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brynn-lear · 3 days ago

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The Abduction of King (Y/n) [Yandere Mydei x Reader]

A/n: Here I go, an asexual trying to learn how to write smut, so bear with me as I start this journey. Also, note that this story presumably happens after the entire Amphoreus Quests, so I’m running under assumptions on how the story ends. I enjoyed writing this reader. It’s always refreshing to write nice people turned feral.

Unreliable Synopsis: The new Stellaron Hunter, King (Y/n), is always welcome to visit the Express. Life has a way of changing a person… And Mydei couldn't accept his beloved’s new “whatever will be, will be” attitude.

CW/Tags: female reader (“King” is your title), slight hurt/comfort, yandere!mydei, toxic relationship, heavily implied one-sided sunday/reader, mild violence, and dubcon elements

To smell and taste pomegranate juice— such were your aspirations before living the life you have now.

You are simultaneously at the lowest and highest point of your life.

Being falsely accused of "matricide" was an unpredictable way to achieve that wish, yet you are nonetheless grateful for the hand you dealt with. You'd dare say it's a blessing in disguise. Despite your retainer’s blatant “betrayal”, you were thankful he had ground your knees against gravel and harsh pebbles. If anything, he wrote you a lovely story.

(Y/n) was exposed to have “murdered” her mother, the King, in the Charmony Festival.

Former King (Y/n) originally fled her mysterious unknown planet.

Former King (Y/n) joined the Stellaron Hunters soon after.

Exciting, is it not? Crimes you hadn't committed weighed intolerably upon you. Your planet, Amphoreus, wouldn't dare open its mouth for a choir. No tears shall be collected in jars should you perish, instead, your funeral will be basked with laughter. Daidalos is not a forgiving nation. The Daidalosan Cathedrals would sooner strike a beloved saint’s statue down than a chord from your songs.

You still vividly recall Kafka’s opaque stare through her tinted glasses. The playful yet empathetic smirk on her face served to entice you to her. She needn't use a whisper. Fate just had its way with you.

The Nameless get to shelter a wounded bird, while the Hunters take on a new apprentice.

As poetic as that sounds, your resolve isn't cruel and unfeeling. If it were, you doubt the Express would take kindly to your serene shenanigans.

You giggled. Truth be told, you were aware as to why March left in a hurry.

You may hold yourself with sheer elegance and an astute gaze befitting of the crown, but behind it lies a mischievous streak that remains undetected. What can you say? Perhaps this sneakiness is an act of love. You do miss their company.

Several months ago, the Nameless went on a dangerous mission to Amphoreus.

The unknown planet the galaxy you hailed from that the rest of the galaxy does not know?

That was Amphoreus.

The very same planet you escaped from was the place Dan Heng and Stelle landed blindly.

Aside from Elio, only a single soul knows this one other dangerous fact: you cannot taste or smell anything— and fall victim to catatonic moods more capriciously than others. Your ailment does not terrify you more than Kafka’s lack of fear (ironically), Yingxing’s mara— and especially not more than Firefly’s syndrome. Just a scratch to your patchwork of problems. You had support. Your people once wholeheartedly gave you your flowers for the good you've done. And it pains you immensely how you cannot express genuine gratitude for it.

You may have been a great King, but Kephale never favored you. Unfortunately, you cannot resign to THEIR uneven-handedness much longer.

You are not a Chrysos Heir.

You are just an Amphoreus Tragedy.

It's no small wonder that you offered your life to Elio, hoping he'd one day pull out a feast that would satisfy your tastebuds. That day won't happen any time soon. Not that you mind.

Cause you'll get to see Stelle, Dan Heng, March, and Sunday suffer while drinking your horrendous drinks— if you're lucky, Himeko’s as well.

Ah, your seemingly earnest and just demeanor is truly a gift that keeps on giving. Your “friends” are gone. You stand on new ground, one that allows you to take the smallest things to heart.

Your mother’s “murder” is when you started noticing what matters in life.

Now, you enjoy the silence.

Listen deeply. The child in you that wasn’t allowed to. Let it heal.

It’s what Kafka ordered you to do, and it was the best command a King could ever receive.

“Going somewhere?”

You stopped walking and looked up from your phone. A familiar young boy standing by the doorway. He had a small smile on his face, despite barring the exit.

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

Given his clairvoyant abilities, you figured that to be true.

“My apologies for not recognizing you, Lord Elio,” you frowned. “I'm afraid I have grown more accustomed to your feline form.”

“No need for apologies.”

He handed you a machete.

Machetes are your weapon of choice, and quite frankly, no other steel fits like a glove. The lances of Daidalos do not compare to the satisfying momentum brandishing a machete elicits. Unpolished. Unkingly. Unsightly.

Personally?

… You thought they were cute.

They remind you of someone.

They say never bring a weapon to a fistfight, but that little prince never minded.

You cleared your throat but stopped yourself when Elio raised his hand, disinterested in how you would inevitably pay him back in credits or an equivalent.

"I-I am most grateful, yet I must inquire— what purpose does this serve?" You inclined your head slightly, your gaze steady. "Is there an urgent expedition that demands my attention?"

“If there was an emergency, there would have been a contingency plan beforehand.” The boy giggled, fixing his bow tie with a smug smile. “But no, I just urge you to take this on your way to the Express. Just in case a small miracle triggers. Which, I doubt.”

Hmm, there must be a threat later then. Shame.

Elio cautioned you. “You might also regret wearing that.”

“Wearing what?”

“Red.”

You assessed your appearance. At first, you thought nothing wrong about your flinty rings and maroon pantsuit. “Does it not look good on me?”

“One might say it’s too good on you,” Elio muttered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that point.”

“Understood.” You bowed.

“Lastly, King (Y/n)?” Elio shook his head.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Do not bow for me,” he exhaled, mildly exasperated by your antics. “You are one of us. You are a Stellaron Hunter, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, my Lo—”

“None of that either!”

“Yes… Elio.”

“Better,” the young boy opened the exit.

Then, he opened his eyes. It's those piercing blue shades that make you both uncomfortably seen and relievedly accepted.

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations.” Elio’s grin widened. “Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

No pomegranates? Become a Stellaron Hunter? What an odd choice of words— and aren't you already a hunter?

Does it even matter?

You can’t taste anything.

You laughed. Elio loves your laugh for it was always a whole, hearty, and joyous sound. A laugh befitting a king.

“Much like my favorite bard, I do not understand a word out of you. However, do not worry—” You stepped out the door.

“I am looking forward to it!”

“I'm ashamed I can't show you a better sight when you've been enthused to visit. What a pity. I cannot stand to present to you such weaklings.”

“Weaklings, you say.” You muttered. “Little prince, their rib cages are stretched open with limbs bleeding out. This torture you call training outmatches the way we Daidalosans treat prisoners.”

You picked up the tortured gladiator’s weapon.

It was a machete.

“Was it necessary to torture them…?”

“Δασκάλα μου (My teacher), they have insulted you and Daidalos. I cannot allow such slander to the former.”

You saw the intense sincerity in his eyes and turned away.

No matter how many times you have rejected his heart, he continues to court you in ways that disturb many.

“You care too much about me. I hope you would spare such care for your gladiators instead.”

“And you care too little about yourself. This is precisely why your nation fears our military might, King (Y/n). Make no mistake, everyone suffers in their imagination more often than in reality.” He scoffed. “Even these soldiers.”

█████ laughed. To him, this is one of many days where no one remembered the fallen except for spectators such as yourself. █████ watched as your eyes batted over the strewn rubble where your grandfather’s soldiers once fought for the realm’s peace. He saw conflict in those (e/c) eyes. A dead silent remorse for faces you have never truly seen.

Even so, you smiled sadly.

That smile was out of place in Prince █████'s Spoliarium.

“███, that may be your opinion, but our mind IS our reality. It may seem overdramatic and unreasonable to you, but the pain is not any less real.”

“We seriously need to master how to make coffee before (Y/n) gets here….”

“Don't worry so much, Dan Heng, we at least persuaded Himeko to visit Herta so that's one big bomb deactivated!”

“... should you be adding that much Halovian sugar? I believe that unhealthy proportions are against many culinary rules.”

“Rules? What rules, Sunday? Nah. These are guidelines.”

“What— Stelle, NO!!!”

You snorted a sound that does not sound elegant in the slightest. Both Dan Heng and March 7th apprehended their callous friend. Sunday’s wings perked up upon hearing you, and a smile formed on his face before he even knew it. Meanwhile, the three only took notice of you when they successfully extracted the sugar from her hands.

You placed a hand on your mouth, hiding any impolite laughter.

“I've just arrived, and it sounds like an interesting conversation. Shame, I should've arrived moments prior.”

“(Y/n)! Nonsense, you came at a perfect time.” Sunday sauntered joyfully, standing up to usher you toward Shush’s counter. “There's a seat beside me, please come here.”

“Look at him, already making the moves,” March whispered to Stelle, snickering.

Stelle, a master of the stoic expression, only nodded. “Let him cook.”

Dan Heng rolled his eyes, ignoring the two.

“King (Y-”

“Just (Y/n), please.” You pouted. “You are all an equal to me.”

“... (Y/n).” Dan Heng scratched his neck. “About the brewing session…”

Your questions were lost in Dan Heng’s recitals of Himeko leaving for Herta’s Space Station, Stelle’s failed attempts at brewing her cup (it somehow turns into alcohol-like beverages), and the crew’s insistence that the next batch should follow online recipes. This made you laugh more than you thought you would. So, you decided to drop the idea altogether, to everyone’s relief.

“Instead, we can talk about our last journey instead, how about it?” Stelle offered.

Your smile stiffened.

“Ah, yes, I believe that was in…”

“Amphoreus!” March grinned. “The pictures Dan Heng and Stelle took were so nice. Here, let me get it—”

“There is no need for that.”

You spoke a little too quickly.

More perceptive than you thought, the crew noticed your sudden change.

“(Y/n)?” Sunday spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“I know why.” Stelle pushed away from the table, upsetting her chair before theatrically balancing herself back. She then went on carelessly:

“It’s because she’s from Amphoreus.”

March’s eyes widened. “WHAT?!”

You looked away, sighing. “Shush, do you have a bottle of Retsina wine?”

“Wait, w-where did you get this information, Stelle?” Dan Heng shook her slightly. “I don’t recall hearing that—”

“She’s the former King of Daidalos, which is far away from Okhema. Honestly, I just saw it around stone tablets. Daidalos is a long-fallen land of artisans. People thought she died by execution because no one believed she did reach beyond the sky. They also say she’s the mentor and childhood crush of crown prince M—”

“You know a lot and you never thought to tell us about ANY this?!” March gawked. “What the heck Stelle!?!”

“I just thought it wasn’t that important.”

“Yes, yes it is!!!”

While the three argued over details, Sunday took the bottle from Shush and poured you a glass. There’s a look of understanding in his eyes, and he won’t ask unless you want him to. You gave him a small smile, acknowledging his empathy.

“You look rather pale, have those Hunters done something to you?” Sunday inquired, his unease blatant. “Is it your mission? Have they been asking the impossible?”

“What? No. My workload is infinitely a lot less weighty than the crown.” You grinned, teasing. “It's all light work.”

He figured he had nothing else of value to add. Still, his eyes were skewed. Sunday won't be dropping the issue any time soon.

“Then why do you look kinda miserable?” Stelle asked.

“Steeeeelle! C’mon, watch your mouth. How do you always sound so offensive?” March whined.

You placed a hand on your head. “Hmm, I shall not lie, nightmares have been mostly a root cause for my unsightly and dim appearance as of late. Pathetic, I am aware—”

“Nightmares?” Dan Heng shifted his body forward, closer to you. “Like what?”

“I dream of an old… friend a lot more frequently.” You paused. Should you be saying this? “And more often than not, I'm being… chased… by him.”

Both Stelle and March looked at Dan Heng. He bit his bottom lip, thinking.

“... Where is your new mission?”

“Elio has given me no command,” You sighed deeply. “He declared that the plans are already set in motion, and it falls upon me to rise to the occasion, whatever challenge it may be that calls upon me.”

“Oof. Good luck.” Stelle said, but the air of those words seems a little more knowing.

March chuckled nervously. “Yikes…”

Sunday had no comment. Instead, he also poured himself a drink.

“I'd be wary if I were you.” Dan Heng’s gaze was astutely focused on yours. “I've been through something similar. Nightmares, that is.”

"Is that so?" You murmured, swirling the coffee in your cup with an air of detached curiosity. "And what transpired thereafter?"

“...”

March 7th laughed, uneasy.

“Well, uh, it kinda came true?” March’s eyebrow furrowed, wearing a strained smile. “It's good though, Blade didn't actually kill him so…?”

“March.”

“I'm sorry, it was just too silent, I couldn't stand it!”

“... What were the dreams like? Can you elaborate?”

You paused at Sunday’s questions.

█████ towered over your chained form, clenching an open letter in his strong hands. His knuckles were white from the sheer anger he held them.

“Entertaining a love letter, are we?”

He sneered.

“How dare you consider suitors other than myself?”

█████ knelt down and harshly grabbed your chin.

“Shall I pluck his feathers out for you?”

“Cold.”

You muttered. “Lacks warmth.”

Sunday has never been this tempted to get into someone’s mind.

Dan Heng placed a hand on his chin.

“Anything else? Like vivid smells or tastes?”

You laughed. “Are those things important?”

“Sorta?” March quipped.

“Is that so…” You wouldn’t know. Both senses eluded you.

…

Suddenly, you had willed your words into existence.

“!!!”

Someone uninvited has entered the Express.

An immediate tension gripped everyone’s lungs, and each heart in the vicinity quickened. A subtle shift, imperceptible yet undeniable, stirred them all. A silent warning. Eyes darted nervously, glances exchanged with no words. The Nameless knew that something was about to emerge. The weight of the unknown pressed heavily upon their shoulders, and though none dared speak it aloud, they could feel it— whatever was coming was drawing near.

The lights flickered and died out.

“LOOK OUT!!!”

Enshrouded by a ghost who trailed behind, you grabbed Sunday and jumped away. The sound of metal rang. None of you could see the other. Pompom’s screams, asking for what was happening, droned on inside the other car.

You must’ve barely dodged that attack. Swiftly, you brandished your machete. Instincts that infiltrated each inch of your veins screamed that the intruder you faced was a familiar soul. Your body warmth congealed a hand’s breadth below the blade’s sharp rim. It’s been a while since you felt this threatened.

This excited.

You sported a boyish grin. Been a long long while since you had felt true risk— a real divergence from your tolerable comfort zone.

“Come and face me in the light, coward.”

The figure drew their already built frame taller to stiffen their pride. You spun to the side, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow that tore through the air. Your instincts were sharp.

With a final joining of force and momentum, you swung your machete with half of your strength.

It met the shadow’s fists, causing an ear-bleeding stalemate of metal against metal.

Seconds passed, and it was clear that an impasse had been reached.

You both pulled away— and the figure ignited a fire within his palms.

As if your eyes were spiked with visions of red and yellow— you squinted at the strange man. His bare skin and intense eyes are enough to make the common man buckle his knees and tremble.

But you know that face.

It's the one soul who knows your secrets.

You paled.

“... Dei?”

That face, though aged, belonged to the young boy you taught patiently. The same stubborn boy who wanted peace for his people even though the chances were slim. The only person who would vouch for your innocence. The kid who you secretly envied for his cursed immortality— for his status as a Chrysos Heir.

The little prince who wanted you beside HIS throne.

It was Dei himself.

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos— the land of Daidalos’ “worst enemy”.

“Dei” grinned. He languidly raised his head, his gaze towering above you. A shadow clouded his face and settled in his eye.

You, who had reduced his name to one syllable on the day you met, was the first woman he had come to admire ardently.

Riotous pomegranate wines that hedonistically spill in white table cloths that adjoin themselves like countries on a map— saintly garbs donned by faces achieving a carnal state of euphoria— those were the images that describe Daidalos to the crown prince. Holy, but unrighteous.

Yet, when the sky brightly illuminated your face at the outdoor picnic you extended the invite to, the Prince was royally smitten. Humbly, you were dressed only in a simple sundress. No accessories or cloaks to elevate yourself. In the seeded topsoils of the plains, you were the most natural beauty to behold.

Mydeimos had grown obsessed with the consistent air of absentminded integrity you carry as King. It was not an aura he had the privilege of carrying. But he will live that life vicariously through you.

“Δασκάλα μου. (My teacher.) Kαρδιά μου. (My heart.)” The prince scoffed an airy smirk. Not a word can describe his smug satisfaction. “Found you, at long last.”

Chrome, gold, and pomegranate red.

Those had always been his colors.

And that included the color of…

“You adorn yourself in every color but red, is there a reason why?”

“Red is more of your color, little prince.” You humored him. “And a King wearing red is an omen for war. The same is said for our flag.”

“I see.”

… blood and war. A color entirely suited for his calling.

You froze without breathing, struck dumb.

How did he leave Amphoreus?!

You greeted with a frown.

“... Hello, little prince.”

You can’t believe this.

Leaving took you centuries to perfect!

How did he do it?!

Mydei instantly detected within you an erosion of self-assurance.

Just talking to him felt no different from downing some of Kafka’s fancy wines. While you consider yourself above petty theft, this situation compels you to understand her deeply. You, too, would pocket Dreamjolt Hostelry’s alcohol to an amount you felt was just after talking to this prince.

He recklessly held your blade. The Chrysos Heir thrust your weapon’s handle against your palm whilst his own bled profusely.

It had always been difficult to challenge an opponent with no self-preservation.

“Has joining these intergalactic bandits stripped you of every bit of decorum, King (Y/n)?” He shook his head. Taking advantage of your paralyzed state, the prince yanked the machete away, allowing it to pelt to the floor with a harsh thud.

The prince leaned down to kiss your hand, but the sudden pause shocked both you and him.

“Where is it?” He spoke gravely with murderous rage.

You pursed your lips. “Where is what, Prince Mydeimos?”

“Your ring.” Mydei spoke. “The Daidalos King’s ring.”

A laugh escapes your lips. One without any semblance of humor.

“It is a ring that adorns only the hand of a King, does it not? Yet I, alas, no longer bear such a title. You may put those facts together to form your conclusion.” You answered, nose turned up snobbishly.

He glared.

The prince threw what was assumed to be a warp device that formed a distortion that connected the Express to Amphorous. Your eyes widened and you snapped back to make eye contact with Stelle.

You only had a second to think.

“CALL KAFKA!!!—”

“(Y/n)!!!”

But before they could reach and save you, you and the intruder disappeared.

Just as there was no consensus if the Nameless should involve themselves in this matter or not, no trailblazer had the same opinion of following suit aligned with their beliefs. Sunday desperately tried to have everyone on his side, whereas the wiser of the crowd had more sway with their stable voices. The three only had to watch and wait for Kafka to arrive.

Until then, the express was silent.

Crown Prince Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, may not be the sharpest of men— but he lived a proud life.

“That Prince again, how many more of our King’s time shall he exhaust?!”

“I do not know myself, Aitherios, but he certainly does not mean well.”

“And we are to let that man linger in our castle?”

“I suppose so.”

“But Luminia!—”

He had never hid his true self. There, Mydei would stand, taking no more notice of them than they are of him. Though usually unrestrained, he would hold himself back for those who spat venom were your people. People you had loved and cherished for centuries longer than you’ve known him.

And he is no one but a person you’d go to picnic with on a sunny day.

Despite his raging mind, he kept his mouth shut about your unpleasant servants. He’d bear the pain of every word. He’d even accept lashes and whips if it meant he could sit beside you in your favorite picnic spot another day.

He stays rooted in a field where he does not belong.

That was how much Mydei loves you.

"Alas, it is a sorrow that your visit is swift. Had it been under better circumstances, I would have bid you stay and witness an Epic with me thereafter." You sighed, placing the teacup under your lips. "The young lad, who once struggled to wield a greatsword, now holds the power to lay waste to my very castle at his will. How swiftly the years slip away..."

Mydei’s gaze softened.

On his frequent idle days, he systematically fit visiting Daidalos in his schedule. This is all in hopes that someday, you’d see him beyond what nostalgia portrays.

Why can’t you see that he obsesses over you the way a man would to his woman?

Frustrating how YOUR visits became less warm and less frequent. Was it custom only that bound the two of you? That cannot be so. You refer to him beyond his station, as he does to you as well.

Surely, you feel the same beating as he does?

There is no other possibility, is there?

The only thing that stands between you two and the altar must be the crowns you both will and have been carrying. If your people only loved him—- if both your people only cared for one another instead of a constant rivalry for Nikador’s gaze.

"It must be so. As it stands, the folk of Daidalos and Kremnos are far from sharing the civil discourse you and I enjoy." Mydei gently set his cup upon the blanket spread across the verdant earth. "In the quietest recesses of my heart, I wish for a day when my people might share a picnic with yours."

“Do you wish me to crayon a series of plans?” You teased.

“Do not mock me, King (Y/n).”

“The offer for a treaty stands.” You shrugged, your face turned solemn. “That is unless the brutal culture of Kremnos has a better idea of peace?”

Mydei chuckled.

“How about an abduction?”

“H-Hah—”

His lips claim yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It's as if a dam has broken, all of his pent-up desire and longing pouring out at once. His calloused hands tighten around its grip, holding you close as he deepens the kiss— his tongue tastes you with the desperation he's not articulate enough to voice. You'll just have to take him as he is. Rogue and animalistic.

You punched his chest. As expected, he didn't falter. Instead, his gaze was tender and his breathing was more… pleased.

“Y-You look ravishing in red.” He smirked. "And to think that bird thought he could please you the way I do."

A husky, ragged moan sneaked out of his lips as he seemingly devoured and shared his heat with yours in unison. No escape. This was far from comfortable. Your back was pinned on the cold Spoliarium walls. You gasped as you felt the subtle and slow motion of his hips grind against your smaller frame. Mydei tilted your head to the side slightly to deepen the kiss.

The worst part? Both your eyes were open, for two reasons on the opposite side of the same spectrum.

He wants to watch his cornered prey, and you're his frozen fawn.

A few years ago, you had shown him mercy in hopes he’d do the same. His eyes were a murderer’s eyes, his hands were a murderer’s arms. But he is without sin. Mydei did not choose to have a murderer’s eyes and hands. And you had refused that he will be treated as such.

You should have.

Just when you felt your eyes fluttering shut at the immediate danger of passing out— the prince graciously pulled away. You saw a sliver of saliva disconnect between both your lips. Almost insane how this had your legs threatening to lay on the floor. The fact that you can barely stand from his intensity boosted a pride greater than a long spar in him.

Then, the prince hoisted your thighs up and forced them to wrap around him. Your back hasn't had a single moment wherein it hasn't had contact with the wall. Your body hasn't had a single moment wherein you haven't had contact with his warm skin. Your gaze was pathetically unfocused.

“N-Not…” You couldn't help but jest, like old times. “H-How I expected to have my first kiss.”

You felt your spine shiver but had the strength to not make that undirected fear known. Nothing feels right about that place. His Spoliarium was too cold, too dusty, yet his hands were too hot like a forever sun in his palm.

Slowly, he cupped your cheek. Even that loving gesture was rough and intrusive.

Mydei scarcely had a definition for what romance is.

“The fault is your own for expecting gentleness from me.” Mydei brought his lips to your ear. You shivered as he leaned down and nibbled your neck.

Divine.

You tasted divine. If only you could taste him too, then maybe you'd be more enthused for a “rougher” expression of intimacy. If he could take you now—

You shrank back, terrified. Mydei has been difficult to read on occasion, but tonight his thoughts are blatant and disturbing. You hope your instinct was wrong.

“T-Truth be told, I expect no intimacy from you. I-Is this a—” you panted, weakly gripping his muscular arm. No matter how much willpower you had, you couldn't stand upright. “—form of punishment? I-I wasn't aware Aglaea has e-employed you to guarantee my c-capture.”

“I came of my own volition.” Unbeknownst to you, Mydei’s glare was chilling. “How dare you assume I'd betray you.”

“How dare I, indeed…” You winced. “Why did you come here—”

Unfortunately, the prince was quick to forestall further questions. You helped from the sudden jolt of both pain and pleasure as he bit your neck harshly while he slowly rubbed his hips against you. Mydei was leaving too many marks in his wake. The heat was becoming unbearable.

You gripped a fistful of his hair, hoping to yank him off. “M-Mydei— in Kephale’s name, I command you to—”

“You wanted this.”

He pulled away, and you cursed yourself for feeling almost needy as he created a reasonable distance between you two.

“King— no, MY (Y/n).” Mydei took strands of your hair, kissing it innocently but his eyes were anything but. “I have desired you for too long as well.”

His hand slid under your shirt. You jolted as he squeezed your waist.

There are times his replies slip so easily that it makes you question their sincerity. This was not one of them.

“I presume with that visage that you’re regularly, at the very least, 3 hours of obliterating sleep.” He pulled your shirt up. “May I know the names of the men who’d find themselves in my Spoliarium soon?”

You almost mentioned Elio in defense of the Hunters, but kept your mouth shut.

“Curse you, Mydeimos.”

He clicked his tongue, snaking his fingers around your neck.

“What dishonorable struggle. I never thought you would have cold feet.” Mydei lightly tightened his grip on your throat. “I offered an abduction, and you agreed.”

“W-What? What abduction?”

Cold feet?

"Reflect further. You possess wisdom far greater than mine."

Your eyebrows furrowed, remembering the conversation. “I only replied because I thought it was said in jest!”

“I am not a man who would jest about entering such a solemn union.” He growled. "You know well that I speak with the full gravity of truth in every word I say."

You paused.

…

Cold feet. Abduction…

Wait…

“Abductions, are they a ritual of sorts…?”

Mydei closed his eyes, huffing in mild amusement.

“...You did not understand that custom, did you?”

“N-No…”

He leaned his face closer, his breath touching your skin.

“Marriage.” His gaze softened. “It is a marriage custom in Kremnos. You have verbally agreed to marry me. And I shall reap what promise is owed to me.”

You felt your energy drain away. A sickening chill.

Most of your life— it was spent on becoming a perfect ruler. You were chalk honed and clawed with lessons upon lessons upon lessons of strength and wit. Your family did not care if you were even made of a fragile core. But chalk is brittle. Chalk cannot withstand any more of this madness. This lack of human regard. This inhumane treatment.

You do not love Dei.

You can never bring yourself to love the prince you thought of as a little brother.

“B-But I… I do not…”

“You do not love me. I have heard that lie from you several times.” He kissed your hand. “You have stabbed and buried me several times, yet I will continue to crawl back in your arms.”

Mydei chuckled.

“And tomorrow, we shall have our wedding despite it all.”

He saw how the despair dawned on you. You were shaking. Your breath was shallow and uneven, and he noticed the twitch in your hands, far too unlikely the steadiness of the former warrior King of Daidalos.

No one truly listens to the King.

You are more puppet than king, and everyone revered you for it. You only do what is required of you. What was needed of you. What was desired of you.

No one truly hears what you wish for yourself. No one cared enough to know you were hungry for the true sensations of what tastes and smells truly are. No one asked you questions as to why you were obsessed with observing nature in the first place. Each person just approaches your throne in hopes they’ll take what they want. No one listens, except for…

This was the part he had anticipated— the fear, the panic, the realization that you were trapped. But instead, you did something... unexpected.

“... Hah… Haha!”

And then, slowly, something twisted inside. The edges of your lips curled upward— at first, just a flicker. You clutched at her chest as though trying to hold yourself together. Your laugh broke free, starting in a soft, broken sound that grew louder, more manic until it was a full-throated, deranged cackle.

Marriage?

Right.

“Going somewhere?”

“Lord Elio?”

“Indeed. This is your first time seeing me in this form. And I assure you, this won't be the last.”

“Next time you come back, we'll have a giant feast for your return. No pomegranates. It's a feast that may just be more memorable than your previous birthday celebrations. Truth is, once our prodigal King returns, she shall become a Stellaron Hunter.”

Elio promised you a feast.

Who are you to say no?

You gave him a mugshot smile only a criminal with an enormous bounty would wear.

You were no longer King (Y/n) of Daidalos.

“Is that so?” You grinned wider.

You were (Y/n), the prodigal Stellaron Hunter.

If he haunted your dreams for so long,

you’ll just have to haunt him back.

You harshly grabbed him by his necklace, your breath fanning his face. A giggle escaped your lips at his shocked expression. You swerved and pushed him until your positions switched. With one hand, you clawed both his cheeks, staring at him with an empty glare while the other hand slowly uncloaked him...

"If that is the challenge you present, then I bid you bring forth your utmost strength, dear Husband."

Taglist: @naraven, @macaronilovingracoon, @notthefib987, @chryseis-lxve

Actor!au behind the scenes for this fic: Blooper 1, Interview with Sunday,

#honkai star rail #yandere #yandere x reader #hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #honkai star rail x reader #yandere mydei #x reader #hsr #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #mydei #mydeimos #Yandere Mydei x Y/n #Y/n x Yandere Mydei #Amphoreus

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theminecraftbee · 12 hours ago

Text

Grian sits on the edge of a desert cliff, watching the sunrise. His knuckles are bloody. He's had this dream before, and he's lived this moment before. He's awfully tired of it, honestly. He's not even particularly sad anymore. It's hard to be particularly sad, this long after, this much more between them.

But his knuckles are bloody again. There's someone sitting next to him.

"Joel?" he says, baffled.

"Yeah, hi, really weird bloody dreamscape you've got. Literally and figuratively: bloody hell. Like, Scott, he's got this pretty cottage and all these flowers and the single most terrifying version of Jimmy that I've seen in my life. Which serves him right, since he's a bastard, and I told him that. Or, uh, Pearl. She's normal. She's got dogs and... shit, I don't know--"

"Why are you here?" Grian asks.

"Oh, right, I was tasked with asking you if you regret it," Joel says.

There's a long moment of silence. The wind blows.

"I mean. No?" Grian says.

"Right? That's what I said! Blumin' stupid question, that!" Joel says.

"Wait, you mentioned--are you asking everyone that?" Grian asks.

"Yeah! It was all, oh, you've got a car, you can travel, it'll be all poetic like. You've had a 'character arc'--like I'm some, some fake guy--and grown as a person, everyone else has to, would they do things differently now? And I said, man, that's stupid. That's really stupid. But the glowing purple eyes guys--"

"Wait wait wait wait, the who?" Grian interrupts.

"Sorry, do you not know the glowing purple eyes guys? Martyn was acting like you're all buddies or something. Then I punched him. Because it was funny," Joel says.

"No, I know the--they asked you to do this?" Grian says. He takes a moment to try to imagine it. He has some trouble. Joel and the Watchers don't really belong in the same place at the same time for so many reasons that Grian doesn't know where to begin.

"Apparently, I'm not being serious enough," Joel informs Grian. "I kinda get it, actually. Like, everyone but Cleo has been somewhere like..."

Joel looks out over the cliff. It is tall, and Grian knows he cannot see the ground from the top. He had been able to during the actual games, of course, but these aren't the actual games; these are the memories of what brought him to victory, made manifest.

"So I guess I kinda wondered, since you lot always seem so blumin' sad about it," Joel finishes.

"I'm not really," Grian says.

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, maybe once, but--nah. Not really."

"Cool. That's the last one then," Joel says. "Hear that, weird glowing eyes guys? You act like I'm all weird or whatever but none of them regret it either. Not a single one of them."

Grian looks over the cliff again himself.

"None of us?" he asks, very quietly indeed.

Joel sighs. "All of you asked that too. I'm getting back in the bloody car."

Grian doesn't watch Joel leave. He rubs the blood off his knuckles and watches the sky instead. When he's tired thinking in circles about how he didn't really expect that he would be telling the truth, just then, he starts trying to imagine the trouble Joel might be giving everyone else instead. It's much more fun to think about than the sand that's getting in his socks. He's never able to get sand out of anything, these days, and it leaves him always just a little bit uncomfortable. Oh well; the price of being in a desert. He wouldn't be anywhere else if he had the choice, though, grit in his socks or not.

#trafficblr #a bee fic #trafficfic #joel smallishbeans #grian #i... don't know this one went like three different directions #take it. it's sort of character analysis sort of just me being me.#I'M IN A FICLET MOOD I GUESS.

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mocchii-writes · 2 days ago

Note

can you do a dae ho fic, with him being super protective and defending the reader, but she shows her own strength (maybe even saving him) and he is so star struck and falls in love immediately

She's the Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

Paring: Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader Summary: Dae-ho felt the need to protect you, but didn't expect how starstruck he could be when you returned the favor. Words: 1k Warnings: death, guns, swearing, violence, normal squid game stuff lols A/n: I hope I didn't make this too Y/n lmao ♡ ~🍡🍡

It's definitely hard to trust people here, to say the least. You see it all, just about. The blood of hundreds stains your clothes, and the screams you’ll probably have in your nightmares feel like a fever dream. Your survival instinct can only get you so far, though, and you know it. You need to find a backup.

You expect some kind of weapon to fill the gap in your barrier. You could break a mirror in the bathrooms, maybe? It's an understatement to say the supplies are limited, and you just barely make it through the last game. You can tell you're a target. Maybe not a huge one, but everybody here has someone after them, and it's easy and difficult at the same time to be discreet here.

But it isn't a weapon you get for help--it's a man. He doesn't hesitate to help you out when you need it, and you know that he’s valuable in this setting. You call him Dae-ho. Probably because that's his name, but it still has some meaning to you. Hopefully to him, too. It feels right, rolling off of your tongue, but you digress.

He seems to care about you, at least compared to some of the heartless shells of people here. You've both found solace in each other, and he truly made you feel safe, even if you had only known each other for a few days. You talk to one another. He tells you about his life, his past. You tell him about your past, your life. It's a small feeling of comfort, at least to you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of lights out being announced by that cold voice that makes your skin shiver. You kick your legs, sitting on a bed as you look at Dae-ho across the room. He's discussing something with his little group. He'd previously invited you to join, but you said you'd rather keep your circle small. You swing your legs, looking at his face. It's very serious, but he's pretty far away. He says something, and then you feel his eyes on you. He nods briefly at someone else as he heads to you. Your face shows concern as his serious demeanor doesn't falter.

"You need to be near us tonight, preferably in our base." You think he's joking, but you don't laugh, just in case.

""Base"?" You ask, smiling. "Why?" He rolls his eyes a bit, but you can't say you blame him. "I can handle myself." He raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"I'm not going to argue with you about that, but I could." You squint at him but chuckle. "Mr. Seong says people are going to fight tonight. He has a plan to keep us safe, and he said you can join."

"I thought we were gonna place bets." You smile. "My money is on that greasy guy who hangs out with the purple-haired asshole." He doesn't look amused, so you sigh. "How do you know he's not trying to get you killed?" You ask, dropping your egotistic demeanor.

"All he does is try to help us. Please." He says, pleading with you to have some common sense. You knew you would eventually accept, but you didn't like the thought.

"I'll think about it, alright?" He sighs and smiles a little. He knows he should take what he can get, but he hates the thought of someone hurting you.

Dae-ho isn't sure why he's taken the responsibility to protect you, but he has. He thinks of you like a flower sometimes. He can't make you take care of yourself if you don't want to, but he knows he's going to protect you anyway because everybody deserves a chance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were lost in your thoughts, breaking out when you hear the robotic voice again.

"Player 230, 401, 299, 331, and 268, eliminated."

What? How? Your eyes track the room and land on Dae-ho, who's staring at the guards, confused. You make eye contact briefly, before people emerge from the bathrooms.

They go on to accuse each other of attacking the opposing team, creating an edge in the room. You're not listening very closely, though. Maybe Dae-ho was on to something when he said you should hide tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Update: He very much was right.

But you can't really think about that because there are far bigger issues at hand.

The lights are flickering so intensely you're afraid they might explode, and there's too much yelling and screaming to organize your thoughts. People are moving everywhere like scattering ants, and everything is a weapon for everyone. There's blood, a lot of it, all over the floor. You run, but it's like playing operation with corpses. You have scrapes from falling off your bed and defending yourself as you regret acting tough to Dae-ho.

Your ears are ringing, only because of a punch you just took. Everything is moving at the speed of light, and you don't have time to catch up. You kick back and stun the other person enough to run away. You feel a hand on your shoulder as you whip around, ready to fight.

To your brief luck, it's Dae-ho. He says something you can't hear and then pushes you behind him. You almost scoff if you weren't truly afraid for your life. He punches the person following you but quickly takes one himself. You try to move him, but he blocks your entrance again. You shout to him, telling him to let you help, but he probably can't hear you. You see someone holding a glass bottle sprinting to you, and your instinct finally kicks in. Literally.

You shift to the left and swiftly kick them, stunning them enough to drop their bottle as you punch them, their head ramming against a bed frame as they slide down, eyes closed. You force yourself to look away from the small pool of blood forming and push down the sick feeling in your stomach. You look for Dae-ho, to see him still fighting. He appears to be losing, though you can't hold it against him.

You don't hesitate to pull the guy off of him, grabbing his shirt from behind and throwing him down as best you could. He sits up, but you kick him hard in the face, knocking him out. You're better at this than you thought. You see another lady running to you, screaming. You quickly pick up the discarded glass bottle and shatter it against her skull. The lights turn on as guards rush in, appearing to stop the fighting.

You pant, wiping unknown blood from your face as you look to Dae-ho. You expect him to look horrified at least, but he's simply staring at you. You tilt your head at him.

"You... handled that." He says, grabbing your arm and bringing you to his "base".

"I said I could," you smirk, "You seem surprised."

"No, I'm impressed." He laughs dryly.

That stressful moment didn’t feel like it would ever end, but it did, and you found yourself still standing. Or at least, still breathing. Dae-ho was too, which was the only thing you cared about at the moment. You leaned against the wall, your body trembling from the adrenaline. He was sitting across from you, his eyes anywhere but you.

"You're full of surprises," he says, his body seemed to hint at something softer than what his voice did.

"You thought I wasn't?" you say, a smirk tugging at your lips.

"I never said that." He pauses, looking at his hands before looking at you. "I'm just happy you're okay."

His words linger in the air for a moment, and you’re unsure how to respond. You’d only met him a few days ago, but Dae-ho had become more than just an ally. He was someone you could trust in a place where trust was a gamble most people couldn’t afford to make.

"You didn't have to stick your neck out for me," you say, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice wavers slightly.

"I wanted to," he replies simply, as though the decision had been easy. He finally drags his eyes to look at you. "You make this mess... bearable."

You feel your cheeks flush despite the blood coating your skin. His honesty is unexpected, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Not anymore. You’d seen too much in such a short time to waste moments of purity.

"Dae-ho," you start, but his name on your tongue makes you falter. You take a breath and try again. "I don’t know how much longer either of us will make it here, but... you give me hope in this place, I guess."

His smile is small, but it reaches his eyes this time. He shifts closer, closing the space between you two. "Then we survive for each other. Okay?"

You nod, a warmth blooming in your chest that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like years.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the world outside of this moment feels small. The chaos, the blood, the fear—all of it fades away. In its place is Dae-ho, his presence holding your soul in an unfamiliar but welcome warmth.

You're both specks of dust in a hurricane, and you both know it. But, for this moment, you know you'll have a place to rest in the heart of this chaos. You can't say you're in love, but as he gently rests his hand over yours, you can't say you couldn't be.

So, I kind of love this, lmk what you think ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

~🍡🍡

#mocchii writes #squid game #squid game x reader #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #dae ho squid game #kang dae ho #dae ho #dae ho fluff #player 388 x reader #player 388 #dae ho x you

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that-one-ostrich-friend · 3 days ago

Note

Maybe that sparks a bit of inspiration: Single dad Sirius Black who is freshly together with reader (I don’t know what else can happen haha)

The Godson

sirius black x reader - the godson

word count: 3.5k

summary: after a month of dating y/n finally meets sirius’s godson (and adopted son)

warnings: kissing, mostly fluffy lol

a/n: this is set in an au where peter was captured before he could fake his death and was sent to azkaban instead of sirius. as godfather sirius gets custody of harry. i’m really glad this was a single dad sirius and not single mom y/n bc i’m lowkey afraid of children and pregnancy lol

The clock chimed seven as Y/N stood outside the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, her hand hovering just above the door knocker. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. The house before her looked nothing like she had imagined. Its weathered black brickwork and faintly foreboding aura reminded her of something out of a gothic novel. Yet, as imposing as it seemed, she reminded herself that Sirius lived here. That thought brought a small, reassuring smile to her lips.

She raised her hand and knocked firmly. The sound echoed in the quiet, and she shuffled slightly on the doorstep, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her coat. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Sirius Black, all sharp features and unruly dark hair, wearing a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His usual confident smirk was replaced with something softer, almost unsure.

“You made it,” he said, his voice warm but carrying an edge of nervousness.

“Of course I did,” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sirius chuckled lightly, running a hand through his hair as if he were searching for the right words. “No reason. Just—well, this is a bit new for me, isn’t it?”

She raised an eyebrow, sensing his nerves. “You alright?”

He let out a breath and then pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “I am now,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. The simple affection melted away some of her tension, and she allowed herself to relax against him.

When he pulled back, there was a twinkle of humor in his gray eyes, though the slight hesitation remained. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her through.

Y/N stepped over the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the narrow entryway. The house was as dark and mysterious on the inside as it was on the outside. The wallpaper was faded, and the air carried a faint chill, but there were glimpses of warmth—a vase of fresh flowers on a side table.

“It’s… cozy,” she said carefully, trying not to seem impolite.

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “That’s a generous way to put it.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Come on. Harry’s in the sitting room. He’s been playing with his toys all day, so don’t be surprised if he’s a little shy at first.”

Y/N nodded, her heart skipping slightly at the thought of meeting Sirius’s adopted son for the first time. This wasn’t just any casual introduction—Sirius had made it clear that Harry was his whole world, and meeting him felt like stepping into a new and important part of Sirius’s life.

They walked down a short hallway and into the sitting room. The space was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a warm lamp in the corner. In the center of the room, a small boy with messy black hair sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by colorful wooden blocks. He was completely focused on the tower he was building, his little face scrunched up in concentration.

“Harry,” Sirius said gently, his voice softening as he spoke to the boy. “Someone’s here to meet you.”

Harry looked up briefly, his bright green eyes—the spitting image of his mother’s—glancing at Y/N before darting back to his father. He immediately scrambled to his feet and hid behind Sirius’s legs, clutching the fabric of his trousers tightly.

Sirius laughed softly, bending down slightly to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Come on, kiddo. You don’t have to be shy. This is Y/N. Remember I told you about her?”

Harry peeked out cautiously, his small hands still gripping Sirius’s legs.

Y/N crouched down to his level, her voice gentle. “Hi, Harry. It’s really nice to meet you.” She smiled, trying to make herself as approachable as possible.

Harry didn’t respond, his face half-hidden behind Sirius.

Sirius straightened up and gave Y/N an apologetic smile. “He takes a little while to warm up to people. Give him a minute.”

Instead of pushing Harry further, Sirius reached out and took Y/N’s hand, leading her toward the spot where Harry had been sitting. They knelt on the floor next to the half-built tower of blocks.

“Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his tone light and encouraging. “Why don’t you tell Y/N about your tower? It looks pretty impressive.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, still clinging to Sirius’s leg, but then his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He let go and stepped closer, though he stayed partially behind Sirius.

Y/N leaned forward, examining the tower with a playful seriousness. “Wow, did you build this all by yourself? It’s amazing!”

Harry’s lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. He nodded shyly.

“It’s the tallest one I’ve made,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Really?” Y/N said, her eyes widening in mock amazement. “You must be an expert builder. I could never make a tower this cool.”

That seemed to do the trick. Harry stepped out from behind Sirius entirely, moving closer to his blocks. “I made it so it doesn’t fall over,” he said, a little louder this time. “See? If you push it like this—” He gave the side of the tower a gentle nudge, and it wobbled but didn’t topple. “—it stays up!”

Y/N gasped, clapping her hands. “That’s so clever! How did you figure that out?”

Harry beamed, the last traces of his shyness melting away as he began to explain the “secrets” of building sturdy towers. His words tumbled out in an excited stream, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

Sirius watched the two of them, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. He settled himself on the floor beside them, leaning back on his hands as Harry continued to chatter away to Y/N about his blocks and the other toys scattered around the room.

Y/N glanced at Sirius briefly, her heart swelling at the sight of him so at ease with his son. He caught her gaze and gave her a wink, as if to say, See? Told you he’d come around.

Sirius cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “I’m going to grab us some drinks. Will you be alright with Harry for a few minutes?”

Y/N glanced up at him with a smile. “Of course. Take your time.”

He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, as if double-checking whether she meant it. Then he gave a small nod and pushed himself to his feet. “You behave for Y/N, yeah?” He said as he passed Harry.

Harry looked up at him and nodded solemnly.

As Sirius disappeared into the kitchen, Y/N leaned back on her hands, watching as Harry carefully adjusted the top of his tower. The room was quiet for a moment, the soft sound of the blocks clicking together the only noise.

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Harry stood up and darted to the end table near the couch. Y/N straightened slightly, curious as to what he was up to.

“Look!” Harry exclaimed, holding something tightly in his small hand as he ran back toward her.

“What’s that, Harry?” Y/N asked, sitting upright as he plopped down onto the floor beside her.

With great care, Harry opened his chubby fist to reveal a small Polaroid photograph. He held it up proudly, his face beaming. “It’s you!” he declared.

Y/N blinked in surprise and leaned forward to get a closer look. She reached out and gently took the photo from his hands, her eyes widening as she recognized it immediately.

It was from about two months ago— a couple weeks before they started dating— at one of the small get-togethers Sirius and his friends seemed to have so often. She remembered the evening clearly—the room had been filled with laughter and warmth, she had been next to Sirius almost the entire night. Remus had been in rare form, cracking joke after joke.

The photo was taken when Remus had accidentally hit the shutter on his camera. Y/N was mid-laugh, her hand resting on Sirius’s shoulder, clearly reacting to something ridiculous Remus had said. Her head was tilted slightly, her eyes crinkled with amusement. But what caught her attention wasn’t herself—it was Sirius. He was looking at her as if she were the only person in that room.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though her voice wavered slightly. “Where did you find this, Harry?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

“Uncle Sirius keeps it here,” Harry said matter-of-factly, pointing back toward the end table.

“He does, does he?” Y/N murmured, her lips curving into a small smile. She turned the photo over in her hand, noticing that the back was blank—no date, no scribbled note. Just the image itself.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, clearly proud of his discovery. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” Y/N said, her voice warm. “It’s a great picture.”

Just as she finished speaking, a sound came from the doorway. She glanced up to see Sirius standing there, two glasses in his hands. He had paused mid-step, his eyes flicking between her and the photo she still held. His cheeks were dusted with the faintest hint of pink, and for a moment, he looked almost sheepish.

“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I see Harry showed you his favorite picture.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, holding the photo up slightly. “His favorite?”

He let out a short laugh, walking into the room and setting the glasses down on the coffee table. “Our favorite,” he said, the blush on his face deepened.

Y/N didn’t press him further, but her smile widened. She set the picture on her lap, her fingers lightly brushing its edge as Sirius crouched down beside Harry.

“Alright, kiddo,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he focused on his son. “It’s time for bed.”

Harry immediately groaned, flopping onto his back in a dramatic show of protest. “But I’m not tired!”

“Hmm,” Sirius said, tilting his head. “That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn I saw you rubbing your eyes just five minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry insisted, though his argument was half-hearted at best.

Sirius chuckled and reached out to scoop the boy into his arms, lifting him effortlessly. “Come on, mate. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

Harry pouted but didn’t resist, resting his head against Sirius’s shoulder. As they made their way toward the door, Sirius glanced back at Y/N, his expression softening.

“Won’t be long,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Y/N replied, her tone light.

Once they were gone, the room fell quiet again. Y/N let out a small breath, her gaze drifting back to the photo still on her lap. She studied it for a moment longer before carefully placing it back on the end table.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

Reaching Harry’s room, Sirius nudged the door open with his foot. The room was cozy, filled with all the comforts a child could want—soft blankets, a well-loved stuffed stag that Harry refused to sleep without, and shelves lined with books and toys. The walls were painted a calming blue, and enchanted stars hung above the bed, softly twinkling.

Sirius lowered Harry onto the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. Harry let out a sleepy little sigh as Sirius tucked him in, pulling the blankets up snugly around him.

“There we go,” Sirius murmured, brushing a strand of dark hair from Harry’s forehead. “All nice and cozy. You should sleep like a dragon tonight.”

Harry giggled softly, his eyes fluttering open to look at Sirius. “Dragons don’t sleep,” he said, his voice quiet but insistent.

“Of course they do,” Sirius replied, settling on the edge of the bed. “How else do you think they get their energy to fly around and breathe fire all day?”

Harry considered this for a moment before nodding, satisfied with the answer. His tiny hands clutched the stuffed stag tightly, and he wriggled slightly to get comfortable.

“Uncle?” Harry’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Hmm?” Sirius replied, leaning back against the headboard, his gaze warm as he watched Harry.

“Is Y/N gonna be my new mummy?”

The question hit Sirius like a gust of wind, unexpected but not entirely surprising. He blinked, momentarily unsure of how to respond. Harry’s green eyes—so much like Lily’s—stared up at him, wide and innocent, waiting for an answer.

Sirius chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, mate,” he said gently. “Y/N’s not your mummy.”

Harry frowned slightly, hugging the stuffed stag closer. “But… she’s really nice,” he said, his voice laced with the kind of earnestness only a child could muster.

“She is,” Sirius agreed, his lips curving into a small smile. “She’s very nice.” He reached out to ruffle Harry’s hair, earning a quiet giggle. “But your mummy is Lily, remember? She and your dad loved you so much, and that’s never going to change.”

Harry nodded slowly, his little face thoughtful. “But you’re my daddy now, right?”

Sirius felt his chest tighten at the question. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked down at Harry. “I’m your godfather,” he said after a moment. “That means I get to take care of you and keep you safe.”

Harry nodded sleepily, his eyelids starting to droop.

Sirius reached out and gently patted Harry’s shoulder. “Now, close those eyes and get some rest.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he finally let his eyes fall shut. Sirius sat there for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he drifted off.

Standing, Sirius leaned down to press a light kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he murmured before quietly slipping out of the room.

The soft creak of the floorboards signaled Sirius’s return long before Y/N saw him. She glanced up as he stepped into the sitting room, his dark hair slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it a few times. His gaze landed on her, and his lips curved into an easy smile that didn’t quite mask the faint trace of something thoughtful in his expression.

“Harry’s out like a light,” he said, walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions beside her.

“That was fast,” Y/N replied with a small smile, shifting slightly to make room for him.

“Four-year-olds don’t last long once they’ve decided to give in,” Sirius said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He leaned forward, reaching for the glass of whiskey he’d left on the coffee table earlier. But before he could take a sip, Y/N snatched it from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she did.

“Hey!” he protested, though his tone was more surprised than annoyed.

Y/N raised the glass to her lips, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she took a small sip. “I’m thirsty,” she teased, handing it back to him with an innocent shrug.

Sirius let out a laugh, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. “Stealing from a poor, hardworking man in his own home,” he said, shaking his head as he set the glass back down on the table.

Before she could reply, he leaned back and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer until her side was pressed against his. It was an easy, intimate gesture, and Y/N felt her heart give a little flutter at the warmth of his touch.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around them. Then, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze settling on Sirius’s profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his dark eyes seemed lost in thought as he stared ahead.

She reached up, gently brushing her fingers along his cheek to get his attention. When he turned to look at her, she leaned in and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

But he didn’t kiss her back.

Y/N pulled away almost immediately, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“No,” Sirius interrupted softly, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He sighed, shifting slightly so he could face her fully. His fingers moved to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing idly against her skin in slow, soothing strokes.

Y/N searched his face, her brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting hers again. “I’ve just been thinking,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Wondering if… if it was too soon for Harry to meet you.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, her heart sinking slightly. She sat up straighter, creating a small distance between them. “I—I understand. If you think it was too soon, we can… I don’t know, maybe I could come over when he’s already in bed? Or we could spend time at my flat instead?”

Her suggestion came quickly, almost too quickly, as if she were trying to fix something that didn’t necessarily need fixing. But Sirius shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said, his voice softening.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Sirius’s hand on the back of her neck slid upward, his fingers threading gently into her hair. At the same time, his other hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, resting against her waist. His touch was firm but not forceful, and the warmth of his palm against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

“I mean,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky tone, “maybe it’s good for Harry to have a feminine presence around here. Someone kind and patient who can put up with my nonsense.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her just slightly closer. Her hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“Sirius,” she began, her voice wavering, but he didn’t let her finish.

His other hand slid further into her hair, his fingers curling gently as he pulled her in. When his lips met hers this time, it wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was urgent, almost desperate. Sirius kissed her like he was afraid to stop, like he was trying to convey something through the intensity of it that he couldn’t put into words.

A soft moan escaped him, and the sound sent a wave of heat rushing through Y/N. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back, matching his fervor.

The world outside seemed to disappear—there was only him, the warmth of his hands, the rough scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way his lips moved against hers with such precision it left her breathless.

The warmth of Sirius’s hands against Y/N’s skin was intoxicating, his touch tender as his lips moved hungrily against hers. The room around them seemed to fade away. Sirius’s fingers trailed up her back, beneath her shirt, as he deepened the kiss.

Y/N melted into him, her hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were insistent, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, and every now and then, a soft groan escaped him, reverberating against her lips and making her pulse race.

But just as Sirius shifted to pull her fully into his lap, a small voice shattered the moment.

“Uncle Sirius?”

They sprang apart instantly, both turning toward the doorway where Harry stood clutching his stuffed stag, his dark curls messy from tossing and turning in bed. His wide eyes blinked at them sleepily, completely unaware of the moment he’d just interrupted.

Sirius cleared his throat, running a hand through his tousled hair as he tried to compose himself. “Harry, what’s wrong, kid?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

Harry shuffled into the room, dragging the stuffed toy along the floor. “I can’t sleep,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a chubby fist.

Y/N sat frozen on the couch, her cheeks still flushed and her heart pounding from the sudden interruption. She tried to calm herself, smoothing her hands over her lap as Harry climbed onto the couch beside Sirius.

“What’s keeping you up?” Sirius asked, pulling Harry into his lap and brushing a hand through the boy’s unruly hair.

Harry shrugged, and plopped himself right onto Y/N’s lap, his small hands clutching at her shirt as he snuggled against her.

Y/N stiffened, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air. She glanced at Sirius, her eyes wide with uncertainty.

Sirius’s brow furrowed slightly as he reached out, clearly noticing her hesitation. “Harry, maybe you should—”

“It’s alright,” Y/N interrupted quickly, her voice soft but firm.

She looked down at Harry, who had already settled against her like he belonged there. Slowly, cautiously, she placed her arms around him, her hands resting gently on his back. Harry let out a small, contented sigh, his grip on his stuffed stag loosening as his eyes began to droop.

Sirius watched the exchange, his concern melting into something softer, something that made his chest tighten in the best way. He leaned back into the couch, his posture relaxing as he draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with admiration.

Y/N glanced up at him, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “He makes it easy,” she replied quietly, her fingers brushing lightly against Harry’s back.

Sirius’s heart swelled at her words. For a moment, he simply watched them—Y/N holding his godson with such gentle care, Harry’s small form tucked safely in her arms. It was a picture of something he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for.

As Harry’s breathing slowed and his grip on his stuffed animal went slack, Sirius leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips lingering against her skin for a moment.

Y/N didn’t respond, but the way she leaned into his touch told him all he needed to know.

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yrlocalwerewolf · 2 days ago

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s1 ! vi x reader hcs ! ✩ (MEN DNI.)

this girl is MESSY. books, clothes, alcohol bottles everywhere.

she loves romantic gestures. if she sees anything that reminds her of you, she's getting it. flowers, records, even a rock that looked cool.

she never minds spending money on you, no matter how much you insist on her not doing that. she loves to spoil you.

vi loves date night with you. even though she never dresses up much, she still savours every moment with you.

picks you up all the time. oh you can't reach the top shelf? no problem. she also just feels like it sometimes.

sometimes she'll 'jokingly' ask to benchpress you. if you agree it'll give her a high for the rest of the day. if she can't benchpress you, then she can't. yet.

biggest fattest puppy eyes ever. if she doesn't get her way she uses them.

loves your hands. she loves running her thumb over your knuckles and kissing them, or tracing the lines on your palms.

if you beg her, she'll let you sit in her lap and do her makeup or her nails. does she understand why you like it so much? no, but because it's you she'll do it.

she gets into fights with you, but if you ignore her for more then ten minutes she'll beg for your attention and apologize your ear off. if you can manage to ignore her and her pathetic puppy eyes, that is.

always playing with your hair. she loves to put your face in her lap and running her hands through it.

she's teasing you all the time, no matter what. but if you tell her to stop, she'll listen and back off.

WORSHIPS your body. light kisses here and there, always touching you.

loves giving you hickeys. it's just the best thing ever for her.

she doesn't shower unless you agree with her. she's used to freezing cold water due to the lack of warm water (and water overall) in Zaun, but she slowly gets used to hot water for you.

gets drunk all the time. when she's drunk she's holding you and telling you how much she loves you and how you deserve someone better then her and is just. really emotional.

has tons of nicknames for you. calling you your name is a sin for her.

"hey, darling," "come 'ere, cupcake," "have i ever told you how much i love you, pretty girl?"

it was love at first sight for her <3

a / n : this one was fun to write !!! send requests for who yall want next :3

#arcane x female reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #fanfic #lesbian #moon's rambles #vi #arcane #vi arcane #vi x reader #puppy !!!#arcane vi #wuh luh wuh #girlkiss #girlkisser

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echo-riot · 3 days ago

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Sevika/Ellie/Abby Valentine’s Day Headcanons

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff <3

Don’t ask why i created these before valentines day.

Sevika

• Sevika isn’t one for grand gestures or public displays of affection. She prefers a quiet, intimate evening with just the two of you. A dimly lit room, a bottle of expensive liquor, and her favorite jazz record playing softly in the background set the perfect mood.

• Sevika doesn’t do cheesy. Instead, she gifts you something practical but meaningful. Maybe it’s a piece of jewelry she noticed you eyeing weeks ago, or a custom-made weapon if you’re a fighter like her. She’ll hand it to you with a casual “Don’t make a big deal about it” but secretly loves seeing your reaction.

• Valentine’s Day in Zaun isn’t exactly safe, but Sevika makes sure no one bothers you. She’ll keep a hand on your lower back or her arm draped over your shoulder whenever you’re out together. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they’ll regret it.

• If you’re lucky, Sevika might attempt to cook dinner for you. She’ll act confident, but halfway through, the kitchen might start to resemble a war zone. Even if it’s borderline inedible, you appreciate the effort, and she’ll grumble when you laugh at her frustration.

• Sevika’s love language is all about touch. On Valentine’s Day, she’s extra attentive, holding your hand, pulling you into her lap, and planting soft kisses on your temple. When she thinks no one is watching, she might even brush her fingers through your hair or kiss your knuckles.

• She loves unwinding with a good cigar and a card game, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. She’ll invite you to play, but the stakes will be playful—loser has to give the winner a kiss or let them choose the next activity.

• As much as she pretends she’s indifferent about Valentine’s Day, Sevika has a soft, romantic streak. She might surprise you with fresh flowers (smuggled in from Piltover), a handwritten note, or an old photograph of the two of you that she had framed.

• After a few drinks, Sevika lets her guard down. She’ll pull you close and murmur things she’d never say in the daylight—how much you mean to her, how she’d do anything to keep you safe, and how she can’t imagine life without you.

• The night ends with you curled up in her arms, her prosthetic resting on your waist as she traces lazy patterns on your skin. She’s at her most vulnerable here, holding you like you’re her anchor in the chaotic world of Zaun.

Ellie

• Ellie doesn’t make a huge deal out of Valentine’s Day but secretly looks forward to it, wanting to make you smile. She pretends it’s “just another day” but absolutely has a stash of plans up her sleeve.

• She’s not great with words, but she spends way too much time making you a card. It’s covered in silly doodles, random jokes, and a cheesy line like, “You’re the fungus to my Joel.” She gets embarrassed handing it over, muttering, “Don’t laugh, okay?”

• Since resources are limited, Ellie gets creative with her gift. She’ll leave little notes or arrows leading you to a hidden treasure she found or crafted, like a cool comic, a barely used book, or a mixtape she made with scraps of old music.

• All day, Ellie bombards you with goofy, Valentine-themed pickup lines. “Are you a clicker? Because you’ve got me clicking with you,” or “Are you immune too? Because you’re infecting my heart.” She cracks herself up more than you do.

• Instead of a quiet evening, Ellie plans an “adventure” date. It could be exploring an abandoned building to find cool trinkets, sledding on an old piece of scrap metal, or watching the stars together. She loves the thrill of doing something unique with you.

• Ellie insists on making you a meal, which might involve some questionable apocalypse cooking techniques. Burnt rations or an oddly cooked rabbit aside, you love the effort, and she playfully demands a “5-star review.”

• After dinner, she grabs her guitar and plays you a song. It’s something heartfelt but rough around the edges, and she might even mix in some silly lyrics to make you laugh. She’ll get flustered if you tell her how much you loved it.

• Ellie thrives on teasing you, especially on Valentine’s Day. She might jokingly challenge you to a snowball fight or wrestle you over who loves the other more. She grins ear to ear when you play along.

• Despite all the jokes and casual attitude, Ellie pours her heart into the day. She doesn’t always know how to express her feelings, but she makes sure you know how much you mean to her through small, meaningful gestures.

• At the end of the day, Ellie pulls you into a cozy spot, maybe by a campfire or under a worn blanket. She wraps her arms around you, rests her chin on your shoulder, and murmurs, “Happy Valentine’s Day, idiot,” in the softest, most loving voice.

Abby Anderson

• Abby isn’t the type for over-the-top romantic gestures, but she puts genuine thought into making the day special. She plans something meaningful and personal, knowing you’ll appreciate her effort more than flashy displays.

• Abby isn’t one to waste resources, so she makes you something by hand. Whether it’s carving a small trinket out of wood, sewing a patch onto your jacket, or crafting a bracelet from scavenged materials, it’s clear she put time and love into it.

• She’s an early riser and uses the quiet hours to set up a surprise for you. Maybe it’s breakfast (even if it’s just rationed eggs and stale bread) or a small bouquet of wildflowers she found during a patrol.

• Abby loves physical activity, so she might suggest spending the day doing something active together, like sparring, jogging along a scenic route, or even teaching you self-defense. She insists it’s romantic because “nothing says love like staying alive together.”

• Abby takes Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to remind you how deeply she cares. She’s more attentive than usual, always checking on you and subtly positioning herself between you and any potential danger during patrols or outings.

• If you’re not in the middle of a crisis, Abby will try to cook a special meal for you. She’ll be super focused, brows furrowed as she works, and will pretend not to care about your opinion—but she lights up when you compliment her cooking.

• Throughout the day, Abby shows her love through actions. She’ll sharpen your weapons, fix your gear, or give you an impromptu massage after a long day. It’s her way of saying, “I’ve got your back.”

• Abby isn’t the best with words, but she thrives in quiet, intimate moments. Sitting beside you, sharing stories, or just leaning against each other while watching the sunset makes her feel at peace.

• She’ll surprise you with small, cheesy gestures, like nervously handing you a clumsily written love note or trying to draw a heart on the dusty mirror of an old building. It’s rare, but when it happens, it melts your heart.

• Abby’s love language is physical touch. She spends the day holding your hand, pulling you into her lap, or giving you bear hugs that lift you off the ground. Her kisses are soft and lingering, and she’ll mutter, “You’re everything to me,” when no one else is around.

• As the day winds down, Abby makes sure you feel safe and loved. She’ll hold you close, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back, and promise, “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

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thanosspills · 2 days ago

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SLAP ME!

THANOS/CHOI SUBONG X FEM READER (NSFW)

THIS IS PART 1

PART 2 IS HERE

thank you so much for my first request! i hope you like it :)

warnings: smut, p and v, face slapping, fingering

You and Thanos barely made it out of mingle. As soon as the voice called for 2 players he pulled you off of the stage, shoving two other players away from the door in front of you. You heard them get shot right outside the safety of the colorful room. The thought that you were partially responsible for the strangers deaths immediately began eating away at you. Thanos noticed your distress. He quickly pulled you and held you against his chest, whispering, "It's okay senõrita" "We're safe." Of course, Thanos's warm, tight hug helped bring you a bit of comfort, but you you felt ill, realizing the only reason you and Thanos were still here was because you sacrificed other people.

You and Thanos reunited with Nam-gyu and Min-su, walking back into the dorms together. Thanos seemed like his usual manic, happy-go-lucky self. "We made it!" He cheers. Nam-gyu follows with a little, "Skrt!" You tug at Thanos's sleeve and look up at him, "Can I talk to you for a second?" Thanos snaps his head down to look at you and smiles, "Of course, my senõrita." He looks back toward Nam-gyu and Min-su. "Be right back bros!" Thanos skips to a corner by the empty beds as you follow behind. "Whats wrong my flower?" He softened his tone. "I think I want to vote to leave." You say, your voice flat and stern. Thanos immediately pouts. He grabs both of your hands and holds them in his, stroking them with his thumb. "I know this can be scary, flower." "But think about how good our lives will be once we get that money." You roll your eyes. "You don't think we have enough already? We won't get any money if we're dead." Thanos sighs. "Let's just get to one billion, pleaseee." He begs, stroking your hands a bit more aggressively. You stop him, gripping his hands and staring into his eyes, "Thanos, we're voting to leave." He looks back into your eyes for a while, before saying, "Okay."

"Player 230" the voice of the pink soldier calls out. You stand on the bright red side of the room as you watch Thanos strut to the buttons. Nam-gyu looks at you from the blue opposing side with a shit-eating grin. You fold your arms and glare back at him, but the sudden high pitch tone of Thanos's vote makes your head snap toward him. The fucker voted to stay?? Thanos paused for a minute, slowly sliding his hand off of the O button before walking over to Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu puts both his hands on Thanos's shoulders and playfully shakes him, that evil grin only getting bigger. Thanos angrily swats him away as he notices you staring at him from across the room. He shamefully looks down at the floor, breaking eye contact.

The tie was announced and the tension in the room was at an all time high. As soon as the voting ended, you ran to the bathroom to be alone. You stared at yourself in the mirror, the dried blood crusted on your jacket made you sick. You look down at the red X patch attached to your jacket. It was a blue O before, and you remembered how proud Thanos was yesterday when you voted the way he wanted you to. As soon as you pressed the O button, he shouted "That's my girl!" He crouched down and opened his arms, waiting for you to leap into them. That idiot sure knows how to make you feel special. The bathroom door creaks open, and you turn your head to see the purple haired fucker peeking in. "Hey senõrita.." Thanos gives you a weak smile as he closes the door behind him. You shake your head in disbelief. "Why did you lie to me? You said you'd vote to leave!" Thanos frantically walks over to you, "I know, I know, my flower." "But what we have isn't enough yet." He leans over and gently places his hand on your chin. His cold rings and gentle touch gives you chills. He rubs his thumb across your cheek bone. You scoff and look down, but you don't have it in you to push him away. He cups your face in both his hands before leaning in and kissing you. You lean into it, dominating the kiss. A grin starts to form on his lips, he briefly pulls away and smiles widely, "So tomorrow, you'll vote to stay, and we can have the world flower." Your face immediately drops. Are you fucking kidding me? Without thinking, you raise the palm of your hand and strike it across his face. He immediately flinches and rubs his cheek. "Is this some kind of joke to you, Thanos?!" The air is stagnant and silent. Thanos grabs your wrist and pulls you into an empty stall. He quickly locks it, then grabs your other wrist and pins both of your arms against the stall door before crashing his lips onto yours. You let out a soft moan and ease into the kiss. Your mind is blank, all of your feelings of anger and betrayal seemed to of eased out of you. Thanos slides his hand under the waistband of your green track pants. He pulls out of the kiss, "I'm sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you." He moves his hand under your panties and gently rubs his thumb onto your clit, maintaining eye contact. His head was tilted down, his eyes glistening, pleading. The desperation was surprising, but fuck you liked it. You grabbed the hair on the back of his head and leaned into the kiss again, moving even more intensely. He started to circle his thumb faster on your clit, making you gasp in between each kiss. With ease he suddenly inserts two of his fingers, making you break away, a loud breathy moan escaping you, echoing throughout the empty bathroom. You throw your head back, looking to the ceiling as your walls tighten on his now bending fingers. He uses his other hand to aggressively grab the bottom of your face. He adjusts your head to look back at him. "Look at me, baby." He continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you, feeling how close you are, "Fuck! I can't I'm gonna cum!" You shout, tears build up in your eyes as you try not to take your focus off of him. He quickly pulls his fingers out before you get to release. "What the fuc-" Thanos covers your mouth. "Don't worry baby you'll get to cum, but first I need you to do something for me." You angrily furrow your eyebrows and glare at him. He grins even harder, finding it adorable. He slides his pants down and lifts his hard cock free from his underwear. He takes his hand off of your mouth. "Flower, I gotta tell you, when you slapped me it was so fucking hot." Now a grin was starting to form on your lips. Was he serious? Thanos uses both of his hands to slide your panties down to your thighs. He then grabs your hips and lifts you up against the stall. You wrap your legs around his waist as his tip wet with pre-cum teases your sopping entrance. He cheekily smiles, as if he has a plan.

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burningembers91 · 2 days ago

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Birthday Girl - Cho Sang-Woo x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Biggest Regret

What Makes You Happy

Not Like You

Synopsis: it’s your birthday, but everything about the day reminds you of the man who left you. When he shows up to your party, emotions reach boiling point.

It was your birthday today. You’d always loved your special day, and Cho Sang-Woo had always enjoyed spoiling you when it came around. He remembered your last birthday together; he was up to his neck in debt but he still wanted you to have the best day. He bought you a bouquet of flowers and a necklace from a boutique that you liked. He cooked for you because he couldn’t afford to take you out, and then he made love to you in the bed you’d shared, his tongue tracing circles over your clit as you fell apart for him again and again.

He thought about that day a lot. Thought about how beautiful you’d looked, how sweet you’d sounded as he drew your pleasure from you in shuddering moans. He wondered what you’d be doing today, whether Jason would be taking you out. He hadn’t seen you since you’d kissed him, since he’d rejected you yet again and walked away. It had broken his heart to do it, and for a while he’d seriously wondered what the point was in continuing life. He couldn’t face this world without you; he’d been nothing but a shell for the last two years. You had been everything to him, you still were, and he’d walked away from you.

He’d overheard his mum saying you were planning on going out tonight. She’d seen you around a few times, and couldn’t resist meddling. You were both so unhappy, the light faded from your eyes, and it broke her heart. You and her son were meant to be together, but you were both too stubborn to realise it.

“I heard she’s headed to that bar she likes. What’s it called again? Glow, or something like that?”

Sang-Woo had spent many a night in there with you, drinking cocktails and dancing. He hated dancing, hated it with a fiery burning passion but you made it seem more bearable. When money had been good, he’d buy your friends the most expensive champagne, toasting to you. He’d give anything to be back on that dance floor with you, just one more time.

You weren’t looking forward to your birthday this year. Your meeting with Sang-Woo had broken you, and you’d spent the last few weeks being an absolute bitch. You were a bitch to Jason, a bitch to your friends, and a bitch to your colleagues. He’d rejected you again and it had hurt more than the first time had. You and Jason were constantly fighting, screaming matches that lasted into the early hours of the morning. You weren’t happy with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go. It was selfish of you, but you were scared to be on your own.

Despite your less than stellar attitude, your friends were determined to take you out. You hadn’t told them about Sang-Woo because you knew exactly what they’d say, but not being able to tell anyone was killing you. They were taking you to Glow, the place you’d used to love so much. But now it held nothing but heartache for you, full of memories of you and Sang-Woo.

But you forced yourself to get ready, applying your makeup while you downed half a bottle of wine. Jason was coming too, persuaded by your friends. He knew the relationship was ending, but like you, he didn’t want to be alone.

You drank more than you should have that night, you and Jason getting into yet another screaming match. Your friends didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. They hadn’t seen you like this since you’d been left at the altar and they didn’t know how to help you.

Sang-Woo was sitting outside the club, a cigarette perched between his lips. He didn’t know why he was here, but it was like his feet automatically guided him to you. He was trying to get up the courage to go in, to see if he could find you. He didn’t know exactly what he’d say, but he couldn’t seem to leave you alone. It was torture, the self-inflicted kind that ripped at his soul, tearing him in two. He’d left you twice, and yet he was unable to stay away.

You stormed out of the front doors, tears streaming down your face. You were so angry, so upset and the fact you couldn’t tell anyone was killing you. You felt like you were about to implode, the weight of your emotions suffocating you. You’d left your friends and you boyfriend staring dumbstruck after you, watching you stagger off the dance floor. The song you always danced to with Sang-Woo had started playing, and that had been the final straw.

He saw you exit the club, saw you tumble down the stone steps. He ran forward, hoisting you to your feet, his eyes full of concern.

“What are you doing here?” You cried, “can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just… my mum told me where you were and I… I couldn’t help myself.” He took in your tear streaked face, your makeup smudged and your hair out of place. Had he done this to you?

“What do you want from me?” You sighed, sitting down on the pavement and reaching up for a drag of his cigarette. You hated smoking, but tonight you just needed something to take the edge off and alcohol alone wasn’t cutting it.

“I want you,” he whispered, “but I’m so scared. I can’t give you what you need. I’ll never be able to own a house, or have nice cars, or even go on vacation. That’s not the kind of person you want to be with.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air. “I don’t care about money, or nice cars, or having a big home. All I ever wanted was you. But you always assumed you had to provide me with this life of luxury. I never wanted that.”

You sat staring at each other, the base from the club reverberating through your chest. Even when you cried, you looked so beautiful, and Sang-Woo couldn’t resist.

His lips were on yours in an instant, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as you clung to each other. You tasted like tequila, your tears soaking his cheeks as your fingers gripped his hair.

“Come home with me,” you whispered. “Please.”

Jason didn’t live with you, and after tonight you were pretty sure your relationship was done. But in that moment, you didn’t care; you only wanted Sang-Woo, and in the safety of your apartment, you didn’t need to hide the desperation you felt for him. You didn’t need to worry about being caught.

You hailed a taxi, your lips on each other as soon as you were seated. You tore his jacket from his shoulders, his hands snaking over your thighs and under your mini dress. He could feel the lace of your underwear against the tips of his fingers, could hear you moaning in his ear as he teased you through the delicate fabric.

It took you an age to open the front door, your fingers fumbling with the codes as Sang-Woo kissed your lips, jawline and neck. You were seeing stars, so overwhelmed by the feel of his skin on yours that you couldn’t concentrate.

Stumbling into your apartment, you began removing his shirt, your fingers shaky as you undid the buttons. You gave up three buttons in, ripping his shirt open instead. He was still toned, his muscles still as taut you remembered. You ran your fingers tips over his skin, tracing each line of toned muscle.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, pulling his shirt down over him arms before discarding it in a heap on the floor.

“I’ve missed you too,” his whispered, his arms snaking round your waist, his fingers searching for the zip of your dress. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He removed the chiffon fabric from your body, admiring your curves with awe. You’d somehow become even more beautiful since he’d last seen you naked, your delicate skin so soft to the touch. Your black lace underwear was all that remained, and he could see you tremble as he hooked his forefingers over the top of the fabric, pulling them down.

He sank to his knees before you, his tongue tracing patters through your slick folds. Your hands clung to his hair for support, hooking one knee over his shoulder to grant him better access to your tight, wet core. You were shaking, your moans falling in breathy gasps as he slid his fingers inside of you.

“I need more,” you begged, desperate to feel himself inside of you. His tongue, his fingers weren’t enough. You needed all of him.

Sang-Woo picked you up, making his way to your bed before placing you gently down on the mattress.

“I know you need more.” He soothed, trailing his fingers up the soft skin of your inner thighs. “But I need to show you how much I missed you.”

He buried himself between your thighs, his tongue pressing powerful strokes against your clit. You could hear him moan as he tasted you, could feel his urgency in the way his fingers slid in and out of your tight core. He’d always been able to make you feel pleasure beyond anything you’d ever known. You could feel the fire in your belly burn, could feel the wave of ecstasy building. Your legs shook, your hands grasping your silk sheets as you fell apart for him.

Your moans were fucking heavenly, so loud and unabashed as you shook with the intensity of your orgasm.

“Now you can have all of me,” he growled, pulling his pants off before lining himself up against you.

“I need you to fuck me hard,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back.”

The force with which he entered you was on the precipice of pleasure and pain. He stretched you out so deliciously, your moans swallowed as his mouth met yours. He thrust into you hard and fast, the mattress squeaking as you moved together.

It was like you’d never been apart, your bodies so in sync. His teeth grazed your lower lip, his hands braced against your pillow and headboard as he fucked into you again and again.

He could feel himself about to lose control, the edges of his vision blurring as he neared the edge.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling you into him as he spilled himself inside of you. You could feel him tremble through the sheer force of his release, could hear his whimpers of pleasure as he made sure you took every last drop of him.

You stay entwined together on your sheets, your lips against his as you waited for your heart rates to return to normal. Sang-Woo couldn’t believe he’d ever left you, couldn’t believe he’d walked away from the woman who brought him so much pleasure.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, pushing yourself further into his body, your head nestled on his chest.

“Always,” he promised you. “I’ll never leave you again, I swear.”

This thing between was you was messy and imperfect. Sang-Woo had a lot of making up to do, a lot of atoning for his sins that had to be done. The road wouldn’t be easy, but you were worth fighting for.

You were made for each other. He only regretted it had taken him so long to realise that nothing could keep you apart.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #squid game smut #cho sang woo x you #cho sang woo x reader #cho sang woo #Cho sang woo smut

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spiderfunkz · 13 hours ago

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HYUN-JU x TALKACTIVE!READER

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

author's note: this is so me.. i talk way too much so i'm lowkey just projecting myself on here. anyways, requests are open but i'm taking my time replying since i've been busy so just keep that in mind!

▸ hyun-ju is a good listener. a great one, even. she's got a big heart and soul, she's someone who is willing to listen to whatever you have to say. and she doesn't just listen, she tries to understand. which is a quality that is hard to find these days.

▸ you noticed it a bit later in your relationship. every time you talk, she listens and isn't afraid to ask questions regarding your situation or interest. she's genuinely invested in what you have to say. "oh, really? tell me more, hon."

▸ even if you just say random things or suggestions related to literally anything, she's all ears! whatever is going on in your head, every single sentence you utter, she's always nodding a long. she's probably wondering how you managed to say three sentences in a second.

▸ you tend to get very extroverted when you get comfortable. you'd ramble about anything for hours and hours, hyun-ju finds this adorable. she's definitely admiring you as you speak, your words always find a way to her heart.

▸ if you were talking about something she has no clue in, she's gonna research about it either online or in books so she could talk about it with you! even if small mistakes slip, her efforts show. and you appreciate that more than ever.

▸ "wait, you watched the movie and read the book?" — "yeah! i thought it would be nice to discuss it with you. you talked about it nonstop last week, so i figured i'd give it a look, and i must admit- you do have amazing taste."

▸ good moods mean you'd go on walks with hyun-ju and visit multiple parks at once. pointing out random birds, trees, and flower types. speaking whatever crossed your mind in specific moments.

▸ "oh look! a daisy. did you know daisies bloom in the spring like every other flower and their last bloom is in autumn? though, that's very common, um. ah! moon flowers, they only bloom one night a year." you'd giggle, "i did not know, but i do now!" hyun-ju smiles.

▸ during movies you can get very quiet. but as the movie ends, you'd ramble quicker than speed itself. "it's okay. at best. i just don't understand why the characters would do such things! i guess it is fictional, but still! does logic not exist in that universe?"

▸ same thing with books, you can read for hours in silence, but as soon as you close the book... "hyun! you must read this! not only is this one of a kind, but once you read it you can not put it down. i love it so much, it made me tear up a bit because of a character, but, um. okay, no spoilers!"

▸ hyun-ju could get really lost in your voice sometimes. you'd be talking about something silly like rocks or something, and she'd still be mesmerized. hyun-ju thinks that your voice could easily soothe her to sleep.

▸ and it's true, your voice makes her feel so safe. during conversations, she gets sudden realizations of how lucky she truly is. to be able to listen to you, in a calm setting, just the two of you.

▸ if you send her voice notes, she'd listen to it on repeat. especially when she's away or vice versa, she loves hearing your voice over and over as it gives ger comfort.

▸ "hey, hyun! i know you're really busy, and i know you only listen to my voice notes when you're done with work, so i ought to tell you about how much i love you. and how much i miss you. don't forget to tell me goodnight, or not the bed bugs might bite me."

▸ she would never think of your ongoing talks as unimportant. if you would suddenly pause and stop talking, she'd notice immediately. but hyun-ju always reassures you that it's perfectly okay.

▸ if you feel tired or off, and you just wanna be quiet for a bit, hyun-ju likes to ramble too, she does it a bit more often ever since she's met you. her voice is sleepy, her head lays near yours, your bed is cold and hyun-ju is the only source of warmth. as she traces your hands, "do you wanna know what happened earlier in the office?" you'd nod, she'd talk and only stop when you've completely fallen asleep.

▸ "and that's the end of it. goodnight, angel." she'd place a kiss on your forehead before falling asleep herself.

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starlighttsv · 20 hours ago

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Lego sets - Paige’s daughter

💌 Syn: paige buys lilah some gifts as a reward for getting good grades

»»— warnings: las!paige - i wrote this way before the draft lottery and was to lazy to change the team and teammates

»»— notes: finally finished bringing stuff over from wattpad!! now i just have to bring stuff from here over to wattpad 😔

»»— word count: 1.6k

»»— pair: paige x daughter!oc || lilah bueckers

Paige, Cameron, Rickea, and Rae all went to target today to get some necessities but Paige was also getting a few things for her daughter, as she had done really good on her spelling test and math test so P wanted to give Lilah a little reward. Paige and Lilah always have mama-daughter dates, and most of those date nights are exactly like this: eating take out or cooking together, baking some type of dessert (mostly already made cookie dough) and building legos while watching some game show on Netflix. It's both of their favorite things to do and they always cherish those nights as they don't get to do it a lot during the wnba season and Paige knew Lilahs gonna grow out of it eventually.

"What about Star Wars?" Rae asks holding up the gaint Darth Vader Lego set "we already did it a month ago" P says not even looking at her, focusing on the Lego boxes in front of her "okayyy what about the Eiffel Tower?" "Did it like 3 three weeks ago" "Stitch?" "A few years ago. Did it my fifth year of college." "Flowers" "have done multiple different ones" "alright we give up" Rickea says as she got tired of them all listing things off, just to immediately be shut down by Paige

Paige ignores them as they keep complaining about anything and everything, just looking at the legos trying to find some good ones, that P knows Lilah will love. That's when she sees a Moana set and a Disney Castle set, which is perfect for Lilah. Paige grabs those and put them in the cart that her and Rae are sharing, Cameron and Rickea sharing another cart.

"Finally! Can we go now?" Rae exclaims "No. I need to get a few more things. You guys can go to the front if you want, I'll meet you when I'm done." Paige says trying to make them not be annoyed anymore, as they all have been at the store for almost two hours, getting stuff they all needed or wanted in their houses. All of their feet's are starting to hurt and not mention they all have been stopped by fans like every 5 minutes.

"No, we're not gonna leave you alone when we've been stopped like 100 times already by fans. What else do you need to get? And why was it so important you get legos today?"Cameron cuts in before any of the other girls could "I need to get some cookie dough, tru fru, milk, chicken tenders, mac and cheese, carrots, mixed fruit, and a stuffed animal. And to answer your second question, Lilah got a B+ on her spelling test and a C+ on her math test, so we're gonna have a mama-daughter date night. The legos, Tru fru, and Stuffed animal are her reward and the food is her favorite meal, and we always bake something on m&d nights." Paige tells them "wait she passed? Those were the ones she was struggling with right?" Rickea asked "yeah, I was helping her study words in the locker room." Cameron cuts in before Paige can say anything "yeah she was struggling with those subjects a lot, so that's why I'm giving her a reward. She doesn't know that I know yet, as her teacher told me so it's gonna be a surprise."

"Alright so let's split up, me and cam will go get the cookie dough, milk, tru fru, and chicken tenders. You and Rae go get the stuffed animal, carrots, Mac and cheese, and mixed fruit. We can meet up at the self checkout. What kind of cookie dough and tru fru?" Rickea adds

"Chocolate chip cookie dough and for tru fru, bananas and strawberries." Paige answers making Rickea nod, and start turning around making Paige and Rae start doing the same, heading to where the stuffed animals are. "Hey Paige, wait" Rickea stops and turns around making P and Rae also do that "when you’re getting the stuffed animal, get some mini brands and lol dolls. I know Lil likes that stuff, My treat." Rickea continues "alright. Are you sure?" P asks "yep, I'm positive." Rickea says making Paige nod "ok, Thank you." Paige replies making Rickea nod and turn back around,- both groups going in different directions to get the rest of the stuff.

They all met up like planned and payed for their own stuff, Paige dropped them off at Cameron's apartment as they’re all getting ready together to go to a bar, and Paige took all her store bags home and set up what could be set up, before leaving to go pick lilah up from school. On the drive back to their home P told lilah that there was a surprise waiting for her making her get excited and start asking and guessing what it was. Obviously Paige wouldn't tell her.

When they got home Lilah was rushing Paige to unbuckle her and get her out of the car, at least Lilah still followed those rules when P knew she really wanted to just run to the house. Paige lifted her out of the car and set her on the ground "don't run yet, I need to get a few things from the car alright?" Paige asks her making Lilah immediately pout, Paige has learned to just ignored that though.

P made her way to the trunk and got her bag and lilahs school bag and then shut the trunk, lilah was still bouncing on the heels of her feet "cmon mama, I wanna see the surprise"

"Alright Alright, come here" Paige says chuckling slightly. P picks lilah up and put her on her hip and locks the car with her keys, then started making her way to the elevator to take the two of them to their apartment

Lilah is still trying to guess what it is and has listed the surprise about 4 times but P lied each time and said she was wrong. They make it to their apartment and Paige set Lilah down in front of the door, grabbed the keys out of her pocket - unlocking and opening the door for Lilah, which she immediately runs through.

She looks in the kitchen first and doesn't see anything as P put all the food away when she dropped the bags off, then she goes into the living room. Bingo!

She sees the legos, stuffed animal, lol dolls, and mini brands set up on the table, she sees the blankets and pillows that Paige brought out and put on the couch, and she sees their favorite game show "the circle" loaded up on the tv

"MAMA AND DAUGHTER DAY?!" She yells mispronouncing daughter "yep! You did so good on your math and spelling test, I figured you deserved a reward. Rickea bought you the lol dolls and mini brands though so you’ll need to thank her next time you see her. "

"I will! Thank you mama!" "Your welcome princess! But there is more, for dinner we are gonna have chicken tenders, mac and cheese, mixed fruit, and carrots. For dessert I got chocolate chip cookie dough, and another part of your reward is tru fru." She just squealed and ran up hugging Paige’s legs, P bent down a little and put one of her hands on Lilahs head and the other on her back, trying her best to hug Lilah back with the gaint height difference

"Alright babe, why don't you go get changed into your pjs and we will start dinner once you come back?" "Okay!" Lilah says and then runs off to her room

Paige goes to the kitchen and gets the chicken and mac and cheese out, filling a pot with water and turning the stove on. Once that's done P goes to her room and changes into her green plaid pj pants and a UConn zip up jacket. Walking back into the kitchen Paige sees Lilah wearing her Olaf onesie Azzi bought her so they could match, standing on her foot stool, leaning on the kitchen counter watching the water

"You ready to make dinner?" Paige asks her while walking closer and looking into the pot of water, seeing that it is boiling "yeah!" Paige opens the box of Kraft Mac and cheese and hand it to her "dump that in the water"

After they made dinner and ate it, they put the leftovers away and got comfortable in the living room, setting blankets and pillows on the floor and making a giant bed/ pillow type thing in front of the living room table

Lilah decided she wanted to open the lol dolls and mini brands now, so while she was doing that Paige opened the Disney castle Legos and started reading the instructions

"Mama look" Lilah said excitedly making Paige look over at her and see her holding a few small food items from the mini brands "wow baby, you’re gonna have your very own pantry soon" that made Lilah giggle a little bit. Once she saw what P was doing Lilah put the other stuff away and pointed to the tv "circle?" Paige asked even though she knew what Lilah wanted, already grabbing the remote and turning on Netflix while she was nodding.

Once the shows turned on they both start working together (pretty much just Paige, while Lilah plays with the legos) to build the Disney castle. Eventually it was built and they cleaned up their mess, laying down on the couch and Lilah laying on Paige’s chest. Paige turned on a Disney movie for Lilah but she fell asleep holding onto Paige’s jacket not even 15 minutes in.

🏷️ @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @authentic-girl03

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #uconn x reader #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x daughter!oc #starlighttsv’s works ✍️

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captain-hawks · 1 day ago

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18+, ex-fwb!oliver who hasn’t forgotten how to take you apart.

you fall back into bed with him after a year and change—he’s moved into a new apartment across town, you changed your hair. you have a cat now, a new job. he drives a different car.

you’ve had other lovers in your bed.

you know oliver has, too.

it’s a quiet thursday night when he calls you out of the blue. he’s bored. he just stumbled across that hole-in-the-wall bar you always swore up and down didn’t exist. they have your favorite drink. he says it’s nice to hear your voice.

it’s starting to rain. a car honks somewhere in the distance.

he asks if he’s interrupting anything; what he means is are you with someone else.

you don’t ask him why now, after all this time.

he shows up at your place with damp, messy hair and a half-wilted flower you’re certain he plucked from your neighbor’s garden. with a crooked smile and the air of someone that has no intentions of pretending why he’s here.

(and he doesn’t—not when he backs you up against the counter. not when he slots a thick thigh between your legs as you bury your fingers in his hair and purposely tug on the green strands at his nape.)

part of you wants to hate it, how quick he is to catch on.

“nobody else has been fucking you like this,” he murmurs against your lips.

it’s a fact, not a question.

oliver has always been observant. keenly so.

he sees it, feels it in the starved, needy way your body responds to him. the press of your fingers and the grip of your cunt. the way the sheets slip uselessly beneath your heels.

you ignore him. you push him backward and get on top.

he grins up at you, insufferable. handsome. “tell me i’m wrong.”

you roll your eyes, roll your hips, hold your tongue.

he sits up, arms wrapping around you as you find yourself seated in his lap. he hits a spot that makes you see stars.

“tell me i’m wrong,” he whispers against your lips, fucking up into you.

you bury your head against his collarbone, sink your teeth into soft skin in silent protest. oliver chuckles, large hand tracing the knobs of your spine.

he puts you on your back, slides into you in a slow, deep stroke. with one leg slung over his shoulder, with a filthy kiss and two fingers against your swollen clit and more pleasure than you’ve felt in a long time. the angle makes you gasp.

“tell me that anyone else makes you come like i do,” he groans into the kiss.

it feels possessive.

(that thought feels dangerous.)

the way you gasp his name when you come all over his cock is answer enough.

#oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #blue lock #dee writes #rambling: o. aiku

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 2 days ago

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Resurrection, Death, Rebirth and Reincarnation in "Nosferatu" (2024)

Is it possible that Robert Eggers sneakily pulled a “Coppola” in his “Nosferatu”? This sounds insane but stay with me, while I try to unravel Orlok’s backstory.

“Nosferatu” (2024) left me with some burning questions about Ellen and Orlok connection (outside of the occult meaning), because Robert Eggers is a director obsessed with detail:

Why does Orlok want to be spiritually united with Ellen, forever? To the point of obsession, really; he traveled from Romania to Germany, and he’s willingly to kill everyone and spread plague in order to achieve it. His entire goal is to have Ellen’s soul by his side for all eternity, he’s consumed by it;

How come she understands him speaking Dacian (an Balkan extinct language for centuries)? Does their connection come with a translator device? In “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” is unclear if Mina understands Dracula when he speaks Romanian, but she recognizes his voice as familiar (she’s the reincarnation of his wife);

Why is lilac their signature flower? Native to the Balkans and also connected to rebirth. Sure, the Victorian symbolism of this flower fits them, but so could others. And it’s clear Eggers really wanted this specific flower, even if it doesnt fit the setting: because it blooms in the Spring, and the events of the film are set in Winter. Winter represents death, closure, reflection, despair and sadness, and rest, as nature is dormant and will rebirth and renew in Spring time, which symbolizes the circles of life, promises of new life, new beginnings, growth and fertility. According to Lina Muir, the costume designer, lilacs remind Orlok of when he was alive;

Ellen and Orlok are connected with every facet of life and death: resurrection, death itself and rebirth. Is it possible that “reincarnation” also fits here?

The Curse of Nosferatu

According to Adrien Cremene, in his “La Mythologie du vampire en Roumanie”, the strigoi myth dates back to the Dacians. The strigoi are creatures of Dacian mythology, troubled or evil souls, the spirits of the dead whose actions made them unworthy of entering the kingdom of Zalmoxis (more on the Dacians and Zalmoxis later). Which appears to be Orlok’s case? He probably did some terrible things in life which caused him to be cursed to become Nosferatu?

A strigoi isn’t necessarily a vampire; but it’s not excluded because they can feed on blood. They rise from their grave at night, wandering and creating havoc. Strigoi haunt their relatives; bring plague with them; feed off the heart of the living, and their life force; and being bitten by a strigoi doesn’t turn the victim into one. There are strigoi-viu (living; sorcerer) and strigoi-mort (undead), with the last being Orlok’s case, obviously.

What is believed to be the cause for this curse is diverse, but according to the encyclopedist Dimitrie Cantemir and the folklorist Teodor Burada in their book “Datinile Poporului român la înmormântări” (1882), it can be one among several things:

Physical characteristics that doom the person in life: being the seventh of seven brothers; being a redhead; etc.

Lead a life of sin;

Die without being married;

Die by execution for perjury (false oath);

Suicide

Die by a witch’s curse.

Other causes in Romanian folklore can be: violent past; “bad death” (violent death; lack of closure; conflicts with relatives); sorcerers and witches; or someone who can’t leave the living world because they can’t forget their loved ones.

And this explains why Herr Knock wanted to be violently killed by Thomas, near the end of the film: he wanted to become a strigoi, Nosferatu like Orlok (“prince of rats”), and wanted a violent death to seal the deal. But his covenant with Orlok is not the same as Orlok and Ellen’s.

“I relinquished him my soul. I should have been the Prince of Rats – immortal... but he broke our covenant... for he cares only for his pretty bride [...] She is his! [...] Strike again. I am blasphemy!”

Since Robert Eggers took the time to write a few pages on Orlok’s backstory, I doubt the explanation is something as simple as “he was a sorcerer” in life. Orlok having a violent past is also hardly surprising, since he was a warlord who most likely saw battle, violence is to be expected here. There’s no reason to be secretive about any of these options. Everyone is expecting Orlok to be evil incarnate when he was alive. The only reason for not letting us know about his past it’s because he’s probably a tragic character, and that would humanize him at the eyes of the audience, and break the horror theme.

And here is where it gets enigmatic; because Orlok was dead, and had been for centuries, until Ellen awoke him. It’s her crying prayer that rises him from his grave, and turns him into a strigoi. He didn’t enter Zalmoxis kingdom, though; because he says his soul was in “the darkest pit”.

We don’t know if Orlok died because of a witch’s curse; but he was risen from the dead by one (enchantress, witch).

In Romanian folklore, it’s said when strigoi raise from their grave the first time, they return to those they have loved the most, because they wish to relive their life together. The strigoi usually torment them until they are dead, too. Which is what we see in “Nosferatu” with Orlok and Ellen. But this can only be possible if Orlok had known Ellen in his human life; with her being the reincarnation of his wife or lover/bride he didn’t get the chance to marry.

In Romanian folklore, it’s said strigoi come at night, and appear at the window of their loved ones, asking for entrance

The theme of the strigoi lover is also a staple of Romanian Romanticism and stories of women and men being visited by their dead lovers were very popular, both in folklore and in high culture.

“Your passion is bound to me. […] I cannot be sated without you. Remember how once we were? A moment. Remember?”

The use of the term "sated" in this context is also curious, because, in Archaic English (which is what Orlok uses, being from the 16th century), it's connected to the verb "sit", which means rest or lie. "I cannot rest without you"; which makes sense with their whole deal being about them together ever-eternally in death. He can’t find peace in death without her spirit by his side.

Who is Count Orlok?

Eggers’ Orlok isn’t a random demon vampire; he was once a man.

Robert Eggers doesn’t want us to know the full backstory on his Count Orlok, but he wrote a novella on it and gave it to Bill Skarsgård. We know he’s a 16th century Transylvanian nobleman, from the 1580s (“lord” and “lordship”), he’s not Vlad the Impaler (he’s from the 15th century), he was a voivode (warlord), a sorcerer (Şolomanari) and he was married, and had a family.

Bill Skarsgård cited the Bulgarian epic “Time of Violence” as one of Eggers’ many inspirations for Orlok backstory. And, indeed, he lived during the Ottoman rule of the Balkans, but he wasn’t the prince. His castle is in Transylvania, which was a state under Ottoman supervision. Transylvania nobility led many rebellions against the Ottomans invaders (hence the legend of “Vlad the Impaler”, who’s considered a Romanian national hero).

Orlok costume design (interesting his face is blurred, because he doesn’t look like a rotten corpse here)

In Bram Stoker’s novel (which is also one of the main inspirations for this film), Dracula is very proud of his boyar heritage when he speaks to Jonathan. In 2024 adaptation, we also see Orlok demanding Thomas Hutter (Jonathan cinematic counterpart) to address him as “lord”: “Your Lord. I will be addressed as the honour of my blood demands it.” A Romanian boyar is pretty much a “lord”, a feudal nobleman with a castle, administrative responsibilities (political) and/or military power. A “boyar” title could be hereditary (which seems to be Orlok’s case), or earned.

Orlok signet ring: with his own sigil. The gemstone appears to be rumanite, also known as “Romanian amber” (which comes in various shades of black, red and/or brown).

On his sarcophagus and on the mysterious cyrillic contract Orlok makes Thomas sign, we have Orlok’s coat of arms, and Robert Eggers, being obsessed with detail, crafts his worlds very carefully. “Coats of arms” is heraldic design, and were used by nobility.

Each “coat of arms” is unique to the individual (nobleman) and speaks of achievements, heritage, etc. “Coats of Arms” are traditionally composed by a shield, supporters, a crest and a motto, but might not have all of these elements. Orlok coat of arms doesn’t have a motto.

The crest is a crown. Which it’s probably connected with his noble lineage, and his role as sovereign of a county (count);

As supporters (holding the shield) we have two Dacian dragons (Draco) with their tails intertwined. Here, it’s a mix of dragon and wolf, a balaur (sky demon or “heavenly dragon”), and it’s connected to Zalmoxis. This dragon with a wolf head, was the Dacian battle flag. Orlok’s sarcophagus also has many Dacian wolfs. A historical note on the supporters; they were chosen by the nobleman and could change throughout his life, so these Dacian dracos were being used by Orlok at the time of his death, but he might not have used them all of his life;

The figures on the top, inside the shield, are a Dacian dragon with a sun or star; and a wolf with a crescent moon. Usually this star and crescent moon motif represent the Székelys, an ancient Hungarian sub-group (said to descend from the Huns), and with seats of power within Transylvania, on the hills of the Eastern Carpathian Mountains. Castle Orlok is located beyond the Árnyék Pass (also known as Umbră Pass) in the Carpathians, but this is a fictional place. Both “Árnyék” and “Umbră” mean “shadow”, in Hungarian and Romanian;

At the center, the shield is a Barry of eight fesse (horizontal stripes) or three bars, on the left (symbolic or military rank and recognition) and one tower on the right (symbolic or strength, protection, resilience of a stronghold, guarding its inhabitants from adversity and external threats);

1 Seven Rays (bottom, right), a star standing alone, probably a reference to his personal sigil (heptagram)?

3 sabers which seem to be Hungarian szabla (bottom; left). These swords were symbols of nobility and aristocracy (szlachta) The węgiersko-polska saber was popularized among the aristocracy during the reign of the Transylvanian-Hungarian King of Poland Stephen Bathóry in the late 16th century. Swords in heraldry are usually used as a symbol for military honor.

Now we are getting somewhere because Stephen Bathóry was Prince of Transylvania between 1576 and 1586, which fits the dates we have for Orlok: 1580s-1590s, late 16th century. The Báthory family ruled Transylvania as princes under the Ottomans until 1602.

We don’t know the dates for Orlok birth and death, but since Robert Eggers mentioned the 1580s and Lina Muir talked about the 1590s, I’m assuming these decades were important in his life, and he was already an adult. And he probably died somewhere in the 1590s since that’s the reference Lina Muir has for his costume design (which he was buried with): “Robert, right from the beginning, knew that he wanted his Orlok to be a representation of a Transylvanian count from around 1590.” In a interview to “Art of Costume”, the costume designer said:

“For Orlok, our research focused on the look of a Transylvanian-slash-Hungarian count from around 1580. He’s a character who was young and vital 300 years before the events of the film […] Even his enormous kalpak hat—a piece that would have been worn differently by a younger man—is now part of his strategy to hide the grotesque reality of being 300 years old.”

Robert Eggers also mentioned Hungary several times in association with his Orlok, because Transylvania was a Hungarian politically dominated principality. Orlok is also a count, the sovereign of a county, and the Székely had several autonomous seats within Transylvania; these were self-governing, with their own administrative system, and existed as legal entities. Their autonomy was granted in return for the military services they provided to the Hungarian Kings. Orlok also has a Hungarian royal army 16th century hairstyle, and military heraldry on his coat of arms, so he saw battle and/or military service.

Orlok being of Székelys lineage is also aligned with the “Dracula” novel, where Count Dracula shares the same ethnicity: “We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. . . . What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila [the Hun] whose blood is in these veins?” The Székelys are said to be only true Transylvanians, because they guarded the land's borders long before the Magyar invasion and Hungarian rule. Their allegiance was only to the sacred soil of Transylvania, no matter who holds temporary political dominion over them, which also makes sense as to why Orlok/Dracula, on vampire form, needs to rest on their soil during daytime.

Men could become sovereigns really young in the event of their fathers deaths. Sigismund Báthory (we’ll talk about him in a minute) became prince of Transylvania at the age of six. And it’s the same with weddings; we have several cases of marriages at 14, 15, 16, and so on, throughout History. No idea what’s Orlok case.

Being a Count, Orlok was probably a hereditary member of the Union of Three Nations? Founded in 1438, and composed by Hungarian, Székelys, and Saxon noblemen of Transylvania. Their function was to provide mutual aid against Ottoman attacks and peasant revolts, and were successful for centuries. As a Count, Orlok wasn’t low in the aristocratic hierarchy; he was just two ranks below the Prince (Marquis and Duke).

Bill Skarsgård citing the Bulgarian epic “Time of Violence” as one of Eggers’ many inspirations for Orlok backstory, might indicate he probably was involved in the religious turmoil of Protestants vs. Catholics in Transylvania in the late 16th century. In the 15th century many Romanian noblemen converted to Catholicism; and in the second half of the 16th century, Transylvanian authorities forced their people to convert to Calvinism.

In the late 1550s, Protestantism began to spread in Székely villages due to Hungarian-speaking preachers, who promoted the theology of John Calvin (Calvinism). While the majority of the population remained Catholic, some Calvinist settlements joined the new Unitarian Church of Transylvania. In 1566, priests who didn’t convert to the “true faith” were expelled from the country.

However, when Stephen Báthory took power in Transylvania in 1576, restrictions began to arise, and Orthodox hierarchy was restored. Székely peasants demanded for their freedom, but were refused. As retaliation, hundreds of Székelys joined his opponent, Gáspár Bekes, who was defeated in 1575. As consequence, more than 60 Székelys were executed or mutilated, and Báthory's supporters received Székely serfs (slaves).

When Stephen’s sucessor, Sigismund Báthory, a Catholic, came to power in 1586, he wasn’t well-liked by the Union of Three Nations representatives, which tried to undermine his authority on several times, with plotting and conspiracies. The “Long War” (1591-1606) started; it began as a Christian alliance against the Turks, and became a four-sided conflict in Transylvania involving the Transylvanians, Habsburgs, Ottomans and the Romanian voivod of Wallachia led by Michael the Brave.

In 1593, Sigismund abdicated, and tasked his cousin Balthasar Báthory with the government of Transylvania, and he tried to seized the throne for himself, but was stopped by other leading officers who set up an aristocratic council. The commanders of the army, persuaded Sigismund to return, and arrest Balthasar and fourteen other noblemen for plotting. They were either executed (beheaded) or strangled in prison. Only one was Protestant, the others Unitarian. Many of their relatives converted to Catholicism to prevent the confiscation of their estates. Which side was Orlok?

In 1595, the persecution of radical Protestants began, and hundreds fled Transylvania. In that year, Sigismund married Maria Christina of Austria but was unable to consummate the marriage. He accused Margit Majláth (mother of his executed cousin, Balthasar Báthory) of witchcraft, causing his impotence.

Sigismund promised to restore the Székelys' liberties if they took up arms against the Ottomans, and more than 20,000 Székelys joined the royal army. They helped win the Battle of Giurgiu. However, their decisive warrior role during the war was ignored, and they were not only denied their freedom, but, in 1595, their leaders were massacred in the “Bloody Carnival” by István Bocskai, the commander-in-chief of the Transylvanian army.

In 1599, Andrew Báthory becomes prince of Transylvania, but the most influential noblemen didn’t support him. His main supporters are noblemen forced into exile in 1594, but they were impoverished young men, without influence. However, Andrew choose Catholic lords over them. Meanwhile, Michael the Brave invades Transylvania and the Székelys become his allies. Andrew tries to flee the country, but is ambushed by Székelys slaves and beheaded with a shepherd's axe.

We’ve arrived at the end of the 16th century, and we don’t know if Orlok lived to see the 17th century because we have no indication of that, since Robert Eggers only talks about 1580s and 1590s. Whoever Orlok was in life, clearly left a lasting impression because there were legends about him, as Thomas was made aware once he arrived, and several locals warned him about Orlok’s shadow. He was also connected with the Devil by the Christian Orthodox nuns.

From the movie, it’s clear he’s remembered more because of his “magical powers” (sort of speak) than for his military accomplishments. Which is the same case as Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula. In “Nosferatu” (2024), it’s Ellen who awakes Orlok in the 19th century, with him being dead for centuries at that point. Still, there appear to be legends about him in Transylvania, all the same.

If Orlok was involved in the Catholics vs. Protestants conflicts in Transylvania in the late 16th century, like everything seems to suggest (“Time of Violence” inspiration and historical context), he certainly wasn’t on the Catholic side of the conflict. We don’t have any Christian religious iconography on his coat of arms or personal sigil; and he used both during his life. Protestantism defended a more personal and private relationship with religion, than the performative and grandeur of Catholicism. A Protestant facade would allow Orlok to pursue and practice his true religion without raising suspicion to his county. Still, rumors about it certainly spread during his lifetime, until they became legend.

Hypothesis #1

Now, if we go with Orlok being 55 years old at the time of his death; let’s do some math. Both Robert Eggers and Lina Muir have said he’s 300 years old during the events of the movie, which is set in 1838. If we do the math (1838 minus 300), the date of Orlok’s birth would be 1538. And if we add 55 years to this date, we arrive at 1593 as the date of his death. Which would mean he was probably among Balthasar Báthory supporters, and was arrested for treason and strangled in prison (he obviously wasn’t beheaded).

We also have a woman and accusations of witchcraft as retaliation for the death of these noblemen. Someone also commissioned Orlok’s sarcophagus, not only expensive-looking (fit for his ranking), but also filled with symbols and sigils of immortality and rebirth. Who had this sarcophagus made? Himself or someone from his family?

On his castle catacombs, there are more sarcophagus, which obviously belong to Orlok’s family, who’s also buried down there. He was also placed in a prestige location within the cryptic; someone respected his role as Count, which suggests someone either cared or respected him, in life. Unless he was the last one to die, and ordered for his sarcophagus to be placed there.

Did his wife, the Countess, survive him, and ordered his sarcophagus to be made? If so, she clearly wanted him to return to life. Maybe she was also involved in sorcery as he was. We also have countless examples of wives taking over their husbands estates/titles after their deaths (even as rulers of Transylvania). Maybe his wife was one of those who reluctantly converted to Catholicism in order to keep the family estate?

“I [was inspired by] a 15th-century sarcophagus from Poland. Orlok is Dacian so I started looking at Dacian dragons. Trajan's Column in Rome shows the battle of the Romans defeating the Dacians and you see their Dacian dragon, which has a wolf’s head, so I started adding wolves’ heads. The feet of the casket are actually Dacian dragons. We came up with a coat of arms for Orlok to put on and added Solomonic symbols. The idea is that the more you stack up the details, the more you’re creating the world.” Production designer Craig Lathrop

Now, we do have “strangling” associated with Orlok and Ellen, right in the prologue, when he reveals himself to her, under the lilac trees:

This is a horror movie, yes, but Robert Eggers is very intentional with his stories and he doesn’t do cheap jump scares. Why did Orlok do this to Ellen? Especially when he just asked her to be one with him ever-eternally. This act does have a meaning we aren’t aware of.

And his first words to her are “You”, and then he says “you wakened me from a eternity of darkness”, and he repeats “you… you”, and says she’s not for the living. This somehow suggest a recognition from his part. He knows not only what she is, but who she is.

Orlok also calls Ellen “enchantress”, and it was her sadness (grief? Heartbreak?) which powered her prayer. She did it unconsciously, and due to her supernatural abilities, but maybe her soul has tried to achieve this in the past? But didn’t succeed then?

Orlok’s “asmatic” speech can also indicate his vocal chords are damaged? Sure, he’s been dead for centuries and has to inhale and exhale in order to be able to speak, because he doesn’t need to breathe (obviously, he’s a walking corpse).

The flaw with this theory is that Orlok doesn’t seem to have neck injuries compatible with death by strangulation.

Hypothesis #2

Another likely option, is that Orlok might have died from the plague, the “Black Death”, during the second plague pandemic in Europe (1346-1844), which known several outbursts throughout these centuries. Which would explain why he returned as the “plague carrier” and his association with rats (since the Black Plague was believed to be caused by the fleas of certain rats).

The plague hit Transylvania particularly harshly during the 15th and 16th centuries, more deathly than before; especially between the years 1550 and 1587. The towns and villages in the Carpathians suffered deeply with the plague in 1553-1554, with countless deaths. Between 1552 and 1554, many aristocrats died, and some territories were even depopulated due to the plague.

The Catholics saw this outbreak as God punishment of His enemies, as divine justice against the heretics (Protestants). Protestants, on the other hand, refused the “plague” Catholic saints (like St. Sebastian) and saw hardship as a path to salvation but also as punishment for pride and other sins, advising against attachment to the “riches of the world”.

Being a Count, in the face of a plague epidemic, Orlok had to work alongside religious and medical authorities to deal with the situation. However, when epidemics got out of control, physicians (doctors) could have full power of decision over the people. Several restrictions to gatherings of every kind were made during this period. Burials on churchs were forbidden. Mentions of rotten corpses and maggots were popular in religious speech to force citizens to keep the plague graveyards clean, and avoid the spread of disease. In “Nosferatu” we have allusions to all of this and even the “Death and the Maiden” motif at the end of the film.

If we take 1538 as Orlok’s birth, these dates (between 1552 and 1554) can’t possibly be his dates of death because he would be a teenager during these years, between 14 and 16 years old. They can, however, be when he became Count? Maybe his father and/or mother also died from the plague? Or even his wife?

The plague epidemic could also be the reason why he became so interested in conquer immortality, tapping everywhere to achieve it: alchemy (“elixir of immortality” and “panacea” to cure all diseases), Zalmoxis cult, and Şolomonari magic. Him dying of the plague anyway would be one of those wicked ironies which would fit his character. His corpse certainly exhibits plague wounds, like the ones on his victims.

However, this would make Orlok younger than Robert Eggers claims he is; but Eggers being so secretive about Orlok background, he can also be concealing his true age, after all. Orlok dying during the Transylvania plague epidemics would make him 49 years old tops or even on his 30s, at the time of his death. Which would fit Lina Muir comments on his hat design being worn by younger men.

Hypothesis #3

If we go with the strigoi folklore, Orlok might have died with “unfinished business”, which is a staple of ghost legends everywhere in the world. The cause of his death, or even the date, is not exactly relevant here.

Connecting with Ellen being a reincarnation of his past lover; she might not have been his wife, at all. The majority of aristocratic weddings were motivated by politics. The wife Bill Skarsgård talks about, might have been chosen for political reasons, and alliances. She might have died, too, and Orlok wanted to remarry (which was the usual practice), this time for love. But, his bride died before the wedding, or he did.

This option would fit this story better, because Orlok and Knock talk about Ellen as “bride”. Even when asking Thomas about his “maiden token”, Orlok calls Ellen “your bride”. It would also give a deeper meaning as to why Ellen put on her wedding dress to marry Orlok at the end.

In this option, Orlok’s bride wasn’t buried next to him in his castle crypt, and death separated them. Which would explain why Orlok is so obsessed in pursuing Ellen’s soul and have her by his side for all eternity.

Şolomonari and Zalmoxis

Orlok sigil: an heptagram surrounded by a Draco ouroboros (death; rebirth; reincarnation); the letters are cyrillic for “Zalmoxis”; the center is the alchemist symbol for blood; the symbols appear to be Vinča; with archeological findings in Romania with these symbols being over 8,000 and 6,500 years old, and consider by many as the oldest form of human writing, but their meaning is still unknown. They are here either to show Orlok comes from an ancient bloodline; or he has known reincarnations throughout the ages?

Heptagrams are connected to the seven elements of Alchemy but aren’t represented like this. Heptagrams are also connected to divine feminine goddesses, like Babalon and Isis.

We also see Ellen’s beauty being compared to a sylph by Herr Knock (probably due to his own deal with Orlok), which makes her connection to the 16th century, because “sylphs” were created by Paracelsus, a Swiss alchemist, in 1566 (Orlok would be 28 years old when this book was released). Sylphs are beings of the air element, a sort of fairy or nymph.

The genetics of historical Vlad III, “The Impaler”, “Dracula” can be traced much farther back than the Szekelys and the Huns: he was descendent from the Dacian warriors. And this seems to be the same case with Eggers’ Orlok; or he developed a fascination with them. Aside from his sigil and coat of arms, the audience knows there’s a connection between Orlok and the Dacian civilization, because he speaks Dacian in the film (a language which was already extinct in the 16th century).

The Dacians were a Indo-European people from Ancient times (6th century) which inhabited modern-day Romania (as well as parts of the surrounding countries) and were eventually conquered by the Romans. Their cult was a deity called Zalmoxis, God of life and death, who granted eternal life and knowledge to the worthy, ensuring their place in the afterlife. Sacrifical rites and shamanism were practiced in his honor. Zalmoxis was considered a prophet, represented as a handsome man, a priest who controls the forces of nature, with power over wild animals.

Zalmoxis is kind of a mysterious figure, he’s a man who became a God to his people, and in some legends he was a king, in others a slave of the Greeks who freed himself, while in others he’s the high priest of the actual God of the Dacian people. He’s often compared to Jesus Christ because he, too, was resurrected after being three years underground. According to Herodotus, Zalmoxis learned the secrets of immortality when he traveled to Egypt: we already have a link here with Ellen, because she was compared to a “priestess of Isis” (Isis, the Queen of the Underworld).

Ancient greek historian Herodotus wrote about several Dacian legends and rituals; as the priests of Zalmoxis who kept the secret of incantations that could make human beings immortal, and the ritual practice of wrapping a young man who wished to become a warrior in the skin of a wolf (some men were said to be able to change themselves each year for several days into the form of a wolf). There are some theories among historians that hallucinogenic mushrooms were used in the wolf-pelt ceremony, allowing the men to experience a complete psychological transformation into wolves.

Dacian warrior

Once psychologically transformed into a wolf and thereby initiated into the Brotherhood of the Wolf, the Dacian warrior would enter fearlessly and ferociously into battle under the banner of the Draco, the wolf-dragon. This appeared to be Orlok’s case because he has the Draco on his coat of arms, which he would wear in battle.

Draco: the Dacian battle flag; Brad (Romania)

We are told this book is Şolomonari by Von Franz, and obviously belonged to Orlok, and it was in Herr Knock’s office:

However the language it is written is Latin-based, so I’m guessing it’s Dacian (instead of the cyrillic Orlok used before in written material). My mother language is Latin-based, I can understand some of the Dacian spoke by Orlok, and I’m recognizing some words here, too. This book is probably from a Zalmoxis cult, which isn’t surprising because this leads us to another question: scholars in recent years have been disputing long-lasting ideas about who the folkloric Şolomonari truly were, which seems to be the approach Robert Eggers is taking with his adaptation of “Nosferatu”.

In the “Dracula” novel, Van Helsing says Dracula attended the school Scholomance. In Romanian folklore, it’s located in the Carpathian mountains where the Devil was the lead instructor of 10 or 13 students. One of each class was either kept by the Devil or given permission to ride a dragon. In “Nosferatu”, the old abbess tells Thomas, Orlok was selected to have his soul kept by the Devil, and, possibly, cursed to vampirism as a result: “A black enchanter he was in life. Şolomonari. The Devil preserved his soul that his corpse may walk again in blaspheme.”

Xenoarcheologist Jason Colavito is one of the pioneers of these kind of studies, exploring science, pseudoscience and speculative fiction, and has done research on the Scholomance and the Şolomonari. He made the connection between Dacian priest-shamans and the folkloric Şolomonari (named after King Solomon and alchemy) and how they were perceived as benevolent forces until the Christians defamed them as “devil worshippers”. This association between Paganism and the Devil wasn’t exclusive to Romania, it happened throughout Europe when European kings and leaders converted to Christianity and forced their populations to forsake their old Pagan beliefs.

The Devil’s School of Scholomance is, then, a distortion of Dacian Pagan beliefs; where Zalmoxis had a underground chamber, a great hall, where he taught the secrets of immortality, and of life and death to his followers. In “Nosferatu”, it’s the Orthodox nuns who first make the association between Orlok, the Şolomonari, and the Devil; and then the alchemist Von Franz does the same. But none of these characters have first-hand knowledge of what the Şolomonari truly are, and Von Franz admits he never encountered a Nosferatu before. And, indeed, there’s no “satanic” symbols on Orlok’s sigil and coat of arms. He’s Pagan, a follower of Zalmoxis.

The question here is: how did Orlok had access to this knowledge? Was there an actual “school” or a Zalmoxis cult in the 16th century, in this story?

#nosferatu 2024 #count Orlok 2024 #Ellen Hutter 2024 #Robert Eggers #bill skargard #bill skarsgård #count Orlok 2024 backstory #Nosferatu 2024 analysis #Transylvanian history #transylvania #Dacian mythology #Zalmoxis myth #strigoi #romanian folklore #ellen x orlok #orlok x ellen

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nottivagos · 2 days ago

Text

syn: "Poor, scared little bunny. You'll never stop running."

wc: 2.3k

tw: dark themes, +18 mdni pls and ty, stalkers, kidnapping, drugging food, manipulation, physical harm, stockholm syndrome, unhealthy relationships, obsession, overall really bad & immoral.

an: i don't really know what to put here. i really enjoyed writing this fic despite the dark aspects to it, and i'm v. thankful for the love for stalker!carlos <3

taglist: @orangeblossomsintheair

Run, Rabbit, Run. || CS55

Stillness. The only noise came from the droning ticking of the antique clock that sat on the mantelpiece, collecting dust like a chronic hoarder. Wide eyes glued to the window, hawking over the freshness of the green lawn, flurries of colour the flowers in the bed showed because of the spring bloom. It had been a while since you’d seen a flower out in the wild, you thought.

Bunnies are beautiful creatures. They go silent when they want something, or when they get hurt. Maybe that’s why forced hickeys of red and blue blotched your skin, why your hair was dishevelled and unkempt, why your pupils were dilated whilst eyes wide and lifeless as boney hands subconsciously fidgeted with the empty paper cup, ripping it into smaller pieces, as it kept trembling in your grasp.

You couldn’t remember the feeling of glass on your hands, the coolness of the material in your palms, the sensation of a distant memory. Replaced by the roughness of paper rubbing against your fingertips. Carlos said that you could be only trusted with paper. It was safer, he said. You couldn’t be trusted with glass, he said.

His rules became the norm, the changing subtleties in your routines, embedded into the back of your mind. It was as if you'd been re-wired, happily for his own dark pleasure. You didn’t mind. You’d stopped minding a while ago. He loved you, that’s all that mattered. This life was happy. Not like your one before him.

Hell, you didn’t even know anything anymore.

Brain turned to mush, conditioned to not make decisions on its own, your own life like modelling clay in his hands, this domesticated haven you were living all created by his own desire to keep you. Cherish you. Have you.

Muddled thoughts swam constantly in your mind, causing yourself to be unable to think properly. Shaky intakes of breath following, the shallow rattling of your lungs could be heard in the lifelessness of your lounge area. Eyes continuously glued to the window, watching the people walk in the warm sun, skin slightly reddened from the rays shining down.

Arms hugged your legs as you sat on the couch, like you usually did every day. Sometimes you’d hear the subtle clang or movement from Carlos in another room, but typically it was silent. Solitary in your own home. The typical homely four walls acting like a cold prison cell, reflecting the psychological confusion simmering in your mind.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎— ⟡ — ‎‎‎‎‎‎

It was hard to pinpoint when it had started. The past fear blurred by this fantasy you were living in now, as if Carlos hadn't done all those fucked up things to you. You were the right girl, the one that came into his life at the right time too. Naive, pretty, let down by past partners— the full package of a victim prone to manipulation.

Carlos was infatuated. Mesmerised by your presence, your beautiful smile, the giggly laughs you produced when he got you a little too drunk (on purpose of course), the way your body complimented the outfits you wore a little too well. He was a creep, a love-drunk freak.

It was innocent, you thought. A guy actually had an interest in you! He was such a breath of fresh air to the jerks that you’d been with before. He'd even mentioned that, holding you against your words in a heated argument you’d both shared. Using your drunken, emotional words to his advantage when you'd told him all teary-eyed that someone hadn’t cared about you in this way for a long time all those months beforehand. Yes, he was a little older than you, but why did that matter? He obviously acknowledged you for yourself, and you couldn’t help but cling onto that feeling.

It definitely wasn’t odd that Carlos knew when you needed him most. Or, just affection in general. Your mind just took it as him being a caring neighbour, the gifts or little treats just out of generosity and affection. Definitely not an obsession and the messed up yearning that followed.

He knew your schedule more than you knew it yourself; work, eat, sleep, repeat. Sometimes on the weekends you’d go for a run, probably a New Year’s Resolution, he’d inferred. You’d meet friends occasionally and host at your house, too. He knew when your face lit up at certain foods you loved as you ate them with such raw joy, the way you played some specific songs louder than others when you heard them on the radio— you gave him an inch of your happiness, and he took the whole mile.

You weren’t sure when it fully changed though, when the kind acts became more intense, more horrifying to your friends when they raised their concerns about your new ‘lover’. If you could even call him a lover, to say the least.

Carlos was charismatic, a true gentleman waiting in the wings ready for his time to pounce. It just took time. Time he didn’t want to take, but he knew he had to console the rabbit and gain their trust before making any abrupt movements. Or they’d run away. A risk not worth taking when you were so close to being in his grasp forever. The lengthy process was like you, an innocent bunny timidly chewing on grass, whilst his wolf hid away, contemplating on when to pounce.

And when he did, he thought it was beautiful. It was so refreshing that you’d complied with such ease. You’d spent the evening together, Carlos innocently offering to cook a meal for you both as he’d witnessed your fatigued body trudge into your home. The thought was kind — well to you, at least — but the motive behind the action was far from it.

All he had to do was slip a few sleeping pills into your food and you were gone! The sight was beautiful to see. His eyes darkening at the realisation that his plan was working ever so smoothly with no interruptions made a little smirk appear on his lips as he watched you ever so intently. The increased drowsiness added to your already underlying tiredness, and you were even a sweetheart for incoherently mumbling that you “could finish your food” when he asked if you needed to rest.

A broken phone now smashed on his dining room table as you finally fell into a deep slumber, it wasn’t as if you’d need that again, that would be living in the past, not in the present with him. And only him. He’d made sure to get you another one, of course, he’d even gone out of his way to contact your parents that you were “going away on a business trip for a few weeks”! Little did your parents know they’d never see their little girl ever again.

The rest you didn’t know. Your head lulled downwards as soft snores followed. Carlos’s large arms came to cradle you, hands clawing underneath your thighs as he rested your snoozing self to his chest. Watching you sleep in his embrace was angelic, a sight he aspired to remember forever and have burned into his dark mind, the car ride to your new life made him giddy with excitement distorted with the acknowledgement that you’d never be out of his grasp. Always his, forever.

His little bunny, so innocent and fragile, that he was going to provide a better life for. Like the wolf of him should. To guard and protect before fully going in for the kill. He’d taken your aspirations for living in “a little quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere” literally. He wanted anything for his girl, and if that would make her happy, he’d happily make it happen for you.

— ⟡ —

Stockholm Syndrome was the best way to explain your reality from then on. You'd developed a little coping mechanism to help ‘count down’ the days until someone came to save you, but in all, you'd just trauma bonded with Carlos instead. You'd come to sympathise with him, this ‘life’ he'd created for you actually painting itself as heaven. A happiness you couldn't describe as your old life faded into nothing.

The barrages of “you know I love you, right?” and the desperate “don’t leave me please” burnt into your mind. The empowering guilt behind his pathetic pleads entrapped you more than Carlos physically did, and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed of your selfishness for wanting to run away. So you learnt to stay silent. Just like Carlos wanted.

You were so sucked into your thoughts that you didn’t even acknowledge Carlos coming into the room. Your nails hovered in front of your mouth, the nervousness in your stomach churning into acid in your stomach, your cuticles practically begging to be chewed to alleviate the stress and confusion swallowing your thoughts whole.

”Princesa, you’re thinking again,” the thick accent cooed from beside you, cupping the shredded remnants of your once-used cup from your lap, before discarding them on the wooden coffee table beside him. ”Tell me what’s wrong,” his voice was soft; caring, even, but there was definitely an undertone of a command there.

Your eyes followed the voice, daze-like as you met his doe brown gaze. Blinking, your eyes adjusted to the sight, before mumbling whilst still a little disorientated, “Nothing’s wrong. Just.. preoccupied.”

The sigh that followed was gentle, despite it having a bite of annoyance at your lie. “Come here,” he murmured in response, patting his lap with that wolfish smile, “I don’t bite.”

The first thing you learnt whilst being with Carlos. Do as you were told. If he knew what was best for you, it was the best for you. Bunnies were shy little things, they didn’t know what was right, but your wolf did. It didn’t help that you’d been craving the intimacy, which was Carlos’s initial plan, so you complied, your smaller body crawling over to his larger one, perching on his lap like it was second nature.

“Good girl,” he praised, the rumble of his low voice vibrating as you rested your back against his chest. Large hands came to rest on your thighs, the feeling of his calloused palms trapping you in his caged embrace sent bolts of electricity surging through your body.

You’d become so accustomed to the sweet nothings and gentle words that it was like a spark set off in your brain, you following the words like a moth to a flame. Hooked on his every syllable and low delivery, the fear that if you didn’t that he’d become angry. You hated when he was angry; your bunny forced into conformity, silenced and quivering in fear whilst his wolf barked, ready to eat you whole.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right? Would you, mi vida?” he murmured again, pressing hot kisses against your jaw, the pecks causing your skin to burn with a bubbling intensity. “You know I don’t like it when you lie,” he continued, his voice holding a warning tone, you could sense that, “I care about you. There’s no need for you to lie, corazón.”

That mutter against your skin made your throat dry with fear. Wide eyes paced around your surroundings, an uncomfortable lump forming in your throat as you just let him touch you. Calloused fingertips trailed down your sides as burning lips attacked your already bruised nape, leaving even more scorching marks after subtle nips of his teeth onto your skin.

“I’m not lying,” you responded, your voice a breathy whisper as your body shivered whilst Carlos’s lips hovered over your reddened neck, hot breath fanning onto the skin. “I’m fine, honestly,” your mumble followed, trembling hands playing with the hem of your dress nervously.

He sighed again, this time more agitated as he pulled your back flush against his burly chest. “You are lying, nena,” his voice took a more harsh tone, biting back, as you watched his jaw tense subtly.

A pit of dread formed in your stomach. A sickening feeling churned and churned, your skin becoming pale at the sight of his angry state. You didn’t want him to become angry. Not again, not after last time. You’d only just healed from last time, you couldn’t go through that again. And what do pathetic little bunnies do when they’re scared and overwhelmed, unable to think for themselves, you may ask?

They cry.

The waterworks followed. Soft sobs turned into wails as your throat burned with fear, tears falling down your reddened cheeks as your hands pathetically came to wipe them away. Carlos’s eyes softened in that moment, looking down at you with a sympathetic look as you shuffled in his lap, now straddling him whilst clinging onto him.

“I’m sorry—” you hiccupped, sobs breaking your voice “—I thought, I just—” you tried to reason, your brain stopping you from comprehending your own thoughts, “I— I don’t— know—” you continued to sniffle into his chest, as a large hand came to cradle the back of your head gently.

“Oh, nena,” Carlos tutted, chin resting on the top of your head ever so slightly. “Hush, it’s okay,” he cooed, pressing a soft peck against your hair, “Shh. You don’t need to explain it right now.”

“B-but I—”

“But nothing,” his voice was stern, though it held some softness to it. “Just let me hold you, princesa. Please.”

You mustered a nod, another sniffle following as Carlos cradled him to your chest. Heart fluttering at the intimacy in that moment, you nuzzled more into him. You were such a confused little bunny, your little mental breakdown explained that even more, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d got you right where he needed you.

Innocent.

Utterly helpless.

And dependent on his every word and action.

like stalker!carlos? consider sending me an ask in my inbox to be added to the notebook! - notti <3

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