#but they were on the road to a better path

[probablyspooky]

Little Bird (P3 X Fem!Reader)

This just came out so he doesn't have a name yet but if he does lmk. For now I'm calling him P3, aka predator 3 or pilot 3

You walked down the winding path that was deep within the bowels of the airship you recently began calling home, your heart pounding as each step was a step closer to being discovered by him... The one eyed yautja who brought you aboard.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you heard the familiar hiss of the doors opening and shutting as someone had walked through. Taking the chance to hide, you turned a corner, only to be met with the farm planes of a body that had endured years and years of physical combat and hard labor.

"Little bird...." he clicked, peering down at you with his single eye, the other hidden by a metallic eyepatch he wore to hide his disfigurement

A scream leapt out of your throat as he tackled you with gentle hands, his large hands gripping your sides as you squealed.

"I can smell you all around the ship little bird you cannot hide from me" he purrs, nuzzling against your cheek.

The only way you could even understand this beast was because of the earrings he had gifted you when he first took you aboard, they glistened red as each word he spoke was translated instantly into your ears.

"I only hoped to beat last times record of 10 minutes of hiding" you chuckled as he lifts you into his arms. Though he was smaller than others, he was still quite large to you.

"Perhaps do not leave a trail for me to follow," he says, walking down to the main deck of the ship

"I did no such thing," you huffed, leaning your cheek onto his head

"You dropped your shoes, meaning I could follow the faint heat of your foot prints. The ship is metal my birdie, I merely allowed you to be out of arms reach for the thrill of the hunt."

You huff, rolling your eyes as he sets you down in the chair next to the pilots seat.

"It's not really fair I go in blind without weapons and fancy gadgets, yet you have every trinket within your wrist that could find me within seconds!"

"It is fair as my race is able to create said gadgets. When I first found you, you claimed to not even think beyond that thing you called...a...a..-"

"A city"

"If that is what it is then yes, a city"

"I would've never imagined being in space, seeing the stars!" you exclaimed, spinning in the small chair, " You showed me the sun! Your home!"

"All that fascinates you? I do this weekly"

"And for me to be here...with you.."

He turns looking at you, if he could smile he'd be smiling.

"I enjoy having you here little bird."

Little bird... the name he gave you when he saw you, you had a large feather in your cap, since you were on your way to the dance club with some of your friends, but your cab had broken down by the corn fields. You would've never imagined seeing an alien space ship in front of you. Your cab driver had taken noticed and stepped in between you and the large creature that stepped off, bat in hand.

A weapon.

After watching the cab driver being tossed clear across the road with not even the flick of P3's wrist, you cried and begged for your life. Yet, P3 looked at you with that soft gaze, kneeling in front of you, he pressed his fingers to the large feather in your hat, his touch going down its length as its bristles smoothed, and then slowly went back into place.

Throwing you over his shoulder, he took your screaming and kicking self onto his ship and flew off into space. No worthy prey he later told you, but had found something much better.

Your first couple of nights with him were...awkward...

He desperately tried to get these earrings on you as gently as he could.

He held out these two black and red earrings, one in each hand as he slowly knelt down and tried to walk over to you. He doesn't have ears so it was hard to show you what he was trying to do. You swung on him, it didn't do anything. He snarled, bucking his face closer, his one eye scanning your fearful face as you whimpered.

He slowly, hooked the earring to your left ear, and then your right, thank goodness your ears were pierced, it could've been way worse.

He scoots back, sitting on the back of his calves, he brings his wrist up and begins to tap into the little device on his arm. The earrings buzzed to life, as his mandibles moved around the metal piece on his mouth, something to help him breathe when he's high up in the air.

"Little bird..." he growls in his native tongue, but in your ears, clear English.

It was a learning process to you, following him around like a tiny pet. You found yourself never more than 5 feet from him out of fear and respect. The other yautja, the term they call themselves, poked and prodded the small human with mischievous chuckles and chirps. He never defended you, and he never said anything. He would pick you up and carry you to his next task.

You'd come to learn that his home was his ship, at night he slept in his bed, your hammock hanging over him as he slept, so that if anyone were to try and harm you, he'd be ready.

Feelings can blossom in the oddest of places, at first you ignored them, didn't look at him, he was your captor for crying out loud! But he would often send off to get chickens and cows to feed you, thought he was a bit put off by the fact you ate cooked meat, he made it work.

For him, he felt awkward, he wasn't the largest yautja with the most honor...He often thought he was beyond these foolish feelings of being tied to someone for life, but he often caught you stealing glances while he flew from one port to another, how your hand was always close to his, a touch of skin only a breath away yet, both of you were too afraid to breathe.

Would he kill me for even thinking about him in that way?

Would she ever see him beyond the creature that stole her away and kept her?

The night it all changed, you looked over the side of your hammock to see if he was asleep, instead your eyes met his, and his large hands reached up, one on the underside of your hammock as he pushed you out of it into his other hand, catching you and pulling you down to him within his bed.

Quietly without a fuss, you curled up into his side.

P3's little bird within his nest.

[zepskies]

UNRAVEL ME - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Afro-Latina!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Vought Tower finally falling, you find yourself crossing paths with Soldier Boy. Rogue, weakened, dangerous, and hunted, he needs a place to hide. You’re not about to offer up your own home to shelter a supe wanted by Homelander and the CIA…but he’s also not going to let you refuse.

AN: Ahhh here we are at Part 2! Thank you to everyone who shared their thoughts on Part 1 and wanted to see more. I really, truly appreciate it since I'm trying some new things with this series. 🥰💗

Song Inspo: “Come Fly with Me” by Frank Sinatra

JVB Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Accidental Old Person Acquisition

Word Count: 7.7K

Tags/Warnings: Some uncomfortable friction in this one, friends. 😬 But also more ethnic foodie adventures for Ben, some mini breakthroughs and bonding moments, angst, and more obnoxious flirting 🙄 (you know the drill). Chapter title inspired by a song in The Sound of Music: "Maria."

💜 Series Masterlist

💙 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: A Problem Like Chiquita

“What the fuck is this?” Ben says gruffly.

He examines the food you’ve ordered from the Colombian bakery like it’s college-level calculus, holding a fat, golden, crescent-shaped pastry pocket in his hand.

“Food,” you dryly reply. “That’s an empanada. It’s hella fucking good.”

You’re eating one as well. The meat grease comes off orange on your fingers, but that’s how you know it’s well-cooked and packed with flavor.

Colored grease = seasoning.

Ben's face strains with confusion, crows feet crinkling around his eyes, his mouth pulling at a frown.

"An empa-what?"

Restraining a sigh, you try to be patient.

"Em-pa-na-da," you repeat, articulating slowly.

He still looks skeptical as he eyes the thing in his hand, even if it does smell good, like paprika and cumin and other savory spices.

“What’s it made out of?” he asks.

“Ground beef? Pastry? Happiness?” You shrug. “My people make it better. But then again, I’m a bit biased.”

The man is hesitant, but he slowly takes a bite. He chews thoughtfully. After that first big swallow, it’s good enough for him to go back in for another bite, and then finish it off with a second and third one. He reaches for another empanada in the white takeout box. 

“Are they all the same?” he asks. 

You watch in amused satisfaction. “No, that one’s chicken. These on the left are beef.”

He makes a what do you know? kind of face, and he digs into the rest of the pastries. You smile slightly. The man can eat, that’s for sure. Your grandma would have fun feeding him.

“Sooo, when are you planning on hitting the road?” you ask. “Since, you know, Homelander and the government are looking for you.”

You checked the news while you were holed up in your room, waiting for the delivery you ordered through Doordash. According to every local news outlet, there’s now a full-on manhunt for Soldier Boy throughout the city. You find a clip on your phone and turned it toward him on the kitchen table to prove your point.

“Soldier Boy is armed and dangerous. The ‘see something, say something’ rule applies. If you would like to report a sighting of Soldier Boy, please call 1-800—”

Ben taps the screen and presses hard until the clip pauses. You take back your phone quickly before he can break it. He keeps eating, and you raise your brows at him. Your hands sweep upward in a what the fuck gesture. 

“Hello?” you prod. Is he going to answer you, or just keep stuffing his face?

“Could use a little more R&R before I head out,” he says. His expression remains stoic as he eats. You watch him incredulously, wondering when he’s going to have the balls to look up at your face. He never does.

The frustration that’s been building up inside you reaches critical mass. The dial pushes, pushes, pushes over until it cracks safety glass. You can almost hear the steam whistling in your ears, along with your drumming heartbeat.

You stand from the table, your chair scraping across the floor. You can tell the sound irritates his sharp ear as he glances up at you with a frown.

“You are a goddamn fugitive. You get that right?” you say, regarding him with an incredulous tilt of your head. “Now you’ve hooked me into this. I could get in serious shit because of you, and you don’t even seem to care! What…what kind of fucking superhero are you supposed to be?”

At the same time, you don’t know why this surprises you. Most of the supes you’ve met couldn’t care less about the average person. The entire purpose of Vought’s Legal Department springs to mind.

Still, you thought America’s first supe ever—the one who supposedly fought in WWII, pounded Nazis up the ass, and represented the ideals this country was supposed to be founded on—might actually give a shit. Yet again, it stings to be proven wrong.

Ben’s face had been verging on apathy, but now, he’s just as irritated and angry as you. He pushes back from the table and stands up to his full height. Even wearing your ex’s plain gray crew shirt and some threadbare sweatpants, the man’s frame is intimidating. He slowly steps closer until he’s looming over you.

There’s a warning gleam in his eyes as he grabs hold of your chin. His entire hand frames your jaw with iron strength, forcing a gasp out of you. You latch onto his wrist instinctively, even knowing it’s useless.

“You better watch your fucking mouth, sweetheart. Before that little attitude of yours gets you into trouble,” he says. Calm, controlled, or so he'd have you believe. The a spark underneath, an edge. A fragile fucking ego.

Your breathing shallows, but you refuse to bend. Not in your own home.

“Do it,” you snap. “Bat me around if it makes you feel like a man.” 

Ben’s gaze hardens, a shade incredulous too.

“You’re a little fucking crazy, huh? Not to mention a disrespectful brat.”

“Maybe,” you say. You know you’re taking your life into your hands. Your heart thuds a staccato beat inside your chest, but you meet his gaze unflinchingly.

You’re exhausted, stressed so bad that your hands wouldn’t stop shaking this morning while you were brushing your teeth. Your mind’s been spinning fractals of “what if” scenarios, wondering when the door of your apartment is going to get blown apart, with either laser beams or bullets flying in first, no questions asked later.

You’re at your fucking limit.

And when you look at Ben, you see the second skin of arrogance pulled on like the costume he wore as Soldier Boy. The kind that probably hides what he’s really feeling underneath, not wanting to deal with the reality of whatever choices led him here.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a selfish asshole. A fucking bully,” you add.

His hold tightens a fraction; his fingers press into your cheek, making you flinch and tremble inside. It doesn’t stop you from opening your mouth again. It just hardens your defiance, your glare of disgust while you’re forced to look up at his face.

“So far, I don’t see anything about you that’s worth respecting,” you say. “But I’m nobody, right? Not even a supe. Why should you fucking care what I think? Why should you care how I feel, or how easy it would be to hurt me?”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, but the words carry the weight.

Darkened green eyes lock with yours, a silent battle of wills. You see the gears turning there, as if he’s weighing a decision in his mind.

Your cell phone rings. The sharpness, along with the insistent buzz, causes ripples through the Berlin Wall of tension. You glance over to where the phone lies on the dining table. The screen is lit up with the caller ID.

Dad calling…

You look up at Ben again. He watches you more impassively now.

You squeeze his wrist with both hands, hot tears finally welling up in your eyes. You’re not going to apologize or take back what you said, but you’re hoping there’s just one shred of humanity in him, however deep those layers go.

“Look, just...please,” you whisper. “Ben, please stop.”

The supe releases a heavy exhale through his nose.

His hand relaxes. He lets you go, like you’re not worth the effort of teaching you a lesson.

“Be careful, sweetheart. I might not let it go a second time,” he warns.

You stumble backward a couple of steps. You eye him while he walks away toward the living room. You make a cautious, sliding move to grab your phone with shaking hands.

You let out a subtle breath of relief before you answer the call, heading to your room all the while.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Oh, thank God. Gloria!” He calls to your mom in relief. “She’s okay! Christ, we saw what happened to Vought on the news. The explosion—”

“Yeah, they evacuated most of us in time,” you reassure him. Though you still hope he hasn’t seen the “hunt for Soldier Boy” yet. Nerves trill up your spine, making you toss in a joke to deflect. “I thought you didn’t like Vought News. Too biased.”

“Every channel in the world is showing that goddamn building on fire! I want you to come home. Now,” he says.

You heave a deep sigh and drop down into a seat on the edge of your bed. You touch your jaw, still feeling the phantom grip. It hadn’t been painful, exactly, but still tight enough to make you feel the asshole’s tempered strength.

“I…I can’t right now,” you reply. You mentally scramble for an explanation your dad will believe. He’s a stubborn, highly opinionated, very protective and traditional Dominican man. He’s never liked the idea of you, a young woman, being in New York by yourself, and this whole thing is exactly the kind of validation he’ll use to try and control your life…but that’s all beside the fact that you have much bigger problems right now.

“The whole Tower didn’t go down, which means my job is still here,” you say.

A heavy sigh of frustration reaches you on the line.

“Now you’re being stubborn just to be stubborn,” he says gruffly. “I’ll never understand why you had to go all the way to the most dangerous city in the country just to draw. Living in that piece of shit apartment you can barely breathe in.”

Your anger sparks. It’s a well-worn argument that you don’t feel like hashing out right now.

“Dad, I’m a graphic artist,” you remind him. “But I’m more than that now. I’m the Second Assistant Content Manager in Social Media.”

Part of you withers inside anyway.

Vince, your boss, has you on a five- to eight-year track for promotion to Senior Second Assistant Content Manager—which sounds even more pathetic in your head.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve been an ‘artist’ with no money here,” your dad insists, even as your mom reproaches him in the background.

You sigh. “Look, I’m fine. So you don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll check in soon.”

You hang up with him shortly after, feeling that familiar weight that tries to suffocate you after most conversations with your dad. You know he’s worried about you. That’s understandable. But why is nothing you do good enough? Why doesn’t he ever believe in you?

You toss your cell phone on the bed and rub at the ache beginning to pulse at your temples.

You don’t even know when you’ll be able to go back to work. You have a fugitive cooling off his little temper tantrum on your couch, and no idea what how you’re going to get through the next 24 hours in one piece.

You let out a long, slow breath. Okay.

When these narrow walls feel like they’re about to swallow you whole, one of your go-to cures is the record player sitting on the right-hand corner of your desk. It barely fits between your bed and the closet, but it’s the best you can make of a little home art studio.

You grab a record from your modest collection, Selena’s Dreaming of You album from 1995, and you get it going. Your favorite song is the very first one, “I Could Fall in Love.”

It's whimsical and romantic, a little bittersweet and angsty, but still beautiful, just like Selena’s voice. It washes over you as you lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling.

What the hell are you going to do? If you call the police, you’ll be dead before they even reach your door…

You could text one of your coworkers, your ex, or maybe your boss. They could get a message to Ashley Barrett, or even Homelander himself.

Though you have a sick feeling you know how that would go.

“How long have you been hiding Soldier Boy? You helped him escape, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but no! He forced me—”

Hot laser beams and blood and your body hitting the ground, with steam coming off your corpse.

“Fuuuuck,” you groan, covering your face with both hands. You take in a shuddering breath, but you can’t control the flood of tears that burn in your eyes, or the way your body shakes with quiet sobs. 

You don’t realize that a broad, shadowed frame lingers behind your door. He leans his shoulder on the wall while he sips a beer.

After a beat, he shakes his head and continues on to the bathroom to take a leak.

Eventually, you have to escape your room for something to eat. You cook something simple for dinner: sautéed chicken and onions, rice, and a can of black beans. Your mom would smack your ass with a wooden spoon if she knew you ate canned beans, but sometimes you just don’t have time to prep your pressure cooker and make them from scratch.

Your “guest” eats two whole piled-on servings, as if he hadn't polished off the rest of the empanadas from this morning. You watch from your seat across from him at the dining table, bemused, resting your cheek in your hand.

Part of you feels a little flattered that he seems to like your food. Your ex-boyfriend had been a white boy too, but while he was always polite about eating whatever you cooked for him, you could tell that he hadn’t really enjoyed the “kick” of the flavors. (Even though you promised you hadn’t added any spicy peppers, apparently he considered black pepper and paprika to be “spicy.”)

“Had a feeling you could cook,” Ben says, around a half-masticated mouthful of chicken and rice. 

“Mhmm,” you intone. “Again, when are you checking out of my little Airbnb?”

“I fucking told you. When I’m good and ready,” he says. He eyes you in annoyance, and even gets fed up enough to drop his fork-wielding hand to clatter against his plate. “You know what, I fucking fought for my country. I fought for this fucking dumpster fire, and what did I get for it?” 

You pause, your eyes widening when you look up from your meal. You finally see that he’s not as stoic and nonchalant about being in his situation as you thought. There’s a deep well of anger there behind his eyes. Anger and frustration, maybe even confusion.

“You know what, that’s it,” he snaps. “Consider me fucking done. Retired. Everybody else did.”

He goes back to shoveling food into his mouth. You tilt your head at him with a reluctant spark of sympathy. You realize that you don’t know much about him.

You know what he’s famous for. You saw the Vought-produced documentary about his life—his humble beginnings in a rags-to-heroism story, then his apparent “death” in 1984. But that was back when Vought had the world convinced that supes were born, not made.

Oh yeah, the truth of Compound V hitting the news had shocked you last year, so much that you wondered what else Stan Edgar and the rest of the board was lying about. You started sending your applications to other companies, trying to get yourself out of the cesspool, but that’s when your boss distracted you with a promotion, a new title, more money to keep you on board.

“You’re vital to the department. You can help us remind the world what Vought really stands for: equality, diversity, the American dream, and the way our hardworking heroes protect that dream every day.”

Not that you buy into that bullshit manifesto anymore, but it was hard to walk away from a ten-thousand-dollar raise. (One that only got you out of relying on your credit cards, and not much else.)

Now you realize they were buying your silence as well as their damage control. Nothing is more influential for modern PR than social media, and if you're good at something, you think it's your fucking job.

Come to think of it, the company must be really shaken up your boss hasn't reached out to have you put anything out for damage control. From what you saw on the news, half of Vought Tower is in a shambles.

Only the first few floors are safely operable, according to the email updates you keep getting on your phone, assuring you that everything's under control. You hold in a snort. Maybe Ashley's having Vince do all the PR shit himself, keeping a tighter leash on things until you all go back in to work.

You tap a nail on the rim of your beer as you watch Ben practically inhale another slice of bread drizzled in olive oil and crushed garlic.   

Considering the fact that this man is very much not dead, and he’s nowhere near as charming and chivalrous as his movies led you to believe, you also think it’s fair to assume that all the stuff you’ve ever read or watched about him is bullshit too.

Though if you’re ever going to get out of this situation, you’re going to have to at least try to understand him.

Consider me fucking retired. Everybody else did.

The words were bitter, angry, resentful…and lost? You still remember the way he looked last night on your couch, exhausted, like a weight on his broad shoulders was finally making him crack, and sink into the ground.

“Everyone thought you were dead,” you say, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Forty years, I mean…what happened to you? Where were you all that time?”

Ben glances at you, but doesn’t offer a reply. Instead, he continues to brood as he eats, with dark furrowed brows shadowing his eyes, shuttering his thoughts away tightly. You have a feeling that wherever he’d been, whatever he’d been doing up until now…it wasn’t good.

For the moment, you let go of your own frustrations with a sigh. 

“Look, I get that you’re in deep shit right now, but you know you can’t hide here forever,” you try to reason with him more calmly. “We’re in the middle of the city. They’re gonna find you, and then what’re they going to do to me for helping you?” 

Anxiety and fear climb up in your chest again, high enough to choke you. Tears well up in your eyes, though you try to beat it all down. The last thing you want to do is let him see you break.

“Do you really not even care?” you ask. 

Ben finally gives you a long look.

His gaze roams your face, and for once, you can hope that he’s considering how his actions are affecting you.

“Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,” he says. He picks up his fork again and scoops another bite of rice and beans. “Whatever might come, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

You bite the inside of your lip, breathing in deep to reign in your tears. Somehow, you don’t believe him.

On the fourth day, you finally concede that Ben needs more clothes. He’s already stopped wearing underwear, since he claimed the borrowed boxer briefs from your ex was cutting off the circulation to his dick. 

Not wanting to hear his vulgar mouth anymore—or catch sight of him free-balling his sweatpants—you agreed to buy him a couple of things. He’s made you a list.

A fucking list.

You scoff at the brand names he got weirdly specific on. Tom Ford. Hugo Boss. The fuck? What does he think, you’ve got a side hustle selling crack? Do you have a mini money mint in your tiny closet? Have you got dollar bills growing out of your ass? 

He’ll have to be content with whatever you can find in his “super soldier” sizes at Target. You even pay extra for same-day delivery.

He allows you to leave the apartment just to go downstairs to accept the delivery. The building doesn’t have an elevator, so you have to lug several Target bags back up to the third floor. You struggle getting back in, having to basically throw yourself against the shitty door to get it to budge.

You make it through the threshold, just to find Ben snooping through your stuff. Every drawer and shelf in the living room is pulled open and messily rifled through inside. 

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask incredulously. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve got a gallon jug of tequila behind your TV, but you don’t have one ounce of reefer?” Ben remarks. 

You give him a weirded out look. First of all, no one says "reefer" anymore.

“I’m not a fucking pothead!” you actually say. You're already irritated and on edge as you set down the bags on the couch. 

“Bullshit. You’re some kind of artist, aren’t you? You creative types always know how to let loose.” He attempts some flattery as he smirks over at you. “Looks like you’re not such a prude after all. Huh, Chiquita?”

You open your mouth to reply, but you notice then that he has an old picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, in a…compromising position. 

Your eyes widen. “What—give me that!”

You snatch the picture out of his hand, along with the whole black velvet box of random stuff under Ben’s arm. You haven’t opened that box in a few months, but even though you’re over your ex, you’re a sentimental person at heart.

You glance down at the old-school polaroid, your cheeks warming in a blush. It was last year’s Halloween party at his apartment, and you two had gone dressed as Woody and Jessie from Toy Story. For shits and giggles, you bought a miniature version of Woody’s hat and…well, you laughed harder than him when you found out it was a perfect fit for “Little Woody.” You even got him to let you draw a face on the head of his cock. What you were too drunk to realize at the time was that you accidentally used a permanent marker.

“What’s cowboy’s name?” Ben asks. His sinful smirk makes your blush flare hotter.

“August,” you reply, stuffing the picture back in the box and shutting it tightly.

Ben chortles, his brows raising as high as his hairline. “August? Jesus Christ. I’ll bet he liked it up the ass too, didn’t he? Am I gonna find a strap-on in that little treasure trunk?”

Your glare snaps up to meet his amusement.

“All right, enough. It’s none of your goddamn business.” You gesture wildly at the Target bags on the couch. “There, I got you some clothes. See if they fit.”

You turn with the box firmly in hand, aiming to hide it better in your room. You’ve been subjected to his presence all of five minutes today, and already you need a break from him. Ben says something that makes you pause, however.

“Thanks,” he says.

It’s so unexpected that you stop, turning to look back at him over your shoulder. Your mouth parts in surprise, but he’s already focused on rifling through the bags. He examines the pack of five boxer-briefs you got him, nodding at the size and the stretchiness of the waistband.

Smiling slightly, you continue heading to your room. After choosing a better hiding place for your keepsake box (in your nightstand, under your silk bonnet), you decide you need to decompress. You settle at your desk to draw, grabbing one of your large, half-used sketchpads.

Meanwhile, Ben has helped himself to your fridge and made himself a sandwich.

He’s bored out of his fucking mind.

He’s tired of the unfunny bullshit sitcoms on TV, and watching the news just keeps making him angry, because usually it’s about him, and the lies Vought keeps spinning about him. Ben’s also tired of seeing that sniveling, blonde fucking science experiment—and his brat son—on commercials and guest spots on late night shows.

So Ben shuts off the TV and wanders into the only other room in this place. Your room. The door is cracked open, allowing him to peer in and spy on what you’re working on. You glance over at him, your gaze catching on one of the new shirts you bought him. It may not be Tom Ford, but it’s comfortable, he supposes.

“She’s hot,” he says, nodding at the Dreaming of You vinyl record album you have propped up on your desk. A young woman’s face is framed in a red, smokey border. It seems to be your reference while your pencil moves across the blank page in precise, sweeping lines. The girl on the album has delicate features, a natural pout to her lips, an olive complexion, and rich brown hair. 

“Selena Quintanilla. She was beautiful,” you agree. “Her story was so tragic though.”

“What, she died?” Ben asks. 

You nod in confirmation, sadly. “Shot by one of her obsessed fans. It came out that the woman embezzled like, 60 grand from Selena while being the president of her fan club. Selena was going to fire her, and the bitch just couldn’t handle it.”

Ben hums in acknowledgement. She must not have been a supe. 

“I guess you never had that kind of problem,” you say.

“A crazy fucking fan? No,” he scoffed. Vindictive ex-girlfriend and a bunch of cocksucking, yellow-bellied shit stains for “teammates,” maybe. He shakes his head and watches your deft hand draw the delicate lines of the girl’s mouth. It reminds him of your pretty lips. Right now, you have the lower one pulled between your teeth in concentration. A strand of hair falls into your line of vision, brushing the page. His hand itches to tug it back behind your ear.

“You’re, uh…you’re not bad though,” Ben says, nodding at the sketch.

You give him a brief smile. It’s the first time he’s seen a glimpse of it.

“Thanks,” you say.

Ben takes a seat on the edge of your bed, not even noticing that he’s getting sandwich crumbs on the royal blue duvet. 

“That's not what you do for Vought, is it?” he asks.

You snort. “Sort of. I used to be just a graphic designer for Social Media. I started dabbling in content, giving them ideas for what to write to go with it. But after the whole Stormfront fiasco, I got a promotion."

You shake your head. "Now I wonder if the only reason they gave it to me was because I looked the part for their DEI phase. AKA: Homelander fucking a literal Nazi. Oh, yeah. He had to do a whole apology tour of damage control press for a whole damn year."

Ben frowns at that. Nazis? Fucking Nazis are back? Who the fuck is Stormfront?

"I help maintain the social media accounts of every member of the Seven," you explain. "I create the graphics, edit images, write bullshit captions like ‘That’s lit,’ when Starlight punches out the bank robber they literally placed in front of her face. I spin their messes and moderate whatever fuckery they might spew out while they're drunk, or high, or just plain fucking stupid, so they don't fucking cancel themselves..."

You sigh. "Basically, I help cultivate the messaging that Vought uses to convince the public that you guys actually care about them.”

You look up and meet Ben’s gaze. He could get annoyed with your accusation, but he can’t even muster up the energy to give a shit. Even if it proves you right.

“Marketing sells,” you say ruefully. “Reality doesn’t.”

You gesture at the small door next to your bed. “I’ve got a closet full of paintings that never sold on Etsy. I also have fifty grand in student loans from NYU, and a damn-near useless double major in Art and Communications. That’s right, fucking useless. Because all I’ve learned to do with my ‘art’ is sell people bullshit… So maybe my dad is fucking right.”

Ben remembers that conversation you had with your dad; he’d been pretending to watch TV, but his sharp ear caught every word. He heard an all-too familiar message.

A fucking disappointment.

“Daddy issues, huh?” Ben says. He feigns nonchalance while swallowing down the rest of his sandwich. “Why am I not fucking surprised?”

You shoot him an annoyed look, especially when you catch him brushing crumbs off his chest.

“Hey, would you stop eating on my bed?!”

For once, Ben actually gets you talking. You’re not so tense anymore, relaxing when he gives you your space in the room. 

An hour later, and he still hasn’t left your bed for any good reason. Your weird, one-sided heart-to-heart drawing session has turned into showing him your modest vinyl collection. He gets you to put on some Frank Sinatra while he pulls out the last two beers from your fridge.

“I have to go back to work soon, you know that, right?” you say. “I just got an email this morning. Apparently Homelander himself has requested all employees return to work tomorrow.”

You cover your face with both hands and heave a sigh. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to quit for months, but this is the best money I’ve been able to make since I got out of college.”

“Yeah, well, fuck ‘em,” Ben says. “Bunch of corporate fucking idiots.”

You glance up at him with a surprised blink, but his gaze moves beyond you. 

“You didn’t like working for Vought?” you ask. 

“They’re the fucking reason I got shipped to the Russians in the first place,” he says. His expression holds a darker edge.

Your eyes widen. “The Russians? Wait, what?”

Ben hesitates. He realizes that you might work at Vought, but there’s a lot you don’t know. It just reminds him of everything that company’s done to bury him, like he’s become their dirty little secret.

So he tells you. The real fucking story. The full story.

Well…all right, maybe not the full story. His instinct is to emphasize how Crimson Countess, Black Noir, and the rest of his team betrayed him, just to get him out of their lives. (Maybe he glosses over the reasons why.)

He explains how Stan Edgar conspired with them to replace him with Homelander, a shiny new toy that they could control, literally from conception.

“You seriously didn’t ask them what they were collecting your sperm for?” you ask incredulously.

“Hey, it was the ‘80s,” Ben says, crossing his arms in defense. “It was a different time. Back then, there was always weird shit going on.”

And maybe you were too high to care, let alone pay all that much attention. The thought coils through his mind. He stamps it down with a shake of his head.

“Whatever. It fucking happened,” he says with a growl. The longer he allows himself to think about it, the more the words spill out of him, even if his instinct is to shove it all back down. It’s a bit easier with you somehow, a normal nobody girl, who can’t really use this against him. All it might do is change the way you look at him. Maybe as less of a monster.

“So far, I don’t see anything about you that’s worth respecting,” you said. “But I’m nobody, right? Not even a supe. Why should you fucking care what I think? Why should you care how I feel, or how easy it would be to hurt me?”

What you said to him a few days ago—those words might’ve sunk into him deeper than he’d like to admit.

“Those fucking Commies had me down there so long, I forgot what a normal day felt like,” he says. “I lost track of hours, minutes, days…and in all that time, no one ever fucking even looked for me.”

It feels like a confession, the first real thing he’s told you.

And it works.

You finally begin to look at him with some sympathy. Seeing it in your eyes hits him with some satisfaction. Maybe if he keeps softening you up, you’ll treat him with that pretty mouth of yours.

“Wow, I’m…I’m sorry,” you say at last.

He pauses. You seem genuine. Even though it’s what he wanted, your pity still grates on his pride.

“What about your family?” you ask. “Do you have anyone you want to call? Anyone you—”

“No,” he says, glancing away. He rolls his shoulders, as if shrugging off your words. “I’ve been around a while, sweetheart. Anyone worth knowing is long dead.”

“Well…shit,” you say. He can tell you don’t want to say sorry again, but it’s bubbling up in your eyes. For all that fire you’ve got inside you, you’re soft too. Fragile.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Sinatra croons his final note, but the record keeps spinning until you get up to turn it off. A strange kind of silence reigns. He can still hear the rumble of your water heater, an argument downstairs between an old man and the young couple whose bedroom door faces his front door, distant traffic, and police sirens blocks away. If he allows himself to, he can hear it all. It’s too fucking much sometimes.

“All right,” he says after a while, sick of it all. “I’ve got an idea.”

He leaves your room, and you’re curious enough to follow him out. He opens one of your top cabinets in the kitchen and grabs the gallon of tequila he found this morning while you were sleeping. He rests it on the kitchen counter, shooting you a wink and a smile.

“Oh, no. Keep out of my booze,” you warn him.

“Look, we both need to relax,��� he argues. Already he’s grabbing a couple of glasses from the cabinet and giving each a generous pour of lukewarm Patrón.

You grimace. You give him a narrowed, annoyed look. It reminds him that he’s the one who keeps setting you on edge.

Still, you sigh. “Wait. I’ve got limes in the fridge.”

A few hours later, you’re getting drunk with this man and eating Chinese food on your couch. You dig out a collection of DVDs from the coffee table functioning as the TV stand, and you pick out at least twenty movies you claim he needs to catch up on—like The Matrix and Gladiator, Iron Man, and The Princess Bride. 

That last one takes a fair bit of your doe-eyed pouting and pleading for him to agree to. Surprisingly, he’s starting to soften up to you the “nicer” you are to him. It did help that you lowered the neckline of your pajama top a little, using a bit of cleavage to close the deal.

By the time the credits roll on The Princess Bride, you’re sighing and happy at the most romantic ending to ever be put on screen. Ben is leaned back deep in the couch with his arms crossed, looking all grumbly and taciturn, like you forced him to put on a dress or something.

“Oh, come on. You liked it,” you tease, bumping his arm. Ben eyes you in begrudging amusement.

“At least he’s a fucking man.” He gestures Westley, the farm boy turned pirate. “Though he did take that bitch back, even after she was gonna marry Humpertwat.”

You can’t help but snort loudly at his embellishment. It’s probably all the tequila that makes you laugh instead of wanting to smack him, but the more you replay it in your mind, the better it is to you. You end up folding over with a wheeze, tears of laughter forming in your eyes. You wipe them away, one after the other.

Ben stares at you in bewilderment. But after a while, his lips twitch upward. Your laugh is infectious. It’s also the first time he’s gotten to hear it.

“Aw, don’t rag on my girl Buttercup,” you say, still giggling as you prop yourself upright on the back of the couch. “God, I don’t think I’ve seen this movie since August…”

You cut yourself off, your mirth fading a bit. This used to be one of your favorite movies to watch together with your ex-boyfriend. He knew all the words too, so it would usually end up being a commentary of quoting every single line rather than actually watching the movie.

“What, the pussy liked this movie too?” Ben snorts. “Not surprising.”

“Hey, stop it. He wasn’t a pussy!” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Then why’d you break up with him?” Ben asks, with an irritating smile.

Your brows furrow. “Why do you think I broke up with him?”

He’s assumed right, but you still want to know why.

“Because unless he’s fucking touched in the head, he’s not letting go of a hot tamale like you,” he replies. His smirk evens out into something more suave. Or at least, he attempts it.

Again, you inwardly twitch in annoyance at hot tamale, but you won’t admit that his ridiculous version of flirting is kind of starting to work on you. His green eyes roaming your face and cleavage leaves little of his thoughts to the imagination. You clear your throat, fighting a blush.

“Look, August is…a nice guy. A decent guy. We’re still friends,” you say. He works at Vought too, in the Social Media department. He even texted you to make sure you were okay after Vought almost crumbled.

Though if he really cared, he would’ve fucking called. Or came to see me, you think wryly. It’s better that he hadn’t shown up to your place though. It would’ve been impossible to hide Ben, and you don’t want to know what the supe would’ve done to him to keep him quiet.

“But?” Ben says knowingly.

You sigh, tossing your hands up before you turn toward him on the couch. Your knees are bent underneath you. You’re a little too drunk to realize your knee is touching his thigh. You only somewhat notice that he shifts toward you too, with his arm draped across the back of the couch. His hand is close enough to touch your shoulder if he wanted to.

“It was always…nice,” you admit, gesturing vaguely with your hands. You tend to do that a lot. It’s one of the few Latina stereotypes you know you fit under. “But there’s was no real spark, no…”

Ben leans in, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. 

“Passion?” he supplies. He raises his brows as eyes capture yours. “I get the feeling he didn’t do jack shit for you, Chiquita.”

And just like that, any kind of blushing arousal dies—swiftly falling into annoyance. You don’t like nicknames that remind you of bananas, melons, or any other tropical fruit.

There were kids in middle school who used to tease you, asking you if your parents worked in a mango factory. (Ignoring the obvious that you don't get mangos from factories. Dumb fucks.)

Your parents were just wealthy enough to put you in private school with a bunch of trust fund babies, and maybe a handful of foreign exchange students. Even though there were at least four other Latinos in the class, you were the only one with darker skin. You were the only one who had to take an aptitude test to get into the school—the only one who was there on a scholarship, not your parents’ connections and yearly donations to the school.

Being black and brown might be cool in social media nowadays, but not so much back when you were in school, where diversity was just an administrative quota to be filled. Not so much where you lived, where the rich snowbirds went on vacation, and looked at people like you like exotic fruit.

Ben senses your shift. His smile loses its flirtatious edge as it fades.

“Look,” you say sharply. “You think you’re being charming with that Chiquita thing or whatever, but I don’t appreciate—”

“Maria Felix,” he cuts in. 

“What?”

Ben cards a hand through his hair, sweeping it back. You’ve noticed the way it gets in his eyes sometimes, falling across his brow.

“Maria Felix. She was an actress in the ‘40s,” he says, his eyes turning slightly wistful at the memory. He even chuckles. “One of the hottest Latin women I ever met, with more ass than the Chiquita banana lady. That was my little nickname for her.” 

Your annoyance melts into a blinking deadpan. This man did not just—

“And Christ, she had a voice on her. Like butter and molasses.” He adopts an even more nostalgic smile, “Matter of fact, what she could do with that mouth. Could suck the nails right out of a board, if you know what I mean. A real fucking talent.”

“All right, all right! Enough,” you hold up a hand with a grimace…and yet, you’re curious. 

You grab your phone from the coffee table to look her up, and sure enough, María Félix actually was a Mexican starlet. In fact, she was one of the most successful actresses in Latin American movies in the 1940s and ‘50s. You realize then that this man truly is a walking time capsule. 

“What was she like?” you ask curiously. But again, you raise a hand. “Without the Pornhub sweaty bits.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but he does tell you how he met María at an awards show in 1947.

“She was beautiful, elegant, with those soulful brown eyes,” he reminisces. His lips slip into a smile. “Until she got a couple of tequilas in her. Then she had a way with her hands that wasn’t so fucking ladylike—”

“All right. Pause,” you say, holding up a finger. A blush warms your cheeks. “Again, I don’t need the gushy details.”

He just smirks. “All right, fine. So what is it you do want to know?”

You sigh, but your curiosity does get the better of you. You want to know more about the people’s he’s met, the places he’s been, and you can’t help the way he’s hooked you, giving you a window into who he is. You know it can’t be everything though. He’s giving you the sepia tones, the highlights of his glory days.

You know there has to be a reason his whole team turned on him, and why every single member of Payback has been pronounced dead in the news over the past week. You know that this man is possibly the most dangerous supe in the world…

Well, second-most dangerous.

He’s threatened you, forced his way into your life, been the most obnoxious flirt imaginable, and has serious boundary issues…but he hasn’t hurt you. He’s never forced himself on you either, despite having the strength and every opportunity to do it.

So you listen.

He tells you about being friends with Frank Sinatra and partying with the rest of the Brat Pack. He makes you laugh with his stories about getting fucked up during the Woodstock years, his first experience with psychedelics at a Beatles concert, and how he used to have a guitar signed by John Lennon, even though he never learned to play it. 

“Crimson Countess used to complain about all the fucking ‘clutter’ in my apartment,” Ben huffs. “Look, if you can’t appreciate a bona fide John Hancock from a Beatle, there’s something fucking wrong with you.”

You actually agree. You know it’s the sentimental artist in you, but collecting things that mean something to you is awesome. You’d just about die if you even got to touch a guitar that John Lennon had played, let alone signed.

“How long were you with Crimson Countess?” you ask.

Ben’s mood begins to sour at the question. He takes another heavy swig from the whiskey he found in your kitchen. “Too fucking long.”

You watch him in curiosity, waiting to see if he’ll keep talking. After a while, he does.

“She fucking betrayed me,” he says.

You’d more than learned that earlier, back when he told you his team had sold him out to the Russians. Just like it isn't a stretch to think he killed her, along with the rest of his team. Despite how uneasy the thought makes you, even churning your stomach, you could understand why he did it. Forty fucking years...

Still, you’re a bit confused.

“Why though? All the movies you guys did together, all the interviews, and everything I ever read about you two, you seemed to be ride or die for each other,” you say.

Ben gives you a wry look. “Don’t believe everything you fucking see on TV.”

Your lips twitch humorlessly. You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t seem to want to dig deeper into that one. You can’t really blame him.

“Well, um…as lame as it sounds, I’m sorry,” you offer.

“Like I said, you don’t have to feel fucking sorry for me,” he says. His voice is sharper, deeper. He begins to turn away from you, getting up from the couch. You surprise yourself by following his lead, reaching out to gently grasp his arm.

“Come on. Don’t take it that way—”

You get up too fast in your tequila-ridden state, making your brain feel like slush moving from one side of your head to the other. “Whoa, shit…”

With a grunt, Ben grabs you steady by your waist. He pulls you into him so you won’t fall sideways onto the empty glasses on the floor. You gasp and latch onto his arms on instinct. There you feel every firm ridge of flexing muscle under your palms and fingers. You feel the strength of his hands molding to the curve of your waist, the heat of his skin.

You tip your face up slowly, and your heavy breaths mingle with his as he looks down at you. A second more, and you think he might start bowing his head to meet you.

But just because you have sympathy for him, doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten why he’s here. You haven’t forgotten that he’s using you.

You clear your throat and drop your hands, stepping away from him. You’re a little surprised that he actually lets you put some space between you.

You take it for the opportunity it is.

“Uh, goodnight,” you offer. 

He stops you from leaving for a moment, closing his hand over yours. He smirks down at you and presses a kiss to the back of your hand, no doubt listening in while your heart taps syncopated beats.

“G’night, Chiquita.”

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 Okay, a lot of back and forth in this chapter. A lot of Ben being a dick, of course, but how'd you like their little bonding sessions? In the next chapter, Homelander finally shows his assface...

Next Time:

“Since the incident at the Tower a few days ago, have you caught any sight of Soldier Boy? Have you heard anything about his whereabouts? Anything at all?” he asks. His blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes your throat close up.

Sweat has already started to trickle down the small of your back and on your clammy palms, which lay flat at your sides.

“No,” you reply, in a miraculously steady voice.

He raises a blonde, solitary brow. His lips twitch. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nod. Your instinct is to keep your answers simple, uncomplicated.

“Then why is your heartbeat picking up faster?” he taunts, with a calculated wave of his gloved finger. “Just…ticking away, like a little drum.”

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[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

🦋 „Mental Training“

(Yandere Zoro x Reader)

A/N: after seeing the trailer for the live action season2 I’m just into writing for One Piece.

The island was peaceful. Verdant trees swayed in the breeze. A little town lay nestled between rolling hills, its cobblestone paths winding like they didn’t want to be found.

“Sweetpea shouldn’t go alone,” Nami had said.

“She’ll wander into the wrong crowd,” Sanji had agreed, eyes narrowed.

“I’ll go with her,” Zoro had muttered, already stepping off the Sunny with a yawn. “She’s not that hard to keep an eye on.”

The crew had blinked.

“You?” Usopp had asked, voice full of sin. “You?!”

“She’s safer with me than anyone.”

That had ended the argument.

Now, a few hours later, Zoro had one hand on the hilt of his katana and a vague, sinking feeling in his chest.

Sweetpea was up ahead, twirling gently in a patch of wildflowers beside the road.

They had… absolutely no idea where they were.

Zoro squinted at the sun, which had shifted noticeably toward the horizon. “Oi. It’s getting late.”

Sweetpea turned back with a soft smile. “The clouds look like cake.”

“That’s not what I said.”

She skipped back toward him, reaching up to brush pollen off his sleeve. “We’re not far from the town, right?”

Zoro opened his mouth. Closed it.

He had been following her.

She had been following a butterfly.

The butterfly had absolutely no sense of direction.

“…We’re fine.”

Sweetpea tilted her head. “So you know the way back?”

Zoro hesitated for exactly one second too long.

Her smile widened, innocent, but her tone betrayed mischief. “We’re lost, aren’t we.”

“We’re not lost.”

“You don’t know where we are.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I’m following you!”

She blinked. “I was following a butterfly.”

He stared.

She smiled again, sheepishly. “It was really pretty.”

Zoro exhaled through his nose and looked away. He couldn’t complain or scold her, since he wasn’t better himself. And her expression was too adorable to be mad. Instead he just refused to accept their mistake.

„We’re not lost. We’re mentally training.”

Sweetpea giggled.

⸻

By the time the sun dipped low, Sweetpea was sitting cross-legged on a mossy rock, watching the sky turn pink.

“I think wolves come out at this time,” she said softly.

Zoro unsheathed Wado slightly, eyes flicking toward the treeline. “Let them.”

She tilted her head. “That doesn’t scare you?”

“Nothing scares me.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “What about me getting hurt?”

His jaw clenched. Just slightly.

“…You’re not getting hurt.”

She smiled.

Then: “What if I trip?”

“I’ll catch you.”

“What if I fall asleep and roll into a ravine?”

“I’ll carry you.”

She blinked, paused, then mumbled, “Okay.”

She did fall asleep.

Curled up like a cat, arms tucked to her chest, head against his thigh.

Zoro sat perfectly still.

The sky darkened fully.

And then—

“Oi! Zoro!”

Flashlights. Voices. Sanji’s rage echoing through the trees.

Zoro didn’t flinch as half the crew emerged from the bushes.

Sanji looked ready to murder. “Where the hell have you been?!”

“She’s asleep,” Zoro said evenly, standing with Sweetpea in his arms.

“You said you’d keep an eye on her,” Nami hissed. “She didn’t eat for six hours—”

“I fed her berries.”

“BERRIES AREN’T FOOD!”

Zoro turned away from them, carefully shielding Sweetpea’s sleeping form with his shoulder. “We weren’t lost.”

“Then where the hell were you?!”

He raised a brow, deadpan.

“We were mentally training.”

Later, back on the Sunny—

“Next time,” Robin said in a hard tone, sipping tea, “Sweetpea goes with someone with a working compass.”

“Or a brain,” Franky added.

“Or two brain cells between them,” Nami muttered.

Sweetpea, now curled on a pillow and half-awake, lifted her head.

“…But it was fun.”

Zoro said nothing.

But as he settled into the hammock near her, eyes closed, sword at his side—

His hand shifted slightly.

Just enough so that the back of her fingers brushed his.

He didn’t pull away.

[hpdfag]

i need to ramble hold on. spawns in a cut so that people dont get blasted by unfiltered posting on their dash. i feel the need to disclaim that im only like 50% lucid right now so this might be disorganized or complete word salad i can't really tell right now

i love him so much it feels like it's consuming me from the inside out. i don't want to do anything that isn't for him. the only reason i haven't quit my job is because i want to make him proud of me. even playing games makes me guilty, because i know it's not with him. i married harvey in stardew. i ate the stardrop for getting 12 hearts as i kissed him. the taste reminded me of hinata. it's a strange irony.

this false body feels like it's trapping me, keeping me from achieving my true metamorphosis. there are streetlights glimmering in the distance. as i try to move towards them they always fade away. the morning will come in 7 hours and 43 minutes and the sun will rise and it won't blind me awake. i'm not reverent enough.

i should pray. not to jesus, not to any other false prophet. i should pray to Him. maybe that will bring me salvation? maybe that will free me from this hell? maybe it happened because i was unworthy of being one of his trusted apostles. if i was as holy as he was it would have been different, i would still have been beneath him but i would have served my divine purpose as his servant.

but that's not important. i dont think. im jor sure. i hate it. i hate Him. i feel like i should Worship him. there's a certain something i still havent fixed a glitch in my code i need ocean breeze summer sun beach sand shining brilliance he's perfect i need him i need warm sun and dry land i need to be with him on the floor i need to hold him i need need need need need need need.

more than air more than food more than clean clothes more than water more than anything else more than i need this terrible mortal life i need to become worthy for him of his love of his care of his touch i wont deny that i selfishly want him to hold me and touch me even though im unworthy even though im no more than dirt beneath him i desire him so deeply

[rowanhoney]

Ok I also explored where my bisa and my tío and my cousins lived. I’ve never looked at a map or had their addresses but I do have a good sense of direction and a freaky memory for layouts and I think I found everyone’s homes and you can bet I’ve been absolutely weeping about every single one

[hazellight11]

Yknow what sometimes it's okay to break down crying on the side of the road in the middle of a biking class. Good, even! I get a whole extra free afternoon each week and only lose half a PE credit once I drop the class!

[sanriovin]

car sex with simon is a whole other experience you weren't prepared for, however, you couldn't complain. it was absolutely insane.

coming back from a night out with the lads, one to which he took his pretty little birdie with him, everything seemed fine. you were a little tipsy, and simon drank just enough beer to be under the legal limit to be able to drive. all in all, simon was able to hold his alcohol well, even with larger quantities; something he developed from the military.

one hand on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him, while the other rested carefully on top of the short skirt of your dress, which was currently pushed up, your cute little lace panties on display for simon's wandering hands.

you were just babbling and going on and on in your cute little giggly voice about something johnny said, or maybe something kyle did, or maybe even a compliment john gave you. whatever it was, you were unfocused and oblivious as to what simon was doing.

that was only until you felt him run one of his thick, gloved fingers down the crotch of your thin panties, up and down, before rubbing a circle on your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp, and glance over at him with those pretty wide eyes of yours. "simon, what are you doing?"

to that, he could only let out a quiet rumble resembling a chuckle, not even looking over at you as he responded quietly. "shh, love, 'm trying to drive here."

he didn't stop his actions, no, instead, he decided to go one step further. he pressed his finger directly against your hole, pressing down through your panties to tease you. his impatient little birdie, he knows you too well.

you began squirming pathetically in your seat, grabbing his wrist tightly with your soft, delicate fingers, trying to bring his hand away. "simonn, stop! what if someone sees?" you whined out, pleading with him to stop. yes, you wanted this, but you couldn't risk getting caught!

but his hand wouldn't budge. at all. no matter how hard you pried at it.

"no one's gonna catch us at this hour, stupid littl' birdie." ghost replied with amusement, barely sparing you a glance, as his right hand effortlessly turned the steering wheel as he drove, his left hand now beginning to inch closer and closer to the edge detailing of your lacy panties, messing with the fabric.

suddenly, you felt his rough, gloved fingers push their way through the side of your panties, moving them to the side, as his fingers began to run up and down your drenched hole, leaving you wanting more, and desperately.

"stop teasing me, simon!" you whispered pitifully, trying eagerly to get him to bury his fingers deep inside you, and finger fuck you until you were a crying and sobbing mess, with the premium leather seat beneath you fully drenched with your mess.

slap!

"thought i told you better than to tell me wha' to do, didn't i?" he replied, sighing with faux disappointment, pulling his hand completely away. "now, you're gon' be a good girl and wait for me to finish driving, okay?"

a small cry of frustration and unhappiness left your lips, yet you decided to remain silent, turning your head away from simon, clenching your thighs together to try and get at least the teeniest tiniest amount of friction, waiting for the two of you to get home.

yet he wasn't going home.

oh no he wasn't.

you really expect him to be able to wait to get home when he has his pretty little thing begging for more, fully drenched, needing more? with his cock straining so painfully against his trousers, desperate to be set free and dealt with?

hell no.

he was completely focused on driving in the quiet, peaceful night, less and less people being seen on the paths as he suddenly drove down a solitary, stranded road, only a few lone street lamps seen for miles.

and then he parked. in a little space, hidden nicely by the tall trees rustling slightly with the warm summer night breeze.

it took him barely a second to get him and yourself unbuckled, moving you over to rest against the dashboard as he lifted your skirt up roughly, looking up at you.

"thought you could tease me and get away with it, huh, lovie? no, no, answer me now. don't get shy now, sweet'art."

he pushed your panties harshly to the side, not even bothering to take them off as he made quick work of unbuckling his leather belt, pulling down his trousers and boxers just enough so his fat cock could finally spring free from its restraints. simon sucked in a sharp breath, as his cock twitched, feeling the cool breeze flow around it.

"simon, 'm sorry for teasing, but please, put it-"

you couldn't even finish your pleas before he shoved his cock fully inside of you with one firm thrust, grunting and breathing heavily as his head rested near your shoulder, causing you to let out a loud squeal of surprise and pleasure, clenching down eagerly on his cock, leading to simon letting out a sound of surprise, tapping your hip gently.

"c'mon lovie, ease up a little, yeah? feels like your gonna snap my cock off with that grip of yours."

it took you a few moments to ease up, but as soon as you did, he was going right at it. pounding into you with such force it made the whole car shake, loud gasps and moans and cries of pleasure leaving your lips as you clawed at his shirt clad back, eyes rolling back far enough to reach your skull. your mind was going fuzzy, the coil in your tummy steadily fastening and tightening.

"simon, simon, feels sooo good, more, needta feel you more, pleasee!" you wailed out, holding him close to you, trying to feel him in you as deep as you possibly could.

in response, he thrust his hips forward harder, his pace relentless as he pounded into you quickly, raw need in his eyes as he kept his head near your shoulder. he was approaching his orgasm quickly, a little too quickly for his liking. he couldn't cum first, fuck no.

so what did he do?

he moved his thumb down to your clit, pressing down on it, eliciting a loud squeal of pleasure from you, eyes falling wide open, mouth agape even further, as he snapped his hips up again, his cock kissing your cervix nicely.

"s-simon, noo, no it's too much, stopp!" you moaned out, yet your body was saying a completely different thing. you wanted this, no, needed this, desperately, as he sped up his ministrations on your clit, to a point where it was becoming dangerously overstimulating for you, your orgasm threatening to wash over at any given moment.

and he wasn't in any better state, no no. his thrusts lost their accuracy, becoming messy and all over the place, as a guttural moan left his lips, finding its way into your ears, and that was all it took for you to have your orgasm rushing all over you, back arching as a loud cry of pleasure left your lips, your body jerking, pussy clenching desperately.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, g'nna cum inside, gonna make you a mama, yeah? gonna make you nice and round with my babies, uh huh, fuckkk."

and his thrusts stilled, cock deep inside you, as he pumped his load DEEP inside your wet, sticky pussy. simon never thought he would want kids, or even speak of them, especially during sex, but now, if it doesnt take, he'll just try again at home 😼

FINALLY got the motivation to finish this after like five months of being inactive so hell yeah

@ninjaturtletoes FINALLY AFTER EDGING YOU FOR SO LONG ABOUT THIS AHAHAHA

[classyrbf]

THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE WOODS! — GETO SUGURU

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE

SYNOPSIS...walking home from a halloween party, you decided to take a shortcut, but an eerie feelings creeps up your spine and it feels like eyes are watching your every move

INFO...stalker!geto x fem!reader, for the sake of the story everything is consensual, a fantasy between geto and reader, stalking, groping, fingering, ripping clothes, sex in the woods, choking, hair pulling, oral (m!receiving), deep throating, rough, name calling, degradation, slapping, spanking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

kinktober 2024 masterlist

The wind howled in your ears and the moon was illuminating your every step home. You were cold, the costume that you had on was no help, shivering as you hugged yourself tightly. It was a stupid idea to go to a Halloween party without thinking of how you were going to get back home. Everyone was either drunk driving, or their cars were already filled with other passengers, and to put the cherry on top…your phone had died so you couldn’t call anyone to pick you up. You mentally cursed at yourself for staying so late in the first place, it had to be at least three in the morning. Everyone else was asleep and done with their trick or treating activities, lights off at every house in your sight.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, stopping when you came to a fork in the road. You took the left path knowing that it was a shortcut to your house and you didn’t plan on walking any longer than you needed to in these godforsaken heels. The wind brushed against your exposed skin, goosebumps climbing their way up your body. The further you stepped into the forest, darkness began to surround you. The large, twisted branches allowing very few rays of moonlight to shine through. Tall trees hovered over you, casting shadows. You’d be lying if you said this shortcut wasn’t one hundred times creepier at night compared to day.

Leaves rustled in the wind, branched snapped under your feet and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder every five seconds to make sure no one was following you. It felt like eyes were watching your every movement, dark figures in the tree line stalking you like prey, waiting to pounce. “It’s all in your head,” you mumbled to yourself, walking faster. Though, your words were no help. Your eyes darted in every direction, barely paying attention to what was in front of you causing you to trip over a tree root sticking out. You fell to your knees, wincing in pain when you saw little blood droplet stain your stockings. “You gotta be kidding me,” you whined.

As you sat there on the floor trying to regain yourself, you heard a twig snap in the distance. With wide eyes, you got up as quickly as you could and looked around. “Hello?” You called out, your voice echoing through the forest. And just like that, you heard it again. Your feet moved before you could even think and you began to run as fast as you could in the shoes you were wearing. It would be better to take them off but you couldn’t stop now.

Your breathing quickened with each passing second and just a few feet behind you, you could hear footsteps. Fear struck your heart and you could only focus on the clearing up ahead. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if it was some animal, but you weren’t going to stop and check. Something didn’t feel right and that’s all you needed to know to get your ass out of here. The clearing was only so close now and your chest burned from the cold air that filled your lungs. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears and the pain from your busted knee dissipated from the adrenaline rushing through you.

The streetlights came into view and just before you could make it, you felt a hard tug on your dress, a rough hand pulling you back into the darkness and covering your mouth as you screamed into it, squirming around in his tight grip. Each kick and punch to his body didn’t do a thing and the clearing soon began to grow smaller. “Shh, shh, shh.” His breath tickled your ear. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. He pushed you up against a tree, slowly appearing in your view. You couldn’t quite make out his face, but his tall silhouette, muscular frame, and long dark hair was quite obvious. “Promise me you won’t scream? If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Your entire body was shaking, weak. You had no idea what was going to happen. You didn’t know if he had a weapon, but you didn’t want to find out the hard way. He slowly removed his from your mouth, and let out a chuckle with how hard you were breathing. “Please don’t hurt me,” you sniffled, tears pouring from your eyes. You felt your body was glued to the tree, any sudden movement would make you drop. “What do you want? I don’t have any money…here,” you handed him your phone, “take it, it’s all I have.” More tears streamed down your face.

He looked at your phone with disinterest before looking back up at you. “Don’t you recognize me?” He questioned. You meekly shook your head no. “I guess I did a good job then,” he laughed. “I thought you noticed me but I guess not.” He brushed his hand against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “I was watching you the whole night. Watching you get drunk, dance with your friends, kiss random strangers, and I kept thinking how pretty you were. Ever since you walked in that door.” He gripped your chin tightly, leaning in closely in the crook of your neck.

You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as he smelled you. “Please, let me go. I’ll do anything.” You weren’t sure if negotiating with him was going to work, but you were willing to do anything in order to just go home. But, he completely ignored you and continued rubbing up on you. His hands roamed freely, down your stomach and back, up to your tits where he gave them a squeeze. It wasn’t until he moved away from you that you saw some of his features. His chiseled face, and dark, narrow eyes, his slightly tan skin, and plump lips. His hair flowed with the wind, the leaves falling from above.

Within a split second, he pushed his lips onto yours, roughly kissing you, his tongue forcefully pushing inside your mouth. His hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the tree while his other hand reached under your dress to rub your cunt through your stocking and panties. You whimpered into the kiss, pulling away to catch your breath. “These are in the fucking way,” he grunted, ripping your tights with one hand. He pushed your panties to the side, smirking as he ran his finger up and down your slit. A small gasp left his lips when he could feel your juices coat his finger. “You’re wet. This turn you on? Being chased and caught in the woods so some stalker could fuck you?” His slipped his finger inside, watching the way your jaw fell open.

“You’re just as sick as I imagined,” he let out a deep chuckle, curling his finger inside of you before adding another. He still had you pinned against the tree with your legs spread, your dress bunched up at your waist while he thrusted his long, thick fingers inside of you. “You’re sucking my fingers right in.” A smirk formed at the corner of his lips, your pussy squelching the faster he went, your juices dripping down his fingers.

A small whine escaped your throat looking at the man in front of you. You weren’t sure whether to be scared or turned on. Maybe you were both. Was it wise to entertain this? That question ran through your head over and over. He leaned back towards your lips, hungry for another kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Without thinking, your arms wrapped around him as your legs grew weak, nearly falling from how good his fingers felt inside of you.

His dick strains against his slacks, damn near painful from how hard he was. “Get on the fucking floor.” He slips his fingers out from inside you, pushing you down to your knees and against the tree. You look up at him confused before he sticks his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself on your fingers. He’s quick to undo his belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widen as his dick springs out, swollen red tip, and pulsating veins on either side of his shaft. Precum drips from the tip and he smears it over his cock, slowly jerking himself off to the sight of you sucking his fingers.

“Stick out that tongue for me, baby. Open up.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, grabbing a fistful of your hair before he slaps his heavy dick on your tongue. “Good fucking girl,” he sighs. He rubs his dick all over your face, slapping you with in, pushing it between your lips. He grips your hair tighter, pushing your head down onto his cock. “Fuckkkk,” he moans as feels your warm tongue rub along his shaft and your throat squeeze around him. You immediately gag as he goes further, eyes watering before you gag again, your nose touching his pelvis. “Stay just like that, don’t you fucking move.” He holds your head down for a few seconds before he lets go, allowing you to breathe.

You gasp for air, letting out dry coughs as he laughs at you. Strings of spit connect from your mouth to his dick, dripping down to his balls. His hand grips your hair again and you let out a pained whimper. “First time taking dick down your throat, huh?” He mocks you, stilling laughing in your face. You stare up at him with tearful eyes, wiping your mouth of all the spit. But before you could blink, a sharp pain spreads across your cheek, your head jolting to the other side. Did he just slap you? “Did I say you could wipe your mouth? No, no I don’t think I did. I like it messy, so get used it.” With force, he shoves his dick back in your throat.

You throat closes in around him again, gagging. Tears stream down your face as he fucks your mouth. Glug glug glug glug. You place your hands on his thighs in attempt to get him to slow down but he just goes harder, the back of head pushed against the tree and trapped between his thighs. He pushes your nose against his pelvis once more, spit dripping down your chin and from his balls. “Ugh, fuck! This throat feels so good!” His abs tense up and your eyes roll into the back of your head before he removes himself from your throat.

You’re coughing again, chest heaving up and down while you sit there on your knees trying to catch your breath. “Please, I can’t, my throat hurts.” Your brows furrow.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Someone’s gotta teach you how to suck dick properly, baby. I don’t give a fuck if your throat hurts,” he harshly says. He slaps his dick against your face, smearing your spit all over. “Come on, impress me.” He stares down at you with those dark eyes. You’re quick to understand that he wants you to suck his dick yourself. “Remember, I like it messy.”

Both hands wrap around his cock, jerking him off as you move your wrist in a circular motion, taking the rest of him in your mouth. Your tongue swirling around his head, gathering as much spit as you could. You look up at him, taking him slightly further down your throat before coming back up. “That’s it, keep those eyes on me. Don’t you dare fucking look away.” He grits his teeth, eyes rolling back when you bob your head up and down his shaft. Your jaw grows tired, pulling away to give yourself a break, your hands still gripping his length.

Streaks of mascara stain your cheeks, your lip stick smeared across your lips. He reaches down to pet your face, admiring the view. He can see that your scared, but he can also tell that you’re enjoying this. It only makes him want to get your blood pumping more. “Make me fucking cum. Put it back in your mouth.” He places his hand on the back of your head, pushing it down, your throat accommodating to his size. “You’re such a quick learner. Taking it like a fucking whore.” He bites down on his bottom lip, thrusting his hips at a sharp pace. “Open up that throat. Come on,” he growls.

You body jolts forward as you gag, your nails digging into his thighs as he pushes your nose against his pelvis. You can feel him twitch and pulsate in your throat and before you know it hot spurts of cum coat your throat. “Uh huh, fuck, fuck. Take it, baby. Mmmph!” His jaw goes slack, holding your head down until your slapping his thighs to breathe. Luckily, he lets you pull away after he drains all of his cum. You barely have time to recover before he’s snatching you back to your feet, spinning you around and pushing you against the tree. “Did such a good job sucking my dick. I wanna know if this pussy can do the same.” A swift slap to your ass makes you whimper, holding onto the tree for support while it scratches at your skin.

“Go slow, please,” you beg. You wish you would’ve never said anything because your words only added fuel to the fire. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone and slipping him that piece of information made him do the opposite of what you asked for.

“Go slow? Huh? No, no.” His hand snaked around your throat, pulling your back against his chest while he whispered in your ear. “I’ll do what I want with you.” He smacked your ass again, tearing off your panties and tossing them somewhere into the woods. “Say you want me to fuck you,” he ordered. You silently stood there in his arms, biting down on your bottom lip as you braced for whatever he was going to give you. “Say it!” He huskily whispered, rubbing his shaft up and down your sopping slit.

“Fuck me,” you meekly spoke.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He kissed your jaw so softly, his other hand reaching down to toy with your puffy clit. He let out a blissful sigh as your moans, continuing to rub it in circles in such a teasing manner. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, please,” you said a little louder this time. “Ah!” A yelp left your lips when he slipped inside, pushing his entire length in, the burning stretch making you wince. “Oh fuck!” You whined. His thrusts were brutal, his cock reaching your deepest points. His arm wrapped your torso, holding you up while simultaneously pulling you back on his cock. The sudden sensation of him inside you became so overwhelming, you couldn’t help but squirm in his grip.

The sound of skin to skin echoed through the woods and your lewd moans along with it. Ripples of pleasure shot through every part of your body. Your hands reached out for the tree, finding stability to hold yourself up. His breath shuddered against your neck, desperate moans and grunts filling your ears. “You’re so fucking wet—nnngh fuck!” He growled. His fat tip kissed your cervix with each thrust, tears pricking your eyes before spilling over. Suddenly, he slowed down his thrusts, going harder and slower, allowing you to feel every throbbing inch.

“Ah!” You squealed when he slammed his hips against yours, only to slowly pull back out again. Each hard jolt of his hips sent your body forward, your knees already ready to give out. “Ah!” You screamed in pleasure, reaching down to grip onto his forearm.

His hand shot over your mouth, muffling your cries and moans. “Go ahead and scream, baby. You think someone is gonna hear you? It’s just me…and…you.” Each of his words were punctuated with hard thrusts. You moaned into his hand, your eyes screwed shut. He could feel you clench around him, letting out a blissful sigh. He pressed against you, going as deep as he could and stayed there. A sharp gasp escaped your throat, eyes widening as you tried to move your hips. “You’re mine now,” he breathily whispered.

“Mmph! Mmmph!” As he began pounding into you again your eyes rolled back, feeling him in the deepest parts of you. “Please, please, please,” you cried, voice breaking through your tears. Your mind grew hazy, too clouded to even think clearly. His thrusts were so sharp, so animalistic. He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing it in his direction before planting a hungry, sloppy kiss on your lips. Both of swallowed each others lewd moans, gasping for air between wet kisses.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” He rasped, staring into your eyes. All you could force was a nod. “Yeah? Gonna cum all over your stalkers dick, baby? Do it. Give it to me. Show me how dirty you are.” He pressed deeper, your entire body trembling. The feeling your pussy pulsating around him only fueled him to go faster, his grip on your entire body tightening while you came. “That it’s—f-fuck!” His voice trembled.

Your entire body quivered with pleasure, high pitched whines spilling from your lips, barely able to form proper words. His brutal pace sent your mind into a spiral. Each greedy stroke sent him closer to the edge, his thrust growing sloppier and his thoughts growing dirtier, thinking of filling you up with his cum and watching it leak out of you. “Oh my god! S-slow down! Gonna cu—nnngh!” Before you could even say it, you were already cumming a second time, your orgasm ripping through your entire body and sucking the air of your lungs.

“Yes, yes! Cum on my dick. You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Fuck your self on my dick. Work for it.” He pushed your weak body against the tree, his chest rising and falling as you so desperately fucked him, throwing your ass back. He looked down, watching the way he disappeared inside your messy cunt, creaming around him and sucking him in. You circled your hips, moving back and forth, feeling your ass ripple against his pelvis. “Fucking work for it.” His hand swatted your ass several times, the stinging sensation that lingered on your skin making you whimper. “Atta girl. Right fucking there…shit, baby. Just like that, just like that,” he whined, reaching down to squeeze the plump flesh.

Low guttural groans collided with your moans, echoing through the lonely forest. He was so close to cumming, you could tell. His big strong hands took ahold of your hips as he pushed himself all the way inside of you. “Ah…oh fuck…mmph—s-shit!” He shuddered, hot spurts of cum painting your walls. You pushed back into him, biting down on your bottom lip, not wanting one last drop to go to waste. After several seconds, he slowly pulled out, trying to catch his breath. He forcefully grabbed you, standing you upright even though your entire body was shaking.

After coming down from your high, you realized you just fucked your stalker and let him cum inside you. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. Both of you stared at each other, eyes searching deep within. You were left confused, speechless. You flinched when he brought his hand up to your cheek, gently stroking it with the pad of his thumb. His eyes flickered down to your lips, placing the most gentle kiss on them—the most gentle one since you’ve met him. Yet, you found yourself kissing him back. “Who are you?” Your voice broke the silence, nervously scanning his features.

His lips quirked up into the slightest smirk. “Just the boy who saw you at the Halloween party.” From the very beginning he was never going to give you his name. “Your stalker.” He seemed to take pride in his words, now smiling at you.

You gulped, blinking up at him. “My stalker.”

taglist (closed):

@roronoaslover @skychapt-blog @prettylil-teine @freakadelick @adamaisfav @tadabzzzbee @ourfinalisation @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @heliumshorns @ninani-nanina @blankwashed @sadkaomoji @tojis-ball-sack @blkpotionss @sunjayist @cryptxdslxt @aweebthatsjustthere @angelrulez21-blog @lemonintrovert21 @vertigoandvirtues @cloudxluv @kkataleena @eclipsi-shadow @sugusmonkeyy @greatwizardangel @cybersomn1a @screamlast9 @purpleheart835 @ramiiroll @purp1eha1o @veraiku @yu22tas @wrldtups @4evrglow @sugarsticksss @fos-tis-zois @lisvanrouge @asiancupid @bluejayreadsanddreams @sincerelyaixii @digitaltrippers @chuuminn @lolimmafuckings1mp @jellyfishlord @therealest06 @terminosdevozsauve @keanureevessmile @nekoxvi @starlightglimmersworld @m0nsterzl0ve

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sleepwalking

How I imagine the lads men handle a partner that sleepwalks. [requested by: anon & @nocturnaoasis]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

calmly watches you as you move around the house

knows not to wake you up ; tries to guide you back to bed without waking you

cleans up your messes behind you ; taking socks into the bathroom? he’s putting them away ; you left the fridge door open? don’t worry he's closing it ; opening the windows? he’s already on it

you tried to use a knife for something one time while you were asleep so now Zayne locks up any sharp utensils before bed

tells you in detail exactly what you did while you were sleepwalking

makes you whatever it was that you were trying to make while asleep “how did you know I wanted sliced fruit this morning?” “You took out all the fruit last night and stood in the kitchen saying ‘knives I need knives’ for ten minutes”

teases you sometimes ; he finds your antics cute

will hold anything you hand him

forbids you from eating foods that will trigger your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you do it out of spite

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

the first thing he does is wake you up ; rookie mistake

won’t let you live down the fact that you made the funniest face when you were confused

baby proofs the house “why are all the outlets covered?!” “you can’t be trusted”

screamed bloody murder when he woke up one night and you were standing over him

you got outside once and he about had a heart attack

tries singing to you so you follow his voice ; it worked now this is how he gets you back in bed every time he catches you sleepwalking

asks if you’re awake and wholeheartedly believes you when you say yea even though you’re 1000% not awake

doesn’t mind when you indulge on foods that trigger your sleepwalking ; he knows he’ll keep you safe

if you ever say something unsettling he acts like it didnt scare him ; he’s scared af

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

wakes up when he feels you getting out of bed ; groggily follows you around at a distance to make sure you don’t hurt yourself

gently takes objects out of your hands

tries to block your paths in attempts to guide you back to bed

responds to your rambling as if you’re actually having a conversation

tuck you into bed and stays up for a while watching you sleep

wraps his arms around you so he can feel you get up

would follow you down the road if you decided to go for a walk outside

keeps his distance so you can get your bearings I you start to wake up “Hi starlight lets go to bed”

tries to get you to not eat foods that will trigger your sleepwalking, but one look of those puppy dog eyes and he’s folding

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to sleepwalk with considering he sleeps during the day and you sleep at night.

advises you to not eat anything that will trigger it close to bed, but won’t stop you if you’re really craving it

he would already be up and about when he sees you walking to the bathroom with socks in hand ; he would use his evol to catch the socks when you try to drop them in the toilet

Meticulously guides you away from anything that you might walk into

knows better than to try and wake you up

finds your sleepwalking kind of amusing except when you stand over him and stare with dead eyes

first instinct is to guide you back to bed and he’d use his evol to do this and the second you become difficult he’d keep a close eye on you; has Mephisto follow you as well

Sylus has to hold the twins back from waking you up “She’s gonna get hurt!” “She’s fine” “What if she goes over the balcony?!” “She’s fine”

will always protect you and get you back in bed with no harm

from time to time will indulge in your sleep conversations “I only have five left” “but I need six sweetie” “I have five take it or leave it” ; he’s trying so hard not to die of laughter

the twins once left the kitchen a mess and tried to blame it on your sleepwalking ; he wasn't happy

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

records the whole thing ; shows you the videos and teases you “look even in your sleep you try to reach the top shelf” “delete it” “luckily for you I caught every dish in time” “shut up”

compiles the videos together and even has favorites

it was all fun and games until you got outside one night and he about lost his damn mind

baby proofs the house every night ; locks up sharp utensils ; deadbolt on the front door

holds you tight every night so he can feel you get up

cleans up behind you when/if you take anything out

shifts furniture slightly if you run into it so your mental map doesn’t get you hurt ; uses his hands or body as a barrier to keep you from running into walls or hitting your head on anything

has considered waking you up, but will never do it

sometimes responds to your sleep rambling “Pears are better than apples” “I like apples better” “……NO!”

forbids you from eating anything that triggers your sleepwalking close to bedtime ; you still eat it anyway

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere and obsessive behavior, mentions of death and violence, possessiveness

Yandere!Angel adored you with all of his heart, worshipping you as his goddess. He abandoned his creator, instead turning to you.

He kissed along your thighs, his strong, large hands holding onto your plump thighs as he spread them open.

He always looked up at you for permission, his chin resting on your leg obediently. Despite the fact he was nearly twice your height, he acted like a needy puppy before you, willing to do anything to please you.

“May I?”

You nodded, sighing happily as his tongue licked your soft, fat pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

As he settled between your thighs, ready to worship his goddess, he began to remember how this all came to be.

He was supposed to be working on earth, helping guide humans to the correct path and keep them from sinning.

Instead, he ended up getting hurt, stranded on the side of the road with a broken wing.

He hadn’t been told how cruel humans could be.

So when you pulled over in your car, running up to him, he attempted to spread out his wings in a defensive display, his eyes shining bright enough to blind a man.

But his eyes dimmed and he yelped in pain as his broken wing moved. He fell back onto the ground, panting softly, looking up at you weakly.!

“Hey, hey…”

You knelt down, reaching out carefully to inspect his wing.

“Don’t touch me!”

You flinched, frozen in fear, his power causing you to be unable to move.

An angel’s command worked only on those pure of heart… so for a moment to examined you.

Soft and chubby with a kind face, like the cherubs he played with in heaven. As you did your best to bandage his wing, you noticed he was nearly twice the size of you… and very handsome.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. See, it’s feeling better isn’t it?”

The angel watched you, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder as you dabbed some soothing cream onto his swollen skin. You were being so gentle with him, guiding him back to your car.

The way you kept him flush against you, being as gentle as possible to make sure his wounds wouldn’t be irritated made him feel… strange.

He barely fit in your backseat, having to lie down so you could close the door.

“… thank you…”

He nuzzled softly against you, his undamaged wing flapping. “You saved me… you’re so kind, like an angel… like…”

You turned to see him staring at you, his eyes big. The golden orbs observed with newfound interest, watching as you grabbed a med kit to further clean and treat his wounds.

‘Like a goddess…’ he thought to himself, not daring to say such blasphemy aloud.

As he began to recover, you noticed him staring, following you with his eyes every time you moved.

“Need something?”

He quickly looked away, his cheek flushing a soft pink. His wing fluttered in both nervousness and excitement.

“I… don’t need anything.”

It didn’t take him long to heal, his body was different than any human or animal, but… he still feigned pain when you touched his now healed wing.

“Ah, it still hurts?”

You soothed him, letting him nuzzle into you and look at you with those big golden eyes. He was utterly entranced, wanting to worship and adore you… no one had ever been so kind to him!

So that’s how he ended up like this, begging for you to use him, to order him around and to let him love and protect you for all of time.

The only catch was… he was the only one allowed to worship the temple that was your body.

He pulled his fingers from your wet cunt, his tongue struggling to part with your puffy clit. It wasn’t easy, but he knew from your whines and tugging on his pants that you wanted his cock now.

And he would give you anything…

He pushed his cock past your wet folds, stretching you on him. The first time he worshipped you this way, he cried with you as your body tried its best to accommodate his large size. He hated seeing you in pain…

Your pretty, ample breasts bounced deliciously as he moved his hips, unable to stop himself from fucking you like a wild animal.

God you were perfect, his angel, his goddess… and no one would ever get to see the look of ecstasy on your face when you came.

A warm bath had you sighing in relief after, your angel happily bathing you, kissing your feet and scrubbing your body as gently as possible.

Though it was difficult keeping his jealously at bay… being with him wasn’t too hard. If only you knew how many men he had killed due to his possessive nature…

You’d never even think he was capable. He was an angel after all, with soft blonde curls and the prettiest, most innocent golden eyes.

And he wanted you to remain ignorant to his second nature. He much preferred worshipping you while you were relatively free and happy…

But he’d lock you up if it meant keeping you to himself~

The angel settled you down with him after your bath, covering you with his soft, feathery white wings. He kept you close to his chest, kissing your head.

Everything was just perfect.

For now…

(More?)

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[sky-scribbles]

I'm going to say something controversial. I think there's something Veilguard does better than any other Dragon Age game. Namely: incorporating the companions into the plot.

Look, I love Origins as much as everyone. But to be frank: you could cut every companion except Alistair, Morrigan and Loghain and the plot could still work. Once you've finished the mission where you recruit a companion, there aren't other main quests that involve them in any way.

Oghren and Wynne could have stayed home after their recruitment missions for all the difference it would make to the main plot. Sten, Leliana and Zevran could vanish and nothing would change, because once they're on your team, they don't interact with the main plot at all. (There's the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I suppose - but even then, you'd be going on that quest whether Leliana and Wynne were there or not, and it's very telling that they can both die here and next to nothing in the rest of the game is impacted.)

Again: I love Origins. This doesn't detract from any of these characters being great, or from the story being great. It just means there's a layer of separation between the two. They're involved in the story, but they're not driving it, and you seldom get to see them have strong feelings about it.

DA2 is a huge step up. Your companions' personal stories are integral parts of the main plot. You can't do the Deep Roads expedition without witnessing Karl's death and its impact on Anders. You can't enter Act 2 without seeing Varric's brother betray him, or watching your sibling either die or begin a new path in life. Act 2's climax happens because of choices Isabela and Aveline have made. Act 3's endgame is all about Anders making one enormous decision. Even Fenris and Merrill, who have the fewest ties to the plot, have strong reasons to be invested in the Mage/Templar conflict.

And then Inquisition just... backslides. There are multiple companions you don't need to recruit at all, or can send away with zero alteration to the main plot. Your companions don't like Corypheus because he's bad, but no one - except maybe Varric - has any strong personal feelings about him. They have no personal stake in defeating him, not like Alistair has a personal stake in opposing Loghain, or Anders in opposing Meredith.

We go to the Winter Palace, and Vivienne is not made a part of that story. We have a whole subplot about the Wardens, and Blackwall only gets a couple of extra lines, if you even bring him. Their personal arcs could have been somehow impacted by these missions, and they're just... not. Sera is packed with internalised self-hatred that manifests as trying to distance herself from elven culture, to the point of sometimes lashing out at other elves. And despite all the missions you do where elven history features... Sera's growth past that flaw happens entirely offscreen between the base game and Trespasser?????

IMO, this is one of the biggest reasons why Corypheus is such a bland villain. He doesn't make anyone grow, except by starting a plot for them to be part of. He doesn't challenge them emotionally. No one is invested in him. Because no one interacts with the darn plot.

Veilguard, though? Veilguard keeps your companions interacting with the story the whole way through. The Treviso/Minrathous choice affects both Lucanis and Neve heavily, and impacts who they become for the rest of the game. These cities are personal to you, even if you're not a Crow or Shadow Dragon, because your companions love them.

The Siege of Weisshaupt is beyond personal to Davrin and Lucanis, both of whom are entrusted with major parts of the quest: trying to kill the archdemon and Ghilan'nain. Lucanis is affected by his failure to kill Ghilan'nain for ages afterward. Davrin is haunted by survivor's guilt; he should have died when he struck down the archdemon. He's alive. How can he live with that?

Whenever killing the gods becomes a possibility, Rook hands the lyrium dagger to Lucanis. When the squad go to fight the gods' dragons with the Wardens, Taash is the one to flush the first dragon out. When you infiltrate the Venatori, Neve tricks your way in, and everything that happens is especially weighty to Bellara, whose people have been abducted. On Tearstone Island, because of how Lucanis and Spite have grown, they strikes true.

Did you not hate Elgar'nan before that mission? Because you probably will after you watch him capture Bellara or Neve, and see his fellow god kill Harding or Davrin.

You know what's a great piece of writing? There's no reason Emmrich shouldn't have been an option to deal with the wards on Tearstone Island; he's one of the ideal options to take out more wards with the Veil Jumpers in the final mission. But you can't select him to do it. Because Emmrich has far less personal investment in the Elgar'nan battle than the other two. This is Neve's city. This is the monster who tries to call himself Bellara's god. The game makes sure the characters who take control of the Blight at the end are the ones with the greatest stakes in doing so.

One of your companions, not you, wrests command of the Blight from Elgar'nan. The final mission depends on how well you've come to know each companion's skills. They're just... always involved.

And they're invested, too. The companions all have serious personal reasons to hate the antagonists by the end. Lucanis and Neve have either seen their city burn, or know it happened at the cost of their friend's (and potential partner's) hometown. Davrin has seen his order devastated. These are Bellara's and Davrin's supposed gods, and instead of helping the elves reclaim their history and culture, they're trying to enslave the world. Harding learns that the Evanuris maimed and destroyed her Titan ancestors.

Emmrich and Taash have perhaps the smallest emotional tie - and sadly I do think Emmrich especially gets underutilized in the plot. But heck, Taash is still hella motivated by the way the gods are abusing dragons. And Emmrich is tied thematically to the main conflict. He's facing the question of immortality, while nigh-immortal beings are right in front of him, proving how that gift can be abused. The final choice of his personal arc is whether he's willing to embrace his personal, mortal attachments, at the cost of consequences that terrify him... you know, the same question that Solas faces at the end.

And don't even get me started on how everyone is emotionally tied to Solas. Harding and Neve watched him kill Varric in front of them. Everyone not dead or captured has to watch him drag Rook into the Fade. Just about every companion faces some kind of huge regret or failure at some point, in constant foreshadowing for Solas's prison of regret: both the literal one he sticks Rook in, and the mental one of his own making.

Veilguard has its problems, but it absolutely shines at keeping its characters involved and invested in the main story. It gives them things to do, it gives them reasons to care. For all the flaws this game has, this part is good writing.

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (13)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses

notes. 5k wc. please note that the last few sy chapters will be shorter than usual. but on another note, thank you for the kind comforting words on my last post. i’m very grateful for all of you.

series masterlist -> episode fourteen

“I’m pregnant,” you finally confessed, voice breaking as you watched the faint tears that slipped from Satoru’s eyes. “I don’t wanna have this baby.” 

He should’ve known why. He should’ve seen it coming—should’ve expected the next words that would come out of your mouth after announcing your pregnancy. 

Yet the admission, as firm as it sounded, still tore at your chest. And the silence that followed felt deafening. His gaze flickered to your stomach, then back to your face, searching for something—understanding, hope, or maybe a way to convince you otherwise. He also seemed to be struggling with the intense contradiction of his emotions, whether to celebrate your pregnancy or whether to be horrified by it. 

That was why Satoru took a shaky breath as he reached out a hand. “Y/N,” he began, stepping closer to you, “Don’t say that. We… We can figure this out. Together. Please.” 

Your whole body trembled at the irony of ending your own life soon as you announced the beginning of another. But at the moment, it felt right. That jumping into the vast space beyond you was the best choice—for him, for Sachiro, for the baby, and for yourself. 

But seeing the father of your children at the verge of breaking down was shaking your resolve. All the guilt, the shame. You felt it all at once. 

Satoru’s hands tightened around yours the moment he was able to reach you. And before you knew it, you were being pulled down, falling straight into him as he caught you perfectly in his arms. Like you were always meant to be there. “Y/N, please…” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks, ocean-blue eyes swimming with desperation. “I got you. Don’t do this. Don’t give up on this baby. Don’t give up on us.”

“I can’t, Satoru,” you choked out, shaking your head. “I can’t bring a child into this mess. What kind of life could I possibly give them? What kind of life could we give them? I don’t even deserve to live.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N. Having you here with me right now is already the greatest blessing in my life,” he said quickly, embracing you even tighter as if afraid you’d slip further away. “I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be there every step of the way. I’ll… I’ll be a good father. I know I’ve made mistakes, Y/N. I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But this—this is something I can do right. Let me prove it to you.”

You turned your face away, sobbing quietly. No, Satoru. It’s too late. You had heard of these same promises before, and only a fool would let herself believe it twice. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Please, just look at me. I love you. I love this baby. And I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I don’t care how hard it gets—I’ll be here. I’ll stay. I’ll be the man you need me to be. And the man that I should’ve always been.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, never once allowing you to breathe or call for his name. You were stuck underwater, fighting the strong current of emotions. Time and time again, and only Satoru Gojou was able to make you feel like this. 

“I swear on everything, Y/N,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. I’ll fight for you, Sachi, and this baby every single day. Just… don’t make this decision now. Not like this.”

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sheer rawness of his plea made your heart ache. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you saw the Satoru you had once loved—the man who would have moved mountains for the woman he had vowed to cherish. The man who pulled everything he can just to bring happiness to the woman he adored. 

Your chest tightened as the weight of your decision pressed down on you, and a shiver ran through your body as if you could feel your baby’s heartbeat. “Satoru…” you whispered, your voice trembling with the fragile thread of your emotions. “I’m…”

Before you could finish, the flood of guilt, sorrow, and exhaustion eventually overtook you. And his glistening blue eyes were the last thing you saw before the world blurred and you surrendered to the darkness.

— —

Satoru stood just outside the hospital room, leaning against the cold, white wall with his face buried in his hands. His heart was pounding and his thoughts were nothing but a chaotic mess. He had almost lost you—again. This time, in a way he hadn’t even anticipated.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and when he looked up, it was your older sister, Gen, who was walking toward him, her face a mix of concern and restrained anger. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms and clearly displeased with his presence. 

“She’s resting,” Gen informed him, her voice steady but sharp. “The doctor says she needs time. Physically, she’ll be fine, but mentally? I don’t know.”

Satoru nodded, his throat tightening. “I—I’m sorry, Gen. For everything.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, unable to meet her piercing gaze. “I know I’ve been the worst. Back then, now… I never meant to hurt her.”

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” she replied in a haste and brutally honest manner. “First, my nephew, and now, my sister? Both of them were hospitalized because of you. All you do is bring in a series of bad luck to our family. Have some shame.” 

He knew she was right, and he was ashamed. But despite the hurtful truth, he accepted it all. He was a martyr ready to take all the pain away, if it meant taking it from you and your children. “I know I messed up, Gen. And I don’t deserve another chance. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love her. That I will love her until the day I die.” His eyes pooled with genuine tears. “I just want to be here for her. She’s my life.”

Gen sighed, her arms falling to her sides. “Satoru, you say you love her. You say you care about her. But look where we are. She’s always been the one paying the price for your mistakes. Always getting the short end of the stick.” Her voice hardened, and her eyes narrowed. “And now? There’s a rumor about her because of you. Do you even know what that’s doing to her?”

He clenched his fists, his head hanging low. “I know. I saw it. I—I’m already drafting a statement. It’ll be released soon. I’ll clear her name, Gen. I’ll take full responsibility. I won’t let anyone drag her through the mud because of me.”

Gen studied him carefully, her expression softening slightly, though her voice remained firm. “Words are one thing, Satoru. Actions are another. She’s given up so much for you. Do you even realize how much of herself she’s lost?”

“I do,” he said, his shaken voice barely audible. “I see it every time I look at her. I see the woman I fell in love with slipping away, and it’s my fault. But I swear to you, Gen, I’ll fix this. I’ll do everything I can to keep her, to keep our family together. I’ll be the man she deserves, the father our kids deserve.”

Gen’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away, her gaze distant. “Love isn’t just words, Satoru. It’s not just showing up when things get hard. It’s being there even when things are mundane, even when she doesn’t need saving. It’s about choosing her, every single day. And you haven’t done that.”

Her words cut deep, but he took them all, letting them sink into his bones. He had been selfish, careless with the one person who mattered the most. And now, he was paying the price.

“But you’re still here.” Gen’s voice eventually softened, as if this situation couldn’t be saved anymore. “And she’s still here. I don’t know why, after everything, my sister still loves you… but she does. I wouldn’t want you for her, frankly. I’d rather she’d be single her entire life than be stuck with you. But I know her stubborn heart all too well. And if you really mean what you say, if you’re truly ready to step up and be the man she deserves, then prove it. You’d better mean that, Satoru. Because if you break her again… I don’t think there’ll be any pieces left to put back together.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the muffled hum of the hospital. And in sincerity, Satoru nodded, tears welling in his eyes. This wasn’t exactly Gen forgiving him, this was her choosing what makes her sister happy. “I love her, Gen. I’ve always loved her. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

——

A dull beeping sound echoed in your ears, steady and rhythmic, as the world around you slowly came back into focus. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose, and the soft hum of distant voices murmured through the hospital walls. The fluorescent lights above were too bright, causing you to squint as you tried to take in your surroundings. White sheets, an IV drip, and the unmistakable cold of a hospital bed beneath your fingertips.

You were in the ER.

Memories of the day before hit you all at once—the weight of exhaustion, the way your body had given up on you mid-conversation, and Satoru’s voice calling your name just before everything faded to black.

A gentle warmth enveloped your hand. You turned your head slightly, heart skipping a beat when you saw Satoru sitting beside you. His snow-white hair was disheveled, his usually confident demeanor subdued. There were dark circles under his eyes suggesting how little he had rested.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. There was relief laced in his tone, but also something heavier. He reached out, brushing stray strands of hair from your face. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “How’s my… baby?”

For someone who said she wanted to get rid of her unborn child, your concern put a relief on Satoru’s face. “Baby’s okay,” he admitted, his thumb absently tracing circles on your belly. “You passed out, and they brought you here to monitor you. But you’re okay now. The doctor said you were just exhausted. You’re being discharged soon.”

Your mind was sluggish, still struggling to process everything. But then, the most important thought struck you.

“Sachiro,” you breathed, fear clawing its way up your throat. One after another. “His surgery—”

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, stopping you before your panic could take hold. “It was a success.” His lips curled into a small, tired smile. “While you were resting, everything went well. The doctors said it was a textbook procedure—no complications. He’s stable, recovering in the suite room now.”

“H-He’s okay?” Your voice broke on the last word, and Satoru nodded.

“He’s okay.”

A choked sob left your lips as you covered your face with your hands, overwhelmed. After everything, after all the sleepless nights and the heart-wrenching fear of losing your first born, he had made it through. At his young age, having to suffer such a complicated heart disease was something he didn’t deserve, but truly, he was a strong kid. And for that, you were grateful. 

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you, anchoring you. “Y/N,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your temple. “Sachi’s strong. He got it from his mommy.”

You let yourself melt into him for a moment, closing your eyes and breathing him in. You didn’t know what this meant for the both of you—if anything had changed, if anything ever could. But for now, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was that Sachiro was waiting for you.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your arms. “Do you wanna go see him?”

You met his gaze, eyes still shining with unshed tears, and nodded. “Yeah.”

——

Down the pristine white halls, past nurses and doctors bustling about their duties, your feet carried you with a singular purpose while Satoru walked beside you, his pace matching yours.

And then—there.

Room 721.

You hesitated only for a second before pushing the door open, breath catching the moment your eyes landed on Sachiro. Your poor son. Your poor little boy lay in the hospital bed, looking small and fragile against the white sheets. Tubes and wires were attached to him, aside from the steady beeping of the monitors that signaled his heart’s vitals. A ventilator was also there to help him breathe, and his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm was a sight that both reassured and shattered you at the same time.

“Sachi,” you whispered sweetly, stepping closer. “Mommy’s here, baby.”

Your fingers trembled as you brushed his hair back, careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment. He was still asleep, sedated for recovery, but his face was peaceful—far more peaceful than the nights you’d spent watching him struggle.

Behind you, Satoru stood motionless. His normally vibrant eyes were dulled with exhaustion, his face gaunt from two days without sleep. Yet, despite it all, he remained standing, his entire being focused on Sachiro.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Your family surrounded you, offering support, love, and quiet reassurances. Nurses came and went, checking on Sachiro’s vitals, updating you on his condition. The visiting hours brought waves of people—friends, colleagues, even some of Satoru’s acquaintances who had come to check on him.

But through it all, Satoru never moved.

While conversations hummed around him, while people embraced and whispered their worries, he remained by Sachiro’s bedside. His hand rested on his son’s small fingers, his thumb occasionally brushing against his skin.

He didn’t speak much. Didn’t react to the noise around him.

He just… watched.

Watched the slow rise and fall of his child’s chest. Watched the way the monitors flickered with steady readings. Watched the way his son fought to live.

And even as the hours stretched, as your family said their goodbyes, as the night deepened and visiting hours ended—Satoru remained.

His exhaustion was evident. The bags under his eyes had darkened, his shoulders heavy with weariness. But when a nurse suggested he get some rest, he merely shook his head.

“I’m not leaving him.”

And so, he stayed.

With red-rimmed eyes and a body begging for sleep, Satoru Gojou sat beside his son, never once looking away.

You could see the torment in his eyes as he looked at Sachiro, the helplessness of a father who could do nothing but watch. You just couldn’t bear the silence any longer, so you finally spoke. “Satoru… just go home.”

He froze at the sound of your voice, as if caught off guard, but quickly shook his head and wrapped your belly under a warm blanket. “Did I wake you up?”

“I can look after Sachi by myself,” you urged, disregarding his question. “You need to rest.”

But again, he refused. “No.”

“But—”

You opened your mouth to speak again, to reason with him, but before you could, Satoru’s voice cut through the air, breaking in a way you had never heard before. “Y/N, let me be a father to my kids… Please.” His voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out as he looked at the ceiling with somber, tearful eyes. It was the heartbreak in his voice that made you realize that you were the only family Satoru had left. And it was the tremor in his hands that made you see through the trauma he had developed after he was led to believe for three years that his son had never existed. In a way, you felt responsible for the pain you had caused him, too. “Just please let me love you and our babies. Don’t take them away from me.”

For a moment, silence became your friend. Yet, the quiet that enveloped the room was more of a tender moment suspended in time as you let Satoru embrace you in his arms. You both remained there, connected by the warmth of his hand over yours, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath. He caressed your belly as if you were going to take his baby away—that if he closed his eyes, even for a second, he would wake up to see his unborn child gone. 

But then, a soft knock on the door shattered the stillness.. Satoru’s grip on your hand loosened as the nurse poked her head into the room with an apologetic expression on display.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Gojou,” she began, her voice quiet and gentle, “but you have a visitor.” Satoru’s brows furrowed slightly, but before he could ask, the nurse continued, “Her name is Ms. Akemi.”

At the mention of her name, he immediately sat up, his body tense as he instinctively prepared to stand. You felt the shift in his demeanor, the way his hand slipped from yours as he moved to the edge of the bed. You stayed still for a minute, processing the sudden change, and your heart sinking at the thought of yet another intrusion by her.

You took a deep breath as you began to pull away, already bracing yourself for what was to come, and for the inevitable exit he would make. Like always. Choosing another woman over you. Choosing another woman over his own child. Of course, that’s what he’s about to do, right? You started to gather the strength to let him go, to retreat back into your thoughts, until the nurse spoke again.

“Oh… Actually,” she said, her eyes flicking between you both, “Miss Akemi wants to see you, Ms. Y/N… not Mr. Gojou.”

——

Two things about this moment caught you off guard. First, Satoru’s sudden overprotectiveness—firmly insisting to the nurse that Akemi had no right to call for you again and that you shouldn’t be meeting her just to “talk.” And second, the fact that Akemi actually wanted to see you.

What was the catch?

What was her motive? 

You wondered if this was going to be another Sera moment. 

And you knew, even if your mind told you that you owed Akemi nothing, you were still curious about what she had to say. Would she demand Satoru’s time that you were taking from her? Or was she about to make a scene and call you a homewrecker? 

Strangely, of all the places, Akemi wanted to meet you at the hospital chapel. 

She was already there when you came, sitting at the last row amongst the empty pews, staring at the altar as if her brown eyes were glued to the massive cross in the center. In her solitude, you silently slipped into the opposite side of the pew, not exchanging any eye-contact until she noticed your presence. 

When she turned, she seemed startled to see you. “Y/N.”

You said nothing, only staring at the cross in front of you.

“I was just…” She trailed off, glancing toward the altar before looking back at you. “I was praying for Sachiro. I heard his surgery was a success.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, but your voice was steady. “It was.”

“I’m glad.” A small, genuine smile plastered over her lips. “I really am. He’s a strong boy… just like his mom.”

A scoff threatened to rise in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t here to fight. Not anymore. Not when you were far too grateful for Sachiro’s successful operation to still be holding grudges on others. But that didn’t mean you had to fake being happy next to Akemi. All you did was nod in appreciation. 

But Akemi hesitated, then spoke again about what seemed to be her main concern of going here. “Has Satoru been here? I mean… all this time?”

“Yes.” A pause. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her expression, but your rigid expression appeared to have intimidated her. “If you’re here to ask him to go home with you, then—”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked. Of all the things you expected, an apology wasn’t one of them.

“For everything,” she continued. “For being with Satoru even when I knew who you were to him. For pretending I didn’t see the way he looked at you, the way he still loved you. I was selfish. I let my delusions get to me, thinking that he’s exactly who I needed in my life to feel whole again.” She then let out a bitter laugh, one that lacked amusement. “You don’t know this, but I used to envy you. Your life. Your place in his heart. The way you had people around you. The way he loved you… The way you have a beautiful son and an equally beautiful husband. I wanted that for myself. I thought if I tried hard enough, if I gave him everything, if I tried to be like you, maybe he’d love me the same way.” Her voice wavered. “But no matter how much time passed, it always felt like he was looking past me. Like he was imagining someone else by his side. And I knew. I always knew.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the edge of the pew. You weren’t expecting to hear all of those things from her. Not after everything that had happened. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Akemi admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “But I needed to say this. Because I know you’re not happy that Satoru’s been visiting me, too. At least, until he ended things officially between us. And probably until he learned about your pregnancy… Is it true?”

Your breath hitched, but you remained still.

“The baby’s a blessing, Y/N.” She lifted her chin, meeting your eyes with quiet resignation. “It’s exactly what I had hoped for myself… but I’m sick. I’m critically ill. Stage three endometrial cancer, to be exact.”

For the first time, something shifted in you. Shock. Pity. Confusion. You ended up returning her gaze—her lachrymose brown eyes that seemed to envy your entire being.  

“H-He feels bad for me,” she continued, her voice softer now. “That’s why he’s been coming back and forth. He doesn’t love me—not the way I wanted—but he can’t turn away from someone who’s suffering. That’s who he is.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together, not knowing how to navigate a conversation with the sick friend who betrayed you.

“I don’t expect anything from him anymore. And I don’t expect anything from you, either.” Akemi’s lips curved into a sad smile. “I just wanted you to know that… I’m letting go. Of him. Of the past. Of everything.”

You held your breath back. 

“I hope, one day, you can forgive him. Maybe even me. I know I lost a good friendship because of my bad decisions.”

She turned towards you, reaching for your hand that she soon softly squeezed. In that millisecond, you caught a glimpse of Nanami standing by the door, seemingly waiting for Akemi to finish her last words with you. 

“Take care of him, Y/N. And take care of yourself.”

——

When you returned to the room, Satoru was pacing back and forth, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw clenched in barely restrained nerves. The second he caught sight of you in the doorway, his shoulders sagged with relief, but his expression remained taut with worry.

“Y/N,” he exhaled, striding toward you in a rush. “What did she say? Was she rude to you? Did she—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Before he could spiral further, you grabbed him by the collar and silenced him with a firm kiss.

For a brief, stunned moment, he stiffened—his breath catching against your lips. Then, just as quickly, he melted into you, hands coming up to cradle your face as if you’d disappear if he let go. His lips moved over yours, not demanding, not desperate—just seeking, just holding.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still half-lidded with dazed confusion.

“Stop overthinking,” you murmured, fingers gently brushing the nape of his neck.

Satoru swallowed hard, searching your face for answers. “Y/N…”

But a soft noise from the hospital bed cut the moment short. Both your heads snapped toward Sachiro, who was stirring beneath the sheets, and his tiny fingers twitching as his eyelids fluttered open.

Satoru let out a shaky laugh, a watery grin spreading across his face as he rushed to his son’s side. “Hey, Sachi,” he choked out. “You’re awake.”

You moved closer, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes as Sachiro groggily turned to look at both of you. “My baby…”

“Mama…? Dada…?” His voice was weak, but the way he reached for both of you made your chest ache.

You took his small hand in yours, pressing it against your cheek as Satoru smoothed down his hair, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “We’re here, baby,” you whispered. “We’re right here. How are you feeling, my sunshine?”

The nurses came shortly after, and then his doctor also took a visit. According to him, Sachiro showed good signs of recovery and ordered the medical staff to remove the devices attached to your son one by one as his progress looked promising. Soon enough, with the doctor’s advice, Sachiro could even start his rehab to be able to resume his normal activities. Everything you were hearing were positive outcomes, nothing but good news. You couldn’t help but feel as if things were too good to be true, and wondered if there was anything substantially bigger that’d come and wreck you. 

The father of your child seemed to have noticed the moment you became silent, swallowed by the anxious thought of what was to come, and he came to wrap his arms around you, securing you in his embrace, and rubbing your belly from behind. 

You could see the nurses noticing your little display of affection and so you tried to push Satoru off, but he didn’t budge. He only held you tighter and buried his face into your shoulder. 

“Let me just recharge here for a bit,” he mumbled, as though you were the battery that was giving him energy. “Just let me hold you, please.” 

——

You hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room yet, and the only real chance to do so came the following night, when Sachiro’s nanny took over in the suite. She kept you updated on his condition, while you—following your doctor’s advice—chose to finally get some proper rest at home.

But knowing your family, they’d bombard you with questions about Satoru the moment you walked through the door. Maybe that’s why you agreed to his suggestion—to stay the night at the penthouse. The same home you once shared as husband and wife.

Was it a rash decision? An impulsive one? Maybe exhaustion had driven you here, standing under the warm stream of his shower as he waited outside. It was strange how comforting this place still felt. How familiar, yet mind-warping it was. This was the same home where he had slept with Akemi. How could you feel both at ease and deeply unsettled?

By the time you stepped out, you stood in front of the vanity mirror, drying your hair as your gaze fell to your barely noticeable bump. You weren’t showing just yet, and knew that there was still time to decide. Did you want this baby? Keeping it meant Satoru would be even more tied to you. Letting it go meant sparing it from a toxic environment and the possibility of inheriting your heart condition.

Lost in thought, you barely heard Satoru’s knock before he entered, carrying your old pajamas. Without a word, he helped you into them with quiet care, his touch gentle but respectfully distant. He guided you like a loving husband would to his pregnant wife, up until you were settled under the warm duvet of your old bed, where he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Is there anything you want for breakfast?” he asked, “Anything you’re craving? Lemon bars? PB&J? I can run to the grocery store now if you want.”

His reminder of your old pregnancy cravings squeezed at your heart. It took you back to the days where you were immensely, unselfishly in love with him. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I’d do anything for you and baby.” 

Maybe this was his way to consume you with guilt, knowing you still haven’t really decided if you wanted to keep the baby, yet here he was doing his everything just to show you how he wanted to care for his youngest. Would you be too cruel to ruin his fantasy?

“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he murmured when he didn’t get any answer. “Call me if you need me.” 

“Wait.” You regretted your words the moment you opened your mouth. “Stay.” 

Because why? Just why did you ask him to stay? Why did you want him beside you? Why did you enjoy his warmth and his presence and his love? This was the same man who wrecked you to shreds, to pieces. How could you betray yourself and still trust him? 

You didn’t need the answer right now, all you needed was Satoru’s gentle gaze, his careful embrace, and the way he caressed your face as he joined you in bed. You could tell he wanted to try for a kiss, but decided not to cross any lines you weren’t comfortable with. 

“I’m dreaming, am I?” he asked, seemingly musing at the thought. 

You sighed. “I’d hope so.” 

“Y/N.” His voice was soft as he said your name. “I love you.” 

Closing your eyes, you replied, “Give me time.” 

[hedgehog-moss]

The cherry tree I planted in front of the greenhouse blossomed for the first time this spring! A round of applause!

The wind always blows from the valley so I planted this tree strategically so that in spring a delicious smell would be delivered in my living-room through the windows, and around the outdoor table where I work, and it worked :) I estimate that it improved my quality of life by 11%. A light spring breeze carrying a cherry blossom smell is the kind of thing that stops me in my tracks ten times a day and makes me close my eyes and take a deep breath and think oh, life is good.

More tree updates: I talked in this post from 2021, then this one from 2022, about how I hoped to plant a 'fruit tree path' in the woods behind my house—this project is still ongoing and, well, hasn't borne fruit yet, but has finally blossomed. My Fruit Alley now boasts 10 trees, and looks like—what it is, a small opening in the woods that I have to deploy heroic and sustained efforts to keep open, because the woods try to reclaim it year after year, patiently, like a slow green tide.

The white thing in the middle is one of the tarps I've been using to smother brambles, I move them every few weeks and it works pretty well. I also use cardboard, but in the spring it's hard to keep up with the sheer rate of growth everywhere. Of course the main enemy is the army of broom that you can see in the distance, all yellow and cheerful-looking at the moment. I mostly fight them in the winter, every year I manage to push them back a few metres...

Here's a photo where you can better see some of the trees :

In total I have planted 2 apple trees, 1 quince tree, 1 mirabelle plum, 3 red plums, 1 nectarine tree, 3 cherry trees. I'm really glad that all of them survived, as I was a bit worried about damage from deer or boars. I did lose 2 chestnut trees that were destroyed so savagely I have to assume it's wild boars, but I had planted them much farther away in the woods and I won't make this mistake again. I now have two new baby chestnuts and I planted them near the greenhouse (downhill):

I think I'd never seen nectarine flowers before, they look exotic! I also discovered this year what quince flowers look like:

The only tree that didn't bloom was the smallest apple tree, and honestly that's her fault because for some reason she decided to make tender new green leaves in the middle of winter, so she pretty much exhausted herself for nothing. And you can't blame climate change and seasons being weird for this, because it was a cold and snowy week and no other nearby fruit trees were making any leaves. The confused apple tree is a New Zealand cultivar, so I suppose you could argue she thinks she's still in New Zealand, except she's never been to New Zealand in her life, she was born and raised in France, she doesn't know New Zealand exists. The only possible explanation is, I suppose, a deep-rooted yearning for their ancestral homeland among New Zealand apple trees.

I was a bit concerned when this tree then failed to produce any leaves in the spring, I worried she might be hopelessly hemispherically-challenged, but then I went back to check two weeks later and she was finally green! In a seasonally-appropriate way!

Other trees I've planted, not in the fruit tree path: a persimmon, but it died very quickly :( I will try again; a goji berry shrub, which has been here for two years and seems to be doing well, but so far no sign of berries; and in front of my house, an amelanchier (un arbre dont ma mère n'arrive jamais à se rappeler le nom et qu'elle persiste à appeler "le mélenchon"):

Finally, my last piece of important tree-related news is that I had the hazel tree near my house removed this winter:

I asked the guy who was working on the road nearby with an excavator digging a drainage trench if he could do it, and it took all of 10 minutes, like picking a flower, it was impressive!

And the reason I wanted to remove it is that there are hundreds of hazel trees in my woods and I wanted something different in this spot by the house. Unfortunately for this deserving hazel, it just wasn't special enough.

So I planted a tiny ginkgo :) And now I just have to be extremely patient as I wait for everyone to grow.

[lavandulawrites]

Yandere Genshin Men With An Escaped Darling

Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Capitano, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Pierro, Sethos, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli (all separate)

This took me so much longer than what I have planned. I had much fun writing this:) if you have any yandere scenario requests feel free to send me an ask<3 (I most likely won’t include every single character). (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, murder, imprisonment, manipulation, drugging, female reader

Word count: 9664

Albedo

The icy wind whipped against your cheeks. Snow clouded your vision. The tree branches waved in the wind and grasped at your clothes. You hissed as a thorn ripped your fabric, causing you to bleed.

As you ran down the mountain you glanced over your shoulder at every given moment.

A clearing caught your eye. Finally you could breathe out. You leans against a large tree. You needed to cover your wound. You rummaged through your pockets and to your joy you found a small scarf. The thin woven scarf was gifted to you by Klee, Albedo’s younger sister. The little girl was so proud when she gave you the scarf and wanted you to wear it all the time. Sadness filled your being at the thought of ruining the pink scarf, but your arm was more important. You bound your wound tightly with the scarf. One of the things he had thought you.

“I told you to stay inside the cabin” his voice echoed.

You froze. You prayed to the archons that it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

“This mountain is dangerous. You have no way of defending yourself” his voice soft.

You turned your head. Your eyes met his ice blue ones. They were cold, just like the icy mountain.

“Let’s go home” he walked towards you with quick steps. His arms wrapped around you and he kissed your forehead. “You are better off home, with me. I will keep you safe” his arms tightened around your form.

Alhaitham

The scribe had given you freedom. Which allowed you to freely roam the Akademiya. While Alhaitham was preoccupied in his office, you explored the university. Within a couple of months you had made friends with a couple of the students. You never told them you situation with the grey haired scholar, but they all knew that you lived together.

You had spent a lot of time plotting your escape. After all escaping the scribe was no easy task. The House of Daena was empty and quiet. The small bag you had hoisted over your shoulder filled with only the necessities. Your hands was shaking as you pushed down the door handle to a back door. The sunlight blinded you as the door opened.

You hurried down the path from the Akademiya. Your flats clicking against the cobblestone. You had to get out from Sumeru City and seek refuge in a remote town. It was risk, sure, but it was your only hope.

After an hour or so you had made your way to a small village on the outskirts of the capital. It wasn’t the ideal place, but it was your only option for the night. You was so kindly offered the spare bed by a lovely elderly woman. She didn’t ask why you looked over your shoulder every minute and that you were thankful for.

You packed your things and thanked the older woman for her kindness and went on your way.

After hours on the road your legs felt like jelly. You stopped by a abandoned house and rested on the little bench by the overgrown vegetable garden.

You woke up by the sounds of footsteps coming your way. A shadow blocked the sun.

“I must say you have slightly developed, but unfortunately you are still as predictable as ever” Alhaitham shook his head. “The elderly woman you slept at told me everything as soon as I explained the situation” his lips widened into a grin. “She thanked my for looking after such a helpless woman such as yourself.”

Strong arms picked you up and held you tight against his strong chest. “Let’s go home”.

Ayato

Ayato was a sly man. With his white clothing he looked like an angel, but that was far from the truth. You had many times heard him command the Shuumatsuban to get rid of the clan’s enemies. You knew the katana that rested by his hip when he was out on public duties, had slaughtered many.

You were afraid. Not only by him in himself, but afraid of his power and actions. That’s why you climbed over the tall walls that shielded the Kamisato residence from the outside world. Your ankles buckled under you as you landed and you whimpered out in pain. After you had collected yourself, you made a run for it. The ninja’s that were stationed around the estate had without doubt already spotted you. You hoped that they went to report to Ayato instead of chasing you down.

The way down to the beach was rocky and dangerous. Like a wild goat you quickly made your way down thanks to the adrenaline that pumped through your veins. The old rowboat was in the same stop just as you had recalled from an evening stroll with Ayaka along the beach. To your luck the two paddles were still there. You pushed the boat with all your might to the shore. The saltwater cold against your bare feet.

The swish of an arrow stopped you in your tracks. You looked down and saw it sticking out from the side of the boat. The hole was not that big, but it would cause your boat to leak in enough water for it to sink before you had made it to safety.

“Seize her!” a Shuumatsuban with high standing ordered.

A man with his face covered dragged you away from your boat and bound your wrists behind your back.

When you looked up at the cliff you saw Ayato looking down at you. He made his way down slowly and dread filled your veins.

He stopped in front of you and lifted your chin with a finger. “Did you have fun?” he leaned his face closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do not forget that I have eyes and ears everywhere”.

“Now let’s get you home. I will make sure you won’t slip through my fingers again. Though I must say your little attempt humoured me”

Baizhu

Tricking the little zombie girl made you feel horrible, but it was your only ticket to freedom. The green haired doctor had feed you herbs that made you weak and depended on his care. You had seen the label on the little bottle containing the medicine. So when he was out researching some herbs, you went through all the medical books he had in his libraries in search of the antidote. After much time and countless books you finally figured out the antidote.

You talked to Qiqi alone when Baizhu was busy treating a patient. You explained that he needed some herbs and told her that she had to deliver them to you and not her guardian. After some convincing she agreed. You crossed your fingers that she would remember and not slip up.

To your joy Qiqi had indeed remembered. The herbs tasted awful, but it was a small price to pay. It didn’t take long before you felt the medicine Baizhu had given you wear of. When he came to check up on you, you pretended that you were still weak. You asked him to go get some more medicine and he did as you said. When the green haired man left, you quickly tried to pry the window open. It was slightly jammed, but with your new strength you managed. Finally you had escaped the snake’s nest.

Your feet moved fast as you ran down the many stairs. You had to turn Baizhu to the authorities for his crimes. Just as you had made it down the stairs you bumped into someone. You didn’t need to look up to understand who it was.

“You will catch a cold running around like that” his voice cold as ice. His fingers lifted up your chin. “Tricking Qiqi really was a low move. That poor child was absolutely devastated to come home to an empty house. As for me I must say I am deeply disappointed. I have made it very clear that you will not manage without me.”

His lips curled up into a soft smile. “Let’s go home my darling. I will make some tea.”

Capitano

The first Harbinger was worshipped throughout the whole snowy nation. His underlings held great respect for him. He could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but to you he had a soft spot for.

Boots hammered against the ice ground. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run away from them, but you would not give up so easily.

As you made your way through the thick pine forest you started to regret your decision, but it was too late. As you came to the end of the forest you were surrounded by soldiers. Their spears raised towards you, stopping you in your tracks.

The sound of hooves reached your ears. The soldiers parted and bowed deep. On a tall black horse sat Capitano. Even with his face hidden by his black helmet, you could feel his intense gaze.

The stallion came to a halt and his rider dismounted. The snow crunched underneath his heels as he made his way towards you. His height towering over your trembling form. “You are all dismissed” he barked out. The soldiers bowed before they marched down the hill.

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. The ice cold wind howling against the tree tops. The dark haired man finally spoke “You broke my trust. Criminals deserve to be punished.”

With a swift motion he threw you over his shoulder and held you in place with his arm. He mounted his horse and squeezed his heels against the animal’s flank.

The Harbinger’s hold on you was tight and as suffocating as his presence. As you watched the landscape blur together you realised that you would never escape him.

Childe

The sound of children’s laughter could be heard in the distance. The small fishing village Ajax’s family resides in was remote. The river that ran across it ice cold and filled to the brim with fish. You crept as quickly as you could between the trees that surround the village. To your dismay Childe’s childhood home was just by the border which meant that the red head knew the woods like the back of his hand.

You winced as you heard Teucer calling out for his brother. The little child had noticed your disappearance.

You picked up your speed and ran as fast as your legs could carry you. It was difficult with the heavy snow, but you had to keep going.

A flash of red stopped you in your tracks. You quickly hid behind a rock and held your breath.

“It’s not nice to run away” a chirpy voice said. Childe.

Of course he found you. It was only a matter of time. His soft laughter rang throughout the woods. He was close. Too close.

Suddenly he jumped onto the rock you had hidden behind. You yelped and backed away. He grinned as he looked down on you. His eyes wide and crazed. “If you wanted to play hide and seek why didn’t you just say so?” he laughed. His laughter chilling.

He jumped down and landed just a few centimetres from your legs. He bent down and dragged you to your feet. “Teucer, Tonia and Anthon are all waiting for you back home. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them would you?” he tilted his head and faked a sad expression.

He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. “When we get home after our visit here, I will never let you leave my side. Is that understood?” his voice low. He chuckled as he pulled back to study your expression. “That frightened look of yours is really something. Makes me wanna eat you up” he kissed your cheek. “Don’t make me lose my cool, okay?”

Cyno

The sun was bright and high. The heat was unbearable and you regretted not seeking shade. The sand danced across the dune as the wind gave you some mercy from the heat.

In front off you on the scorching sand laid the lifeless bodies of the eremites that had helped you with your escape from the general. Blood coloured the sand red and the ruins surrounding you were splattered in red. The metallic sand made you dizzy.

Cyno stood before the bodies with his back turned to you. His white hair was coated in red. His strong muscles made him look like a god as he stood there with his bloodied spear. He turned to you. His face blank.

“I am sorry you had to see that” his expression apologetic.

He planted the spear in the ground and walked towards you slowly like he was afraid of scaring you. He squatted down so that he was on your eye level. You pulled your legs towards you as much as you could.

“Why did you run away?”

You only stared at him with big eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His head piece long discarded. “The desert is a dangerous place. You have no idea how scared I was when I noticed your disappearance” his eyes sad. “When I saw you among those eremites… I have never felt such anger. I had no choice but to eliminate them. Those who try to take you away from me deserves punishment. I did the right thing with ridding the world of such people” his hands was trembling in anger.

“I will make sure no one tries to take you away from me again. I will always be by your side” he kissed your tears away with a soft smile.

Dainsleif

Dainsleif had long lost his sanity. At least when it came to you. That much was clear.

You had just managed to escape him while he slept. The ruin you had chosen for your resting place for the night was eerie quite. Even the monsters were gone. You would have found it weird had you not been on the run. You manoeuvred through the dark ruins as fast as you could. After a while you made it out.

Your relived expression fell as you took in your surroundings. The monsters you had disappeared were now standing in front of you. You slowly backed away as you thought up an escaped plan. Just as you were about to make a run for it, dark blue power lit up the area in front of you. With movements faster then what your eyes could see, the monsters were slain.

The blond traveler looked at you with a look that sent shivers down your spine. He flicked off the blood that coated his blade as he made his way towards you.

“I expected more from you. To believe you so ignorantly took the bait is truly disappointing” he shook his head. “But on the plus side, I have now proved to you that you will never make it without me. Let me be your protector. Let me take care of you” he kneeled in front of you as he took your small hand in his and kissed it gently.

You could only cry silent as the Twilight Sword led you inside the ruins. Dainsleif was a man of his word and you knew very well that he would never break his promise to himself.

Diluc

The winery was a beautiful place. When you first arrived you thought it looked like something straight out from a fairytale. You could not be more wrong as you soon learned.

Diluc was a desperate man. He had tricked himself into believing he was your saviour and he would do anything in order to protect you. If he had to kill someone in order to do so he would not bat an eye.

You had escaped through the cellar door and out the cellar window. You had been unsure if you fitted through the window, but to your surprise you fitted like a glove. The moon casted a pale light against the manor and it made you pause in your steps by its beauty.

The stables were empty just as you had expected. You tacked up the chestnut mare Diluc had gifted you. You kissed her forehead as you collected yourself. He would come after you.

As the mare galloped through the dense forest you could hear the distant shouts from Diluc. You gritted your teeth as you made your horse run faster.

Just as you thought you had made it, you heard the dreaded screams of his hawk. You had lost.

Your eyes were heavy as you slowly gained consciousness. You were tied to the desk chair inside his bedroom. Your bindings was of the finest red silk. You shivered at the similarities between you and a neatly wrapped present. In front of you were a highly distressed red haired man. He was walking back and forth, muttering something to himself.

“How could I be so careless as to not look better after her… I am a fool” he hissed to himself.

After a few minutes he stopped and turned to you. His expression softened as he cupped your face. “I apologise for the bindings, but it is necessary. You could be hurt you know?” his voice soft, but serious. “I will never let any harm happen to you. Ever.”

Dottore

The doctor’s blood red eyes always sent shivers down your spine. Even though he was human, he seemed like anything but. His embraces felt like a cage and his sweet words like poison. It didn’t take you long to understand why he was the most feared man in the entirety of Teyvat.

Dottore held you within his estate and refused to let you leave. Heavily armed guards guarded your chambers. You had tried to convince them to let you go and the next day you were delivered their served head on a platter. Dottore was cruel that much was obvious.

You knew you could never outsmart Dottore. He was one of the smartest beings on the plant and he never pretended not to be. If you couldn’t trick Dottore, you would trick the servants.

The long hallways in Dottore’s mansion were dark and empty. You sneaked through the manor as quietly as possible. With the key you had stolen clutched in your hand you made your way to the garden door. You twisted the key in the keyhole and pushed the door open. Cold air filled your lungs. Your eyes lit up at the sight of the snow filled landscape.

Your freedom was however short lived.

“If you take a step outside of that door I will behead this woman” a deep voice reached your ears.

You froze and slowly turned. There in the doorway stood the Harbinger. His raven-like mask were nowhere to be found. His hand was wrapped around the neck of the maid who you had stolen the key from. Her face was filled with fear and she looked at you pleadingly.

As much as you longed for freedom, you could not bear to have the blood from someone else on your hands. You walked back in and locked the door with a lowered head. You placed the key in Dottore’s waiting hand.

He slipped the key onto his pocket with a smile. “Good girl.”

“However…. I cannot let such an action go unpunished” he tck-ed. He threw the maid across the room. Her back hit the wall with a loud thud.

“I have given you all a specific rule you all must follow. I have made what would happen if you would ever break it quite clear, have I not?” his voice as cold as the unforgiving landscape that surrounded the estate. The maid muttered a “yes lord Harbinger”.

The blue haired man scoffed and turned to you. “I suppose I should teach you a lesson” his eyes held nothing but cold determination.

With three long strides he stopped in front of the maid. Her eyes filled with horror. He pulled out a sharp and sleek scalpel and slight her throat in a precise motion. “You deserve much more suffering, but I don’t want me darling to be witness to that so this would have to do” he sneered at the maid as she gurgled on her own blood.

He threw the scalpel and wiped his hands on his pants. “Let’s get you back to your chambers shall we.”

He snaked his arm around your waist and led you out of the hallway. “I trust that you will stop your escape attempts and accept that you belong here with me” his voice smooth like honey.

Gorou

The general of the resistance was a generous man. He always looked after his soldiers and treated them with respect and you were no different. He loved you with his entire being, that much was certain.

He never brought you to the frontlines. You were to stay at the base with a few trusted soldiers that looked after you. They all knew about your situation, but no one cared. They all were just glad that the general had someone who brought him comfort through the tough times.

As the soldiers exchanged posts you were able to sneak out of the cabin. You did not get far before a certain brunette had tracked you down.

His big cerulean eyes wide as his whole body tensed. “Why are you out here?” his big eyes not blinking once. His ears alert.

“You didn’t try to leave right? It must be something else? Right?” his voice raised. His fangs visible as he sneered.

He gripped your hand tightly as he dragged you back to the camp. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I need to keep you safe” he looked at you with a sad expression as he hurried back to the camp.

The hybrid had always been extremely overprotective to the point it suffocated you. He always told he did what he did for your own good.

The next nights he held you tightly in his arms as he slept. His fluffy tail wrapping around your leg in a protective manner.

Heizou

The detective had locked you up in his own home, claiming it was a way to protect you. Every door and every window (and some drawers) had complicated locks on. Only a few doors and drawers were unlocked.

Heizou was out on a detective job so you were left all alone. This was your chance to get out. You knew all to well that the detective most likely would track you down, but you could not let such an opportunity pass.

The puzzle that was the lock-mechanism on the front door seemed different. Heizou did have the habit of changing them so you didn’t think too much of it. The puzzle was tricky, but after a while you were able to figure it out. The door unlocked and you squealed in joy.

You hadn’t come far before someone wrapped their arms around your shoulders. “Boo” he whispered into your ears causing you to yelp.

“Aww… Did I scare you now?” his tone mocking. He leaned his entire body weight onto you causing you to stumble. He chuckled at your shuffling and poked your cheek. “I’m glad you passed my little test sweetheart” he purred.

You regained your senses and pushed him off. You glared at him as he laughed.

“You really are entertaining aren’t you? You thought that I would ever let you go… Now that’s just too funny!” he wiped his tears as he laughed.

“With your naivety, you are better of with me” he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. Your noses almost touching. He cupped your cheeks and smiled at you gently. “I will take care of you, darling.”

Itto

The brutish oni was really clingy and always felt the need to have you glued to his side. Getting alone time was nearly impossible, but you managed when he was out organising a onikabuto match.

While the white haired man was busy making posters with his gang, you snuck out of the house. Which was surprisingly easy when he wasn’t home. The city was lively and the lit lanterns flickering in the wind. Stars littering the clear night sky. You sneaked among the multiple food stalls. The smell of fried fish filling the air.

The sound of a booming laughter made your limbs freeze to the ground. You could recognise that laughter everywhere. You turned your head and your eyes widened in fear at your confirmed suspicion. Before a dessert stall stood Itto with Mamoru. “We gotta get something for the gang. You brought money right?” the oni nudged Mamoru who muttered a “yes boss”.

You quickly hid behind a small group of someone who stood before the boba shop. Luckily you where shorter than the group and you were able to stay hidden.

“Wait… Why does it smell like [Name]?”

“I don’t know boss. Isn’t she home?”

Your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. You carefully peaked through the group. Itto was sniffing in the air, the action almost comical, had it not been for your predicament. His closed eyes snapped open. His red slit eyes met yours. His body tense like a hunting dog. His expression filled with shock. “Doll?” he called out.

Your feet moved before you even registered it. You sprinted down the street. Your sandals clicking against the ground. You didn’t need to look back to know that Itto was right behind you.

You jumped down the railing and you were thankful that the jumps wasn’t too high as you landed on the soft grass. Just as you made it behind a small building, a big hand grabbed your arm. You lost your balanced and was pulled flushed against a broad chest.

“Why are you outside?” his voice eerily quiet. “I thought I made it clear that it’s dangerous, you are not a big strong oni. Humans are so fragile and weak” he pulled you into a tight hug. His face pressed against your soft hair. “You better listen to me next time… or I would have to tie you up” he pressed a kiss on top of your head followed by a soft “I love you”.

Kaeya

The Calvary Captain’s office was quite save from the sound of the captain’s pen scribbling. He hadn’t acknowledged you since he brought you inside his spacious office. His silence was scarier than his anger. He continued to write his report about some mission. The grandfather clock in the corner ticking.

After what felt like an eternity Kaeya looked up at you. He folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. His lone eye looking straight at you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “You broke my trust did you not?” his honeyed voice terrifying. He tck-ed. “I am disappointed, but not surprised” he sighed. “I should punish you” he unfolded his hands and drummed two fingers across the rim of his empty glass.

“Why would I want to be locked up in some apartment?” you spat at the smug knight. His lips stretched up into a uncanny smile.

“Oh my…. You are more naive than what I gave you credit for” he chuckled. He stood up suddenly, causing the chair legs to scrap against the hardwood floor. He walked towards you like a stalking wolf. His eyes hungry and brimming with madness.

He stopped before you and leaned down on the arms of your chair. His face close to yours. Too close. His crystal blue eye scanned yours. You felt completely naked underneath his gaze. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know how you so foolishly conceived the knights guarding the house?” he laughed. His laughter sickening. “I dealt with them as soon as they reported back to me. It was a pain cleaning of the blood from my new boots, but some sacrifices must be made” he sighed.

He grasped your chin and leaned closer “I will never ever let you go.”

He straightened up. His expression lighthearted. “Now let’s get something to eat shall we?” he pulled you up with a tight grip. You looked down on his boots as he dragged you out of his office, noticing the few blood speckles he had missed.

Kaveh

The house Kaveh had constructed for you two was like a maze. With many corridors and doors, it was easy to get lost. He had built you both a home where he could play out his fantasy. He had kept you locked away in the mansion for months. Kaveh said it was to keep you safe and away from prying eyes.

You tried to force the window open for the 10th time, but to no avail. The window was still only a few centimetres open. Kaveh had proudly showed you the windows he had constructed that would not open more than a few centimetres. You had hoped that the design of the master architect had failed, but to your disappointment they had not.

Your eyes scanned the room till the landed on the doors to the winter garden. The glass were delicate and beautiful. You studied it closely till you came to the conclusion that they might be fragile enough to shatter. You picked up a stool that were standing in the corner. You lifted the furniture over your head and smashed the windows with all your might. The glass doors shattered into million pieces, looking like glittering diamonds. You dropped the stool and climbed through the window. You hissed as you cut yourself on the jagged pieces of glass that were still standing.

The winter garden was cozily decorated and it almost made you sad to leave it. The door out to the garden was locked which wasn’t a surprise. To your luck one of the miniature stone statues that resembled birds of all sizes, was perfect for shattering windows. It almost broke your heart at the thought of shattering the beautiful stained glass walls, but you had no choice. With all your might you managed to break it.

You ran as fast as you could through the garden. You had to find the exit before Kaveh came home from his meeting with his new client. As you were about to climb the tall fence that surrounded the property, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down. You back hit the soft grass and straddling you were Kaveh. His eyes filled with betrayal and anger.

“How could you?!” his voice loud. His grip on your shoulders tightened. “After all that I have done for you?!” his features twisted into rage and hurt.

You tried to defend yourself, but your words died on you tongue. You had never seen Kaveh that angry. Fear filled you entire being and you felt sick. You casted a last look at the flush forest behind the fence. You knew that this would be your last time outside for a very long time.

Kazuha

With your breath ragged you ran through the dense forest. You had finally managed to escape the white haired samurai. You just needed to reach the beach and board one of the fishing boats that were docked at the dock.

You finally made it to the clearing that lead down to the beach. You waved at the fishermen and they turned to greet you. The dock was old and badly maintained. Splinters poking out and threatening to stab your feet. Just as you were about to ask the captain on the rather small boat, a gust of wind nearly knocked you down.

Red maple leaves fell gently down form the sky. The man in front of you moved quickly and elegantly. His movements like a dance, completely ensnaring you with his beauty. Crimson rain littered the air before it splattered your face. The warm liquid brought you quickly to your senses. Kazuha swiftly slashed his katana, slitting the throat of the captain. The red eyed man landed gently and wiped his blade with a handkerchief. The white fabric staining red in an instant.

He turned his gaze to you. His lips bore a gentle smile. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you. He lifted his hand and gently wiped the bloodstains of your skin. “What is my delicate flower doing here?” his voice soft.

You swallowed. You had yet to let you eyes wander to the slaughtered boat crew. Kazuha’s eyes scanned yours. His long eyelashes fluttered. Tears ran down your cheeks in crystal clear rivers. You shoved him away as hard as you could. He stumbled back, but you knew he held back his strength. He had let you push him. “Get away from me!” your voice weak and trembling. You choked out a cry as your fell down to the wooden floor. The wood was soaked with red blood. You let your eyes wander. You wanted to throw up at the sight of the dead boatmen.

“You know I can’t do that. Without me you’re lost. I need to protect you. You are the only light in my life and I know we will live happily ever after” his voice was pained and vulnerable. His calloused hands gripped your shoulders in desperation. “I am never going to let you leave me” his smile crazed and not fitting his saddened eyes.

He wrapped his arms around you in an embrace that reminded you of a cage. His face nestled into your soft hair. “I will make you happy, just you wait and see.”

Lyney

A swarm of cards flew over your face, momentarily blinding you. You ducked your head, but lost balance as something caught your leg. It was a makeshift snare made of multiple colourful handkerchiefs. Playful giggles reached your ears.

“The surprised look on your face is to die for! So adorable!” his voice gleeful.

You quickly got back on your feet and was about to make a run for it when Lyney tackled you. You landed with a groan, the cobblestone hard against your back. Lyney pinned your hands to the ground as he sat on top of your midriff. He grinned as he looked down on you.

“It’s no fun in you escaping you know?” he tilted his head. He kissed your nose before he jumped off you. “You could at least be a little more creative” he shook his head in faux disappointment.

“Asshole” you sneered at him.

His cat like eyes crinkled in amusement at your remark. “How rude” he snickered.

Just as sudden as he had jumped you, his expression changed. His eyes colder than ice and his mouth a thin line. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you after him.

He unlocked the house he, his siblings and you resided in. He quickly locked the door after him and dragged you into your bedroom. He let go of your hand. You quickly stumbled as far away from him as you could.

“Why can’t you let me have nice things? Why [Name]?” his eyes narrowed. It was in moments like this that you remembered his role in The Fatui. His eyes held a dangerous glint that dared you to cross him.

Your eyes widened in horror. “No, no, no… Please Lyney!” you begged. Tears trialing down your cheeks and pooling down onto the soft carpet.

“You gave me no choice. This is the consequences of your own actions” he shushed you as he clasped the chain onto your left ankle. He gently kissed your tears away. “It’s only temporary, okay?” he gently stroked your cheekbone. “I love you darling, don’t forget that.”

Neuvillette

Even though the judge bore aesthetically similarities with the sea otters that lived in the Fontanian waters, he was not like them at all. They were sweet playful creatures, and the judge a selfish cruel man. His good reputation made you sick. If only the citizens of Fontaine knew him like you did.

He had kept you hidden and locked up in his beautiful home. That was until you had managed to convince the Melusine that was in charge of looking after you that day. At first she refused to let you out, but when you told her that you were going to buy a present for Neuvillette she yielded. If it was under other circumstances you would have felt bad for tricking her.

The bustling streets of The Court of Fontaine a familiar sight. You breathed in the air. Oh how you had missed the smell of new baked goods and the music of street musicians.

You knew it would not take long before Neuvillette would notice your disappearance. You had to get out of the city and onto an aqua bus before he sent the Gardes after you.

You bought a ticket with the money you had managed to steal from Neuvillette. You quickly made it up the stairs to the aqua bus station. The aqua bus was just about to depart when a group of Gardes blocked the exit behind you. You leaped for the bus only to collide with a broad chest. You could recognise that scent no matter where in Teyvat you found yourself.

You slowly raised your head. Neuvillette looked down at you with a furious expression. You had only seen that expression when he had caught you chatting with other men (it didn’t matter to him that your conversation was only friendly and nothing more). His lilac eyes bored into yours, stripping your soul naked.

“I told you to never leave the residence” his voice low and lazed with anger.

His horns glowing light blue. His hands balled into fists by his sides, clearly trying to ground himself. You lowered your head.

“We are going back at once and you better not make any commotions” his hand turned you around and firmly guided you to the lift. One of the Gardes reached out his hand in order to size you properly. “Get your filthy hand away from her” Neuvillette’s voice boomed.

The Garde tried to defend himself but was cut short by Neuvillette. “Leave at once or you will regret it” his teeth bared. His sharp fangs fully visible. The Garde bowed and quickly left.

Neuvillette’s hand tightened its hold on your shoulder. “When we get home I demanded an explanation as to why you left your home” he whispered into your ear.

Pantalone

Pantalone was sitting on a expensive leather chair. His shoes polished in a way you could see your own reflection in the black leather. In his gloved hands was a black pistol with details in white gold.

In front of him on the cold polished hardwood floor knelt a man. His hands were bound behind his back. His eyes were looking pleadingly up at the Harbinger. He was a guard whom you had befriended. He had so kindly helped you escape before you both were caught red handed by the ninth Harbinger.

The black haired Harbinger turned his face towards you. “This is what he gets for taking what’s mine” his voice as smooth as velvet. His eyes dark and his smile cunning. He turned towards the bound man. “I must admit that I am a rather greedy man. I really hate when people try to take what’s mine” he sighed and clicked his tongue. He flicked the safety and pointed the pistol at the guards head.

“No!” you screamed as you desperately tried to get lose from your silk bindings.

Pantalone shushed you gently. “He asked for it my love” his voice sweet as sugar.

“Any last words?” he smiled. “Hmm… I don’t think you deserve any” he fired the pistol before the poor guard had the time to open his mouth. Pantalone’s smile stretched into a sickening grin. The man’s brain splatters onto the expansive rug.

You screamed as you tried to swallow the bile. “How could you?! You disgusting monster! I hate you!” you screamed while thick tears ran down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry my dear. He’s not worth shedding your lovely tears over” Pantalone kneeled in front of you. His eyes gentle. “I will make sure that no other men like that ever gets between us. You are mine and nothing will ever change that” his voice low.

Pierro

The sorcerer had forced you to your knees with his magic. You could feel the power tugging at your mind and it hurt. His pale eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?” his gruff voice echoed inside the ballroom.

You glared up at him unable to do anything else. He kneeled before you and harshly lifted your chin. His expression harsher than the unforgiving climate outside. “I must say I’m utterly disappointed in your behaviour. You should be ashamed.”

You tried to get control over your limbs, but to no avail. Your words died on your tongue and you were unable to make any sound.

The white haired man scoffed and released his hold on you. His magic released you completely and you crawled backwards and away from him. Creating as much distance as possible.

The Jester rose to his feet and dusted off invisible dust from his elegant robe. “If you were anyone else I would have executed you for your crime. Do not forget that our relationship was blessed directly blessed from Her Majesty Herself” he sneered.

He hauled you up to your feet, his iron grip bruising. He dragged you down the corridors and up the many stairs to your chambers. He slammed the door open and dragged you inside.

“Think over what you have done. I don’t take such humiliation lightly” his eyes narrow as he looked down on you. “Don’t think you will ever get away. You belong to me and that’s final” with that he closed the door and locked it making you all alone.

Sethos

You ran over the dunes as fast as you could. You had to be fast. Behind you you could hear Sethos voice as he called for you. To your misfortune the free spirited man was fast. Extremely fast. Your sandals were filled with sand, but you couldn’t care less.

Suddenly it became quiet. Too quiet. You hid behind a rock formation and listened. Suddenly a figure slid down the dune to your left and leaped on top of you. He was precise enough that make sure you landed on the sand and not the rock behind you. His wild hair rustling in the wind.

The sight in front of you reminded you of the time when he swept you away and locked you away inside the temple. He had first gotten to know you when he visited Sumeru City. He had told you it was love at first sight and he asked you to come and visit the desert with him. You were taken aback by his impulsiveness, but you soon grew accustom to it.

“If you wanted to play hide and seek you could have just said so” his entire weight on you. He was silent for a few moments. His crystal green eyes scanning yours. You could see his gears turning. “Don’t tell me you tried to run away from me…? You would never do something like that? Right?” his voice lazed with disbelief and desperation.

In a swift movement you were brought to you feet. His hold on you right and you wondered if he thought you would fly away if he let go. “Let’s get back to the temple” his voice back to its jovial self, but his eyes clouded with obsession and desperation.

Thoma

The white mop mopped over the hardwood floor in a fast motion. The white colour quickly staining red. A crimson red pool of blood was spilled across the floor. The sight made you sick. Bile raising up in your throat. You were sitting in the coroner of the room , hugging your knees. The blonde man stopped his mopping and raised his head and looked at you. His face splattered with blood. He sighed and leaned the mop against the wall.

“I am so sorry you had to see that, my angle” his green eyes pleading. He crouched in front of your trembling form. He gently caressed your cheek.

The friendly and kind housekeeper was gone and replaced by a green eyed monster that slaughtered anything in its path. He had beheaded the kind men that helped you escape from the Kamisato estate.

“I am wounded that you tried to leave me. What did I do wrong?” his eyes glossy.

You locked me away you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

“My master has been kind and let us stay here together and this is your gratitude?” his voice slightly raised. His eyes scanned over your form and landed on your bloodied nightdress. “I have to get that off” he muttered as he quickly rose. His movements frantic as he looked for a washcloth.

“My gratitude?” your voice shaky, but loud. “You have taken everything away from me!” you stood up. Your legs shaky.

Thoma’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue” his voice cold.

You swallowed. You understood now better than anyone why so many feared the “fixer”.

His hold on the washcloth tight. His knuckles whiter than snow. “Go to your room and change. I will wash your nightdress later” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Your colour drained from your face as you hurried to your room. Your bedroom seemed more like a prison than anything else.

Tighnari

The forest watcher had always lectured you about various plants and their effects and benefits. At first you thought it was boring, but after awhile you learned to use it to your advantage. Taking herbs from Tighnari’s beloved collection was tricky, but not impossible. You had read through every single book he had on botany. Your plan was bulletproof.

Tighnari had gently sipped on the cup of tea you had brewed for him while he read through some reposts. He had then fallen limp over the kitchen table. You checked his pulse and breathes out in relief when you felt his pulse against your fingers. You wanted to escape from the obsessed fox, not kill him.

You rummage through his pocket for his key. The key was heavy in your hand and it was almost a surreal feeling when you twisted it in the lock. The air fresh and welcoming. With a last look at the unconscious man you began your journey.

The rainforest was tricky to navigate in, but luckily you had stolen both a map and a compass from Tighnari. Yet again you were glad you paid attention to his boring lectures. The sound of branches snapping made you stop in your tracks. The hair on the back of your neck rose.

“Poisoning me…” his voice echoed through the treetops. “Your audacity is truly something” he sneered. “Look at me when I’m talking to you” his voice nearer.

You slowly turned around and were met with a angry hazel eyes. His long ears pinned back in anger. His arms folded over his chest.

“The rainforest is dangerous. Let’s get back” you could see he was holding back his fury. His jaw clenched. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. “I guess I have no choice…” he sighed as he stalked towards you.

Quicker thank you could register he had trapped you within his arms. “I will never let you go. I’m just trying to protect you” he whispered against your ear.

Something pricked your neck. Your eyes widened and darted to Tighnari’s. “It had to be down. Consider it… pay back” he supported your body as you lost consciousness.

Venti

The anemo archon was an eerie man. He was all smiles and friendly laughter among the crowd disguised as Venti the bard, but with you he was like a completely different person. Sure he was still easygoing, but his obsession and possession overshadowing anything else. He had told you many times with a playful smirk that he was undoubtedly the weakest archon. You never believed him. You had seen with your very own eyes what he was capable of doing to those he thought was undeserving of your attention, but you had yet to see his full potential. Though you must admit that you rather did not wish to witness that.

He kept you in the ruins of Stormterror’s lair. He had made the ruin as liveable as possible and even quite cozy. He treated you like royalty and gave you everything except freedom. You thought it was rather stupid considering he was the god of freedom.

Escaping the ruin was almost completely impossible considering the wind shields that surrounded it and the dragon that acted as a guard. When you finally managed to escape and run over the grassy meadows you were so happy you cried.

Your tears clouded your vision causing you to become less aware of your surroundings.

Strong wind slammed against causing you to lose balance. There in front of you were Barbados. He was not in his usual clothing, but rather in a godly outfit. White big wings flapping behind him. His cerulean eyes glowing intensely in the night. He was completely silent, but you felt the anger oozing out from him.

You were completely frozen to the ground and you were unsure if it was his doing or your fear taking over. You wanted to explain yourself, but your voice failed you completely.

With a gust of wind you were swept up into his arms. His arms strong and squeezed you flushed against him. His wings flapped silently as he soared through the air. High up in the air you were able to see Mondstadt City and you quickly came to the realisation that you would probably never step a foot inside its gates again.

Wanderer/Scara

In front off you was a raging man. His eyes wide and filled with fury. His hands held anemo power which he sliced through the merchants that had guided you through the tick rainforest. Wanderer’s hair was slicked back with blood. He delivered the last strike to the merchant before he landed. He slowly turned around to face you. His hands shaking with anger.

You opened your mouth, but quickly shut your mouth at his raised hand. “Those lowlife who think they can take you away from me” he laughed manically. “How dumb can you be?” Wanderer sneered through laughter. “Because you would never leave me right? After all I have been through? Right?” his eyes crazed as he continued to spew nonsense. “We are destined to be together. It’s my right. How dare they to take that away from me?! I should revive them just so that I could kill them again” his laughter sounded almost forced.

He wrapped his arms around you. You could feel tears against your neck as he wept. You were astonished by his vulnerability. It almost made you pity him. Just almost.

He quickly regained his composure and roughly wiped his tears on his sleeve. “Let’s go home…” his voice distant.

The journey back had been quite. When you finally arrived back he shoved you inside. His eyes wide and intense. “You have no idea how much I wanna lock you up in a cage right now” he muttered. His porcelain white hand tightly gripping yours. “I will make sure so that you never leave me. I need you. I need you so much it hurts. So don’t ever try and get away.”

Wriothesley

You had long planned your escape from The Fortress of Meropide. Unlike the other inmates you were completely innocent. You had been wrongfully imprisoned on the request of Wriothesley. You had gained the trust of some of you fellow inmates and they promised to help you escape. You had chose the pipe cleaning day as your day of escaping. All went smoothly and exactly as planned.

The only step left in your plan was descend into the waters that the pipes were connected too and swim out to freedom. After that you had to avoid the detectors, but you were confident in your diving abilities.

As you were saying your thanks to the kind inmates, the sound of heavy boots against metal echoed in the pipes. In the opening of the pipe were Wriothesley. His imposing figure sending shivers down you spine.

The metal decorations on his outfit clattering with each step. The handcuffs on his hip catching the light. His icy eyes held an unreadable emotion. “Well well… What might this ruckus be?” he tilted his head and placed his hands on his hips. His tone held a dangerous edge to it. Wriothesley eyes glued onto yours and completely ignoring the others.

A bottomless pit formed in your stomach and you almost threw up. You swallowed the taste of vomit. Your freedom was so close, yes so very far.

“Are you aware your sentences are going to be so much longer?” his lips curled up into a little smirk. “I thought you were smarter than this” with two steps he reached you. He hooked off his cuffs and cuffed your wrists. “It seems you need a more secure cell… Luckily I know just the one” he leaned closer to your ear “I will make sure you always stick to my side”.

You had never regretted something more than your little escape attempt. The new so called cell was a bedroom connected to the Duke’s living quarters. Your freedom had never been so distant as it was now.

Xiao

You ran as fast as you could. The landscape blurring together as you navigated through the forest. You had to escape him. Or at least try. Tue bamboo forest was dense and dark. Your human eyes struggled to see clearly. You could hear birds fleeing in the distance. He was close.

You had ran away when you learned that he had slaughtered the man who had so kindly gifted you sun pork buns. The adepti had let you run first, which surprised you. Even though you didn’t understand why, you were grateful for your head start.

Suddenly a green black cloud appeared in front off you. You tried to turn in your heel to flow, but was stopped when a hand grabbed your collar. You were momentarily unable to breath. It was only when he loosened his grip that you were able to gasp for air.

“I don’t understand you mortals. I only do what I have to protect you. I give you everything you need and more” he sounded confused and annoyed.

“Without me you would not have managed to survive. At all” he spun you around so you could face him. “Did me killing that man hurt you that much? I have killed many of you near acquaintances and you never batted an eye…” his voice trailed off as he was lost in thought. “Could it be that you never realised? Never mind. It doesn’t matter now” he sighed.

At the thought of him killing your near friends without you knowing made you sob helplessly. He only started at you in confusion.

He clicked his tongue before he hauled you over his shoulder. “I need to ask Madame Ping for a tea pot it seems…” his voice a frustrated groan.

Zhongli

You had sought shelter at a kind older couple. You needed to regain your energy before you fled the city. The woman was kind and gladly cooked for you. She completely denied your help. You stayed at their house for two weeks before the older woman knocked at your bedroom door and told you a friend of her husband was coming to visit.

The atmosphere in the living room was as tense as it could get. In front of you were Zhongli. He was the friend the couple had spoken so warmly about. The brunette was sitting in the sofa besides the woman, one of his legs over the other. His hand elegantly holding a cup of tea. His reptile eyes staring you down intensely.

You felt like sinking into the floor. Your hands trembling as you took a sip of the tea. The bitter taste doing nothing to soothe your nerves.

“I don’t know if you are aware, but I and miss [Name] know each other’s very well” his smile sharp. To hear your husband speaking in such manner made your heart beat against your chest.

You knew it was unwise to go against Morax and his contracts, but you had no choice. He had tricked you into signing the contract that would imprison. Zhongli had terrified you before you knew of his identity as the Geo Archon, but when you found out about his identity you were absolutely petrified.

Zhongli hummed at a joke the man had told. His golden eyes never leaving yours. His lips twisted up into a grin which revealed his sharp fangs. With the golden light from the sunset outside he looked even more inhuman than ever before. You felt small and utterly helpless before him. You dreaded his punishment that you knew would income when he brought you back.

After an hour and an half had past Zhongli excused himself. “I must take my leave now. [Name] you should come with” his order clear as day. He smiled to the couple and bowed in courtesy.

You swallowed and nodded. You thanked the couple for their hospitality and left with Zhongli.

When you were out of earshot he turned to you. “A broken contract is no laughing matter my dear” his hand gripping yours. “I will make it clear to you when we get back who you belong to” his voice deep and determined.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly (Part 2)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: near death experience, hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a two-shot.

The cold burned.

Once the sun set, the weather front moved in, and the temperature plunged. Snow fell thick and fast, just short of a whiteout. Your feet sank to the ankle, then to the shin, and your aching trudge became a slow-motion nightmare. It was about that time you realized – you were in real danger.

It was a two-mile walk – uphill, through old snow and frozen sludge – from your stranded vehicle. Home was closer than town, so you put your head down, buried your mittened hands in your armpits, and threw your emergency blanket from the car over your head as a bright orange cloak. And you set out.

It really took you too long to leave the car, but it was a life and death decision, and you waffled between shit options. On a busier road, you’d stay in the car. But this kind of snowfall would keep people home for a day or two. More than enough time to freeze to death, curled up in the driver’s seat.

If you lived, you’d make a better emergency kit for your ride.

In the meantime, the path demanded all of your attention. Even under fresh snow, it was easy to follow the road. Thick forest covered this stretch, and there was nowhere to go but forward. Hopefully you wouldn’t miss your drive. Should luck bless you for the first time in a decade, you’d see your neighbors’ lights in the dark.

But you had miles to go, yet. And the footing was terrible.

Old snow, half-melted and refrozen, threatened to turn your ankle with every step. Staying upright took work. Every muscle joined the battle, from your toes to your shoulders. Your abs clenched, and your thighs soon shook from exertion. As cold as you were, sweat stuck your hair to your face. Your neck.

The wind turned the moisture to ice.

Pins and needles prickled under your clothes.

Worse, and worse, and worse.

But there was no choice, so you moved on. No one was coming, so you would go. Keep calm and carry on and all that noise.

You had tea at home. An electric heating blanket under heavy quilts. Dry clothes and fuzzy socks.

So, you walked.

One foot in front of the other. Wobbling. Trying to find safe footing.

You crashed to your knees, bracing for pain that didn’t come.

Fuck.

You were losing sensation in your extremities.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The fresh layer of snow swallowed your hands where you’d braced to catch yourself. It didn’t look right from your perspective. You hadn’t punched holes into the drift. You’d joined it. Flesh flowed into freeze, and it sucked the heat from your body. Hungry. Careless.

Physically shaking the image from your head, you rose. You pushed on. Slow and unsteady as your thoughts lost traction on the creeping ice.

It never seemed right that such an oppressive season made the world so bright. Even on a moonless night, the snow practically glowed. When you first moved to the mountain, you’d look out the window and marvel at how clearly you could see the world you couldn’t explore. The endless white always looked so inviting, but it kept you locked away, isolated.

Snow ate the color out of the world. That was why it sparkled so brightly in the sun, full of ingested prisms stolen from kinder seasons.

What colors, you wondered, would it digest out of you.

Once you were buried.

Lost to the white void falling without. Swelling within.

Everything felt damp. Warm. Your muscles went syrupy. You were your own personal swamp, and you panted, dropping your blanket. It was too heavy, too waterlogged anyway. You couldn’t carry that weight forever. It fell easily. All you had to do was let go.

Your feet turned, and you began to ascend. Uphill. That was correct, somehow.

Fuck.

You were on fire.

The snow was up to your knees and still falling. Maybe, if you just took a nap, you’d wait it out. Better to travel in the daylight, right?

No. Not quite right.

One arm hung out of your coat, and you couldn’t shake the second free. It clung to your wrist like a needy child, and you just wanted rid of it. Wanted to be free and finished and home.

Lights blazed, and it felt like dawn. Had you walked all night, or did you just look up?

The path split. Or you thought it did. The snow covered the way, but your instinct sniffed out the divide.

You wanted to be closer to the lights. Lights were good. Even though they hurt your head. They looked so pretty, flushing the snow gold. You imagined they’d paint you gold, too. A Midas-touched statue – pretty, lifeless, and cold.  

Snow always looked so soft. You’d felt cheated as a child when you discovered it was nothing like the fluffy duvet you imagined. But in a pinch, it was wonderful.

It held you, gathering you up as you sank. The flakes landing on your cheek didn’t melt anymore, and frigid works of art gathered on your eyelashes, slowly eating the lighthouse you’d followed home from the bright white dark.

-------------------------

“Fucking hell.”

Death had a British accent. Not bad. A shame you somehow disappointed him.

“Johnny! Get some towels. Clean shirt and sweats.”

You blinked up at Death, swimming through waves of unfamiliar sensations to get a glimpse of the end.

Really, you’d hoped for Death to wear a kinder shape – like in Sandman – but the grinning skull seemed appropriate. It was the rare case where the destination mattered more than the journey. Or the escort.

Being dead was exhausting. As curious as you were about Death’s face, the quiet void already had a deposit on your soul. Resting limp in the psychopomp’s arms, somehow you relaxed further. He was so much more solid. More real. Soon you’d melt between his fingers and rain into the underworld.

“She isn’t shivering.”

Dreams ate your mind. Time rose and faded like steam as strange hands prepared you for burial. Your grave was warm. The soil packed tight, wrapping around you as the first gnawing sense of dread woke with the agony in your hands. Roots squeezed around you, tightening as you writhed against the sting in your feet.

You did not rest in peace.

You’d fallen into hell. Your skin burned, your muscles seized, and a sharp scream of a moan shrieked through clenched teeth.

“Easy, easy.”

A broad palm pressed over your heart, hauling you back to a second pulse. Someone else’s words rustled over your hair. Someone else’s breath pushed someone else’s chest flush against your back. Their smell and shape surrounded you.

A someone. A living someone.

That finally reminded you of the need to wake.

To rise from death.

Every inch you climbed towards consciousness scorched you, and reality came in bursts of pain. Your fingertips felt like you’d clutched red-hot iron, and shivers wracked you like private earthquakes. Everything wanted to tear itself apart, escape the pain radiating from every other piece. If the stranger wasn’t holding you together, you’d shatter like your poor, ugly mug.

You had a body but no control.

The stranger shushed you, a second hand settling over the top of your head. Locking you in. Keeping you in your flesh. You thought he might stroke your hair like a cat’s fur, but nothing moved between you besides the heat seeping from his palm to your scalp.

If you had a choice, you’d go back to sleep, but you were too aware. Pain dared you to relax, running knives along the underside of your skin, threatening to stab you inside out with the next shudder.

And you didn’t know where you were – or who was cuddling you back to life.

Helpless as you were, you knew to be afraid.

“Johnny,” the chest behind you rumbled, “she’s coming to.”

Wrath caught on the name. It bit the hook and followed the line to the light so your eyes could flutter open. They were painfully dry, and the gathering tears offered some relief, but you recognized the mohawk over broad shoulders leaning through the doorway through the blur. Your restrained whimpers turned into a growl.

“Think she recognizes ya.”

“Aye.” Johnny approached, kneeling by the bed you found yourself in. His pretty face was all bent out of shape with apprehension. “How you feeling, hen?”

You wanted to shout at him. Or slap him. Both at once and more. Instead, your shaking tongue fumbled the words, and your arm flopped weakly under the quilt, thudding into the branch-like arm caging your chest.

Which meant –

Wait.

If Johnny was in front of you, you must be in his house. He lived alone. Except for a hulking giant in a skull mask.

Like he could read the fresh stiffness beneath your shivering, Ghost said, “Spotted you from the window. Had to get you dry and warm, but you’re safe. Body heat’s best at this stage. We’re both dressed, and if you can’t stand it, I’ll trade out for a fleet of hot water bottles.”

You struggled to pick up his words and put them in order. They bobbed through the snowmelt in your brain like so much flotsam, a murky sea you already worried would drown you. But you did it. You got it all. But it was a lot.

He was barely more than a stranger, and you found yourself in bed with him.

But a man so hesitant to show his face wouldn’t be eager to show more skin than necessary, and while it was hard to tell what fabric was clothing and what was bedding, nothing but cloth touched you. Except for the hand on your head. Which was fine, actually. It could be better than fine if you thought about it much longer.

How much did it cost such a reserved person to get so close? You were no better than a stranger to him, too.

He saw you in trouble and moved to help. Everything he said was practical. Reasonable. He’d probably saved your life.

You felt you understood Ghost. Maybe it was the confusion or the onset of a fever, but you got him. And he was so, so warm. You wanted to crack open that giant chest and burrow inside him like a tauntaun.

When you felt better, you’d make it up to him. You’d apologize for being a burden and make your imposition right. In the meantime, you didn’t want him to leave you alone with some shitty substitute.

You wriggled, trying to put your hand over his, but something was over your fingers, and you had to guesstimate. Maybe you patted his knuckles. Maybe you smacked his wrist. Hard to know. But you felt you made your point.

“S’fine.”

He shifted in response, settling in for the long-haul. “Good.”

You tried forcing yourself calm. Everything had a mind of its own, though, and you curled up tight, trying to preserve heat even when it was given freely. Ghost supported your new position, bending his knees to keep contact, spooning with purpose.

How far had your temperature dropped for you to be this miserable? Very. Dangerously. Fucking shit.

Johnny cleared his throat. “I could join? Help get you toasty?”

Though you were still in gods damned agony, you wouldn’t let Johnny Fucking MacTavish join you under the covers if he was the last thing between you and death. You’d already touched the door to Hades that evening, and he hadn’t been the one to bring you back.

You lashed out the only way you could.

“No.”

The first word you managed to say clearly. You sent it off with a scowl, daring the Scotsman to try you.

He practically jumped back from the bed, anxious expression washed clean in shock. You’d never told him no. Never drawn a boundary. Never shared your anger or hurt.

Well, you��d finally learned your lesson.

Fuck that man.

He wouldn’t be getting anything from you ever again, not even a clear conscience.

Ghost hummed, his thumb stroking over your temple. “Got you right pissed off, has he? What’s he done? He the reason you got caught in the storm?”

Nodding was easier than speaking. You’d said the most important part.

“Thought as much. You’re too well prepared. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what Johnny needs to set right, yeah? He’ll clean up his mess.”

Across the room, where he’d stumbled after your rejection, the man in question blanched. “I didn’t – I couldn’t – What did… Ah, Christ. ‘M so sorry, hen.”

“Plenty of time to talk later,” Ghost said, still fully felt and entirely invisible at your back. “Let her rest. When I’m confident she won’t choke, you can make us something warm to drink.”

Johnny accepted, nodding with big eyes. His shoulders rose to his ears as he turned on his heel and marched away, fists squeezed tight.

He’d only been out of the room for a minute when you heard something crash, and you jumped.

Ghost just hugged you tighter and sighed.

Eventually, you did sleep. It was a night for achieving the impossible, apparently. Ghost kept one hand on your chest, waking or sleeping, and as the daylight slowly burned away the icy mist in your head, you realized he was monitoring your heartbeat. Keeping his arm around your chest was better for your recovery, and you might not have reacted so calmly to a hand on your neck.

You still felt like shit.

“How bad was it?” you whispered.

Asking was a struggle, and not just because your lips cracked and burned around your voice. Staring doom in the face only scared you if you recognized it, and you were afraid to hear how close your choices had brought you to the point of no return. Words could hurt. Knowledge could hurt.

“Should’a taken you to a hospital,” Ghost murmured. “No way to get there in this weather.”

You closed your eyes, burying your face in the pillow. You did it in defiance of the windburn over your nose and cheeks. In defiance of your chapped lips. Dead people couldn’t feel pain, and it was hardly the worst you’d suffered through the night.

“Your shivering’s manageable now. Think you could drink something?”

Could and should.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go tell Johnny. Stay here.”

You didn’t answer, but you swam all the way under the heavy quilts as his solid heat left you. With only your eyes peering over the blankets, you watched him – probably cold in his thin t-shirt and worn sweats – breeze across the room, quiet as his namesake. He had a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve. You couldn’t catch all the shapes as he moved farther and farther away, but deathly themes curled like gun smoke and curses up from his wrist, towards his heart.

Once you were alone, you examined yourself under the covers. There were socks over your hands, impromptu mittens. You’d worry about any horror beneath them later. You wore a loose tee you’d seen on Johnny when he was resting up, staying comfortable as he nursed his cold. The gym shorts they’d dressed you in were bunched up where the drawstring fought to draw them into a smaller size, and the fabric would fall to your knees if you stood. Maybe farther.

They’d dressed you in a piece of each man’s wardrobe, and the embarrassed heat creeping up your neck was almost as warm as Ghost.

But you wouldn’t read between the lines. There were no lines. They’d saved your life and carefully explained their actions. It didn’t mean anything else.

They were only being neighborly.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Rancher Yandere x Reader (Gn)

Warnings: Abuse, kidnapping, average yandere behavior

“You’re gorgeous,” Reeves drawled, his big hazel eyes gazing up at you. If anyone had happened to catch a glimpse of the two of you, they’d likely have smiled at the sight. Him kneeling before you, chin resting on your thighs, while your fingers wandered through his messy chestnut curls. But they probably wouldn’t have noticed the metal chains around your ankles or the barred windows. They sure wouldn’t have seen the tears threatening to spill from your eyes or the ugly bruise blossoming on your cheek. But Reeves noticed. How could he not? He was the one who’d snatched you off that dusty Southern Road. The one who’d kept you here for weeks, caged like a lamb for slaughter. 

“Sweetheart?” Reeves murmured, purring like a kitten. “You ain’t smilin’.” 

You swallowed hard, brows knitting together as you forced your lips into a pitiful excuse for a smile. He liked it when you were sweet. Reeves watched your face, his gaze locking onto your dry lips. Slowly, like he was approaching a skittish critter, he brought his fingers to them. He slipped a finger inside your mouth, making your bottom lip droop. He tasted like dirt and copper. “You gonna smile for me, Sweetheart?” His frown deepened, eyes turning suddenly cold. “Or am I gonna have to teach you again?” 

You shivered and shook your head quickly. “I’m sorry.” 

Reeves sighed, his expression softening just enough to mask the darkness lurking behind it. “That’s better,” he said, drawing his finger back and wiping it on his jeanst. “Now, I’ve got to feed the cows, but you stay put, alright? Don’t go wanderin’ off.” 

You nodded, your heart racing as he stood and strode away, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor. The moment his back turned, the weight of your despair settled in, heavy and suffocating. The air felt thick around you. You had been planning this escape for weeks, each day loosening the bars on the window, each moment spent quietly chipping away at the chains that bound you. You had to do it tonight. 

After counting to one hundred, you approached the window. The creaking sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness, amplifying your fear, your pulse quickening in response. With trembling hands, you grasped the edge of the window, forcing it open wider. The cool night air washed over your skin, a stark contrast to the stale, confined atmosphere of the farmhouse. It felt like freedom itself, invigorating and electric. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. 

You slipped through the gap, heart pounding as you landed softly in the grass. You ran through the fields, the cool blades brushing against your legs. The moon hung low in the sky, illuminating your path, guiding you toward the promise of escape. The rhythm of your feet against the ground matched the frantic beat of your heart, a melody of desperation and hope intertwining. When you reached the fence marking the edge of his ranch, a flare of hope ignited within you. You could almost taste freedom, a sweet, tantalizing possibility. You were almost there. Your heart soared, urging you to leap over the barrier that separated you from the world outside. But just as you prepared to launch yourself over the top of the fence, you felt arms wrap around you, a vice grip that slammed you to the ground. The air rushed from your lungs, and the world blurred for a moment before sharpening into the harsh reality of your situation. 

“Shit!” you gasped, panic coursing through you as you struggled against his hold. His eyes blazed with fury. 

“Thought you could just run away, huh?” he growled, his voice low and menacing, dragging you back towards the farmhouse by your hair. You screamed, the sound echoing in the stillness, but the emptiness of the night swallowed your cries, leaving you feeling even more isolated. 

He secured your chains even tighter, the metal biting into your skin like a cruel reminder of your captivity. “No more walks, no more fun,” he spat, his voice laced with rage. “You need to learn your place.” Each word felt like a blow, striking at your heart and shattering any remnants of hope you clung to. 

He turned away, and the silence that followed felt suffocating, a heavy blanket wrapping around you. As despair washed over you, the tears you’d held back finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. You sank to the floor, sobs wracking your body. 

Suddenly, Reeves was there, his presence looming like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. He knelt beside you, those big hazel eyes softening momentarily. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured, his voice soothing in an unsettling way, the kind of comfort that felt like it could just as easily turn to violence. “I’m here, Sweetheart. You just got a little too wild, that’s all.” 

You felt your body tense, the dichotomy of his embrace and the chains that bound you causing your heart to shatter further. How could he be so tender and yet so cruel? The sobs turned into quiet whimpers as you melted into him, the warmth of his body conflicting with the cold reality. You wanted to recoil, to push him away, but every fiber of your being felt trapped in this paradox. 

He stroked your hair gently, the gesture both tender and invasive, whispering reassurances that felt like lies. “We’re gonna be just fine, you and me. I won’t let you go again. I promise.” The words dripped with a false sweetness that made your skin crawl. 

But as you clung to him, your heart heavy with the truth, you realized that in his twisted version of love, you were never meant to be free. You were his. Forever.

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