers of the group, let out joyful laughs, not being able to speak any words, their happiness immeasurable.

Hongjoong, whose emotions were always close to the surface, openly shares his feelings. "I can't express how happy I am right now," he confesses, his voice quivering with emotion.

They surround you, their words and expressions convey the depth of their joy. It feels like a moment of pure happiness, a shared understanding that something beautiful is beginning. With hearts full of love and excitement, you know that your journey with these incredible individuals was just starting, and it was going to be an extraordinary adventure filled with love, passion, and unforgettable moments.

“Boys, back up a little,” Hongjoong speaks out, his usual tone of authority present once more as he realises all eight of them huddled around you, making you feel slightly vulnerable. 

The seven boys gathered around you pick up on your tenseness. It wasn't that you minded their presence in your personal space; in fact, their company was something you cherished. It was the attention focused solely on you that made you feel a bit small, like the centre of the universe in that moment. 

San, always attuned to your feelings, senses your unease. He takes a step back with the others and speaks gently, "Hey, we're here because we care about you, but we don't want you to feel overwhelmed. We can take things at your pace."

Thankfully, nobody seemed to mind your tenseness, realising the reasoning for it.

“So how is this going to work?” You manage to ask, not quite sure as to how a relationship with nine people is going to work out. 

Sitting down at your usual place at the table, you notice the boys rush to their own seats also.

“It's just like a normal relationship really.” Hongjoong answers your question as he takes a seat down in front of you.

“Just there’s a lot of love going around, I suppose.” Jongho adds, “it’s not too different to a monogamous relationship.”

“You probably will go on a lot of dates,” Seonghwa jokes, chuckling gently.

“And receive lots of affection,” Yeosang says quietly from his seat, and you can’t help but notice the blush covering his face. 

“But like every relationship, you are allowed to say no to us, in any way. If you aren't comfortable with something, don't be scared to let us know. We would hate to ever make you uncomfortable or upset.” Yunho says, a reassuring smile on his face, yet you can tell his words are important to him and the others around him, as they nod and agree to Yunho.

“If you have any questions don't feel scared to ask, but remember, this isn't a contract, it's a relationship, just go with the flow. You can do whatever you would like, and… leave whenever you want.”  Hongjoong says, his words slightly sorrow, which you are quick to reassure him.

“We don't need to think of that now, I’m not planning on leaving any time soon.” You quickly say, not wanting to see the hurt expression on Hongjoong’s face any longer.

Little did you know, your short but heartfelt statement brought joy not only to Hongjoong but to all eight men surrounding you. Their smiles grew wider, and their eyes shimmered with happiness as they soaked in your words.

“Like most relationships though,” Hongjoong begins, catching everyone’s attention, “although there are eight of us, not that I think you would ever even think of it, you can't be with anyone outside of this group. I want you to fully understand that.”

“Of course, I’m in a relationship with you eight, not anyone else and I think cheating is for sore losers who aren't happy with their partners but can't find the guts to break up with them because they are scared of losing the only person who cares about them in their lives.” You quickly cut off your rant, upon seeing the confused, yet agreeing expressions on the men around you.

"Damn girl, did someone hurt you?" Wooyoung playfully says, his tone light and teasing. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, a sense of realisation strikes him like a bolt of lightning as he sees your slightly hurt expression and his heart twangs with guilt. It wasn't just a casual remark; someone had, indeed, broken your trust, and the implications of that hit all the men around you like a ton of bricks.

Wooyoung’s playful expression shifts to one of concern and protectiveness in an instant. His eyes darken with a mix of anger and empathy as he realises that you have experienced pain and betrayal.

The other members, too, sense your change in behaviour . They exchange glances, silently communicating their readiness to support you.

San, who is observing you very intently, caught on to the change in your demeanour. He leans closer, his face reflecting his own concern. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks gently, his voice filled with genuine worry.

“It was a while ago, I'm rather glad it was a short lived relationship, he turned out to be such a dick.” 

“Does he go to our school?” Yunho asks, his eyes narrowed in some form of mixture of jealousy and anger.

“I am not going to answer that question.” You chuckle, “but don't worry about anything, I only have eyes for you guys now. It was one of my first relationships anyways, so I’m still quite new to the whole affection thing.” 

"Just how experienced are you?" Wooyoung can't resist teasing, a mischievous glint in his eye and a playful smirk on his face as he witnesses your flustered state.

San, standing beside Wooyoung, couldn't help but chuckle at the teasing. He playfully slaps Wooyoung on the back of the head, a gentle reprimand for his impulsive curiosity. However, it was evident that San, too, was curious about your past relationships.

The other members exchange knowing glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and interest. They were already accustomed to each other's past experiences, and your life is now intricately entwined with theirs, they can’t help but wonder how far you have gone into a relationship with someone. Naturally, they are curious about your past and the experiences that have shaped you.

It takes you a second to regain your composure, and you realise you could make some fun out of it while you're here. 

"Well, let's just say, I know what I like and what I want to try," you reply with a clearly suggestive undertone, a playful glint in your eye. Your words hang in the air, and it does not go unnoticed by the men surrounding you. Their eyes darken with desire as they absorb the implications of your statement. You hear a few sharp intakes of breath from around you, and you can't quite believe how much your words impacted the males around you.

In this moment, a tangible tension fills the room, the air crackling with unspoken desires and fantasies. Each of them felt a surge of longing, their own desires awakening in response to your sudden openness.

Hongjoong's usually composed demeanour wavers for a brief moment, his restraint tested by the allure of your words. Along with your words in the bedroom earlier, it seems like a potent mix that you are almost teasing him with.

San's eyes gleam with a playful challenge, as if he is ready to explore those desires with you. Desperately wanting to find the time with you to show you everything he’s been dreaming of for years.

Yunho feels a rush of heat, his thoughts consumed by the possibilities your words hold. The kiss you two shared reaches the front of his mind and he has a hard time hiding his excitement as he imagines what would happen if, next time, you don't stop.

Yeosang's usual calm exterior betrays a hint of excitement, a silent acknowledgment of the passionate connection that has been ignited.

Mingi's playful grin hints at his willingness to partake in such adventures. Wooyoung's creative mind is already racing with ideas of how to indulge in your fantasies. 

Jongho, although rather inexperienced himself, finds himself wanting to explore his own desires alongside you.

Seonghwa's dark gaze locks onto yours, his expression a mix of intensity and anticipation, his sultry gaze causing butterflies to rush through your stomach, his lustful look making your heart beat rise. 

In that charged moment, you were the epicentre of their desires, your words kindling a fire within each of them. It was a shared understanding that there were unexplored realms of passion waiting to be discovered, and they were eager to embark on that journey with you.

The room seemed to shrink as their longing gazes remained fixed on you, a silent invitation to explore the depths of desire and pleasure together. It was a promise of intimate moments yet to come, a tantalising glimpse into a future filled with passion and connection.

It is Yeosang’s voice who breaks the silence, although it is shaky, he holds some sort of power as he speaks, his brow raising slightly, “and what would those be?” 

Feeling awfully in control of the situation makes you feel somewhat powerful. With a cheeky grin, you raised your eyebrows in response to Yeosang's curiosity. 

"I guess you'll have to find out," you teased, your tone laced with playful mystery.

Your words hung in the air like a tantalising promise, and they didn't go unnoticed by the men around you. Arousal simmered beneath the surface, and each of them found their thoughts running wild, their desires ignited by the prospect of discovering the depths of your desires.

“Holy shit,” you hear San groan under his breath, avoiding your gaze.

With a mischievous giggle, you gracefully rise from your seat, a sense of satisfaction in the air. Playfully, you send a wink in their direction, a silent promise of more exciting moments to come. 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” you say. With a playful skip in your step, you make your way to the confines of your bedroom, leaving the men behind, their thoughts still simmering with desire.

Disappearing into your room, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement and anticipation. The playful banter had ignited a passionate spark among you all, and the possibilities for the future seemed endless. You knew that the intimate adventures awaiting you would be filled with desire, pleasure, and a deep connection that bound you together.

Wooyoung and Mingi quickly rush to stand, wanting to follow you into the confines of your room, to see exactly what you meant by your suggestive words. Seonghwa and Yunho shuffle in their seats, restless, also wishing to follow you to your bedroom. Yeosang, and San share a knowing glance, their faces both a deep shade of red. San chuckles to himself, clearly affected by your words, yet he finds the humour in your playful teasing, bringing a smile to his face. 

Just as Wooyoung is about to make a dash for the exit, Hongjoong's voice cuts through the air, stern and authoritative. Without even sparing a glance at the two behind him, he asks them to sit down. His commanding tone brings both Mingi and Wooyoung to an abrupt halt, and they immediately sense the underlying seriousness in Hongjoong's demand.

Once again, Hongjoong's leadership qualities are not to be underestimated, and the weight of his words hung in the air, stopping any hasty actions in their tracks. His stern demeanour makes it clear that there was something important he wishes to address, and it has the full attention of those present. Mingi and Wooyoung exchange a quick glance, silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation.

“What is it, Joong?” Seonghwa asks, his concern showing as he sees the furrowed expression on Hongjoong’s expression.

"I didn't want to bring the mood down, we should be happy right now," Hongjoong began, his voice filled with a hint of frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, a sign of his unease, before continuing, "I think Ryu knows about ___."

Mingi's reaction was immediate, and he couldn't contain his shock and anger. "What the fuck?" he exclaims, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

The collective mood among all the men took a nosedive, plunging from happiness into a pit of uncertainty and concern.

San, always ready to protect and defend, stands up from his seat, his initial confusion giving way to anger. "What? What makes you think that?" he demands, his voice laced with frustration.

Hongjoong's revelation had thrown a dark shadow over the previously joyful atmosphere, and now, questions and fears raced through their minds. Gently Yeosang grabs San’s hand, momentarily calming his anger, although Yeosang himself feels as if he is seeing red.

“When I went to check on her, among other things, she told me the reason she was upset was because she received a message from someone.”

“What, from who?” Yeosang questions, his voice slightly sharper than usual, it does not go unnoticed by the seven around him.

“You can make a guess…” Hongjoong replies, looking down at his fingers which are picking a piece of dead skin on his nail. 

“Are you sure it is from her?” Seonghwa begins, his hand resting on Hongjoong’s hand, stopping him from the bad habit of picking skin. 

“In the message was the heart, with the eight, I’ve only ever seen her use that.”

“That’s her then.” Yunho says, his teeth gritted, looking forward to nothing in particular.

The tension in the room escalates as the seven men around Yunho struggle to process this unexpected revelation. The mere mention of Ryu's involvement casts a dark cloud over the previously uplifted atmosphere.

The unknown intentions of Ryu gnaw at their minds, leaving them feeling uneasy and apprehensive. While they had been able to protect you from Ryu's potential interference within the confines of their home, this new development has thrown a wrench into their plans. Things had suddenly become far more complicated than they had ever imagined.

Each of them wore expressions of concern, their thoughts racing as they contemplated the potential implications of Ryu's knowledge. The unspoken question hung heavily in the air: What was Ryu planning, and how would it affect you?

“Should we have waited until we knew Ryu was gone before we started our advances on ____?” Mingi questions, more to himself than to anyone else.

“It’s our relationship, another person shouldn't have a say in what we can and can't do with our girlfriend.” Jongho exclaims, his fists tightening in his lap.

"I get what you're saying, Jongho," Wooyoung exclaimed in response to Jongho's statement. He can empathise with Jongho's concerns, but he couldn't entirely agree with his viewpoint.

The situation was undeniably complex, and their protective instincts were at odds with the desire to see you happy and free from any past entanglements. It was a delicate balance they had to strike, and finding a resolution that would ensure your well-being while allowing you to pursue happiness was a challenge.

Wooyoung's voice holds a note of understanding as he continues, "But we can't just ignore this, can we? If Ryu does something, it means our guard might not be enough. We need to figure out what's going on and how it might affect ___." His concern for your safety was evident in his words, and he is determined to address the issue head-on.

Hongjoong's voice is contemplative as he speaks, his eyes reflecting his own internal analysis. "You're right," he admits, addressing the group. "We were excited when she forgave us, so we let our guard down."

The admission hung in the air, a collective acknowledgment that their happiness had, in a way, overshadowed the need for continued vigilance. It was a humbling realisation that their happiness with you had momentarily clouded their judgement.

Hongjoong continues, his tone firm and determined, "But that doesn't mean we can't rectify it. We need to be cautious, not just for our sake but for hers too. We won't let Ryu's presence threaten ___ or our relationship."

His words carry a sense of resolve, and it is clear that Hongjoong is committed to protecting you and ensuring that nothing would jeopardise the bond you had all worked so hard to rebuild.

The weight of Hongjoong's determination and leadership settles in the room, and the tension among the boys seems to ease slightly. There was a shared understanding among them that when Hongjoong took charge of a situation, there was little need to worry.

Hongjoong's ability to provide guidance and assert control over challenging circumstances is a source of comfort and reassurance for the group. His leadership has always played a crucial role in navigating the complexities of their relationships and disagreements in the past and the trust that he will ensure your safety and happiness.

In that moment, their trust in their captain’s abilities becomes a source of strength, a reminder that they are a unified front ready to face any challenges that come their way. The collective determination to protect you and preserve the chemistry you have found together was unwavering, and they knew that, under Hongjoong's guidance, they can face whatever lies ahead.

“Do you have any idea what she might want?” Yeosang asks gently after a few moments of reflective silence.

The seven men turned their collective gaze to Hongjoong, who had a deep furrow in his brow as he spoke. "She said that we are 'her boys,' not ___'s," he explains, his voice tinged with concern. He raises a hand to gently massage his temples, a sign of the weight of the situation.

Mingi's reaction is immediate and passionate. "That's insane! She was the one who hurt us. How could she possibly think that we belong to her?" His voice rises with anger and frustration.

San tries to diffuse the situation. "Calm down, Mingi. We don't want ___ to know what's happening." He emphasises the importance of keeping you in the dark for the time being.

Wooyoung, however, is torn. "That's stupid? ___ should know what's going on," he exclaims, his concern for your well-being outweighing his desire to keep you unaware of the situation.

The room is filled with conflicting emotions and opinions as they grapple with the complex web of feelings and loyalties surrounding Ryu's unexpected return and her claim over them. 

Hongjoong's voice remains steady as he reasons with the boys, his calm demeanour a contrast to the escalating tension in the room. "If the situation escalates, we will tell her," he asserts firmly, emphasising the need for caution and measured responses.

While his decision received some negative reactions from the others, Hongjoong stood his ground, resolute in his determination to prioritise your safety and well-being. He understood the gravity of the situation and believed that, for the time being, it was best to shield you from unnecessary worries. It was a difficult decision, but he believed it was the right one to make.

"Try to focus on the positives right now, boys," Hongjoong encourages, his voice carrying a note of reassurance, "___ is finally ours. Let's lighten up a little."

Hongjoong's attempt to lighten the mood doesn’t go unnoticed. He speaks with a gentle tone and tries to muster a warm smile, which some of the boys returned more easily than others. Despite the lingering concerns and unease, there is a shared understanding among them.

His words are a reminder of the joy and happiness that have come with your forgiveness and acceptance. While the challenges they face are significant, the boys share a deep sense of happiness knowing that you were officially a part of their lives.

Amidst the uncertainties, their bond with you remained a source of strength, and they are determined to cherish the positive moments and continue building a future together.

----

⇢ taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-000 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan @satsuri3su @theonesoldtoonedirection @wooya1224 @deadpoetsandhoney @skztrophy @kunhengie @tinyelfperson @l0vetiny @simplyalfie @doggopepper @seungily @dino-teezerr @silentcry329 @formulateez @senpai-of-doom @aaaaajonghooooo @ijwsbdinp ​@liniiiaa @channiespup @heyitstacy @eightmakesonebraincell @araknoid @lilbugs-things

im sorry to say but the taglist is closed from now onwards.

[6lostgirl6]

yandere john wick with “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” he just gives off such over protective/possessive energyyy 🤭

Your Protector

Pairing: Yandere!John Wick x Fem!Reader

TW: Yandere themes, toxic themes, mentioned stalking, kidnapping, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, pet names, dubious kissing (at first), slightly suggestive. Reblogs are highly appreciated!!

It was infatuation and obsession that drove him to take such drastic measures. Ever since he saw you, he was absolutely convinced that you were meant for him. His second chance at happiness and love since the passing of his wife, Helen.

It was also fear, fear that if he didn't kidnap you, you would be somehow hurt or even killed. John has spent many nights without sleep, worried over your safety. He knew that if he didn't take action, something was bound to happen.

You never met him before, never spoke with him, and it was a shock when he finally kidnapped you. A complete stranger. The last thing you could remember was walking home from another late-night shift and being grabbed from behind. In a millisecond, your mouth was covered by a cloth and your vision went black.

When you finally came to, you realized you did not recognize your surroundings. You were resting in a lavish guest room and you were still trying to wrap your brain around what was happening. While you were gathering your bearings, a man appeared. He was standing over you by the side of the bed.

"Good morning, sweetheart." The man said with a smile, greeting you in an affectionate tone. "I hope you slept well."

At first glance, he was a very attractive man and of great wealth. His towering stature, long black hair and wearing a seemingly expensive black tailored suit.

“Who are you?” You asked in fright, staring at him with wide eyes.

“W-What’s going on?” You scooted back against the headboard, trying to maintain some distance between you and the man. “What do you want?” You continued to stare at him, fearful of what he might do. 

His gaze held a disturbing mixture of kindness and menace as he looked down at you. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you." He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. "I just want to make sure that we're together. Forever."

“Who are you?” You were confused, having not ever met this strange man before in your entire life. You thought that this man was clearly delusional, could be mistaking you for someone else. He wanted the two of you to be together, but you could not understand the reasoning behind it. You needed to figure out who he is and hopefully find means of escaping. 

"I'm John Wick," he says simply, leaning over you. He has this strange, almost otherworldly quality about him that's difficult to explain. A sense of danger, but not necessarily violence. He's calm and collected, but you also feel the threat of his presence. It's like looking into the eyes of a predator, one who's just been waiting for the right moment to strike. It's terrifying, yet compelling at the same time.

Noticing your fear, he slowly moved to sit on the edge of the bed, bringing himself a little more to your level of height. However, he still continued to tower over you. With slight hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone. It's a gesture of familiarity and affection, yet there's a sense of darkness and danger to it.

"Don't be afraid, sweetheart." He said with a small smile, his intense dark-brown eyes locking onto yours. It was almost hypnotic, the way he was looking at you. Almost as if he truly knew you and for quite some time too. It left you feeling conflicted, complicated emotions infiltrating your heart.

His touch that was so gentle against your cheek, prompted your cheeks to grow a little warm. His affection was breaking down your resolve and leaving you quite nervous. Not nervous as if you were fearing for your life for feeling anxious, but rather the form of butterflies forming in your stomach and your heart in your throat. 

The warmth creeping onto your face seems to embolden John, and he leans in closer to you, his hand still resting on your cheek as the other trails its way down your thigh. He stared at you, his dark eyes taking in every detail of your appearance.

"You're so beautiful.” He whispers, his warm breath fanning across your face. There's an intensity to him that's almost frightening. He appeared like a wild animal, one that could snap at any moment. It was undeniable that there was something primal about him, something you can't help but be attracted to.

You couldn’t reply, unable to form any coherent sentences from the intensity and electrifying touch of his hand on your thigh. Slowly, you were feeling less uncomfortable but rather shy from his affectionate touches. However, your walls were starting to return when you remembered that you didn't even know this man.

“John…why are you doing this? You don’t even know me.”

"Because you're mine." He replied, his gaze was intense and there was undeniable heat in his voice. It was more than enough to make you feel a little dizzy. Almost as if you were falling into some dark abyss. There's no question that this man is dangerous, but you can't help feeling drawn to him. He exudes a primal, dangerous energy that is almost addictive, and you find yourself craving more of his attention and touch.”And I do know you, I know everything about you, (Y/N).”

You glanced towards the door, noticing that it was left open. Your logical side was screaming for you to wake up and understand that you were involved with something, someone, extremely dangerous. In that second, you were broken out of your spell. 

You hesitate before launching yourself from the bed in an attempt to escape.

John's smile fades as you attempt to flee, his expression turning dark and deadly. Without even seeming to move, he blocks the door, his body looming over you like a shadow of death. 

"Don't." He says, his voice low and dangerous. “You'll only make this harder for yourself, sweetheart." His eyes are cold and calculating, but there's also a strange desire behind them. 

One that's both terrifying and alluring.

With wide eyes, you backed away, feeling small in comparison to his looming figure and his predatory stance. The size difference between you two was incredible. You continued to keep your distance, placing yourself between furniture. 

With slow and deliberate steps, he follows you around the room, seemingly getting closer with each passing moment. He had the patience of an animal on the verge of a hunt. You can feel his eyes on you, tracking your every move. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there's something dangerous hidden beneath the surface. He's like a calm sea hiding the storm underneath. 

"You can't get away from me, sweetheart." He begins to move closer again, this time grabbing your wrist and holding it tight, his grasp like iron. "You belong to me."

“Yeah, right!” You struggled, trying to rip your wrist away from his grasp, he could only stare at you in slight amusement and anger. “I don’t belong to you or anyone! Nothing you will ever do will make me think otherwise!”

He raises an eyebrow and smirks at you, before he replies. 

"Alright then." 

Without warning, he pulls you towards him, kissing you passionately. His body is firm and strong, holding you tightly in his arms. His kiss is passionate and intense, like he's pouring all of his feelings and desires into it. The kiss was passionate and borderline possessive, trying to make you submit and accept him as your lover and protector. His grip around your wrist and waist is tight, becoming a little painful. You’re completely at his mercy and helpless in his arms.

You gasp from the sudden kiss, feeling intense emotions swirling within you and making your heart skip a beat. After a small moment, you began to return the kiss, thoughts of escaping melting from your mind. He also seemed to relax more into the kiss, it turning softer and loving, feeling that you were slowly but surely returning his affections. He pulls away after a moment, staring at you with a hungry and passionate gaze. 

"Are you convinced?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his gaze very heated and full of immense desire. He's still holding you tightly in his arms, not letting you go anywhere. He simply couldn't get enough of you. It's adamant that this animal has a lot of pent-up desire and passion. Now, he was looking forward to releasing it all onto you.  

"Y-Yes..." You muttered, your brain currently in a state of mush. You simply looked up at him with wide eyes, your cheeks warm from the intensity of his affections.

Slowly, he released your wrist, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath your eye. His touch was gentle and even a little soothing. He looked into your eyes, his heated stare now full of softness towards you. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice, similar to his touch, was also full of softness. 

“Y-Yes…” Your resolve was completely demolished, he has successfully twisted your feelings around and made your heart scream out for more of his attention. Thoughts of finding a way to escape barely crossed your mind, your logical side slipping further away from your grasp. 

You simply didn’t care. 

"Good." He whispers, his voice was husky once more, full of want and desire for you.

With another powerful pull, he brings you into another kiss, one that is even more passionate than the first one. Knowing that you finally submitted left him with an animalistic excitement. He's hungry for you, almost starving for your touch and affection, and you can barely keep up with his ravenous desires. His excitement continued to grow, his grip on you tightening as he held you in his arms.  

"You're mine now, my love."  He continues, his eyes glistening with desire. 

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

[imthebadguyyy]

Fortnight

pairing: carlos sainz x reader

fandom : formula 1

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : and i love you it's ruining my life.

i was a functioning alcoholic till nobody noticed my new aesthetic...

The champagne had flowed effortlessly at the paddock parties, the kind where Carlos shined brightest—golden smiles, loud laughter, and arms draped casually over shoulders. He was magnetic, so at ease in the crowd that no one noticed you tucked into the corner of the bar, swirling your glass of wine as though the answers might be hidden in its depths.

“You’re keeping to yourself again,” he said softly, his hand brushing the small of your back as he leaned in, warm and familiar.

It was a perfectly Carlos move, disarming in the gentlest way. You’d smiled tightly, masking the bitterness on your tongue, the way the liquor burned a little less than it used to.

“I’m fine. Just a drink.”

His eyes had narrowed, studying you the way he studied telemetry data—looking for what didn’t belong, for what didn’t add up. You’d perfected the act months ago: the polished version of yourself, hair perfect, dress impeccable, the kind of aesthetic that nobody could pick apart—except maybe for the emptiness behind your eyes.

You thought he’d let it slide, as everyone else did. But Carlos never let anything slide.

“When did this become a habit?” he asked, voice quiet but firm.

The question cut deeper than you wanted it to. You turned toward him, defensive. “It’s not a habit. I’m just having fun.”

Carlos shook his head then, his gaze darkening with something you couldn’t name—concern, disappointment, fear. He stepped closer, his presence steady and unwavering, as though he could shield you from the room you no longer felt you belonged in.

“Nobody notices because you hide it well,” he murmured. “But I see it.”

The words hit like a gut punch. It had been easier when nobody noticed—easier to drown out the ache of your failures, the insecurities you carried, the loneliness you swore you’d never let him see.

You blinked up at him, throat tight. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

His expression softened as he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours.

“I’m saying something now.”

And just like that, the walls you’d built started to crack. Because Carlos wasn’t the kind of man who took half-measures—on the track or in your life. He was going to pull you back, no matter how much you resisted, no matter how hard it was to let him.

In a room full of people, Carlos had noticed. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether to fight it or finally let yourself be seen.

all of this to say, i hope you're okay but you're the reason...

The rain tapped lightly against the windows, a soft soundtrack to the silence that had settled between you and Carlos. It wasn’t angry or sharp—there was no yelling, no dramatic declarations, just the kind of stillness that comes when both of you know there’s nothing left to say.

You sat across from him, hands curled around the mug of tea he’d made you, though it had long gone cold. Carlos leaned forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He hadn’t looked at you in minutes, maybe hours.

“I hope you’re okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed on your chest.

Carlos’s head lifted slightly at that, his brow furrowed. “Why do you say it like that?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because… you’re the reason.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy all at once. His eyes finally met yours then, dark and searching, trying to make sense of the pain laced through your voice.

“The reason?” he echoed quietly, like he didn’t want to believe it.

You sighed, the breath shaky as you tried to explain. “The reason I don’t feel like myself anymore. The reason I sit at dinner tables smiling like everything’s fine when it isn’t. The reason I started to lose pieces of who I am just to fit into a life that was always yours.”

Carlos flinched, barely noticeable, but you caught it. You could tell he wanted to argue, to say you’d been everything to him, that he’d never wanted you to lose yourself—but you’d both played a part in getting here.

“I didn’t mean to…” he started, his voice cracking slightly before he stopped himself.

“I know,” you replied softly. “And maybe that’s what makes it hurt the most.”

For a long time, the two of you just sat there, the room too big, the space between you wider than it had ever been. You didn’t hate him—how could you? He was Carlos, the man you’d once felt so impossibly close to. But somewhere along the way, loving him had started to cost you pieces of yourself, and now it was time to stop paying.

Carlos sat back, running a hand through his hair as he nodded, almost to himself. “I hope you’re okay too.”

You smiled faintly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I will be.”

And you meant it. You’d leave the apartment tonight, step out into the rain and let it wash away the ache for just a moment. You’d pick up those pieces of yourself one by one and start putting them back together.

You hoped Carlos would be okay too—but you couldn’t be the reason he was, not anymore.

and for a fortnight there we were, forever...

For your time together, everything felt like it could last forever. The days blurred together in a whirlwind of laughter, late-night conversations, and moments that felt stolen from time itself. It was a kind of magic that seemed to hang between you and Carlos—undisturbed by the world outside, untouched by anything that didn’t fit.

You spent your mornings walking through the city, his hand casually resting in the small of your back as you wandered through streets filled with memories you were only just creating. Nights were spent in the quiet corners of his apartment, sipping wine and talking about everything and nothing.

And for that time, it felt like it was always meant to be. Like the future was a promise sealed in the present, and the world would pause for you both.

Carlos had a way of making you feel seen, understood, like nothing else mattered in the world but the two of you. There were no complications, no distractions—just the warmth of his smile and the quiet peace that settled between you whenever you were together.

But deep down, you knew it couldn’t last. Reality would come rushing back soon enough, and those stolen moments would slip away like sand through your fingers.

But for that time, you had forever.

all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february...

All your mornings were Mondays—dull and heavy, an endless repetition of the same hollow routine. The world outside felt stuck in a cold February, as if time had frozen, leaving you suspended in this inescapable loop of grey. Every day felt like the one before, each moment blending into the next, until they all became indistinguishable. The air was thick with the weight of missed opportunities, unspoken words, and the aching emptiness of a love lost.

Since Carlos left, it was as if the world had shifted, and you were no longer a part of it. The apartment felt too quiet now, the silence louder than anything he’d ever said. You’d wake up with the same empty feeling in your chest, as if you had already lost something you weren’t ready to let go of. Coffee tasted bitter, the mornings too long, stretching out in front of you with no end in sight. You moved through each day like a shadow of yourself, existing but not truly living.

You had convinced yourself that you could move on, that you could go back to being the person you once were—the one who could face the world without the weight of the past dragging her down. But the reality was cruel. Every morning felt like the first, and every night was a reminder of how everything had fallen apart. No matter how many hours you spent in the motion of life, nothing ever seemed to shift.

The absence of him haunted you in ways you never expected. His laugh, his warmth, the way he used to look at you as if you were the only one who mattered—they were all ghosts now, whispers in the corners of your mind. The love that once seemed so sure had become a distant memory, leaving you tangled in the “what-ifs” that you couldn’t stop replaying.

You wanted to move on, to shake off this feeling of being stuck in this endless February. But each morning you woke up, the cold air reminding you of how much you had lost, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. It wasn’t just the absence of him—it was the absence of everything you’d built together, of a future you thought you’d have.

And so, you sat there, caught between the ghost of the past and the emptiness of the present, hoping that someday, somehow, the days would finally break free from their endless loop. That one day, you’d wake up to something more than the cold February mornings, but until then, all you could do was survive, counting down the hours in the same painful monotony.

and i love you, it's ruining my life...

He had moved on. It was clear in the way he smiled a little easier, how his laughter came more freely. He was thriving, living his life, and maybe, just maybe, he'd found a place where the ghosts of you didn’t haunt him anymore. He deserved that peace. He deserved everything.

But you? You were still there. Still stuck in the ruins of what you used to be, trapped in a love that was slowly suffocating you. You loved him. You loved him harder than anything, and the intensity of that love felt like a weight on your chest. It was consuming. It was all-encompassing. It was ruining your life.

You tried. You really did. You tried to let go. You told yourself it would get easier. You told yourself that you could move forward. But every time you saw him, every time you thought of him, it was like an ache deep inside you that wouldn’t fade. You wanted to be happy for him, to cheer him on in the life he was building without you. But instead, it hurt. It hurt in ways you couldn’t explain. Because while he had found a way to walk away, you couldn’t stop holding on.

He had released you, but you couldn’t release him. The love you had for him wasn’t just a feeling—it was a part of you, woven into every inch of your being. Even now, when you told yourself to move on, it felt like you were betraying the depth of what you once had. And it wasn’t just emotional—it was physical. Your heart would ache in a way that felt almost impossible to bear, a constant reminder that you were still tethered to him in a way he no longer was to you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the words, knowing how useless they were. He didn’t need to hear them. He already knew. But it didn’t stop the truth from crashing down on you.

And there it was. The cruel, bittersweet reality: you loved him so fiercely, so completely, that it was ruining you. The love you couldn’t stop feeling for him was the very thing that kept you from moving on, from finding peace in a future without him. While he was free, you were still bound to the past you could never return to.

And all you could do was love him, helplessly, until it consumed you whole.

now you're in my backyard turned into good neighbours...

Now, he was in your backyard, but it didn’t feel the same. Once, you had stood in this very place, side by side, your hearts tangled together in the kind of love that made the world feel smaller, simpler. There had been laughter, stolen moments, and dreams shared between you both that made everything else fade into the background. But that was before everything changed, before the silence grew too loud to ignore and the distance between you widened in ways you couldn’t stop.

Now, he was just a figure in the distance, smiling with his new life, his new world. You watched from the window as he moved with ease, as if nothing had ever been lost. He waved, the gesture casual, almost practiced, as if the space between you was nothing more than a formality, as if you hadn’t once shared everything. He had moved on, and you… you were still standing in the remnants of what you had, your heart stuck in the past, tangled in the threads of memories you couldn’t seem to untangle.

You were good neighbours now—nothing more. You exchanged polite smiles, the kind of small talk that didn’t carry any weight. Casual hellos, the occasional nod. But those were just walls you both put up, barriers to protect you from the things that still lingered unsaid, the feelings that neither of you dared to confront. You wanted to shout across the yard, to tell him how much you missed him, how much you still loved him, how much you hated this new reality. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The truth between you had become too heavy to speak aloud, too fragile to be voiced without shattering what little remained.

So, instead, you played the roles of neighbours—comfortable in your silence, pretending that the distance between you was nothing but physical. You both wore the act well, hiding behind polite exchanges, as if that was all you were now. But deep down, you knew it would always be more. You knew that the space between you was never just physical; it was the space left by a love that had once been everything, now fractured and out of reach. And though you both wore the mask of moving on, you couldn’t escape the ache of what you had lost.

run into you sometimes, comment on my sweater...

You’d run into him sometimes, usually in places where you never expected to see him—those fleeting moments when the past would rush forward in a flash. The first time it happened, it was in the coffee shop down the street, just a random, ordinary day. He was there, standing by the counter, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest second before he smiled, that smile that once made your heart race.

"Nice sweater," he’d said, his voice light, almost too casual, as if time hadn’t passed, as if you hadn’t once shared everything. You chuckled, the old familiarity settling over you like a soft blanket, both comforting and painful at once. "Thanks," you replied, forcing a smile, unsure if you were the one still clinging to the past or if he was too. The exchange felt like something out of a dream, the kind of thing you couldn’t quite grasp, but you knew it meant more than it appeared.

He had walked away then, just as quickly as he had appeared, leaving you standing there, heart in your throat, caught between the weight of what you had lost and the possibility of something new. You had gone through the motions, the rest of your day a blur, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that those few seconds were enough to remind you of everything that once was—and everything that could never be again.

but it won't start up till you touch, touch, touch me...

You never thought you’d see him again. Not like this. After everything that happened, you’d convinced yourself that the past was best left behind, locked away in a part of your mind you rarely visited. The heartbreak, the unfinished conversations, the goodbyes that were never said—that was a chapter you didn’t need to reopen.

But there he was, standing in front of you, just like it was yesterday. You hadn’t planned on running into him; life had a funny way of throwing things your way when you least expected them. And yet, there he was, as if the years hadn’t passed, as if the weight of the things you’d gone through together hadn’t somehow shaped you into the person you were today.

When you looked at him, it wasn’t just the face you once loved, the smile you could never forget. It was everything—the memories that rushed back in a flood, the stolen moments, the quiet laughter in places only you two knew, the promises that never quite made it out of your mouths. All of it was there, swirling around you, trying to pull you back into the life you thought you had moved on from.

But your heart—your heart wouldn’t start beating again, not with that familiar intensity, not with that same hope, until he touched it. The love you had felt for him once, raw and passionate, had frozen over time, hardened by the distance and the pain. But in his presence, you could feel it again, a flicker, a pulse of something long gone.

You remembered how it had been when he’d first entered your life, how he made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t known were possible. Every touch, every word, every glance was enough to make your heart race. You used to think that nothing could ever tear that apart, that nothing could sever the connection between you two. But then the world got in the way. Things changed. People changed. And what was once so sure became so uncertain.

But as you stood there, facing him now, you realized how much of that old feeling still lingered beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the memories that pulled you toward him; it was the pull of your heart, still waiting, still hoping for something that had once seemed like a forever. You knew it was foolish to want it back, to let yourself be vulnerable again after everything, but it didn’t matter. Your heart wouldn’t start beating again until he touched it—until he showed you, even for a moment, that it hadn’t all been a lie.

The look in his eyes, that flicker of recognition, told you that maybe, just maybe, he felt it too. He reached out, a gesture so simple, yet so heavy with the weight of everything that had passed between you. Your heart skipped a beat. It was tentative, uncertain, but it was enough to wake something inside you.

You had always believed that love could die, that time could erase it, that wounds could heal. But in that moment, with him so close, you realized love wasn’t something that disappeared. It was always there, waiting in the background, waiting for the right moment to make itself known again. And as his fingers brushed against yours, your heart finally started to beat again, not like it once did, but with a renewed hope, a quiet understanding that maybe the past wasn’t as far behind as you thought. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to see what could be.

but it won't start up till I touch, touch, touch you...

Carlos had never been one to admit when he was wrong. He was always so sure of himself, moving through life with a confidence that seemed unshakable. But with you, it was different. Everything had always been different.

He had tried to convince himself that he had moved on, that the past was exactly that—the past. But when he saw you again, standing there with that familiar smile, his heart had betrayed him in the worst way.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You were supposed to be a chapter he had closed, a memory he could visit but never revisit. But as soon as his eyes locked onto yours, everything he’d tried to forget came rushing back. The way you laughed, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your dreams—it was all so vivid, so real.

Carlos couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, his fingers brushing the back of your hand as if he were testing the waters. He had to know if the connection, the pull between you, was still there. And when he felt the electricity, the heat rising between you, he couldn’t fight it any longer. He took a step closer, his chest tightening, his pulse quickening. It was as if time had stopped, as if he had been holding his breath since the moment you left.

You stood there, just a few inches apart, and for a moment, he thought he could feel your heart racing too. His own was beating so loudly in his ears that he wondered if you could hear it, if you could sense just how badly he wanted to reach out and touch you. But there was so much hesitation—so much fear that maybe you didn’t feel the same.

And then, before he could stop himself, his hand found your chin, gently lifting it so that you were looking at him, really looking at him. He saw the flicker of something in your eyes, something that matched the longing he had buried deep inside. His heart gave a little lurch.

He closed the space between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were trying to figure out if this was real, if it was okay to let go. But as soon as your lips met, he knew. He knew this was right. This was where he was supposed to be.

The kiss deepened, and all the doubts, all the walls he’d built around himself came crashing down. You were still here, still the one who made his heart race, the one who made him feel alive in ways he didn’t know he needed. Every touch, every movement felt like a spark reigniting the flame between you, a flame that had never really gone out.

Carlos pulled away just for a moment, breathless, eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t quite put into words. And then he smiled, that same crooked smile you had always loved. His heart was still pounding in his chest, but now it was a steady, familiar rhythm—the kind that felt like home.

“I think we both knew it never really stopped, did we?” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t have to answer. The way you looked at him, the way your heart seemed to beat in sync with his, told him everything he needed to know.

And in that moment, as the world moved around them, he realized this was just the beginning. His heart had started again, and he wasn’t about to let it stop.

i love you...

The sun bathed everything in a warm golden glow as you stood at the end of the aisle, your heart pounding in a way that felt both familiar and brand new. The soft hum of music drifted through the air, but all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat—and his. Carlos was waiting for you, his eyes fixed on yours like you were the only person who mattered. And maybe you were.

His smile was soft, a little crooked, the same one that had made your knees weak countless times before. But today, it meant more. It was a promise, a quiet whisper of forever that carried the weight of everything you’d been through to get here.

The moment you reached him, Carlos reached out, taking your hand gently, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. It was such a small gesture, but it grounded you—reminded you that this was real. You’d made it. Together.

The vows passed in a blur. You weren’t sure who spoke first, but every word hung heavy with meaning.

“I promise to love you through everything, to be your partner, your calm in the chaos, your biggest supporter. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you, even if I tried—because you’ve always been a part of me.”

Carlos squeezed your hand, his voice unwavering, steady. “I thought I knew what love was before you. I didn’t. You showed me. I promise to choose you, every day, for the rest of my life. Te amo. Always.”

Your throat tightened as tears threatened to fall, and when it was your turn to say, “I do,” the words came out sure and steady, like they had always been waiting for this moment.

Carlos’s eyes softened, his own filled with a glimmer of emotion he wasn’t trying to hide. When he said, “I do,” it was the sound of a door closing on every doubt, every heartbreak that had ever touched you both.

And then the officiant’s voice lifted into the air—“You may kiss the bride.”

Carlos didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, cupping your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. When his lips met yours, the world melted away, just like it always did. His kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t just for show—it was a promise in itself, a steady beat of I love you in every touch.

The guests cheered, but it all felt distant. It was just the two of you, standing together, hearts racing in tandem like they had from the very beginning. When you pulled back, breathless, Carlos leaned his forehead against yours, his hands still cradling your face.

“I love you,” he whispered, for you alone to hear.

You smiled, your eyes shining. “I love you, too.”

And as he grinned, wide and beautiful, you realized—this wasn’t the end. This was the beginning of everything you’d ever wanted.

a/n : i know i haven't written or posted in FOREVER life has just been insanely hectic :( hoping to pump out a few fics during a short break i have this month!! hope you enjoy it, and as always, feedback, comments, reblogs etc are always appreciated ❤️

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Tis the sleazins

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You keep the small lamp next to the bed on through the night. You slip into a shallow doze, aware of Ernie’s deep breaths and your ears' thrum in the silence of the room. After hours of this, you finally dip beneath the threshold of true sleep. The deep sort that blocks out even dreams. You are thoughtless in the void.

A swirling sensation comes over you. A subconscious dizziness that weighs down your body. The achy paralysis of an all consuming fatigue.

The layers of your unconscious slake away one by one. Your breathing picks up, your eyes roll beneath their lids, your body tingles as your senses return to you. Little by little, you float towards reality.

It’s as if you’re being tugged between two forces. The dregs of your exhaustion battle with a sharp plucking you can’t place. Your voice tickles your ears, bringing you closer to the world. Your lashes flutter as you moan, a tremor between your thighs as heat brews in your pelvis.

Your eyes snap open and your head pops up. You choke as your dry throat catches the scream that rises from your lungs. First at the memory of where you are, then at the sight of the body between your thighs. The shoulders that keep you splayed as he man bows his head to your cunt.

You try to holler but again it shrivels to a pathetic whine. His tongue smothers your resistance as he laps at your clit, swiping and suckling, playing with you expertly. You fall back and grasp the pillow, back arching instinctively into him.

He chuckles, the noise rippling into you as his fingertips brush up your thigh. Rubbing and tracing along the flesh, closer and closer to their price. Your gasp as he feels along your folds, gliding between them as he hums and tastes, drinking up the pleasure slickens your lips. 

He rolls your bud between his teeth playful as he prods at your entrance. He pushes, threatening to slide inside, then pulls back, roving up between your folds and down again. He does this again and again, each time sending a tide rattling through you.

He snickers and pushes a single finger into you. Easily sliding into his lowest knuckle, curling his finger as he tests your limits. He extends his finger again, measuring your depth and eases it out. This time, he aligns two thick digits and shoves them into you, a fiery stretch radiating into your stomach.

There’s that stubborn voice telling you to push him away, to kick and hit, to do anything but let him keep going. You can’t. It’s delectable. The short trim of hair on his lip adds just enough friction to make you writhe. How can someone so repugnant make you feel so good? Almost as good as your pulse vibrator.

You swing your hand down and latch onto his hair. You fist the strands as you put your other palm to the shave sides. You buck your hips, trying to control his rhythm as he slides in and out of you. He snarls as he wiggles his head, purring as he laps you up.

You feel your orgasm twisting and twisting. The tension knots in your muscles and curls your toes. It has you quiver as you shove his head down and moan. Your walls squeeze his fingers as a gush flows out around his knuckles.

He snickers and keeps going. You puff and push on his head as his tending grows overbearing. You try to roll him away from you but he pins you flat. He rams in as deep as he can, pressing against the sensitive ridge just behind your entrance.

You squeal and shake. Oh god, it’s too much. You don’t even think it’s him. It’s just the effort. It’s been a while since you were with a man who did more than wander aimlessly around your cunt.

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks. The pressure is immaculate. It swells and your climax spills over again. You drag your hands away from his head and brace the bed. You get lost in the whirlwind of your own pleasure.

He pops his mouth off of you. You spasm as your head lolls. You look down at him, unable to close your legs as he stays nestled between them. His mustache glistens from your stolen delight.

“Like that, kitten?” He winks.

“Wha…” you garble and push yourself up on your elbows. He keeps his fingers in you, wiggle them until you squeak.

“Those other dicks won’t treat you like a nine course buffet,” he rocks his hand at an easy tempo, “mmmm,” his eyes flick down to your cunt as he watches himself finger you, “Merry fucking Christmas, huh?”

“Wh- where–” you can hardly think straight. Something’s off, something’s missing. Is this some demented dream?

You flinch as a beep comes from the other side of the door. He doesn’t react or stop. The mechanism whirs back and the door opens. You drop your head and hide under your arm in shame before you can see who it is.

“What the fuck?” The other man exclaims, “Lloyd, get off her–”

“Breakfast, most important meal of the day,” he chuckles as his breath dances over your cunt and he leans in again. Before he can meet your cunt, he’s pulled away, his hand ripped unceremoniously from between your legs.

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Andy snarls.

“Keep saying it and I might fucking care,” Lloyd retorts.

You close your legs and bend them as you pull down your skirt. You push yourself up against the pillows, folding yourself as small as you can as you stare at the men’s shoulders. Andy has Lloyd by the front of his black turtleneck as Lloyd grips his forearms in turn.

Andy inhales deeply and lets it out through his nose. He peeks over at you as you put your palms to your cheeks. You give a sheepish look, averting your eyes to the bedspread.

“Outside.”

Andy tries to move Lloyd. He can’t. The men stare each other down. The latter scoffs and shoves the other’s hands off his collar. The part, squaring their shoulders and posturing like animals.

Not a word passes between them as Lloyd raises his two fingers, “let me just get cleaned up.”

He sucks his fingers clean and you grimace, turning your head to hide behind your eyelids. He snickers again and a sole scuff before footfalls trail out the door. Another deep breath and another pair of steps pace away. The door closes and you’re left to silent confusion.

You look around the room as more of the previous night pieces together. You bounce to the edge of the bed in a sudden panic as you look around. Ernie!

You hear a scratch, then another, and a puff of nostrils. You spin to face the small door on the opposite side of the room. You round the bed and turn the handle, finding both your dog and an en suite bathroom.

“Oh, Ern, thank god,” you bend to hug him around the neck. He smells like bacon. You stand as you pat his head; he must’ve been lured in by the delicious cured meat. “Silly.”

You drag your hand away and turn to the room. You look around as you consider your options. There aren’t many. That door is locked and the walls are soundproof. You’re not going to be saved by some miracle hero. You’re also not going to fight off three men for much longer. Not through brute strength.

Give a little, get a lot. This isn’t a typical fight. It’s three against one. You’re outnumbered. You can’t win alone, but you also won’t gain any allies. There is something they say about that; the enemy of my enemy…

You go to the tall wardrobe and open the door. You pick out a red sweater dress with bell sleeves that ends just across your thighs. With it, you take a pair of similarly coloured panties; a thong but the least skimpy of the collection. You also grab a pair of black knee socks to keep your toes warm.

Ernie goes to the door and lays down in front of it. He’s always your little guard. Wherever you are, he puts himself between you and any entrance. He’s like a furry knight.

You go into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. You flip on the light and take in the space. A typical bathroom; a shower with a completely transparent wall, shining counters, and a porcelain toilet beneath a silver set of shelves.

There’s a towel on the bar. You put the clothes on the closed toilet and undress. You crank on the shower and wait for the booth to fog up. You step inside and let the heat soak into you. It’s almost comforting, as much peace as you’ll find in this place.

You use that moment to think. You don’t have a clear plan. You can’t have one but you have an idea. As much as you can barely stand those men, they would say the same of each other. You can use that.

You use the body soap in the bottle with the cupcake as a cap. You smell like a candle as you rinse off. You turn off the flow of water and turn to the door. You push it open and step onto the mat, stopping short as you find someone waiting on the other side.

Andy sputters as his eyes rove up and down your body. You cross your arms, and hand over your pelvis as you gasp and shy away. He clears his throat and snatches the towel off the bar, holding it out as his eyes skim the ceiling.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to scare you–”

“It’s fine,” you assure him as you accept the towel and cover yourself. You gotta get your shit together. You have to let them think they have you cornered but you can’t really get yourself stuck. “I was just cleaning up, I’m sorry. I… I should’ve asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures you, “I should be sorry. About Lloyd. He shouldn’t have… just barged in.”

“Oh, uh…” you look away. You’re genuinely embarrassed.

“He likes to do whatever he wants. Not anymore. I’ll make sure of that, honey. If he pulls anything, I want you to tell me, can you do that?”

You turn back to him. You meet his eyes. You see the strain around them. He’s fighting not to look down. 

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Good,” he says, “I…” He glances around, “I should let you get dressed. When you’re ready, you can come out and join us.”

“Okay,” you smile and sway back and forth, “Andy?”

He looks at you, his eyes alight, “yes, honey?”

“You said you won’t let them hurt me, right?”

He nods, his face softening, “I won’t.”

You let your lips tremble and squeeze the top of the towel, “promise?”

“I promise,” he assures you. “You’re precious to me. I…” he swallows, “I wouldn’t have done all this if you weren’t.”

“I… you’re right, it is a lot,” you go to the sink and look in the mirror before taking a bottle of expensive cream from the shelf over the toilet. You read the label, “you know, I could never afford this on my own. Ninety-five dollars an ounce.”

“I know,” he drones, “it’s why I got it for you.”

“You?” You hold onto the small tube as you peek at him.

“The others… they helped me get you. That’s it. Everything else, I did. For you.”

“That’s so sweet,” a tremor breaks through your voice, an unintended affect.

“Let me know if I missed anything,” he inches back slowly, “if you need… anything.”

“I will,” you turn back to your reflection. You know he doesn’t mean anything. If you asked him to take you home, you don’t think he’d listen.

You wait for him to go. You only realise when he’s gone that you really are shaking. You’re afraid. Even if these men are dumb, they scare you. You have to be very careful.

🎀

When you’re dressed, you find the door open, waiting for you. You go down the hall as you hear a commotion. Ernie’s paws tap on the floor as he wiggles in his pre-meal dance. He must be so hungry!

He drools as he threatens to jump up at Ransom who holds the open bag of kibble in his arms. You know by the torn top that it’s the very same from your cupboard. He fights to keep from spilling as he’s corned by the Saint Bernard.

“He’s going to bite me!” He yells.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Lloyd appears in the doorway, “you got one job, the dog food. So feed the damn dog.”

“You feed it,” Ransom slams the bag down on the table against the wall, “just watch your fingers.”

Ransom holds up his bandaged hand; Ernie’s work. You almost laugh. You’re proud of your boy.

“Ah, hello, pussy cat,” Lloyd turns his attention on you, “look who’s up from her cat nap.”

You blink at him dumbly. He smirks smugly and winks, pointing at you with two fingers. Those two fingers. You shudder.

“I can feed him,” you offer. “He needs a bowl.”

You head for the front room but Lloyd is quick to block you as he stretches his arm across the expanse of the hallway, “I’m still a bit peckish, can I get something to eat?”

You cringe and back up. Ransom comes closer as Ernie’s distracted by the bag of kibble, his nose pressed to the side. You gulp as the men zero in on you.

“She tastes like honey,” Lloyd comments, “you want some? I’ll bend her over and you can go through the back, huh?”

Ransom snickers as he steps up next to Lloyd, “how do you know?”

Lloyd growls and tilts his head, “how do you think?”

“How the fuck did you get away with that?”

“I didn’t,” Lloyd sneers, “Mr. Bossy Pants spoiled the meal.”

“Uh, oh, please, I… it’s Christmas,” you show your palms, “so I think we should, er–”

“It’s Christmas so why don’t you give us a present?” Ransom grins, “got a couple I can think of under that sweater.”

“I– but Andy–”

A sudden crash and scatter makes you all flinch. The men turn and you look between them to find Ernie tearing into the bag of kibble. You rush forward, elbowing the men as you race towards him. You pull him back by the collar, barely able to keep him from pigging out.

“Please, he needs a bowl,” you plead, “he’s on a controlled diet.”

“He’s a dog,” Lloyd sniffs.

“Yeah? And you gave him bacon!” You accuse.

“What’s going on?” Andy appears from the front room.

“Great,” Lloyd grumbles.

“Stupid dog,” Ransom snarls, “that’s what’s going on.”

“Honey,” Andy ignores them, rushing to you, “are you okay?”

“No,” you pout, “if he eats too much, he’ll be sick.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” he rubs you back through the sweater. You note how eager he is to touch you. “I’ll clean up, you get him in the kitchen.”

“I’ll go with her,” Lloyd offers, “there’s knives in there.”

“Ransom,” Andy grits and rescinds his hand as he turns to glare at Lloyd, “you can take her.”

The other two men stare each other down, just like before. That argument isn’t over and you’re not sure it ever will be. Whatever their plan is doesn’t seem to be going as they expected. You can only hope that it doesn’t.

[just-french-me-up]

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[jyeshindra]

ALL ABOUT LIBRA RISINGS

Hey folks! We're back with the next installment of our rising series centering our artsy socialites, Libra!

A review of the ascendant: it is our mask (how we are perceived), our blueprint for life, the indicator of our chart ruler, the purest manifestation of our energy, and our physical body.

PERSONALITY

Libra Risings are ruled by Venus. As opposed to Taurus, Libra is the yang-oriented airy half of Venus. This means Libra has an extroversive quality to it (concerned with external realities and ego expression) and is more detached than Taurus.

Libra energy focuses more on the ideals of love and beauty. This gives Libra both an artistic and intellectual flair. They are oriented towards refinement and social grace. For these Venusians, there is a proper way to communicate (air) in service of connection and harmony (Venus).

Libra intrinsically understands the value of relationships. Being as such, they anticipate the needs of others and weigh things fairly. There is an amazing ability to see all perspectives with Libra.

These are balanced folk who have a charm that often incites conversation and flirtation. They usually know how to maneuver socially, and even if they're a bit awkward, they tend to be respectful of others and well-mannered. Libras hate anything that's unsightly or crude. There's a proper way to be and Libras will remind you of this!

APPEARANCE

And so their presentation is often just as proper. One word we could even use with Libra is...ah...meticulous. In the same way one may obsess over scaling as they try to perfectly measure something. Libras may have a balanced appearance. All hairs are in place, all buttons buttoned. Shoes will match the fit, hair will be kept and neat. They're very much like Virgo, but Libra is often more fashionable. They know how to dress and like to present an elegant, refined, and trendy look to the world. It'll be something that speaks to their innate sense of beauty, the same sense they project onto the world.

WHAT DO YOU SEE, LIBRA?

What needs justice? Who needs help? How can I make things more equitable and fair? How can I refine this? How can I make this more beautiful? Like Pisces there can be cases of rose-colored glasses, but Libra has a more cerebral approach to their environment that separates it from Pisces. An ability to judge and weigh all options equally.

ANGLES IN THE CHART

Libras will have their 4th house ruled by Capricorn, giving a Saturnian edge to their childhood experiences. There was likely always someone to enforce the rules and create boundaries in the home. This likely gave the Libra their sense of authority and lawfulness. The emotional climate of the home could've been cold as Saturn has a frigidity to it. Boundaries and rules are useful, but depending on the astrological personality and whatever the soul contracts are...the Libra's relationship to such restrictions in the home could have been something they rebelled against.

A 10th House in Cancer means Libra Risings will ultimately be seen for their devoted and caring nature. Their careers will likely have something to do with serving other people. Libra Risings have a deep sense of love and justice for the world and do not want to see harm being done to others. Cancer ruling their public life and persona makes sense here, these ascendants want to give their heart to the world. Something about their emotions may be on display as well, Libra Risings could turn to art to express themselves or take the role of some sort of public defender (Cancer is a protective energy).

I also think this may indicate that Libra Risings may go through a couple different careers! I feel as though Moon-ruled houses are subject to a lot of change seeing as the moon shifts constantly.

7th House in Aries...phew...we can take that a couple different directions. Subconsciously, Libra Risings will likely repress their own assertiveness/ego. They will want to keep the peace which may take the form of people-pleasing! Such behavior often builds resentment and denies the person healthy expression of boundaries/ego. These Venusian ascendants than project this onto their partner or seek it out in their relationships. To be a little traditional, this is the compliant housewife seeking an aggressive provider. Or good girl seeking bad boy (to be even more simplistic). It could also simply mean that Libra wants to be in relationships with people who have a healthy sense of self. A lot of Libras are relationship-people, I see this all the time. In this case, I'd say Libra Risings simply want their relationships to remind them of who they are. Their partnerships become a stabilizing force in this way, empowering the Libra to make their own choices and love themselves even harder. Personally, I think that's beautiful.

Libra Risings, ultimately your ability to see and balance all is your power. Your esoteric ruler is Uranus, the planet of innovation and insight. Your mind when applied to the world and your community can help raise the vibrations of love and fairness. Our society benefits from both your romance and your wit. Never change.

-jyeshindra

[mya-valentine]

Frozen Flames

Synopsis: As the Ice Hashira, you’ve always trusted your instincts, a gift that has never been wrong. But when Kyojuro Rengoku, your beloved, is sent on a dangerous mission aboard the Mugen Train, a foreboding sense of loss weighs heavy on your heart. Despite your pleas and an intuition you can't ignore, Rengoku remains resolute in his duty. Now, with a bitter farewell and a heart full of unspoken fears, you must face the chilling reality that even love and intuition may not be enough to alter fate.

The air was crisp, the sun just beginning its descent beyond the horizon. The quiet breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of autumn as you sat with Kyojuro Rengoku by the edge of the training grounds. His ever-optimistic smile lit up his face as he gazed at the sky. You, the Ice Hashira, sat beside him, your expression as stoic as ever, but your heart was weighed down with a sense of unease that had been creeping in for days.

Kyojuro broke the comfortable silence, his voice filled with excitement, "I've been assigned a mission, a rather important one involving a strange occurrence on the Mugen Train. I leave in a few days."

You turned to him, your icy eyes narrowing slightly as a familiar feeling settled into the pit of your stomach—a feeling you had come to dread. It was that intuition of yours, the one that had never been wrong before. The one that had saved your life, and the lives of others, countless times. And now, it was telling you something you didn’t want to hear.

"Kyojuro," you began, your voice as calm and measured as always, "I have a bad feeling about this mission. You shouldn’t go."

He chuckled softly, brushing off your concern with his usual enthusiasm. "Don’t worry! I’ve faced many dangerous missions before, and this one is no different! I’ll come back in one piece, I promise." His tone was filled with that unshakable confidence you had come to love.

But as much as he tried to reassure you, you could see something flicker in his amber eyes—something fleeting but undeniable. He knew. Deep down, he knew your intuition had never been wrong. And that scared him, even if he didn’t show it.

"Kyojuro," you repeated, your hand instinctively reaching for his. It was rare for you to initiate such contact, but the gravity of the situation compelled you. "Please… I can’t shake this feeling."

He squeezed your hand, his touch warm against your cool skin. "I’ll be careful, my love. But I have to go. It’s my duty." His voice was softer now, the bravado giving way to something more serious, more intimate. He knew how much this worried you, but duty was something neither of you could turn your backs on.

You could say nothing more. He had made up his mind, and you respected that about him, even if it broke your heart.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The weight of your premonition hung over you like a cloud, and you found yourself standing outside under the pale moonlight, lost in thought. The next morning, you sought out Kagaya Ubuyashiki. You entered his quiet chambers, your usual calm exterior hiding the turmoil within.

"Master Ubuyashiki," you greeted, bowing slightly.

He smiled warmly at you, as he always did. "Ah, Ice Hashira. What brings you here today?"

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. "I… wish to accompany Rengoku on his mission. I feel that my skills may be of use." It was a half-truth, and you knew that Ubuyashiki, with his unparalleled insight, could see right through you.

Ubuyashiki’s smile softened, his pale eyes gazing at you with understanding. "You have never asked to join a mission like this before. Why now?"

You felt your chest tighten. You couldn’t tell him the full extent of your feelings without sounding irrational, but you also knew you couldn’t lie to him. "I just… I want to be out in the field again," you said, your words evasive.

His smile remained gentle, though it was tinged with something akin to sympathy. "You care deeply for Rengoku, don’t you?"

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze as you felt the truth of his words sink into you. "Yes," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"It’s a beautiful thing," Ubuyashiki said, "to care for someone so deeply. You have come so far from the cold, distant person you once were. I am proud of you for opening your heart. But, as much as I understand your desire to protect him, this is Rengoku’s path. His fate is his own, and it is not for us to change."

His words, though spoken with kindness, felt like daggers to your heart. You wanted to argue, to demand that you be allowed to go, but you knew it would be in vain. Ubuyashiki was right, even if you didn’t want to accept it.

With a heavy heart, you left his chambers. As you made your way back home, the overwhelming sorrow you had been trying to keep at bay finally broke through. Tears fell silently down your cheeks, and as they did, the air around you grew colder, the moisture in the air crystallizing into delicate snowflakes that began to fall gently from the sky.

You stood in the middle of the snow, letting the coldness wash over you, but even that couldn’t numb the pain you felt.

It wasn’t long before you sensed Kyojuro’s presence approaching. He came running, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with concern. He knew what the snowfall meant—it always snowed when you were in deep sorrow.

"My love," he called softly, reaching you as the snow continued to fall around both of you. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you stood there, shaking.

You buried your face into his chest, your tears soaking into his uniform. "Don’t go," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Please… don’t go on this mission."

Kyojuro held you tighter, his hands trembling slightly, a rare display of his own vulnerability. He rested his chin on top of your head, his breath warm against your cold skin. "I can’t," he murmured. "I have to go."

You clung to him, knowing deep down that no matter how much you pleaded, it wouldn’t change anything. You hated that part of him, the part that was so bound to duty. But you also loved it because it was who he was—a man of honor, of unshakable resolve.

"I can’t lose you," you whispered, your voice breaking again.

Kyojuro pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears, though new ones quickly replaced them. "You won’t lose me," he said, his voice full of that familiar confidence. "No matter what happens, I will always be with you. My flame will burn bright, even in the darkest of times."

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, as the lump in your throat grew. All you could do was hold onto him, trying to memorize the feel of his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat, the scent of his hair, everything about him that you loved.

The next few days were a blur of emotions. You and Kyojuro spent every waking moment together, both of you knowing that time was slipping away too quickly. You trained together, ate together, talked late into the night, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly be vulnerable with him. It was bittersweet—these moments of closeness you had always craved, now tainted with the knowledge of the impending separation.

The morning of his departure came all too soon. The sun had barely risen, casting a pale golden glow over the land as you stood at the entrance of your home, watching as Kyojuro gathered his things.

He turned to you, smiling that same bright smile that made your heart ache. "I’ll be back before you know it," he said, his voice full of that familiar optimism.

You couldn’t smile back. Instead, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him one last time, holding him as if your life depended on it. He hugged you back just as tightly, his own tears finally spilling over.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," he replied, his voice cracking. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to yours, the kiss slow, lingering, filled with all the unspoken fears and emotions you both held inside. It was a kiss you never wanted to end, but eventually, you had to let go.

As Kyojuro stepped back, he gave you one last look—one filled with love, sorrow, and a glimmer of hope. Then, with one final smile, he turned and walked away.

You watched him until he disappeared into the distance, the weight of your premonition settling in your chest like ice.

And as the first few snowflakes began to fall again, you stood there alone, silently praying that, for once, your intuition would be wrong.

.

.

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Masterlist