#and I will always be emotional about them

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

The cut that always bleed✧.* - what was i made for?

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammatical errors that this story may have.

Y/n L/n was a far cry from Y/n Wayne. Despite both last names, each carrying the weight of a turbulent history, "L/n" felt surprisingly lighter. Both names reminded you of the haunting shadows cast by your mother and father, yet they bore different emotional tolls. As you stood before the mirror, a somber reflection gazing back, you pondered on the 13 years—a whole decade and three more—that seemed squandered on people who couldn't hold your gaze for more than fleeting moments.

Of course, the toll it took on your emotional health was immense, but there was nothing you could do about it. You knew that no matter what you did, you could never capture their attention, not even for a moment. By the age of six, you took up martial arts, hoping your family would be proud of you for sharing their passion. But all you received was a pat on the shoulder from Dick when you won a gold medal.

At ten, you delved into video games, hoping to bond with Tim. You spent four days learning all the rules and knowledge about the game, and two whole weeks mastering it. But when you finally mustered the courage to ask Tim to play with you, he stared at you with bored eyes, barely registering your presence. After twelve minutes of rambling about the game, he sighed, pinched his eyes, and said, "I can't. I'm busy, okay?" before leaving your small room. The video game stayed in a box, forgotten and dirty, for thirteen years, a testament to the same treatment you received over and over.

You took every opportunity, every chance to learn something they were talented in, hoping to catch a glimpse of love in their eyes. But all you got were bored, empty stares. Every hobby you had was dedicated to them, except for one: ballet. The art of dancing, with its sharp and strict moves, dancing on your tiptoes, chin up, and a graceful smile on your face. Nothing could take this away from you, not even Cassandra, who was the apple of her family's eyes as she danced on stage. You loved dancing; it filled your heart with joy and bliss. You believed this was the one thing they could never take from you. That's what you thought.

Ballet demanded strict poise and discipline, watching every bite you took and every drink you swallowed. Your mother was a beautiful woman, enchanting enough to enthrall your father. Her eyes could charm thousands of men and bend their morals to her desire. She was like a siren, captivating men with her ethereal beauty. Your father was no different, dazzling people with his money, perfect white teeth, and undeniable allure. He made heads turn and people giggle at his mere presence. So why did you feel as if you were nothing like them? Created by a goddess and a god, yet you turned out to be so unsightly that your mother sneered and threw you out of her arms, forcing you into the embrace of an unknown man.

You panted lightly, staring at your features in the mirror. Why? Why? Why? Why are you like this? Why can't you feel beautiful? Why can't you be beautiful? Why can't you be a sight for sore eyes like the men and women around you? Their features blended so well with their faces, but you? You felt like a pig with makeup on. You saw beauty in everyone but never in yourself.

Your performance is in about a few more days and you haven't eaten anything healthy for the past 3 days, you're starved, you're pressured, and your family hasn't even answered your text in which you, inviting them to please come watch your performance. Dragging your body to walk home, Alfred unfortunately can't drive you home as he is too busy with work (helping your family with their nightly activities) you hiss as the cold wind blew against your fresh scars-the result of you scratching your face with your nails due to resentment for yourself because of the question in the back of your mind: “why can't you just be good enough?”

The harsh glare of your ballet dance teacher only added more pressure, intensifying the burden on your weak shoulders. You carried the lingering thought that your family didn't care about you and the nagging feeling that you would never be good enough for them. The performance was just a few days away, and you hadn't eaten anything healthy for the past three days. You were starved, pressured, and desperately longing for your family's support. Yet, your texts inviting them to watch your performance went unanswered.

Dragging your exhausted body home, you felt a deep sense of despair. Alfred, who usually drove you home, was too busy with work, assisting your family with their nightly activities. As you walked, the cold wind bit into your fresh scars, the result of scratching your face with your nails out of self-loathing. The question haunted you: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

Your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, each step a reminder of your solitude. The streetlights cast long shadows, mirroring the darkness that seemed to envelop your soul. You could hear the distant laughter of families and friends enjoying their evenings, a stark contrast to the silence that filled your life.

But even though you're killing me

Arriving home, you unlocked the door with trembling hands. The house was quiet, as it always was when you were alone. The once warm and inviting living room now felt cold and unwelcoming. You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a release of the pent-up frustration and sadness. Gasping for breath as you dragged your shivering legs to your cold, small bed room as you dropped your exhausted form to your squeaking bed, staining your pillows with your tears.

I need you like the air I breathe

In your heart, you still held onto a sliver of hope that your family would show up to your performance. You envisioned them in the audience, watching with pride as you executed every move with precision and grace. But reality was harsh, and you knew deep down that their absence would cut deeper than any physical wound. But you needed them. They were the salt to your wounds yet you still crave for their attention. It's not too late right?

Please.

You spent the next few days in a haze, practicing relentlessly for the upcoming performance. Every pirouette, every leap, and every graceful move was tainted by the thought of your family's indifference. You pushed your body to the limit, hoping that the pain would numb the emotional agony. Again, again, again– again y/n! You need to perfect this! This could be the chance for you to prove to them that you're worthy of their attention! That you belong in this family just as much as they do! You can't give up. Stop trembling. Stop acting so weak. If you don't stop acting like a child then maybe they'll eventually throw you out of the house too.

Please

The day of the performance arrived, and you stood backstage, nervously adjusting your costume. Your heart pounded in your chest as you peeked through the curtains, scanning the audience for familiar faces. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that your family was not coming. Your lips trembling, your brain can't fathom the idea of them not coming to this performance—of course you'd expect y/n to be unsurprised by this behavior but it's not fair! You worked so hard for this only for them to answer you with nothing but silence.

I need you more than me

You destroyed yourself for this; for them! You worked every bone in your body and stretched every limb of yours, starved yourself for days, just for them to dismiss your one request to just be there. You just wanted that family where they were all so supportive of you, they all loved and adored you. The worst part is they are just not to you. And you had to learn that the hard way.

I need you more than anything

Summoning every ounce of strength, you stepped onto the stage. The spotlight shone brightly, and for a moment, you felt a surge of confidence. The music began, and you moved with the grace and elegance you had practiced so hard to perfect. Each step was a testament to your dedication, a silent plea for recognition and love. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as a feeling of pain and happiness surged through your chest.

As you danced, the audience watched in awe. To them, you were a vision of beauty and talent. But inside, you felt empty. Every jump, every turn, and every sway of your limb was dedicated to them. With trembling lips you swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the pain in your chest as you play your part of the performance. The applause at the end of your performance was hollow, a reminder that the ones you longed to impress were not there to see it. Backstage, you received praise from your fellow dancers and instructors, but it did little to lift your spirits. You longed for a simple word of encouragement, a sign that your family cared. Instead, you were met with silence. You smiled faintly at them thanking them and exchanging a few compliments here and there. At this moment you couldn't feel anything. You were numb from all the pain you have suffered from this family.

Please, please

That night, as you lay in bed, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of inadequacy. The question echoed once more: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

"Those days are over," you say to yourself as you pack your bags and place your belongings into boxes. You've grown, and after 13 years in the manor begging for scraps of their attention, you've realized that what you want will never become reality. It took you a whole decade and three more years to come to this realization. You shake your head softly and smile sadly. What were you thinking? Of course, they wouldn't care about you. Your normalcy and mediocrity never appealed to them, and you’ve decided those days are finally over. It was time to move out and discover what you were truly meant for.

"What was I made for?"

you ask yourself. This question feels so much better than constantly wondering, "Will they finally look at me?" You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air of your new home. You breathe in and out, closing your eyes for a moment. This was it. You had made it. Slowly, you open your eyes and look at the people surrounding you, those who truly cared for you and saw you through your scars of insecurity, your perfect little hobbies, and your flawed personality. To them, you weren't Y/n Wayne, child of a billionaire, nor Y/n L/n, child of a prostitute. You were just Y/n, who tried so hard, failed, but ultimately succeeded.

The manor has been noticeably quiet for the past few days. The silence weighting discomfort as if something was wrong–as if something was missing. It was surprisingly first noticed by none other than Richard Grayson himself. The first Robin of Batman, the irreplaceable side kick, the first son of Bruce Wayne, and the darling of the crowd whom everyone loves and adore. As he walked through the large halls of the home he grew up in, he felt something was out of place. Like something wasn't in place or rather something was missing. It took him some time to figure it out as the clock ticks

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Aha! He's got it! It was because there wasn't any classic orchestral music playing through the thick walls of the manor. The soft music of pyotr tchaikovsky wasn't heard anywhere around the corners of the walls. That's strange. The sweet melody of violins and cellos wasn't found in any room at all. He didn't know why but it bugged him. He sighs as he disregards it, nevermind he said, must be Alfred playing his favorite old songs. He walks around the manor to look for his siblings and father and somehow stumbled upon this.. Unknown and empty small room. “wow this is.. Something” he muttered under his breath. He inspected the room and saw multiple trophies decorating the room. It was impressive how someone can achieve this many gold medals and such. His gaze traveled across the room and saw a box full of webs and dust, and got interested as he opened it to see an old video game and thought that it must have been Tim's before he decided to throw it away out of boredom. With no more much to do he slid through the doors and whistled his way out of the room, unaware of how many memories a person created in that very same room withering away.

Tim and Damian recognized the absence of humming and the pattern of footsteps that used to echo around the house from an unknown room. The silence made them uncomfortable. They had grown so accustomed to the faint noise that it had somehow brought them comfort. The melodic lullaby of humming painted a serene picture of paradise, lulling them easily to sleep—a struggle they had faced all their lives as vigilantes, or in Damian's case, as an assassin. Their heartbeats aligned with the rhythm of the faint noise.

For Tim, it was a sweet form of salvation from the demons that haunted his nights and kept him from a good night's sleep. For Damian, it was the comfort he never knew, a stark contrast to the heavy stare of his grandfather and the weight of expectations placed on his shoulders by his mother's watchful gaze.

Jason couldn't care less about what happens around that manor. He hated that place. It made him rethink all the moments he wished he could take back. Jason Todd is a hateful man but a good soldier. He destroys in order to protect. He kills in order to let another live. A morally gray person. In his eyes he was what Bruce wayne–Batman couldn't be. But even a man who goes out at night to protect needs a break. So when he came to the manor and went straight to the library and saw that the usual piled up classic books weren't to be seen at their usual spot he found it.. Unsettling per say. The books written by Jane Austen that were filled with marked pages, sticky notes, and annotations not found in the main table of the room were strange to him. He didn't even know who did it but it made him feel like he was home. The silly doodles and random words written on the sticky notes, careful not to dirty the book, made him chuckle every time he saw it; so where was it now?

Cassandra was into ballet. She grew up silenced, observing others, forever cautious. as to why she expresses herself through dancing: ballet. A moment where she can breathe and let go. Where she can freely pour her heart into dancing. Every point, every movement, she releases her unsaid emotions. She was raised that way. Except then she was thought to swallow her words and release her pent up emotions into bad things instead of gracefully dancing. She was completely in love with dancing. Whenever she went to collect her ballet shoes there's always an extra bandage, extra shoes played on the floor. She never knew why and she never questioned it. Just ignored it. But now she somehow froze at her spot to see nothing but her shoes and not next to the light pink ones that had a small bow to compliment its design. Ever so stunning; the person who wears it must have been the same kind of persona-wait.. Person? There's another one.. Oh.

Bruce Wayne was a busy man. By day, he handled his company, Wayne Enterprises. His days were filled with paperwork, meetings, and managing marketing strategies. But by night, he never slept. No, he donned the mantle of Batman, the prince of Gotham City, the guardian of Lady Gotham. He didn't have time for anything he deemed unworthy of his attention. He noticed every tiny mistake, be it at work or on the streets of Gotham. At work, he spotted grammatical errors and unstraightened lines of decorative mugs. As Batman, he detected the slightest hint of lies in a criminal's eyes. So, yes, he noticed that something—or rather, someone—from the manor was missing.

As dick whistled his way out of the room unable to find his family members, he decided to go to the batcave and have a little fun while being alone. He did all things he could think of. Look for more cases to solve, dig some stuff out criminal records, blah blah blah.. Then he decided to check the manor's CCTV.

As dick was checking the cctv's of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage-about 2 weeks ago of a person..? Packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible.. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates, it's impossible. Unless..

Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled and his eyes dilated..

It can't be.

You.. Y-..y/n? What were you doing? Where are you going? He bit his lips harshly as he watched the footage like a hawk. His hands came to fidget with his hair. Was that really you? You look so grown.. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered on what you were doing. After a matter of time he somehow remembers. Oh yeah! Your contact number. His hands trembling, in a hurry he pressed your name in his phone and.. Shoot. His eyes widened at the several missed calls and texts from you. Not even a single response from him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he talked to you? Like, really talked to you? He quickly text you “heyy baby birdddd I miss you! Let's hang out right now!” while biting his thumb as he bounced his thighs up and down from anticipation. And then suddenly.. He remembers! The room! It was yours! Before he even knew it, he was quick on his feet and ran like a mad man towards your room. He panted slightly at the face of your door and harshly opened your room unaware of his strength. He went through every corner of your room. He explored every side of your room to find something-anything that can give him even a spoil of information about you. And that was when he found a tiny pink notebook. He chuckled softly, out of breath, hair messed up like a mad man but dick didn't care, no because he finally found your one and only diary! Filled with bows and pink glitters.. Hah..you were so cute. He went through your diary, invading your privacy and saw all of the things you've said. The way you praised him, the way you adored your family, your little adventures, your previous ballet performances (you did ballet? Wow, you're just so talented.. Oh his little bird.) he suddenly heard a high pitched ping! And scrambled to his phone as he expected a response from you but instead all he was met with was “y/n has blocked you”.

What..? Why? Didn't you want to spend time with your precious big brother? His blood shot eyes twitched and sweat ran down from his face. The suddenly a deep voice said:

“dick? What's going on here?”

Note: as promised! Here is the chapter yall asked forrr tell me what you guys think!

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I’ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you…” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[anto-pops]

Envy's Grip - Sylus x Female!Reader

Summary: There was no field guide on how to handle your best friend coming back to life. But in hindsight, maybe keeping it from your crime lord boyfriend wasn’t the best course of action. 

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, rough sex, miscommunication (kind of), a sprinkle of jealous Sylus (or as jealous as he can be, he knows he's fine)

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3

Sylus was perceptive. 

It wasn’t a new trait, by any means. He had always been annoyingly aware of everything. Sometimes it seemed like he knew your own thoughts before you voiced them– though he insisted you were just easy to read and that it had nothing to do with him using his Evol to his advantage. Now was one of those times where you could tell he was scrutinizing you from afar, having picked up on the influx of emotions that overwhelmed your mind and left your body tense. 

Caleb was alive. 

The revelation had left you breathless– utterly at a loss for words as you had stared at him standing before you whole and well. Well, almost whole. The mechanical arm had thrown you for a loop, but it was his eyes that had broken down the wall of doubt between the two of you. Those bright, violet irises silently conveyed a lifetime of emotion that told you then and there that somehow, someway, your childhood friend was back from the dead. 

How the hell were you supposed to go about your day after discovering something like that? 

When Sylus had asked you the day after what had you looking so dreary, you had waved off his concern with a lie. “There’s a mandatory work meeting next weekend. All my plans with Tara are ruined.” 

He had furrowed his brow at that statement, evidently confused as to why he hadn’t heard anything about your weekend plans up until that moment. You were terrible at lying, and it felt awful to do it– especially with Sylus. You had just prayed that he would overlook your nervous behavior and let you get away with it. 

That same day, Sylus’ eyes had narrowed during lunch while you’d chewed your own nails off in favor of the roast he had cooked for the two of you, but you had done your best to play off the anxious habit as something else work related. Then you had jumped– actually jumped– when he’d walked into the living room while you’d zoned out staring at a wall, his sudden presence jerking you back to the present with your heart hammering and your eyes wide. 

“You need to wear a bell,” was all you had said when he’d asked why you were so jumpy. His lips had pursed while he’d worked a muscle in his jaw, opting to keep his innermost thoughts to himself. 

Then there was right now; your form was sloppy, and your shoulder was aching from the lack of control you threw your punches with. The boxing bag hanging from the ceiling of Sylus’ home gym swayed towards you listlessly, the lack of power in your attacks barely causing the chain to rattle the way it normally would. Using your gloved hand, you halted the bag’s momentum, your chest heaving as you drew in deep, steadying breaths to ground yourself. The sweat that dripped down your temples chilled your otherwise heated skin, and you hastily wiped the moisture away using the back of your forearm before swallowing thickly. 

You were a mess.

As you turned to make your way to the edge of the ring for your water bottle, Sylus tracked your movements with predatory-like precision. He didn’t blink, didn’t shift from his spot against the wall. It hardly looked like he was even breathing. The floor to ceiling mirrors that lined the entirety of the gym clued you in on the dark expression that crossed his face the second you turned your back to him, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the air vent overhead snaked its way down your spine. 

“How do I put this nicely…” Sylus’ deep, throaty timbre reverberated off the walls, and you did your best to ignore him as you brought your bottle to your lips. “The way you’re performing now, you’re on par to fight a toddler.” 

Prick. Water dribbled down your chin as you tightened the water cap and set the container down. “That’s what the practice ring is for. Practice. I’m not trying to show out.” 

“No, clearly you’re not. You’re trying to distract yourself.” 

Ever the discerning crime lord. “I’m working out, Sylus. Since when does that require perfect form?” Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at his reflection in the mirror. “More importantly, why are you just standing there watching? It’s weird.” 

He feigned disinterest by looking at his nails, a move that infuriated you as much as it intrigued you. Sylus always looked so effortlessly handsome. The sight of him posted up against the wall with his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest almost distracted you from the rampant thoughts about Caleb that had plagued your brain for the last two days. Almost. “You might be ‘practicing’, but you’re doing yourself a disservice by not utilizing your full potential. That stance is pathetic, and your punches couldn’t hurt a fly. To add insult to injury, you already know all of this.”

“And I really don’t care. Go find Kieran or Luke if you want to criticize someone, I’m not in the mood.”

Sylus went quiet behind you as you began unstrapping your gloves, and a few beats of silence passed before you lifted your gaze back to the mirror. He was staring at you intently, ruby red eyes flickering darkly and narrowing. It wasn’t exactly the expression he wore when he was angry– not when it still hid a sliver of possessive longing within his dark pupils. But even so, it was enough. You felt arousal curling hot in your gut at the sight, and Sylus’ eyes flicked up to your damp hair clinging to your forehead as a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Then what are you in the mood for?” Sylus purred the question, pushing off the wall to stalk over to the boxing platform. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked, tossing it haphazardly over the rope barrier before effortlessly hoisting himself up and stepping into the ring. “Want me to leave you alone? Completely? Back off and let you think about your long lost friend in peace?” 

Oh, shit. 

Your mouth fell open at the realization that he knew. How? When had he found out? Your mind whirred with the possibilities and your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your skin and imbuing you with an overwhelming sense of guilt. It had never been like that with Caleb, but did Sylus know that? Did he think the worst? How much of the impromptu reunion was he aware of? 

“Cat got your tongue, kitten?” He goaded you further, prowling towards you without an ounce of hesitation. You held up your palms towards him as though to stop him, but he captured your smaller hands in his larger ones and threaded your fingers together, pulling you against his chest with a throaty chuckle devoid of any humor. “Did you really think I didn’t know why you’ve been so out of it lately?” 

“Sylus, I–” you stopped yourself, indignant anger taking root as you realized he had somehow invaded your privacy. “Did you follow me? You ass! How do you even know about that?”

He ignored your pointed line of questioning and pressed on with his brows furrowed. “Were you ever planning on telling me? Or would you have kept quiet and silently debated on whether or not rushing back to his side is a good plan?”

“What? Don’t you dare turn this back on me, you spied on me!” 

“I was in the city on business. Nothing special, but I wanted to stop by to see you once I was done. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in the park with him on the way to my meeting.” 

You tsk’d in annoyance, rolling your eyes in disbelief. “Business. It’s always business with you. Why does it matter that I didn’t immediately run to you to fess up about my friend not being dead?” 

“Because you lied to me.” The way he growled the blatant fact made your retort die in your throat. The anger that had burned hot in your veins cooled instantly, and you blanched as Sylus continued icily. “Taking your time to process it? That I can understand. But you looked me right in my eyes and came up with some half-assed excuse about work. You didn’t trust me with this, even though we agreed we would always be honest with one another.” 

You stammered, “Sylus, wait– I wasn’t–” 

He let go of one of your hands to capture your chin in his firm grip, forcing your eyes to meet his as he stared down at you. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was unrelenting, and the angle left you wholly at his mercy as he slipped his other hand around your back to hold you flush to him. “You weren’t what? Keeping secrets? Giving me unwarranted attitude?”

“None of this is your business!” You jerked your head out of his hold and wedged your hands between the two of you, shoving him away so abruptly that the tiniest grunt escaped his lips. Your eyes were frantic as you exclaimed, “I wouldn’t have left– I just– dammit! Just give me a minute here!”

He gave you ten seconds of uninterrupted silence. The tense kind that set your teeth on edge and made your skin crawl. Then you looked back at him, shocked to discover an icy cool expression painted across his sharp features. The unyielding wall that had existed between you both when you’d first met had been reconstructed in record time, the lack of warmth in his eyes speaking volumes of how he really felt. 

“Take all the time you need, Miss Hunter.” 

When he turned his back to you and started towards the ropes, your heart nearly gave out as your stomach plummeted into your feet. He couldn’t walk away from this– not after he had implied the worst without letting you explain. You had no clue how he even knew about Caleb, but clearly Sylus assumed your relationship with him was something more, and it scared you to think that your lover doubted you. Worse, that he doubted himself. 

Your body acted of its own accord, carrying you forward fast enough that you were able to coil your fingers around Sylus’ thick wrist. He stopped dead in his tracks, but he didn’t turn to look at you. On instinct, you darted around him so you were standing before him, then rose up onto the tips of your toes so you could crush your lips to his. 

Sylus’ reaction was slow; he inhaled sharply before his hands slowly came to the back of your neck, holding your mouth to his as an animalistic growl resonated from deep within his chest. He stepped closer to you, blindly leading you towards the edge of the ring until you felt your back press against the ropes, and Sylus used the newfound barrier to his advantage and rolled his hips against yours while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth. It was equal parts suffocating and exhilarating. Your every sense was overtaken by him– his heady scent, the muscular feeling of him, the guttural sounds he made as he devoured you. 

Sylus’ lips trailed away from yours to mouth wetly at your jaw, and your head fell back as a raspy moan escaped you when he ground his hips into you. The hard length of him was tangible through his dress pants, and the thin pair of leggings you wore did little to deter the feeling. Your hands drifted down his toned biceps and along his taut stomach before your fingers curled tellingly over his belt buckle. The tug you gave the leather material was ardent, your desires taking over your better judgement. Rational thinking had suggested you talk things out with Sylus like adults. To speak to him about loyalty and remind him that he had nothing to worry about as far as Caleb was concerned. 

But bringing up Caleb right now was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. Fucking like adults might also do the trick. 

An airy whimper sounded from you as Sylus roughly brushed your hands away from his belt, taking control of the situation and yanking your sweat-soaked t-shirt over your head. Your sports-bra went next, and the peaks of your breasts pebbled in response to the cold air surrounding you. When you blinked up at the man through hazy eyes, his own orbs were dark and hooded, and the way he licked his lips made you want to kiss him again badly. You weren’t far gone enough to think you deserved it yet, though– not even when Sylus leaned forward to start mouthing down your throat, his tongue trailing against your sweat-slick skin as he descended lower and lower. 

Just when you thought Sylus would end up on his knees in front of you, he was back to his full height. He wasted little time taking you by the hips and assertively guiding you down to the floor of the boxing ring. Dazed, you blinked up at the white haired man, staring at him long enough to catch sight of the strained expression he hid behind his calm facade. It almost looked like he was pained. It confused you, but questioning it wasn’t possible once Sylus shuffled down to settle between your legs. 

You felt his blunt nails scrape against your hip bones as he tugged your panties and leggings away, tossing both of them aside before laying flat between your bent knees. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t talking with you the way he normally would when the two of you were intimate. In fact, there wasn’t anything that was intimate about this aside from you being fully exposed to him. There he was, fully clothed between your legs and inches away from your womanhood, and yet not a lick of warmth emanated from him. 

Suddenly, your morose thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Sylus licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, your breath catching as the man took care to add a sinful amount of pressure to your bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you managed to wheeze, your hands flying to Sylus’ soft locs as he wrapped his lips around your clit, then sucked hard enough that your back arched off the floor. Another rough moan escaped you as Sylus splayed his fingers against the underside of your thigh and dug his nails into the tender flesh there. He did the same with your other leg, and the bruising strength he held your legs apart with was something that enticed you as much as it confused you. 

Make no mistake: rough sex with Sylus was always phenomenal, and it was most definitely something you enjoyed partaking in. But there was a missing puzzle piece here– something irregular that had your heart weighing heavy in your chest as you gazed breathlessly to the ceiling. 

You wished Sylus would say something. He hadn’t since you had grabbed for him just minutes prior, nor had he let you undress him like you’d wanted to. The disappointing memory of him crudely swatting your hands away from his belt returned to you then and imbued you with a lingering sense of remorse. Shit, you would settle for him just looking at you by this point. Anything other than the cold, rigid version of your lover before you now. 

Unbeknownst to your internal turmoil, Sylus sat back on his haunches and slid his hands to your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach and allowing for him to manhandle your legs apart. Part of you wanted to protest against the position, but then you felt your lover begin to mouth hotly down your spine and press chaste kisses to your warm skin, and your inhibitions started to melt. It was the first real show of Sylus’ softer side. The gentle press of his index finger against your entrance further derailed your train of thought, and as Sylus slowly breached your fluttering walls with the digit, you couldn’t help but breathe out a soft moan.  

The tenderness left you shaking– trembling–  for more. 

As Sylus started to pump his finger slowly, he took care to remain incredibly attentive to the way you wriggled and keened for more, your face half-buried in the crook of your arm. His free hand came to rub soothing circles against your hip as he gingerly added a second finger to join the first, and the tantalizing stretch had you gasping and squeezing your eyes shut. “F-Fuck, Sylus,” you mumbled, the words muffled slightly by your own arm pressed against your lips. 

You felt Sylus lean forward, his warm breath fanning across your ear as he asked, “Does it feel good?” 

You rocked your hips back onto the fingers easing you open, nodding and gasping breathlessly as the crime lord pressed against your inner walls incessantly in search of that one spot he knew would reduce you to a babbling mess. It didn’t take long for him to find it. Before long, Sylus slid his fingers deeper and curled them up, and the sudden jolt of pleasure that ran through you caused you to mewl your lover's name loudly. 

Taking your reactions as his cue, Sylus proceeded to work you with his fingers faster, brushing the pads of his digits over that magical spot within you every time without fail. The overwhelming sensations left your body quaking as fiery hot arousal coursed through your veins, the beginnings of your climax festering in your gut. As blissful as it was, you had no desire to end things like this; on your knees and with your back to Sylus while he used his damn hands to undo you. 

Blearily, you pushed yourself up with your arms, craning your head around to stare at the man through your lashes. “C-Come on, Sylus,” you implored him weakly. “Please?” 

Sylus met your gaze for the briefest of moments, his eyes dancing away before you could get a good look at him. He mercifully withdrew his fingers, trailing the appendages against your inner thighs and inducing a wave of goosebumps along your skin, then sat back to begin removing his clothing. It was methodical– swift, even. All you could do was watch in the reflection of the mirror as Sylus stripped himself bare without your aid, tossing his clothes off to the side of the boxing ring before returning to his kneeled position behind you. 

Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair dejectedly, accepting that Sylus’ colder nature was your own fault. How could you blame him? Beyond keeping the truth about Caleb from him, you had pushed him away when he’d tried to get close to you. It didn’t look good for you, and you found yourself lowering yourself back to the ground with your face buried in the crook of your arm. Whether you were hiding from Sylus or your own embarrassment, you didn’t know. 

As Sylus lined himself up with your wet entrance, the tiniest sigh escaped him when the blunt head of his cock rubbed softly against you. His firm, warm hands settled on your hips as he asked, “Ready?” 

You could sass him, or rush him along, or just generally be an ass to him in response to him being so closed off, but you didn’t. The air between the two of you was different than it was before, even though Sylus was keeping all his sweetness to himself. You told yourself that you didn’t deserve it anyways and nodded shakily. 

At your confirmation, Sylus sighed and squeezed your hips, then began to sink his thick, perfect cock deep inside of you with slow, gentle thrusts. You gasped and hid your face in your arms, rocking back onto the larger man as you muffled needy little noises against your skin. When Sylus bottomed out, he moaned and ran his hands up your sides, over your ribs, so gentle and so fucking nice that you kind of wished he would just rail you through the floor of the ring. How amazingly soft he was being while distancing himself was making your chest ache. 

It didn’t last long, thankfully. When Sylus gave an experimental roll of his hips and found you more than a little eager for his cock, he groaned and pulled back farther before ramming his dick into you, and the way you cried out for it covered the throaty moan that had escaped his lips. The crime lord set the pace just like that; hard and fast, impaling you and wringing gasping cries out of you easily. The arch of your back let Sylus’ cock slide along your sweet spot with every rough thrust, and the feeling had your eyes fucking crossing. 

It was too good. Your thoughts were crashing, noisy moans sounding from you freely. You were entirely sure you were drooling all over the padding of the ring’s floor, but you didn’t really care when Sylus was fucking you so thoroughly. The fingers digging into your hips pulled you back hard even as Sylus pounded his cock into your wet, tight heat, leaving you completely and utterly helpless for it. 

You didn’t know if Sylus had a cruel streak or a merciful one, because eventually he peeled one hand off of your hip and wound it immediately into your hair, and then you knew you were fucked. So very fucked. And not just by the cock driving you crazy. 

Sylus yanked your hair– just a little on the side of painful– and you couldn’t help the way you fucking wailed Sylus’ name, your thighs shaking and your hips slamming back into his fast thrusts. When he pulled again, you obediently scrambled up onto your weak hands, your shoulders trembling and your stomach churning with wanton pleasure. Sylus leaned down and moaned in your ear, his grip on your hair unrelenting as he urged, “Say my name, say my name for me, come on…” 

You didn’t even have to think about it. You leaned your head back against Sylus’ shoulder and gasped his name over and over, your voice pitched high and desperate from the way his cock owned you so perfectly. Sylus’ soft sounds were driving you mad for him, eager to hear his voice again, to hear the white haired man tell you how good you were. The hand pulling at your hair made it impossible to form words, though, save for the increasingly needy cries of Sylus’ name and shaky iterations of please, please, please. 

The floor of the boxing ring creaked as Sylus pressed the two of you back down against its surface to speed up, his hips slapping against your ass so aggressively that you couldn’t help but scream for him, the pleas coming in shaking sobs. 

Even though Sylus was so thoroughly possessing you and fucking his cock straight into your cervix, something was still keeping you from getting close. It felt so good, absolutely amazing, but you couldn’t finish like this. Not when Sylus was biting his lip against his own noisy moans. Not when Sylus hadn’t said your name once this entire time. Not when Sylus had yet to look you in the eyes. 

Whining, you turned your head forward so you could look at him in the reflection of the mirror straight ahead. The muscles of his back rippled with effort as he continued pumping his hips, and his own forehead was pressed into your shoulder so he didn’t have to look at you. The change in your breathy sounds caught his attention, however, and Sylus slowed his hips to a rough grind to give the two of you a damn break. He finally lifted his dark, fucked-out gaze to yours, and proceeded to finally made eye contact with you in the mirror. Even hazy with lust, you could still pick out the hurt in Sylus’ eyes. 

You had put that there. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered and spread your fingers out against the padded floor, an unspoken invitation. After a long moment of consideration, Sylus mouthed at your sweat-slick shoulder and carefully unwound his fingers from your tangled hair to twine them together with yours. You gripped his hand tight and shivered for him, rocking back into now-gentle thrusts with a soft moan of his name. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you breathed, looking back at Sylus from over your shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sylus.” 

He stilled then, his free hand moving to tenderly brush your sweaty bangs out of your eyes. He didn’t respond yet, though, instead pulling out entirely to ease you over onto your back. 

Winding your violently trembling legs loosely around his waist, you wiggled as Sylus leaned back over you and aligned himself with your throbbing center once again. When he slid home, it was slow and easy, leaving the two of you gasping. To make things even better, Sylus reached over to grab both of your hands before lacing your fingers together again, balancing easily on his elbows so his chest was nearly flush to yours. It was so close, so damn intimate, and so much better than you deserved that you couldn’t even begin to hope for anything more. 

Sylus was so kind, though. He was thoughtful and courteous and so damn sweet, and he nudged your nose with his own before he finally kissed you again, thank god. You whimpered pitifully, squeezing his hands while he slid his tongue easily between your lips, deepening the kiss and drawing a keening moan from your sore throat. 

This time, Sylus’ thrusts were steady and slow, following an even tempo that left you sputtering against his lips. 

It was a world apart from earlier. Before, Sylus had been fucking you, marking you like you were his territory, holding back even as he let loose some wild, animalistic part of himself brought on by you pushing him away. 

Now, by some grace from god or by virtue of Sylus’ incredible capacity for dealing with your shit, it was like he was making love to you, his cock continuing to fill you up so good but just slow enough that you had time to understand how amazing he made you feel. Sort of. As much as you could understand when you were whispering Sylus’ name against his lips, your voice still rough from screaming and hitching audibly when he thrusted into you. 

You swallowed thickly to coat your dry throat, then opened your eyes to stare up at him again. 

Sylus had pulled back enough that he could see the faces you were making perfectly, how flushed your cheeks were, and how watery your eyes were. Being watched so intimately caused you to flush darker, and you closed your eyes again and arched your back with a broken groan when Sylus’ cock slid over your sweet spot once again. 

“Sylus,” you moaned, sliding your thighs further up his sides and spreading them wider. “Sylus, you’re so good…”

You felt as Sylus bumped your noses together again, squeezing your hands with a contented sigh. You were more than okay with the pace things were moving at, especially once your lover brushed his lips against your cheeks so incredibly tenderly and thrust deeper into you. Spine rounding again, you let loose a shuddering gasp before your mouth fell open with an airy whisper of Sylus’ name. 

“You look so good like this,” Sylus purred, the sound of his voice sending you reeling once again. It was beyond unfair how Sylus had you wrapped around his finger. You instinctively tightened around his cock, and the lecherous moan the action pulled from him made your stomach flip. He chuckled softly shortly thereafter and squeezed your hands again, “So pretty, you know that, kitten? And you take me so well, with the prettiest little noises. God, the noises you make…” 

You were losing your fucking mind. You rolled your head to the side with a bitten-back whimper, your body rocking perfectly into Sylus’ thrusts. There was no way you could have known that the way Sylus whispered to you would set you so on edge, but you had missed it so badly in the seemingly endless period of time you’d had to go without it. Sylus’ praises made you so hot, so damn brainless that you didn’t know what to do with yourself, and the bastard knew it. When Sylus sped up, you were still helpless– still unable to do anything other than gasp your lover’s name into the humid air between you both. 

Even as he smiled down at you and chuckled at the way you fell apart, Sylus’ own voice was growing breathier, his moans louder. Apparently you weren’t the only one so deeply affected. 

“I can feel you getting close, kitten,” Sylus moaned against you, his hips moving in deep, quick thrusts that filled you up easily. You licked your lips and cracked open your bleary eyes to watch as Sylus’ brows pinched together in response to your walls clamping down on his cock harder. With a stammered moan of your name, Sylus’ head drooped between his shoulders as he murmured, “You feel incredible. You’re so good for me.” 

That was what you needed more than anything. Sylus moaning your name while his thrusts picked up with more force, his teeth worrying his lip as he fought against his bone-deep urge to finish. Your name spoken by Sylus would forever be your favorite sound, and hearing it now was driving you straight to the edge and building your orgasm up quickly in your gut. Your moans spiked into breathy cries, your muscles tensing and twitching in earnest. Unable to stop yourself, you started to beg, “S-Sylus, Sylus, I’m almost– I’m– please, Sylus–”

Sylus obliged your senseless word babble. He untangled your fingers from his so he could sit up on his heels, looping his arms under your back to bring you with him. With you balanced easily in his lap, Sylus kept one arm around your midsection while the other came to grip your hip before he started thrusting again, his cock angling up and hitting you so deep and so perfect that you were certain you were seeing stars. Your hands flew frantically to Sylus’ toned shoulders, your nails digging in for purchase as that telltale sensation in the pit of your stomach grew stronger and more potent. 

Once Sylus breathed your name again, his voice trailing off into a raspy, rumbling moan, it was more than enough to carry you over the edge. 

Your breasts pressed into Sylus’ chest as your spine arched, your climax crashing over you violently and rendering your brain useless. Sylus groaned long and loud as you clenched impossibly further around his cock, and as you clung desperately to him and buried your face into the crook of his neck, he managed to thrust once, then twice, before he came with a shuddering groan. 

Sylus curled around you possessively and ground against you mindlessly, his large hands gripping you so tightly that you were certain they would leave bruises in their wake. He continued to mumble your name breathlessly into your ear as the two of you came down together, and eventually you were able to think through the pleasured fog that still tinged your vision. 

You continued to breathe heavily, your limbs shaking and twitching as you clenched your eyes shut and continued to hide your looming shame in the crook of Sylus’ neck. The only thing that pulled you out of your makeshift cocoon was the feeling of the larger man’s lips pressing against the top of your head, and you jolted almost violently at the attention. 

“Damn, sweetie,” Sylus said roughly, his hand trailing up your bare back to hold the nape of your neck. “You’re still shaking an awful lot. Are you alright?” 

You were silent for a long time, trying and failing to get your breathing under control again while Sylus simply cradled you. There was nothing you wanted more than to keep holding him, to keep him from leaving you and walking away, but as the dust settled around the two of you, you remembered how bad you had actually fucked up. So you waited for Sylus to release you, to stop mumbling sweet nothings into the top of your head, to banish you from his home entirely and send you back to Linkon City. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. He surprised you by lowering his own head so it was right beside yours, using his chin to gently nudge you out of your hiding spot in his shoulder so he could look at you. “I’m going to need an answer, sweetie, because I’m becoming increasingly worried that I hurt you.” 

“I’m sorry, Sylus,” you mumbled, avoiding meeting his gaze in favor of directing your words to his chest. Your voice was meek and pitiful, and your lower lip trembled as you tried and failed to fight the influx of tears that welled in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

At first, Sylus was quiet. You felt his arms slide away from your back, and for a split second you were convinced that he was going to shove you away and end things with you then and there. But then his hands reappeared between the two of you, tentatively cupping your jaw to angle your face up at him. He looked at you curiously, sweeping his thumb under your eyes to catch the stray tears that slipped down your cheeks. His voice was calm and gentle when he finally asked, “What exactly are you apologizing for?” 

“For lying to you. For saying those hurtful things. I know I was overwhelmed by Caleb just… showing up the way he did, but that was no excuse for being so cruel to you.” You swallowed, your brow furrowing as you stared up at the literal love of your life and became overtaken by a fresh dose of remorse. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want Caleb. I don’t want you to think that you’ve been some replacement for him this entire time because I never had feelings like that for him. I should have been honest from the jump instead of getting so defensive. I’m really, really sorry, Sylus.” 

Sylus seemed to mull your confession over– always so careful about picking his words. It was a trait that you could certainly stand to learn from, if only you could manage to stop talking out of your ass for five seconds. 

“I didn’t exactly broach the subject with you delicately,” he admonished with a grimace. “I didn’t stop to consider that your childhood friend was back from the dead. I just assumed the worst and jumped head first into the conversation with that thought driving me. So for that, I’m sorry.” 

A watery smile stretched across your face, and you wrapped your arms around Sylus’ waist with your ear pressed against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing your previously frayed nerves. “So does this mean you forgive me?” 

To your mild surprise, Sylus laughed. Softly, and far from the mean-spirited kind. He returned your embrace eagerly, tracing small circles against your back with his fingers as he shook his head to himself. “There’s hardly that much to forgive. You’ve said worse things to me in the past, remember?” 

“Don’t make me beg. Just answer the question.” 

“Yes, kitten. I forgive you.” 

Sighing contentedly, you felt Sylus press a quick kiss to your forehead before holding you tighter to him, then he rose swiftly and easily, not at all slowed down by hoisting you up along with him. You yelped a little in alarm and wrapped your legs around his waist, entirely at his mercy as he somehow managed to duck under the ropes of the boxing ring with you coiled around him like a baby monkey. “Where are we going?” 

“To shower. I have every intention of making the most of your apologetic mood. And I think I might like to see you beg a little.” 

You sat upright in his firm hold, placing your hand on his chest to put a modicum of space between the two of you. “But you said you forgave me! What about Luke and Kieran?! Your room is on the other side of the house– Sylus, we’re naked!” 

Undeterred, Sylus flashed you his trademark smirk– the one that never failed to lower your inhibitions. “Oh, I forgive you. But since I have heard worse things from you before, the way I see it is you can go ahead and earn some more forgiveness while you’re at it.” 

Anxious beyond belief at the prospect of the twins seeing you in the nude, you shoved at Sylus more and scrambled to get out of his hold. He was having none of it, however, and swiftly readjusted his grip so he could toss you over his shoulder, your rear on full display in the event anyone crossed paths with the two of you. When you frantically started kicking your legs and hitting his back, he returned the motion with a playful slap to your ass that pulled a loud yelp from your lips. 

You loved the man with all your heart. You truly couldn’t fathom yourself ever leaving him, nor could you imagine your life without him. He brought a certain excitement to your otherwise dull day-to-day that you treasured and valued endlessly. 

But be that as it may, you were so, so going to kill him for this. 

[josephbrassey]

I think about this a lot and I think it’s actually not something you can control for, because the nature of stories is to put the audience in the shoes of the protagonist by evoking aspects of human experience that anyone can identify with.

The problem is that people are going to identify with the difficulties and struggles the protagonist has experienced whether they’ve experienced the proportionately similar trials of bigotry making them feel less for their whole lives or the relatively **much** more minor feeling of having one person be mean to them in the hallway in their school. Because everyone experiences negative emotions. Everyone experiences being treated poorly. It’s just a matter of degree.

If you’re a marginalized kid who’s been hated by the society around you your whole life, you’re gonna identify with the outsider protagonist, because you’ve experienced being an outsider.

But if you’re a privileged kid whose strongest negative experience was being made fun of one time by an adult or a parent or another kid, you are **also** gonna identify with the outsider protagonist, because that experience—even though it was objectively way less intense or all-consuming—still makes you think you’ve experienced being an outsider.

Also, people identify with protagonists who look like them. Privileged white people have always had protagonists who look like them.

And lastly, people identify with the protagonist of any story because it’s the nature of a good story to make you identify with the protagonist. So if you show a bully a story about an underdog, he’s gonna identify with the underdog, because the underdog is the main character, and the bully also feels like the main character.

I dunno, I’m not sure there’s a way around this problem. It hinges on a lack of media literacy (something most people don’t have a lot of anyway) and the nature of stories.

Wish I could figure it out though.

[d-z20]

The Therapist's Touch (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You sought out Dr. Harkness for clarity, for someone to help untangle the mess in your mind. But as your sessions progress, the line between guidance and something far more intoxicating begins to blur.

- OR -

Agatha manipulates you and your mind and uses it as a way to start fucking you in the name of 'therapy'

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, smut, Dark Agatha, gaslighting, manipulation, other toxic behaviour, fingering (R recv), praise kink, lots of 'good girl', talking through orgasm, mild choking at the end

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains dubcon smut, gaslighting, and manipulation so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

You met Dr. Harkness after a particularly bad week. You hadn’t been sleeping, your thoughts a tangled mess of self-doubt and frustration. Friends—if you could even call them that anymore—had started pulling away, and work was becoming unbearable. It was one of those situations where you weren’t sure if you were the problem or if everyone else was. You needed clarity. You needed someone to untangle the mess in your head.

And Agatha was perfect for that.

The first few sessions felt normal, even helpful. She was warm but not overly so, sharp-witted with a knowing smile that made you feel like she already had you figured out. You liked that. You wanted to be understood. She had a way of pulling things out of you, teasing out the thoughts you hadn’t even fully realized were lurking under the surface.

"You feel like you're being abandoned," she told you during a session, her voice smooth and steady. "Like the people around you are slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know why."

You nodded, relieved that someone finally understood.

"It must be frustrating," she continued, tilting her head slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "To always be the one reaching out, only to be left in the cold."

Your breath hitched. Was that true? You hadn’t really thought about it that way, but… now that she said it, it felt right.

"Maybe you expect too much from people," she mused, watching you carefully. "Or maybe they don’t appreciate you like they should."

A quiet pressure built behind your ribs, something heavy and unseen. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but there was something… validating about it. Like all the hurt you felt wasn’t just in your head.

"Maybe," you admitted.

She smiled, pleased. "I think people take advantage of your kindness. You let them, don’t you?"

You did, didn’t you?

—

The shift was slow, insidious. Agatha never outright told you what to think—she just guided you there, nudging you toward conclusions you weren’t sure were yours or hers. Your relationships became strained, but Agatha was always there to reassure you.

"You’re growing," she told you after a particularly emotional session. "You’re starting to see things for what they really are."

Warmth unfurled in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like a protective embrace. The weight of her gaze felt like an anchor, steadying you in a way nothing else had.

Agatha was dangerous in the way that only truly intelligent people could be. She never raised her voice, never forced an idea on you—she simply led you there, guiding you through your own thoughts like she was pulling a thread loose from a tangled knot.

And God, she was beautiful.

You noticed it in pieces at first. The sharp line of her cheekbones, the way her eyes stayed locked onto yours just a little too long, the elegant way she moved. She always dressed immaculately, sleek dark blouses that clung to her just right, lips painted in deep shades of red or plum. And then there was her voice. The kind of voice that settled into your bones and curled up there, wrapping itself around your ribs like it belonged to you.

It was embarrassing, really. You were falling for your therapist. But she made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And she never discouraged it.

Not directly.

"You hesitate when you talk about what you want," she noted, her voice gentle. "Why do you do that?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"

"You second-guess yourself." She studied you carefully, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. "I’ve noticed it. You’ll start to say something, then stop. Like you’re afraid of being too much."

Your pulse fluttered. "I guess I just… don’t want to be a burden."

Her lips curled into something almost like amusement. "A burden?" she echoed, as if the idea itself was absurd. "Who told you that?"

You hesitated. Everyone, you wanted to say. Every time someone stopped texting back, every time you felt like you were grasping too hard to keep people close.

Agatha hummed, tilting her head just slightly. “Who have you been talking to about this?”

You blinked. “What?”

Her gaze was steady, expectant. “You said you feel like a burden. Who put that thought in your head?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I don’t know. I guess I mentioned it to a friend the other day, and they—”

Agatha tsked softly, shaking her head. “And what did they say?”

“They told me I was overthinking.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips. “Ah. Overthinking.” She leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. “That’s an easy way to dismiss you, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “I don’t think they meant it like that—”

“But it made you feel unheard,” she pressed gently. “Didn’t it?”

Your breath came a little faster. “I… maybe?”

Agatha nodded, like she’d expected that answer. “It’s interesting,” she mused, voice low and thoughtful. “How often people minimise your feelings. How quickly they brush you off.” Her gaze flickered back to yours, something soft and reassuring in it. “I would never do that to you.”

A tightness bloomed behind your ribs, bittersweet and impossible to ignore. “I know,” you murmured.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Of course you do.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice softening. "They made you feel that way," she spoke, like it was some kind of revelation. "Not because you are a burden, but because they don’t know how to appreciate you properly."

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

"They don’t see you the way I do."

The words hung between you, electric.

You exhaled slowly, suddenly hyperaware of how close she was, how intimate these sessions had started to feelThe space between you felt thinner than before, her voice dipping into something softer, closer—like a secret meant only for you.

And then, like she knew exactly what you were thinking, she smiled.

"Tell me," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "When’s the last time someone truly listened to you?"

Your pulse hammered.

It should have set off alarms. But it didn’t. Because she was listening. She was there for you. More than anyone else has been.

Had anyone ever really listened?

—

The next session, Agatha watched you with something unreadable in her expression. Like she was studying a puzzle, waiting for the pieces to click into place.

“You seem tense,” she noted, her voice low, honey-smooth.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but it came out strained. “Yeah, well. Life’s a little stressful.”

She tilted her head, gaze sharp, like she was peeling you apart layer by layer. “You hold yourself so tightly,” she stated, studying you like a specimen under glass. “You don’t even realise it, do you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your shoulders.” A flick of her fingers. “Your jaw. Your hands.”

You followed her gaze, your fingers curling instinctively before you forced them to relax.

“I think,” she continued, voice slow, deliberate, “you’ve spent so long bracing for impact that you don’t know how to let go.”

A strange heat curled in your stomach, something unspoken threading through the air between you.

She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “Would you let me help you?”

Your stomach flipped. “Help me how?”

Agatha smiled—calm, measured, soothing. “A simple exercise. One that might help you process the tension you’re carrying.”

You hesitated, but there was no reason to refuse. It was therapy. She was your therapist.

“Okay,” you said finally.

Her smile deepened, approval warm in her gaze. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

You obeyed, exhaling softly.

“Now,” she assured, “I want you to focus on the weight of your body. The way your spine curves. The way your breath moves through you.”

Her voice was hypnotic, her words weaving their way into your bones.

And then—

Fingertips against your jaw.

You startled, eyes flying open, but Agatha hushed you gently.

“Shh,” she soothed, thumb brushing along your cheek. “It’s alright. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your breath came a little faster. The warmth of her touch was dizzying. “I—yes,” you whispered.

Her lips curled in satisfaction. “Good.”

Her fingers trailed lightly, tracing the curve of your throat. You swallowed, pulse hammering against her touch.

“Your body reacts before you do,” she noted, head tilting slightly. “You don’t even realise how much you hold back.”

Heat rushed to your face. You couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or something else entirely.

Agatha’s grip firmed just slightly—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you she was there. “I want you to let go,” she murmured. “Trust me to guide you.”

Your mind spun, tangled between this is fine, she’s my therapist and why does this feel so good?

But you trusted her. So you nodded.

Her smile was slow, knowing. “Good girl.”

Your stomach flipped again. A rush of warmth curled through you, unsettling in its intensity.

She let her touch linger a moment longer before finally pulling back, leaving you bereft. “See?” she said, as if the moment hadn’t just unraveled something inside you. “You hold onto so much. But I can help you carry it.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to her words like a lifeline. “…Thank you,” you murmured.

“We’ll work through it together,” she promised.

You believed her.

You wanted to believe her.

Even as something in the back of your mind whispered that maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t.

—

The session after that felt different from the moment you stepped into the room. The air in Agatha’s office was heavier, charged with something unspoken. It coiled around you, wrapping tight around your ribs as her eyes tracked your movements, assessing, waiting.

“Welcome back,” she said smoothly, gesturing for you to come further in. You obeyed, feeling strangely exposed under her gaze. She hummed, studying you. “You look tense again.”

You exhaled sharply. “I mean… I guess?”

Her smile deepened. “You’ve been thinking too much. Haven’t you?”

Your breath caught. Because—yes.

She chuckled softly. “I told you, darling. You carry everything too tightly.”

You swallowed.

“I want to try something different today,” she announced. “Something a little more… physical.”

Your brain short-circuited at the word.

She leaned forward, voice dipping into something lower, more intimate. “Have you ever done guided breathwork before?”

You shook your head.

She nodded, as if she expected that. “It’s about control,” she said. “Releasing what no longer serves you.”

Your breath hitched.

“May I touch you?” she asked, voice velvety smooth.

“Y—yeah,” you stammered, your pulse pounded in your ears.

She stood, stepping behind you. The air shifted as she moved closer, the heat of her body ghosting along your back before her hands settled on your shoulders—firm, warm, grounding.

“You’re so wound up,” she murmured, her thumbs pressing in, kneading slowly. A soft sigh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“Breathe with me,” she instructed, her lips near your ear now. “In…”

You inhaled shakily.

“Good,” she praised. “Now out.”

Her hands moved lower, gliding down your arms, her touch light but deliberate. “Again,” she hummed.

You obeyed, and as you exhaled, her hands skimmed lower, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs, her thumbs teasing at the sides of your breasts. You stiffened, heat pooling between your thighs, but she only hummed in approval.

“You’re still holding back,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin. “I need you to let go.”

Her hands drifted lower, over your waist, her grip firm as she guided you back against her body. A quiet, shuddering exhale left you, your head swimming, warmth pooling low in your stomach.

“Good,” she praised, voice like silk. “You’re doing so well for me.”

A shiver ran down your spine as she pressed closer, the solid heat of her flush against your back.

“This tension you carry,” she sighed, her breath hot against your skin, “it needs to be released.”

Her hands slipped lower, over your hips, nails scraping lightly against fabric. A slow, deliberate drag that sent fire licking through your veins.

“Let me help,”

And then her hands moved lower. Your whole body went still.

Agatha hummed in approval. “You feel that, don’t you?”

A sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—escaped your lips, as your body burned with arousal.

“Good,” she praised again, like she could feel you unravelling beneath her touch. “You’re doing perfectly.”

Her touch dipped between your thighs causing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat as your body jolted, nerves alight.

“Shh, this is part of the process,” she soothed, her lips grazing your ear, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. “Trust me.”

You did. You shouldn’t, but you did.

Her hands were steady, patient, coaxing you back against her body. Heat seeped into your skin where she pressed, her perfume—something dark, heady, intoxicating—curling around you like smoke.

“This is what you need,” she declared, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed clit. “A full release.”

Your body arched, a broken moan slipping past your lips before you could swallow it down.

“There it is.” Agatha’s voice was rich with satisfaction, her free hand dragging lazy patterns over your torso, her nails grazing just enough to make you shiver. “That’s my good girl.”

Shame curled low in your stomach, but it was drowned out by the pleasure winding tighter, by the way she spoke like she knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe she did. No one else had reached this part of you—no one else had understood what you truly needed.

Only Agatha.

“You’ve been holding so much inside,” she mused, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “I think it’s time to let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, your breath coming in uneven bursts, but you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

A pleased hum vibrated in her throat as she pressed her fingers against your slick heat.

“Oh, darling,” she cooed, her lips brushing against your temple, “you do need me.”

Your head lolled back against her shoulder, your lips parting in a breathless moan as she circled your clit with practiced ease, teasing and coaxing you into submission.

“Such a sweet thing,” she remarked, her other hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to hers. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, and the look she gave you made your stomach tighten.

“There’s my good girl.”

The praise sent a pulse of heat through you, something deep and desperate unraveling at the sound of it. You wanted to please her. To prove that you trusted her.

Her mouth slanted over yours, swallowing your gasped moans as her fingers slid inside you, slow and purposeful. A sharp cry left you as she stretched you open, her thumb still circling, teasing, never letting you sink too deep into mindlessness. She wanted you present. Aware.

Your body jerked, overwhelmed by the sensation, but her hands were steady, guiding you through it. “Breathe,” she instructed, her lips brushing against your cheek. “In through your nose… there you go, good girl… and out.”

You tried. You really did. But every exhale was a stuttering moan, your body trembling against hers.

“That’s it,” she soothed, her fingers curling just enough to make you keen. “Let yourself feel it. Let yourself fall.”

Your fingers grasped at her sleeve, desperate for something to hold onto as she worked you open, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’ve spent so long running from this,” she murmured, voice low, hypnotic, each word coiling around your ribs and pulling tight. “From what you need. From what I can give you.”

You shook your head weakly, barely processing her words through the pleasure threatening to swallow you whole.

“No?” She tutted, her fingers never ceasing. “Then tell me, darling… why are you shaking?”

You couldn’t answer. She had you undone, every nerve alight, every thought consumed by her.

“Let go,” she commanded, her voice velvet-soft but unyielding. “Let me take care of you.”

As the pleasure coiled tighter, your body trembled against her, every muscle wound impossibly tense. Agatha’s touch never wavered—precise, knowing, relentless.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

A breathless whimper escaped you, your hips bucking into her hand, chasing that final push. She chuckled softly, her fingers maintaining their rhythm, teasing you to the brink.

"Good girl," she praised, her voice dipping into something darker, richer. "Give it to me. I want to feel you cum on my fingers."

Your breath hitched, your body straining under the weight of pleasure, but she didn’t let you fall just yet. Her free hand dragged up your torso, nails grazing along your ribs before curling around your throat, a light, possessive pressure that made you gasp.

"You've been holding onto this for so long," she crooned. "But not anymore. Let. Go."

Her grip on your throat tightened ever so slightly as her fingers curled against your g-spot, pushing you past the point of no return. A sharp cry tore from your lips, your entire body arching as the pleasure finally snapped, pleasure ripping through you in waves.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," Agatha cooed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Ride it out—just like that. So perfect for me."

Your walls clenched around her fingers, the aftershocks making you shudder, but she didn’t stop. Not yet. She drew out every last pulse of pleasure, her touch easing from devastating to indulgent, dragging you through the bliss until you were nothing but a boneless, gasping mess in her arms.

"Such a good girl," she muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as her fingers finally stilled, her palm resting possessively against your slick heat. "I knew you could do it."

She let you catch your breath, but her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over your sensitive skin, teasing, reminding you who had brought you to this point.

Your breath still came in uneven shudders as she finally pulled her hand away. You barely had a chance to process the loss before she brought her fingers to her lips, her darkened eyes never leaving yours as she sucked them clean.

Heat flared in your cheeks.

Agatha only smiled.“We’ll continue this next session,” she promised, brushing a stray bead of sweat from your forehead. “I think we’re making real progress.”

-----

In this AU Agatha totally only became a therapist so she could mess around with people's minds and get paid for it.

N.B Agatha's behaviour is extremely toxic and manipulative due to the power she holds over reader. This work is purely fiction and such actions have no place in the real world.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[ninikrumbs]

things he'd never admit

Sukuna x femreader. Just pure fluff. modern au. Soft Sukuna. Sukuna is bad at emotions. first time writing for sukuna so this could be bad.

The smell of rain reaches your nose first making you look up at the dark and gloomy clouds in slight panic, "Damn, its gonna rain soon."

Quickly, you run to the bus station, but apparently not quick enough as you made it halfway through before the soft pitter patter of rain slowly turns louder.

Lady luck was not on your side today. After long tiring day at University, you're now about to turn into a wet rat. A cute wet rat, but still a rat.

It was probably a dumb thing to do, especially when the pouring rain was now blurring your vision, yet you still continued running down the slippery pathway anyways, trying to salvage your books and papers inside your gradually dampening bag.

A low, annoyed grumble made you halt in your step, "Are you trying to kill yourself, brat?"

You could recongnize that rude voice anywhere. You look up to the large form now blocking your way, and quickly noticing the dark umbrella covering your head, "Kuna?"

He scoffs and let out an irritated sound, "Who else?"

Suprise and something warm flits through your body, your eyebrows raising, "What are you doing here? I thought you were busy all day today?"

Your mind recalls his blatant reminder that he couldn't come see you today because he had some school shit to do. Hence why you didn't call him to pick you up which he usally does. Because despite his semi aggressive personality, he does take his studies seriously so you didn't want to disturb him.

And Sukuna was busy, unbearably so. Not that he would admit it, he loved spending time with you thats why he chose to spend the entire day to do his papers and essays due this week was so there would be no interruptions during your time together - which was another thing he would never admit to you- and he could just focus on you.*simp

But when he saw the weather forecast and knowing your bad habit of always forgetting to bring an umbrella, he was already out the door with his keys in hand.

He was right to trust his gut cause here you are almost soaking wet, like a stray kitten left out in the street. Not mention your clothes that were now almost translucent.

It makes him grit his teeth, no one else should see you this way other than him. He holds out the umbrella to you. "Hold this."

You take it without question and hold it above the both of you as Sukuna removes his coat and puts it over your wet clothes. The annoyed look still plastered on his face as he keeps grumbling under his breath of how much of a spoiled brat you are.

It makes you grin cheekily. Other people might take Sukuna's surly personality the wrong way but you knew better. You spoke fluent in Sukuna Itadori.

And you knew, regardless of his complaints and rumblings, he cared. He cared so much even if he wouldn't admit to you or to himself. But you felt it every second you're together.

"Watcha smilin about, woman?" He grouses, annoyed, his eyes locking in on your smile, the type of smile that makes his pathetic heart stumble.

You shake your head still grinning innocently, "Nothing."

He glares at you, not believeing you for a second, but he can roast you about that later. Right now he just want to get you home to make sure you don't come down with a cold or a fever.

With a shake of his head, he takes the umbrella from you and starts walking you to his car. He tries to be subtle about it, but you didn't miss the way the umbrella tilted more on your side getting his right arm soaked from the rain.

"Kuna, your-"

"Leave it."

"Are you sure?"

"Im fine, brat."

You bit back a grin, his words were so jarring yet with no real bite behind them. It could be his jacket that envelops your entire frame and his comforting scent emitting from it, but you feel so warm and cherished. Only Sukuna can be so grumpy yet somehow affectionate.

The car finally comes to view and he ushers you into the passenger seat, placing a practiced hand on the car door frame as you sat down.

You bumped your head into it once but the grimaced you wore is forever seared into Sukunas brain. He realized then and there that he didn't want you in any form of pain, not that you'd ever know when he called you a clumsy idiot as you rubbed your sore head.

He drove extra slow that day.

Plus he stared at that door frame for a hot minute like it was his biggest enemy when he got home.

The moment you got inside his apartment, he immediately demands you get into the shower. His voice holding no room argument.

You comply without complaints of course. After a warm shower, you change into his baggy shirts and make your way to the kitchen when you hear the kettle boiling, and surely enough he has your favorite tea ready in the favorite mug that you bought when you first started dating.

"Oi, your hair's still wet." He notes grimly by the kitchen counter, crossing his arms in displeasure. Though you don't miss the way his eyes flits across your figure in his shirt apprciatively.

You wave him off, grabbing the mug off the counter and breathing in the soothing scent of the tea, a content smile on your lips, "It'll dry off on its own, Kuna."

He tsks at your carelessness and disappears to the bedroom, he comes back a few moments later with a towel and hair dryer. "Sit on the damn sofa"

You gaze at him with exasperated affection. If only people could see through his rough exterior and notice how much this man dotes on you.

Finding no reason to argue, you plop down on the sofa with your legs crossed and he finds his place behind you, fluffy towel in hand.

Gazing down in the mug in your hands, you smile secretly to yourself. Your boyfriend may not be the most expressive when it comes to declarations of love, but you didn't need words. His actions spoke more than any kind of heart trembling confession or lovesick poem.

And you felt everything he would never admit outloud in the way his rough, calloused hands are so uncharacteristically gentle as he weaves through your hair with the towel. Handling you like you were some precious china.

You clasps your hands over his, making him stop. You turn your head and look up at his questioning gaze. Smiling softly, your kiss one of his palms. "Thank you for always taking care of me, Kuna."

His eyes widen slightly before his mask of nonchalance returns, huffing,"Dunno what yer talkin about."

"You know exactly what Im talking about." You grin.

He rolls his eyes feigning irritation in order to hide the small smile tugging in the corner of his lips, "Don't get too used to it."

But he did want you to get used to it. Needed you to need him. This way maybe you'll ignore how shitty he is at emotions or how he can't do all the lovey-dovey stuff that makes you swoon in those crappy rom-coms you're always watching. He'll never hold a boombox over his head outside your window.

"Too late." You say, snuggling your cheek into his palm.

Sukuna falters a bit.

He's a confident man, women would beg for just a single glance from him despite his abrasive nature, it was all part of what Gojo called his charm -and once again he'd never admit it to you- but your words eases the insecurities he didn't realize were there. He grumbles under his breath somewhere along the lines of you better not taking that back.

You laugh at his mumbling, the sound like music to his ears, "Oh, Kuna."

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 3

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering.i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4.9k

(Extra special shout out to @nitaekook for beta reading and holding my hand through this fic 😂❤️)

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Master List

“Where do you want these plates to go, my dear?” Jade asks from across the kitchen. 

You glance up at her from your spot on the brand new couch that was just delivered to the new apartment that morning. You’re sitting cross legged unpacking a box of the few things that you had brought over from the old apartment. In the kitchen, your best friend Jade (who is also Arthur’s girlfriend of about a year thanks to your meddling) stands holding up one of the new plates that you bought with her yesterday. 

“Wherever there’s room.” You say with a shrug, not really caring where the plates go because everything feels weird.

The apartment is pristine with its gorgeous hardwood flooring that Charles had refinished before you moved in, floor to ceiling windows that face out towards the water, and that new house smell that is totally unfamiliar and a little unnerving. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? Finally being free of the stifling apartment that you had shared with Lando should fill you with so much optimism and a sense of relief, shouldn’t it? But that’s not the case. Not even close. You’re scared and nervous and just the thought of deciding where those plates should go seems like the heaviest question you've ever been asked.

 Simply picking out the plates yesterday with Jade had been an ordeal and you had needed to take several moments to yourself while shopping. You liked your old plates that you had bought with Lando the week you moved in with him but at the same time, the thought of taking those to your new apartment was more painful than leaving them behind.

Jade must notice your anxiety because as soon as she finishes putting the plates and bowls in whatever cabinet that suits her fancy, she comes over to sit next to you on the couch. When she wraps her arm around your shoulders you melt into her in a desperate attempt to stop a fresh flood of tears from falling. It seems as if all you’ve done since leaving the old apartment was cry and if you’re not crying, you’re barely fighting off an incoming panic attack and jumping with every ding of your phone. 

“What’s going on, my love?” Her voice is gentle, like she’s talking to an injured animal that she doesn’t want to spook. It makes you feel pathetic, helpless, and angry for how much Lando has damaged you when he should have been loving you. 

You’ve known Jade for years now and she’s always been one of your closest friends. It was Jade that had been the first of your friend group to pull you aside almost a year ago to ask you if you were truly happy with Lando. She had seen the light dim in your eyes as your relationship with him progressed and watching you lose your spark had scared her. When you had told her the morning after your art show last month that you had finally decided to leave Lando, it had been so hard for her to tamp down her excitement that you had finally worked up the courage to leave him. 

“I should be happy, right?” You ask, voice cracking a bit with the heavy weight of what closing the door on the apartment for the very last time had done to you that morning. “I mean, I know I’ve been miserable for…” You scoff, “a really long time so shouldn’t I feel something other than heartbreakingly sad?” 

Jade tips her head so it rests on your shoulder, a humming sound playing at the back of her throat. “You’ve been with him for a long time, of course you’re going to be heartbroken. Youu’re doing the right thing though, I promise you. He couldn’t even stop playing that stupid video game long enough to support you last month!” 

You nod, memory flickering back to the fight in the hallway in front of Max. You hadn’t heard much from him in the weeks since that night aside from a few texts here and there and you had expected that. He probably was mortified at how you had behaved, embarrassed for you that you had allowed yourself to be treated that way in front him.

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he thought you were a weak little girl who deserved the treatment Lando doled out to you. It was the only way you could rationalize his silence. Seeing how far you’d fallen, how much you’d changed, had obviously had an effect on Max and he had decided he’d seen enough. It didn’t surprise you and you didn’t blame him. Jade was one of your only remaining friends and losing yet another person you trusted and valued in your life was just another thing Lando had taken from you. 

“I’m just so glad you finally are taking your power back, love. I know it feels all wrong right now but when you go from the chaos that you’ve been living in for so long, I’m sure the calm of this apartment feels wrong. You’ll get used to it. It might take some time but you’ll get used to it.” 

Your head swivels around to look your best friend and you search her face for any sign of her lying to you. You desperately want to believe she’s right, that you’re making the right choice. You know you are, deep down in your soul, but you’ve been with Lando for so long and have spent so many nights listening to him rant and rave about how he’s the only one who could ever deal with your dramatics that you wonder if Jade is wrong and Lando is the one who’s been right all along. You don’t voice the doubts though, knowing that those kinds of things are something that you should probably keep to yourself. So instead of voicing all of the fears that are bouncing around in your chest, making it feel heavy and tight with the pressure of doing something that absolutely terrifies you, you just nod and lean further into Jade’s shoulder.

 “I know.” You whisper, staring out over the open living room that is littered with small boxes and suitcases. 

With the help of your brothers and Jade, you had started moving your things out slowly while Lando had been otherwise distracted. Just a small box of clothes and trinkets here and there, over the last month while Charles had the apartment renovated and cleaned. When it was finally ready last week, you had begun looking for furniture and making final plans. 

The timing had worked out perfectly, with the apartment finally being finished perfectly aligning with a weeklong trip Lando had planned to go to Woking to spend time in the sim at the MTC. He rarely bothered you during these working trips, hell he barely bothered you during any of this trips, but his work trips were different, so you knew you’d have a solid week to get everything that mattered to you out of the apartment before he would be any wiser. 

“He’s going to be so mad when he comes home and my things are gone.” You murmur, staring down at your phone which hadn’t received so much as a text message from him in almost 48 hours. 

You hadn’t bothered telling Lando you were leaving, that you were done with him. You shied away form confrontation on even the best of days so telling the man that you’d spent the last three years building a life together that you were leaving him was terrifying. When you had started moving small boxes out while Lando was still in town, you had half expected him to notice but that had never been a problem. He hadn’t even noticed you leaving on several occasions with boxes of your books or suitcases of clothes. 

A larger part of you had another reason for not telling him, though. You knew that if you told him before you were fully moved out he’d try to get you to stay. He’d try to convince you that things would get better, that this time would be different. All the things that he’s said before when you spent the night crying over his neglect. And you knew you’d fall for it. You knew you’d go running back to him if you didn’t get out before he found out. Lando was persistent and an expert manipulator, you knew that and you still fell for it over and over again so this time you were trying to give yourself the chance to put yourself first and not fall back into his trap. 

“He’s going to learn his lesson when he comes home and finds that you’re finally moving on.” Jade says, tone firm but still gentle. She knows what it’s like to be in a relationship like you have with Lando and when you had called her that morning last month to tell her you were finally leaving him, she had decided she was going to make sure she’d do everything in her power to keep you from going back to him. Getting you unpacked and settled in your new apartment was a huge step forward, one Jade hadn’t been sure you would end up following through with. 

You nod, hoping she’s right but you have a feeling deep in your gut that when Lando gets back into town tomorrow morning he’s not going to see it that way. He’s going to be angry and he’s going to try to get you to come back home to him. 

Looking around your new apartment though, you feel something settle in your bones that you haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s a feeling of attachment to this place. Like if you’re careful and thoughtful, this little apartment tucked away in one of the most exclusive buildings in Monaco could be the best opportunity you have for getting your life back on track. You could heal here, you can feel that in the way the sunlight spills through the windows in the living room, in the way your anxiety allows you to breathe when you stand in the kitchen surrounded by things that you bought yourself, and in in the way you feel when you settle yourself on your brand new bed that will have never shared an intimate moment between you and Lando. Those memories have all been left behind and this new apartment seems like the perfect place for a new beginning. 

As Jade comforts you on your couch, your brother is across town arriving at the Monaco Sports Club where he has a game of padel scheduled with Max that afternoon. He had offered to cancel on him this morning when you spoke to him on the phone, saying that your first full day in the apartment was more important than any padel game, but you had insisted that he keep his game. You had wanted a bit of space to breathe from your brothers, who you knew meant very well and you were very grateful for but sometimes, the three men got to be a little suffocating. So, against his better judgement, Charles had skipped coming over that afternoon in favor of hanging out with Max. 

Max hasn’t stopped thinking about that night last month when he witnessed Lando being needlessly cruel to you. He had every intention of calling Charles that night, had every intention of telling him how the British driver was actually treating you but something had stopped him. He had needed a little more time to process everything that he saw. Max knew that Lando could be an asshole but he never could have guessed that he would have treated you the way he did that night he brought you back to the apartment. It had shaken him and it had taken him a bit to figure out exactly how to approach it with Charles because he knew if Charles really knew how Lando had been treating you, Lando might not make it to the next race alive. Because while everyone knew the relationship was toxic and Lando wasn’t a good boyfriend, no one really realized just how bad it had gotten until Max saw behind the curtain that night of the art show. 

When Max had invited Charles to play padel today, he had finally decided to tell him what had gone down that night. It had taken so long because Max kept waffling between ‘this is none of my business’ and ‘she’s everything’ but when he spotted Charles walking through the padel courts towards him, Max was surprised at how happy Charles looked. 

“You look happy.” Max observes before giving his friend a hug. 

“Oh, it is a very good day, mon ami.” Charles is practically glowing as he smiles over at his long time friend. 

Max lifts a brow, it’s been a while since he’s seen Charles look this optimistic and he wonders if it has something to do with you. 

As if Charles reads his mind, he continues, “We finally got the apartment finished and as of this morning, she’s fully left that piece of garbage.” A smug smile plays at the corner of the Ferrari driver’s mouth. 

The relief that washes over Max is surprising. He hadn’t realized how truly worried he was for your well being until that moment. The guilt that sets in though has his chest aching. How could he have gone so long without saying something to someone about what he had seen that night? Max carefully weighs his decision that he had been so set on just moments before. If you’ve already left Lando and are settling into your apartment, does Charles really need to know what happened that night? It would only cause more drama and Max knew that more drama and anxiety was the last thing you needed. 

In a split second decision that he knows could come back to haunt him, Max decides to keep quiet for now. 

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all day.” With a genuine grin, Max bounces the padel ball against the floor. 

Charles beams back at him and Max can almost see the stress that his friend has been carrying around recently melting away from his features. He had known that your brother was worried about you, had known your entire circle, or what was left of it, was worried but now that this was really happening, Max could practically feel the relief rolling off of Charles in waves. 

“You’re telling me.” Charles mutters before walking to the other side of the court to get the game started. 

Max hadn’t meant to end up in your old neighborhood, truly he hadn’t. He had been on a run the morning after playing padel for a few hours with Charles when he passed the bakery that was a few blocks from your old apartment. He hadn’t meant to come this far but the pressures of the season were starting to get to him as they usually did around this time of year and he had needed extra time to clear his head. The fact that he couldn’t seem to get you off his mind either plagued him the entire run too. The way you had felt pressed against his side as he walked you home that night last month, the way your cheeks flamed with humiliation as Lando had laid into you in front of him when he walked you to your door, everything about you seemed to be invading his thoughts and it worried him. 

It worried him because he couldn’t let you get under his skin like this. He knew it was a dangerous game he was playing, knowing what you’ve been through and allowing himself to wander down that road. He was just happy you were safe now and hopefully you would start to get that spark back that he knew you still had in you. Everything else would have to wait. 

So when he passed the bakery you had pointed out as your favorite the night he had walked you home, he couldn’t help but follow his feet inside. The smells of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries washed over his senses as the bell above the wooden door jingled, announcing his arrival. He knew exactly what he was looking for before the woman behind the counter even asked and before he was able to second guess his decision, Max was walking out of the bakery moments later with half a dozen of what he knew were your favorite almond croissants. 

A housewarming gift, he told himself. Because what other way should Max welcome his newest neighbor to the building where he had lived for the last two years? He knew these were your favorites and if he had to guess, wandering back into your old neighborhood just for some carbs was probably at the bottom of your ‘to do’ list right now, even if they were heavenly pieces of baked bread and sweet almond filling. 

While Max made his way back across town, laden down with a large pink bakery box, you were just getting out of bed and starting your day. Anxiety, a feeling that seemed to be your constant companion lately, sits heavy on your shoulders as you move around the new apartment. The quiet hush that blankets the small space is different than the stifling silence you're used to in your apartment with Lando. It was unnerving to say the least but if you allowed yourself to pause for even just a moment, you could almost feel your soul breathing a sigh of relief. 

That wash of contentment is short lived though when a knock at your front door sends your heart rate spiking through the roof. You know that Lando was going to be home today but didn't know what time. It didn’t even cross your mind that there was no way it was him outside your door because he simply didn’t know where you had moved to but just the thought of someone who you weren’t expecting waiting for you and the possibility that it could be your now ex-boyfriend had you spiraling. 

Reaching for your phone, you pull up the security system app that Charles had insisted you get installed, despite the fact that this was a very well secured building with its own doorman downstairs 24/7. The person standing outside your door has confusion knitting your brow together. 

Pancake ingredients forgotten, you pad towards the door shuffling through various emotions: relief that it isn’t Lando waiting for you on the other side, apprehension about seeing the person that was patiently waiting in the hallway for you, and a bit of relief that you hadn’t lost this person like you thought you might have. 

“Max, what a pleasant surprise.” You murmur when you swing the door open. 

In front of you, the Dutch driver is dressed for a workout in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his blond hair covered in a backwards baseball cap. You’re surprised at the shimmer of pleasure that works its way up your spine when he smiles at you but quickly squash the feeling, remembering the pity on his face as Lando had yelled at you that night he walked you home. 

“I was on a run this morning and remembered you saying this bakery was your favorite. I thought I’d bring you some almond croissants as a sort of ‘welcome to the building’ present.” 

Warmth spreads through your belly at the gesture and you hold the door open to welcome Max into the apartment. “Welcome to the building?” You ask, confused. 

Max grins back at you, rubbing at the back of his neck as he follows you to the kitchen. “I live up in the penthouse. I moved in about two years ago.”

Surprise flickers across your face. When you started dating Lando, your friendship with Max had grown distant so it shouldn’t shock you that you didn’t even know where your friend lived. “Oh, I didn’t realize.” You whisper, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. 

Max watches you bustle around the kitchen, decidedly avoiding eye contact with him. For a few moments he just observes you, trying to decide if he should leave or push. Charles had mentioned yesterday that you were nervous about living alone and Max wanted to make sure that you were okay. He knew he should probably leave you alone to continue to settle it, with it being only your second day in the apartment alone, but there was something keeping him rooted to the spot where he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

 “Are the almond ones still your favorite?” He asks, shattering the silence that had settled over the room. He knows you’re easily spooked now and Max desperately wants you to be comfortable about him. Maybe if he distracts you from whatever storm is brewing in your head, you’ll open up a bit. 

His patience is rewarded with the first unguarded smile he’s seen from you in a long time. “I can’t believe you remembered.” You laugh, reaching for one of the croissants in the open box. 

“You used to put these things away like nobody’s business when we were younger.” 

The blush that creeps across your cheeks has Max gripping the edge of the counter. The two of you fall into a comfortable conversation of safe topics, mostly about your new apartment and how Max’s cats are doing. You like this, the way you feel around him but you can almost feel your body bracing for the other shoe to fall. You keep waiting to have something stupid slip out of your mouth, causing Max to berate or make fun of you. 

Much to your surprise it never happens though and you spend the next hour talking through memories of when Charles and Max were fighting it out on the karting tracks when you were younger. Max remembered you well from those days, how you would beg to tag along with him and Charles and the older boys. 

The sun sits high in the sky when your phone start buzzing loudly on the counter. At first you ignore it, too lost in the conversation you and Max are having, the way he is so attentive to everything you have to say and how he asks you questions like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. You don’t want the attention he’s giving you to end but when your phone starts buzzing for the fifth time in a row, you get up off the couch to retrieve it. It was probably just Charles checking on you, you hand’t heard from him all day after all. 

Your heart sinks and your stomach churns when you see the caller ID though. “Fuck.” The whisper that tumbles off of your lips is broken and harsh, causing Max’s head to snap towards where you’re leaning over the counter, forearms braced on either side of your phone. 

“Everything okay?” Max gets up off the couch to join you in the kitchen, concerned over the way you’ve suddenly gone white as a sheet as you stare down at your phone like it’s about to reach up and strangle you right there in the middle of the room. 

In the couple of hours that you had spent catching up with Max, you had completely forgot that Lando was due to get home soon. “I guess Lando has discovered I’m gone.” The way your voice shakes has Max’s heart squeezing. 

“He doesn’t know you moved out?” 

“Well he does now.” You quip, nervous chuckle falling from your lips. The text messages came in first, it looked like. Nearly a dozen of them and as you scroll through the messages, your face heats. Of course this is going to happen with Max here. Why is he always a witness to your humiliation?

Where are you? Why is the closet half empty, where are all your clothes? Baby, why is your treadmill gone? And your Peloton?  Where the FUCK are you??? ANSWER ME NOW WHERE ARE YOU??? DID YOU LEAVE ME THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY YOU’RE DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE NOW COWARD

Shortly after the messages stop, the calls start. You stare down at the phone as Max watches as call after call comes through. 

“You don’t have to answer him.” Max murmurs, coming to stand right next to you. You have to resist the urge to lean into his warmth, to collapse against the quiet strength that rolls off of him in waves.

“It’s only going to get worse if I don’t.” 

“Does he know where you are?” 

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill over. Why was this all happening right now? You knew you were safe, that he had no idea where you had moved to but just the thought of being in the same city as him when he was this angry is enough to have the panic threatening to strangle the breath straight out of your lungs. 

“Then you’re safe. He wouldn’t ever do anything to put his career in danger, Dovie.” 

You have to laugh at the statement because it’s so true. Lando would never do anything to put his career on the line. He’d do whatever it took to keep you in line under his thumb, no matter how mean he had to be to control you but when it came to his career? His first love? He’d never do anything to put his seat in question and you knew that. You had always come second to racing and what Max said was the total truth. 

Max watches you shrink into yourself as the calls continue to come in, one after another, and he knows he has to do something. He glances at the time and instantly gets an idea. “I was supposed to go to dinner with Danny in an hour. What if you leave the phone here for the night and come to dinner with me?” He pauses, seeing the panic flicker across your face. “With us. Come to dinner with us.” He corrects quickly. “I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free too? It’s been a while since we’ve all had dinner together.” 

Your eyes drop down to the phone, now quiet for the moment, and weigh your options. You know you’re not ready to talk to Lando but the fact that you’re ignoring him makes you feel like a coward. You’re going to have to speak to him sometime but maybe it was okay if you put if off for a few more days. Dinner out with Max, Daniel, and your brother sounds so appealing but you still hesitate. 

“Come on, Dovie. You can’t spend the whole night starting at the phone. He’s going to keep calling and it’s not good for you to be alone right now.” 

The pain that slices through your heart at the gentle coaxing Max’s tone takes on is almost unbearable. Why is he always the one to see you laid so bare, so vulnerable? 

“How did I let this happen, Max?” Your voice breaks, soft and uncertain as you turn into Max’s waiting frame. Without hesitation, Max’s arms circle around you and he pulls you deeper into his chest. Something settles in him then, almost like he’s relieved you’ve allowed him in. The way you shake while he holds you has his chest aching and he’d really like to give the McLaren driver a piece of his fucking mind right about then, but he knows that’s going to have to wait for now. You’re much more important. 

“You were in love, schatje and that’s okay. You trusted him and he broke that trust. It’s not a reflection of you, sweet girl, its a reflection of him. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

You sob quietly into his chest, soaking his t-shirt through with your tears as the dam finally breaks. Humiliation threatens to drag you under but you allow Max’s words to resonate through you. They soften the sharp edges of your heartache and regret, knowing that someone like Max, who you respect and have known for nearly your entire life, doesn’t think this entire thing is your fault. You sink into his warmth, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, allowing his steady breath to ground you. 

Max just stands there, a quiet pillar of strength that he can feel you desperately need right now. Hr murmurs quiet reassurances to you as you cry against him, slowly rocking you back and forth. “Come on,” Max coos, lips brushing against the top of your head. “Go take a shower and then lets go to dinner. I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free. You haven’t seen Danny in ages, right? It’ll be good to get out.” 

Dragging in a deep breath, you hold the air in your lungs until they pinch. “Okay.” 

With one last look at your phone, you turn away and walk down the hallway, leaving Max starting at your phone which has finally gone quiet. For several moments, Max just stands at the counter in the kitchen, unable to move. Relief floods his veins when he hears the shower start though and he knows that you’re finally making a small step towards getting out from under Lando’s control.

@shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[rec-flies-away]

The 0-10 pain scale us relative, though. A pain that makes you cry and struggle to think isn’t a 2, it’s 6-8 somewhere.

0 is when you feel like you have no pain. If that sounds hard to conceptualise, you might always be in pain.

1 is a faint background pain that you only notice when you think about it, and that’s really easy to ignore. A lot of you wouldn’t call this a pain. At 1, people might use words like ‘uncomfortable’ or ‘a bit annoying’ instead of pain.

At 2-3, it gets harder to ignore, but it’s still tolerable. You can still think normally and go about usual routines, but it’s more mental effort to ignore the pain.

At 4-5 the pain is getting distracting. Your thoughts start occasionally being interrupted or clouded by pain. You’re not really ignoring the pain anymore, just accepting its existence as background noise while trying to continue with other stuff. At this point several normal routine activities get affected, but it’s still tolerable.

6 is completely impossible to ignore, the pain is no longer background noise, but instead actively bothersome at all times. This is the beginning of untolerable levels of pain. At 6, usual activities and function is definitely impaired, but you’re not completely knocked out.

7-8 are more powerfully bothersome, impair your usual activities severely, and feel unmanageable. It’s normal to get a bit frantic at this level, whether that’s repositioning a lot to relieve it, trying everything that might help, or just having your thoughts race as your mind struggles to deal with the overwhelming pain.

9 stops all activities because the only thing that exists in your mind is the pain, what you might do about it, and immediate important basic needs/problems. 9 overpowers all other thought processes, and it usually gets harder to string words together. You might feel a bit like your body tries to move uncontrollably in response to the pain, but you can probably still somewhat control yourself if you really have to.

10 completely utterly consumes your mind, body, and emotions. If your body reacts with movement to the pain, you’re helpless to control it - you might drop to the ground, uncontrollably wither or spasm, squirm, scream, all kinds of basic body impulses can happen, and you won’t be able to control or resist them. At all. 10 dominates your whole world, there is nothing else than you and your pain. All activities are way out of the question, and even basic needs are pushed aside, not a priority. 10 is so extremely intolerable that it either passes quickly, or someone helps you - if neither happens, you’re going to either pass out or enter a very fucked up mental state that no person should be forced into.

The scale is relative.

But what about when a pain started as an 8, but over time you learnt to kind of push it into the back of your mind and go on with your day? That’s a normal process of learning to live with chronic pain, unfortunately. And some of you will hate to hear this, but that means your 8 is no longer an 8. You adapted, and the same pain that started as an 8 became a 6.

This is what adjusting to chronic pain means. Your scale shifts.

That doesn’t mean you need more points on the scale, because the scale was always subjective and relative. But it does mean you need to use some clarifying statements when advocating for yourself.

‘My 6 isn’t like your 6, when I say 6 it’s a very intense pain that most people would feel as an 8.’

‘I worked hard to learn to live with it, and my scale shifted. I still need your patience, it still takes a lot out of me.’

‘When this pain started, it was an 8 on most days and peaked at 9 during flares. While the pain feels the same still, it hits me more as a 6, with 5 on good days and flares at 7.’

‘My goal is pain that I can actually ignore, instead of living with the constant distracting background noise. My goal with treatment is getting this pain below 4.’

‘When I say my pain is a [number], what I mean is that it’s [level of distracting], [amount of inpairment], [change to thoughts and voluntary movements].’

You aren’t at 9 of you’re going about your daily routines like always. Another person feeling the same pain might be at a 9, but you’re not. Not anymore. You learnt, adapted, adjusted.

You are an amazingly adaptive being, and learning to live with higher levels of pain is an impressive feat and skill. That’s what doctors mean when they say ‘course in coping with pain’. You figuring it out on your own is a good thing, even though the circumstances suck.

Doesn’t mean you deserve intense pain living at the back of your head all the time.

You can and should ask for help to get your pain down into ignorable levels, which is 1-3.

My ignorable pain might be somebody else’s 7, and that’s just how it is. The scale accounts for that by being relative and subjective.

And if you’re crying in pain, it’s not a 2. That’s at least 6. If you’re biting your hand in despair to make a toothache stop, don’t call it a 3, that’s devalidating yourself. That’s at least 7, likely 8 or 9. If you can’t think anymore due to a pain from an injury people claim doesn’t hurt much, don’t just say that you can’t think from a 3. Find the point on the scale that fits your subjective experience.

This goes both ways, guys.

If your tolerance is low, you hit higher numbers faster.

If your tolerance is high, you stay at lower numbers for longer.

It’s inherently subjective and treating it as anything but subjective is going to get you misunderstood, and that not only sucks but also can negatively affect your healthcare.

It’s okay to have low pain tolerance.

It’s okay to cry because your pain is at a 2 out of 10.

It’s okay to have higher tolerance for certain types of pain and lower tolerance for others.

It’s okay to be upset that your pain makes you dissociate, but not know any other way to deal with it.

Chronic pain is awful, period. Everyone who deals with it deserves compassion.

[bunny-jpeg]

the customer is always right

simon 'ghost' riley

tags: smut/pwp, plug!reader, biker!simon, rough sex, semi-public sex, rough wall sex, mean!simon, mentions & use of recreational drugs, dub-con (!!!), breeding kink, dark themes

a/n: wow that was something!

simon knew when the trust his gut. it was what kept him alive for so long. good things didn't come to those who tried to over-think things and just like emotion take over. problem was, sometimes the gut wasn't right and simon may go a little overboard.

moments like that were also what had kept him alive for this long. but maybe he was overacting when he got in your face, little plastic baggie in his hand (damn thing had hearts printed on it for christ sake). he may have been a touch too mean.

"ya fuckin' bitch." he snapped, "tryin' to over-charge me. is that what they teach ya nowadays?"

"what the fuck are you talking about?" you snapped back, "you asked and you received. all of them are there. the weed, the xanax, it's all there." you pointed to the baggie, "and if you don't like it then take a hike." and turned away, but you didn't get far before simon grabbed you by the shoulder and hit you up against the wall.

"nah, nah. not very good customer service are ya. jeez, i remember i at least had the decency to please and thank you when i sold." he towered over you, much stronger than you could ever. your forehead hit against the brick wall and you felt tears in your eyes.

"simon... c'mon." you said, "i'm not fucking around here." and yelped when you felt his hands go up your skirt. his large, rough hand grasped your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

"c'mon, what? that you're a cheat and a liar. thinkin' that you can pout that fat bottom lip and no one would be counting what you shaved off? i hope you know there are worse men out there than me. fuck with them and you'll be found in pieces." he pressed into you, his hard on in his jeans rubbed against you behind.

"please, simon." you said.

"shh, shh. i'm tryin' to right a wrong here. the customer is always right, right? ya only give the best to those who are payin' and since you tried to scam me out. only fair that i get a little return on what i paid for. and if it isn't drugs, well, i'll have to find somethin' else." he pulled your panties down and kept you against the wall by the back of your neck.

he got his cock out of his jeans and rubbed his cock up against your ass. he exhaled deeply, "love the smell of good pussy before i light up for the evenin'." he chuckled, "ah, that's is. mmm, should be selling this. but, actually, maybe i should keep it to myself. yeah?"

you didn't know what yo say. you had to keep quiet. you were currently in the alleyway between the biker bar that simon owned and a convenience store that got a fair bit of foot traffic.

"yeah, keep ya on my arm at the bar. better yet, get ya off this dealer shit and back into the kitchen. measure flour and sugar rather than weed and cocaine." he groaned as he kept his cock throb as he held it against you behind. slow up and down movements against you. he still kept you pinned.

"simon."

"ah, ya want it, doll." he chuckled, "ya want me. i can smell it on ya." he sniffed for dramatic effect as he rubbed up against you further, "mmm. ya like that." his voice was dangerous as he sank into your cunt.

easy fit, maybe a little bruising. but, simon would kiss it all better with the tip of his cock. maybe rub some of his cum against the bruises for good measure. you moaned against the wall and your short nails dragged across the brick wall.

he moved against you quickly. his pace was bruising and it made you pant heavily against the wall. he slapped your ass and then struck his fingers in your mouth when he felt you got too loud.

"keep ya home, keep ya with the brats. better than this. i can handle it all, you just stay home." he moved against you, "mama don't gotta think, she just gotta handle the home, right?" he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock and he chuckled to himself as he moved against you faster.

you moaned around his fingers and he only pushed into you further. you choked out a noise as he held you jaw, still keeping you quiet. his cock hit against all the right spots and it made you have spots in your vision. the feeling was so strong that it made you unable to fully process what was going on. how it felt to be fucked this way, with a man so much larger and so much more terrifying.

"that's it. won't sell ya for a quick buck. only i'll keep this greedy pussy filled right?" his pace continued and you were on another planet. rationality died in your head and replaced with the wet feeling between your legs.

being manhandled like this, subjected to his brutal paces. there was little affection, but simon would make it up to you. it's not going to all take in one night. he'd need to work his achy cock into you a few more times. he felt the heat in his body as he fucked you.

you moaned around his fingers and let him use you as he pleased. your legs were shaky but he kept you upright. you moaned around his digits.

"that's it beautiful. wow, this is the customer service i like to see." he purred into your ear as he continued to rut against you. he knew you weren't paying attention to a damn thing he was saying. but, still you felt good. nice cunt for him to fuck.

"simon." you tried to say around his fingers. but he kept fucking you like a man on a mission. your eyes rolled back when you felt the climax hit you like a train. your cunt clamped down on his cock and you finished around him.

you slumped further against the grimy brick wall and you cursed when he took his fingers out of your mouth. he slapped your ass and looked out of the alley as he fucked you with a heavier pace. his hips slammed against your ass.

"fuck, baby. look at ya." he groaned as his pace kept up. he moved against you, fucked you up against he wall like he owned you. he kept his pace steady as he felt the climax in his gut. he kept fucking you eagerly and felt the throb in his core.

a few more heavy thrusts and he shoved he took his cock out to the tip, but still came inside of you. like spurts of cum hit against the deepest parts of you. he gripped your ass and said, "did ya a favour and pulled you a little. still got my boys in ya though." his accent heavy due to the lust, "keep 'em safe will ya."

you were barely focused on the roughness of the brick under your cheek.

he pulled out and got his sticky cock into his jeans. he zipped them up and you nervously got your panties back over your ass. globs on his cum stained the front of your panties.

you were on shaky legs as he took you by the arm. you looked up at him and felt meek. you felt conflicted, your core still shivering. your bottom lip wobbled as he rubbed your eyes.

"ah, i'm here, doll." he said softly, "why don't we get in your car and remeasure everythin'. seems like baby girl doesn't know how to do her measurments." he patted your behind and gave a smile under his mask.

you had no words, you just got fucked in an alley way and your mind was still a tangled knot of yarn. you leaned on him further for support.

"don't worry, i'm here now. and we'll get them just right." he yanked you a little harder then you hopes as he said, "no time to waste beautiful. you better not have messed up too many of the measurements, or else we'll have to right those wrongs all over again. because why, doll?"

you whimpered, "the customer's always right?"

"yes he is."

[aventurineswife]

WHAT IF AFTER A NIGHT OF *ahem* cuddles *ahem* with dan heng, he wakes up first and when he looks at reader he sees THE BITE MARKS AND BRUISES he left behind and he panicks a little. Internally wondering how he is gonna apologise for entering possessive dragon mode but when reader wakes, they just play it off since they love him (but do lowkey worry on how to hide them from the rest of the astral express)

“In your arms, I lose control”

Summary: After a passionate night with Dan Heng, he wakes up to see the bite marks and bruises he left on your skin. Overwhelmed with guilt and panic, he struggles to apologize for letting his possessive instincts take over. However, you brush it off with love and understanding, playfully worrying about how to hide the marks from the rest of the Astral Express crew.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Post-Passion/Intimacy Introspection, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Vulnerability, Humor, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of Biting And Bruising (consensual, within a romantic/sexual context), Slight Angst (Dan Heng’s guilt), Suggestive Themes (non-explicit), Reader mentioned covering up marks.

It was a rare, quiet morning aboard the Astral Express. The soft hum of the train's engine filled the air, but all was still in the shared quarters. The night before had been intense—intimate—unspoken, but felt deeply. Dan Heng had always kept his emotions guarded, but with you, something shifted. He had let down his walls, and for once, let himself indulge in the connection that was more than just physical.

Now, as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, it illuminated the scene. Dan Heng was the first to stir. His eyes fluttered open, a slight tension in his chest. The warmth of your body beside him was comforting, but something tugged at the back of his mind.

He turned his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you, the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully beside him. His eyes traveled lower, and his breath caught in his throat.

The bite marks—his marks—were visible on your neck, darkened bruises on your skin. His hands had left their mark, clenching into the soft, fragile flesh of your body in his moments of passion. His heart skipped a beat, and his stomach turned. A wave of panic washed over him.

He had never intended to hurt you. It had been an impulse, a rush of emotions that had gotten the better of him. His instincts, always just beneath the surface, had taken control. The possessiveness he thought he had buried had surged like a dragon awakening, fierce and unrelenting.

"Did I...?" He whispered to himself, staring at the marks. His thoughts spiraled. He never wanted to hurt you—never wanted to leave a trace of himself on you like this. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

The guilt gnawed at him, and his mind raced with ways to apologize. What could he say? How could he fix this? You deserved so much better than a mess like him, someone whose emotions could break through his carefully constructed walls and leave their mark.

Suddenly, a soft sigh came from beside him. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light as you slowly came back to consciousness. Dan Heng quickly averted his gaze, though the panic still flickered within him.

"Morning..." Your voice was soft, laced with that familiar warmth that made his chest tighten with affection. As you stretched, your eyes caught the marks on your skin, and you froze for a moment.

"Dan Heng..." you said, your voice light and teasing, but with a hint of concern. "You really went all out last night, huh?" You gently touched the bite mark on your neck, glancing up at him with a playful smile.

Dan Heng stiffened, his face flushing a faint shade of pink. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but you placed a finger gently on his lips, silencing him.

"I don't mind," you reassured him, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I love you, Dan Heng. You know that, right?"

His heart thudded in his chest, both relieved and overwhelmed by your words. But even as the tension began to ease, you could see the worry lingering in his eyes. He was still conflicted, still unsure about how to reconcile his own actions with his feelings for you.

"But," you continued, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "we might need to figure out how to hide these from the rest of the crew. I don’t think everyone will understand."

Dan Heng let out a sigh, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips as the weight of his internal panic lifted. The tension in his body slowly dissolved as he leaned closer to you, his expression softening, though still tinted with traces of guilt.

"I’m sorry," he murmured again, his voice barely a whisper, as his hand gently brushed the marks on your skin. "I didn’t mean to be... so possessive."

You smiled warmly at him, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "You don’t have to apologize. I love you exactly the way you are."

Dan Heng's eyes softened, gratitude shining through. Still, his mind couldn't help but wander to the day ahead—how would he face the others knowing he'd left such a mark on you, physically and emotionally? But, for now, he had your understanding, and that was enough.

"Guess we'll need to be careful," you teased, lifting your head to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Maybe we can get creative with some scarves or high collars until the bruises fade."

Dan Heng chuckled, the sound low and soothing, the last remnants of his panic slipping away as he held you close. With you by his side, perhaps the weight of his past—and his instincts—would be easier to bear.

For now, he was content.

[multific]

In Every Curve, Perfection

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: When Simon returns from a mission you worry about your marriage. You changed, but his love for you remains unwavering, growing stronger with every moment by your side.

Simon Riley walked into your shared home with the weight of months on his shoulders. 

The mission had been long, gruelling, and filled with dangers you could hardly imagine. You’d counted the days until his return, but now that he was here, anxiety gripped your chest.

You greeted him at the door with a soft smile, the sight of him stealing your breath as it always did. 

His mask was gone, revealing the tired but warm expression on his face. The face you loved so much.

“Welcome home, Simon,” you whispered, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

He dropped his bag to the floor and pulled you into his arms, his hold firm and warm. 

“I missed you,” he said, his deep voice muffled against your hair. He took deep breaths smelling your hair, you, taking it all in.

He was home.

As his arms tightened around you, your self-consciousness bubbled to the surface. 

You hadn’t been lazy while he was gone, but the stress, the loneliness, it had all added up. 

Your body wasn’t quite the same as when he’d left. 

The extra curves you carried now felt like a glaring reminder of your insecurities, and the idea of him noticing made your heart race in all the wrong ways.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you said quickly, pulling back from his embrace.

Simon didn’t let you go far, his hands finding your hips and pulling you back to him. 

“Hold on,” he said, his sharp eyes studying your face. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, hoping he’d let it go.

But Simon wasn’t one to miss details, and his brow furrowed. 

“Talk to me, Love. What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, looking away from his deep and beautiful eyes. 

“It’s nothing, really. I just... I’ve changed a bit while you were gone. You might not like it.”

“What are you talking about?” his voice was filled with genuine concern.

You stepped back, gesturing vaguely to yourself. 

“I’ve gained weight, Simon. I didn’t mean to, but... I just don’t look the same anymore. Not like when you left.”

His response was immediate. “You think I care about that?”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. “I just thought... maybe you wouldn’t see me the same way. Wouldn't want me.”

Simon stepped forward, closing the space between you again. 

His hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t ever think that,” he said, his voice firm but full of warmth. “You’re beautiful, Love. Always have been, always will be.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted, his hands sliding down to rest on your shoulders, then your sides, his touch lingering as though he was rediscovering you. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you? Missed this?” His hands settled on your hips, his thumbs brushing over them in a comforting pattern. “Your softness, your curves... they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

Your throat tightened with emotion. “Simon—”

He silenced you with a kiss, tender and slow, leaving no room for doubt. When he pulled back, his eyes locked with yours. “I’ve faced hell out there. And every day, all I wanted was to come home to you. To hold you, to feel you. You’re my refuge, Love. Every inch of you.”

“I thought maybe you’d want someone different. Someone—”

“Someone who isn’t you?” he interrupted again, shaking his head. “Not in a million years. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and nothing will ever change that.”

He pulled you into his arms again, his embrace warm and secure.

 “I love you,” he murmured against your ear. “Just the way you are.”

You melted against him, your insecurities fading away along with your worries. 

He pulled you close for another kiss, a kiss that was so deep it took your breath away.

Simon’s love was all you ever wanted and yearned for. 

Having him back with you felt so right. Having him in your arms and being able to smell him, your mind was at ease. 

He was home. He loved you, you loved him.

You didn't need anything else.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[layla99999999]

doomscrolling (news) - if you can't do anything about a situation do not read about it too much, it will never stop, there is always something horrible going on somewhere and you will fall into the loop of misery

general scrolling - i recommend setting a time limit (you can often do this in phone settings) [and also not scrolling randomly but going into some tags or a profile, so that you have one topic; it might help with the attention span]

some other tips that i use for depression but might help anyone: decorate your room! go to pinterest, save some ideas and do some little arts and crafts - or just buy some decorations; clean your surroundings, organize things; perfumes and body lotions, making yourself tea; not repressing your emotions - sit with them and endure, writing things down might help; stop in random moments in your day and think about how you're feeling right now - so many studies show that not avoiding emotions will help you tremendously

i think a lot of people are unhappy because they thing happiness is something that people find or consume rather than something they have to be an active participant in

[estcaligo]

Sebek's Opinions on Popular Partner Nicknames or Why He Refuses to Call You That + What Nicknames He Would Use

*Sebek x reader *Romantic *A few slightly suggestive parts

After you and Sebek started dating, Lilia mentioned that he sent Sebek a link to a list of modern nicknames for couples. Later, you ask Sebek what he thinks of them.

What he thinks of popular nicknames

[Princess] "While I love you dearly and have sworn to serve and protect you, you are neither of noble blood nor a member of any royal family! Calling you this would only lead to unnecessary confusion!"

[Kitten] "You are a human, not an animal! Not even a beastman. Why would I call you such a thing?"

[Baby] "You are not an infant. Is this your childish attitude slipping through again? Get yourself together, human!"

[Boo] "…Pardon? Are you attempting to frighten me?"

[Sugar] "Sugar is a type of food. Are you suggesting I devour you? What? You… you do? W-Wait—"

[Honey] "You're still talking about food?! Grr… your incessant rambling has stirred my appetite! This is your fault, human! Now you're coming with me. We're going out to eat - NOW!"

[Angel] "I've read about these supernatural beings in overseas religions, but you possess no features that resemble them. You are a magicless human! Enough with this nonsense!"

[Doll] "You are a human being- a weak human, I might remind you! Dolls are lifeless and purposeless objects… If anything, you're far from lifeless. Quite the contrary - it's too lively whenever you're around!"

[Pookie] "You suggest I call you the same name my sister used for her stuffed toys? Have you no self-respect?!"

What he would call you

Sebek isn't the kind of guy to use overly sentimental terms, but if he wants to express his love and admiration, he'd choose something straightforward yet heartfelt. He loves you a lot, after all.

[My Love] Simple and elegant. Timeless classics.

[Darling] Would use in private moments, probably in an unusually quiet voice. But I think it'll also work for a daily life.

[My Dearest Heart] Would say this when overflowed with emotions. Hugging you tight after a long period of not seeing each other, or kissing goodbye.

[Beloved] This carries a note of respect, so he wouldn't hesitate to use this in public or when talking about you (later, he still needs to get used to it). Overall, calls you "beloved one" in daily life.

[Sweet Companion] He values loyalty and appreciates the fact that you've chosen to walk beside him in life, despite the challenges you'll face. He is proud to call you that, with both affection and appreciation.

[My Fair One] Read this in one of his many books and thought it suits you perfectly - to admire your grace, beauty, and strength. Unintentionally says it when he sees you in some cute outfits. Or when you're triumphing after some achievement - he (secretly) thinks you look most radiant in those moments.

[My Heart's Desire] Alongside his desire to serve Waka-sama, of course. But he means it. You're now one of his objects of admiration and dreams. He uses this when he misses you or is a little desperate for intimacy (hug him or kiss him asap!!).

[Fire of My Loins] When his passion is stirred, this one might slip out. Uses it in most intimate moments.

[ (My) Human ] Forever and always. A nostalgic reference to where it all began - when you were just his "human" in the most innocent of ways.

[dramaticweathergirl]

Swarm

Twst timeloop au

"Hey Deucy, don’t ya think the butterflies like Yuu a bit too much? No, scratch that—they’re totally borderline obsessed."

Deuce could only glance in the direction his companion was nodding at, curiosity tugging at him. There, in the distance of the Heartslabyul garden, stood Yuu, butterflies dancing around them in an elegant choreography. Some perched atop their head, while others rested on the blades of their shoulders.

It was almost beautiful—if not for the fact that it somehow reminded Deuce of how flies desperately clung to rotting organic trash in the dumpsite he and his old (former) friends used to hang around.

He coughed into his palm, composing himself.

‘How morbid,’ he thought.

"Maybe it’s their perfume or something."

"...Do you really think our dear I-don’t-have-budget-to-buy-a-toothbrush Prefect has the luxury to buy perfume? Let alone one that attracts butterflies like crazy?"

Touché.

The two continued their playful banter as they set up tables for the upcoming Unbirthday Party. They were so caught up in their verbal sparring that they didn’t notice two upperclassmen approaching.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! If it isn’t the Adeuce duo working hard! Didn’t know you two were on duty today. Lemme guess—you made Riddle mad again, huh?" Cater flashed a grin, positioning his phone before snapping a quick picture of the pair. "There. For documentation—proof of your hard work to show Dormhead!"

"Hey!—"

"At least warn us before you take a picture!"

Trey sighed, watching the three of them bicker. "Don’t bully the freshmen too much, Cater."

"Speaking of freshies, where’s Yuu? I thought I heard Grimmy’s voice earlier while passing by."

"Oh, Yuu? They’re over there." Ace lazily gestured toward the school’s Prefect. "They’re kinda... out of it right now, so I wouldn’t get too close if I were you," he added, trying (and failing) to suppress the worry in his voice.

"Out of it?" Trey repeated, frowning.

Four pairs of eyes turned toward the figure in the distance. Yuu stood eerily still, like a statue, their eyes devoid of emotion as they gazed into the horizon. They seemed utterly unfazed by the butterflies swarming around them.

"Wow, ain’t that a Magicam-able sight," Cater murmured. "Yuu-chan really is a butterfly whisperer, huh?"

"I knew they had an affinity for butterflies, but never this extreme," Trey mused, cupping his chin as he recalled past encounters with the Prefect. Ever since he’d met Yuu, there had always been a butterfly or two flitting nearby. His first memory of it was when Yuu and the freshmen duo had returned from the Botanical Garden.

Trey’s brow quirked as he noticed two butterflies circling the Prefect. "Looks like you’ve got a new companion," he’d joked back then.

Yuu had given a grim smile, shrugging tiredly. "Seems like it," they’d said.

Even now, Trey remembered the peculiar look in their eyes. Yuu always had that expression—their smiles never reaching their blank, dead-fish eyes.

"Stupid bugs!" Grim had complained that day, pumping his paws in frustration. "These dumb things have been following my henchman ever since we came back from the mines! I thought we lost ’em, but the moment my henchman stepped into the Botanical Garden, more of them showed up!"

Ever since Riddle’s overblot, more and more butterflies seemed to flock to Yuu. Now, whenever the Prefect stood still in an open space, a swarm of butterflies would gather, their numbers growing the longer Yuu remained stationary.

Like flies buzzing around a rotting cor—

"What’s with all this commotion?!" a familiar voice barked, cutting through Trey's thoughts. "I’d appreciate it if the four of you finished your tasks instead of loitering. Especially you two dimwits who skipped cleaning duty yesterday."

"GAH!"

"D-Dormhead!"

"Riddle..." Trey muttered in surprise. The Heartslabyul Dormhead stood with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and judgmental.

"Morning, Rids! We were just talking about our dear Prefect over there and the mystery of why the butterflies are crowding around them like a bunch of crazy paparazzi," Cater chimed in with his usual cheeky grin.

Riddle’s brows furrowed as he followed their line of sight. "My, there are more of them than usual," he remarked, his tone curious. "And all the same species..." he added, almost to himself, though the others heard him.

"Species?"

"Yes. I’ve been researching the insects attracted to Yuu. It’s been a personal curiosity of mine to figure out why they’re so drawn to them. At first, I thought it was due to sweat—"

"Sweat? That’s gross," Ace interrupted with a mock gag.

"Yes, sweat," Riddle repeated, unimpressed. "Some butterfly species are attracted to sodium, which is why they’re sometimes drawn to humans. But Yuu never seems to be sweating during these incidents. That led me to believe they might be secreting some sort of pheromone undetectable to humans. But when I asked a beastman—your friend Jack—he said he smelled nothing."

"Wow... you really did your research, huh," Deuce muttered, blinking in amazement.

"It’s hardly anything substantial. I’m still stumped as to why this phenomenon occurs. However, during one of my reading sessions, I came across something... surprising."

"Surprising? How so?"

"Did you know that some butterfly species—like the ones hovering around Yuu—are attracted to and feast on the fluids of decaying corpses?"

[revelboo]

Your writing is AMAZING! I love your works, and honestly, you're the only writer I like here. Keep up the amazing job! 💜

Aww! Thank you! 💕

Everything Is Alright Pt 119

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Head lifting when the cassette compartment door opens far too soon and Soundwave reaches for you, there’s no point resisting. Letting him pick you up and pull you back out into the madness when you just want to hide in the dark and try to figure things out. And you can practically feel the tension radiating from all three of them as Soundwave almost seems reluctant to put you down. Making you wonder what they’ve been discussing. Because Megatron still has that psychotic smile in place.

• “I’m beginning to regret saving you, pet,” Megatron growls, servos curling into fists as you frown up at him. Finding out how ridiculously short your life span is tempting him to go to drastic measures. To consider handing you over to Shockwave to figure out a way to prolong your life. It’s almost a cruel joke. To be bonded to a weak, fragile mate that’s going to be gone far too quickly and drag him along with you. “Do you have any clue what you’ve done to me?” Can hear the anger creeping into his own voice as you fist your fingers in your robe.

• What you did to him? Like all of this is your fault and you’re so over it. “You kidnapped me, okay?” Jabbing a finger at Starscream to make his wings drop. “Wrecked my car! Scared me half to death and kept me in a damn energon cube! And you!” Rounding on Megatron and finding him still grinning, thinking this is hilarious no doubt. You really wish you had something to throw at him. “I didn’t do anything to you! If you’d just left Starscream alone, none of this would have happened! None of you ever ask what I want or need! You just decide for me, because I’m just the helpless, little human and I’m sick of it!” And they’re all staring at you like you’re something they’ve never seen before. “I’m not a damn pet.”

• Wings drawing tight to his frame as your voice rises, Starscream wants to reach for you, but he’s never seen you so furious before. So angry you’re crying now and it hurts him. So angry with all of them that you smack Soundwave’s servo when he tries to reach for you. Making him feel guilty as he vents and wishes he could go back to before Soundwave had discovered you. When it was just him and you. Try to do better by you, because this anger isn’t new he’s realizing. You’ve just been bottling it up. Ignoring it. “I know you’re not a pet,” he says as it really soaks in how terrible a job he’s done as your mate so far to make you feel that way. Do you hate him? Have you always hated him?

• Servos flexing, Soundwave can’t stop reaching for you. Can feel your anger and hurt and it’s crippling. Even if you hadn’t screamed at him, he’s been making demands of you this whole time, too. You’d just been a curiosity at first, feeling your emotions and unable to block you out. Kneeling in the floor, he rests his chin on the berth you’re on and cautiously touches your arm with the tip of a servo and you hit him again, little eyes welling as you try to shove his servo away. His head lifts when Megatron sits on the berth beside him. “Go find some engex. I need a drink,” Megatron growls at Starscream.

• Servos pressing against his head, Megatron watches you slap at Soundwave again and his communications officer just loosely curls his servos about you, refusing to stop reaching for you. And Starscream doesn’t budge to obey him, wings tight to his frame as he reaches to grip the edge of the berth, staring at you before stretching out his own hand. Servo brushing you as you just angrily slap at him, too. Trying to figure out how he got roped into this mess when you finally make a little, hitching noise and stop fighting Soundwave and Starscream both, laying your cheek on Starscream’s hand. You’re definitely a lot more trouble than he’d imagined, but he remembers tangling in you when he’d bonded you fully. Seeing all of you, knowing you. Or at least he thought he had.

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