#because all anyone who is permanently cold wants

[earthtooz]

jealous ratio bc i wont him, inspired by the simulated universe occurrence, banter about marriage hehe

"Dr. No. 5 asked me to be his research partner today," you mumble half-heartedly to Veritas. It was an ordinary night, you're curled into his side with your phone in hand, watching the latest series you've been invested in whilst he occupies his mind with a book, held by one hand whilst his other is wrapped around you.

However, when he registers your confession, he tenses, slightly scrunching the pages of his book as the arm around you stiffens, muscles contracting.

"And what did you say?" He asks, feigning collectedness.

"I agreed."

His book slams shut and he shoots upward to a sitting position, baffled by the nonchalance of your tone. How cruel, you have betrayed him in the most despicable of ways, do you not care? Agreeing to be someone else's research partner is akin to that of spitting on his heart and stomping it flat, have you no respect for the laws of academic loyalty (there is no such thing), or is he the only one in your relationship devoted to it?

An idiot. You will be working with an idiot and you somehow see no flaw in that, where is your integrity as his lover?

"What does that fool have that I don't?" He all but cries, yanking your phone from your hands and setting it on his bedside table.

"What are you blabbering about?" You ask, looking up at him with inquisitive eyes, confusion shining in your irises.

"I'm supposed to be your only research partner, I cannot believe that you've gone and betrayed me like this."

"Pray tell, Veritas, how is this a 'betrayal'?"

"I would never choose to be anyone's research partner if I'm not yours, but today I've discovered that my devotion is not only unreciprocated, but unappreciated! How unfathomable."

The purple-haired turns his muscular back to you, giving you the cold shoulder. Slowly you sit up and lean on his toned body, hand resting on his deltoid and you can already see the way he tries to fight the effects of your touch. "Dear, you wouldn't be anyone else's research partner because you think majority of people are 'idiots' and aren't worthwhile academics to invest time into."

"Precisely why I cannot believe that you have agreed to work with No. 5, who is undeniably, irrefutably, and undoubtedly, a simpleton!"

You bite your tongue when it threatens to spill that you think No. 5 is not as bad as Veritas assumes, but that would outrage the scholar even more and you do not want to spend the better half of your day purposefully ruining it.

"The pay was good," you reason, daring to place a kiss to his neck. "But you are still superior in my heart, Veritas. Do not fret, if I am to seek a research partner, you would be my first and only choice."

"How long will your project span for?" He asks begrudgingly.

"6 months of research, writing, and editing. After that, I am not too involved with the publishing process."

"Oh how it stains me picturing your name beside another imbecile's."

You sigh, sitting up straighter to wrap both arms around his neck. "Your name could be beside mine permanently if you got down to one knee and presented me a ring, but alas, perhaps I shall be waiting another few research papers for that to happen."

You can't see the fond smile on his face, but you yelp when he turns around suddenly to push you against the comfort of your mattress, his lips claiming yours.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[yanderedrabbles]

Helloooo! I just loved the old west gang. Traumatized? Yes. Curious? Yes. But specifically the Lakota wrangler caught my attention, and oooh this part:

"""Don't be. You're my reward, my reparation." He brushed his knuckles across your cheek again.

"I've waited my whole life for you."

You wanted to ask why. What made you so special? Why did he want to keep you? ""

VAL, TELL ME WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WHAT'S HIS STORY? WHAT'S HIS DEBT?

OH MY GOD HIS PART IS SO 💕💕💕💕

TELL US THEIR BACKGROUND PLEASE 🥹🥹🥹

Yandere Outlaws - The Wrangler's Past + the gang hearing about you for the first time

I think the wrangler probably has one of the most interesting backgrounds. We all know that the Wild West era was no fun at all for Native American tribes. Manifest Destiny and all the terrible things done in it's name saw Native tribes being confined to smaller and smaller reservations, with stricter and stricter rules. Bison were disappearing, the railroads were cutting across hunting lands, and permanent settlers were coming west in droves.

I think in the face of all that, the wrangler felt like he had to adapt or die. Set out on his own and try and make it in the white man's world.

I reckon he falls in with the boss after a nasty bar fight. Him against some cowboys who feel like a Lakota on "their" turf is blasphemy.

Things don't look good at all. He's a strong fighter but numbers almost always trumps skill. He's going to end up dead in the mud and no one will give a damn.

Well, until the boss arrives. Maybe the boss is an old quick draw and when the smoke settles the cowboys are down for good. Or maybe the boss just has that look to him, that keen eyed glare that makes dumb cowhands think better of their bravado.

Either way, he hauls the wrangler out of the mud and offers him a job.

"Need a man for my horses. I'll pay you good to stick with us for coupla weeks."

The wrangler agrees. Because hell, what else is there to do? And if the older man looks hard edged and hard eyed, how much does that really matter? This is the West. You either get tough or get buried.

I think one way or another, the boss earns his loyalty. He gives him a sense of belonging he hasn't felt since he set out on his own. Gives him a purpose. And well, robbing banks and derailing trains and sticking it to old Uncle Sam is about the best he can do to make up for what his tribe has been through. Just one more outlaw pricking Washington in the thumb.

And as for you, sweet thing that you are, oh, you're what he's waited for all his life.

A girl to call his own. Soft and kind, to keep the cold away. Looking in your eyes makes it so easy to forget all the shit he's been through, all the shit he's done. He's been through his share of trouble and then some. He deserves a place to rest his head, a person to call home.

So what if you aren't willing? The world has gone out of its way to take what should have been his by right. The bison, the land, the open sky and flowing water. All of it divvied up and fenced off. He's not letting anyone get in the way of the one good thing he can finally call his own.

I think the thing that initially attracts him to you is the story of you and the second in command. The second is Chinese and he hasn't had it easy either. He could either work the railroads or die in a ditch. Not the best options, but just about the only ones open to an immigrant's son.

If you were anyone else, you'd have screamed your head off when you found him bleeding in your barn.

You didn't. Instead, you put him back together and kept him safe from your pa.

When he first heard the story, it was a cold night out on the planes. They'd just pulled off a job and were sleeping rough, trying to throw the law dogs off their trail.

The second kept looking out to the west. Maybe he was keeping an eye out for pursuit, but they'd pulled their job off back east. Marshals would be coming from that direction, if at all.

Finally, he gave in to his curiosity and asked the man what the hell he was looking for.

"My girl," he said simply. "My girl stays out that way."

The outlaws grew quiet around the fire.

"I didn't know you had one," the boss said, elbows on his knees as he sharpened his boot knife. "Is that where you go off to when we're in town?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to check in on her."

The gunslingers leaned forward then, as in sync as coyotes.

"She must be one hell of a girl, if she can put up with your ugly mug."

"Is she pretty? Got those nice eyes that look up at you all sweet?"

He ignored them and went back to looking west, like he could somehow see over all those miles.

"Do you love her?" the wrangler asked suddenly. He didn't know why he asked that, just that it seemed important.

"More than I thought possible. Every time I see her it's like my heart is breaking. If I can't have her, I think I'll go mad."

The boss looked up for a second, blue eyes catching the firelight. "You gonna marry her then?"

The second laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. "She doesn't even know I exist."

The boss stopped sharpening his knife. "How do you know you love her, if you ain't never talked to her?"

"She saved my life. That's how I know."

The wrangler looked up at the sky and wondered who would go out of their way to save an outlaw.

The boss stuck his knife in his boot. "Tell us the story."

Maybe if anyone else asked, the second would have refused. You were his girl. He didn't want to share even the memory of you with other men.

But you don't say no to the boss.

When he was done telling it, the outlaws were quiet. Lost in their own thoughts. All of them thinking how sweet it would be to have a girl like that. Feeling for a second what he felt every time he thought of you.

It was the wrangler who broke the silence, only half aware he was speaking. "I'd do anything to have a girl like that. Someone so kind..."

The dark skinned outlaw leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "She sounds too good for either of you."

"And you're any better?"

He didn't get to answer. The green eyed gunslinger cut in, his voice low and mean.

"She sounds real innocent. Kind of girl who'll cry when you fuck her for the first time."

The second in command stood with a snarl, already reaching for his rifle.

"Don't."

The boss, quiet but no less dangerous for being so.

"We're all men here. We're all gonna think somethin' like that when you tell us 'bout a girl so...untouched."

The second sat back down stiffly, his jaw clenched tight.

The boss continued, "Ain't like we're gonna steal your girl from you. Let it go."

The wrangler didn't let it go though. Not even when they were back in their hideout, a whole lot richer than they were a week ago.

He stopped the second in command when he was saddling up his mustang.

"Take me with you. I want to see this girl of yours."

If it was anyone else, he'd have said no on the spot. But the wrangler had a quiet gentleness about him that made the second agree.

They watched you from a hill overlooking your father's ranch. Just two shadows against the setting sun.

One of your horses had taken sick and you were walking it around the corral. Stopping every little while to stroke its neck or rub its nose, whispering encouragement. You were patient, gentle. The hem of your skirt tucked into your belt and showing off a sliver of thigh as you moved.

The wrangler sighed and stroked his horse's neck.

"I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you keep looking for her, even if you're a hundred miles away."

As they rode home, he found himself doing the same thing. Looking over his shoulder like he could somehow see you one last time.

And the first time he saw you up close? Backed up against the kitchen table, corned like a vixen at the hunt? That's when he realised exactly what you were.

You were his reward.

The one good thing he'd struggled all his life to find. You were going to be his peace. His home.

And the first time he had you? On your knees, kissing his cock, your eyelashes still wet with tears? That's when he decided he'd keep you, no matter how cruel it was. No matter that doing it would strip him of any claim to goodness. A good man wouldn't get hard seeing you cry. A good man wouldn't fuck you when all you wanted was to go home.

But then again, how could he stay a good man in a world that hated him? That wanted him dead and gone?

When he kissed you, he signed away his last bit of honour. It doesn't matter that he holds you so gently, that he touches you like a lover.

He'll never let you go. And ain't that just a bitch?

[gunpowdercarousel]

Honestly MAJOR missed opportunity for Karlach to have some kind of permanent 'buff' that deals minor fire damage to anyone who touches her in melee. Like obviously it'd be strong for fighting beasts, because every time they hit her with claws/fangs they take damage, but just from a STORY-TELLING ASPECT?

How heartbreaking would it be when you're trying to cast Cure Wounds on her? In order to heal her, you have to hurt yourself and she KNOWS IT. You go to cast Longstrider on the party and you hesitate as you reach Karlach. Yeah, it's only a few points of damage, it's not that big a deal, but does she REALLY need it? Is it worth it?

You linger, hesitate. You realize you don't want to touch her. You realize that's what EVERYONE thinks when they see her. You realize she KNOWS You're hesitating, staring at her sheepishly as you try to think of whether or not it's worth the pain just to help her.

You learn to support her from a distance. Healing Word. It's not as effective, but you don't need to get hurt for her sake. And so she learns to get used to receiving help from a distance. Just words of encouragement. It's all anyone wants to give her. Maybe it's all she'll ever get.

Aid? Bardic Inspiration? You don't need to touch her to give it to her. You can keep her at a distance and not get burned. And you're still helping her.

It's just... cold.

[svetamillss]

Headcanons: their main fear in the relationship with you🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kang Dae Ho x Reader(f), Kang Sae Byeok x Reader(f), Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f), Nam Gyu x Reader(f)

A/N: Soon I will try to deal with your orders! Also soon I will write headcanons about the alphabet with characters!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

The girl is very afraid that you will leave her for another, because she is not good enough for you. She tried to be feminine: she made beautiful hairstyles, cute makeup, dressed up in good and classic clothes, sometimes even allowed herself skirts and dresses, used good perfumes. But despite this, she still felt like a man, because she didn't make a full transition. She still had a male voice, an Adam's apple, light stubble on her face, but most importantly, she still had a dick. She wanted to finish everything faster, but there not enough money and Ju had to put up with it.

You always told her that she is the most beautiful girl in the world and you don't care that she hasn't changed into a girl yet, she believes you, she cries hearing these words. But she is still afraid that the worst thing may happen to her and you will constantly prove the opposite.

Kang Dae Ho

The guy told you that after the service he developed PTSD. You accepted it and said that everything was fine, that he was a great guy, that he continued to be strong and brave.

But the guy has a new fear. He fears that he won't be able to protect you because of his disorder.

Dae Ho is afraid that someday you will get bored that he sometimes behaves like a cowardly child and leave him.

He knows that you are not like that, he knows that you love him very much, but there is fear and he tries to fight it.

Kang Sae Byeok

You are a very nice and romantic person. You have always shown a lot of attention and love for your girlfriend, shower her with compliments, give gifts and much more.

Sae Byeok is very pleased, she likes that you are trying for her.

But she has a problem. A girl doesn't know how to give attention and love like you. She's used to being cold-blooded and distant, Sae doesn't even treat her brother too kindly.

She's ashamed of it. She is afraid that you will get tired of her cold and go to the one who can give you all the love and attention.

Sae Byeok tries, she tries very hard and you see it, what she does is very valuable to you.

Someday the girl will be able to cope with her cold to the end.

Thanos (Su Bong)

You and your boyfriend have been dating for about three years. You survived both ups and downs, but you always stayed close to each other.

You tried to help the guy cope with his addiction.

He tried to quit permanently, but constantly returned to the state when he could not recognize anyone but you (yes, even in a terrible state, he can recognize you).

Sometimes you have your hands dropped and you quarrel with a guy, saying that you will leave him, because you want a normal life, you want a wedding and children in the future, but you can't, because it's very difficult to build it with such a person.

Su Bong understands this, he is very ashamed, he promises to leave, but always breaks these promises.

He's afraid that you'll fulfill your threat and leave him, he even cries because of all this when he's left alone.

Nam Gyu

The biggest fear is betrayal. He was betrayed, humiliated and insulted many times. He was considered a litter because he was friends with influential people, especially because of his friendship with Thanos.

He doesn't want you to be the same, he doesn't want to know that you use him and his trust for your own benefit.

He is also afraid that Thanos will take you away, because according to Gyu he is much better.

But you always prove the opposite, you say that you don't need anyone but Gyu, that you love only him and he is the best person in your life.

He believes you, but he still has fear.

🤍🤍🤍

[vatelixx]

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x Reader (no mention of gender).

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled brown behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[monzamash]

wouldn't dream of it lando norris x reader rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language, angst) requested by anon for monzamusings ✨

“What are you doing here, Lando?”

“I just needed to see you.”

Things had been good with Lando. You’d started dating a couple of months ago after being set up by a mutual friend who swore up and down that you were made for each other. And she was right for a time, over winter break when life was easy, no real responsibility or commitment needed to keep whatever it was between the two of you simmering away.

Fuelled by passion and lust with a dash of attachment. He was at your place every night nearly, besides Christmas day when you both agreed taking time away from family for a hook up was absurd. He was back in your bed the day after Boxing day, and working you over until New Years Eve, just the two of you tangled up in the sheets, closed off from the rest.

But then you flew to Monaco to see his world. Big mistake. 

It felt enormous. The constant attention and the anxiety, knowing that fans were sneakily taking photos at every opportunity, which always ended up on the silly gossip pages. And they were silly to begin with, salaciously lying about who you were and what you and Lando were until it got under you skin. Stomach churning.

There seemed to be a direct line of online hate funnelled your way and at first you promised Lando you could stomach it, until you couldn’t. It didn’t take long until reality seeped in, cold and harsh, tarnishing something that was so beautiful. It wasn't labelled but it could be in time, if his life was different – if he was a different person. 

Lando could feel you slipping away so he tried to bring you into his weird and wonderful world, to show you that it wasn’t so scary. But the more he introduced you to his "racing friends" and explained what a "paddock walk" was, the further you retreated and you knew a line needed to be drawn in the sand. Before it was too late.

Before it was too hard to let him go. 

It was callous in retrospect – a handwritten note left on his kitchen counter and slipping into an uber to Nice in the dead of the night. Cruel, really but necessary, you lied to yourself. Lando wanted to be surprised, he did. But everything you had written was true, he knew deep down that his life was fucking stressful, he didn't need reminding or how harsh people could be about the women involved with him and if it were anyone else, he would've slipped the letter in the rubbish bin and moved on.

But you were worth fighting for. And so here he was, on your doorstep in Shoreditch at 11pm on a Tuesday. It’s a wonder you answered the door but maybe there was a part of you that hoped it was him. Glassy eyed and dishevelled from the flight.

“I got your voicemails, I know where you stand but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?” Lando asked, the crease in his brow permanently furrowed in confusion.

“Because everything I needed to say was in the letter.” 

“What? This letter?” He scoffed, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the piece of paper he had been carrying since the day you left. Battered and torn. 

“All this tells me is that you’re scared to let me in and fine! I get that but if theres even a tiny part of you that wants me –wants us to try and make it work, then tell me because I want this…” Lando stepped forward, making his intentions clear.

“I want you.” 

“It’s not that simple,” You sighed, hands instinctively reaching for him as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you both inside. 

You wanted him more than anything.

“I know it’s not, baby,” He whispered back while you pushed the jacket he was wearing from his shoulders, “But we’re so good together… God, you’re beautiful.” 

Lando took a second to bathe in your beauty before tangling you in a fierce kiss, one that had you clutching his shirt even harder, dragging his pliant body towards your bedroom. He knew the way – every wall you came into contact with bringing you closer and closer to the edge of your bed, needy kisses between sharp inhales of breath. 

“I missed you so much, Lan.”

“Fuck, I’ve missed you more.” Lando whimpered as he hovered above and nestled himself between your thighs, hands roaming every inch of skin presented to him. 

The need to have him was bubbling over as you took him in your hand and guided him to where you needed, eyes squeezed shut as he fell forward, trembling arms holding up his aching body, “That’s so fucking good, baby – ugh, so tight f’me.”

You moaned in response as Lando slowly rocked forward, grappling with the surge of pleasure rushing to your core and the relief washing from your limbs. He was your missing puzzle piece and everything else was background noise, dulled when you had him like this – whimpering and moaning sweet nothings in your ear. Silver chains tangled between you as he pressed his greedy lips to your chest, leaving small bites as a reminder of his adoration and desire. 

“I need you, you know?” Lando purred into your ear as you held him close, fingers sprawled across his perspiring back as he fucked you deep, “These last couple of weeks have been hell without you… hated waking up alone and not having you beside me… not being able to hear your voice… I'm down so fucking bad.” 

His soft voice was breaking as the first droplets fell to your neck, “I know what it’s like now to lose you and I won’t ever take you for granted, I swear on my life…” 

Lando's sobs were quick to wrack his chest as you pulled him down, taking his full body weight in your embrace. He couldn't help but succumb to the emotions that had bottled up and finally spilled, every single worry dissipating as you held him close and soothed his tears with a soft hum. 

“Hey, it’s okay, baby – I’m here…” You cooed, brushing your fingers through his tousled curls and trying your hardest to keep it together. But you could feel the welling in your eyes, heartbroken for the man in your arms and the pain you had caused, no matter how much you believed you had done the right thing at the time.

“I know you’ve been dealing with so much and I never wanted to walk away – I just… I didn’t know what to do because I could feel myself falling for you but what I was too stupid to realise was that I was already in love with you – I think I have been since the moment we met…” 

Lando craned his neck, just enough to catch a glimpse of your beautiful eyes boring into his own – sincerity in every fleck. A small smile stretched across his face as he rested his forehead on yours, “I’m in love with you too. Have been since day one.” 

The smiles on your faces couldn’t have been any wider as Lando pressed a slow, sweet kiss to your pouting lips. You couldn’t help but giggle as he nuzzled into your neck, pressing kiss after kiss on your sensitive skin.

“You loooove me,” He sang, tickling your ribs with his eager hands before flipping onto his back and pulling you on top.  

“Oh, so I’m finishing us off, am I?”

“Yeah, I’m tired from the crying,” He shrugged and clutched your hips, playfully rutting them against his own. The moan that fell from your throat betrayed your mind, body and soul and Lando simply smirked, forever pleased with the effect he had on you. 

“If you weren’t so sexy I would leave you like this,” You teased back, rolling back and forth, edging both of you like a woman on a mission. 

“Please don’t ever leave me again,” Lando moaned, gripping tighter with every tantalising movement.

You shook your head and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his flushed cheek, “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

a/n – did i keep it under 1k words? of course not lol but hope you enjoyed x more f1 writing awaits ...

[cosmicalily]

"pilates princess" a changbin oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: i was talking to @thevampywolf this morning about how there's a proper lack of changbin fluff fics on tumblr atm and i decided to make it my mission of the day to change that! i absolutely love binnie, he's the silliest, sweetest guy and i was thinking of how to blend his gym obsession with his adorable personality, and a (very much so in love) pilates princess was born!!

Seo Changbin did not have time for girls.

According to his roommate, Han Jisung, his one and only true love was the gym, where he spent almost every spare second of his day. His diet consisted of protein powder, chicken breasts, green smoothies and instant ramen. He only drank cold brews with absolutely no sugar, because he couldn’t stand sweet things. 

He was pretty quiet and some would say intimidating. Didn’t say a lot, didn’t do a lot.

But now, watching you, he felt something different. He felt strange. He felt soft.

Changbin looked over at you curiously from the bench press, pausing to catch his breath for a moment as you stretched your body like a cat, toes pointed, shoulders straight.

Dressed in a pale pink sports bra with a matching long-sleeved ballet wrap and black leggings, to say you looked a little out of place in a predominantly male gym was an understatement. Your hair was pulled back with a ribbon, a sticker-decorated water bottle by the side of your mat and an iced milky-green drink beside it.

You breathed slowly, stretching your arms forward and touching your toes before sitting straight, cocking your head at your one-man audience.

“Why are you watching me?” you wrinkled your nose in disgust, self-consciously placing a hand over your chest. “I’m here for the exact same reason as you, it’s not my fault the girls’ dorms don’t have a gym.”

Changbin flushed. “I’m sorry. It probably seemed creepy, fuck, it’s not, I promise. I’m just . . . curious. What were you doing? I’ve never seen anyone exercise like that. Everyone who comes in either beats the shit out of the boxing bag or lifts.”

“Pilates,” you smiled, looking less uncomfortable. “I got my instructing licence a bit ago, but the place I teach at is only open in the mornings. So if I’ve had an early class or lecture and want to work out in the afternoon, I have to come here. Trust me, I wouldn’t be here voluntarily. You guys are gross.”

He pouted. “I’m not. I’m cute.” 

“Yeah, sure you are, princess,” you chuckled, taking a sip from the green drink. You noticed him looking at it. “It’s matcha, do you want some?”

“Fuck no, my friend said that tastes like grass,” Changbin shook his head furiously.

You laughed at him, inching the cup closer to him. “C’mon, try a sip. You’ll like this one, it’s sweet. I always get vanilla in it since I can’t stand bitter drinks.”

He very cautiously leaned forward, looking at you carefully in case you recoiled when he pressed his lips on the straw. You didn’t, seeming less and less shy by the second, watching him eagerly as he swallowed.

“...and the verdict is?” you prompted.

“Where can I get my own?”

Jisung looked around Changbin’s room in shock, eyes comically wide as he took in his surroundings. Sure, it had been a week while he’d been staying with his parents, but surely Changbin’s life hadn’t changed so . . . drastically? Or had he somehow been invaded by some kind of pink fairy?

A pale pink sports bra lay strewn on Changbin’s bed, accompanied by a pair of soft grey flared leggings and a drink bottle. There was a handbag too, with ribbons and cute fluffy keychains, all belongings that most certainly were not his. But there were slightly more permanent looking changes, too. A pink MyMelody sticker on Changbin’s previously pristine laptop. A little beaded bow charm on his duffle bag. Two polaroids pinned above his bed; one of a girl making a kissy face, another of her with Changbin, pinching his cheek as he beamed at her adoringly.

Did Seo Changbin have a girlfriend?

And why wasn’t she a black-donning, gym obsessed weirdo like he was?

“Oh hi, Ji, you’re back!” Changbin smiled wide, something that Jisung swore he had never seen in all his time being his roommate. Or at least, not for a very long time. But Changbin had a whole different air about him; his body, although still buff, didn’t seem as tense as it usually was. His brow wasn’t furrowed and there was colour in his cheeks. And, for the love of God, had he blow dried his hair?

Jisung smiled back. “Hey, Bin. What are you drinking? New protein powder?”

“It’s a vanilla matcha, you should try it,” he handed it to Jisung, who took a tentative sip then stared, open-mouthed in shock.

“That’s . . . sweet.”

“No shit,” Changbin laughed at him, thumping his friend on the back. “It’s good, right? Y/N introduced me to them.”

Jisung handed it back, still suspicious that the real Seo Changbin had been abducted and that the man in front of him was a secret twin. “Oh, nice. Is that her stuff in your room?”

“Sure is,” a sweet voice chuckled from behind Changbin. A petite girl flew through the door, wrapping her arms tight around Changbin’s waist. “I’m Y/N, Jisung. It’s nice to finally meet you! Binnie’s told me so much about you two.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow. “And you’re . . . ?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Changbin said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, but he’s the babygirl. Everyone knows that,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “He’s a pilates princess now, Jisung, I’ve converted him. Surprised he wasn’t doing it earlier; it’s very him, you know.”

Jisung blinked slowly, taking in the sight in front of him.

“Seo Changbin? A princess?” he mumbled.

“Sure I am,” Changbin shrugged, and Jisung promptly fainted in shock.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

May you do yandere platonic gi hun team season 2 with young adult reader who is really sick and joined the game to pay for her sickness. The reader coughs blood sometimes and can barley even stand up or walk. When she eats she needs 2x the amount but she stills feel insecure

This is actually a very valid and reasonable to take part in them, imho.

Yandere platonic Squid Game team x sick!fem!reader

Squid Game masterlist

Featuring: Player 456 - Gi-hun, Player 001 - Young-il(In-ho), Player 390 - Jung-bae, Player 388 - Dae-ho.

Gi-hun and Jung-bae took you under their wing after red light, green light. Those two were the reason you made it out of there alive because they hooked their arms under yours and almost carried you over the finish line.

Especially Gi-hun was very concerned when he saw the state you were in. He immediately offered you his food ration, keeping a watchful eye on you throughout the time.

-----

Gi-hun:

Gi-hun is the one who's in a permanent state of panic in every game. He wants to be as close to you as possible incase you would need help with anything.

Gi-hun is clingy, very clingy with you. He can't help but act that way, it breaks his heart! He's almost overprotective of you, even wanting to walk you to the door leading to the bathrooms.

Gi-hun most of the times gives you atleast half of his food, he knows you need it. Gi-hun always tells you to sleep under the beds at night, while he and mainly Jung-bae keep watch over you.

Whenever you're coughing blood, Gi-hun is all over you and embracing you in his arms.

His expression rivals one of a puppy when he sees you still being insecure after everything the group has done for you. He will make sure to do anything possible for you to make it out alive.

---

Jung-bae:

Jung-bae tries his ultimate best in supporting you. He sees it as his responsibility to keep you safe, and most likely will throw himself in the way to keep you secure.

Jung-bae is a very kind soul and loves talking to you in their "freetime" between the games. He always gives you his jacket when you need it.

---

Dae-ho:

Dae-ho sees himself as his big brother to you, he's very protective over you, always helping you up, always taking you into his arms, always supporting you when you need the extra balance.

If you happen to cough up blood, Dae-ho immediately walks you to the bathroom, threatening and scolding the guard at the door.

Dae-ho is ready to spring into action and ready to beat the shit out of other players whenever they approach you.

Dae-ho gladly gives up on his food and hands it to you. You need it, and he can get along with a day or two without his food.

He feels guilty whenever you're still scared of them or uncomfortable. Dae-ho can't help it, but he just wants to be there for you.

---

Young-il/In-ho:

At first you reminded Young-il of his passed wife. This made him snap his senses towards you. The fact that you're sick and only joined the games to pay for your treatment only strengthened his feelings.

Young-il is so overprotective of you, maybe he feels some guilt inside of him but the guilt is easily suppressed by his protective nature.

He is the only one out of the whole group who always manages to get two rations of food and two milk packs. Jung-bae would whisper to the others how he notices he's always the one who can take two.

During the six legs game, you were right between Gi-hun and Young-il. Those two alone were so careful with you and Young-il feared how one wrong step might break you.

Young-il gave any player who so much as looked at you wrong, especially men, his coldest, piercing stare which told them everything they needed to know.

Young-il worships you with his gaze. The usual cold blooded stares he gives anyone else are replaced by pure love, admiration and maybe pity whenever he looks at you.

Even though you're so fragile and special to him, the sadistic smirk still forms on his lips when you're sad of other players dying and you can't do anything about it.

[jacaerysgf]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Mean-Girls x Fem!Reader

"Just Girly Things"

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying (Not at Reader), name callung, nude photos, coercion, dubcon touching, fem pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, masturbation, sex toys, mean girls, dumbification, buying affection.

(AN: I'm not super proud of this one, but did my best. Never written a fem!Yan before.)

The sound of clicking keypads and the occasional scoff can be heard in Maggie Robinsons loft bedroom. As the most popular girl at Delta High, it was important her room look as perfect as her. She chews on the strawberry flavored gum in her mouth, scrolling through her phone. She scoffs. "Sasha, did you see Jenny Taylor's latest post?" Sasha gags and nods. "Totally a spray-on tan." Sasha says, and Maggie nods. "She looks like a fucking orange. I bet you that nerd she's been with, his dick is that same shade right now..." The two cackle.

"Is he sick?" The third and final member of the group of cheerleaders asks. "Why would his dick be orange?" Sasha sighs, and puts a hand on her friends knee. "Lindsey, his dick is orange because her fake tan would rub off on it. It isn't like, permanently that color. It was a joke." Sasha explains. Lindsey pauses and tilts her head, before giggling. "Oh, I get it!" She claps her hands together, shaking the sequinned bracelet around her wrist as she does so. Maggie grins and roll her eyes at Lindsey's air-headed nature. Luckily, Sasha is always around to explain he jokes, because Maggie won't. She likes to watch her dumb subordinate work things out slowly.

"What about you, newbie? Ever had a fake tan?" She whips her head over to face you. You gulp as the school's queen bee sets her sights on you. You aren't sure why she seemed so fixated on you since you joined Delta High. Maybe it's because you were pretty, or talented, or just really obedient, but she's been dragging you around like a little purse dog since you met her, with Sasha and Lindsey flanking you both at all times. "Um, no." You mumble. She nods, and says "Good, you already have good skin. I mean, you should get a little more tan, but not with that shitty spray stuff. Or, y'know, you'll turn some jocks dick orange." The three laugh. "Because the tan rubs off!" Lindsey giggles. Maggie rolls her eyes, and groans. "Yes, Lindsey. Thanks for explaining." Lindsey looks down.

"Speaking of, have any of the guys at school caught your eye? I mean, like, appropriate ones for you. Not a fucking mathlete dork or something." She asks. "Not really. I've never actually had a boyfriend." The three girls freeze, and gasp. "Seriously?" "You've never had a boyfriend?" Maggie asks. She waves frantically, trying to get you to sit beside her on her bed. "Why not?" She asks. "Do you have a sex disease? Like... like cancer?" Lindsey asks, eyes wide. "Sex cancer, seriously?" Sasha says, glancing at her blonde friend, who only shrugs. "No one was ever interested, I guess." You grimace. You hadn't ever been popular, only making Maggie's interest in you more jarring. You had finally gotten a peek at what it was like to be school royalty.

"Not interested? Aw, you poor baby." Maggie pouts. "That's why you have us, you know? To doll you up, and keep you popular, that way you can have anyone you want." Sasha chirps. "I can't believe no one ever tried to get with you, you're like, really pretty." You smile awkwardly. "Thanks, Lindsey."

Maggie scoots closer, and you bite back a gasp when you feel her cold hands on your tank top, cupping your breasts. "Honestly. The jocks at school are horndogs, they'll stick it in anything, I'm surprised you haven't gotten any attention because of these." She bites her lips as her eyes wander down to your cleavage. "They're natural, right?" You nod. You feel the bed dip behind you, as Sasha and Lindsey join the two of you on the bed. "So you've never kissed anybody?" Sasha asks, tilting her head as her curls bounce. "No, I've kissed a boy, back in church in like, middle school or something." You chuckle, shrugging and rolling your eyes.

"What about kissing girls?" Your eyes widen. You shake your head as you feel the three girls gazes resting heavily on you. "I haven't. Why do you ask?" Maggie grins. "You could try with us. You're one of us now, you've gotta live a little. I mean, you haven't even had a boyfriend, or done it with someone. Let us help you." She coos. She leans in, and you gulp. "Don't you have a boyfriend, Maggie? Jason, right?" She asks. Maggie nods. "Yeah, but like, he won't care. He'll probably think this is hot or something. Besides, it's just girls helping each other out. It's not like a random hookup, we're all friends here." She feigns hurt at your hesitance, pouting. "Don't you like us?" Lindsey whines, giving you puppy dog eyes as she rests her head on your shoulder from behind. "No, I like you guys, it's just-" You look at Lindsey. "Alright, we can do this." You sigh. Maggie grins, and puts her hands on your waist, pressing her chest to yours. "Good, it's not even weird. It's like, just girly things." She explains. She bites your lip playfully, making you blush as she finally presses her lips to yours. As you kiss the school's queen bee, you can taste the light strawberry flavor of her gum, and as she pulls away a string of sticky lip gloss connects your lips for a moment.

"See? You did good, especially for someone who's only kissed once before." Maggie coos. Lindsey pops up to kiss your cheek. "Your skin is so soft!" She giggles, nuzzling your neck. Sasha sits to the side, waiting for orders from Maggie. "Lemme see your chest." Maggie begins to tug up your tight, white tanktop, grinning when she sees that you have no bra on. "No bra, huh? Maybe you wanted us to do this?" She teases. "Pretty..." She circles her fingers around your left nipple, watching it pebble up. "I bet you're sensitive, huh?" Sasha asks. You can't speak, and only nod. Maggie's cold hands make you shiver, as she gropes your breasts with a wicked grin. She reaches down and puts Lindsey's hands on your breasts. "Lindsey, keep playing with her tits, okay? I'm gonna move a little lower." Lindsey nods, fondling your breasts from behind. "I'll try not to scratch you, my nails are kinda long right now..." She giggles. Maggie hikes up your skirt, keeping it around your waist. She licks her lips as she touches the black panties covering your cunt. "Are these from that department store on 9th?" She asks. "Uh, yeah?" She rolls her eyes. "You don't need to be wearing that shit, that's for people like Jenny Taylor, not girls like us. Tell you what-" She leans closer to your ear, kissing the shell of it. "You make me cum, and I'll take you downtown tomorrow and buy you something cute. That's sure to help you get a guy." She obviously has no intentions of getting you a boyfriend, considering the way her gaze turns possessive. Still, she can't deny that she likes the idea of seeing you in something lacey, especially something she bought you. She notices from the corner of her eye how Sasha is squirming, clearly eager to act, rubbing her thighs together subconsciously.

"Sasha?" Her head perks up immediatly, and she stills. "Y-yes, Maggie?" She pants. "Go get my wand, the pink one." Sasha nods, and scurries over to Maggie's closet, digging around for something. She manages to pull out a pink wand, with a microphone-like rubber tip. You can feel Maggies fingers trying to pull your panties to the side. "You ever played with yourself?" She whispers. You nod. "Yeah, a few times." You admit. "How?" She presses an index against your aroused clit. You gasp. "Fingers! I use my fingers, inside me." You moan. She pouts again, as Sasha hands her the wand. "Well, no wonder your little clit is so swollen, you've not been giving it any attention." She coos. "Don't worry, I've got just the thing." She takes the wand from Sasha. "It feels so good." Sasha says, her eyes full of sincerity. You wonder just how many times these girls have done this sort of thign. Does anyone else at school know?

You are torn from your thoughts when you hear a whirring sound. "What's that gonna do?" You ask. "It vibrates, and I'm just gonna press it right up against your clit, okay? It's gonna feel so fucking good..." She groans. "But, I'm going to enjoy something too. You know, for being such a good friend, and taking in a little newbie. You watch as Maggie mounts your thigh, gasping when you feel her slick pussy press against your leg. Has she not been wearing underwear this whole time? Your whole body flinches when you feel a pusling wave in your lower. "A-ah, shit." You grip the sheets of Maggie's bed tightly. Somehow, the stimulation to your clit makes Lindsey's pawing at your chest feel even more pleasurable. Maggie chuckles as she begins to grind herself against your thigh. "Feels good, huh? You like that? Your pretty new friends taking good care of you? Putting a pretty vibrator on your clit?" Her condescedngin tone makes you blush in shame. After a while, her moans grow in volume too. "Fuck, even just your thighs feel good. Maybe, god- maybe soon I'll ride your pussy like this." She groans. "God, not even Jason makes me feel this hot, this wet. That little limp-dick, can't even make me finish." She tilts her head back. "Sasha, take a photo, m' boutta cum." Sasha pales. "I don't... um, can I use you phone, mines dead?" Maggie doesn't open her eyes, but Sasha can sense her rage. "I don't care, just taking the fuckin' photo, I'm so close. C'mon, baby. Cum on my vibrator, I'll buy you something, anything, just do it." You weren't expecting to her Maggie beg for anything in your lifetime, much less for you to cum. Overwhelmed, you feel your orgasm hit hard. "M-maggie, I'm, oh..." She nods rapidly as she practically bounces on your thigh. "Yeah, right there, I'm cumming to..." She pants.

You close your eyes, but still sense a flash of light from Sasha snapping a photo. As your legs shake from the feeling, Maggie casually dismounts your thighs, sitting down on the bed beside you. She kisses your forehead. "You did so good. I'll get you something so cute to wear to school next week." She flips her hair and acts nonchalant, as if she hadn't just held a sex toy to your cunt while she rode your thigh like her life depended on it. "Sasha, let me see that photo." Sasha shows her the phone, and she grimaces. "Ugh, I look so fucking pale. Put a Sepia filter on it or something." Before Sasha can, Lindsay snatches the phone, and lets out a whine.

"Only my hands are in it! What the hell, Sasha!"

[girlkisser13]

being married to kento nanami would include

• nanami isn’t someone who falls in love recklessly. if he chose you, it was after careful thought, after he examined every possible angle and still concluded that he wanted you in his life, permanently.

• there’s a deep sense of security in your relationship— he doesn’t play games, doesn’t waver in his feelings, and never gives you a reason to doubt his commitment.

• even in the most chaotic moments of his life, he remains your anchor, ensuring that you never feel like an afterthought.

• his affection is quiet but profound. he isn’t one for excessive pda, but behind closed doors, he’s incredibly tender.

• he’ll kiss your forehead before leaving in the morning, brush his fingers against your wrist as he passes by, and place a warm hand on your lower back whenever you’re standing close.

• he absolutely loves it when you play with his hair. if you run your fingers through it while he’s resting, he’ll close his eyes and melt into your touch.

• if you hug him unexpectedly, he’ll be slightly stiff for a moment before wrapping his arms around you with a quiet sigh, like he’s finally allowing himself to relax.

• he won’t always say "i love you" outright, but he expresses it in other ways— ensuring you’re warm on cold nights, squeezing your hand reassuringly when he senses you’re stressed, or making sure your favorite tea is always stocked.

• he believes in showing love rather than just saying it.

• if you fall asleep at your desk, he’ll drape a blanket over you and place a glass of water nearby.

• if you’re overwhelmed, he’ll silently take care of small tasks for you— handling errands, cooking dinner, or drawing a bath without needing to be asked.

• he takes his role as a husband seriously and sees it as his duty to make your life easier, even in the smallest ways.

• nanami trusts you completely. he never doubts your loyalty or capabilities, and he expects the same in return.

• he isn’t the type to be jealous or possessive. if someone flirts with you, he won’t get insecure— he knows that your love is strong enough to withstand outside attention.

• however, if someone disrespects you, that’s a different story. he won’t make a scene, but the icy way he stares them down is enough to send chills through anyone’s spine.

• nanami thrives on routine, so married life with him is built on quiet stability.

• your mornings together are peaceful— he wakes up early, often before you, and makes coffee or tea. he enjoys reading the news or a book as you slowly wake up beside him.

• evenings are for unwinding together. after long days, he loves nothing more than sitting beside you on the couch, enjoying each other’s presence in silence.

• nanami values good food and insists on cooking whenever he can. he prefers fresh, homemade meals over takeout, though he won’t mind indulging with you on occasion.

• his cooking is precise, well-seasoned, and delicious. if you can’t cook, he’s patient enough to teach you. if you can, he enjoys working in the kitchen together, moving seamlessly around you like a well-rehearsed dance.

• he pays attention to your food preferences— if you have a favorite dish, he perfects it just for you.

• your home with him is a sanctuary. he’s very particular about creating a space that feels peaceful, organized, and comforting.

• he values quality over quantity— expect minimalist but well-chosen furniture, soft lighting, and a kitchen that’s always stocked with essentials.

• the moment he steps through the door, all his worries melt away because being with you is the only place where he truly feels at peace.

• nanami doesn’t like unnecessary conflict. if there’s an issue, he prefers to address it directly and logically.

• he never raises his voice, never speaks in anger, and never belittles your feelings.

• if you’re upset, he listens intently, validates your concerns, and offers practical solutions. he values resolution over winning an argument.

• if he ever hurts your feelings, he doesn’t just say "i’m sorry." he makes it up to you with action.

• he’ll cook your favorite meal, bring you a book you’ve been wanting to read, or simply hold you close and let you vent without interruption.

• he believes that love is about consistency, and he never lets pride get in the way of making things right.

• definitely finds it hard to leave you in the mornings for work, he'd stand by the door just contemplating until you tell him to leave.

• nanami isn’t someone who rushes into things. he takes his time, ensuring that every touch, every kiss, every moment of intimacy is deliberate and deeply felt.

• he’s INCREDIBLELY attentive— he remembers what makes you sigh in contentment, what makes you melt under his touch, and what makes you feel cherished.

• he values emotional intimacy just as much as physical. some of his most intimate moments with you are spent simply talking— long, late-night conversations where he shares things he wouldn’t tell anyone else.

• weekends are sacred to him. no work, no stress, just the two of you.

• whether it’s spending the morning at a quiet café, taking a walk in the park, or staying in with books and classical music, he cherishes these simple, peaceful moments with you.

• despite his serious demeanor, he has a romantic streak that he rarely lets others see.

• every now and then, he leaves small notes for you— tucked inside your book, on the kitchen counter, or slipped into your bag.

• they’re never overly sentimental, just a simple "take care of yourself today." or "remember to eat lunch. i love you."

• nanami worries about you a lot, but he also respects your independence.

• he won’t try to stop you from doing what you love, but he will always make sure you’re safe.

• asks you to help him with his ties every morning even though he 100% knows how to do it.

• if you ever find yourself in danger, he’s terrifyingly efficient in protecting you— no hesitation, no mercy for anyone who tries to harm you. <33

[crescenthistory]

analyze regulus black sunshine reader? like reader is js such good friends with ppl and socializes sm? maybe he gets jealous over how close she is with people? like how does he bring it up to her? :)

hi there darling<3 i would love to! i have also already written several full-length fics about sunshine!reader with reggie, including "you occupy my every thought" (where reg doesn't understand reader's love for him) and "are you falling asleep on me?" (where reader spends late nights in the library with him), if you want to see more 🤞

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ANALYSE regulus black with a sunshine!reader

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: gn!reader, reg's mental health struggles

regulus had always used his cold demeanor, family reputation that preceded him and lack of social skills as a shield to protect himself

it's better to keep everyone away than to risk under- or overestimating anyone he chose to let in

he had a close knit group of friends in the rosier twins, barty and dorcas, and he told himself time and time again that he didn't want or need more

which is why you walking into his life and choosing him effortlessly was so disorientating and hard to swallow for him

someone who was considered lively, beautiful and pure like you had no place in regulus' orbit, he was certain of it

yet you just settled down like it was the most natural thing in the world

sunshine!reader who loves regulus not just despite every obstacle he has thrown up to keep you from doing so, but even specifically because of it

sunshine!reader who looks at him and sees him instead of looking past

sunshine!reader who is not just bubbly but emotionally intelligent and willing to hold space for regulus in that way he desperately needs but is unable to convey

everything that regulus thought it a given that people dislike in him, you adored -> his deadpan humour that most people found rude, you found hilarious, his quiet and reserved self that sirius always called boring, you found serenity in

and you were so painfully patient and kind with him, never demanding, just showing up and loving him in a way he thought impossible

how could he not fall for you?

it took him a long time to get used to the feeling, let alone act on it or speak it out loud

i believe most romances with regulus, especially from "unexpected" people, would have to start as friendships that he slowly builds up trust and comfort in

which any sunshine!reader would fully understand and encourage him in, making him all the more infatuated

i think regulus would view sunshine!reader as kind of holy, someone who can do no wrong and is perfect all the way through

so if you were to ever reference or communicate any insecurity about being too much, too loud, too bubbly, etc. he would be just so thoroughly confused

i think he might not even understand what you're trying to say until a while later

at which point he would approach you and be like "hold up, what?"

which hits even more if this happens pre-relationship while he's still getting comfortable with you, but his reaction just couldn't be contained

it was simply unheard of to regulus that you view yourself as anything short of perfect

similarly, if anyone made jokes at your expense, he would wield every bit of his harsh facade and reputation that precedes him to ensure it doesn't happen again

barty and evan understand from pretty much the first week of your friendship that you are not to be messed with, and they respect both you and regulus for it

they need to tease someone though, so instead they focus all their energy on how lovesick regulus is becoming

when it comes to jealousy, i think regulus would be more jealous of what sunshine!reader can do than who they're with

it seems to him that everything is easy to you, that it just comes naturally to you to be such a kind individual

i believe his love for you would be permanently settled when he comes to understand that it's not easy for you, but that you do it anyway; it's not natural, it's hard fought for

yet, as he goes on his own healing journey, a part of him would be so envious to hear you navigate through difficult feelings with kindness and logic or see you get on so openly with those around you

he would be so glad you are able to do that and that you get to be completely surrounded by love – he just longs for it for himself

i think he would also be jealous of your friends for being able to match your energy so well

there would be many many conversations where regulus goes "you deserve better" and you go "but i want you"

seeing you and sirius shoot banter back and forth like it's nothing or see you run up to braid lily's hair at a moment's notice would both heal and break something in regulus

he's once again confronted with everything he could be, feels like maybe he should be, but can't

because regulus' personality, no matter how healed he is, is never super outgoing and sunshine-y – when he's with close friends, he is much more lively and filled with banter and jokes and even some physical affection. but it's never the same as your friends.

he wonders if he should be more

you keep showing him every day that he doesn't need to be, that you love him because he's him; he doesn't need to change for you

when he becomes more comfortable in your relationship, his ideal time of voicing any such feelings would be at night in bed

with the lights turned off and his face buried in your skin somewhere, he feels safe enough to be vulnerable with you

you'll drag your fingers through his hair and talk him down every time

the best part of being with regulus is getting to love him through the healing process and see him separate his personality from his coping mechanisms and fully blossom

i think it would be a bumpy ride, but what he needs throughout it all is a rock

his sunshine!reader

i also believe he would call sunshine!reader for sun related nicknames, particularly in french (soleil anyone?)

[luvxkdrama]

— obsession

pairing : salesman x reader

warnings : mentions of blood, violence, guns, stalking, manipulation

word count : 6.7 k

summary : “You can run all you want,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But you’ll always end up right where I want you.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Because you’re mine, Y/N. And I always take care of what’s mine.”

[obsession] /əbˈsɛʃn/ : an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind

—

Life has a special way of pulling a full 180° in the blink of an eye—a truth few dare to believe, yet most dismiss without a second thought.

You weren't one of those who believed in the unpredictable twists of life, as you didn’t consider yourself 'special' enough like the protagonists in movies. Your world revolved around university, and your side jobs after class, providing you with the only sense of reality and moments of social interaction. You were always sort of a loner, as people tended to drift in and out of your life with little permanence.

In your early teenage years, this left a deep impact, especially as you watched other girls surrounded by close friends and romantic relationships, while you spent most of your time alone. It weighed heavily on you for a long time, but over the years, you grew to understand that you didn’t need anyone to be happy—at least, not in the way you once thought. You learned to simply keep moving forward with life.

Winter was your favourite season as you found the streets covered in snow, only lightened by the old street lamps, oddly comforting and peaceful. For this exact reason, late classes never bothered, as your walk home with music in your ears while you observed the snow slowly falling from the sky, felt like a reward.

While everyone was still busy talking after class, you didn't waste a second before picking up your things from your desk and leaving the building, the cold yet fresh air hitting you in the face. After quickly adjusting your bag, you put in your earphones in and tightened your scarf before heading home.

It was the most carefree moment of your day, just you and your music.

Or at least, that's how it used to be.

You would feel it whenever you’re walking down the familiar path, the air would suddenly start to feel colder and you’d instinctively quicken your pace. The sensation was back each evening—an eerie feeling crawling up your spine, as if someone unseen was watching your every step since you stepped outside university to the very last step in front of your house.

It began weeks ago but with time you simply convinced yourself you were paranoid especially since each time you glanced over your shoulder, you were met with an empty street. Though, the uneasy shiver constintently lingered in your head.

You sighed at the new sign in front of you on the pavement. The town’s mayor suddenly had the magnificent idea to reconstruct the street's surfaces, which resulted in blocked streets. You turned to your side and eyed the little, barely lightened alleyway in the corner, which seemed like the only fast option for you to get home.

After concluding that the distance through the alleyway should only take you approximately seven minutes, you took a deep breath and left the main street.

Your eyes were glued to the time on your phone which indicated that three minutes has already passed. The relief instantly turned into fear when a sudden sound of footsteps echoed through the alleyway.

At first, you convinced yourself it was your paranoia once again however your blood ran cold when you heard some low chatters as well.

Without a second to loose, you broke into a sprint, each one of your instincts screaming to get away. To your misfortune, the footsteps behind you quickened almost immediately.

Before you could make it to the next turn, you felt someone harshly pull you back, the strength sending you flying on the hard and cold floor. You winced at the sudden pain across your wrist. After a few seconds, you finally looked up just to be face to face with two older men, staring down at you with the creepiest grin you’ve ever seen.

“We knew this alleyway would come in handy someday.” One of them sneered, the other one nodding along.

“That’s a whole jackpot, man.” The smaller one spoke up, eyeing you up and down.

You sat slumped against the wall, your breath uneven. The two men stood a few feet away, their conversation hushed, but the clinking of a glass bottle and the rustling of a sheet drew your attention. Your eyes darted to the white cloth in the man’s hand, already soaked with a liquid that darkened its edges. Your pulse quickened. Your gaze flicked to your left, catching the glint of an empty beer bottle half-hidden in the shadows.

In one desperate motion, you pushed yourself up and lunged for the bottle. The sudden movement startled them, but only for a second. You grabbed the bottle, your fingers trembling as you smashed it against the brick wall. Glass shards rained around you, one nicking your palm, but you barely felt the sting.

You spun to face them, holding the improvised weapon out, your knuckles white, your breathing ragged.

The two men froze for a beat, their expressions unreadable. Then one of them smirked, slow and deliberate, as though your act of defiance was nothing more than an amusing spectacle. The other stepped forward slightly, tilting his head, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes.

"Bold," the first man said, his voice like gravel. "But you won’t use it."

Your grip tightened, the jagged glass shaking in your hand. You raised it higher, her eyes blazing. “Try me.”

Blood dripped down your wrist now, pooling at your fingertips. The pain should have registered, but it didn’t. All you could feel was the rush of adrenaline and the desperate need to survive.

The second man chuckled, low and humorless. "You’re going to hurt yourself more than us with that thing." He took another step, as though testing your resolve.

“I said don’t come any closer!” You barked, your voice rising to a frantic pitch. Your vision blurred at the edges, panic threatening to consume you, but you forced herself to stand your ground.

Then, a slow, deliberate sound cut through the tension.

A clap.

Your body stiffened, and you instinctively glanced over your shoulder, though you didn’t dare take her eyes completely off the two men. From the shadows at the far end of the alley came the silhouette of another figure. The dim light barely outlined his form, but there was something about the confident way he moved that made the air feel heavier.

The men froze, their smugness faltering.

The figure stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the concrete. As he passed into the cone of light from a flickering streetlamp, you saw him fully: tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that fit him like it cost more than your rent.

In one hand, he carried a sleek leather briefcase, but it wasn’t his appearance that sent a chill down your spine—it was the weight of his gaze. He looked at you first, his eyes briefly flicking down to the blood dripping from your hand. Something sharp and dangerous flashed across his expression.

Then his gaze shifted to the two men. His eyes hardened, turning into something deadly.

"You know," he said, his voice low and smooth, yet carrying an undercurrent of menace, "I was not going to let you go easily but,” He took another step forward, unhurried, the lamplight catching the faintest sheen of his cufflinks. “the fact you wasted even a drop of her blood, that, gentlemen, is unforgivable and only leads me to believe you need to pay the highest price for it.” He tilted his head, his jaw tightening.

The smirk on one of the men’s faces disappeared entirely. "Look, we didn’t—"

"Don’t." The man’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He placed his briefcase down on the ground with a deliberate click, straightening as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Save your excuses. I’m not interested."

Your breath hitched as you tightened your grip on the broken bottle, your gaze flicking between the three men. Despite the man in the suit not even looking at you now, you felt the weight of his protection like a shield— and it scared you just as much as it comforted you.

One of the men took a step back, his bravado cracking. "Who the hell are you?" he snapped, though his voice wavered.

The suited man’s lips curled into a humorless smile. "Oh, you’ll find out soon enough."

His gaze flicked to you again, softer this time but still heavy with something unreadable. "Drop the bottle, little one," he said quietly. "You don’t need it anymore."

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. But something in his voice, steady and commanding, made your fingers loosen slightly on the jagged glass.

The suited man turned his attention back to the two men, loosening his cuffs as he turned his attention to the two men. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

One of the men sneered and lunged first, but it was a mistake. The suited man moved with startling precision, sidestepping with ease before landing a sharp blow to the man’s jaw. The thug crumpled to the ground instantly.

The second man hesitated but swung wildly, aiming for his head. The suited man ducked, his movements fluid and controlled. His fist connected with the man’s ribs, and with a single upward jab to his temple, the second thug dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

It was over in seconds.

The suited man adjusted his tie and hair as if nothing had happened, his calm demeanor almost unnerving. He stepped over the unconscious bodies, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete as he approached you.

Your grip on the broken bottle tightened again, but before you could say anything, he held up a hand.

“Careful,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to the blood on your hand. “You’re already hurt.”

Your heart pounded, your legs trembling beneath you. You wanted to ask who he was, what he wanted—but the words caught in your throat.

As if sensing your hesitation, he offered you a small, disarming smile. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his tone far too casual. “But if I don’t do this, you’ll miss all the fun.”

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

You didn’t even see him move. One moment he was standing in front of you, and the next, you felt a sharp sting at the side of your neck. Your hand flew up instinctively, fingers brushing against a small syringe he’d already pulled away.

Your vision blurred, the alley tilting around her. “What... did you do?” You managed, your voice slurring as your legs gave way.

Your vision darkened, your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you felt was his steady hands cradling you as if you were something fragile.

And then, there was nothing.

──────────────────

A sharp pounding in your skull dragged you back to consciousness. Groaning, you tried to reach up to massage your temple, but your arms wouldn’t move. Panic shot through you as you became fully aware—your wrists were tightly bound to a cold metal chair.

Your eyes snapped open, taking in your surroundings. Dim light. An unfamiliar room. And then your breath hitched.

A few meters ahead of you, the two men who had cornered you in the alley sat slumped in chairs, directly across from each other. They were conscious but visibly shaken, their hands fidgeting nervously as they avoided looking at each other.

Your heart raced as you scanned the room. The polished figure of the man in the suit stepped into view, the faint clack of his expensive shoes echoing in the otherwise silent room. He carried the same briefcase from earlier, but now it was open on a nearby table, its contents hidden from your angle.

“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice was smooth, casual, as if he were greeting an old friend. He turned to you with a smile that made your stomach churn.

Your throat tightened as you yanked at the bindings on your wrists, the rough rope biting into your skin. “Let me go!” You shouted, but your voice cracked, fear taking over.

The suited man ignored you. Instead, he turned to the two men, his expression darkening. “Now, gentlemen, here’s how it works. You’ll play a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors.” His tone was almost cheerful, as if he were explaining a board game. “The loser, unfortunately for them, will take a turn in a nice little game of Russian roulette.”

The two men looked at him in wide-eyed horror. “You’re insane,” one of them spat, though his voice quivered. The man in the suit only chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who thought harassing a woman in an alley was perfectly sane.”

Your heart dropped. Your stomach churned as you yanked harder at the restraints, desperate to get free. “Stop this!” You screamed, your voice raw with panic.

The man’s cold eyes flicked to you. He walked over slowly, tilting his head as if examining you. “We’ll talk later, love. Let me take care of these two first.” he said softly, as if speaking to a child.

“No ! Let me out of here !” Your scream grew louder, shrill and desperate. You weren’t going to let this happen.

The suited man sighed, pulling something from the table behind you. When he turned back, a roll of silver duct tape was in his hand. “You’re really quite loud,” he remarked with a faint smirk “when I say we’ll talk later, we will talk later.” Before you could react, he firmly pressed a strip of tape over your mouth.

You screamed against it, the sound muffled now, as tears began to blur your vision. “There we go,” he said calmly, crouching to your eye level. “Much better. Don’t worry—you’re not the one playing.” He reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek, his touch gentle in a way that made your stomach twist.

Standing again, he turned back to the two men, his fingers brushed over the revolver, spinning the cylinder slowly, the soft metallic clicks echoing through the room. His voice, smooth and unhurried, cut through the tension.

“You know,” he began, his eyes flicking to you for a fleeting moment before focusing back on the two men, “I’ve been watching her for weeks now. Quiet, diligent, always walking home alone late at night. Completely unaware of the world around her.”

He smiled faintly, almost wistfully. “She never notices the things I do. The way the streetlights flicker just a little too long on that one corner she passes every day. The way her steps quicken when she hears a noise but then slow again because she convinces herself there’s nothing there.” He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of warmth. “So trusting of the silence.”

You froze, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You thrashed against the ropes, your muffled cries filling the room as you stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Y/N,” he said, tilting his head as he glanced at you. “It’s not as sinister as it sounds.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “I simply… admired you from afar. I like to keep things orderly, you see. Controlled.”

He turned back to the two men, his smile fading as his expression darkened. “But you two… you ruined everything.” His tone sharpened, dripping with venom. “I had an organized, peaceful plan in place. No harm, no mess. But no. You just had to interfere with your disgusting little game, didn’t you?”

The two men exchanged frantic glances, their fear mounting with every word.

The suited man leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “I was patient. I waited. I followed her, yes, but not with ill intent. I was protecting her. Watching over her. Ensuring no harm came to her.” His voice dipped, colder now. “And then you two decided to drag her into your filthy, selfish world. For what? A moment of power? A sick thrill?”

He straightened, running a hand along the lapel of his suit, his calm exterior returning as if he hadn’t just confessed to weeks of stalking. “And if that wasn’t bad enough,” he continued, his tone now bitter, “you made her hurt herself in the process. Her blood is on your hands.” His eyes flicked to your bandaged palm, and for a brief moment, something unreadable flashed across his face.

He exhaled sharply, as if regaining control of his emotions. “You crossed a line, and now you’ll pay for it.”

He turned the revolver over in his hands, spinning the cylinder again. “Still, I’m a fair man,” he said lightly, his eerie composure returning. “I’m giving you a chance to fight for your lives. Call it... a game of fate.”

He stepped back, gesturing for them to begin. “Alright gentlemen, Rock-paper-scissors. Let’s see which one of you Fate favors tonight.”

You thrashed against the chair, your muffled screams filling the room as the two men looked at each other, their hands trembling.

“Come on now,” he said to the two men, his voice calm but icy. “You don’t want to keep me waiting.”

The two men exchanged panicked glances, their hands trembling as they raised them for the first round of rock-paper-scissors. Their fear was palpable, almost suffocating, but your attention wavered.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you struggled against the ropes, your heart hammering in your chest. Your mind was still reeling from his words.

You had felt it. The chill in the air when you walked home late at night, that unsettling sensation of eyes on you. But you had convinced yourself it was nothing—paranoia, the unease of being alone in the dark. Empty streets.

But now, hearing him speak of it so casually, the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. It was him.

The man in the suit. The one who had saved you, but not because he was some white knight. He had been stalking you. Watching you. Waiting.

Terror gripped you like icy fingers around your throat, the thought of being watched so intimately, without tour knowledge, like a puppet on strings. The idea that you had been under his control all this time, and you hadn’t even known it.

But something else—a feeling you didn’t want to admit—slithered into your thoughts. You had always been alone. Always. No family to speak of. No friends who cared enough to check in. No one who looked out for you.

It had always been you against the world, and the world had never been kind. No one ever stepped in when you were vulnerable. No one ever protected you. You had learned to fend for herself, to be cold and distant, to push people away before they could disappoint you.

But now...

As twisted and sick as it was, this man had done something you had never experienced in her life: he had protected you— in a sick way but still saved you.

His twisted sense of justice, his obsession with keeping you safe—however horrifying it was—was still protection. He was about to punish the men who had tried to hurt you, and in some sick way, he had kept you alive when no one else would.

Your mind recoiled from the realization, the very thought of feeling something in response to him made you sick to your stomach. But deep inside, beneath the fear, a small part of you couldn’t shake the strange, unsettling gratitude that bubbled up.

Your fists clenched in fury, torn between disgust and something you couldn’t quite name. No, you thought fiercely. This is wrong. He’s not saving me. He’s controlling me.

But then your thoughts returned to the dark alley, to the coldness of the men’s eyes, to the knife-edge of danger. And to him. The suited man. The one who had stepped in, the one who had acted.

As much as you hated to admit it, as much as it disgusted you to feel this, there was a part of you that wanted that. Wanted someone to care. Wanted someone to fight for you.

And you weren’t sure how to feel about that.

The room got suffocatingly silent except for the shallow, uneven breaths of the two men. Their trembling hands hovered in front of them, shaking as they raised them for the next round of rock-paper-scissors.

The first round began.

“Rock... paper... scissors.”

One man threw rock, the other paper.

The loser flinched, his face pale as the suited man reached for the revolver and casually pointed it at his temple, a hint of amusement in his sharp, dark eyes.

Click.

The empty chamber echoed louder than any gunshot. The man slumped forward, relief flooding his features as he gasped for air.

The suited man’s expression didn’t change. “Next round.”

The second round came and went.

“Rock... paper... scissors.”

The other man lost this time.

Click.

Another empty chamber.

The suited man sighed, his gaze dropping to the watch on his wrist. “How... tedious,” he muttered.

The third round began.

“Rock... paper... scissors.”

Again, nothing. No gunshots, no blood, just the hollow sound of the revolver’s empty chamber.

You felt your heart pounding so hard it was like it would burst out of your chest. Every click was both a relief and a fresh torment, prolonging the nightmare.

The suited man straightened, his shoulders rolling as if to shake off his growing irritation. He turned toward the men, the smile that had been faintly lingering on his lips finally disappearing.

“This is growing dull,” he said, his voice cold and detached. He stepped closer to the table, placing one hand on the revolver. “It seems fate isn’t in the mood to entertain me tonight. So, let’s... spice things up.”

The two men froze, their fear amplifying as the suited man began calmly sliding bullets into the chambers of the revolver.

“One,” he said softly, pushing the first bullet into place.

Your stomach churned violently.

“Two.”

The suited man didn’t even look at you, his focus entirely on the gun.

“Three. Four.”

He stopped after the fifth bullet, snapping the cylinder back into place with a sharp click. He lifted the revolver and spun it lazily, the sound of the bullets shifting inside somehow more horrifying than the silence.

“There,” he said, his tone almost cheerful as he set the gun back on the table. “Now the rules have changed. The odds of survival aren’t five out of six anymore. They’re one out of six.”

The two men stared at him, their terror now paralyzing.

“Shall we continue?” he asked lightly, though the faint boredom in his tone made it clear he was no longer asking.

The next round began.

“Rock... paper... scissors.”

The loser was trembling so badly while his sobs filled the room as he felt the gun pressed against his temple.

Your entire being screamed for him to stop, to refuse, but the suited man pulled the trigger.

The deafening bang shattered the air.

You froze as the man slumped in his chair, his lifeless body sagging forward. Blood sprayed across the room, staining the floor in violent red streaks.

The suited man didn’t even flinch. He adjusted his cufflinks as if nothing had happened, his gaze slowly turning toward you.

The suited man tilted his head, studying your reaction with mild curiosity. “Hmm,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I thought that might quiet you.”

He moved toward you with calm, measured steps, and your heart pounded harder with each one.

“You’ll understand soon,” he murmured as he crouched to meet your terrified gaze. His voice was low, almost soothing, but his eyes were sharp, unrelenting. “This is justice. This is control. And in time, you’ll come to see how necessary it is.”

His expression was unreadable, though a faint smile played at the corners of his mouth.

He reached for the duct tape covering your lips. “Let’s take this off, shall we?”

He peeled the tape away carefully, almost gently, as if he didn’t want to hurt you. You gasped as the air hit your chapped lips, your breathing ragged and panicked. You jerked your head away from his touch, your eyes burning with tears and fear.

But the suited man didn’t seem bothered by your reaction. Instead, he smiled softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. The unexpected tenderness in the gesture made you flinch.

“You’ve been so brave,” he said quietly, his voice soothing yet chilling. “But I can see the fear in your eyes. Don’t worry. I’m here now. I’ll help you.”

You stared at him, her throat dry. “Please… please stop this,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Oh, my dear. It’s already begun.”

Before you could react, he stepped behind you, his hands gripping the back of your chair. The scrape of wood against the floor sent shivers down your spine as he pushed you closer to the remaining man. Your heart pounded wildly, your breaths coming faster.

The man in front of you was shaking, tears streaming down his face as he muttered desperate prayers under his breath. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes, too consumed by his own terror.

Then, you felt it.

Something cold and heavy was pressed into your hand as the ropes on one of your wrists was loosened.

Your fingers instinctively curled around it, but it wasn’t until the suited man’s hands covered yours that you realized what it was. A gun.

“No,” you choked out, trying to pull your hand away. “No, I can’t—”

“Shhh.” His voice was soft, almost tender, as he leaned closer. You could feel his breath against your ear. “You can. And you will.”

He guided your hand, forcing the gun to point directly at the man’s head. His fingers were firm over yours, his grip unyielding.

“Do you know what they would have done to you?” he whispered, his tone darkening.

You froze, her breath hitching.

“They would’ve dragged you to some filthy basement,” he continued, his voice like poison dripping into your ears. “Used you. Hurt you. Made you beg for mercy they would never give. You know that, don’t you?”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head, your voice cracking. “Stop—please, stop—”

“And then,” he went on, his voice cold and calm, “they’d toss you aside like garbage when they were done. You wouldn’t have survived the night.”

His words twisted in your mind, planting seeds of fear and rage. You hated him for saying it, hated the sickening truth of it, but you couldn’t stop herself from imagining it. The alley. The men. The terror.

“No one would’ve come for you,” he said softly. “No one but me.”

Your breaths came in shallow gasps. Your hands were trembling so hard that the gun wavered, but the suited man’s firm grip steadied it, keeping it aimed at the man’s head.

“I’ve already done the hard part for you,” he murmured. “Now, all you have to do is pull the trigger. Take your revenge.”

“I can’t…” You whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t do it…”

His expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. “Do you think mercy will save him? Do you think letting him go will make him a better person? He won’t stop, Y/N. Men like him never stop.”

The man in the chair sobbed harder, his voice hoarse with fear. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll leave her alone, I swear—”

“Do you hear that?” the suited man hissed, his voice venomous. “Pathetic. He’s begging for his life, just like he would’ve made you beg for yours.”

Your vision blurred with tears. You shook your head again, but your resolve was crumbling. The suited man’s voice was relentless, worming its way into your mind, drowning out everything else.

“I can’t…” you whispered again, her voice barely audible.

“Don't make me wait, Y/N.” he said sharply, his tone now commanding. His grip on your hand tightened.

Before you could react, he pressed down on your finger, forcing it against the trigger.

The gunshot echoed like thunder in the room.

You screamed, the sound ripping from your throat as the man’s lifeless body slumped in the chair. Blood splattered across the floor and your face, the metallic scent filling the air.

The gun slipped from your hand, clattering to the ground as you trembled violently. Your chest heaved with sobs, your mind reeling.

The suited man straightened behind you, his expression calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.

“Bravo,” the suited man said, his voice slicing through your spiraling thoughts. He clapped his hands together slowly, deliberately, as if you’d just performed a flawless symphony. “You’ve taken your first step toward understanding. I’m so proud of you.”

He walked around to stand in front of you, crouching down to meet your tear-streaked gaze. “You did well, my dear. And don’t worry—I’ll take care of everything.” he said softly, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. You could only stare at him, your entire body trembling with shock and horror.

His fingers gently tilted your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his piercing gaze. His smile was soft, almost tender, but there was something unrelenting in his eyes. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, “That’s natural. The first time is always the hardest. But you did it, my dear. You stood up for yourself. You took control.”

He sighed, as if sensing your silence was not out of gratitude but out of pure, unfiltered shock. Straightening to his full height, his hands moved to the ropes binding you to the chair.

“I’m going to untie you now,” he said casually, as if you were discussing nothing more than an evening stroll. “But listen to me carefully, Y/N.”

His voice hardened, his tone dropping to something sharp and dangerous.

“Do not run.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

“I’ll warn you once,” he said in a low, icy whisper. “Not twice.”

The tension in the room was suffocating as he loosened the knots, and you felt the pressure on your wrists and ankles ease. The moment the ropes fell away, your instincts screamed at you to move.

You didn’t hesitate.

The second you were free, you bolted, ignoring the ache in your limbs and the burn in your lungs. You didn’t care where you were going—you just needed to get away from him.

The building was old and labyrinthine, the narrow hallways dimly lit by flickering bulbs. Door after door lined the walls, but every knob you twisted refused to budge. Your breaths came in panicked gasps as you stumbled forward, adrenaline fueling your desperate escape.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, you saw it: a door different from the others. It was larger, its frame sturdier, and unlike the others, it didn’t have the peeling paint or rusted hinges. It had to lead somewhere.

You sprinted toward it, your heart hammering in your chest. Your fingers barely brushed the doorknob when—

Bang!

You were slammed against the door with enough force to knock the breath out of you. A startled cry escaped your lips as you felt a firm hand on your shoulder, spinning you around. Your back pressed hard against the cold surface, and you were face to face with him once more.

The suited man loomed over you, his expression calm but his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity. His hands rested on either side of you, boxing you in.

“I told you not to run,” he said softly, his voice calm but carrying a sharp edge that sent shivers down your spine.

Your chest heaved as you stared up at him, your pulse racing. “Please—” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Just let me go!”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same unsettling, calculated gaze. Then he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Go?” he echoed, his tone almost amused. “After everything we’ve been through tonight? After I’ve gone to such lengths to teach you an important lesson?”

Your hands trembled at your sides, your fight-or-flight instincts screaming for you to keep struggling, to push him away, to do something. But his presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and your body felt rooted to the spot.

“You can run all you want,” he said softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But you’ll always end up right where I want you.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Because you’re mine, Y/N. And I always take care of what’s mine.”

“There’s no running away anymore,” he continued quietly, his tone final, as if it were a simple statement of fact.

Your lips trembled, your voice breaking as you finally managed to speak. “W-Why me?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if your question intrigued him.

“What do you mean, why you?” he asked softly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your fear bubbling into frustration. “Why are you doing this? Why did you—why did you choose me?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He simply studied you, his piercing gaze roaming your face as if searching for something. Then, slowly, a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“Do you remember the day you fell?” he asked, his voice smooth and quiet, as if he were recalling a fond memory.

You blinked, your mind reeling. “What?”

“In the park,” he continued, his tone almost gentle now. “A man running past knocked you down. You fell hard—scraped your hands, tore your jeans.” He chuckled softly, almost nostalgically. “You looked so startled. Like you couldn’t believe the world could be that cruel to you.”

Your heart sank as the memory surfaced in your mind. You remembered it vividly now—a busy afternoon at the park, the sting of gravel biting into your palms, the burn of embarrassment as strangers walked past without a second glance. But one person had stopped.

“You…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You were there.”

He nodded, his smile widening. “I was.”

“You helped me up…”

“And when I did,” he said, leaning in closer, “I saw something in you. Something different. Something I liked.”

Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat. “What… what did you see?”

His eyes darkened, his expression soft yet deeply unsettling. “You looked… lost. Like you didn’t belong anywhere. Like you didn’t even expect someone to help you. And I thought to myself, ‘She’s perfect.’”

Your stomach churned, dread coiling tightly around your chest. “That’s it?” she whispered, your voice trembling. “That’s why you… why you’ve been following me?”

He chuckled again, the sound low and unnerving. “Does it matter?” he said lightly. “I made a choice that day. I promised myself I’d make you mine. And here we are.”

“But…” Your voice cracked, your fear and confusion spilling over. “It could’ve been anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone who fell, anyone who—”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, cutting you off. “But it wasn’t anyone. It was you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, their weight sinking into you like lead. The ease with which he dismissed your individuality, the casual indifference of his reasoning—it was more terrifying than anything else.

“Call it fate,” he said, his tone almost playful now. “Call it chance. Either way, I’m not one to waste an opportunity when it presents itself. And you, my dear… you were an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

He straightened, his smile softening as his hand brushed your cheek.

Your head snapped up, “So what? You’ll keep me as your prisoner?”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Prisoner? No, no. You misunderstand. This isn’t about taking anything from you. It’s about giving you something you’ve never had.”

You stared at him, your brows furrowed.

“You’ve spent your whole life alone, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and almost sympathetic. “No friends. No one to lean on. No one to protect you.”

“I saw it the day we met,” he continued, his tone softening. “You were surrounded by people, but you might as well have been invisible. No one cared enough to help you when you fell. No one even noticed. But I did. I noticed you, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ll never stop noticing you. I’ll never stop protecting you. Because you don’t need the world. You don’t need anyone but me.”

You stared at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His words echoed in your mind, weaving through your thoughts like a siren’s song, drowning out the rational voice screaming at you to fight, to resist.

Your entire life had been spent searching for someone to notice you, to care, to see you. And now, standing before you, was someone who had done all of that—even if it was in the most twisted and terrifying way imaginable.

Your lips parted, trembling as you tried to find something to say, anything that could defy the pull of his gaze, the weight of his words. But you couldn’t. You were tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of being alone.

And for the first time, someone wasn’t letting you go.

“I…” Your voice faltered, barely above a whisper. “I’ll… stay.”

The words tasted foreign on your tongue, and yet, the moment they left your lips, a dark satisfaction flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his movements fluid and deliberate, until he was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating.

“I’ll stay,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice shaking as your walls began to crumble.

His thumb slid across your bottom lip, and his smile softened, though the dark intensity in his eyes remained.

Before you could react, his lips captured yours, gentle at first, as though testing your resolve. You froze, your body stiff, but as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, something inside you broke. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips moved against yours—it was too much, too overwhelming.

And so, you let yourself fall.

Your hands hesitantly reached for him, gripping the fabric of his suit jacket as you kissed him back, your movements unsteady and unsure. He deepened the kiss, his control unyielding, as if claiming you with every brush of his lips.

When he pulled back slightly, your breaths mingling in the small space between you, he whispered, “You’ll see, Y/N. You won’t need anyone else. Not when you have me.”

A shiver ran down your spine as his hand trailed down your arm, his touch light but deliberate. He guided you gently toward another room which had a completely different atmosphere. A high ceiling decorated by a beautiful chandelier and a king sized bed, neatly dressed.

When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sat down, your heart pounding in your chest as he knelt before you. His movements slow, giving you every chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

His hands found your thighs, his touch warm and firm as he looked up at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me show you what that means.”

Your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, your hands sliding into his hair as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck.

His hands roamed your body with practiced ease, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. And as his lips traced a path down your skin, you felt yourself slipping further into his control, your resolve crumbling with every kiss, every touch.

For the first time in your life, someone had made you feel seen, wanted, protected—even if it was twisted and wrong.

And so, as you let him guide you into the dark embrace of his world, you made a silent promise to herself.

You would stay.

For now.

[marril96]

Safe Haven

Chapter 2: Soft as a Smile

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: After months of no contact, Agatha shows up at your door badly injured, and it’s up to you to help her.

Previous chapter.

It was Agatha's voice that shook you from the fantasy of reconciliation to the strained but steadily improving reality where she was badly injured and taking care of her was more important than daydreaming about a change in your relationship.

"Can I have a glass of water?"

"Of course!"

As if on autopilot, you leapt to your feet. You hated that you had to let go of her hands. Hated that, once again, you were the one to sever contact, however temporary it was.

The three months you'd gone without touching her had felt like an eternity.

You never wanted to part from her again.

Agatha took the glass from you with both hands. It was only then that you noticed lines, an angry red, cutting deep across her wrists. Restraints, you assumed. She must have pushed and pulled until she'd managed to get them off.

Her hands trembled, and, instinctively, you reached to help her hold the glass up to her mouth. She threw you a brief glance, embarrassed, ashamed at needing help at such a basic task as drinking water.

"It's okay," you assured her. She had nothing to be ashamed of. It was the people who did it to her that should be ashamed, though you doubted their kind was familiar with the concept.

As Agatha finished, and you laid the glass on the table beside the supplies you'd gathered for her care, you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. A wordless repetition of your words. It was okay. You were here, and you loved her; temporary weakness didn't change that.

Even if it was permanent, it wouldn't change a thing.

Powerful or not, at full strength or injured, she was your girl. She would always be your girl.

Agatha's arms shot up, a gesture you'd come to know by heart. When she wanted affection, she took it. When you needed it, she gave it to you. No words necessary.

You allowed her to pull you to her and bury her face in your stomach. Instinct prompted you to reach for her, to hold on to her, most likely too tightly considering the condition she was in, but she didn't utter a word of complaint, so you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. To get lost in her, so fragile, so vulnerable, wrapped around you like a child in need of comfort.

You hoped you could provide it.

You hoped you would be good enough.

"I love you so much," you said, your heart brimming with it, ready to burst. "I know you don't trust me right now, and you have every right not to, but, please, trust that."

"Would I be here if I didn't trust you?" Agatha asked.

"I don't deserve it."

"Neither do I, yet here you are."

Quite a pair the two of you made. A match made in hell, some might say. As if that was a bad thing.

She knew this was the safest place for her. Not just because of the protection spell, but because you were here. She knew you wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on her. If hunters were to come knocking, you would kill them without a second thought.

For hunting her. For hurting her.

You'd killed for her before, and you would do it again in a heartbeat.

"You deserve the world," you said, and meant it; every syllable, every word. You kept on holding her, kept on pressing her to you as if to make sure that she was real. To make sure that this wasn't a dream, and you were going to wake up any moment now, cold and alone.

"I know," Agatha said with feigned arrogance, prompting you to chuckle. "Right back at you, honey."

The two of you stayed that way for a few moments, engulfed in each other, lost in the embrace you'd both been craving for all these months. Not having her with you was hell. The words you'd said to her last spinning around your head in an endless loop was an even worse one.

It was her who initiated the parting. "All right, honey, I'm digging the moment, but I need to breathe."

Though unwilling to do so, you instantly released her. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not any more than breathing does," she said in a jovial tone that you assumed she put on for your sake. "That's what happens when you get kicked in the ribs for hours. Jot it down for future reference."

Your teeth grit to the point of pain. Fists balled, nails digging into your skin.

They would die for that.

There would be blood.

"After I clean you up, I'll make you a potion." You sucked at potions, but she could guide you to doing it right.

"Don't bother. Whatever they shot me up with is blocking all magic inside me. It wouldn't do shit."

Fuck! "Then I'll be extra gentle."

"That's a first," she said with a naughty grin.

You quirked up an eyebrow. "I don't recall you complaining."

"Because I'm not."

"Then what are you doing?"

Being a little shit.

"Making small talk."

"Ah. Of course."

You missed this. The casual atmosphere, the playful banter, that pucker of her lips that you found to be the most adorable thing in the world.

It almost made you forget she had just escaped brutal torture.

One look at her face, however, was enough to remind you of the horrifying fact.

"I'll be careful, but if I hurt you, just say so and I'll stop," you said, plopping down onto a seat opposite Agatha on the couch and reaching for the rag you'd prepared.

She gave a small nod. Her eyes were on your hands, tracking your every movement. Trusting, but verifying.

Wetting the rag, you gently dabbed around her mouth. Blood slid off her skin with ease. If only it were that easy to remove the bruises. If only a piece of fabric soaked in warm water would take away her pain.

As soon as her face was clean, you moved to her wrists. She let out a hiss as the rag brushed against the thin cut, still open, still raw.

"Sorry," you said. "There's some dirt in there. I need to clean it out."

"It's fine," Agatha assured you.

She let you finish your work, first on her left wrist, and then her right one, gritting her teeth throughout. Pushing through the pain, through the clear discomfort.

"What did they want from you?" you asked in an attempt to distract her. Hunters usually killed witches on sight. As much as they hated your kind, they didn't keep you. Not even to torture you.

They had to have wanted something from her. Something she either couldn't or didn't want to give them.

"Information," Agatha said.

"About what?"

She instantly averted her eyes, focusing on you wrapping bandages around her wrists.

"We can talk when you're ready," you assured her, giving one of her hands a quick squeeze.

Whatever it was that they wanted to know, she clearly didn't feel like talking to you about it. Not yet, anyway.

The last thing you wanted to do was pressure her.

After what she'd been through, it was a wonder she allowed you to bring it up at all. Especially as the mere act of talking — of breathing, of living — brought her pain.

Agatha took in a big breath, face contorting with pain as she did so, then said, "They knew there were two of us."

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"They wanted me to tell them where my, quote, companion was."

Oh.

Oh.

Blood ran cold in your veins as the realization set in.

The hunters hadn't just wanted Agatha — they had wanted you, as well.

It was a well known fact that the two of you were a package deal. Where there was one, the other was nearby.

Why kill only one witch when they could kill two?

They must have heard rumors, or been filled in by the witch they'd had on payroll, about Agatha's traitorous tendencies. They must have thought she would give up your location; maybe not right away, but with the right incentive, under the right amount of pain, everyone was bound to crack. Especially the most infamous witch of all.

They didn't know Agatha at all.

She was many things, plenty of them bad, but when she loved someone, she was all in. She had a heart, a big one, and it loved as fiercely as everyone else's; even more so. She may not show it to the outside world, but it was there. You felt it in every pet name she uttered, in every touch of her hand. In every gesture, no matter how insignificant it appeared at first. Even during your worst arguments, that heart cherished you.

You'd never felt truly loved until you'd met her.

She'd made sure you would feel it every single day.

When she said she could go for two weeks instead of two days, she meant it. Because she had something — someone — to protect. She'd let them hit her, kick her, torture her; if she hadn't managed to escape, she would've still been there, silent as a mouse, gritting her teeth through each blow.

All so you wouldn't have to.

Agatha raised a finger in warning. "Before you go all, 'Oh, no'—" she put on a mock voice that was supposed to be a rendition of yours — and it was, an almost uncanny one, which you found mildly offensive, "—in that sad little voice of yours, remember that it was my decision not to tell them anything. And I would do it again if I had to."

In other words, don't feel bad about it. She'd chosen to protect you at the cost of her own wellbeing.

She'd put you first once, and she would do so again.

Your eyes burned with welling tears. "I was so awful to you."

Agatha shrugged. "Just because you said some… unsavory things doesn't mean I want you to die."

What you'd said was beyond unsavory. It was cruel. Borderline sadistic.

"You could've died," you pointed out.

"Honey, I was dead as soon as they captured me. Well, I should've been," she said nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather. "I didn't see the point of dragging you into it."

Yet you'd called her selfish. Had said she didn't care about you, that she'd loved power more than you. That you'd never felt loved by her.

God, you were a bitch.

Gently, you picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Is there anything I can do?"

"About those shitheads? You can watch me kill them when I get my power back." She smirked. "You love that."

There was something attractive about her draining witches dry. When she would kiss you after, she would be brimming with magic, new and electric. Ecstatic. It gave your heart the zoomies.

"I do," you confirmed, allowing your lips to curl into a smile, "but, I mean, to make things right between us."

Agatha sighed. She reached out, and you instinctively went to her, kneeling down by her seated form. As soon as her hands cupped your cheeks, your eyes fell closed. How you missed her touch, so tender, so sweet. So loving. Yet another proof of the lies your insults spewed.

Every time she touched you like this, she was telling you she loved you. Without a single word uttered, you knew she felt it, and she made sure you felt it just as intensely, just as fiercely.

How could you say she never loved you? How could you say you'd never felt it?

"You want us to be okay?" she asked.

You gave a nod, a tiny, timid one. "Yeah."

"Then we're okay."

You stared. "Just like that?" Surely, there had to be more to it. She couldn't just forgive you.

"Do you want me to be angry at you?" Agatha asked.

Yes, you did. You wanted her to be absolutely pissed. You wanted her to throw things, or blow something up, or scream at the top of her lungs like she usually did when she was mad.

You wanted her to do to you what you'd done to her.

"Agatha, I hurt you." A tear, two, three slid down your face, the memories of the things you'd said stabbing at you like knives. "Hurt me back."

"Why?" she demanded.

Because you'd hurt her first. "Because I deserve it."

"No, you don't." Her fingers rubbed your cheeks. Wiped your tears. "Someone else would, but not you. Never you."

"Why not?"

"Because I love you. Because I know you." Then, reluctantly, she added, "Because I hurt you first."

Right.

The reason the entire argument had erupted in the first place.

Agatha had forgotten your anniversary, having busied herself draining a — honestly, rather unimpressive — witch, while you'd waited for her at the restaurant she'd explicitly told you she would be at the day before.

You'd waited for her for over an hour like a fool. Had even started worrying that something had happened, that someone she'd slighted in the past (or the last twenty minutes; it didn't take her long to piss people off) had harmed her.

To add insult to injury, she had been the one to call you, asking where the hell you were, because she, having just absorbed some magic, was horny, and it frustrated her that you were nowhere to be found.

"I was looking forward to that dinner," you said, remembering how excited you were. How jovial. It was supposed to be one of the best nights of your lives.

It ended up being the worst.

"As was I," Agatha said. "I just thought it was supposed to take place the day after."

Right.

Forgetting things might as well be her middle name.

At least she managed to remember your birthday. She'd never failed to surprise you with a present she'd somehow know you wanted despite you not telling her a thing. She was perceptive like that.

"Of course you did," you snarked.

Agatha pouted in that way you found both adorable and sexy. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

Of course you would. "I expect something fancy."

"I wouldn't go for anything less. Who do you think I am?" she said, feigning offense.

You grinned. "It's a deal."

She blinked innocently. "So, you forgive me?"

How could you not forgive her when she looked at you like that?

How could you not forgive her when she looked like that?

Consciously or not, the injuries worked in her favor. She could punch you in the face, and you would probably find it hard to stay angry at her.

"I forgive you," you said.

There were few things in the world you could never forgive her for. Especially at this point in your relationship.

She smiled. "I really am sorry."

"I know you are."

It was a bitch move, yes, but it had only happened once. As much as it hurt, it wasn't like she had a habit of forgetting important dates.

Forgetting important things that didn't pertain to your relationship, yes. Names, dates, entire events. If she didn't find it personally significant, her brain erased it.

But something personal? Something in relation to you? Never. Those things stayed pinned at the top of her mental list.

You could forgive one blunder.

So long as she didn't make a habit of it.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @ahintofchaos @fruityhahn @midnight-lestrange

*****

Next chapter.

[juicedaloe]

Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

[butchreg]

cg ! caitlyn kiramman with a baby boy regressor headcanons !!

requested by 🦁 anon. hai new anon ~ヾ(＾∇＾) . i've been cooking up a storm in the past few days hehe. 1 more request after this one then i will likely turn anons back on if any of my lovely anons would like to chat / request some more or if anyone else is itching to do so but shy. i'm also getting pretty close to 100 followers ! wowowowow :O thank you all sm ! i'm wondering if there's something i should do to celebrate? lmk if there's anything special you'd like to see from me to celebrate that milestone. okay yap over thanks for listening ! arcane masterlist here , upcoming list here

caitlyn loves to play peekabo with her baby boy, getting really into it. babies aren't good with object permanence though so if you're to get fussy she drops it right away. "shh, baby. no need to cry, mummy's right here !"

she's so attentive to your babbles, nodding along as if you're speaking coherently, encouraging you. "uh huh, is that right my love? you're so smart, who's mama's smart little boy?"

caitlyn loves seeing you smile, often tickling your tummy or chucking your chin to hear your little giggle. she always kisses your dimples which makes you giggle as well.

she's taller than you and is able to lift you onto her hip which you love. you're always making grabby hands at her, wanting her to pick you up. you love being carried so much, it makes you feel so tiny and loved.

caitlyn picking out your outfits, telling you how handsome you look. she loves shopping for you buying more clothes than you'll ever need.

she also buys you so many toys. she knows a lot of facts, telling you all about each of your dinosaur figurines and animal toys. she doesn't know much about cars but she looks up facts about the ones you like the best.

she buys you special patterned diapers with dinosaurs and jungle animals on them. if you're feeling fussy about needing a change, she'll talk you through it having you pick which diaper you want and praising you when you're done. "there, all done ! you're such a good boy, feeling better now?"

caitlyn is one of those mamas who soothes their baby by bouncing them on her hip, or carrying them around. she boops your nose, or rubs your back until you doze off in your mama's arms.

caitlyn bottle feeding you because you're too small to eat solid foods. :( she's got you on one hip while you fuss as she warms your bottle. "shhh shhh, it's coming silly boy," she chuckles, testing the temperature before sitting down in a comfy spot with you so you can nurse it. "is that yummy, hmm?" she smiles, holding your head up with one arm and the bottle with the other. your eyes slowly begin to flutter sleepily and she coos. "there we go, all done?"

caitlyn bathing you oh so gently, getting fishy bath toys for you to play with. you love baths with mama, sometimes if you're feeling especially tiny and clingy you'll bathe together, not wanting to break contact with your mama. caitlyn letting you soap up her hair and play with it, laughing at the silly styles you come up with. caitlyn giving you a soap beard and being so careful when she's washing you, checking in periodically to make sure you're still comfortable. you never want to get out, crying when the water gets cold and mama makes you get out. you have a bunch of animal head towels, which she wraps you up in immediately. she wipes your tears away, soothing you verbally as she gently dries you off. "i know buddy bathtime's fun, huh? don't cry my love, we'll have another bath soon."