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bunji-enthusiast · 3 days ago

Note

thought of another request !! (Obviously platonic, love being used in a more parental manner bc yk,, found family)

so, doey is one of the few toys you managed to save and bring back home. He unfortunately has a anxiety meltdown from being outside for the first time in years and reader having to comfort him, talking to him softly and holding him in their lap while he just sobs bc it's so much at once,,

They're like "shh, it's okay, i know, love, i know.."

Idk if that would make sense for a one shot 🙏

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫

Sypnosis [Being outside for the first time in years can take a special toll on a person, especially if that someone is Doey in particular.]

Character [Doey]

Note || I believe I understand what you mean, correct me if I don’t lol.

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet. The toys, having found their way to your home after months of struggling for survival, were finally beginning to settle in. The factory was far behind them now, the haunting memories of the place slowly fading into the recesses of their minds. The Safe Haven was a place where they could breathe again, feel safe. You, having escaped the nightmarish grip of the factory, had taken it upon yourself to provide for them, to help them heal. You had promised yourself that no matter the cost, you would make sure they were never subjected to the horrors of the factory again.

But even in the safety of this new home, some wounds never healed. You watched as Doey, the plump dough creature, sat at the corner of the living room, his normally playful demeanor replaced by something more distant, more uncertain. His eyes—holes in his head, just faint shadows in the dim light—seemed lost, unfocused. He was far from the carefree toy who had led the Safe Haven group with bravery and kindness. No, this was a side of Doey you had never seen before, and it was clear that something was wrong.

You walked over to him, kneeling down so that you could meet his gaze. He flinched slightly at your approach, and you noticed the subtle trembling in his yellow and orange arms. You had seen toys face the horrors of the factory, but nothing quite like this. Doey had always been strong, calm, a beacon of hope for the others.

But today, that strength had crumbled.

"Doey," you said gently, your voice low and calm, "hey, what’s going on? Talk to me."

Doey's mouth, that simple line of dough, quivered slightly as he took a deep, shuddering breath. He could barely hold it together, his usual bubbly nature drowned under the weight of something far more sinister.

“I... I’m not sure I can do it anymore,” Doey muttered, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t like him to sound so fragile, but you recognized the desperation in his tone. “I’ve tried. I’ve always tried... But it feels like no matter how hard I try, I’m just going to fall apart.”

You frowned, reaching out to place a hand gently on his arm. The warmth of your touch seemed to help, though Doey flinched at first. He wasn’t used to being touched like this, not in such a vulnerable state. You could see his struggle, the fear of being broken, of losing himself to the horrors of his past.

"Hey," you said, your voice steady despite the situation, "it's okay. You're safe now. We're all safe."

"But I don’t feel safe," Doey whispered, his eyes downcast, avoiding yours. "Every time I close my eyes, I see... I see them. The factory. The screams. The things I did... the things I couldn’t stop. And now I can’t stop feeling like I’m just one bad thing away from falling apart. What if I’m just a... a toy? A toy made to be broken? What if I’m not strong enough to lead them, to keep everyone safe?"

You could feel the weight of his words, the burden he was carrying. Doey wasn’t just a toy to you. He was a friend, a confidant. His strength was a shield, not just for himself, but for all the toys in the once Safe Haven. And now that shield was cracking.

You knew that the other toys were counting on him, but even they didn’t know the full depth of the struggle he was going through. Doey was made up of the memories and personalities of three children—Kevin, Jack, and Matthew. Each piece of him brought its own light, its own shadow. And while Matthew's kindness and gentle spirit were a dominant force within him, there was also the fiery temper of Kevin, and the deep yearning for something lost within Jack. It made Doey... complicated.

"Doey, listen to me," you said softly, but firmly. "You're not alone in this. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep going. And we’re all here to help you. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Doey's right arm—yellow and thick—shuddered as he reached up, his hand going to his face, his body folding in on itself as though he could hide from the world. A soft sob escaped him, and your heart ached. You had seen him lead, seen him face danger with a brave face, but this... this was something entirely different. The weight of the factory’s horrors, the responsibility of being a leader, had taken its toll.

"Doey, it's okay to feel broken," you said, your voice trembling just slightly now. "We all have our broken pieces. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be whole. You’re not just a toy. You’re not just the past. You’re Doey. You’re the one who stood up for all of us. You showed us what it means to keep fighting. And we’re not going to let you fall now.”

Doey looked up at you, his doughy face streaked with tears—tears made of the very clay he was formed from. You could see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of what might happen next. The anger bubbling up from deep within, the fiery Kevin side of him, just waiting to lash out.

But you didn’t let him retreat. Instead, you gently cupped his face in your hands, the warmth of your palms pressing against his cool, doughy skin. “Doey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. We’re all here.”

A long moment passed, where Doey simply breathed, shuddering in your hold, trying to steady himself. Slowly, his trembling ceased, his body slowly relaxing into your touch. There was still an undercurrent of fear within him, but you could feel him starting to regain control.

“I... I don’t know if I can lead anymore,” Doey said quietly, his voice still uncertain. “But I... I don’t want to let anyone down.”

You smiled softly, your hand brushing his long orange arm. "You don’t have to lead alone, Doey. We’re all here for each other. Here—it’s not just you. It’s all of us, together."

His yellow and orange arms hung limply at his sides for a moment before he slowly, carefully, wrapped them around you, his stubby red legs shaking beneath him. His embrace wasn’t strong, but it was filled with a sense of quiet gratitude. He was fragile, yes, but he wasn’t alone.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough. You’d be there to help him, just like he had helped so many others before.

"Thank you," Doey whispered, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I’ll try. I’ll try to be strong. For them. For you."

And as the two of you sat there in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the other toys, you knew that, despite everything, Doey would find his way. Because sometimes, strength wasn’t about never breaking—it was about finding the courage to put the pieces back together when everything felt like it was falling apart. And you’d be there to help him do just that.

#poppy playtime x reader #ppt x reader #ppt 4 #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime 4 #doey x reader #doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey #doey ppt #poppy playtime

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fawnhart · 2 days ago

Text

sugar and rafes first time meeting ! ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭

You remember the moment your whole life started to crumble. It was a Tuesday, you think. Maybe a Wednesday? Doesn’t really matter. The days just blur together when you’re stuck in a house where you’re not allowed to live

You were listening to Jeff Buckley. You had it on repeat for weeks now, hiding it under a loose plank in the floorboards of your room. Your parents would never allow it. Not in a million years. Especially your mom. She’d explode if she ever found out. Everything was so god damn evil to her

But that day you thought you had time. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour. It was Wednesday. Church group meetings. It was always a Wednesday.

You slipped the CD into your player old and busted up, the kind with the cassette tape thing but with a CD attachment, so it wasn’t completely outdated. You sat on your bed, staring out at the little slice of sky visible through your window, not really thinking about anything in particular just thinking. Then you heard the door downstairs.

“What the hell is that noise?”

You froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought your mom wouldn’t be home yet. You’d been so sure. You asked Mrs. Maggie to 1000% sure. But she was early. You scrambled to hit stop, but the music kept playing. Her voice, firm and pissed, was coming closer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your pulse raced. You shoved the player under your pillow just as she stormed into the room, her eyes narrowing. She was already clutching that look the one that meant something bad was about to happen.

“What did I tell you about this?” Her voice was tight and screechy.

“I wasn’t doing nothin’” you said, your voice shaky. You didn’t even believe yourself. You knew exactly why she was upset. But you had to try. You had to try to be normal for once, even if it was just for a few minutes in your own room.

“Nothing?” Her lip curled, disgust in every word. “Baby, you think you can just fill ya’ head with that filth and call it ‘nothin’?’”

You bit your lip, holding back tears. She stepped forward, pointing at the CD player under your pillow.

“This is demonic! I knew it. You’ve been listening to the devil behind my back. It’s not enough that you’re dressing like... like one of those whores at school. But now you want to be dirty on the inside, too?”

Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing. What were you supposed to say?

“You’re going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. Everything your father and I have taught you,” she hissed, her eyes wild with something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t love, not even close.

“it’s just music,” you whispered, too quietly, but she heard you.

She grabbed the player from your bed and yanked the CD out.

“It’s. not. just. music,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a gateway. It’s corruption to the brain.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that all you wanted was to be normal, to have what everyone else had. a life outside of this house, outside of her rules. But the words never came.

She was moving now, pulling open drawers, emptying them onto the floor.

“all that filth you’ve been hiding from me and I’ve been lenient on is done for. I’m taking it all.”

She tossed your music cds, your makeup, your books. Everything you’d spent months gathering, everything you’d used to try to feel like you were an ordinary girl, was being thrown away.

And then, the worst part.

“Your father won’t stand for this. We’ll have you cleansed”

You faltered. Cleansed? It was such a cold, clinical word. But you knew what it meant. The prayers. The rituals. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t live through that.

Your eyes were filling with tears, your chest tightening.

“I’m sorry!, I didn’t mean to. I won’t listen to that again, okay? I swear,” you pleaded, though you knew it didn’t matter.

But it was too late, she was already at the door

“You know honey, my church group has been just how ungodly you’ve been acting, but I didn’t believe them….. I hate that you proved them right”

locking it behind her with that final click that meant you were trapped.

You pressed your back against the door, the tears finally spilling over. You couldn’t think straight. Your whole body was shaking, your mind was screaming. I need to get out of here.

You knew what you had to do.

You waited for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of your mom in the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted under the door, and all you could think about was how your entire life had been planned for you. You were supposed to be a good girl. A good Christian girl. But you weren’t. And you were never going to be.

Finally, when you thought your heart couldn’t take any more, you got up. You grabbed the little bag you’d hidden in the closet. Nothing but a few clothes, and the money you’d saved up from waitressing at ‘sticky’s’. Quietly, carefully, you pulled out the plank in the floor, grabbed the rest of your hidden things, and shoved them into your bag. You didn’t think twice.

You climbed out the window, holding your breath, praying that she wouldn’t hear you.

Once you were outside, you took off running.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out.

You ran for what felt like forever. The night was cold, but you didn’t care. It was better than being to the place you once called home.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You glanced around realizing you were for sure not on the cut anymore, the big tall houses made it clear to you were on figure eight now.

then you saw him

Rafe Cameron.

You’d seen him around, of course. He was one of the rich kids, always walking around with that stupid confident smile, like he owned the whole island. You’d never paid him any attention. You had enough of your own problems to deal with. But when you saw him standing at the end of the street, leaning against his car smoking god knows what, you froze.

You’ve heard the stories about Rafe Cameron. He’s the kind of guy everyone talks about but no one truly understands.

He’s always been a mystery, and he still is. But there’s something about him, something that draws you in, even though you know you probably shouldn’t get too close.

You never really expected to see him again, not after the way he disappeared seven years ago.

Rafe left figure eight right after that night, the night he ended up in jail. No one knows exactly what happened, but everyone has their theories.

Some say it was a huge mistake, some say it was just a matter of time, others say ward himself drove his only son out of town. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him walk away from everything. His family, his life there, his whole world.

He packed up and drove five hours away, living on his own, far from the memories and the mess the pouges he hated had caused.

In the time since, he’s built himself up. People talk about how he’s thriving now, working as a firefighter or something like that. Hard work, steady pay, and no one really bothers him anymore.

It’s like he’s trying to rebuild his life, piece by piece. But even though he’s been gone for so long, when he talks about his baby sister wheezie, there’s this soft, almost protective vibe about him

Now, he’s back in town, just for her birthday. It’s strange seeing him like this, but there’s something different about him. He’s older, quieter, and maybe even a little lost in his own way.

He was looking straight at you, his brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice muffled by his blunt but clear in the quiet night air.

You stopped in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step toward you.

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you weren’t alright!. You were running away from your own life, from your own mother. But you didn’t know how to tell him that.

“I... I’m fine,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a lie.

He took another step forward, still studying you with those eyes that seemed too kind for someone like him.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “You look rough.”

Your breath hitched. ‘Gee thanks’ Yeah, you looked rough. You had been rough for years. But hearing it from someone else...it hit different.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know him. But you also didn’t know anyone who would help you, not like this. So you warily followed him

You stared at him, confused, trying to figure out if he was serious or playing some sick joke on you.

Then it hit you. He was talking to you like you weren’t just the religious girl with the crazy parents. He wasn’t weirded. He wasn’t judging you.

The last time someone came up to you, the whole town heard about it. Your parents tried getting them expelled from school for harassing you.

That was the last time anyone ever talked to you

“I know you know Wheezie,” he said, a little chuckle in his voice as he opened the door. “you can’t be all bad, right?”

Wheezie? then it clicked, the girl with glasses who could down 6 cherry milkshakes in a row, nice.

“Come on,” he said, the smile slipping from his face for a second, a real one this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for help, but you were so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of running. Tired of fighting your own heart every damn day.

You took a deep breath and took up his offer.

He didn’t even look like the guy everyone made him out to be. Sure, he still had that wild, unpredictable look to him, but he wasn’t hostile. He just… asked if you needed help. Simple as that.

You didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t know where else to go.

He didn’t press you with questions. He just turned on the engine, his eyes flicking over you like he was checking to see if you were really serious about getting in.

"You're Wheezie's friend, right?" he asked as you climbed in.

You nodded, glancing at him, trying to gauge whether or not you were making a huge mistake. "Yeah... kind of, she’s always at the diner" you added, almost too quietly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, what 18 year old is freinds with a 13 year old?

He smiled just a little, but it was different from the smirks you’d seen on his face at school or around town. “That sounds like her” It wasn’t mean. It was soft

You can’t help but wonder what really happened in those seven years, what it was that changed him, but for now, you’re stuck here in the passenger seat of his truck, staring at his side profile as he drives.

Something about being around him feels oddly comforting, even though you know there’s so much you’ll never understand.

The ride was awkward, the kind of silence that felt thick enough to choke on. Rafe had the radio low, some song you didn’t recognize playing in the background.

You focused on the streetlights flashing by, the pavement blurring, but all you could think about was the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You didn't belong in this car, in this moment. You should have been running in the other direction, but... for some reason, you weren’t scared. Not yet.

You had no idea where the hell you were going. That’s when he asked.

“So, do you have anywhere to go?”

You looked at your lap, clutching the bag tighter. You couldn’t tell him the truth, not completely. Not yet. "yeah" you said, your voice barely above a raspy whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first. But then you heard him exhale, like he was thinking it over. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but….but you’re safe now,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle, like he’d somehow sensed how scared you really were. “Ok?”

“Ok” You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. He wasn’t wrong. You were scared, terrified even, but for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t judging you for it.

No one in your family ever told you you were safe, ever told you that everything would be okay. You sniffled, the tears threatening to spill over.

You didn't want to break down in front of him.

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you were at a diner, the neon lights buzzing softly. Rafe looked over at you, almost like he was waiting for you to protest or make some excuse. You didn’t. You just followed him out of the car, not saying a word.

Inside, the place smelled like burgers, fries, and cigarettes. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and it made you feel a little safer, like you were stepping into something straight out of a movie. Rafe led you to a booth and slid into the seat across from you. For a second, you both just stared at the menu, neither of you speaking. You didn’t know if you were supposed to order, or if he would. But then he broke the silence.

"What do you want?" He didn’t sound like he was expecting an answer right away. Like he was just making sure you were okay.

You looked at the menu, but your mind was elsewhere. You didn’t care what you ate. You just... didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this.

Like he had to take care of you.

“Just fries and a water,” you said, you didn't even know why you said it. It wasn’t like you had much of an appetite.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on it. He called the waitress over and ordered for both of you. A burger, fries, and a milkshake. When she left, he turned to you, his gaze softer than you thought he’d ever let it be.

"How are you holding up?" His voice was quieter now, the edge gone. He wasn’t the Rafe Cameron you’d heard about, the one everyone warned you to stay away from. He seemed... almost normal, it was freaking you out.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I don't know," you muttered. "Just tired, I guess."

He nodded, leaning back in his seat, but you caught him glancing at you every few seconds like he was still trying to figure you out.

“What are you running from” he said bluntly, his stare showing no signs playfulness, just a full serious look

you looked away, your tears sticking with your mascara and glitter eyeshadow “Home”

“Been there” he nodded taking in your appearance in, how could such a pretty girl like you be so alone and lost?

The food came quickly, and Rafe pushed the plate with the burger and fries toward you. "Eat," he said simply. “I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

You picked at the fries, not feeling hungry but not wanting to make him feel like you didn’t appreciate it. The milkshake was so cold and thick, and when you took a sip, you felt a small sense of comfort settle in. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you ate, Rafe kept glancing at you, almost like he was waiting for you to crack. When you sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, he frowned. "I already told you, you don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice dropping a little. “You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, considering who he was. But in that moment, you believed him. You really did.

When you finished the milkshake and most of the burger, you felt a little more alive again, but the weight of everything of your family, of the lies, of everything that had pushed you to this point, was still there.

And you still had nowhere to go.

you just had a sparkly sack and a dream.

Rafe didn’t say much after that, just leaned back in his seat, and let you gather your thoughts. But when the waitress came by to take your plates, you stood up, and swung the creaky glass door open feeling that familiar unease creep back in.

"I’ll just go to the docks, the ferry leaves at 6am," you said, Turing around to see rafe as he followed right behind. You were going to take the ferry to the mainland, with the little money you had left. You weren’t sure where you were going from there, but it was something.

Rafe’s expression turned serious, almost annoyed. “No,” he said flatly.

“what?”

“I’m not letting you go to the docks. It’s dangerous, and I doubt you even have enough money to get anywh-.”

“You can’t fix everything!” you snapped, feeling all the frustration you’d been holding back suddenly spill out. "You can’t. fix. everything"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I can’t fix everything,” he said, his voice firm. “But I can try to make sure you’re okay. I can’t just let you go off like that.”

You glared at him. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his buzzed head. “I know enough.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Your whole world was falling apart, and yet, here was this guy, this person you should’ve never trusted, according to everyone you knew

but then again why does it matter what everyone says? if you’re going by that logic then you would be at the bottom of the barrel.

“You want to runaway right?” he said, voice steady. “I have a place, it’s 5 hours away, that far enough for you?”

“Do you even know how old I am!? Hello, I could turn you in right now for being a weirdo” you asked with sass, anything to get him off of your case

“ ‘sticky’s’ won’t hire under 18.” He said nonchalantly rolling his eyes, “unless you lied or where getting paid under the table? Then I could turn you and your employer in”

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion in his voice, but something in you cracked. “i didn’t lie, I’m 18” you said your voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you. But no funny business, I will jump out of the freaking car” you said crossing your arms

“Whatever you say, sugar”

Was this a good idea? Probably not. You’re parents would ironically raise hell over this town once they found out their precious daughter had run off with Rafe fucking Cameron

#works!⟡࿔*:･ﾟ #sugar!reader ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭#drew starkey #aesthetic #drew starkey imagine #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut

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4ttack-ur-heart · 1 day ago

Text

Abstract Love~

NSFW

Pairing: Rafayel x fem! Reader

Warnings: Rafayel tops, smut, scissors used to cut clothing.

Summary: What had started out as a wholesome idea of becoming Rafayel’s human canvas quickly shifts into sexual tension and a passionate night.

AN: I haven’t written a fic in like over a year so bare with me if there’s any mistakes or it’s just bad lol 😭

————————————————————————

“Hold still, Cutie.” Rafayel gently commands as he grips your wrist.

His tongue just barely pokes past his normally pouting lips in concentration as he angles the paintbrush carefully over your skin.

You let out a small giggle as the brush fibers danced across your ticklish arm. “It tickles though.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh and grips your wrist a little tighter.

You see, the day just started with him painting a commission and you stopped by to spend time with him and wind down after a long week. But after many little snarky comments and teasing each other, he managed to splatter you with paint as a joke.

Unfortunately for you, the paint splatter (according to Rafayel) looked just like a specific species of coral that grew in Lemuria. To you, it looked just like what it was; a paint splatter. He's the artist, though.

So now, you’re being held hostage and yelled at to hold still by your dramatic boyfriend while he finishes your new armpiece on the round ottoman in his living room.

“Ya know, people would kill for me to paint on them.” He says and his gaze shifts from your arm to your eyes. “You could be just a little grateful.”

Blowing a stray piece of hair out your face, you roll your eyes at his comment but stay silent.

He continues working in silence after that. A bit of annoyance runs through you as he continues to trail the paintbrush higher up your arm until the strokes hit the edge of your t-shirt sleeve.

Rafayel grabs your sleeve and tugs at the material impatiently. “Off.”

“No, Raf, I just wanna relax and you still have to finish your piece-”

“Please, baby?”

Fuck, now Rafayel sits there with the saddest puppy dog eyes as his eyebrows curve up. He even adds a lip wobble in there to really get under your skin.

You let out a sigh, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you agree. “Okay, okay. Big baby.” Your fingers curl underneath your top to take it off.

Rafayel’s hand quickly grabs you before you can tug any further. “Wait, you’re gonna smudge the paint.”

And just like that, your blood pressure rises again. Your arms drop down to your sides and wait for more directions, cause apparently you aren’t doing it right.

“Please don’t hate me.” He stands up and walks over to a nearby cabinet with his back turned towards you. All you can hear is junk rattling around as he rummages in one of the drawers.

As he turns around, you don’t miss the shiny glint in the basking sunlight of what he is holding in his hands.

You quickly sit up straighter and your mouth drops open in shock. “You are not cutting off my shirt.”

Rafayel sits down beside you again, yet you back away as he moves closer.

“Please? I’ll buy you like ten more,” he begs as if he were asking you for a piece of candy. Rafayel stares at your glare in dismay, and then the begging continues.

“Raf, I like this shirt.”

“My love,” his arms wrap around your waist and he nestles his head into your lap. “I’ve been working on that commission for hours. I just need a little break.”

Rafayel’s warm breath fans over the exposed skin on your tummy and lets out a soft groan as his arms tighten around your body.

“My rock, my inspiration, my muse. I’ll never ask for anything again.”

You let out a laugh knowing damn well that wasn’t true in the slightest.

He pouts again at your reaction and lets out a huff. “What’s it gonna take?”

Your fingers thoughtfully stroke your chin as if you were a wise man with a beard. “I want you to take me to that nice restaurant with the fancy classical music.”

He goes to respond but you cut him off before he could even let out a sound.

“And a trip to the arcade. They have a new plushie collection.”

“Done.” Rafayel pushes your body against the ottoman as he moves to straddle you and makes sure to push all of your hair away from your shirt. “Hold still, baby.”

If circumstances were a bit different, this would be so sexy.

He grips the bottom of your top, the cool metal of the scissors gently grazing your skin sending shivers up your body. The thin fabric easily slices as he gets closer to your neck.

“Tilt your head back.” His free hand grips your chin and gently pushes back, exposing your neck. With a final snip, the fabric now hangs loosely off your body, leaving just your bra exposed. He helps you out of it and discards the ruined shirt and scissors to the side.

Rafayel continues to hover over you, his breath growing ragged at the sight of your breasts straining against your bra from the position. He leans down and places a lingering kiss on your lips. His tongue glides over your bottom lip before slowly dragging his lips down your jawline and neck.

“R-raf…” you breathe out. What the heck is he doing? Is he trying to make you horny or trying to make art? If he continues, you’d know you both would be too turned on and needy for each other to continue.

“I know, I know.” His head falls on your chest in defeat. “I won’t be able to stop if we keep going.”

There’s a silence for a few moments before he lets out a sigh, the air flowing between the valley of your breasts.

Letting out another groan, Rafayel focuses on finishing you- well, his art on you.

“Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny. Don’t get horny.” The muffled words ring from him like a prayer and it sends you into a laughing fit.

“C'mon finish up.” You tap at his arm and he reluctantly sits up and grabs the paintbrush again.

The next 20 minutes were spent in silence. Your eyes were closed as you didn’t think you'd find this activity as relaxing as you originally thought. The occasional hums and steady breathing fill the void in the meantime. Rafayel had managed to paint his way up your arm, across your clavicle, and back down to the other arm. The original coral piece he had started with had expanded into various designs of foliage, all oceanic of course. Vibrant colors littered your body as different designs of seaweed, shells, and even bubbles coated most of your top half.

You feel the tip of the brush swoop down between your cleavage before abruptly stopping. Blinking your eyes open at the pause, you look down and see Rafayel’s eyes sadly staring at the front band of your bra that connects the cups. His bottom lip was stuck between his teeth as he hesitantly met your eyes.

Sitting up carefully, your hands reach back to unclasp the garment and you don’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your now naked chest.

“Are you excited that my bra is off cause of my tits or so you can continue painting?” You tease and wave the dangling bra in front of his face.

He tosses the garment away and it lands helplessly on one of his easels across the room. The blue and pinky irises were now glazed over with something you couldn’t quite catch.

“Both.”

Rafayel moved his palette stand closer to his new position. The veins in his hands flexed as he twirled the brush between his fingers and dipped it back in his colors.

“Ooh,” you shiver slightly as the cold paint bleeds from the paintbrush down your breasts and your nipples start to grow perky. “Can I put on some pasties?”

Rafayel lets out a small snicker at your words. His eyes never leave your body as he continues to paint. His eyes flick to yours and he raises an eyebrow, “Did you really just ask me that?”

Your hands move your hair off your neck and you go to rub your shoulders for warmth but remember the wet paint coating your skin.“Yes, didn’t I buy some when I wore that dress with the open back for your last exhibition? I could’ve sworn I left them here.”

“I threw them out.” Rafayel’s words were quick. Too quick. Not to mention his focus had immediately shifted back to painting your chest. Your boyfriend is not smooth, he just wants to see your boobs.

“Rafayel.” Your tone is playful as you draw out your next words, “I’m cooold.”

Rafayel’s eyes lock onto your hard nipples. His lips parted slightly as a wicked idea filled his brain. Wordlessly, he lowers his head and quickly suctions his lips around the left bud. You moan out in surprise, your hands immediately coming up to entangle into his purple locks. His tongue swirls around the bud, lips squelching against your skin and his teeth lightly graze it.

Rafayel pulls off the swollen bud with a harsh pop and dips his head to latch onto your other nipple. Your body squirms in response with little breathy whimpers leaving your mouth.

After giving the same treatment, he pulls off the other nipple, and a smirk forms on his face. “Warm enough now?”

And just like that, he continues painting, while you try to ignore the wetness forming between your legs.

Oh, this son of a bitch is evil.

Rafayel stretches the artwork down to your naval and his left hand starts to grip your hip. You couldn’t help but continue to squirm and writhe a bit as the soft bristles kiss your skin. Not to mention the now heated sexual tension building up.

You squeeze your legs together in hopes of ignoring the growing heat.

“If you keep moving, I’ll tie you down.” He threatens.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Rafayel is not normally this… bold. The sex you two have- you wouldn’t call it vanilla at all, but usually you’re the one initiating anything freaky so to have him start to tease you like this so nonchalantly is turning you on badly.

“Is that a threat?” You ask.

“That’s a promise.”

Finally, the brush stops at your pants.

“You know the drill,” he says as he tugs at the belt loop of your jeans. His fingers quickly unbutton the front and he gradually pulls them off with your panties.

“Wait, Raf, everything?” A gasp escapes you as you’re now fully bare in front of him. Another shiver runs through your body as his eyes are fixated on your cunt. You’re just hoping he can’t tell how aroused you are. Silence is his only answer. Your jeans are tossed carelessly with the rest of your clothes, but he keeps a hold of the lacy panties in his hand.

“Someone’s a little hot and bothered, isn’t she?” He asks as his thumb brushes over the wet patch on the fabric. Rafayel gives a small chuckle before dropping the panties and kneeling in front of your body.

You go to sit up only for his hand to quickly stop you.

“Stay there, paint isn’t dry yet.”

His voice had gotten a bit raspier it seems, the tone dropping as his eyes started to cloud with desire. You’re able to catch sight of his half-hard cock behind his pants and you exhaled shakily, but obey nonetheless.

Once again, the cold bristles touch your skin, making it even harder to stay still as he trails them down to your hip bones. “R-Raf…”

“Hmm?” His eyes never meet yours, too invested in focusing on finishing his creation so he can ruin the fuck out of it.

And you.

After only hearing silence from you, he finally looks over to meet your needy expression. He knows that look, he practically invented it. Your eyes had shifted to match a puppy’s and your mouth formed a pout as small huffs of air left your parted lips. The same stupid look he gave you earlier when he wanted to start this project. Oh, how it came to bite him in his Lemurian ass.

“Lemme finish up and I’ll fuck you, cutie. I promise.” His now quivering hand goes to continue painting down your thighs and you jerk abruptly as the brush kisses your inner thigh.

When Rafayel looks over, he can see the wetness start to travel down the lips of your pussy, a small puddle staining the furniture underneath you. He feels his cock twitch in his pants and his breath hitches in his throat. His hands hook underneath your thighs and pulls you closer to him before diving in like a hungry shark.

You let out a surprised whine as you feel his tongue slide into your folds and start to lick. Instantly, your leg curls around his neck and he groans into you. His tongue circles around your clit and suctions to it, much like he did to your nipples. Dirty moans leave your lips as small beads of sweat start to accumulate on your forehead.

“Hu-agh!” Your fingers grasp the edges of the ottoman fiercely as you start to slowly grind your hips into his face.

Rafayel slurps at your cunt, the filthy noises filled the once-silent room and his groans send vibrations straight to your core. After one more long suck on your clit, he pulls away, much to your dismay.

Ignoring your whines of protest, he looks at the puffy bundle of nerves and he can feel his cock fully hardening. The golden rays of the setting sun through the windows glow onto Rafayel and you can see your juices coating the lower half of his face.

“Baby, let’s stop painting,” you reach for his hand that rested on your thigh. “Please, I need you.”

Rafayel would love nothing more than to take you right here and now. To smear every piece of furniture in this room with the paint from your body, but he has a better idea in mind. An idea that required him to finish painting you.

“Soon, my love.” He leans over once more to lift your chin and he brings his face closer to yours as he seals your mouths together. You could taste yourself on his lips and you moan into his mouth when he slips his tongue in briefly. He pulls away and ruffles a hand through his hair.

Rafayel tells you to stay sitting up as he works on finishing your thighs and legs.

Soon enough, your front half is covered in paint. His detailed masterpiece swirls down your body and he swears you look so ethereal. Rafayel holds out a hand to help you up and he guides you to one of the floor-length mirrors resting on the wall.

He stands behind you as you take in his work, hands settling on the outside of your hips as he presses your body against his. A soft kiss is placed on your shoulder blade.

You really did look beautiful.

“If you give me at least twenty minutes to do your back, I promise you, my queen, I will worship you.”

A frown appears on your lips in response to his words.

More waiting?

“How would you even paint my back?” You ask since you risk the possibility of smearing or cracking the creation down your front.

“Just stand, okay? I’ll be quick.” Rafayel promises.

Bracing your hands against one of the walls in his studio, your hair was now pulled up, as Rafayel continued to paint your body.

Within only a short time, your back and the rest of your arms were completely painted. Rafayel had already planned out the rest of the piece in his mind while he was eating you out. How to enhance your figure and beauty without taking up too much time. Because, let’s face it- he wanted you, needed you. So, he had decided to go with larger and simpler designs instead of going as small and intricate as he did with your front.

You weren’t squirming as much even though it tickled as he continued lower and he wasn’t stopping as often either, his strokes deliberate and quick. Both of you guys had one goal in mind and you were eager to achieve it.

Rafayel kneeled on the ground, just barely finishing your calves.

Almost there.

Finally.

The last brush stroke was done.

Rafayel slowly got up, placing the paintbrush on the easel where your bra hung from. His hand entertained with yours. Standing in front of the mirror again, he turns you to the side so you can see his creation.

"Wow, Raf, it's beautiful."

Underwater floral patterns flowed gracefully across your body, each vibrant hue—deep blues, soft pinks, and rich greens—complementing your skin tone beautifully. Intricate details danced in the designs, tracing from the curve of your neck down to your ankles, creating a stunning tapestry of the ocean's beauty enveloping you completely.

"I wanted you to take a good look at it before it's totally ruined."

Your eyes flit down to his pants and that's when you notice how hard he is.

With that, he practically drags you to his bedroom.

“Wait,” you stopped halfway through the doorway. “I’ll get paint all over you and the bed. Shouldn’t I go wash up really quick?”

Rafayel scoffs and a smirk crosses his features as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Cutie, that’s the whole idea.”

He reaches underneath his bed and pulls out a large folded white tarp. Quickly throwing off the pillows and duvet, he placed the tarp on top of the sheets.

You stand there, slowly getting the idea. You watch as he takes off his shirt, slacks, and boxers, tossing them in the corner. His cock was still hard as it curved upwards and the tip grazed his stomach.

Rafayel walks over to you with a new look of determination in his eyes. His hand locks with yours as he leads you to the bed.

“Let’s make art.”

Without waiting for your reaction, he gently pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. His lips fiercely locked onto yours in a sloppy kiss as you both let out needy whimpers and groans.

Rafayel attaches his lips to your neck and starts to nibble at the sensitive skin. You let out needy whimpers when he hits your sweet spot and you curl your leg around his waist, your deprived pussy needing friction- anything.

His hard cock hits your cunt and you both react with breathy whines. The tarp crinkles and the material squeaks a bit when Rafayel leans down and lowers his head by your throbbing clit once more, his tongue darting out and circling the bundle of nerves. Not holding back anymore, your back arches off the tarp as your moans fill the air.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Rafayel's bare arms lock against your legs, keeping them spread as he feasts on you. His tongue trails lower and swirls around the entrance of your eager hole, his whole face practically buried between your folds.

“Augh- right there…” you whisper breathlessly. “N-no, where are you going?”

Your fingers curl into his hair when you feel him start to pull away. He hovers over you again and places his hands beside your head. His lips find yours and he starts to rut himself against your cunt.

“F-fuck.” Rafayel whimpers against you and lets out a long hum. He becomes annoyed at the thought of ending so soon when you two just barely started. “I wanted to savor this moment, but baby, I can’t. I need you. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, the intensity of his dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours with a passion that ignites a fire deep within. They seem to plead silently, urging you to utter the words that linger on the tip of your tongue, a promise of unspoken desires hanging in the air between you.

“Please, Raf, don’t make me wait.”

His hand trails down between your naked bodies and grasps his aching cock. He slides it up your folds, coating it in your wetness before slowly sliding in.

You both moan in unison as your gummy walls envelop his cock. Rafayel’s face is buried in your neck, as one hand holds up his weight and the other tangles in your hair.

He starts to thrust in and out, and your toes start to curl. The room becomes heated fast as the sinful sounds of skin slapping mix with filthy moans.

“Mm, fuck, you feel… so good.” He pants in your ear and his tongue darts out to lick the shell of your ear. “My beautiful muse.”

His words help tighten the knot in your lower tummy with your cries become louder with every thrust as you desperately try to chase your release.

Sloppy kisses are placed along your face and his moans become ragged groans as he too is close to cumming.

“I— augh!.”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too.”

Words are really hard right now. Your mind was too cock drunk to even think straight. Rafayel lets out a choked noise and his thrusts start to falter slightly.

Dazed, your hand brings his face in front of you so you can see his pretty eyes. “F-finish with me.” Though your words are slurred and lazy, he understands completely.

His hips thrust even deeper into your hole as his body starts to shake. Your orgasm washes over you and you cry out, muscles tensing.

Before you can even recover, Rafayel pulls out of you, emitting a small noise at your sensitive walls. He roughly grabs your hips and turns you over on your stomach. The sweat on your body smears the once beautiful artwork covering your skin. The tarp shifts at the movement.

“One more, cutie, please,” Rafayel bends over your form and places another tender kiss behind your ear. “Can you do one more for me?”

You nod tiredly and he picks up your legs and spreads them once more. His fingers are placed in front of your mouth and you close your lips around them. Your tongue swirls around his digits for a good few seconds before he pulls them out.

“Good girl.”

You let out another breathy moan when his hand reaches down to finger your already stretched-out hole, ensuring you’re wet enough for another round. His long fingers are buried deep within you and your sore hips push back to rut against them.

When Rafayel pulls his hand away, there’s a long strand of cum connected to his fingers. He takes them in his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste.

It’s slippery when his cock finds its way to your slit again. With a slow push, he enters you again and bottoms out.

His thrusts are sloppier this time as he lays on top of you in the prone bone position. Your mind is hazy and blurred from pleasure and borderline overstimulation. The way his vulgar words are quietly whispered in your ear as if he wants to ensure you those words are for you and only you.

“You like it when I top, huh?” His words are a bit broken as small gasps and grunts are caught in between. His hand brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead from sweat and he places a tender kiss to your temple, while his other reaches under your stomach, forcing you to arch your hips.

“Mhm!”

Rafayel’s fingers find your clit once again, a broken cry escaping you in the process. The familiar coil in your tummy appeared again as your second orgasm of the evening was quickly approaching.

Loud whimpers started to leave Rafayel as well and he whines at his own orgasm building up.

“T-together, my love?”

That’s all it took to send you over the finish line. Both of you cry out in ecstasy as you finish together.

You can feel his hips stutter from his release, but Rafayel quickly pulls out before he can cum inside you a second time. Rafayel watches in a euphoric bliss as his cum shoots out all over your back in spurts before lazily trailing down your ass. The colors he had painted on you earlier were heavily faded, smeared, and now mixed with his white seed.

A content sigh escapes him as he rolls off of you and gathers you into his arms. Rafayel places loving kisses over your sweaty forehead and hair. Your fatigue quickly caught up to you and you felt like a limp noodle in his arms.

“Do you want me to start cleaning you up or would you rather lay down for a while?” He asks as he grabs a small rag sitting on the nightstand and starts to wipe the cum and sweat off your body.

"Can we just stay for a moment?" Your hand finds his resting on top of your hip, and you lock your fingers together.

"Of course, I'll start the bath in a few minutes." Rafayel brings your locked hands to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. "I love you, my muse."

----------

Bonus:

"So like... now what?"

The next morning, after freshening up, Rafayel laid the fully dried tarp against the bed. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he studied the tarp covered in paint.

The once-pristine white tarp had transformed into a chaotic canvas, splattered with vibrant paint that danced across its surface. The delicate designs he had painstakingly created were completely obscured, lost beneath the bold colors. Only a few faint handprints and the rough outlines of your limbs remained, turning the simple canvas into a wild abstract masterpiece.

The glass of cold-brew coffee in your hands jingles and Rafayel turns to you.

"What do you mean 'now what'?"

"I mean do we throw it out now? Or fold it up maybe?"

"We can't throw it out! This is art, this is our love, this is-"

"Porn."

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace smut #rafayel x reader smut #Rafayel x mc smut

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jscrawls · 3 days ago

Text

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of blood, witchcraft, dead people, fire, ghosts, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 3: best served cold

🔹🔹🔹

Dick is a very busy man, between patrolling bludhaven all by his lonesome, the multiple hero teams he regularly teams up with, and trying to manage a job and just the smallest modicum of a social life. in short, dick doesn’t have free time.

so it was odd to him when bruce called him up one day out of the blue and asked him to come over for a visit, no cases or mysteries, no asking him to fill in for him for whatever reason, just a visit and a chat. dick wondered if the older man had something terminal he was gonna drop on him.

“so what’s this all about, afternoon teatime and a chat?” dick asks sardonically as he leans forward and interlocks his fingers on the island counter, two glasses of lemonade, courtesy of alfred, between them.

“i just felt like chatting, i haven’t seen much of you lately.” bruce leans back in his chair as he regards dick, there’s a tension in his shoulders that dick is painfully familiar with. he wants to sigh, the old mans got something on his mind.

“i’ve been busy, B. is everything alright? lets cut the fluff.” dicks fingers drum the countertop, he doesn’t mean to be so impatient but sometimes he can’t help it with the family, he feels like they’re codependent on him like little kids.

bruce meets his eye, his jaw flexes and for a second dick thinks he’s about to get snappy. bruce sighs and drops his arms, dick feels anxiety prickle in his chest, maybe something is actually wrong with the old man?

“…..there’s a new neighbor next door.” dick blinks dumbly, he called him all the way from bludhaven to gossip about his neighbor? maybe the old man is finally living his grouchy old neighbor best self, he just needs his bifocals and slippers and maybe a crossword in front of him. “you coud’ve just texted me if you wanted to complain about new people, what are the moving trucks too loud? are they trying to start an HOA?”

Bruce looks unamused and Dick rolls his eyes, he won't even fake laugh for him.

“They're strange, really strange.” Bruce mutters as he leans forward to grab his drink, giving Dick a stern look when he looks like he's going to laugh at him.

“how strange we talking? Normal Gotham weird or Eldritch multidimensional horror weird.” “Normal Gotham weird is a little too close to Eldritch multidimensional weird, Dick. That's not a great comparison.” Bruce challenges with a raised brow, scratching at his jaw stubble as they have another stare down.

“…why am I here B.” Dick sighs as he looks away, he knows why, he just wants the old man to ask nicely. That'd be appreciated.

After he looks away Bruce relaxes a little, he feels a little bad to drag Dick all the way here for this, but he's the best man he can picture for when he has in mind. “…I was invited to meet the neighbor later, dinner at their home. I need you to come with me.”

Dick grimaces at that, not even a ‘please?’ rude.

“And…? You want me to snoop through some rich people junk, Honeypot them while you snoop, what's the details here.” Dick wants to bang his head on the counter, of course it's work. He just hopes he doesn't end up in something crazy tonight.

“you're the distraction, hopefully. I don't think they've had time to install cameras in that safety hazard of a house yet, so no tapping unfortunately.” Bruce goes into mission mode, speaking clinically as ever about doing something unhinged. Dick again drums his fingers against the counter as he replies. “You can't spy on your neighbor's private property? How annoying.”

“are you going to do it or not.”

Something between irritation and resignation twists behind dick's ribs, he hates when he pulls rank on him and starts with that particular tone. “…..I didn't bring clothes for a dinner with me.”

“you know I have something somewhere, get ready in an hour and we'll drive over.”

“thank you Dick, you're sooo kind to drop everything to come help me on such short notice” Dick mumbles sarcastically as he pushes away from the island counter, lemonade in hand. He's getting ready in his old room before he snaps at the old man.

🔹🔹🔹

First noticable thing, the place is clearly in need of some major repairs. second thing, someone's been gardening in the front, Though it seems they missed all of the weeds and thorny brambles.

Bruce gives dick a look when he reaches out to pull a leaf off a briar bordering the path up to the porch, he doesn't miss the eye roll he gets in return as they both dodge grabby plants. Dick shoves his hands in the pockets of his borrowed dark jacket to avoid picking at anymore things. Bruce bites his cheek when he notices the irritated tense in the slope of his shoulders.

Stepping up on the stoop, Bruce reaches over to ring the doorbell, it doesn't work. He'd assume the wiring just rusted out if he couldn't blatantly see the freshly cut power cord under the button, how friendly looking.

With no other choice he knocks, silence, he knocks again, more silence. Him and Dick exchange a look.

“you sure they said tonight? Might not be home.” “Obviously I'm sure, let's try-” the door quickly swings open.

“Hello there my new friend, you must be Mr Bruce Wade. Lovely to meet you! Oh and your companion as well!”

They're friendly sounding, but they're dressed like they're about to attend a devil's sacrament. Bruce knows more than anyone that looks can be deceiving but…. Well Alfred said they're quite a lot to take in.

“yes hi, nice to meet you too! Thank you so much for having me over like this, this is my boy Richard, hope you don't mind the extra guest…” he puts on a charming smile as he offers a handshake, one that's gotten him out of a lot of situations before. It's Brucie Wayne time.

Dick also offers a handshake, a big grin on his face as he eyes them up a little, he's already laying some groundwork as he squeezes their hand. “Nice to meet you, please just call me dick. Bruce Wade and everyone else does.”

Bruce's smile twitches but remains in place, he knows dick's in a mood so he'll take anything he throws at him this evening. Hopefully things go well and that's all that'll be tossed.

“Very well Dick, please come in both of you. Dinners on the stove and I've got tea brewing, come now!” The neighbor ushers them in, that seemed weirdly easy considering they just met.

Both men step inside and close the door behind them, the interior of the house is….. Matching the exterior. Water damage everywhere, possibly from a damaged roof or leaking pipes, peeling wallpaper, rotten out carpets, this place doesn't seem suitable for human living. Bruce glances at Dick, who glances back.

The living room is a whole other story.

“Take a seat, make yourselves uncomfortable while I bring out some drink.” The neighbor gestures to the couch and then energetically strolls out of the room, that thing looks like a tetanus trap. The decorations in the room are more concerning in Bruce's mind.

“…good thing we're up to date on our shots.” Bruce hears Dick mutter under his breath, he bumps him with his elbow and steps around the coffin being used as a coffee table, it looks real.

Once they both carefully settle on the threadbare couch they glance around casually, that's definitely an alter across the room, candles and incense burners are lit on a stand, various artifacts are arranged in a strategic pattern and it looks like there's a vial of something dark sitting in the middle? Possibly blood. The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands up.

“Bruce, on the right…” Dick murmurs quietly, when Bruce glances over he's greeted by the sight of a damn noose hanging from the neck of a taxidermied moose head, an almost impressive entomology taxidermy case hangs below the macabre sight. Bruce isn't sure if he should be worried about the new neighbor or pull a weapon out.

Before they can find more disturbing things to gawk at, the neighbor returns. Silver colored tray in hand while they carry a hot kettle in the other.

“Apologies for the wait, my dear friends, I'm still sorting out my kitchen.” They set the tray down on the coffin and take a seat in an armchair across from them.

Bruce just smiles at them and shrugs a shoulder carelessly. “It's no problem at all.”

Dick pointedly glances around and then gives them a charming smirk, leaning back and spreading his knees just slightly. “No bother to me, you've got an interesting place here, real unique.”

Bruce has to fight off the twitch in his neck, he asked for this but it's still weird to see his boy act like that sometimes. He tries not to think about how many times dick saw him flirting growing up.

The new neighbor smiles and leans forward to pour some tea for everyone, they put a pinch of sugar in theirs and immediately start to drink the still clearly hot liquid seemingly without care.

“Thank you! Many family heirlooms in here, I believe the spirits like my collections.”

Dick picks up his cup and stirs the hot liquid with his finger with only a slight grimace, Bruce is relieved the clear nail polish he's wearing doesn't change color. “Well i do too, big fan of all your dead things.” Dick sounds playful, trying to prompt a back and forth and build a rapport.

“Mm, you're sweet, dear old Dolores has been quiet in there for a few generations, otherwise I'm sure she'd thank you.” They casually bump the coffin with their foot, a very long silence followed that statement.

“……okay. Yeah okay that's a…shame…?” Dick fumbles for words, he quickly sets his teacup down.

Bruce quietly clears his throat and dumps a spoonful of sugar in it before he takes a sip of his tea, trying to get over that casual statement while dread curls it's way down his spine. He nearly spits his drink out and chokes a little at the taste. “Wha-is this salt?” Did they mix containers in the kitchen? It tastes disgusting.

“Yes, do you like? It's my grandmamas favorite way to take it.”

“….. It's very stand out.” Bruce isn't sure if he wants to make himself drink it just to be polite, this person needs an evaluation at Arkham or something.

Dick interjects quickly. “So, can I ask a little about yourself? How'd you wind up in Gotham of all places?”

“I was suddenly on the market after a little fire incident, I saw this little gem was Going to be demolished and I just instantly fell in love with the place, the views out the back are to die for.”

If Bruce remembers correctly there's a graveyard and a swamp in the backyard.

“Can I ask about the fire incident?” Dick leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked as he smiles at them.

They sigh wistfully and take a sip of their hot beverage, for a moment both men think it's a sensitive topic before they answer.

“It's a beautifully tragic story, my ancestral home was broken into and defaced by an angry mob. The people in it accused me of witchcraft and thought I'd been mind controlling the mayor. I tried to explain that I hadn't done anything like that since my college days but they weren't satisfied, things took an interesting turn and next thing I know my home went up in a glorious blazing pyre while I watched.”

Bruce isn't sure what part to focus first, judging by dicks expression neither does he. “…. Sorry to hear about your home.” Bruce says carefully, does he even have to sneak off and go through any of their belongings with how openly crazy they are?

“Yeah, sounds rough. You look like you came out on top though, at least you're alive?”

“Please, don't remind me.”

Another silence fills the room, Bruce looks at Dick who's staring at them with a slight furrow in his brow, are they okay?…

“Anywho, we've just talked about me, please tell me about yourselves. Your boy said you were on Jersey shore, Mr Wade?”

Bruce is caught off guard by that, that's such a random thing to ask “I've never been on-” a timer goes off somewhere in the house.

“Oh, suppers ready! Please come with me I'll show you the dining room, there's a very interesting story about the centerpiece…”

They stand up and grab at both Bruce and dick's arms, energetically pulling them up and out of the room. Just what have they walked into?

🔹🔹🔹

M.List | prev | next

A/n: this chapter got away from me a bit, it's longer than I thought 🤔 Bruce and Dick met the reader! They've got thoughts.

Taglist: @lunarapple

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batman x reader #batfamily x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #cassandra cain x reader #barbara gordon x reader #addams reader

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svetamillss · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii I'm really sorry.. I’ve never really requested much on tumblr,so I apologize if I’m doing anything wrong. I wanted to ask if is it possible to write some platonic headcanons for some characters like(Hyun-jo,Semi,no-eul,Saebyeok)with a younger sister reader?like how would they act if they had a younger sister?it doesn't matter if it's in the games or outside.(also if you can't do it its completely okay,and I'm sorry for my bad English<33)

Headcanons: you are their younger sister🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Kang Sae Byeok x Reader(f)

Warnings: agnst, there is no love line here, it's not pairings!

A/N: Your order is very wonderful, thank you!! I hope I met your expectations!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

You and the girl were very close. You were the only one from her entourage who supported her when she admitted that she wanted to become a girl. You both left the family and started living together.

Unfortunately, you have collected a lot of debts because of Ju's operations and you didn't have enough money to live on at all. That's why you decided to agree to the offer to play games.

But the girl didn't know you were here and when she saw it, she was very angry with you. After all, you could have been in trouble (she just took care of you).

When you told her that you came here for her, she was so ashamed that she even cried and asked for forgiveness for you having such a worthless sister, you immediately began to calm her down and kiss her face (it was your way to calm each other down).

In the first game, you held on to your sister's back, also holding hands with her (so she understood that you were next to her).

You both voted for the cross, but it didn't help, and you continued to play. Hyun Ju didn't let you go for a minute, you slept together, you even went to the toilet together. When the guys wanted to meet you, she immediately started a serious conversation with them, making it clear that she would not allow it.

You both prayed to get out of here together and live happily again.

- It's because of me you're here, I'm a bad older sister that the younger one has to pull me out of the bottom. - Ju said when she stroked your hair before going to bed.

- You are the best and most beloved sister, I love you very much and we will get out of here and go to live in Thailand.

Se Mi

You and your sister have always been together. Consider that she raised you. You are very close, so you decided to go to the games to win more money.

Even though you realized that games are for survival, you continued to play, because you two were scared outside, and games are a chance for a normal existence.

Se Mi always protected you, helped you pass the games, because she was more courageous and strong.

The girl didn't let Thanos and Nam Gyu approach you, who wanted to get to know you better, but your sister made it clear that she was ready to kill for your safety.

After all, after the third game, you wanted to get home, so you voted for the cross, thinking that it would all be over soon.

- Don't worry, honey, tomorrow there will be a second vote and we will return home together. And now you have to hide well under the bed so that they don't find you. - she said when she led you away from everyone, to a safe place.

- And you? I don't want to hide without you! Don't leave!

- There is a place for one person, I found another safe place and will go there, but I will be next to you. Time will fly by and I'll be back soon. And now lie down and don't get out of hiding. - Finally, Se Mi kissed you on the forehead and helped you get under the bed, after which she left.

You prayed all nighttime that your sister would be fine. But, unfortunately, your prayers were in vain. When you finally managed to get out of the hiding, you immediately ran to look for your sister, but instead of your sweet and cheeky Se Mi, you saw only a body lying between the beds. Your sister had a cut throat.

All you could do was close her eyes, your face was wet with tears. Se Mi saved you, but she couldn't.

Gang No Eul

You and your older sister were able to get out of Hell. From The DPRK. But, unfortunately, she lose her husband and daughter.

You spent a lot of effort and money to find a little girl, but it was all in vain. Everyone said she was dead.

But the two of you didn't want to believe it and continued to fight. That's why you wanted to join the games to raise more money for the search. No Eul you didn't say that you decided on such a thing, because you knew that she would be against it, since the girl was strict with you, but so she showed her love and care for you.

You were scared at the games, so after the first game, you clicked on the cross, hoping to return home to your beloved sister with at least a small amount. But you didn't succeed. There were more people who wanted to continue and you had to continue.

You've always thought about No Eul. You cried at night, because you missed her very much and wanted her to hug you. You were afraid that you would die and never return to her again, and she would not even know where you disappeared.

But you didn't even suspect that your sister was very close to you. But on the other side of the game. She was one of the guards who shot the losing players. And when she saw you at the first game, she wanted to drop everything out of horror and run out to you, shout, and then save you from this horror.

But she couldn't. She was powerless. Therefore, she only had to hope that you were fine and alive. And she had a fear of being the one who would have to shoot you for losing the game.

Kang Sae Byeok

You, your older sister and younger brother were able to get out of the DPRK, but, unfortunately, since your brother was a minor, he was taken to an orphanage.

So you and Sae Byeok had to survive and earn money to take the boy from there.

You had enemies, a lot of debts, so the two of you decided to join the games to earn enough money and finally live a real life and family.

There were a lot of victims, but you stayed together. Your sister took great care of you, because you were much weaker than her. She didn't allow anyone to approach you, you were safe with her.

You both thought you'd get out of here soon. Together. But this game was too terrible and easily played on human trust.

When you were told to divide into teams of two people, you united with your sister without hesitation, thinking that you would manage.

But you didn't know that you had to play against each other.

Sae Byeok sat slooped almost the whole game, she blamed herself for everything, and you were thinking at that time, what to do. And you made a decision. You will save Sae Byeok, because she deserves to live more than you.

You decided to make the Marbles game for yourself. You offered to play in the following way: whoever throws the stone further, he will win. The girl agreed and threw quite far. And you didn't even try.

How many screams were there from your sister, you rarely saw her crying, but you understood that she was about to lose a loved one.

When you explained why you did it, she burst into tears even harder, and you just smiled, hugging her for the last time, and then gently pushed her to leave and not see you dying.

- Thank you for played with me! - those were your last words for her. The next moment there was a shot, and then the sound of a body falling to the ground. But Sae Byeok didn't turn around, knowing that you wouldn't want it. She left the room in tears.

But who knew that your victim would be in vain. After all, your sister was killed before the very last round, not keeping her promise to get out of here alive.

🤍🤍🤍

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alittlegiraffe · 2 days ago

Text

Title: Hold On Too Tight

Warning: This is going to be a very dark side of things, including smut, codependency, deferred addiction, jealousy and emotional issues. MDNI, 18+

You loved Marshall with everything you had. You’d been through his worst and stayed, just like you promised. You’d seen him high, you’d seen him angry, you’d seen him fall apart and pull himself back together. But now, years into his sobriety, you were seeing a different side of him—one that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

Because Marshall had always been protective, but lately, it had turned into something else.

The constant check-ins, the way he needed to know where you and the kids were every second of the day. If you didn’t answer a text fast enough, he’d call. If you were late coming home, he’d be pacing by the door, jaw tight, hands in his pockets, eyes dark with worry.

At first, you brushed it off. After everything he’d been through, maybe this was just his way of staying in control. But tonight, when you’d come home twenty minutes later than you said you would—stuck in traffic, nothing serious—he’d lost it.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice was sharp the second you walked through the door, his body tense like a live wire.

"I told you, I got caught up—"

"You should’ve called," he snapped. His eyes flickered past you to the kids, who were already heading upstairs. He lowered his voice, but the intensity was still there. "I didn’t know where you were. Anything could’ve happened, Y/N."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall, nothing happened. You’re acting like I disappeared—"

"You were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago!"

You exhaled sharply, setting your bag down on the counter. "You have to stop this."

His expression flickered, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he masked it with frustration. "Stop what?"

"This. The constant calls, the worrying, the way you freak out if I don’t answer my phone the second you text. I love you, but I feel like I can’t breathe."

His jaw clenched, and he turned away, running a hand down his face.

"I just—I need to know you’re safe," he muttered, voice rough.

"I am safe," you insisted, stepping closer. "And so are the kids. But, Marshall, this isn’t normal. You’re holding on so tight it’s suffocating."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Then he exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping.

"I just…" He swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "I can’t lose you."

His words hit you like a gut punch. You reached out, resting a hand on his arm. "Marshall, you’re not going to lose me."

His head dropped, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "That’s what I thought about Proof."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I thought he’d always be there," he admitted, his voice breaking. "We were supposed to grow old together, still talk shit when we were sixty. And then one day, he was just gone. Just like that."

Your heart clenched. You knew how deeply Proof’s death had cut him, but he rarely talked about it—not like this.

"I was so fucked up back then," he continued, shaking his head. "I buried it. Drowned it in pills, in alcohol, in music. I didn’t deal with it. And now, after all these years, it’s like… I’m finally feeling it. And it scares the hell out of me."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes.

"Baby," you whispered, stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him. He didn’t hesitate, burying his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky against your skin.

"I know I’ve been too much," he murmured. "I just—every time you leave, there’s this voice in my head that says maybe you won’t come back."

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His blue eyes were glassy, full of pain.

"I will always come back to you," you promised. "But you have to let me live, Marshall. Let us live."

He nodded slowly, exhaling as he leaned into your touch. "I’ll try."

"That’s all I ask."

You kissed him softly, and when he pulled you back into his arms, it felt different—less desperate, more grounded. Like he was finally ready to loosen his grip, just enough to let love in without fear of losing it.

---

Marshall had never been good at dealing with emotions—especially the raw, unfiltered kind that made his chest tight and his mind restless. Vulnerability had never come easy to him, and now that he had finally let himself break in front of you, something inside him felt exposed.

Normally, when he felt like this—like he was unraveling—he’d reach for a bottle, a pill, something to quiet the noise. But not anymore. That wasn’t an option.

So instead, he reached for you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him. His mouth crashed against yours, desperate, urgent, like he needed to feel something that wasn’t fear or grief.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, his hands sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

"Need you," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, pleading. "Need to feel you."

You could feel the tension radiating from his body, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they moved over you. He wasn’t just craving sex—he was seeking refuge, something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it might slip away.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t hesitate. If he needed you, you’d be there.

You let him take control, let him push you back toward the bed, his breath heavy against your skin. His hands were everywhere at once—gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt, pulling it over your head before his lips found your neck.

"You’re mine," he muttered, almost to himself, like he needed to say it out loud. "Only mine."

"Always," you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair. "I’m not going anywhere."

That was all it took. His restraint snapped, and suddenly, clothes were being stripped away in a haze of heat and desperation. He was all over you—kissing, biting, worshipping every inch of your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

By the time he finally sank into you, a shuddering breath left his lips, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you close, like letting go wasn’t an option.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "You feel so good."

You ran your hands down his back, grounding him, reminding him that you were here, that he wasn’t alone.

"I’ve got you," you murmured, wrapping your legs around him. "Let go, baby."

And he did.

He moved with raw intensity, pouring everything he couldn’t say into every thrust, every kiss, every desperate grip of your body. You took it all—his pain, his need, his love—meeting him stroke for stroke, giving him the solace he craved.

When he finally came undone, his body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his heartbeat erratic. You held him close, running your fingers through his damp hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

For a while, he just lay there, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

"You okay?" you finally whispered.

He nodded against your skin, exhaling slowly. "Yeah… I just—" He swallowed hard. "Thank you."

You cupped his face, making him look at you. "You don’t have to thank me for loving you."

His eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something other than fear in them.

Maybe he was still healing. Maybe the ghosts of his past would always linger. But as long as he had you, he’d never have to face them alone.

---

The room was quiet except for the sound of Marshall’s breathing—still a little uneven as he lay half on top of you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. The weight of him was grounding, his body warm against yours.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, your nails scratching gently at his scalp. He hummed in response, shifting slightly to press his face into the crook of your neck.

"You okay?" you murmured.

He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around you, holding you a little closer, like he was still coming down from the emotional high of everything that had just happened.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice hoarse. "I think so."

You kissed the top of his head. "You sure?"

A slow exhale left his lips. "I just… I hate that my head does this shit." His voice was quiet, almost embarrassed. "I was fine, then suddenly, I wasn’t. And instead of dealing with it, I needed to lose myself in you."

Your hands slid down his back, rubbing slow circles. "Marshall, that’s not a bad thing. You didn’t run. You didn’t shut down. You reached for me instead of something else."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, but I can’t keep putting all my shit on you like that. It’s not fair."

You tilted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at you. His blue eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there, too—fear, doubt, maybe even guilt.

"You’re not putting anything on me," you said firmly. "We’re in this together. You don’t have to handle everything alone, and you sure as hell don’t have to feel bad for needing me."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I just… I don’t want to be a burden."

"You’re not," you whispered, kissing him softly. "You’ve spent so long carrying the weight of everything by yourself. Let me help."

He exhaled shakily, nodding against your touch. "I’m trying," he admitted.

"I know," you said gently. "And I’m proud of you."

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to hearing that. His fingers curled against your waist, holding on like you were the only solid thing in his world.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so you were lying against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his fingers brushing lazily up and down your spine.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his skin. "Someone’s gotta be."

His chest shook with a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was real, and you held onto that.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The weight of the night settled around you, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating—it was something else entirely. Something safe.

Marshall let out a long breath, like he was finally allowing himself to relax. "Stay here?"

"Always," you promised.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—he believed you.

---

You noticed it almost immediately.

The way Marshall started gravitating toward you more—physically, emotionally, in every possible way. It was subtle at first. A hand on your thigh when he was feeling restless. A deep, lingering kiss when stress was gnawing at him. The way he’d pull you into his lap when he seemed lost in his thoughts.

But then it became constant.

Anytime something triggered him, anytime he got overwhelmed, he found you. His need for you was insatiable—not just sexually, but in every sense. You were his anchor, the thing he clung to when the urge to numb himself became too strong.

And tonight was no different.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up after putting the kids to bed, when you felt him before you saw him. His presence was a weight, heavy with tension, the air shifting as he came up behind you.

"Hey," you murmured, placing a dish in the sink before turning around.

His blue eyes were dark, stormy, filled with something hungry. His hands landed on your waist, gripping just a little too tight.

"Bad night?" you guessed softly.

He nodded, exhaling harshly. "Yeah."

You studied him, taking in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was trying to hold himself together. You knew that look—knew exactly what it meant.

"What do you need?" you whispered.

"You," he rasped, pressing you against the counter, his hands sliding up your sides. "Always you."

His lips crashed against yours, and you barely had time to react before he was lifting you onto the counter, stepping between your legs, molding himself against you like he needed to consume you.

It was always like this now—desperate, intense, as if you were the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms ghosting over your bare skin, and you shivered.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, stealing your breath.

"Please," he murmured against your lips. "Need to feel you."

You knew what this was—knew that this was how he coped now. Any time he would’ve reached for a bottle, a pill, a vice, he reached for you instead.

And you let him.

Because if he needed you, you’d be there.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer. "I’ve got you," you whispered, just like you always did.

And as he pressed his forehead against yours, as he lost himself in you the way he used to lose himself in substances, you realized something.

You were his addiction now.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing—or something that would break you both in the end.

---

It took longer to see your own descent into the madness.

It started slowly.

At first, you didn’t notice. You thought it was just normal, just love. The way you reached for Marshall when you felt overwhelmed, the way your body sought his when the weight of the day sat too heavy on your chest.

But then it became constant.

You found yourself craving him in ways that had nothing to do with sex—though that, too, had become its own form of solace. It was his touch, his presence, the way his hands on your body could silence the world, the way his lips against your skin could make everything else disappear.

You didn’t just want him anymore. You needed him.

And that scared you.

Because it was the same way he needed you. The same way he used to need his vices.

The realization hit you one evening as you sat curled up on the couch, staring at your phone, anxiety twisting in your stomach. It had been a long day—the kids were acting up, work had been stressful, and now, Marshall was late coming home from the studio.

Your fingers hovered over his name, already ready to call him.

You could feel it—that restless, gnawing feeling in your chest. The same feeling he got when you were late, when he couldn’t find you.

And suddenly, you understood.

You weren’t just leaning on him anymore. You were clinging.

The door opened before you could spiral any further, and your head snapped up. Marshall stepped inside, dropping his keys onto the counter, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, but the second he saw your face, his expression softened.

"Hey, baby," he murmured. "You okay?"

You weren’t.

But instead of answering, you got up and walked straight into his arms.

His body stiffened for half a second before he melted into you, wrapping you up, pressing his face into your hair.

"Rough day?" he asked, his voice low, knowing.

You nodded against his chest.

He let out a deep breath, holding you tighter. "I got you," he murmured.

And God, did you believe him.

That’s what scared you the most.

Because you weren’t sure where he ended and you began anymore.

And maybe… maybe neither was he.

---

Marshall sat at the dining table, scrolling through his phone, absently picking at the breakfast you’d made. You barely noticed at first—you were too busy helping your daughter pack her school bag, making sure everything was in order before rushing out the door.

"Mommy, did you know Daddy’s leaving tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, stuffing a notebook into her backpack.

Your body went rigid.

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes immediately locking onto yours.

"What?"

Your daughter, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, zipped her bag and looked up at you with big, curious eyes. "Yeah! He said he’s going to LA for a whole week."

A whole week.

You turned to Marshall, your pulse kicking up. "You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow."

He looked guilty, like he hadn’t meant for you to find out this way. "I—" He ran a hand down his face, exhaling. "I was gonna tell you today. I swear. I just… I didn’t wanna stress you out."

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

A week.

The room felt smaller. Tighter. The thought of him being gone that long made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile for your daughter’s sake. "Okay, baby, go get your shoes on."

She nodded, skipping toward the front door. The second she was out of earshot, you turned back to Marshall.

"A week, Marshall?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was heavy.

He sighed, pushing his plate away. "I know. I know it’s a long time. But it’s business, baby. I can’t not go."

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your breathing steady. "I just… I wasn’t ready for this."

He pushed his chair back, standing, immediately closing the space between you. "I wasn’t, either," he admitted, resting his hands on your waist. "I’ve been dreading it."

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. "What are we supposed to do for a week?"

His jaw tightened. "We get through it. One day at a time."

You searched his face, seeing the same fear reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t just worried about leaving—you could feel it. He was scared of what would happen without you.

"You gonna be okay?" you whispered.

His hands tightened on you. "I should be asking you that."

The truth was, neither of you had an answer.

And that was the scariest part.

---

The house felt too quiet without him.

It had only been a day since Marshall left for LA, but the absence of him was suffocating. You tried to distract yourself—kept busy with the kids, cleaned rooms that didn’t need cleaning, scrolled mindlessly on your phone. But nothing helped.

Because every time you turned around, you expected him to be there.

You could still feel him—his presence woven into the walls, his scent lingering in the sheets. But it wasn’t enough.

And you weren’t the only one struggling.

Your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Marshall: What are you doing?

You sighed, curling deeper into bed, phone in hand.

You: Trying to sleep. You?

Marshall: Trying to not lose my fucking mind.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.

You: It’s only been a day.

Marshall: I know.

A pause.

Then another text.

Marshall: I don’t know how to do this without you.

Your chest ached.

Because you felt the same way.

You: You don’t have to do anything, baby. Just breathe.

His reply came instantly.

Marshall: That’s the problem. Breathing is harder when you’re not here.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wiped at them, frustrated, because damn it, you shouldn’t feel like this over one week. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

But it was.

Because you weren’t just missing him—you were withdrawing from him.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know how to stop.

---

By the third day, you were unraveling.

You barely slept, barely ate. Every time you closed your eyes, you imagined Marshall lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his steady breathing grounding you. But when you reached for him in the dark, all you found was empty sheets.

You hated this.

Hated how much you needed him.

It wasn’t just loneliness—it was physical. Like your body didn’t know how to function without him. Like every nerve ending in your skin was wired to his touch, and without it, you were short-circuiting.

And Marshall?

He was spiraling, too.

Your phone barely left your hand because every time you set it down, it buzzed.

Marshall: Baby, call me.

Marshall: I don’t care what time it is, I need to hear you.

Marshall: I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

Marshall: Please, baby. Just pick up.

It was 2 a.m. when you finally caved, pressing the call button.

The second he picked up, you heard it—the unsteady breathing, the barely concealed panic.

"Baby," you whispered.

"Fuck, I thought you were asleep." His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

"Couldn’t sleep," you admitted. "You?"

He let out a shaky breath. "Nah. I keep thinking about you. About how I used to be fine doing shit like this, but now…" He trailed off. "Now I don’t know how to be without you."

Your chest tightened. "Me neither."

Silence stretched between you, heavy, charged. You could picture him—pacing in his hotel room, running a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to jump on a plane and come home.

"I don’t like this," he muttered.

"Neither do I."

"I keep thinking… what if something happens? What if you need me and I’m not there?"

"I do need you," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

That was all it took.

"You want me to come home?" he asked, dead serious. "I will. Right now."

Your heart clenched. "Marshall, you can’t."

"The fuck I can’t," he shot back. "I don’t care about this trip. If you say the word, I’m on the next flight."

Tears welled in your eyes because you wanted to say it. Wanted to beg him to come back because the ache in your chest was too much.

But you couldn’t.

"You have to stay," you whispered. "You need to do this."

He cursed under his breath. "I don’t give a fuck about this, you are what I need."

His voice cracked at the end, and that was when you knew—he wasn’t just struggling. He was breaking.

"Marshall," you breathed, gripping the phone like it was the only thing tethering you to him. "Just breathe, baby. I’m right here."

His breathing was ragged, uneven. "Talk to me."

You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice settle you. "Remember the last time you left for a trip? How you told me I was the first person you wanted to see when you got home?"

"Yeah," he rasped.

"I’ll be waiting, just like last time. Just like always."

His breathing slowed.

For the next hour, you stayed on the phone, whispering to each other in the dark, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you both from falling apart.

Because maybe it was.

---

By the fifth day, you weren’t sure if you could take much more.

You were barely functioning—going through the motions for the kids, pretending everything was fine when, really, you felt like you were coming apart at the seams. Every hour dragged by, the silence of the house pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Marshall wasn’t doing any better.

His texts had become more frantic, his voice more strained every time you spoke. You could hear it in him—the barely-contained panic, the exhaustion, the way he struggled to keep his shit together just long enough to make it through whatever bullshit meeting he was stuck in.

And tonight, he finally cracked.

Your phone rang just past midnight, and the second you answered, you knew something was wrong.

His breathing was erratic, uneven.

"Marshall?" you asked, sitting up in bed.

"I can’t fucking do this," he rasped. His voice was raw, wrecked. "I can’t—baby, I need you."

Your stomach twisted. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don’t fucking know," he admitted, voice shaking. "I just—I feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t breathe without you."

His confession knocked the air from your lungs.

Because you knew that feeling.

You felt it every second he was gone.

"Baby," you whispered, gripping the phone tighter. "Just talk to me, okay? I’m here."

"I’m fucking losing it," he choked out. "I feel like—like I need something to take the edge off, but it’s not even about that anymore. It’s you. You’re my fucking fix, and I—" His breath hitched. "I don’t know what to do without you."

Tears burned your eyes. "Marshall…"

"I almost left," he admitted. "I almost fucking walked out of the meeting today, booked the next flight home. I don’t care about this deal, about the money, about any of it. All I care about is you."

Your heart clenched.

Because you wanted that. God, you wanted it so bad it hurt.

But you also knew if you let him come back early, if you let this spiral control both of you, it wouldn’t stop.

He had to get through this.

And so did you.

"Baby, listen to me," you said, voice trembling. "You’re gonna get through this. We are. Just two more days, okay? That’s it. And then you’ll be home, and I’ll be in your arms, just like always."

He let out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a sob. "I don’t know how to do this without you."

"You don’t have to," you promised. "I’m right here."

Silence.

Then, finally, his breathing evened out, his body slowly coming down from the panic.

"I love you," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

"I love you too, baby," you whispered. "Now try to sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

He didn’t respond, but you knew he was still listening.

And so, you stayed on the line, listening to his breathing, grounding yourself in the sound of him.

Because even with thousands of miles between you, he was still the only thing keeping you whole.

---

The next morning, you woke up with your phone still clutched in your hand, the call with Marshall long disconnected. You blinked against the harsh light streaming through the window, heart sinking as the reality of another day without him settled in.

Two more days.

You could do two more days.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But as the day dragged on, the emptiness gnawed at you. You weren’t fine—not even close. You felt jittery, like something was missing, like you were constantly reaching for something that wasn’t there.

And then there was him.

His texts came constantly, short bursts of need that made your chest ache.

Marshall: I hate this.

Marshall: I don’t even remember why I agreed to this trip.

Marshall: Baby, just tell me to come home. I will. Right now.

You: Two more days.

Marshall: That’s too fucking long.

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

That night, after putting the kids to bed, you curled up in your shared bed, pulling his pillow close, inhaling his lingering scent. It was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing making you feel like he wasn’t completely gone.

Your phone rang, and you answered before the first ring even finished.

"Hey," you breathed.

"You in bed?" His voice was low, tired, but desperate for something—anything—to hold on to.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You?"

"Not yet. Can’t stop thinking." A pause. "Can’t stop missing you."

You swallowed hard. "Me too."

The silence between you was thick, charged with everything you both wanted to say but couldn’t.

"I need to touch you," he confessed suddenly, voice rough with longing. "Need to feel you, baby."

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your spine.

"Marshall—"

"I know," he murmured. "I just—I don’t know how to do this, baby. I don’t know how to be this far from you and not lose my fucking mind."

Tears burned your eyes. "I don’t either."

Another pause.

"I don’t want to go another night without you," he admitted. "I don’t give a fuck if I have to be up at five. Just… stay on the phone with me. Please."

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you stayed, whispering to each other in the dark, breathing in sync, pretending the distance between you didn’t exist.

Two more days.

You just had to survive two more days.

---

The last night without him felt like the longest one yet.

You barely made it through the day. Everything felt dull, colorless, like the world wasn’t quite right without him in it. The kids were your only distraction, but even they noticed the way you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for it to light up with his name.

And when it finally did, you answered before the first ring even finished.

"You okay?" His voice was low, strained, like he’d been holding his breath all day.

You swallowed hard. "I don’t know."

He sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke for a moment, just listening to each other breathe. It was the only thing keeping you both grounded, the only thing keeping the panic at bay.

"You know what’s fucked up?" he muttered finally.

"What?"

"I’ve been counting the hours. The minutes. Just waiting for this shit to be over so I can get on that fucking plane."

Your chest tightened. "Me too."

Another silence. Then—

"I don’t wanna sleep without you again." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent a shiver down your spine. "I don’t even wanna close my fucking eyes if you’re not here when I open them."

Tears burned your eyes. "Just one more night."

"That’s one too many."

You pressed your face into his pillow, inhaling deeply, willing it to be enough. But it wasn’t. It never was.

"Baby," he murmured, voice thick. "Can you just… talk to me? Keep me with you, even if it’s just for a little while?"

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you talked. About everything and nothing. About the little things—the way the kids had argued over what movie to watch, the way the house felt too big without him. He told you about the meetings, the way he kept zoning out because all he could think about was you.

And when the exhaustion finally started to pull at you both, you whispered, "I love you."

"I love you more," he murmured. "I’ll be home soon, baby. Just hold on."

You fell asleep with the phone still pressed to your ear, his quiet breathing the only thing tethering you to sanity.

Tomorrow, he’d be home.

You just had to make it until then.

---

You woke up with a sense of relief so deep it felt like you could finally breathe again. Today was the day.

Marshall was coming home.

You spent the morning moving on autopilot, trying to keep yourself busy, trying not to count the hours until his plane landed. The kids were excited, asking over and over how much longer until Daddy was home.

And then your phone buzzed.

Marshall: Baby… don’t freak out.

Your stomach dropped.

You: What happened?

It took him a minute to respond, which only made the panic creep in faster.

Marshall: My flight’s delayed. Some bullshit about weather. I don’t know how long yet.

You stared at the screen, hands shaking.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Not when you were this close to seeing him again.

You called him instantly, pacing the kitchen as he picked up.

"Hey," he said, voice tight with frustration.

"How long?" you demanded.

"I don’t know. Could be a few hours. Could be—fuck, I don’t even wanna say it—overnight."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall…"

"I know," he said, voice thick with irritation and something deeper—something close to panic. "Baby, I swear to God, the second they clear this flight, I’m on it. I don’t give a fuck what time it is when I get there."

You sank into a chair, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping you steady. You had been barely holding it together as it was. You needed him home.

"I can’t do another night without you," you whispered, voice shaking.

His breath hitched. "Don’t say that."

"It’s the truth."

"I know," he admitted. "But you can. And you will. Just like I will. Because we don’t have a fucking choice."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "I don’t care about choices. I just want you here."

"You think I don’t?" His voice was rough, raw. "You think I’m not losing my fucking mind over this?"

Neither of you spoke for a moment, both too close to the edge.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "Baby… I need you to breathe, okay? For me."

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath. "I don’t know how to do this."

"Yeah, you do. You’ve been doing it. We both have." A pause. "It’s just a few more hours. Maybe a night. But either way, I am coming home to you."

You nodded, wiping your eyes. "Promise?"

"Swear on my fucking life."

You exhaled slowly, gripping onto that. Onto him.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll wait."

"That’s my girl," he murmured. "Now stay on the phone with me. Just for a little while."

So you did.

Because it was the only thing keeping you both sane.

---

The moment Marshall stepped through the front door, everything in you screamed to run to him. To throw yourself into his arms, to press your face into his neck, to feel him, breathe him, let his touch remind you that he was finally, finally home.

But the kids got to him first.

“DADDY!”

They swarmed him, tiny bodies colliding against his legs, their excited voices overlapping. Marshall barely had time to drop his bag before he was kneeling down, pulling them in, wrapping them up in the same arms you had been aching for.

You stood back, watching, your hands clenched at your sides.

He met your eyes over their heads, and for a split second, you saw it—the same desperation, the same need, the same barely-contained urge to close the space between you.

But not yet.

“Missed you guys,” he murmured, voice thick, pressing kisses to their foreheads. “You take care of your mom while I was gone?”

They both nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! But she missed you so much.”

Marshall’s gaze snapped to you again, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was casual, but you knew him. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Your face burned. “They’re exaggerating.”

“No, we’re not!” your daughter insisted. “She kept looking at her phone all day! And she barely even watched movies with us.”

Marshall smirked at that, like he was tucking that information away for later.

You crossed your arms. “Are you guys done exposing me, or—?”

They giggled, already dragging him toward the couch, talking a mile a minute about everything he had missed. He let them, letting them climb onto him, his hands and attention fully on them.

And you sat on the other side of the room, watching.

Waiting.

Holding it together.

It was agonizing.

Every part of you was screaming to touch him. To sink into his warmth, to breathe him in, to let him pull you under the way only he could. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

So you smiled, you laughed at their stories, you played the part of the normal, functioning wife and mother.

But under it all, you were burning.

And so was he.

Because every time you caught his gaze, his fingers flexed, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. He was listening to the kids, responding at the right times, but his eyes—his mind—were somewhere else.

On you.

Hours stretched on like that—forced restraint, barely-contained tension.

And then, finally, finally, it was bedtime.

The kids clung to him, protesting, wanting just one more story, one more hug, one more minute. And he gave them all of it, because of course he did.

But then they were asleep.

And the second their bedroom doors clicked shut, everything snapped.

Marshall turned to you, chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with something desperate.

“Come here,” he rasped.

And before he could even finish the words, you were already in his arms.

The second you were in his arms, everything else disappeared.

Marshall’s hands were on you everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you against him, like he couldn’t get you close enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you pressed to him to believe this was real.

His breath was ragged against your ear. “I fucking need you.”

You barely had time to let out a shaky breath before his lips were on yours, hot and desperate, swallowing down every bit of longing, every second of the past week spent apart.

Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling, yanking, needing more, needing him.

“I swear to God,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough, wrecked, “I almost lost my fucking mind without you.”

“You did,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders.

He huffed a breathless laugh, but his grip on you only tightened. “And you?”

Your forehead pressed to his, breaths mingling. “I don’t think I’ve breathed since you left.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “Then let me fix that.”

And then he was picking you up, carrying you to the bedroom, his body covering yours before the door even fully shut.

For the rest of the night, he made up for every second you spent apart.

And when you finally collapsed against his chest, tangled in his arms, his lips brushed your forehead, whispering against your skin—

“Never again.”

And you believed him.

#eminem #marshall mathers #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader

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drdemonprince · 3 days ago

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hey there! in regards to ur last ask (about adults in kink spaces online having status quo ideas about kids in those spaces and such, sorry this isn’t a great summary), do you have any ideas on how to combat that? this is a genuine question - those disclaimers of ‘no minors can follow’ and such have always made me a little confused whilst i understood the statement behind them objectively you know? and now that i’m adult (legally - i turned eighteen a couple of months ago), i’m having trouble figuring out how to talk about kink and sex online in a way that doesn’t hurt kids or exclude them. like, i want to post some explicit stuff i’ve written on my blog or ao3, but i know that i have kids subscribed to me since i used to post relatively bland kids stuff for years before that. so like… how would one navigate kink spaces online and general spaces with an attitude of understanding that trying to close off these spaces to kids completely is harmful but that kids can also be harmed by people in these spaces? if that makes sense?

I think it is a really challenging thing to navigate. The way that I handle it personally is that I don't regard it as my responsibility to monitor and police the ages of people following me. I want the information that I put out into the world to be freely available to the people who need it most; one of the ways that I ensure that is by not paywalling any of my writing, and another is by not age restricting things except for when circumstances mean that I absolutely have to. for example: during some of our live streams that have been particularly focused on kink or sex, Maddie and I have flagged the stream as 18 plus out of necessity, and if a member of our chat identifies themselves as being under 18 during such streams, we have to ask them to leave. but in terms of my own private attitudes, I recall accessing porn and sexual writing from a very young age and learning a great deal from it, and I don't think there is anything wrong with a young person doing so. and if a young person has questions around sexual health and safety and they direct them to me, I would generally be comfortable answering those questions or at least directing them to resources. I do all I can to normalize talk about these things and de-exceptionalize sex, and I don't let myself get intimidated by puritanical accusations about that being inherently evil and improper. but I also have really firm digital boundaries in terms of not giving a stranger on the internet much access to my life or getting too overly involved in theirs. I do this because I'm a public figure and people can be very inappropriate with me, but another benefit of this approach is that I'm never really having any kind of conversation with an internet stranger that would immediately turn inappropriate if I would find out that they were a minor. strangers on the internet are strangers. I can pass along resources and share my opinion if they ask me for advice, but I am not developing a close relationship with them or developing anything involving emotional or sexual intimacy with them. or with any, like, fan either. obviously some of this is different from your own situation, but you can probably see the logic here and how you might apply it to your own ways of relating to the subject online. I think there is never any harm in making information available, being aware of what a platform's terms of service are just for the sake of protecting yourself, and maintaining good boundaries with people you do not know while still being friendly, helpful, and cordial.

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mysteryanimator · 22 hours ago

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Ok so this a word ramble that I originally shared to a few folks, and then went “what the hell sure” and I’m sharing this here. Though this is more word ramble rather than structured then anything I’ve written analysis wise. The only reason why it’s less structured then what I normally do is because if I were to do this properly, I would genuinely go make a PowerPoint and multiple animatic examples to prove a point for a made up what-if 😭 I have to go be productive haha

Ok here we go

How we could have a Mizrak and Olrox intimacy scene actually work

This is hypotheticals I’m not actually trying to say it should be this way, I’m just really interested on this concept because it CAN work and it makes my brain excited. Also side point- you can also very easily achieve all of these scenes without a sexual intimacy scene as well, it’s honestly just up for can be portrayed and want needs to be conveyed to the audience. As long as the main ideas that need to be said are said!

I’ll preface beforehand too, this will be having Mizrak in particularly lean into a more positive viewpoint on it simply because I think we need more positive accepting sex scenes in animated queer scenes, especially with a repressed gay man coming to accept vampirism aka queerness. I think that’s neat in contrast to a lot of intimate scenes that aren’t so positive :D this also means a lot of it will come with my a lot of my own personal opinions!!

First of all, it would build an entirely new perspective on mizrak for us as an audience! There is so much we viewers that we do not know about him. Yet Olrox is so comfortable sharing alot of his emotional vulnerabilities to him, unlike Drolta in the graveyard scene. This type of physical intimacy literally has some baring their entire self to someone else. Nakedness is vulnerability. Mizrak is also a ‘warrior monk’ who wears armour. So you’re literally stripping him of not only his armour, we’re stripping him of the label he’s had since who knows how long. We go from warrior monk to just Mizrak. Every single scene of him in Nocturne is just defined by his monk title, never Mizrak. Which is also why it’s hard for a lot of us to imagine him in clothes other than his monk attire.

His monk attire is now however gone because drum roll. He’s a VAMPIRE. This is important I swear!

(Side tangent his ‘rebirth’ scene at the end of episode 08 when he’s revealed to be a vampire was unbelievably really fucking good)

He’s going to be dealing with a lot of self identity issues, his self image and how he feels about himself. He was already pretty repressed beforehand, and now all the walls are crashing down. Firstly as mentioned before, nakedness is a form of vulnerability. It would be such an interesting and unique way to showcase an acceptance of his identity. It’s both of his new identity of vampirism but also his identity of being queer. Almost as if having the reverse occur in the story of Genesis, where Adam and Eve become ashamed when they realised they’re naked. The opposite happening for Mizrak would be just interesting!

Another point is that we can explore Mizrak’s acceptance of vampire’s having a soul/life! I semi-explored the concept in an animatic not that long ago just because the idea just intrigues me sooooo much. I kinda want to explore it further but busy atm 😔, though I would genuinely make space and time to work on something like that regardless of what show/film it is. Emmanuel learns the concept that vampires/night creatures have souls, that they remember their lives beforehand when he turns Drolta into a night creature. It is totally up to audience interpretation if Mizrak recognises learns vampires have souls through this line:

“If you have a soul Olrox, and maybe you do, I hope it finds peace.”

However, through an intimacy scene, you could absolutely cement Mizrak learning then and there Olrox does indeed have a soul. Solely because, I’m going to get pretty NSFW here, Olrox is reacting to Mizrak, he’s reacting to what’s happening to each other BAHAHA. He’s getting emotionally invested in the moment, beyond the physicality, which could click something in Mizrak’s brain. There is a life to Olrox because that vampire is sweating and moaning HAHAHAH, which if he were to be truly soulless and lifeless, he would not be doing all of that. He’s a breathing, living person who has a soul. Ensue Mizrak accepting and giving in 🏃

Sure this probably happened between episode 3 and episode 4 in season 1, but for us to only see it now would mark an importance for Mizrak. It’s important for us as an audience to see this recognition because it will fundamentally change him and progress both their narratives. Every Mizrak and Olrox scene from episode 03 of season 1 to episode 08, something changes and something moves forward.

Speaking of life, Olrox has not been living. He’s depressed and traumatised. He’s the what-if he just killed the person who killed his lover dilemma for Dracula (thank you Tack for that!) He hasn’t lived since his lover died UNTIL Mizrak. I personally haven’t had seen so much life in him until he was fighting Drolta, saw Mizrak wounded and then started RUNNING??? It’d be really interesting conceptually to see Olrox be ‘alive’ in a much more safer private space, just between him and Mizrak!

This is also something you can very very easily achieve in 2-3 minutes, which is how long most of their scenes together are because they’re side characters. Or even less, 30 seconds it’s entirely possible to convey all of the above in little time. Power of visuals is important!!! Censoring is also not an issue too, I think you could censor this to hell and back but with smart and powerful storyboard choices from whoever gets the blessing to do it, concrete writing, you can actually have something that goes along narratively with the love theme in Nocturne and it’s positive influence on people. Mizrak’s self-acceptance and Olrox’s life reinvigorated. Of course everything beforehand has to build this up to this before it happens. Me, the brainrot person I am, recognises how hands are like a super important thing for them so it would be very cool to have that incorporated in somehow. Also, having the Olrox holding Mizrak from behind thing come up again, but with Mizrak accepting it properly and leaning back into him (or even Mizrak holding Olrox from behind) during a scene like this?? During a emotionally and physically vulnerable moment? Actual shockwaves I tell you, I think you’d have the whole fan base in tears.

There are nuances here, visual metaphors to play off, unique storytelling pathways it could go down, interesting characterisation you specific to sex and so forth!

Anyways that’s my proper ramble for the week, I hope you enjoyed my season 3 episode 6 pitch (massive joke I’m joking I’m joking, tho honestly would be so funny though if I could pitch something like because I will do my proper research, I will pull up statistics if I must and make visuals. Though I generally do understand how intimacy scenes don’t happen often, though Cativi winning an Annie award would prove to help strength the argument I’m making :D )

#mystery talks #nobody asked for this #except for the Mizrak Olrox truthers #Olrox #mizrak #olrox/mizrak #castlevania nocturne #I will absolutely regret posting this I know it in my soul #but also this concept has been haunting for a while even in past analyses #the potientiality of it is what gets me really bad #1am rambles from yours truly #I recongise how ppl are literally fighting to have s3 and lay offs occurred this was just in good fun

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shovellyyy · 2 days ago

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Geto defecting was not an act of love for Gojo.

I saw this take on TikTok where they said “Geto defected because he wanted to create a better world for Gojo”, and I thought that I’d explain why that’s not the case.

If it were simply put, Geto suffered trauma at the hands of a broken system, thus took dramatic efforts to change the system. This was not in anybody’s benefit but his and his family’s.

Geto was titled as the Worst Curse User in all of history because he had brutally murdered hundreds, if not thousands, of people in his decade post-defection. This is the same Geto who told Gojo that he could do not only this, but cause destruction to the entire world at large if he truly wanted to.

It’s not that Geto didn’t love Gojo, because I do truly believe they’re soulmates (tho I don’t argue that as canon), it’s that Gojo wasn’t willing to give up his morals for “retribution”.

Geto wanted to rid the world of “monkeys” which are regular humans that are the reason cursed even exist. If there’s no curses in the world, there is no motivation for Gojo to be anything. Gojo has always believed himself to be a tool for war (I have another post on this), he has always believed that he’d one day die a lonely death. He’s never seen it within reach for him to live a normal life with a picket fence and a family. From the moment Gojo was born and separated from his parents for training, this sentiment was likely echoed to him.

What Geto was trying to do would not benefit Gojo in any way. Ridding the world of non-sorcerers and curses would ultimately leave Gojo average: powerless. Gojo thought of himself as nothing than his power, as someone who could uplift and encourage young sorcerers so they could be the ones to live a happy life instead of him.

Geto’s selfish feelings clouded his judgement, thus he never really thought of it from Gojo’s perspective. Geto had the wrong idea.

This isn’t a dig on Geto post either, but just stating my interpretation of JJK through how I’ve analyzed Gojo’s character and his relationships with others. I believe it’s wrong to think that Geto was doing all of this for Gojo.

He loved him, shown by how he wished Gojo would at least curse him in the end. Because no matter how much he messed up, no matter how horrible and murderous he became, Gojo still loved him. Gojo still gave him grace, and held onto him.

They’re doomed gay dudes. Star crossed lovers, doomed from the start.

I want to reiterate that I’m not just dissing on Geto. I believe it’s wrong though to believe he was fueled by his love for Gojo.

Anywayssss let me know your thoughts if you have any!! 🫶🏻

#hey….#introspection #introspective #goge #gego #Satosugu #sugusato #Gojo #Geto #hidden inventory #Jjk #jujutsu kaisen #doomed yaoi #Satosugu angst #Satosugu introspective

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numberonetacostan · 3 days ago

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(What I have for) Feral Taco :3

Hello my friends!!!^^ Here is the long post to go along with the drawing of feral taco I made the other day because people showed interest!!! :D It made me so very happy. I apologize if this au isn’t as neatly put together as some others I’ve posted, I straight up did not expect to be typing this out. I thought this would be an au that stayed in Loomy’s daydreams but then people asked so here we are!!! :) Please enjoy!!!!

So Taco’s mental health is absolutely awful after Mic leaves her. Just terrible. So bad. And instead of teleporting away with Mepad’s comatose body after Mic quits the game, she just… gives up. Leaves him there, and walks back to her home in the woods, which I like to think of as being on the other side of the island. Judging from the map we see Mepad display in episode 14, the forest stretches out nearly to the other end of the island, yeah? I tend to think Taco only goes to the edge and area closer to the hotel to meddle in the competition and talk to Mic. As for her actual living space, it’s much easier to stay hidden deep in the forest on the side of the island that everyone else doesn’t live on. So that’s where Taco is. Alone. For quite some time. Season 3 happens, season 2 ends (Without the disaster that the finale was, solely because it doesn’t work well with the timeline of this au. So, uh, Cobs tripped and fell off of MeCloud and caught on fire and died. Suitcase decimated Knife in uh. Jump rope contest. Or something. Good with everyone? Good.), and the show has been on hiatus for a good few months, as a nice break for the cast before season 4 starts. Other than Taco, who has just been alone and getting worse for quite some time now.

SO! The bulk of this would start around the time that said hiatus will be ending, all the contestants are at the hotel, including those who normally live on Paradise Island, because Mephone is getting ready to announce the next season, including who’s going to be participating! (They still don’t know he made them. This is about TACO. We’re not doing finale stuff here.) Most importantly, out of all of said contestants, are Bot and Goo. This is a Loomy AU you thought there’d be no propaganda in here? No. Taco will form relationships with whoever I please. So, Bot and Goo being Bot and Goo, go and play in the woods!! They’re exploring!! Having fun!! Playing tag, hide and seek, and enjoying nature!!! They stay relatively close to the hotel, for safety purposes, but end up going just a tad too deep into the woods as it’s getting dark. And it’s not called the Perilous Woods for no reason, hm? There’s some real Perilous stuff in there!! It could be a bear, a big snake, a wolf, a dragon, whatever you please since we lack a real world would-be location of Inanimate Island and thus we don’t really know what sort of wildlife would be there. I mean, I have a theory or two, but that’s not the point. Anyways, Bot grabs Goo and bolts. Neither of them are particularly edible, but they can’t be recovered by MeLife and would rather neither of them get maimed, yeah?

They get away from the danger, yay! But now they’re quite lost. Not yay. And now it’s become evening, so it’s dark. Bot does glow in the dark, at least their plush does, but we’ve seen how dark that forest can be during the day in episode 9. They’re nowhere near bright enough to see more than a foot or so ahead of them. And with how dense it is, it wouldn’t be easy for them to extend their legs and look back towards where the hotel is. So, to reiterate, they’re very lost in the thick, dark forest. Not good. Spooky noises all around, two very scared little guys. Especially when they hear rustling in the bushes, coming closer. And closer. And closer. And out from the darkness, they see a single eye staring at them, and scream!!! Until a flashlight is clicked on, and a very confused and unimpressed Taco is looking at them. She’s significantly more crack than she was the last time anyone (Mic) saw her, with one of her eyes whited-out and unseeing, but it’s definitely her!! And she’s holding some fishies skewered on a stick!!! Remember the fishies they’ll come back.

Now, I don’t think Goo would really know much about Taco, if he knows about her at all, but Bot would definitely have heard about her, at least by virtue of having Fan as a Dad. But! They are very lost, and Taco is kind of their only option here!! So Bot asks her for help!! They’re lost, and need to get back to the hotel. Taco doesn’t really respond, but just sort of continues on where she was walking. Bot tries to get her attention again, but she doesn’t say anything. Once she reaches the bottom of a large shrub though, she holds the bushes open behind her, indicating that they should follow. So it seems like she’s gonna help them get back!! Bot and Goo both try to talk to her while they’re walking, but she doesn’t say anything back. Just keeps looking ahead, occasionally stopping to listen out for any potential predators. After a bit of walking, though, it turns out that she hasn’t led them back to the hotel. She pushes the top off of a stump, and points down, indicating for the two of them to go inside. Obviously, when a disheveled homeless woman you only know through tales that don’t paint her in a good light wants you to go down into a mysterious hole, you would not be too keen on doing so.

So, Goo is spooked, and Bot’s not liking it either, so they insist Taco lead them back to the hotel. Taco shakes her head, and points down into the stump again. They insist again, Taco points again. They get nowhere, until Bot gets fed up, and turns around to try and search for the hotel on their own again, to which Taco stops them, and finally speaks. And it’s pretty obvious why she wasn’t talking before, because her voice sounds awful. Taco hasn’t spoken at all since Mic left. Why bother? She doesn’t have anyone to talk to, and she’s too upset to be talking to herself. So, her voice is quite hollow and hoarse, when she tells Bot that it’s too dangerous. The hotel is too far, and there’s too high a risk they won’t make it with all the perilousness in the Perilous Forest. If Taco, who’s lived there for years were to go, it would be one thing, but with Bot and Goo? Who are in the forest for the first time? No good. She’ll take them back once the sun’s come up, but for now it’s safer for them all if they take shelter for the night.

Bot isn’t connected to MeLife, and Goo would quite frankly be happy to not be in the scary dark forest, so they concede and go down into Taco’s hidey hole house with her. It’s… well it sucks. It’s just a big hole. There’s a pile of leaves and moss. Uh. There’s a couple lemons. That’s uh. That’s it. Goo is trying to be a nice little fella, as he is, but he can’t really think of anything particularly nice to say, so he just ends up saying “This is a …place you got here!!” Taco is not amused. She sits down on the dirt floor and gestures to the moss/leaves pile. It’s relatively untouched, since although it was where she used to sleep, she hasn’t slept much for a while now, yeah? As Bot and Goo sit down (or whatever Goo does… just kind of droops a bit I suppose) Taco starts preparing the fish to eat!! With… her bare hands. Or rather, claws. She probably did have tools at one point, but after everything she gave up on maintaining them, and they became rather useless. So, she just does it by hand, wiping the blood and gore off on the dirt walls/floor or even her own lettuce. Quite a disturbing sight. Bot gives a polite but strained “no thank you.” Goo nearly cries. And this was not Taco’s intention!! We already know how bad she is with other people and their feelings, and she’s been in a depression for months!! This has just become the norm for her, she is not trying to scare them!! And doesn’t feel good when Goo is upset!! But of course, this is Taco being faced with emotions, so she fumbles around a bit, taking back the fish and trying to give Goo a lemon with the hand that isn’t soaked in fish blood!! It’s sour, but she does not have any other food stored up. She didn’t leave her little hidey hole for quite some time after her break up, so any storage she had is all used up. Besides, I think Goo would enjoy sour things well enough. Bot is a robot so I’m assuming they technically don’t need to eat and would just chill and let Goo enjoy his lemon.

So Bot and Goo snuggle up and go to sleep, Taco sits in the dark for a few hours because she doesn’t trust them in her den unsupervised and also has barely slept for months <3. But once light starts seeping in from above, she wakes the two of them up to start the trek back to the hotel. Which, they realize as they start walking, is a pretty long trek. So, to fill the time, Goo tells a story!! For hours. Bot does their best to pay good attention!! Taco wasn’t paying attention when he started talking, much less midway through hour 3. And, remember earlier when I mentioned that you could imagine any sort of creature to be the thing chasing Bot and Goo? Well, not this time. I love bears, they’re cuddly and fluffy and don’t actually attack humans that much. Because they prefer fish and fruits and vegetables. Now, consider who of our three characters here would be absolutely scrumptious for a bear to eat. Because she’s full of vegetables. So, a bear comes and tries to eat Taco, Bot and Goo are quite rightfully very frightened, and Taco pulls out her space shooter, shoots it like a sick horse, and keeps walking. The founding members of the cheer factory are surprised, and have to scramble to catch up with her after a moment, because what the actual fuck was that. Well. I don’t think Goo knows the word fuck but still. They ask fair questions, like about how often she gets attacked by bears and why she has a gun, but Taco isn’t talking again and just keeps walking. Goo doesn’t go back to his story, so they just end up walking in silence, until they reach the edge of the forest!! There’s the hotel!! Hooray!! Taco points to the hotel, and immediately turns around to leave. Goo and Bot do thank her for helping them get back though, even if she doesn’t say anything back.

They are immediately swamped upon entering the hotel. Fan is sobbing while holding Bot, and Test Tube is joining the hug even if she isn’t crying out the entire Atlantic Ocean. Goo is very much checked up on and doted upon too, even if none of the other contestants are his parents, they all probably have a mutual agreement to keep an eye on such a little and whimsical fella, yeah? But anyways, uh, the others had been looking for them for more or less the entire night and very much want to know where they’d disappeared to, of course!! So they explain getting lost and running into Taco which makes the air turn rather awkward, since she’s such a taboo topic in the hotel. When asked how she was, Bot and Goo mostly just look at each other like (⚆₋₍⚆). That would be even more concerning. Goo eventually just says a little “mm, well… if you don’t have anything nice to say you shouldn’t say anything…” Because. All they have to report is that she looked terrible, barely spoke, had blood on her half the time, and killed a bear that tried to eat her without flinching. And that’s. Very concerning.

I honestly don’t have as much to say from here, since as I said I never expected to actually be sharing this concept, so it’s still really more of a concept rather than an au, but I’d say a small group goes to check on her here, and with Pickle’s permission (remember, only Knife and Soap know Mic had worked with her), offer her a room in the hotel. I mean, they still don’t like her, but Bot and Goo’s description of her ripping into fish with her bare hands for sustenance and having a nearly-falling-apart shell, they feel it pretty inhumane to not try to help her, yeah? And Taco is not having it. She opens up her little stump-roof-thing when Bot knocks and they and Goo call for her, but immediately slams it shut upon seeing they’ve brought more people, and refuses to come out, even when offered the hotel room. Taco is in the pinnacle of her self-hating era here, like she is doing so fucking bad. Remember when Brian said she’d be way worse off without Mepad? Well, here she is without Mepad, very much worse off. She believes herself incapable of changing!!! She would think going into the hotel would be the worst idea ever. She’d think she’d probably kill someone or steal something. She’d think OJ is an idiot for trying to let a kleptomaniac with a history of violence into his and the others’ place of living.

And it would take quite a lot for her to be convinced, not even to go to the hotel just for a visit or an actual meal, but just to leave her den when she isn’t 100% sure no one else is around. Maybe it would be Mic. Maybe it would be Mepad. Even Balloon or Suitcase. It could be a combination of all of their respective efforts, that maybe things could turn out alright for Taco. Who knows. Not me because I have genuinely told you guys all I have for this concept at the moment. I’ll probably have more eventually but I would feel bad for making you all wait and also that eventually could be days or months so might as well put out what I have lol.

Hope you all enjoyed!!! <3 sorry if this one sucked byeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#inanimate insanity #ii taco #taco ii #loomy's answers #bot ii #ii bot #goo ii #ii goo #ill just tag the main characters #i like to think about taco being feral <3 #i think she'd bite things also #dont think that detail is in the ramble but yeah #feral taco #feral taco au #loomy's aus

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nowayimbored · 1 day ago

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Restless Man

Summary: After 13 years of no contact, Sam comes knocking at your door when you least expect him.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

WC: 2,200

The leaves crunched beneath your shoulders, flattening the grass underneath. The wind jostled the trees above you, leaves floating down, down, down, until they slowly landed around you. The sun was slowly setting, golden hour quickly approaching. The autumn air was crisp and had a bit of a bite to it, but you didn’t mind. Watching the sky change colors, from blue to orange, pink, purple, and red was your favorite thing.

Sam Winchester was your second favorite thing. You met a long time ago, almost another lifetime it seemed like. He had crashed into your life like a comet, but you had to admit he had perfect timing. You had just lost both of your parents in a car accident. Sam could commiserate with you, his brother had… well, he didn’t say. He just said he was ‘gone’, leading you to believe he was dead, or maybe missing. But he never looked for him. You tried not to dwell on it too much, as Sam never spoke much about him unless he was borderline blackout drunk.

Sam became your best friend quickly, moving into your spare bedroom soon after you met. Things were mostly platonic, however there was a few times where the lines got a little blurry. You didn’t mind, though, you quite enjoyed it actually. In that year together, you two had grown very close. He would tell you stories that seemed farfetched, but he always retold them soberingly genuine. Stories of monsters, of a huge road trip he was on with his brother, of the end of the world…almost. They just about felt real.

You told your own stories, which were definitely very real. You told him of your family, your past, all of your wishes and hopes for your future. That was the best year of your life. It was so easy, so natural, with Sam.

The morning he left was like any other that the two of you shared, or so it seemed. Sam would typically run a mile or two right as the sun was rising before hitting the shower, which would be just about the time you’d be getting up. That fateful morning, though, it was quieter. There was no hum of the water pipes, no bare feet padding down the stairs toward the kitchen. At first you thought he had taken a longer run than normal, but in the middle of making breakfast for the two of you, you saw the note.

‘Hey,

I don’t even know how to start this. I’ve been sitting here, staring at the page, trying to find the right words, but nothing feels right. Maybe because there isn’t a right way to say this. I have to go. And I can’t tell you why. Not because I don’t trust you—I do. More than anyone. But because if I say too much, it could put you in danger. And that’s the last thing I’d ever want. This past year, you’ve been my rock. You reminded me that there’s more to life than just living out on the road, more than just loss. You gave me something I haven’t had in a long time—peace. And walking away from that? From you? It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I need you to know this isn’t about you. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I care too much. I don’t know if or when I’ll be back. I wish I could promise you something—anything—but all I can say is that if there was any other way, I’d take it. Please take care of yourself. Be safe. Be happy. You deserve that, shorty.

—Sam’

The note.

You still have the note; you carry it in your bag.

Breakfast was never finished that day. Actually, breakfast was never the same. What used to be your favorite meal of the day was quickly pushed off to the wayside, your eggs slightly less sunny-side up without Sam. To this day, laying on your back in the park on 7th, you still haven’t eaten breakfast.

It’s been 13 years.

Not much has changed for you in all of the passed time. You still wonder about Sam. After all, they say that if you love something, set it free. Except you kind of felt cheated.

You didn’t set him free.

You wished that you had told Sam your feelings before he left. Lord knows you tried; it seems like you called and texted him thousands of times. Not a single message was answered. Voicemail after voicemail was left, the box never giving a ‘full’ warning. All this time later, you wonder if he listened to them before he deleted them. You kept calling, until one day instead of his comforting voice before the beep, you heard a cold robotic voice chant ‘The number you have dialed is not in service. Sorry.”

Hell, you didn’t even know if you felt the same way after all this time or if it was just the past you were stuck in. Maybe you were stuck on a last-ditch hope that he would come back.

Maybe that’s why you never moved.

Darkness was starting to draw closer, the last rays of sunlight nearly snubbed out. Sighing, you slowly sat up, brushing dried leaves from your hair. You felt a few flecks of water splash on your forehead, looking up, grey clouds were looming threateningly.

You gathered your things, including the umpteenth letter you’d written to Sam but weren’t ever able to send. Fully standing up now, you started on your way home. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t too far. You cut across the corner of the park, making a beeline for the sidewalk as the rain began to fall harder. You started running, the sprinkles soon turning into a cold downpour.

By the time you reached your front porch, you were shaking and drenched by the ice-cold shower. You unlocked your door, slammed it shut to seemingly show the rain who’s boss, relocked it, and kicked your shoes off in one swift motion.

You raced upstairs to take a warm shower, wash off all of the cold. After your shower, you threw on your favorite pair of sweatpants and a shirt of Sam’s that you found under his bed after he left. It was just one of those nights. You meandered downstairs, toward the kitchen to find something for dinner and a glass of wine.

A faint knock at the door interrupted your path.

You turned and looked at the clock on the wall. You weren’t expecting anyone tonight. Damn it, it was broken, stuck on 2:22. You made a mental note to replace the batteries on your way to the door. You unlocked and opened the door, but nobody was there. You looked to the left, then to the right, before shutting the door. Damn neighborhood kids.

You padded off toward your kitchen again, this time after your junk drawer. A louder knock interrupted you once again. A second time, you headed toward the door, a bit faster this time. You opened the door just a crack and peeked out.

Oh. My. God.

You threw open the door, revealing a wet Sam Winchester. “Sam?” you questioned, before wrapping the lumbering man in a bear hug. You didn’t need an answer to your question, you knew it was him. You clung to his wet Carhartt jacket, the tears flowing off of your cheeks and onto his already damp flannel.

He was older, his grey was starting to show. His hair was longer, but it still had the beautiful shine that was so uniquely…him. He looked war-torn and half beat. He was still the same, though. He smelled the same. The perfect mix of leather, old books, pine, gunpowder and cheap soap. Sam. Your Sam.

“Hey, shorty,” he smiled, hugging you just as tight back and kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t hold back your tears, and neither could he. “Sam…13 years…you…” you managed to stutter out as sobs racked your body. “I know, I’m sorry, I know,” he kept repeating, like his own personal mantra. You took a few deep breaths to compose yourself, then broke the hug to invite him in.

“You came back?” you questioned. “Of course, I thought about you every day,” he replied. You beamed at him, tears welling up in your eyes again. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry!” he exclaimed, wiping away your tears before wiping away his own. You couldn’t help but give a short giggle. 13 years out the window, everything was just like it always had been with him.

He followed you to your kitchen table, taking a seat as you gestured. You grabbed the bottle of your favorite whiskey down from the shelf above your fridge. “You still drink Bearproof?” he chortled. You rolled your eyes, “Of course! Apparently you still don’t have good taste.” He smiled and shook his head, accepting the short glass filled with ice you offered him. You sat down across from him at the table and reached over to fill his glass with the amber liquid.

You took a pull from the bottle after filling your own, just something to calm your nerves you told yourself. On the surface, you looked calm, but underneath you felt like you were shaking like a leaf on a twig. You two sat in silence for a while, while it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. The both of you would sneak glances at each other in between sips of your drinks, pretending to be oblivious to the other’s wandering eyes. Finally, you had had enough.

You topped off each of your glasses for the third or fourth time, it was starting to get hard keeping track. “Sam, riddle me this: why come back after all this time? What if I had moved, or found someone, or…” you trailed off. He dragged his finger around the rim of the glass, seemingly lost in thought. “All these years, I kept tabs on you—” “What?!” you interrupted. “All these years? I called you Sam, thousands of times. I tried tracking you down, I filed a missing person’s report for fucks sake! I wrote you letter after letter after goddamn letter I couldn’t send!”

He remained stoic, his finger still carefully tracing the rim. He sighed, catching you with his puppy dog eyes. “Look, I wish I could tell you the truth, but you won’t believe me.” “Try me,” you retorted. He sighed again and finished off his drink, automatically you refilled it. Sam took the bottle from you and topped up your glass. “You’re gonna need this.”

Sam told you a story like you had never heard before. By the time he had finished, the bottle of whiskey was gone and instead a bottle of vodka took its place. You took a few minutes, maybe more, to digest everything he told you. It seemed hard to believe, but Sam wasn’t the type to lie.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, you managed to croak out, “I’m sorry about your brother. He seemed like a great man. And…thank you for your sacrifice…for saving the world.” He huffed cynically, “Yeah, sure.” You took a pull from the bottle of vodka before handing it to Sam, who happily accepted.

The short-lived conversation died off once again, this time leading to peaceful silence. You glanced at the clock, out of habit, but it was still stuck at 2:22. That’s what you needed to do! You slowly got up, joints creaking, head slightly spinning, “Ooh, it always catches up to you when you stand.”

Sam smiled and stood as well, offering you his hand. You gladly took it, relishing his calloused skin against your soft palm. You staggered over to the junk drawer, stabilizing yourself against the countertop. Sam tottered over and placed his hands on your hips to help support your swaying frame.

Heat immediately rose to your cheeks. Your mind cleared of all thoughts except for what you’d like to do to him.

What did you come over here for again?

You closed the drawer quickly, the only thing stopping it from slamming being that the cabinets were soft-closing. You spun around to face Sam, not caring if he saw your blush. “Sam, I have to tell you something.” He raised his eyebrow quizzically. “You…you heard all of my voicemails, didn’t you? Saw all of my texts?” He grinned, then looked down at his socks. “Yeah, yeah. I did.” You nodded once, trying to clear the embarrassment from your brain like an etch-a-sketch. No luck.

“Cool. Yeah, uh, cool. Um… about that…” you trailed off. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way after so long. I know we had a few drunken nights of fun way back when, but we’re different people now.” Different people? What did he mean by that? You thought about asking him, but staring at his face, you could only think of one thing.

Fuck it.You slammed your lips into his, desperate and wanting. He kissed you back with just as much wanton. Everything felt perfect. No, everything was perfect as long as Sam was back.

#supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #spn #sam winchester fic #sam winchester angst

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kaqtusm · 2 days ago

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@read-reblog-repeat you wanted to be tagged mother, so suffer

Moonwater microfic/scenario

Word count: 806

TW: angst, hurt/comfort, mention of SA, mention of pedophila

Remus Lupin’s life had never been simple.

Before his 10th birthday, before the world had started to make sense, before he even understood what the word love truly meant, he had been marked. He had been broken.

It was Fenrir Greyback who gave him HIV—through violence, through cruelty that no child should ever know. And it wasn’t something that had gone away with time; it had always been there, lurking in the background of every breath, every quiet moment, every joyful experience he’d tried to have.

The blood that had been spilled that night—so much of it—had poisoned him for the rest of his life, and Remus had learned to hide it. He had learned how to swallow his fear, how to shove down his pain, and most of all, how to pretend to be normal, even when his body betrayed him every single day.

It was never something he could tell anyone. No one could know about the monster that had taken everything from him. So, Remus smiled and pretended he wasn’t broken, that he wasn’t constantly at war with his own body. He was good at it. He had been for years.

But when Regulus Black came into his life, when he started to see the way Regulus looked at him—like he was more than just a person surviving, more than just someone who had lived through hell—it terrified him. He couldn’t let Regulus see him for what he truly was. He couldn’t let Regulus into the parts of him that would only bring sorrow and destruction.

But Regulus had always been different. And Remus hated himself for that. For the way Regulus made him feel alive in a way no one else had—no one else could—in a way that brought him back to the surface from the darkness he spent so many years trying to drown in.

It all came to a head one cold, rainy night when Regulus found him hunched over the sink, struggling to breathe. His body had finally given out—too much stress, too much pain, too many years of pretending to be okay. The cold sweat clung to his skin, his chest rattling with the coughs he couldn’t stop, the body trembling under the weight of it all.

Regulus had walked in, had seen him, and for the first time, Remus couldn’t hide it.

“Remus,” Regulus’s voice had cracked with concern, too much emotion that Remus wasn’t ready for. He’d never been ready for anyone to care that much.

“Please,” Remus had pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t look at me like that. It’s not what you think.”

But Regulus wasn’t listening. He was already at Remus’s side, pulling him away from the sink and holding him, his hands shaking as they touched his clammy skin.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Regulus had said, his voice tight with fear. “Please, Remus, just tell me what’s happening. What’s wrong?”

It was then that the walls finally crumbled. And Remus couldn’t stop the flood of words that came pouring out.

“I was a child,” he gasped between ragged breaths. “It was him—Fenrir Greyback—he did this to me. He… he took everything from me when I was just a kid, and I’ve been living with it ever since. He… he gave me HIV, Regulus. And now my body is breaking down, and I can’t—”

The words were swallowed by the weight of his own shame, and Remus could feel himself spiraling, the shame and the self-loathing so deep in his chest that it threatened to suffocate him.

Regulus didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he cupped Remus’s face, wiping away the sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on his with a look that pierced through the darkness.

“You are not broken,” Regulus said, his voice steady, even as the tears welled up in his own eyes. “You are not broken, Remus. What happened to you—it wasn’t your fault. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Remus tried to pull away, to tell him how wrong he was, to explain just how impossible it was for someone like Regulus to love someone like him—but Regulus wasn’t having any of it. His arms tightened around Remus, holding him close, grounding him.

“I’m here,” Regulus whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving. No matter what happens, I’m not leaving you.”

But Remus couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t understand how anyone could look at him that way, how anyone could still want to be near him when they knew what he was, what had been done to him.

The silence stretched between them, but in that silence, something began to change. Something fragile, but real.

Regulus wasn’t asking him to be perfect. He wasn’t asking for answers Remus couldn’t give.

All he was asking for was to stay.

And maybe that was enough.

#moonwater #romantic moonwater #regulus x remus #marauders #angst #muggle au #aids #hiv

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kikyoupdates · 19 hours ago

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Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

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“Honestly, I thought you would’ve given up by now,” Sergei sighed.

“What? Of course not,” you frowned. “I’ll have you know I’m very serious about this. Look, I’ve even been practicing!”

You proceeded to swing your wooden sword with visible enthusiasm, making cutting motions left, right, and center.

Needless to say, he wasn’t impressed.

Today marked the second day of your lessons with the kind-hearted knight who ended up meeting a gruesome fate. Naturally, you had no intention of getting ahead of yourself. It wasn’t as if you expected to become some sort of prodigy overnight. But every effort counted, and the more you practiced, the better equipped you were to defend yourself if something went awry. After stupidly letting your guard down and helping out Flora, you needed to keep up with your training, now more than ever.

“So?” you huffed, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “What do you think?”

Sergei’s brows were creased. He looked like he was searching for the right words to say.

“I think that you have absolutely no talent with a sword.”

Okay, well he clearly hadn’t found the right words, because ouch.

“You’re so mean,” you whined. “This is only our second lesson! Don’t you think it’s too early to jump to conclusions? Of course I’m not going to be great right off the bat. I’m only a beginner. Were you immensely talented from the get-go?”

“Yes,” Sergei said calmly. “My talent is the whole reason I decided to become a knight.”

“Ugh. Okay, that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that someone can suck at something at the beginning, but that doesn’t mean they can’t improve one day.”

“I agree with that,” Sergei acknowledged. “I’m not saying that you can’t learn, but from what I’ve seen, it’s already quite clear that this isn’t the sort of activity that will come naturally to you. Everyone has different types of skills. Why not take up a hobby that you might be better suited towards? It could save you a lot of frustration, and sword-fighting really isn’t the sort of thing a lady like you will ever have any use for...”

But I can’t learn something else. It’s not like I’m doing this for fun. I need to make sure I’ll have some way of protecting myself.

Obviously, you couldn’t tell him that for you, learning to use a sword was absolutely essential. So, you did what you did best. You lied.

“As I’ve told you before, I am a very prudent woman,” you said.

Sergei snorted. Okay, rude.

“Lately, I keep having nightmares of criminals attacking me in the middle of the night, and I can’t do anything but quiver helplessly. I refuse to be helpless,” you frowned. “I never want to end up in the sort of situation where I just cower in fear and hope for the best. I want to take charge of my life and fight until the very end.”

“This seems to be an ongoing concern of yours,” he remarked, looking a touch concerned. “Being cautious is all well and good, but there is such a thing as worrying too much. If you’re really so afraid, why don’t you just make sure to take a personal guard when you go out in public?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“So, then...”

“But if they fail to protect me, then I’m right back to square one.”

Sergei shook his head in disbelief. “Alright, alright. If training with a sword will really help to put your worries to rest, then I suppose it’s the least I can do for you. But you really should know that the odds of you getting hurt, especially if you aren’t on your own, are remarkably slim. Infinitesimal, even.”

Ha. You’d be surprised.

“Yes, I know,” you said, mustering a smile. “But this really does make me feel better about the whole thing. I feel powerful, even though I realize I’m far from it yet. And now I have the added challenge of becoming so good that you’ll be forced to eat your words. Hehe.”

“At the very least, your enthusiasm is certainly admirable,” Sergei chuckled.

Right. That was all you had, really. Enthusiasm. And fear. Fear for your life. With such emotions driving you forward, you were certain that you could somehow compensate for your lack of athletic abilities.

As proof of your readiness to train your butt off, you swung your sword several times in quick succession, building up a noticeable burn in your arms. Sergei wasn’t saying anything, just watching you in silence. It didn’t matter if you sucked. Hell, you knew you sucked, but that still wasn’t going to change the fact that you were going to do this, no matter what.

“Lady [Name], please stop,” he eventually said.

You looked back at him in confusion. “Yes? Am I doing something wrong?”

“You’re doing many things wrong, but that’s not what I was getting at. How would you like to try using a real sword today, just to get a feel for it?”

You could hardly contain the grin that burst across your lips. “Really?!”

“It would be good to try,” he nodded. “If the point is to protect yourself, a wooden sword won’t do much to achieve that. It was just to get you a bit familiar with the length and girth of the weapon you’ll be holding. Keep in mind that the real thing will be quite a good deal heavier, though. It will be difficult to adjust to at first.”

“That’s totally fine!” you babbled, eager to finally try out the real thing. You’d never held a sword before. It was difficult to even find swords back in your previous world. All of this was to learn how to protect yourself, but it was still so exciting!

Sergei bit back a smile. “It’s not that amazing. But I have to admit that it’s quite amusing to watch you react so expressively.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re amused. C’mon, gimme!”

“You certainly don’t speak like a noblewoman, though... anyways, here you are. Be careful. Don’t move too suddenly with it.”

He gently placed the hilt of the sword in your hands, with the blade pointed downwards. You couldn’t feel the full weight of it yet, not while Sergei was still gripping it as well.

But then he let go. And the sword fell to the ground.

“Ouchie!” you squealed, frantically shaking your wrist. “My hand nearly broke!”

Sergei clamped a palm over his mouth. “Pfft... n-no, you’re just exaggerating. I did warn you, my lady. Perhaps you were just surprised. Care to try again?”

You grimaced, cheeks glowing bright red. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating just a bit, but that thing was heavy as all hell! In the interest of staying as safe as possible, you knew wielding a sword was practically crucial, but you were slowly realizing that it was an even bigger obstacle than you’d once presumed.

“I can do it,” you huffed, crouching down to pick the sword back up. “It’s okay. I have muscles. Weak, underused ones... but they’re still muscles!”

Sergei was trying not to laugh at you—and failing horribly, at that.

But by some miracle, you managed to pick the sword up. Granted, you had to hold onto it with both hands, and the strain it was placing on your wrists was enough to make your arms shake, but you were actually holding a sword. God, you felt like such a badass!

“I-I’m amazing,” you said, grimacing in between breaths. “Showstopping, incredible, phenomenal. S-Super epic... ugh, I just can’t anymore!”

You dropped the sword once again, sighing in relief. Okay, so it was a work in progress. Strengthening your wrists would likely be crucial. Maybe you could practice by repeatedly opening jars.

“Good effort,” Sergei mused, flashing you a thumbs-up. “It was—pfft! —very entertaining."

“Well, I’m glad one of us enjoyed it,” you eye-rolled.

“Weren’t you going on earlier about how you’d make me eat my words? Surely the weight of the sword isn’t enough to make you quit?”

“I have no intention of quitting,” you reassured. “That being said... is it all possible to make my own sword? One that’s a bit lighter? I’m not as tall or strong as you. I can have one personally customized to better suit me, right?”

Sergei nodded. “Yes, you can have one made by a blacksmith. If you provide him with the rough dimensions of the sword, and what sort of materials you’d like to have used, I’m sure he can craft one that’s more comfortable for you to use. It still won’t be too light, not if you want it to be sturdy enough to deal damage, but you can figure out the details and strike a good balance between what you’d like to achieve.”

“Is there a particular blacksmith you recommend?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Remind me to write down his name and some other details for you later.”

“Alright. In that case...” You picked up the wooden sword instead of the real one, smiling sheepishly. “Um. Until I have my personal sword made, I’d like to stick with this one, if that’s okay...”

Sergei was clearly holding back the urge to laugh again. “Whatever you say, Lady [Name].”

“Back to training I go,” you hummed. “Watch this! Consecutive wooden sword slashes, but at a dizzying speed. Hyah!”

“Again with the battle cries...”

Even if you were still a noob in the purest sense of the word, over time, your body was bound to adapt. You were intent on getting by through muscle memory alone. Besides, as far as you knew, only two of the yanderes were proficient sword-fighters themselves—namely, Triston and Friedrich. So long as you were armed, and they weren’t, you would probably stand a chance.

Point being, it was best not to skimp on your training. Even if you probably looked like a fool flailing around all over the place.

Still, it was certainly tiring swinging a heavy wooden sword continuously. With every motion, you could feel your arms progressively turning to jelly. Coupled with the fact that it was so hot out, you were really starting to break a sweat.

“Time out,” you groaned, throwing your sword down. You tried to fan yourself off with your hand, but it wasn’t doing much good. This goddamn tunic was making you burn up. It needed to go.

So, you proceeded to get rid of it, stripping your outermost layer and exposing the thin camisole you had underneath. The relief was almost immediate. Granted, it was still hot as hell, but your skin could finally breathe now.

“L-Lady [Name]!” came the horrified splutter. You turned to find Sergei gaping at you in disbelief, several shades redder than he’d been a few seconds ago.

“Yes?” you frowned.

“You can’t just get undressed like that all of a sudden! Please remember that you are in public!”

He looked away in a hurry, and you had to admit, it was kind of cute. In the game, Sergei made every effort to act the part of a knight. He was sometimes guilty of being too serious, although he eventually came to let his guard down around Flora, after falling for her gentleness. From what you recalled, he’d never been much of a joker, yet in the few interactions he’d had with you, you’d already gotten to see him laugh it up plenty of times at your expense. And now he was even blushing. It was refreshing to see such different sides to a character you liked.

But honestly, you didn’t really get what the big deal was. The camisole was pretty thin, sure, but it wasn’t all that revealing. A tiny bit of cleavage and bare shoulders, but that was about it. Back in your world, people showed plenty of skin, so you definitely weren’t used to such an innocent reaction. Your case especially was rather unique. Countless doctors and nurses had seen you butt naked before, so something like this hardly fazed you.

Watching Sergei get increasingly flustered was rather amusing, though.

“You can drop the title, you know,” you chuckled, still fanning yourself off. “Just [Name] is fine.”

“No, I really mustn’t,” he insisted. His face was buried in his palms, and it almost seemed like he was itching to move them out of the way and steal another peek, but his willpower remained undaunted. “This is already quite improper... and you allow me to speak to you so casually in the first place. Now, please, will you get dressed?”

“Aw. But it’s way too hot out. I’d rather keep practicing like this.”

“Lady [Name], what you have on leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Please, for my sake, I’ll ask that you cover up again.”

“Prude,” you muttered under your breath. Alright, alright. You could sort of understand that this was set in a different time period, with different standards and all that, but you were really struggling to feel modest given your previous lived experiences. Guess that was yet another thing you’d have to get used to here.

With a great deal of reluctance, you put your tunic back on, cursing the fact that they didn’t even have air conditioning in this world.

“You can look now,” you announced. “Rest assured that my breasts are back in their rightful place.”

Sergei gritted his teeth, still red as a tomato. “In the name of all that is holy, I am literally begging you to stop.”

“Hehe.”

“Don't hehe me!”

It was safe to say that Sergei was too embarrassed to look you in the eye for the rest of your training session.

Cedric Lightsteel, huh?

You stared down at the piece of paper in your hand. It was the name of the blacksmith Sergei had personally recommended to you. Sergei spoke very highly of him, so you didn’t doubt that he’d be able to craft you the perfect sword. Once you’d obtained a weapon tailored to suit your needs, you were confident that your skills would improve astronomically.

Anyways, things were looking good. As expected, it felt good to plan everything out in the event that you got caught up in something dangerous. Based on the natural progression of the plot, you still had plenty of time until the yanderes began exhibiting their dangerous tendencies—not that you planned on ever seeing any of them again.

There had been a little hiccup with Flora, sure, but you’d ignored her letter. By now, you were confident that she would’ve gotten the message. Even if you did feel really shitty about it.

“Man, I’m pooped,” you yawned, stretching your arms out. Living in a healthy body really was incredible. You’d worked your butt off today, and you were definitely tired, but it still didn’t even come close to the fatigue you experienced every single day back in your old life. Even with minimal activity, you’d been in a perpetual state of exhaustion back then. You slept just about always, lied around doing very little when you were awake, and your body struggled to do even that much.

It almost made you want to cry. The fact that you actually got to live like this now. That was why you needed to hold onto it with all your strength.

You decided to unwind by taking a nice, hot bath. Modern day luxuries were certainly missing in this world, but that just meant that you had more time to enjoy the simple pleasures in life. You could even feel some of your vigor returning to you as you soaked in the delightful bubbly water. You’d trained for hours, but with this body, it felt like you’d be good to do the whole thing all over again after just a little bit of rest.

Sighing happily, you eventually decided that you were squeaky clean and stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around your body.

Then, you walked back into your bedroom.

Only to find a strange man sitting on the bed.

“Ah,” he smiled upon locking eyes with you. “Did you have a nice bath? I was waiting for you to finish. Come, let’s have a chat."

Unsurprisingly, you screamed.

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