#all i want is a friend i can build a life with

[baby-yongbok]

Say it again

Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Established Relationship ✦ Word Count - 2.6k ✦ Summary - You're Chan's princess, he'd give you anything you'd ever wanted but after a drunken slip up he decides to make you wait for what you want for once. ✦ CW -  Piss, Soft!Dom Chan, Edging, Dirty talk, Size kink?, Degradation? (towards chan but like... he asked for it? you'll see.), Unprotected sex & Creampie (Wrap it up), Reader is called Princess, baby, nasty girl/ naughty, - Again, this is a piss kink fic. ✦ Masterlist ✦

You’re Chan’s Princess. His sweet girl who he’d sell his left foot for if you asked. You’re a spoiled brat. Well, that’s what his friends say anyway.

 There isn’t a day that the group can pass up on an opportunity to poke and prod at your boyfriend for pampering you. They joke that you’ve never heard Chan say the word no and you just smile - It’s kinda true.

Your boyfriend just laughs and rolls his eyes, “She deserves it.” He’d state simply, confidently. He’d give you a wink and proceed to peel your orange or bring you a drink and let you eat half of his food. It was sweet, he was sweet. And then you messed it up. 

It’s nothing too drastic, just some tipsy teasing one night a week ago. You said something along the lines or Chan having a small dick or whatever. You honestly can’t remember but Chan does. It lives fresh in his mind and motivated him to change things up a bit. 

That night he brought you home, cooed sweet nothings in your ear and undressed you like a gentleman would. He kissed down your neck, up your thighs, over your cunt and lapped at the drenched flesh like a man starved. He built you up, up, up before pulling back and letting it all melt away.

You whimpered as he stood from his knees, his frame towered over you and you reached out to him, silently asking for more, “Channie.” You whined but he didn’t smile, he didn’t touch you, not like he usually would. He just leaned in and hovered over your naked form. 

“Next time you wanna tell a joke, make sure that it’s funny, Princess.” The harsh rasp of his voice made your cheeks flush, adding to what the alcohol had caused. With a chaste kiss to your temple he pulled back and left you dizzy, tipsy and wanting more. 

This treatment went on for a week.  

He spent his time building you up just to let you fall and repeated it the next day. He’d get himself off right in front of your face, jerking his pretty cock with you on your knees before him. He found himself smiling at the way your needy gaze would track his every move. The sanguine glint in your eye only shined brighter with each grunt and moan. You would whine, beg quietly or silently in hopes that your voice could convince him to finally give in but you always end up starving for more. 

“How long are you going to do this to me?” You whine four days in, looking up at him with glassy eyes as he redresses. “I’m sorry for what I said, I was tipsy.”

“I accept your apology.” He kneels down to your level, taking your hand in his. “But you still can’t cum.” He brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses the back of it before standing and changing the subject like he didn’t just push you a bit closer to the edge of insanity. 

You’ve never been this desperate in your life. 

You’ve never wanted Chan more than you did when you’d stand at the sink and press your thighs together with the hopes that you could get some semblance of relief. He went from edging you to teasing you to nothing at all and now you find yourself missing the miserable routine of being close to release just to have it snatched away. 

Chan caught on to your attempts at self pleasure quicker than you thought he would. He would watch, stare at your thighs and look for that slight tremble or pulse in your muscle then he’d slap your thigh and smile. He’s enjoying this.

And part of you is too. 

Tonight marks a week of this punishment. You’re home alone while Chan works late at the studio which is rare for a Sunday but he locked into a track and got stuck perfecting it. You text him a sweet goodnight and warn him to get home before the snowstorm starts. He texts back, warning you to behave. 

It’s three in the morning when Chan tiptoes into the apartment. He maneuvers around furniture and discarded objects to ensure that you stay asleep. He grabs the food you left him then heads for the shower to soak the chill of the storm out of his bones.

He’s exhausted, spent, but then he sees you. The walk to his dresser gets cut short when he gets a glimpse of your sprawled out frame. You're so cute and peaceful in your nightgown, with one leg hiked up and bent over a pillow, his pillow. 

Chan steps closer, looking over your relaxed body and taking in the way your smooth skin disappears under the soft fabric of your gown. For a second he thinks that you really do look like a princess. Prim and pretty and all his. 

He climbs into bed behind you, his towel slips down to reveal more of the firm cut of his hip and he presses into your backside. You push back in a stir and Chan has to bite his tongue not to moan. He needs you.

“Babygirl.” He drapes his arm over your stomach and pulls you back into the growing tent of the towel. His lips brush over the soft skin of your neck and he peppers gentle kisses across the flesh. 

“Baby.” He whispers and you hum. His fingers start to trace shapes into the clothed skin of your stomach and you sigh. “Chan?” You mumble, still mostly asleep. 

“Mhm.” His hand on your stomach trails down to lift the hem of your nightgown. “Do me a favor and open your legs, hun. Stay asleep, just let me make you cum.”

The indulgent glide of his hand up your flesh makes you shiver awake. You blink your heavy lids and sigh a soft moan at his touch. “Promise?” Chan kisses behind your ear. How could he say no to a voice as sweet as yours?

“Promise, now open up for me.” He pushes his covered cock against your ass and you push back with a moan and then you gasp. Your pleasure is interrupted by the pressure of your full bladder, it sends a sudden shock that makes you squirm. “Gotta pee, Channie.”

You attempt to sit up with the intention of rushing off to the bathroom real quick but Chan’s arm circles your stomach again, keeping you trapped against him. “Yeah? Gotta pee?” The kisses on your neck get firmer, his subtle grinding picks up and his hand pushes softly against your lower abdomen.

“Chan.” You moan in protest but it does little to stop him. The pang of urgency your body is sending you gets stronger with his subtle push and not so subtle grind of his hips. “I’ll be quick.”

He smiles against you, moving his hand back down to lift the hem of your gown up over the swell of your ass. “I know, hun.” His towel gives way and it’s his bare cock pressing against you now. “You wanna cum, right? Want me to give you what you’ve been begging for?”

Your body betrays you, shuddering as arousal starts to gush between your shaking thighs. You press them together in an attempt to hold your bladder. “Then you’ll stay here and let me give you what you wanted, won’t you? You’ll be my good girl.”

Chan’s hand moves between your legs, parting your plush thighs and firmly brushing a calloused finger over your clit. The contact makes you keen. “I can’t hold it. Can’t, please let me-”

“Pick one, Do you wanna pee or do you want to cum?” He kisses your shoulder and you go quiet. What do you do?

 “I’ll make a mess” Chan chuckles at your concern then licks his hand. He reaches between your bodies and tugs at his thick cock. “Do I sound like I mind a mess?” He slides his length between your thighs, pressing it against your heat. “If you don’t want me to make you cum I can stop. Just say the word.”

The thought of asking him to stop translates as insanity to you. He drags his hips back and starts fucking your thighs. He grinds against and fucks up over your clenching cunt. His tip gets caught on your clit and your chest vibrates with a deep moan. This is the most he’s touched you in days. It’s dizzying and Chan makes it worse when he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear and whispers. 

“Fuck, I missed you, baby.” His hand comes up to your chin and he turns your head just enough to take in the way your features twist in pleasure. “Tell me what you want.”

“More.” Your mouth was faster than your mind. “Yeah? More? Wanna piss all over the sheets? That’s how desperate you are?” You’re nodding, pressing your thighs together when his hips pick up pace. You don’t care anymore. You need him. 

“Nasty, baby. So fucking naughty.” The tip of his cock rubs over your slick clit with each thrust. Your body trembles with the sweet satisfaction of finally feeling pleasure and Chan lets you have that for a second or two before his grip on your hip becomes bruising.

 “What was it that you said that night? Something about me having a small dick, right?” He’s breathing heavily in your ear and you shudder, nodding mindlessly as you drift farther and farther from reality. “Look at me.” 

The movement is reluctant but you follow his request. Your low-lidded gaze meets his and your heart beats double time. “Is that what you said?”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper but that’s not what he wanted. He presses down on your bladder harder and you gasp, “Answer the question.”

The moan that echoes from you is unbecoming. It’s far from prim but very pretty. “Yes, I said it.. I’m sorry.” It’s less of a confession and more of a desperate plea but Chan accepts it with a hum.

 “You wanna stand by that? Wanna tell me how small I am?” He presses a bit harder and you groan, breaking eye contact and shaking your head into your pillow. “C’mon, call my cock pathetic, hun.”

The tone of his voice in contrast to his actions is as sweet as cinnamon. “C’mon.” You open your mouth to speak but nothing but half a whimper and a huff of hot air escapes. “Follow the rules to cum.”

“Y-you’re cock, is pathetic.” Chan pulls his hips back. “Gimme more, come on.” His pressure on your stomach lets up and you can breathe again. You inhale and exhale with a shake before giving him what he asked for.

“Your… cock is so pathetic. So small that you never make me c-cum - Chan…” His hips push forward, his cock catches at your entrance and bullies its way into your fluttering cunt. The words you’ve uttered are debunked in real time. 

“Pathetic, yeah?” He groans, fingers splaying over your bare stomach. “Y-yeah, I can’t even feel… feel it.” Chan smiles, pressing his hips firmer into you and successfully pulling a scream from your chest.

 You can feel the dam threatening to break, small trickles wet your thighs and you try your best to chase your orgasm while holding the mess but you can’t seem to find a way to get one without the other. 

“Chan, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I- I..” You’re not entirely sure what you’re apologizing for anymore. You feel desperate to cum, to empty your bladder, for anything and everything. Your boyfriend smiles behind you, finding your begging stutter cute.

“Nah, stick with what you said, baby. Can’t even feel it, right?” The steady rocking of his hips turns into shallow thrusts that actually do have you tearing up. 

Chan picks up on your attempt to hold back and presses harder, drilling his hips in and out of you and making the splinter of pleasure and pressure fuse in a way that you’ve never experienced before. 

“C-chan - Channie..” Your bladder leaks, wetting your thighs, the sheets, him. But you finally get to cum. You keen and he eats it all up. He tips your head back, admiring the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip before your jaw hangs slack with gasps. 

“That’s it, baby. I got you, just fall apart for me.” He wraps his arm around you, reaching down to rub harsh circles into your clit. You’re soaked, shaking through the mix of sweet releases. “Messy cunt.” He groans, pushing your thighs further apart and spanking your clit. 

You give him the sounds he was looking to hear with a shudder that makes him hiss. “C’mere.” 

 He pulls out and positions you on all fours over the messy sheets. You grab your pillow and bury your face in it just as he slides back in. He lets his head fall back with an elated sigh. A lazy slap on your ass follows and you whimper, “God, I missed my girl so much.” 

He moves slow and shallow, watching the way his dick disappears into you with each tremor and flutter your body offers. “Just like that.” He coos, picking up pace slowly but not slow enough for you to adjust. 

The new angle is deeper than before but it makes you scream all the same. “That’s a lot of noise for a small dick, huh?” A cocky breathy laugh rumbles through him but the pull in his abdomen cuts it short. Or maybe it was the way your cunt squeezed him as your second orgasm snuck up your legs. 

“Let it out, pretty girl. Gimme more, c’mon.” You break all over again. The last of you tried to hold wets his thighs and your pussy practically gushes around him. 

“Pissing on me again? Nasty girl.” He groans, seconds from falling apart. He reaches around and slaps your clit again and again, moaning at the messy wet sound it makes.

 “Gonna let me make a m-mess too? Gonna let me fill you up?” Each word is punctuated with a thrust until he leans forward, pressing into you while his eyes roll back and muscles tense. 

“Baby, ba - fuck… baby.” His voice gradually fades into a whisper until all you hear is him panting over you. The cool wetness of his thighs is a shivering contrast to the warmth of you. 

“Chan…” You whimper, failing to complete the rest of your plea. “Sh sh sh, you’re good, baby.”

“I’m sorry.” This time you know that you’re apologizing for the mess. He leans over you, running his hand through your hair and rubbing at your scalp. “There's no need to be sorry. I wanted it.”

“Really?” You turn your head, trying to catch his gaze with your glassy one. 

“Yes, really.” He kisses over your back with a sweet hum to both comfort you and distract you from the pressure of him moving again.

“You did so well for me.” You open your mouth to speak but a pathetic stutter escapes instead. Chan hums, rocking his hips into you and gently and running his hands up your back to soothe you.

“Look at me, princess.” You blink up at him and he coos, “You’ll do it again for me, yeah?”

His hips snap and you nearly do too. “Say it.”

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[earthchica]

why don't we fall in love?

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: you have a massive crush on your best friend and co-star, Aaron. When you tell him about your feelings, he respectfully wants to stay as friends, but he soon realizes that it might have been a mistake.

warnings: FLUFF, friends to lovers, first-time kissing, light angst, rejection, actor/actress, not real life, movie set, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 2k

note: I was so anxious about writing this, but here it is..it's something short and sweet. Let me know if I should do part 2; please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

-

The neon lights flickered playfully above the packed venue, casting a warm glow on the faces of the cast and crew celebrating the halfway-through wrap-up of the film.

Laughter echoed as glasses clinked, the atmosphere electric with relief and joy. In the corner, you leaned against the bar, swirling your drink, your mind caught between the celebration and anxiety that's been building for weeks.

“Girl, go talk to him!” Your co-star, Tess, nudged you with a playful grin, her voice slightly slurred from the champagne. “This is your chance! You can't keep waiting forever.”

You have known Aaron for two and a half years and have worked alongside him on three movies, including this one. You both have become close friends and developed a strong connection.

You glanced at Aaron, his tall, muscular frame standing out among the crowd. His light caramel skin glowed under the lights, and he calmly recounted a story, laughter spilling from his lips like music.

The way he commanded the attention of everyone around him made your heart race. “I don't know, Tess… what if he doesn’t feel the same?” You replied, biting your lip, the remnants of your country accent softening your words.

“Please! He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. Just go for it!” She insisted, raising her glass in encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you let the liquid courage settle in your veins and headed over to him.

The closer you got, the more your heart beat against your ribcage. Aaron caught sight of you, his eyes lighting up in recognition, and he stepped away from his group, his smile widening.

“Well, if it ain't the beauty of all this party!” Aaron said teasingly, his deep british voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

“Hey, Aaron,” You started your voice with a delicate mix of sweetness and nerves, looking around at the party. “Can we chat for a minute? Somewhere a bit quieter?”

His eyes were still on you, and he nodded with a light smile. “Of course,” Aaron replied, his brow furrowing slightly with curiosity as he led you to a more secluded corner.

As the music faded into the background, you felt both exhilaration and trepidation surge within you. “So, I’ve wanted to tell you…for a long time that...”

You paused, gathering the courage that felt so difficult to muster. “I really like you, Aaron. Like, a lot.” You said, and Aaron looked down at you with admiration, surprise, and something else.

“Wow. I…I’m flattered…Y/N Really. You’re amazing, you know that? and I care deeply about you.” Aaron started, and you felt your heart sink slightly, but his tone was gentle and respectful.

“But...uh...I see you as my dear friend, and right now, I don’t think it’s the right time for me to get involved with anyone.” Aaron said honestly.

“Oh!” You murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you fought to conceal your disappointment. A delicate smile played on your lips, masking the tsunami of emotions churning within.

“I completely understand; it’s just that I've been holding on to these feelings for you, and I wanted to tell you," You admitted, glancing down at your fidgeting hands briefly, feeling vulnerable under the weight of your honesty.

As if sensing your uneasiness, Aaron gently squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the connection you both shared.

"Hey….I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.” Aaron said softly, his voice steady and comforting. His words hung in the air, filled with hope and concern.

"It won't, Aaron I promise." With a nod, you tried to shake off the feeling of rejection, forcing yourself to enjoy the remainder of the party.

-

The days turned into weeks, and you and Aaron continued to share a platonic friendship filled with laughter, deep conversations, and mutual respect.

You reveled in the banter and effortless moments spent together, both on set and off. Lately, however, Aaron has noticed a change. You seemed to be spending more time with Kenny, a castmate.

On one scorching afternoon during a break in filming, you found yourself in your trailer with Kenny. As the sun blazed outside, you and Kenny were sprawled on the floor of your trailer, giggling and pretending to throw punches at each other.

In between bouts of laughter, Kenny leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey, have you talked to Aaron lately?” he teased, smirking.

“You two are a soap opera waiting to happen.” You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a grin. “Kenny, chill! I’ve told you before, stop with the Aaron jokes!”

Kenny feigned shock, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Wait, why? I thought you were all lovey-dovey with him now. Didn’t you tell him how you felt?”

Sighing, you leaned back against the couch. “Well, I did, and.....it turns out he doesn’t feel the same way. So…yeah.”

Kenny’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way! For real? That’s so lame, he's a lame!” He threw his hands up dramatically, exaggerating the situation.

“Hey! Don’t say that about him; he's not a lame!” You exclaimed, playfully smacking his shoulder.

"Sorry, friend! Look at you, taking up for him; you down bad," Kenny said with a chuckle, returning the light hit without missing a beat, grinning even more expansively.

"You're gonna stop talking shit." You laughed, shaking your head, and both of you began playfully wrestling, ending up on top of him. There was a knock on your trailer door.

You didn't hear the voice over you laughing and just told them to come in. The door opened, and there stood Aaron, staring at you and Kenny in a position that could be taken out of context.

Your smile faded as you processed his expression. Instantly, you pushed yourself off Kenny, your instincts urging you to create distance.

Aaron's gaze was intense on Kenny, and he sensed the tension in the air. "Uh…I think that's my cue to leave; I'll see ya later, Y/N," Kenny said quickly, excusing himself.

Kenny hurried away, eager to escape the charged atmosphere, leaving you with a whirlwind of feelings and an unsettling silence that hung heavy in the air.

“Aaron…” You started, hoping to explain to him but you really didn't have to because you weren't his. Aaron cleared his throat, the frown deepening as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I need to talk to you...” His voice was firm, potentially masking a vulnerability you could sense but couldn’t pinpoint. You nodded, waiting for Aaron to settle into whatever he wanted to say.

“I’ve been watching you and Kenny, and it’s been real hard just to watch,” Aaron said with his brow still furrowed, and you could see the conflict in his eyes.

“I know I told you I see you as my friend, but that doesn't mean I don't have feelings for you.” Aaron started, and your heart raced, feeling a mix of surprise and something you couldn’t quite place.

“What do you mean, Aaron?” You asked softly, your sweet southern accent tinged with concern. You were trying to get a better understanding of what he meant.

“I mean…I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. I like you, and it’s not just a little. When I saw you and Kenny together, it stung.” His voice was deep, resonating with sincerity and frustration.

"It made me realize how ridiculous it would be to pass up on such an amazing experience of being with you." His honesty hung heavy in the air between you. You felt your cheeks warm, your heart battling hope and confusion.

“That's sweet, and If it makes you feel any better, Kenny and I are just friends…we were joking around, but I thought you didn’t want anything serious right now.”

Aaron took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours as the weight of his feelings hung between you. “It’s complicated,” he replied with frustration.

“I’ve always valued our friendship, but when I thought of you with someone else, I realized that what I feel runs deeper,” Aaron added; you felt a rush of conflicting emotions.

You were thrilled to hear him express this, but another part felt cautious. “I appreciate you telling me how you feel, Aaron, but I guess I need more convincing,” you said, barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened more as he looked down at you. “I’ve always admired you, Y/N—your kindness, humor, beauty, passion for acting, and everything that makes you great. You make me feel things I never thought I could feel.”

You took a moment to digest his words, the flutter in your chest growing louder. “Wow, Aaron.” A rush of emotions washed over you, disbelief mingling with hope. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Aaron stepped closer, his sincerity cutting through the tension. "I want to explore this feeling I have for you. I really would love to take you out on a date.”

The intensity of his conviction hit you like a wave. “You really mean it? You want to try something more?” you asked, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation.

“Yeah, I do, Y/N,” Aaron affirmed, a quiet resolve settling into his expression. “This may sound cliché, but we could be great together as a couple. I’ve thought about what we could have, and it terrifies me how much I want it.”

A smile blooming across your face, you nodded. “Okay, Aaron. Let's give this a try.” You said, and his expression eased, relief washing over his features.

Aaron reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers in a simple yet profound gesture. “Fantastic. We can take this one step at a time.” He said before lifting his hand to kiss your hand.

-

Your first date with Aaron was perfect, just as you had imagined. While you both were still filming for weeks, you shared moments like lounging together after long days on set. Each of these moments felt increasingly intimate.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone on IG, while Aaron leaned back, arms stretched along the top of the small sofa, his gaze focused intently on you.

“Y’know, you look real pretty in that soft light,” Aaron finally said, his deep, british accent fluttering your heart whenever he spoke. You looked up, meeting his soft, light eyes.

“Aaron, you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re sweet on me,” You teased, your southern drawl lacing your voice with a playful charm that made him laugh.

“Maybe I am,” Aaron said with a slightly shy smile creeping onto his face. "Can you blame me? You’ve got that glow about you, babe.”

“It’s this light,” You replied, waving a dismissive hand, but you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter into your chest. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me,” you added.

“I mean every word,” Aaron said earnestly, leaning forward slightly as if the distance between you was an invisible barrier he wanted to breach.

“You’re so captivating, it’s hard not to stare,” Aaron whispered; there it was—how he looked at you as if you were the only person in the universe.

It sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You could feel the tension in the air, a beautiful electricity crackling between you both. Aaron's eyes searched yours, his voice lowering.

“I want to kiss you real bad right now,”

You chuckled lightly, feeling warmth across your chest at his admission. “What are you waiting for, then? I’m right here, darlin’, I reckon you could keep up.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Aaron countered. “It’s just…I don’t want to jeopardize doing something that might make you uncomfortable. Not until I’m sure you feel ready.”

Your heart raced at the mix of his shyness and honesty. “Aaron, no need to overthink it, I'm ready.” With that, the tension in the room shifted.

You locked eyes, and the playful teasing ebbed into something more profound. Aaron leaned slightly closer, his eyes darting between your lips and your eyes, the desire palpable in the air.

“I…I’m glad to hear that, Y/N,” Aaron murmured, his voice thick with relief. “It makes the idea of a kiss less terrifying.”

“Babe, you act like this is your first time kissing...there's no need to think about it too much,” you encouraged, a smile blooming on your lips, your heart racing in anticipation.

“Now, come here and kiss me already.” Aaron’s nervous laughter filled the space as he moved closer, his large hands gently resting on your waist.

The way he respected your space yet tried to close it felt like a dance—a delicate balance between desire and respect. He paused just a breath away, his warm breath mingling with yours.

“You’re sure about this?” Aaron asked, still looking back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “Come here,” You whispered, your voice thick with conviction.

In a heartbeat, the distance vanished. His plump lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as though he were afraid he’d break the spell that had settled between you.

But the kiss deepened, a flood of emotions swirling around as those initial nerves gave way to something beautiful, something real. His hands tangled in your curly hair as yours reached his strong shoulders, grounding you both in the moment.

It felt like the universe had shifted, aligning in a way that was meant to be. As you pulled away slightly, both of you breathless, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your hearts buzzing with the thrill of what had just happened.

“Well, that was definitely worth the wait,” you said, beaming with delight as a broad smile spread across your face. The excitement from the moment lingered in the air around you.

“Indeed it was,” Aaron replied, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked at you, clearly sharing in your delight. The warmth in his gaze made your heart flutter.

“This is just the beginning, isn’t it?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement and curiosity. As you leaned forward, your eyes sparkled with the thrill of the possibility of wanting more than just a kiss.

“Yes, it is,” Aaron responded with a look of desire, like his Gemini twin switch, and you could feel your whole being swell with arousal and excitement for what lay ahead.

part 2???

[cheyisagirlkisser]

a concept : abby's first time with a woman. maybe her first partnered orgasm too cause we all know owen ain't shit lol.

i'm so in love with this request. @powderpinkandsweeet did this concept too and it was delicious please go read hers here!!

warnings: owen.. fingering (a! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), afab / fem reader, body worship because Abby deserves it.

a/n: I wrote Abby to be mostly bisexual in this fic, but you can interpret her feelings for men as possibly comphet or something similar. Either way, it's clear she discovers her preference for women.

Sex means a variety of things to people. In Abby's life, sex with men was mostly about love. She did feel attraction to men and she had relationships with them, last one being her ex-boyfriend Owen. It was never about the pleasure itself. Sure, there were moments when she felt physically nice during sex, but it didn't last. She was only halfway there by the time Owen was coming down from his orgasm. He didn't offer to finish her off, and aftercare was the sound of his breathless laughter accompanied by a "thanks, babe."

Abby didn't ever judge her friends who liked to have sex for less emotional reasons. At least, she didn't think there was much emotion behind it. Abby just knew more about sex within relationships. The fact that men were incapable of actually making her cum was overshadowed by feelings. Things changed when she caught a glimpse of Mel's contact in Owen's phone, though. Things changed for the better.

You were much different than Owen in ways that Abby could not grapple with. First of all, you weren't a man. Abby never really considered women as an option for her (though she had lingering thoughts about what it would be like to be with one), but seeing you at a small party, you being a friend of a friend, she wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of being involved with one.

Conversations led to observations. Whereas Owen was condescendingly sarcastic, you liked to be gentle with Abby. You never said a joke that made Abby feel bad about being a stronger woman; in fact, you told her you liked her physique. You asked about her workout routine, and you made her feel feminine. That was simply something Owen could not do. Owen was also a blind optimist. He turned away from issues in the pursuit of "ignorance is bliss." With you, it felt like you articulated your views in a way that made her question her own, even. You were clearly a thoughtful person, and you took time to educate yourself about human rights, something that should be the bare minimum but clearly Owen lacked education on. Abby could never talk to him about topics like feminist issues like she was able to with you. And lastly, a more physical observation, you made her realize that actually feeling pleasure during sex can make the sex 100 times more emotional.

You took her home with you the night you met. Abby told you about the break-up and how she was still processing it, and you didn't expect anything more from her than what she was comfortable giving. But fuck, the sex made her feel things. How was she ever supposed to feel this way with anyone else?

You had her laid on your bed, and you only kissed her for a little while. Even your kisses were like sugar, and Abby wanted so much more. Every moment of contact your lips made with hers reminded her of an artist's brushstroke onto a canvas, painting over it a masterpiece that simply cannot be undone.

Your fingers traced over her sides, heightening the pants she spills from her lips, and increasing a neediness deep within her that feels like pressure building up in a small space, needing to be let go. She was a little worried that you'd get her all worked up and not make her cum.

You noticed the way she retracted ever so slightly, and cupped her face. "Hey, what's wrong?" You asked so softly, patiently.

Abby swallowed, struggling to articulate her own feelings. She wasn't used to even speaking during sex. It never lasted long enough for her to be able to.

"We can stop if you want to." You offer, giving her a reassuring smile. Your thumb caressed her cheek, and it gave both a red warmth.

"No, it's not that-" she sighed, almost feeling annoyed with herself for making things awkward, "I just got really worked up, I guess. I've never..done this with another woman before, and men are probably different."

You nodded knowingly. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

Abby didn't know exactly what that entailed, but something in her had a pre-established trust for you, just knew that you'd stop if she needed you to. It made her want you even more.

After both of you had enough touchy-feely, Abby helped you pull her shirt and sports bra off. You admired each freckle-plastered inch of her body, from the peak of her nipples to her firm biceps. You took your time with her, and she loved it.

You used your hands first, your soft skin meeting hers. You trailed fingers over her arms, squeezing. Abby let out a soft sigh, and you took that as encouragement to lean in and plant adoration-filled kisses onto the muscle. "You're so pretty." The words were slightly muffled with your mouth on her skin, but she surely heard. It made her pulse beat faster.

You simply touched her for a while, at first warming her up and kissing her skin, mouth becoming steadily more explicit. When your mouth gently latched onto one of Abby's nipples, she couldn't keep herself from making a needy sound. Your tongue swirled over the pink bud, and Abby melted back into the bed.

Not longer after, you weren't surprised to find a pair of soaked panties worn by yours truly. Abby was laid out on your bed, legs parted for you. She was a little embarrassed that you had her so needy before even touching her.

"Fuck," is all she could manage when she felt a warm finger spread her folds open, sliding up to massage her clit.

"You like that, baby?"

"God, yes-" she breathlessly let out, trying not to completely lose it.

The way you touched her was much different from how Owen did. When he (rarely) used his fingers on her, it felt like he was trying to stab her vagina. He couldn't find a clit if it was bright red and glowing. You, however, both teased her and lavished attention on where her body knew it needed it. Your finger teased her hole before slightly stretching it, earning soft sounds from Abby.

You kissed over the firm muscles on her arms as you fucked her, careful to slip another finger into her and give her a good stretch. Abby was incoherent and so messy that her neediness was soaking your knuckles, trickling down your hand. You didn't complain or joke about it, even letting out sweet, approving hums onto her skin.

Your fingers didn't drill in and out of her like a screwdriver, much like Owen's, but rather plunging within her to press into her g-spot and curling upward. You kept your thumb on her clit, making sure she had that extra stimulation.

"Do you like it?" You asked, eyes peering up to meet hazy pair.

Abby eagerly nodded, not trusting herself to speak a sensical sentence. You smiled and carefully shifted to kiss her. This time, it wasn't as soft, rather sloppy but it was exactly what Abby needed. Everything you did made her head spin. You had her tongue between your lips, sucking on it and occasionally letting her invade your mouth and taste the sweetness of whatever was once there. Just the soft little nibbles you gave her bottom lip made her moan, a sound that would've been much louder if not swallowed by your mouth.

Best part was, you knew how to multi-task. The desperation she felt was slowly fed with the steady pace of your hand working on her pussy, and your lips made her feel what she didn't understand before: you made her realize that the physical part of sex, the part that she didn't quite like to explore with men, could be just as important as the romantic aspect.

You found a pace that Abby particularly liked, causing her to whine and tangle her fingers into the sheets.

"Fuck, right here. I'm gonna cum." She pleaded, as if so desperate to get to cum. She wanted it so badly, and it only made you more needy to give it to her.

"Yeah? You wanna cum all over my fingers for me?" You cooed, lips brushing against hers. Your short breath sent warmth onto her lips, and she wanted to always feel it. It sent heat throughout her.

"I wanna cum for you!!" Her moans were louder, but you didn't shush her. You instead leaned down to kiss her, fingers pumping into her pussy, thumb rubbing circles down onto her clit.

She felt the final seconds of chasing her orgasm, hips lifting to meet your hand, and she thanked a higher power that you weren't a man who was giving her sloppy thrusts that would never get her over the edge.

You made her feel like she was on cloud nine. She probably cried out your name a couple dozen times, grasped onto your face to kiss your lips just to feel that connection as you fucked her. She never expected to feel such emotion during an orgasm, never was she able to feel this way during masturbation or with guys. It was all because of you that her pussy was sloppy and leaking onto your sheets, making a mess.

When she came down, you let her catch her breath, soothing her with kisses on her shoulders and allowing your cheek to rest on her chest. You listened to her heartbeat, waiting for it to grow steady.

Abby felt content and safe with you, but something was still nagging her. You made her cum, but she hadn't made an effort to touch you yet. She didn't ever want to make you feel the way that Owen made her feel.

She hesitantly but gently tapped your upper back, and you sat up.

"Are you okay?" You asked with a moderate amount of concern present, wanting to make sure you didn't do anything wrong.

"Of course, but..I wanna touch you. If that's okay."

You nodded. "Have you ever touched a woman before? At all?"

Abby shook her head, cheeks a little red. She was a bit nervous, but her eagerness made up for it. You didn't seem hesitant in letting her touch you, and that made her feel more confident.

"I've honestly always wondered what it'd be like to like, go down on a girl." Abby admitted with a sheepish laugh.

You smiled and began to strip, your tank-top and bra leaving your body first. For the first time, Abby felt truly overwhelmed with seeing someone naked. You looked so soft and touchable, and she found herself wondering how you'd taste, feel, and sound like when she made you feel good. She hoped she could make you feel good.

You laid down next to where she was previously laying, and Abby situated herself in front of you. You parted your thighs, and she sworn she felt herself drooling from the sight of your glistening pussy, begging to be eaten like a savory meal.

Abby found it most comfortable to lay on her stomach, face between your legs. She wanted to make you feel appreciated (and she loved your thighs), so she planted kisses along your thighs, frequently peeking up to make sure you were comfortable. When her mouth was near your pussy, she paused.

"Can you guide me? Sorry, I know it's awkward as hell, but I have no clue how to do this and I want to make it nice for you." She could hear the shakiness in her own voice, making her slightly cringe.

Abby felt one of your hands stroke through her hair, fingers carding through the blonde. "Just do what you think would feel good, you know? You're a woman, so try to imagine it on you. I'll tell you what feels good and what doesn't." Abby let herself imagine it for a moment and nodded, knowing that the best way to learn is to just practice and listen to your moans and what you tell her you don't want.

She gave herself a second to calm her nerves, and gave an experimental lick to your clit. You made a soft sound, encouraging more.

As Abby worked, she knew she wasn't physically skilled at this, at least not yet. However, she was enthusiastic about it. She tried to make up for the lack of experience as best she could. Thankfully, you also tugged her head closer and ground your pussy against her mouth, making it easier for you to feel pleasure while she figured out what worked well for you. You seemed to like when she slipped her tongue into you and worked at your clit with her nose, your moans less steady and increasingly broken as she tasted your gummy walls.

She found that to get you to your orgasm, it took much longer than it took Owen. She enjoyed that more than she'd expected to, savoring being able to just taste you. She craved feeling the way your hips stuttered when she gave your clit a firm lick, or hear you cry out when you finally got close to an orgasm.

Abby initially didn't know whether to speed up or continue, but the rhythm of your hips helped guide her until she finally had you cumming on her tongue. You were pretty with your eyes half-lidded and brows knit tightly together, thighs pressing against her face, it made her want to just take a mental snapshot of this moment and keep it with her forever. She didn't know what she loved more, the process of eating pussy or the aftermath.

When you were stable again, Abby moved to mimic your previous action, letting her ear press against your heartbeat. You had to stifle a giggle at how cute it was, but you were probably too out of breath to even get a steady laugh out. She didn't leave sexual, sloppy kisses onto your tits, but rather gentle, loving pecks.

Abby didn't know when exactly she fell asleep, but she woke up with her chest pressed against your back, cuddling you tightly against her. It was probably early in the morning, and her body was still a bit sore, but she smiled and planted a kiss onto the back of your neck, holding your bare form close to hers as she drifted back into a peaceful sleep.

[thevulturesquadron]

I've seen a couple of takes on what Varric is in Veilguard, what Solas's role is in 'keeping Varric alive' and I love to read people's interpretation of it, so I thought I'd throw my own two cents on the table.

I never saw Varric as a spirit or something Solas created/ manipulated through the blood connection. Varric was something Rook constructed. The only thing Solas did was to make Rook completely forget he was dead. Turn their confusion into denial, both through the use of blood magic (literally reshape their memory) and through lies. The rest was Rook. This is very important to me because it's a key element of the story: a story about guilt, about the strength you need to overcome it lest it cripples you. Varric's presence for Rook is about traumatic events that you just push out of your conscious mind because guilt and grief, and emotions in general, can be strong enough to take you out of commission. It's a recurring theme in the game - as an example, Lucanis in his quest is literally paralyzed because he doesn't want to face the outcomes of the choices he needs to make. It feels well woven into the story how Varric's presence is something Rook made up.

He's the voice in their head that they talk to when they panic and don't know what to do. As an aside, the absolute contrast between the fact that the dialogue options when dealing with the companions' problems are always reassuring vs. the doubt and exhaustion in Rook's voice when they're talking to Varric is striking! Varric is the conviction that keeps them going. It's what Rook thinks Varric would have said. So in a way EVERYTHING that Varric says to Rook is what Rook says to themselves. It's why the last thing you tell Varric, at the end of the proper goodbye, is 'I know where to find you when I need you': because it shows acceptance, and it shows that Varric will always be the voice in Rook's head that will provide reassurance. It's what people go through: grief, doubt, and finding answers within themselves. It's not uncommon for throughs in your head (both negative and positive) to take on the voices of people in your life. For me, in this bittersweet instance, it's all Rook. Moving on to Solas and how he plays into all of this. I don't think there was any good intent behind Solas's manipulation. There was no benevolence, there was just selfishness, but in the most painful way. The only heartfelt thing Solas did was when he said to Rook 'Tell Varric I am sorry'. That line was so twisted and beautiful because it had two edges: on one side it was manipulative, to check that Rook still believed the lie and to continue building on it, and on the other, it was pity and selfishness. He didn't say that for Rook or Varric. Not really. He said it for himself. Because the only Varric that was still alive was in Rook's head. So if Rook's version of Varric accepts his apology, it gives him a bit of comfort, forgiveness, and absolves him of murdering his friend. That line is SO, SO selfish and intricate. It's beautiful! Such fantastic writing.

The only reason Solas played with Rook's mind in this manner is because he thought it could chain Rook to his prison through their own grief and guilt. That was his plan because his own shortcomings meant that he could only perceive Rook as a mirror of himself. Pridefully, he couldn't see Rook through any other lens. As a result, he is fully convinced that once Rook realizes Varric is dead, after so much time spent in denial, it will break them and keep them trapped in there forever. He allowed Rook to forget his death so he could drown them in so much guilt that his prison would mold itself to them. Solas thought Rook is just like him. That his pain, grief and loneliness are justified punishments, that they are absolutes. He was convinced there was no way of interacting with these emotions other than his. And Rook proved him wrong. I can go as far as saying it's the proof that Solas has been looking for for the past 10 years. That he is wrong and that there IS another way. Rook outgrowing their guilt and self-pity for the benefit of others: that is the first real crack in Solas's own prison.

I could talk endlessly about how the game deals so fantastically with the motifs of guilt, grief, and choice, with the ideas of using others as mirrors of ourselves, but I think this at least sums up how I feel about the whole Rook - Varric - Solas dynamic.

[neoplatinum]

no one noticed - the marias | minari 'mina' myoui'

summary: per request: can I request a mina drabble that she and the reader were fwb but they suddenly had conflicts so this resulted in them not seeing each other anymore not until they bumped into each other? angst ending or happy ending, however you want! (and to answer: angst)

pairing: mina x reader

themes: angst, friends with benefits, school, bakery

wc: 1.3k

--

no one loves you like i can, at least i think they can’t. the way i admire every thing about you. the way you hold onto your left sleeve when you receive a compliment. the smile you give only to me when i treat you to your favorite ice cream flavor. the way you slip your gentle fingers onto my own. the light scent of fruit on your fingertips from cutting fruit. to the way you cradle my jaw like you discovered gold. but in between all these small moments is the reality that no one could know of this existence between us.

i wonder how you see me? do you notice how i bite my lip every time you leave without giving me a kiss on the check? or when i stare at you shouting ‘i love you’ with my eyes. i don’t understand why you always look away after three blinks. always to the left and staring at your shoes.

no one loves you like i can, at least i think they can’t. there was a day where you stood me up for coffee, a simple date i proposed after months of hiding from everyone. a discreet cafe an hour away from school, and everyone that we could’ve run into. especially those snobby girls you hang around. 

i took three buses and almost got ran over by some loud teenager revving through the streets with their m3. with an origami flower in my pocket and earbuds listening to the marias. i stare at the street, smells of the bakery invading my senses and leaving a scent on my jacket. i pick at the scab that’s been forming on my thumb. 

you never showed up.

i don’t hear about you for days, you’ve practically fell off the face of the earth. i don’t know where you are, you never show up to school. i roam the street that we used to walk, jokes we shared that were special to us only. i think about the pink and white bows you wear in your hair. with a missing fake jewel on the white one. i scan the world as if you’ll manifest in my view. 

i drove by your neighborhood, too scared to actually find out if you’re there. just circles around where you live. i stare at every car that’s dark red, even if it’s not the same build of car. it keeps you alive in my mind. i think of you as the seasons change, when it’s colder, i think of how you tend to catch colds and stick yourself into your scarf. the one that i bought for you when you first got sick. 

no one else loves you the way that i do, they don’t know your insecurities swell when it’s the winter time. how you feel lethargic and are unwilling to try and get yourself out the house. so i stare at your neighborhood and will you to show yourself. but i know better, i know what we had wouldn’t warrant me getting a response from you. 

all we were and all we’ll ever be are two kids with too much self-absorption that manifested us in two different ways. i yearn for you, to see your face and i dream of the life that we can have. but you? do you love me in the way no one else can? i don’t believe that you do. 

you left like a wisp of smoke, and i don’t i can see it anymore. there’s those red bows in the corner that i wanted to get for you for valentine’s day. even if we didn’t make it then, even if you stomped me out and told me that we’re just hook up buddies. even if you lay on my chest and cry to me about how small you feel in this world. i could never hate you, my love. 

in fact, i think i love everything you hate about yourself, the way you’re so unsure of your talents or your inabilities. i think it makes you all the more humans, filled with overthought of not being enough, i think you are everything and more. i like the bangs that you think are uneven, i like how your pink juts out when you drink from a small cup. i like the laughter of your voice, even when you let out a snort, i think it makes me love you even more. more than anyone else can. 

and then the scene fades, with anything else in life, our memories dull. i stop remembering how you sound, the way you say my name, the way you feel under me. i forget all about it, i forget how embedded in my life you were. even if we weren’t labeled, i loved you all the same.

and just like every other day i take the 8am bus off to the bakery where we were last supposed to meet. i take exactly 54 steps from the bus stop into the bakery, hear the bell jingle when i open the door. and then it’s like you never left. as if the period of yearning for you completely dissipated. 

you sit in the middle of the bench, your favorite spot, with your favorite drink and pastry in hand. and you look up at me. like i didn’t spend three months searching for you. you stare at me, and you put your drink and pastry down. no one else noticed. no one else noticed the way you pan your eyes over me like you always do, and suddenly i’m reminded of how you always liked when i wore green. which i’m wearing today.

“hi, come sit.” you gesture to the seat direct from yours. and i sit, like your dog i do. you brush your hair back behind your ears twice. all i can hear is the roaring of blood in my body, thumping in my ears and chest. and i cross my legs, staring at you in your light pink outfit. it’s spring again, the season where we first began our rendezvous. 

“i knew you’d be here.” you say quietly, the nervousness in your voice emanating. you seems just as shaken, just a tad less than me. 

“how did you know” taking a little too long to respond. unraveling the thoughts that scramble my brain. 

“i just knew.”

i stare at her hands, she’s painted her nails pastel yellow, just like how they were the first time she kissed me.

i nod.

“i’m sorry for not telling you, but i moved away.” a whisper as if it mends all the open wounds in my heart. 

i nod.

“but i knew i couldn’t just leave without saying anything, so i came back to give you this.” i finally look up, processing her words. seeing her reach into her bag and grab a red and white envelope. i notice the darker under eyes, the way she still slouches and the white bow with the missing fake jewel on her hair. “please read it when you get the chance. it expresses everything i feel about you.”

you stand up, and i feel my heart thumping in my chest again. you lean down, giving the faintest of a kiss. a reminder of what was between us.

months have gone by and all you have to give me is a letter? a stupid letter?

you wave as you exit the bakery and offer me a sweet smile.

i nod.

and just like that you vanishes, like how you once did.

but i don’t chase after you, i know i don’t need to. nor do i want to.

no one loves you like i can because you never let anyone love you to that point. i flew too close to the sun and i had to be shot back down to earth.

--

a/n: ah yes yearning, slowly trying to get back my spark of writing and angst is fueling that fire. i wrote this on a whim so i did not proofread this at all LOL completely forgot about this request. stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

bodyguard!toji was a man who stood out wherever he went.

there were plenty of reasons for this. first of all, he was a genuinely big guy. with a build like that, it wasn’t surprising that heads turned the moment he stepped into any place. he was basically made for the job. the other reason? well, he was just ridiculously handsome.

after the latest scandal, your father had to take control of the family’s image. naturally, the most logical solution was to find a bodyguard who could actually keep you in check. you’d had bodyguards before, but none of them could handle your recklessness and carefree attitude.

but this mysterious man, so much older than you, was honestly a nightmare.

wherever you went, he was there. shopping? he’d be by your side even if you walked around for five hours. heading to a club? he’d show up to snatch your drink out of your hand if you drank too much. you’d tried to escape a few times, but it usually ended with him showing up in front of you by the tenth second, saying, “running away won’t work, ma’am,” and sticking to you like glue again.

in short, there was no escaping this man.

worse yet, he never said a word to you beyond the usual “good morning, ma’am,” “good evening, ma’am,” or “where are you headed, ma’am?” you weren’t in a position to be friends. for one, he was your bodyguard. and he was much, much older than you. the kind of age gap where having anything in common seemed impossible. not that you wanted friendship anyway. all you wanted was to feel like you weren’t completely alone.

“do you have friends, fushiguro?” you asked him as you sat in the car on the way home from meeting up with your friends.

“i can’t disclose any information about my personal life, ma’am,” he replied, short and to the point.

you laughed and teased, “it was just a simple question.”

your bodyguard turned his expressionless, intimidating face toward you. “please focus on deciding what you’ll wear for tonight’s gala, ma’am. your father requested you wear a navy-blue dress.”

“that old man controls everything about my life. what century does he think we’re living in? and why are you telling me this now?” the fact that your father had informed your bodyguard instead of you about what you should wear annoyed you.

“i mentioned it yesterday morning, ma’am.”

shit, did he? you didn’t remember a thing. “you can call me by my name, fushiguro. you’re older than me, after all.”

his face remained unreadable. “noted, ma’am.”

you frowned at his stubbornness. “didn’t you just hear what i said?”

in his usual stern tone, he responded, “i heard you, ma’am.”

“gosh…” you leaned back against the leather seat, looking out the window. “you’re never going to stop calling me ‘ma’am,’ are you, fushiguro?”

“never, ma’am.”

once again, you were reminded that having anything close to a normal conversation with this man was hopeless.

that evening, as you applied your makeup for the gala, your eyes wandered to the navy-blue dress hanging in your dressing room closet. it was just as your father wanted. the velvet, sleeveless gown was elegant and definitely gave off the impression of being “the daughter of one of the most important families in the world.” you actually loved the dress. what you didn’t love was your father dictating even the color of your outfit.

after one last look in the mirror, you headed to your dressing room to get dressed. shrugging off the satin robe, you slipped into the gown that lightly tickled your skin. your hand reached for the zipper at the back, trying to pull it up.

but that’s as far as you got.

no matter how much you tried, the zipper refused to move. it must’ve gotten caught in the fabric. grumbling to yourself about having to take the dress off to fix it, a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. that familiar stern, respectful voice called out.

“ma’am, are you ready?”

you would be. if the zipper would cooperate, you’d definitely be ready.

“uhh, just a second! i’m having a minor fashion emergency.”

“is everything all right, ma’am?” this time, his voice sounded concerned.

“yeah, yeah, i just… my zipper’s stuck, but i’ll handle it. please wait a moment, fushiguro.”

there was a brief silence. while still trying to fix the zipper without taking the dress off, you heard him again. “ma’am, if you wish, i can assist you.”

honestly, help sounded really good right now.

“a little help would be great!” you called out in relief, and the door slowly opened.

toji stepped in, wearing his perfectly tailored black suit. of course, he was always in a suit. come to think of it, you’d never seen him in casual clothes.

his sharp eyes scanned the room before landing on you, standing by the mirror in your dressing area, holding up the gown to keep it from slipping. without wasting a second, he walked over, stepping behind you. his hands hovered over your loose hair, silently asking for permission before gently moving it to the front.

you regretted asking for help immediately because now your heart was racing.

you couldn’t understand why. sure, he was handsome, muscular, and incredibly mature, but you’d never been this flustered around him before.

toji’s large hands quickly fixed the stuck zipper, but he didn’t pull it up right away. you weren’t sure why he hesitated. he should’ve just zipped it and ended this. stealing a glance in the mirror, you saw your handsome bodyguard swallowing hard, as if he was battling some inner turmoil, like he thought he was doing something wrong.

his thick fingers finally gripped the zipper, pulling it up slowly. you dropped your gaze to the floor, feeling every slight touch of his fingers against your skin. the slow movements only made things worse, as if he was deliberately savoring the contact.

this was definitely wrong. you shouldn’t have felt butterflies in your stomach. your heart shouldn’t have raced faster with every light graze of his fingers against your back. in fact, he shouldn’t have been the one helping you at all.

when he finally zipped the dress up to the top, his fingers lingered on the zipper. you kept your eyes down, but you could feel his intense gaze through the mirror.

“you look beautiful, ma’am. your father will be pleased with your choice,” he said in his usual deep, stern tone, though it was softer than usual.

“thank you.” your eyes flickered to the mirror, locking onto his green ones. for the first time, his usually stoic and unreadable eyes seemed to hold something unsaid.

“you’re welcome, ma’am.” his hand moved away from the zipper, but not before his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your arm. his movements were deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the warmth of your skin for just a second longer.

you kept staring at him through the mirror. when his fingers reached your wrist, they paused. his calloused fingertips traced small circles there, and without breaking eye contact, he leaned slightly toward the side of your exposed neck.

“every color you wear suits you, princess, but this one… this one’s the best yet.”

you forgot how to breathe. how to speak. all you could do was stand there, frozen, feeling his calloused fingers brush against your wrist and the weight of his words settle into your chest.

then, just like that, he stepped back, severing all contact. “please put on your shoes. i’ll be waiting downstairs, ma’am.”

even after he left the room, you stood there in front of the mirror, completely still. whatever had just happened, you couldn’t make sense of it. was it the way he touched your skin, or was it the compliment? you didn’t know. all you knew was that you stood there like an idiot, reliving the moment.

but the thing that stuck with you the most? it wasn’t the touch, the compliment, or the lingering gazes.

it was the way he’d called you “princess.”

so many people had called you that before, but hearing it from bodyguard!toji felt entirely different. it was like indulging in something you weren’t supposed to have. a sinful kind of pleasure.

for the first time in your life, in a world where you despised being controlled, you found yourself wishing to be held back by someone.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[buttercandy16]

Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

[bloodwrittenletters]

YOU'LL BE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE

pairing . . . percy jackson x mortal!fem!reader

the cassette playing . . . birds of a feather! billie eilish

the letter reads . . . roman or greek, mortal or demigod, you and percy jackson were supposed to meet in every lifetime.

warnings . . . angst ( like a lot of it ), slight nsfw ( making out ), survivor's guilt, mentions of ptsd ( post-traumatic stress disorder), cursing, comedic relief.

a/n . . . can you tell I sobbed my way through this? can you also tell how much I love romance? can you also tell how much i love percy jackson and i took the opportunity of showing it? UGH. anyways!! :pp I hope you all like this and let me know if I should do another part of falling into tartarus ( or if I should make this a little series ), or if I should just leave it at a happy ending ^.^ AND I'M SOOOOORRRY THIS WAS DELAYED, SOME THINGS GOT DELETED AND HAD TO REWRITE A LITTLE 😭😭😭 alsooo this isn't very accurate because i haven't read the hoo recently, so apologies and fyi!!! love you all and i hope you enjoy

( thank you to all who waited, and also very much to these people!!! @itzmeme @aliteralhooman @bes2005 @miffysoo @littlecarrot06 )

a continuation of this and second part of this . . .

the truth was that you wanted to cry. but percy needed you, he had called you, he had told you not to cry, and that he loved you. how could you ever break down when your missing boyfriend needed you?

you called annabeth, you told her, you broke down demanding answers to questions your braind suddenly decided to flip on after bating your pretty little eyes away from the insecurity the possibility of percy lying to you; because he always was. percy jackson had too many secrets, so deep in his sould it's like he grew up in a field of thorned roses, and after months of stress and fear you took some scissors and dove head first into the mess that the fucking gods ( yes, there are gods in this plot twist ) had thrown your lovely boyfriend to.

it came down to you, it all made sense. annabeth tried to talk you through it, explain everything and anything that might seem important from her view for you to know, but your brain was too far gone.

percy was borned doomed.

oh, and he was half god, too.

in your brain, every stutter, every night of him waking up in a cold sweat, every dodge of questioning his camp, everything made sense. the scars, the fear in his eyes you used to find before he dissapeared. or even the way you could feel him shake when you kissed him.

your precious boyfriend lived in a world of fantasies you used to read about, he was a demigod! annabeth was a demigod! grover was a satyr!

everything made sense and none at all in the same moment. in a snap of a second you were studying the messy family tree percy had on his dad's side. all meanwhile annabeth worked herself off along with other fellow demigods to craft a warship to travel to fucking california because sadly you couldn't book a flight and go get percy. you had to do it the divine way, you had to sit and watch sally jackson be worried sick, you had to sit and wait as annabeth masterminded her plain, and while all that sitting, you studied!

here's a run of fun facts:

percy's uncle, zeus, left the mother of his namesake, danae, pregnant through a golden rain. percy's cousin and annabeth's mother, athena, made way for herself to be born through zeus skull, after the king of the gods swallowed her mother. kronos swallowed his—

you got the point.

you read every single book about greek and roman mythology you could get your hans on, you memorized names and places and stories and retellings and every single thing that could be helpful. you didn't have the talents to build a war ship...

or much of anything in comparison to all the half-bloods, but you could memorize all and every bit of the gods if it meant you would help percy.

he was your best friend, the one who during the school year would ask his mom for chocolates in case you had cramps during your period, the one who would get in detention constantly to defend you, the one who would sneak out of class to walk you to the next one.

even if he was away, percy always was the safest place you could run to.

and when he turned to your boyfriend, it was like everything was right. kissing him was right, his hand soothing your back when a sad movie hit home was right, percy's face smeared with lipstick was right.

so, when it was his voice calling your name for help, how could you ever not answer?

you and annabeth fought every step of the way. in other circumstances, you knew in your heart she could be your dearest friend, but right now it was playing it nice with her or getting to percy sooner.

and percy won. every single time. there was no other option, it was just percy.

'you can't come with us.' 'i'm going.' 'i said no.' 'i don't care.' 'we have no space for you.' 'i'll sleep on the damn floor if i have to, i'm getting on that ship.' 'you're a mortal.' 'i'll take a knife.' 'that's not enough to keep your safe, this is crazy, you have-' 'i'm going.' 'percy is gonna kill me.'

every day, the two of you found something new to argue over. but, in the end, she took you under her wing and let you come.

something that you couldn't stop thanking her for, whole heartdely, you believed she would throw you over board.

of course, this wasn't for free. you had to learn how to use every weapon on that ship, and have a basic understandament of self defense... and a fire extintor on you in case leo ( another half-blood, one you had learned to befriend ) burst into flames and couldn't turn off.

yeah, you would never be bored with them.

every single moment that you had spent away from him came down on you like an avalanche when you arrived to new rome. there was too much going on, a) the argo ii wasn't allowed on sacred grounds, b) no mortals allowed. and it wasn't like you could change your past and make one of your parents hook up with some god so you were allowed into the grounds of new jupiter.

"terminus," you hissed, feeling panic crawl out of your gut and settle in your throat. "i understand your rules, i understand you're not supposed to let me in your stupid—"

"sacred!" jason butted in, nodding along, trying to calm the waters.

"grounds," you continued like there was no interrumption. because this felt stupid, a boy who belonged in the comfortness of your heart was in there, it was stupid you weren't allowed to go back to him. "someone in there called me, alright? i need to see him."

"no," the god shaked his head, and you almost lanched yourself at him to hurt him in any way you could. jason stopped you. and very deep within you, you knew it was the best desicion.

you turned to annabeth, letting jason and piper try to find some allowance for you. tears pooled in your eyes and annabeth gave you the most broken glance, before focusing on finding you a solution.

the daughter of athena knew well just how head over heels percy was. she wasn't there to witness the whole thing, but she remembered long conversations between herself and her best friend where he couldn't shut up about how pretty your eyes were, or how sometimes two strands of your hair would curl into a heart.

annabeth knew you were important, and she also knew that percy needed to see you as soon as possible before the world met the wrath of a loving boyfriend without his sweet angel near him.

grover probably was going insane with rage and longing back at camp half-blood.

"there must be a way."

"there isn't."

piper sighed, glancing back at you and then focusing on her task. charm speak wasn't working on this guy, maybe a breath taking love story would.

"listen, that girl there in the brink of a break down? her boyfriend has been missing for months, he just dissapeared, and she called her to come get him. his name is percy jackson, and we just need you to let them meet again," piper sighed. she had to twist this more. more drama, more love, more tears. she had to sell this cinema worthy love story to terminus.

"have you ever been in love?"

"pipes—"

"oh, no, right, yeah. so," she hurried to explain, befor terminus took that as an offense and kicked them out completly. "what i mean is that, they're in love! a love so deep that even after months of silence, the called her, knowing that she was the one person he could trust to find him— even after he knew she would find out he lied! she didn't care, she's here, just trying to get through you, she won't do any harm, she just wants to see her boyfriend again."

"it's not going to work on me, daugther of venus."

piper threw her arms into the air, huffing in frustration and taking a step back, murmuring to leo: "do you think we can sneak her in?"

leo frowned, looked back at annabeth and you, seeing you hysterical, rambling about old myths and how unfair this was, and then looked back at piper.

"i don't think we have that choice."

as jason tried his best to find a deal with terminus, percy was deep into camp's grounds, looking away to the war ship at the borders of camp jupiter.

she's here, he thought. she's here, she found her way here, but why is she not coming down here?

by the tick of the second, percy grew more and more impatient. his skin started to act agaisnt himself, an unbereable itch starting in the nape of his neck and coming down his spine. the air started to feel thicker around him, groaning and huffing to himself, ignoring completly the looks hazel, frank and reyna were giving him.

"sit down, percy," reyna suggested.

percy stopped, looked at her, and kept pancing around. it's not that he didn't want to listen to her, more like there was something on his brain that didn't allow him to stop. there was nothing he could to stop himself. he gripped his forearm, nails biting into the tattoo he now had, trying to scratch it off as if that would make you appear in front of his eyes.

he tried. once, twice. hazel scolded at him and he stopped trying, it wasn't working.

"reyna," percy said, and when the ocean green met the dark onyx there was no denying that the desperation would push percy into a very, very bad spot. "they won't let her come down here, will they? she's a mortal so she can't—"

"no, percy, i'm sorry."

percy looked at the sky, and there were string of curses in greek coming from his lips.

"there has to be some way, please, reyna. i can't stand it."

frank looked at reyna like he wanted to help percy plead his case.

hazel pointed at something, and in a moment, percy was nowhere in sight in any of the three.

you sneaked in, somehow, some way. maybe aphrodite ( or venus, at this point ) had taken mercy upon you. she had looked at the situation and just pull the right strings to get you running right into percy's arms.

where the greek crew of argo ii still tried to come up with some solution, you were running with all your force towards the love of your life. your boy. your love.

it didn't matter on what life time, or how, when, why. you and percy met, every single one of them where your sould would meet his and tangle in a way that no matter what twist and ties were cut, nothing could do the two of you apart. hera tried, and she did really hard, but little did you know that percy never forgot you.

in his mind there was no memory of who he was, what his name was. nothing, absolutely blank, there was nothing in there but your name, the pink of your lips, the way your hands felt around his. all of those memories of you balmed up with the lipstick stains he knew you would leave all around his skin.

and he knew that he didn't mind it, he loved it. he would get them tattoed on his skin if they weren't already so in his heart.

your arm stretched out, and your boyfriend grabbed your hand. there were shouting behind you, and when gasps filled the background, percy and you were kissing.

it was slow, there were tears, his hands trailed up and trailed down, his forehead resting agaisnt yours as his hands gently mapped your skin, memorizing it again, looking if there were changes, hoping that it was warm under his finger tips as it always was.

you felt even better than his memories.

"h-hi, angel," he sobbed, attempting to kiss your tears away, but there was too many, maybe because some of his mixed with yours, melting together in the same kissing scene as the two of you were doing right now.

percy had grown taller, your tippy toes weren't enough to meet his lips. his hair was longer and some strands looked like gold under the sunlught, he smeled like the ocean--- and when you breathed agaisnt his lips and felt the relaxing, familiar scent you sobbed all over again., his lips were softer ( maybe for being untouched for so long ), and his eyes were the same. the same ones you so much loved, just more wet now.

you sniffled, and cupped his cheeks before kissing him again. this was more impatient, there were more sighs and huffs from the both of you, and percy sneaked one of his arms around your waist and set his hand politely on your hip, before slowly taking up the weight.

you were basacally flying, and all in his arms. you let out a happy sob.

"hi, baby."

you rested your forehead agaisnt his, noses pressed softly agaisnt each other's. every breath you let out, he took in, his lungs tainting of glitter and butterflies. every breath percy let out, you took in, and your smile widened when your lungs filled with relaxation and love.

"i love you," percy promised. "every piece of me— loves you."

"i love you, too," you kissed the corner of his mouth gently, before returning to your original spot. "i don't think my heart is inside my chest anymore."

percy frowned. "you're going to be sweet, aren't you?"

a smirk crept into your lips, once that you had seen percy wear before, right when he said something snarky and stole a little peck from you.

"i think my heart is in here," you tapped your fingers over his chest, beneath the obvious banging of percy's heart. "hugging yours, kissing yours."

percy kissed you before you got the chance to steal his lips away.

"love you," you both whispered into the other's mouth, before percy slowly eased you back to your feet, but never backing away more than a couple inches, his eyes clear on yours, full of love, and a smile that created three dimples. two on his right cheek, and a tiny one in his chin.

"angel?"

"hmm?"

"i think we just made out in front of a lot soldiers."

"... and i think i sneaked in."

percy laughed, ignoring the glances. he felt them now, but he was too busy to care. "you think?"

"i'm innocent, your honour, i just wanted my boyfriend."

percy pressed three quick kisses to your lips. before a yell of his name threw him off of cloud nine. annabeth chase... she was gonna kill him.

"that can't be good."

you kissed all around his face, not minding one bit what was happening around you. it was your right to do this, if anyone had an issue with you kissing percy, they could go fuck themselves.

"i love you, my lovely boy."

[bunsiesblog]

My Promise to You

s!1 Viktor x Showgirl!reader

A letter Viktor writes to his childhood friend and first love. A reminder that he has not forgotten his promise to save you. It sits unopened in your Madame’s safe, along with the other dozens of letters he sent to you these past seven years.

tags: childhood friends to lovers, love letter, minimal use of Y/N, affectionate czech name, ‘letters? what letters?’ trope, inspired by the Notebook, yearning, Viktor is actually king of yearning,

468 words

A/N: I am currently drafting up a fanfic that is written as letters between you and Viktor. The premise is that he moved to Piltover and you stayed in Zaun as a showgirl at a less than reputable establishment. He promised to take you away and everything he has done has been to come through on that promise. The gag is that the Madame of your club has been withholding the letters you guys write to each other.

I’m just such a big fan of a man who does literally the most for his girl, except you aren’t really his girl you’re his best friend which makes it all 10x more romantic to me. Anyways, here is one of the letters below that I just wanted to share with you all

➽───────────────❥

My dearest Y/N,

It feels strange to write to you again, knowing I might not receive a reply. And yet, I can’t stop myself. Writing to you feels like the only way to keep you close, even when the distance between us seems unbearable. I don’t know if these letters are reaching you, or if you’re reading them, but I hope, somehow, that you can feel the words I send.

It’s been years since I left Zaun, and I can’t help but wonder how much you’ve changed. I imagine you’re as radiant as ever, your spirit as unyielding as the city that raised us. Do you still find the hidden corners of the world to call your own? Do you still climb rooftops to breathe above the chaos below? I often find myself thinking of those times—how simple it all felt, even though it was anything but.

I want you to know that I’ve never stopped working to keep my promise to you. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve built here in Piltover, has been with that promise in mind. I graduated, Lásko. Top of my class. I’ve even taken a position at the Academy, assisting the Dean. And now… now there’s something new.

It’s called Hextech. A project I’ve been working on with my colleague, Jayce. We’ve discovered a way to harness the arcane and shape it into something tangible—something that can help people. I believe this could be my breakthrough. Our breakthrough. With Hextech, I’ll finally have the means to do what I’ve always wanted: to build a life, a future, where you don’t have to endure the chains that bind you.

I know it’s taken too long. I know I’ve failed you in so many ways. But I need you to know that I haven’t forgotten. I think about you every day, wonder if you’re okay, if you’re happy—or at least as happy as one can be in a place like Kitty’s. I still remember the look in your eyes the last time I saw you, the way you told me not to worry about you.

But I can’t help it, Lásko. I can’t stop worrying.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re surrounded by people who remind you of your worth, who see you for who you are—brilliant, kind, and stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. But if you’re not, then please, just hold on a little longer. I’m getting closer. I can feel it.

When the time comes, when I have everything I need, I’ll come back for you. I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do. You once told me that I was meant for something greater, but you’ve always been my reason for striving.

You once saved me. Now it’s my turn.

Yours always,

Viktor

[inkdrinkerworld]

Zombie apocalypse Remus 🫣

oh oh this could be good!

Remus finds you under a fallen building. He'd heard screaming and barking and thought there'd been another attack, but it was morning and they were never out in the morning, so he'd hazarded a chance to investigate.

Your leg was trapped and the moment you saw a figure walking towards you without a limp and a gait in their step you nearly cried.

"Please help me." you murmur pain lancing through your leg as you lean back a little to look at the tall man before you. The golden dog near you yips and growls and you reach a shaky hand to her head.

"How'd you get stuck there?" The man stoops to be closer to your level. "I'm Remus by the way."

You tell him your name through a hiss. "It fell while I was" you hesitate. "I'm a researcher, I needed some books and my dog was keeping watch."

Remus sighs and smiles sympathetically, "What type of research?"

"On this whole thing, I had a lab some time ago."

"A scientist?" You nod and Remus smiles. "Ca you try to wiggle your toes?" he asks it when you twist a little and hiss.

You shrug a little hiccup breaking through your words as you try, "I think I am, but I don't know."'

He shushes you quietly, moving a few of the bigger pieces off your leg. You take the time to study him, there's a few scars on his face and hands, but he's beautiful and from the looks of things so far; very kind.

Remus is gentle as he gets closer to exposing your leg, "Moment of truth." he whispers and you nod.

When he removes all of the rocks, your boots come into view and he smiles. "These might've saved you, love." He tugs your leg free and you begin crying again, this time from happiness. "Can I take it off so we can see if anything's broken?"

You nod, "Were you a doctor?" the words make him chuckle and you feel yourself become just a little embarrassed as you watch Remus make delicate work of removing your boots and socks.

"No, but I have pretty clumsy friends. I've learnt what to look for."

You nod, "Maybe when all of this is over, you can actually become a doctor." Remus hums, a soft smile on his face as he pulls off your sock.

"Twist your ankle," you do it with ease. "Wiggle your toes," Remus hides a smile at the polish on your toes; it reminds him of the normal life you've lost within the last month and a half. "Everything seems perfect dove."

You smile, "Thank you for coming to help me."

"It's no problem, do you have any place to stay?" You shake your head as you slip your foot back into your shoe.

"Circe and I go from place to place together. She warns me away from the smell of death."

Remus nibbles on his lip as he stands too, "Well, I have a little hideout with my friends, I'm sure they wouldn't mind it if I brought you and Circe along."

You look up at him, eyes wide as saucers. "I don't want to encroach, there might not be enough food."

Remus shrugs, "There'll never be enough food. Plus you and Circe might be more help than hinderance."

"If you're sure." You sling your leather bag onto your shoulder and whistle to Circe.

"I'm positive, dove." You nod once as you take a few test steps that turn into you skipping over all of the fallen concrete and passing what your mind knows are bodies but your eyes refuse to process.

The world is a sleet of grey and red all over, it's only been a month and society has devolved to it's baser emotions- violence and greed.

You shake the thoughts away. "Lead the way then, Remus. Circe and I will follow."

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAs cold as your heart ･:*:｡𓏲ּ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDr. ishida uryu x f! reader

Chapter 4: fever can melt ice. even the coldest of hearts can melt; even the past can be fixed...

❄ a/n: a little longer with a lot of ups and downs, but this time things are getting hotter... even though you might have to wait for naughtier chapters, Uryu is slowly becoming desperate... 😏 ❄ tw: MDNI. This chapter contains smut -soft smut, but mature, kisses, sexual thoughts and erections-. Also, please be aware of a certain little part about Uryu having hidden little old scars. This is just my personal HC that I will eventually develop in the next chapters, but it is super important to warn you, even if subtle, those scars were made by himself. Though if anybody wants to keep on reading and self-harm is triggering you, please let me know. I will not include it. It is not mega important to the plot, just a hc about Uryu and the way he deals with all the pain of his past. ❄ masterlist

“Bring my son immediately to the sixth floor!” he screams at someone through the phone. He stands up and orders you to get ready for surgery…

 “(Name), get ready. OR number 2. Now” 

Your ears buzz. Everything seems to happen, and nothing happens at all at the same time. “Bring my son” those words echo inside your head, making your sweat become cold, colder. You feel like your blood has stopped flowing. What happened to Uryu? What did he do? 

A thousand scenarios happen at the same time in your imagination. Your body moves on its own, following Dr. Ishida to the operating room. 

“What happene-“ you wanna ask, immediately being interrupted by that hospital bed being pushed and rushed to the OR. 

“He needs immediate intervention. I managed to patch him up, but the wound is too deep”

You watch the scene pass right in front of your eyes; Uryu’s hair flowing with the wind, his hand covered in blood up to his wrist, his white shirt as well. 

“(Name), come on!” Uryu screams, waking you up all of a sudden. “The boy is probably 5 or 6. Get ready!” he continues, showing he is safe and sound, and just -amazingly- saving a little kid’s life. 

You nod, with tears in your eyes. You thought the patient was him, but it was just yet another misunderstanding. 

The way both Ishida men work in perfect synchronicity to save the life of a child, the way they, for as long as the surgery lasts, do not fight. However, it is not only them, but you. You work with them, hard, to save the patient. You have everything ready; you are like the gear that keeps two parts working perfectly. 

Sometimes his eyes and yours meet; your arms graze, you talk to each other and it’s also natural, as if nothing had happened in between you and him. Oh, how you wish that would last forever. 

“It was great working with you…” you whisper while you watch the patient being taken out of the OR along with Dr. Ryuken who continues to give directives about the patient. 

“It was. Now, please, I need to change…” Uryu answers, cold as ice. 

You notice his white shirt, underneath the sterile gown, covered in sweat. There is no way he is hot, the OR has always a low temperature and it’s chilling winter outside. Was he that nervous to work with his father for the first time? 

“Are you ok? Are you feeling well?” you dare to ask while taking your own gown off. 

“Yeah… achuu!” Uryu sneezes, and his cheeks become red as apples. 

You giggle and walk away, leaving your used gown on the bio residues trash can. Yet, before you could leave, you turn around right by the exit. 

“You can come to my office if you need something, I can give you meds if you are running a fever. You should rest, though” you tell him, this time as a nurse and not as much as a friend -ex-. Something inside you is growing, and it is not exactly tolerance for his attitude. 

Uryu nods, fixing his glasses and hiding, as always, underneath them and his hair. 

You, annoyed and tired, drag your feet to your office, where you flop to rest for some time.

Irritation builds up as you type which procedures and actions were performed during that emergency surgery; tears have dried and now Uryu’s attitude has started to turn your feelings from pain to anger.

“HA! He was the one betraying us, even though that’s ok. He was the one who hurt me!” you complain, pressing that ever lasting scar on your chest from one of his arrows. “And he was the one to leave with no explanation!!” you continue, swearing under your breath as you focus on your screen. 

“Yeah, I know…” a miserable voice comes from behind your monitor. 

You widen your eyes, sliding on your office chair to the side to discover the reason for your annoyance, standing right there. 

“Do you need something?” you ask, unable to look at his face.

“Uh-yes. I need Acetaminophen, 500mg” he murmurs, clearly asking for something to lower the fever. 

You nod; mortified. In silence, you search for the tablets and give them to him. Your hand again grazes his, this time with no gloves on; just with the touch of your fingers you can tell he is running a high fever. 

“You are burning, Uryu. Go have some rest in room 301, I’ll bring some wet pads. You need to lower that fever, or you will fry your brain” you command; he might be a doctor, but you are the nurse in charge there.  

The last Quincy tries to say no, but you won’t allow him. Your eyes are now fixed on his, scaring him a little. Uryu is not used to your mature you, much less to your nurse you. 

“Believe me I am doing this so that I don’t end up fired. I wouldn’t want something bad happening to my boss’ kid” you state, standing up from your chair. 

You realize you’ve probably gone a little further than expected with your choice of words, but it ends up being effective; Uryu leaves your office to enter the room you assigned him. Though his eyes show a mix of anger and pain, probably he is feeling bad enough not to argue… that, or he enjoys being dominated. 

You admit the last thought made you laugh internally; but immediate scenes of him wearing leather clothes stopped all fun. “Me and my wild imagination” 

You check he doesn’t leave the room and soon prepare the washcloths. He definitely needs that temperature lowered. 

“I’m gonna come in” you let him know, as you open the door with your hip. Your hands full with the needed stuff and your mind, only focused on taking care of him, forgets about a very important rule in medicine; preserve your patient’s privacy and intimacy. 

You find him shirtless, no glasses, hair pulled back, forehead wet. He is now a man, and despite knowing him since kids, never once you’ve seen his whole upper part naked. 

It is impossible for you to avoid getting addicted to his body; pale, thin, prominent collar bones and hipbones. The Quincy star inked on his chest, looking as hot as sad… like the star of a night he wishes to forget. Forever. 

You take a deep breath, immediately looking to the side as you close the door; nobody should see Dr. Ishida’s son in such situation. Anybody but you... 

Uryu gasps just a little, grabbing his glasses and putting them on. He takes his hand to his nape, doing the typical “sexy man” pose. Perhaps he didn’t mean it, but to you it felt as if it was dearly on purpose. 

“Please, lay on the bed” you command, bringing the little bowl with cold water and the pads floating in it. 

You watch him do as you tell, laying down, looking outside the window. The snow falls hypnotically, almost as white as his skin, and now pale lips. He tries to avoid eye contact, allowing you to do your “job”. 

You squeeze one of the wash clothes, filling the silent room with the sound of drops on water. It only gets interrupted by Uryu’s soft gasping as the cold pad touches his neck. 

“Sorry, I know it’s cold…” you lament, going for the next one. 

Uryu’s skin turns bumpy, and his teeth softly chatter. He is definitely feeling the cold, and deep inside, you kind of enjoy this just a little… “have a taste of your own medicine, this might not be as cold as your heart” 

However, you would lie if this were something good to you. On that bed, lies the man you haven’t stopped loving since you can basically remember.

You grab his hand delicately, placing one of the wet pads on his wrist. And then, you do the same with the other one. 

Now, the last two should be placed on his femoral zone. And that includes, of course, taking his pants off. 

“I- Uh… we should add some on your crural zone” you inform, happy to use medical terms as he will understand them. -and specially because you wouldn’t dare to call it “crotch” in front of him-. 

Uryu sighs; he seems uncomfortable… and how wouldn’t he be? He nods, blushed, serious, still looking outside as his thin, delicate fingers undo the button of his pants. 

You help him lower them, seeing on his legs old scars. You could have looked at his white boxer briefs with crosses all over like a pattern, but you can’t help but guide your attention to the red and white marks; what are those? Why is he that scarred? Were those battle injuries? 

His sapphire eyes burn holes into you, letting you know you shouldn’t be so noisy about them. And you quickly stop. 

“Good, that should work. Leave them there for around 15 minutes, then I’ll change-“ 

“I can change them myself” there he goes again, asking you to leave in such a painful yet soft way. 

Your lower lip trembles, your eyes get all blurry. But you won’t cry this time.

“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on bothering you again. In fact, I will ask another nurse to come and do it for me. If you need anything press the button and I can assure anybody but me will appear on that door. You can be sure I won’t disgust you with my presence a single minute more” you snap; this time you don’t care about professionalism, you simply see red now. 

Uryu is taken aback; he wasn’t expecting such reaction -though, it was completely justified for him- His classic guilty ashamed façade repeats again, he can’t even look you straight in the eye. Uryu hides, a little, again, underneath his onyx hair. 

“(Name), I didn’t mean to sound rude…” he mutters.

“No? I’ve been taking care of you for the past two stupid days. I’ve been putting up with your ways for way too long. And now, six years later, you dared to appear and keep on hurting me? No explanation, simply acting as if I was some kind of leper, with disgust? You have no idea how much I’ve suffered for you, Ishida Uryu” you continue, letting all the pain out of your chest. 

You pull down the collar of your uniform, exposing the scar he left on your chest. That arrow carved on your chest didn’t really hurt, compared to the way he is treating you right now. 

“See this? It was you! You. Every day I wake up looking at the mirror, seeing the reminder that I had forgiven you for this and still not even once I heard you say, “I’m sorry”. And the worse part of it all, is the way you push me away… I could have understood if you were married. I could have… but you simply decided to ignore me” you continue, not seeing the tears running down his cheeks. 

Maybe, in between your pain and all of the hurtful -yet, true- things you were saying, you didn’t listen to his constant “sorry, sorry, sorry”.  And, enough sorrys were cried, when Uryu finally stood up.

With difficulty and a little bit dizzy due to his fever, Uryu snatches your hand to keep you from going away as you roar all the things you need to say. The cold water on that stainless steel bowl spills all over your uniform, getting you completely wet, turning the white fabrics to become see through. 

“Because I know all of the things I did to you, because I hurt you more than once… that’s why I want you far from me. You don’t understand, I am not deserving of being next to you. I shouldn’t even talk to you; this wasn’t my plan” Uryu finally says, raising his voice. 

You lay there, dripping wet. The same way you cry under the rain, when the tears mix with the drops that fall from the sky, you do now. As much as you want to stop, you simply can’t. 

“I thought- I thought you were gone from Karakura…Please, I beg you... don’t cling to this, to me… please, forget about me. Just- go away, go away from me… if you stay, if you stay you will only suffer” Uryu cries louder, still grabbing you from your wrist with so much strength you might end up with marks.

Even though he is telling you to go away, he is not letting you go.  Once again, Uryu is asking someone he loves to go away, despite knowing deep inside, it is absolutely false. 

“Uryu, I- you-“ you wanna say something, even though you can’t.

“Look at your chest, look at the scar I left there. On your skin, on your body… you don’t-“ he continues, with a trembling voice and now flopping on the bed. He still shakes and cries, and has his hand tightly gripped around your arm. 

You suddenly, and perhaps without even thinking about, rip all the buttons of the upper part of your uniform with your free hand. Your skin, covered in goosebumps, cold and wet, exposes all its extent to his beautiful eyes. 

Uryu stops breathing; his nose, so close to your chest, can almost touch it. Sitting on that hospital bed, he looks and feels small, engulfing all the beauty of your nudity and the pain of his past in one single blow. 

As he slowly lets your hand go, your palm lands on his cheek. A sweet caress, filled with softness and love, to make him look up at you. 

“Uryu, your silence, to me, was the most violent deception” you whisper.  

The Quincy gasps, tears sprouting harder now. Uryu perhaps, finally understood he was hurting you more by pushing you away, than staying by your side.  

As tears run down his blushed cheeks, cooling his burning skin, his hands around your waist to pull you even closer. His pale lips, as hot as the rest of his body, finally fall upon the scar his arrow left. 

A deep connection, of pure intimacy, takes place and the time seems to freeze. You play with his hair and brush it away. Maybe the fever, or the words you screamed, were enough to melt that heart. 

“Can you, this time, for real, forgive me?” he asks, muffled by your chest. Up until now, Uryu hasn’t realized he is almost burying his face into your breasts. Nor did you notice, because this wasn’t about that. 

You swallow. Up until today you never thought you needed to absolve him from any guilt, and yet still you realize it was simply a way to cope with him leaving. With him, for real, betraying you. 

“Uryu…. I-….I forgive you” you state, clear and strong. 

Uryu breathes; his cheek now plastered on your chest, resting perhaps for the very first time in the last six years. 

“Thank you…” “Thank you, Uryu…”

A sudden cold reaches you; it makes you shiver; it pulls you off from your love bubble. Both wet, semi naked, hugging in such intimate way… You swallow dry, his body against yours… 

“I think we should…” you murmur, perhaps with the vague intention of leaving the room.

“No… please, just…” Uryu murmurs back, kissing once again your scar, breathing in the scent of your flesh, getting drunk on the heat of it. He is needy, desperate.

You brush his hair back, moving his head up so that he looks at you again. It is almost sad, the way his eyes look at you like an abandoned puppy. 

“You are still burning, Uryu… you-“ you wanna continue searching for excuses, but you get interrupted by his hand sliding up until your nape. 

With the softest pull, he intends to come closer to your lips. Though, his mouth doesn’t crash with yours just yet. A lingering kiss that’s been due for too long, seems closer, a reality. It almost feels painful to wait a single second more, not to touch the soft surface of each other’s lips. 

Both so slowly getting closer that warm breath caresses your mouth; The more he waits, it seems as if his fever grew stronger. 

“Please…” he begs, Uryu won’t be the one to kiss you. He still feels as if you needed to give him permission for it. 

Your stomach gets filled with butterflies; your scraped knees get a little weak… how to say no; how to tell no to that man that’s imploring for a kiss? 

You can’t control your body either way, as your lips finally land on his. It’s almost instantaneous, a spark that had been asleep for so long. 

Uryu stands up, his naked chest stuck against yours. His free hand pulling your bellies closer as it slides through the small of your back. 

A little gasp escapes in between tongues that have already met in a feral adagio; this is the first time he kisses you as a man, and not anymore like a sweet inexperienced teenager. 

Your hand slides down his back, feeling his skin temperature rising. “He shouldn’t- he should rest…” you repeat in your mind, but you aren’t able to detach from him as he slowly slides down back to the bed and pulls you to sit on his lap. 

Your inner thighs are able to feel the hardness growing underneath you; in fact, it would be impossible not to, as Uryu’s hips buck up on their own, pushing his heat against yours. You tremble, as he gets more and more desperate. 

His lips finally abandon your mouth, only to land on your neck. Uryu seems to be a biter as he first inhales the scent of your flesh just to carve his teeth on it after. 

You whine, a little screech from the pain of the bite. Who would have said Ishida Uryu developed to be nothing but a sweet lover? 

Though, Uryu shouldn’t keep going any further. First, because of his health. Second, because you are currently on shift and third, is this the place where your bodies will meet after so long to love each other? 

“Sto-stop…” you whisper, sweet and lovingly. 

“WHAT? DID I HURT YOU?” he suddenly stops, scared.

You giggle; He is indeed a desperate lover with so much respect for your body. 

“No… but you are sweating, a lot. Your cheeks are red as tomatoes. Your skin is burning, and your brain will literally fry if you don’t stop. I’ve told you this many times already” you scold him, almost sounding like a mother. -thing you ultimate despise doing- 

Uryu squinted his eyes and looked to the side; “I’ll die if it’s because of this…” he murmurs, sounding even a little whimsical. 

“Plus…” you sigh. “Do you think we should do something like this here?” you continue. 

The Quincy man immediately understands; “Sorry…” 

You plant a peck on his forehead, getting off his lap. Of course, the wet spot on his boxer briefs looks delightful; his erection tenting the fabric, even more. His spasming belly, all his skin covered in sweat… 

“I might need to run to my office, this uniform is – I’m almost naked” you comment, trying to avoid looking at him any longer. You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself if you did. 

You bend over to pick up the bowl of water that fell down your hands. It was supposed to help Uryu cool off, but it only ended up on your uniform. 

“You want me to stop, and you bend that way in front of me. How am I gonna resist that bum?” he cries, and even to him it was a funny appreciation.  

“MY. BUM…?” you turn around, laughing, loudly. It also makes him laugh, and suddenly you were back at that sweet age of seventeen. 

And in between laughter and sneezes, Uryu finally lays back on the bed again. This time you provide him with new cool compresses to manage his high temperature. 

“I need to go back to work, I’ll come check on you as soon as I am free. Ring the bell if something happens, ok?” you tell him before leaving the room, looking both sides the corridor to avoid any people seeing you leave with a ripped uniform and wet to the point of becoming see through. 

You run, with a naughty smirk on your face. It is impossible not to. Your office is just in front, you will be able to change once you get there, fast, easy, and with nobody seeing you. Right? 

“(Name)? what happened to you?” “Dr. Ishida? Uh…”

[to be continued]

[gildedpomegranates]

For the most part, hard agree, and as someone whose favorite interpretation of them is queer platonic, I'm glad to see this talked about more.

However, something that really bothers me about this: there's no restriction on who or how many people you build a life with. I guess it depends on what you classify 'building a life' as, and I may be misinterpreting the original point, but the idea that it's automatically going to be with one person is pretty amatonormative and just... not true for everyone. People can, will, and have built lives with: romantic partners (plural, for some), platonic partners, friends, sisters, brothers, parents, other relatives, communities, pets, business partners, even.

Here's an example: the show Psych (2006) is genuinely one of the best depictions of friendship I've ever seen, and the show ends in a stereotypical way: one of the main characters moves away to be with his girlfriend. Except... his best friend comes with him, because he realizes he doesn't want to live apart. The two are treated by said girlfriend as a 'packaged deal' while still remaining 100% friends.

Here's a more personal one: my sister and I are very close. It's an unspoken thing between us that we want to build a life together. We want to live in the same city. We want to hang out frequently. If either of us ends up having kids, it's an already established notion that the other helps raise them. My sister is also building a life with her romantic partner. Likewise, I want to live together and build a life with my best friend, who in turn wants to build a life with their romantic partner and a handful of other people they love in various ways. In my most ideal world, I live in a large community with everyone I love.

To you, building a life may just mean one partner (romantic or platonic), and that's fine. People should live their lives in the way they want, that will make them happy! But it is not nearly the only way people build lives together.

As for Vander and Silco, I welcome any and all interpretations of them. But saying they don't qualify as 'friends' simply because they were building a life together just... isn't universally true.

The way I see Vander and Silco’s relationship is that they were canonically life partners.

They were each other’s closest loved one. They run the revolution together. The build the Lanes together. It would stand to reason they opened the Last Drop together and lived there together (where else is Silco living and why wouldn’t it be at the headquarters? Even in s2 they were both there after hours with it only being weird that the mom was still there). They had secret hideouts together just for them. They were ready to live a life and die together. They never got over each other or went on to build a life with someone else. They never formed a closer bond with anyone bar the children. They even ended up having a daughter together despite becoming mortal enemies lol.

And whether you see it as a purely platonic partnership or romantic in nature is up to you, it’s all good. But it is so clear they were building a life together. They really do not qualify as ‘friends’.

[ceratedfish24]

Do you think its possible to ship Scott and scar?

I love Scott/Scar!! Scar loves Disney, and Scott loves musicals. They would watch so many movies together. Additionally, in his in-person streams, we can pretty clearly tell that Scott likes to do things while listening to his friends yap and yap and yap. I genuinely think that Scott is one of the few people who would take genuine pleasure in listening to Scar talk about Star Wars. It would be like a podcast that he can chirp in on once in a while. He just enjoys having someone around to talk so passionately about something, while Scott cooks or works on a build or whatnot. Infinite excited yapping + infinite genuine patience is a dynamic we’re all looking for, I feel.

They. Would. Play. DND together. Scar has been wanting to try DND, and Scott plays and DMs! I think Scott would love to teach Scar how to play. Plus, Scott’s patience can be a bit necessary when teaching someone how to play for the first time. Scar really wanted to play DND while dressing up, and I think Scott would match his energy. <3

They’re both very artistic. Their home would be so colorful and covered in art and cats.

Scar may not be the best at staying alive, but that man can be a very deadly player. Scar’s unabashed talent for violence + Scott’s social skills would make a very dangerous combination. Furthermore, Scar is one of the few people to turn down someone else’s sacrifice. Pearl begged for Scar to kill her at the end of Secret Life, but Scar refused to take her life cheaply. Scott’s whole thing is sacrificing himself for his loved ones. Unstoppable force versus immovable object. Scott is NOT used to having somebody who just wants to protect him and take care of him and who people are genuinely intimidated by. I think he would find himself incredibly attracted to protective, unrelenting, charming Scar.

On the other hand, Scar would find himself remarkably attached to loyal, honest, sure-footed Scott. I mean, those all seem to be qualities that Scar really likes in a teammate. Grian, Cleo, and Lizzie have always known exactly what they wanted, and he loved being Grian’s teammate when Grian was loyal to him. Cleo, Lizzie, and Jimmy always knew exactly which team they were loyal to, and they were always open about it. Scott finds communication to be so important, and he’s so loyal that he would rather give up his social game to follow his allies to wherever they’re going as opposed to staying in his comfort zone. He knows exactly what he wants, and he isn’t afraid to fight for it. Scar would appreciate having someone so confident in themselves and in what they want. I think it gives him peace of mind to be sure of people’s loyalties and intentions.

Thank you for the ask!! <3

[cerastes]

Do you feel there are people whom you would agree with politically, whom you consider allies, but they have a really tiresome philosophy?

A worldview where the world is cleanly divided into "oppressed" and "oppressors", where someone is born into one category and can never leave it no matter what they do, and that is it morally superior to be "oppressed" even if that means vilifying any attempt to succeed at life. And they spend less energy on improving the world than on policing speech, and dividing humanity into smaller and smaller collections of combined traits to find new levels of virtue and sinfulness.

What if that defeatist, joyless paradigm is what "other people" call Wokeness?

Mm see, the thing is, yes, I do feel this way with some people, but I also try to temper my feelings on the subject matter based on lived experience, or lack thereof.

What I mean by that is that, in terms of privilege, I have it pretty good: I'm straight, male, cis, without any major disabilities, and I've never faced the possibility of going seriously hungry -- understanding "seriously hungry" as a complete and absolute impossibility of affording a meal no matter how squalid it is -- or homeless at any point of my life.

I've had hardships, for sure, but they have been of a distinctly different nature than the ones we are talking about, with distinctly different consequences. I've never been threatened to be ostracized or killed by my community based on my identity.

On one hand, yeah, I have no interest in people who spouse so intimately these topics to the point it permeates everything they do and say and think. They are, as you said, tiresome. I in fact have stopped talking to some friends who are like that altogether, because I have my own concerns, my own hardships, and most importantly, when I am on my free time, I don't want to listen to the 60th complaint about westerners this and cis people that in any particular day. It doesn't delegitimize whatever valid complaints they have, but, and here's the important part, I don't have to be there for it. I already know these things. Do they bear repeating for the 60th time? See, if they do for anyone in particular, that's fine, but they gotta find the other people that are there for that for the 60th time, that isn't me. Or in other words, I also have a responsibility to not be there for that, and find people that aren't going to do that.

I think actions speak louder than words, so, I try to live my life according to my beliefs, and I respect people that do this as well. Conversely, yapping on and on about something, no matter how important it is, is hollow to me if you aren't backing it up with concrete actions. You can say incredible things in social media or even privately in chat, but also, are you doing something for your community -- in an offline space or an online space -- besides this? Using Tumblr specifically as an example, I have a lot of LGBTQ+ and/or leftist friends IRL that actively participate for the benefit of their respective communities, with tangible actions, and they don't really respect Tumblr because a lot of talk is just talk to them. Conversation isn't unnecessary, mind you, but it can't all remain in Saying The Correct Things So I Can Be On The Moral High Ground. The moral high ground by itself is so useless, lmao, ok buddy you are up there, now what else are you going to do besides reminding us you walked up the stairs? Show me something concrete. Concrete can also be engaging in actual productive conversation rather than repeating the same points over and over to your online audience that already agrees with you.

You know how Mormons and stuff go door by door not as a means to actually convert but instead to build even more dependency on the group by showing them how hostile the rest of the world is? It's kinda like that. Echo chambers are not to my liking.

But.

But.

Here's where we circle back up there. I've not lived a life of oppression. So I think to myself, "man, I've not gone through that, maybe I'd be like that too if I did?" and, putting aside the entire point of Doing Stuff Instead Of Just Saying Stuff, sometimes we do need to Say Stuff. It relieves the weight on our shoulders, decompresses us, it's an important part of it, and maybe some people need to perpetually do that to decompress.

So, I try to see it from another angle: I just don't gotta be there. I know where I stand, and I act according to what I believe is right. Anyone that can vouch for me will do so, I believe, not because of what I preach, but from how I've behaved. And that's what I'll keep doing, Doing Stuff instead of endlessly saying stuff. If there's people that want to endlessly say stuff, it's not really my problem, and instead of I'll simply look for people that Do and Say simultaneously.

TL;DR -> Yes but I don't care too much because it's people I make a point not to be around in the first place, and at the same time, my experience and reality is vastly different so I can only be respectful of those with less ingrained privilege than me in how they go about their tribulations. Does that make sense to you?

[hypertechnica]

i’m not saying that what Odo did in s6 while the dominion occupied the station WASNT fucked up beyond imagination, but am i the only one who thinks it completely makes sense why it happened (and why Kira forgave him?)

to be clear, i absolutely think the show forgave him too fast - it should have been a full arc on screen, not in a single off screen discussion in a closet. that was a massive writing failure. but! i don’t think that the arc is usalvageable at all.

(CW for discussions of grooming)

from what i knew of the dominion collaborator arc before i watched it, i assumed Odo had taken an active role in betraying the federation basically because he was lonely and horny and prioritized his own feelings over his values. i didn’t see that at all.

Odo’s betrayal lied within his inaction - his refusal to help kira and the resistance when she needed him most, ruining their plans and in the end costing thousands of lives. Kira (and everyone else) had every right to never speak to him again - so why did she?

Odo, to me, seemed completely dissociated the entire time his betrayal took place. where just before he had been talking of wanting to rip out his strong feelings for Kira, he then takes on an eerie apathy towards everything, stating things “used to” matter and that he felt nothing. he doesn’t even know how much time is passing. the crux of this, of course, is the link - Odo stresses that it’s an experience that can’t be compared to anything solids can do. Kira just “doesn’t understand.” that she can’t understand. what is so life changing about linking that makes him do a full 180 on everything he’s ever stood for? it’s basically just goo sex, right? right?

the Voice of the Link (the female changeling but i refuse to call her that because it’s a stupid fucking name) is manipulating him with his desire to link and to experience his culture. but linking is more than a metaphor for sex, it’s quite literally the emotional fusion between beings. the show compares it to sex, yes, but the emotional intimacy of the act transcends humanoid notions of sexuality in a way Odo had never experienced at this level before. the Voice already had power over him. she’d been building his trust and teasing him with hints at their culture for seasons at this point, it wasn’t a huge step to fully let her enter his mind. the Voice wanted Odo to join the Great Link - but she also wanted that minefield to be destroyed. Odo says she didn’t find out about their plans, but was he correct? what are the Voice’s true motives? she says she doesn’t care about the details of the war, that she just wants to be with Odo for companionship - i don’t buy it. she has to know about the resistance. she’s too smart to not have figured it out. it’s two birds with one stone - fully sway Odo to the side of the dominion, and ensure that the minefield is destroyed.

they’d linked before, but never in totality or for that length. she knew he’d be vulnerable to it. that he would lose himself to the overwhelming emotional intensity and melding of their minds. Odo was an extremely young changeling with little to no experience linking, and was thrust into an out of body extremely emotional and sexual experience literally transcending the boundaries of self with a thousand+ year old founder who knows exactly what buttons to press. of course he would lose his sense of self and detach from reality! she’s literally both attacking and assuaging every vulnerability Odo has in an extremely precise manner!

Odo wanted nothing more than to be able to link with another changeling but the power imbalance was too great. he was putty in her hands. it was really uncomfortable to watch and i dare say it was an act of predation rather than “Odo was horny and folded immediately” or “Odo was lonely and prioritized that over his friends.” yes, he was both of those things, but in the context of his relationship with the Voice… good lord. i wouldn’t even be surprised if Odo genuinely didn’t know the extent of the damage he caused until after things were over - he was completely and utterly gone.

it makes no sense for Odo to suddenly abandon his entire moral and value system just because The Link Is Cool and Awesome and i’m Learning About my Culture and then change his mind once more once shit starts hitting the fan. he’s not that gullible. he can’t rip out his feelings! but he can be coaxed into a state of derealized semi consciousness by continuous linking and isolation from others.

by linking with the Voice he lost track of where he ended and she began. his ego had been destroyed. he was nothing, and nothing mattered but the link. the totality of it. his loneliness was amplified by a thousand degrees every time they separated, she knew how to make him feel just right, she knew how to make him lose his independence completely.

but the spark within him, his love that he’d tried to get rid of, the kind that didn’t require becoming nothing but a drop in an ocean, saved him from her. Kira helped him remember himself and what he believed in right before it was too late.

Odo is far from a defendable character in many cases. he’s a very very flawed person. but i would argue this isn’t his worst moment. his extremely authoritarian tendencies and the amoral decisions he’s made while in complete sound mind are honestly more culpable to me than what happened to him in s6. the scale of the disastrous consequences resulting from his betrayal make it way worse obviously, but he was literally getting groomed and NOT in his right mind. he seemed almost drugged to me at points.

so he SHOULD have gotten another arc afterwards explaining all of that in detail instead of “well, he talked it out offscreen with Kira. he’s forgiven now!” BRO HE INDIRECTLY KILLED SO MANY PEOPLE dissociated or not he SHOULD face consequences for that!! make him grapple with it!! make him realize the extent of what happened not only the consequences but the the way he was taken advantage of! its literally existentially terrifying in every way! and of COURSE in that context Kira would forgive him. trust would have to be rebuilt, of course, but it’s one thing to actively put the entire alpha quadrant at risk for some strange, it’s another thing to have your vulnerability taken advantage of and be put into a dissociative state.

tldr: the Voice is a great villain and Odo has never done anything wrong ever in his life

[niniwritesxo]

‘goody like you’ pt.3

nam-gyu x fem reader

warnings: mention of drugs & cursing

there you were, sitting in your bunk bed wondering what to do. you didn’t really like making friends but you were pretty fucking lonely right now

might as-well look for some friends i guess.

a few hours later you actually made a friend, myung-gi. he was player 333 and was actually a decent guy, you guys talked about your hobbies, family life and reason why you are here in the first place.

apparently he was a big youtuber who lost a lot of money because of bitcoin, you once heard your older brother talk about it but didn’t really care for it at the time.

you didn’t tell him a lot because why would you? it’s not like you guys are going to be friends after this.

‘‘it feels like i haven’t had food for two days’’ myung-gi begins sitting besides you, grabbing his stomach jokingly.

‘’right? i’ll probably die of starvation instead of these dumb games’’ you jokingly respond looking at him.

just then a loud buzz is heard from the left side of the building, guards with weird shapes on their masks enter the room with what seems like food.

without saying anything everyone stood up and walked towards the guards, they were handing out little boxes with bibimbap (our prayers were answers)

myung-gi and you also jump up and go to stand in line behind all the other contestants.

timeskip

nam-gyu was casually eating his food when his purple haired friend spoke up.

‘‘seems like someone’s got your bitch gyu’’ he says not looking up at nam-gyu, just staring at the duo in front of them.

nam-gyu drops his fork and looks up at thanos, after a few seconds he looks in front of him.

spotting you with player 333, chatting and giggling with him, you looked so ..relieved and careless?

he hated every second of it.

‘‘want to go over there?’’ nam-gyu asks his friend, looking at him with a smug smile, already planning something crazy.

thanos takes a big bite of his food and smiles, still chewing on his food he manages to answer.

‘‘do you even have to ask?’’ thanos smirked, putting his food down and searching for his shoes.

‘‘hey man, sooo tell me. when am i getting my money back?’’ thanos started, walking towards the bunkbed y’all were sitting on.

you look up at the duo in front of you, that purple haired freak and nam-gyu standing beside him with a stupid smile on his face, they were kinda intimidated when they were together, you weren’t scared but still something always feels off when you see them together.

‘‘just ignore them myung-gi, they are like dogs. as long as you don’t acknowledge them, they won’t annoy you’’ you say looking up at myung-gi with a apologetic smile.

‘‘you guys are on name terms huh? fuck dude don’t tell me you fucked her already?’’ nam-gyu finally speaks up mockingly gasping as he says the dumb words.

‘‘i’ve known her for about 10 years and she didn’t let me fuck on-’’ he begins looking at you, waiting for you to explode.

you look up at him, obviously annoyed.

‘‘will you shut the fuck up?’’ you say, glaring at the man in front of you.

before the argument escalated the guards entered the room again, announcing a new game.

thank god.

the men left your bunkbed and went to get ready for the next deadly game.

time skip (after the game)

after the games you were wondering who designed this bathroom?

you were in a dirty dark bathroom, made for woman AND man, god this is horrible.

your bladder was about to explode though, so you HAD to, finding a stall that wasn’t occupied already took you like 5 minutes.

fuck.

when you finished peeing you opened up the door, trying to escape this bathroom as fast as possible when you feel a hand on your shoulder, roughly pushing you back into the stall, before you can react a hand reaches towards your mouth, covering it.

when you look up you spot nam-gyu, he looks pissed, he pushes you against the wall and just looks at you for a few seconds before speaking.

‘’call me a dog one more time and see what happens y/n’’ he warns, glaring at you.

that smirk was nowhere to be found, you actually pissed him off this time, good.

you spot him looking at you, undressing you with his eyes almost.

‘‘aw you don’t like it when girls call you that?’’ you mockingly pout, laughing at your own comment.

and then it happens.

nam-gyu roughly presses his lips against yours, there is nothing romantic about it. it’s almost like he wants to punish you.

he doesn’t pull away and still has you in his grip, which means you also can’t pull back. not being able to breath.

after a few seconds you can feel something entering your mouth, did he fucking spit in your mouth?

no, no it feels like..like a pill?

you don’t know what it is so just keep it under your tongue, just to be sure.

nam-gyu pulls away and looks at you, hatred in his eyes.

‘‘swallow it’’ he demands pointing out the thing he just pushed inside of your mouth.

for some reason you don’t question it and just do as he says, he looked so angry right now, might as-well listen to him.

but why were you turned on by this?

all of the sudden he started laughing but it wasn’t a sweet laugh, he actually looked scary.

‘‘i just gave you ecstasy’’ he says laughing,

‘‘who knew a goody like you would take drugs huh?’’ he says mockingly, treating you like some dumb kid who hasn’t tried anything in their life.

to be honest you weren’t really a ‘experimental’ person so he was kind of right but you would never admit that.

you are caught of guard when you feel his cold ring hit your left cheek, you look up at the touch.

‘‘whatever you do, don’t freak out. just follow my lead’’ he says making direct eye-contact, softly caressing your cheek.

you had no idea what was going on, but you did NOT want him to stop.

(it’s slow burn guys so sorry, in the next chapter there will be smut xo) oh also you are player 217 lollll