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hyunebunx · 3 months ago

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˖˙ ᰋ ── you, blanket forts and heated kisses

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!! (and some heated kisses lmao)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: hiii! this is a continuation of this fic right here! you don't need to read that one to understand this, but they're taking place in the same universe. enjoyy and let me know what you think!! <33

“Let’s build a blanket fort.”

Said Hyunjin randomly on a stormy day, right after kissing you stupid and taking away your ability to think.

Unfortunately for him, you later engaged in an activity far different from the one he suggested, so different that he forgot all about his initial idea for the remainder of the week.

Until now, when you’re found in the same predicament – your beloved has come over with the biggest smile, elated to see you after spending the past month apart. Everything was fine and dandy until the sky suddenly darkened and it started pouring, trapping you both inside the apartment and cancelling all plans you might’ve made outside.

At least this time, the harsh weather took pity on your unfortunate soul and allowed the power to stay on.

“Alright, so it says here we can use chairs, a table, or even the couch for our fort.”

“Did you seriously pull up a wikihow article?”

You turn to him, a little embarrassed at being caught, his genuine laughter making heat rush to your face at an alarming pace. No words escape you and he coos, dropping the big pillows he got from your bedroom before stepping over them to hug you from behind, holding you close while his lips pepper sweet kisses from your cheek down to your neck.

“That’s adorable, baby.” Hyunjin nuzzles your neck, placing one last kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. “What else is your little article recommending?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” You whine, attempting to turn around in his arms with no success, quickly settling on hiding your face and embarrassment in your hands, just so he won't see them.

He’s laughing again, tenderly spinning you around by your hips so you’re face to face. “I’m not, baby. I’m just curious why you thought I don’t already possess all the knowledge we need.” He points to his temple, after prying your hands away from the beautiful face that has started to appear in his dreams almost daily.

“Alright, Bob the builder, knock yourself out.” You nod towards the mess he’s made on the floor, to all the pillows, blankets, and sheets he’s stolen from your room. His wish to build a fort made a lot of sense if you take into consideration his ferret nature he always denies. The tiny animal thrived on alone time, hid away in a secluded place away from everyone.

He gasps, bringing his hands to his chest as if he could really fool anyone into believing he’s actually offended. “I’ll have you know I’m an artist! An architect if you will! That guy has nothing on me.”

Giggling, you can’t help but get closer to kiss his pout away, bringing his smile back instantly. “Of course, you are love. The best of them all.”

“Are you making fun of me?” And just as it disappeared, his natural pouty lips can’t help but jut out.

You shake your head, amused at how the tables have turned. “Never.” Then, with the softest touch, you intertwine your fingers and begin dragging him along to the materials he abandoned in the middle of the room. “I’ve never built a fort before.”

“Never?” The look on his face is incredulous, pulling you by the hand to his chest to tenderly kiss your temple, feeling clingier than usual. “Let’s get down to business then.”

Turns out, building a blanket fort is as easy as reading a wikihow article, especially when your Loverboy does most of the work and knows exactly what to use to make it all happen. With the tripod he left at your place, you balance the sheets, keeping them up and creating the perfect opening to your little den of comfort and secrets. Your U-shaped couch was sturdy, assisting your building activities with the many ornamental pillows that became trusty pillars.

You don’t know how much time passed, absorbed into your current task, laughing away with your beloved and teasing each other in good fun. At some point, you get distracted and as he’s ranting away about something that happened at practice, one of your soft pillows collides with the side of his head. Hyunjin stops dead in his tracks, words dying on his tongue as he slowly stands from his crouched position while you try everything in your power to not burst out laughing in his face.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” You feign innocence, gingerly hiding the pillow behind your back like nothing has happened.

Hyunjin stares you down, the intensity in his gaze almost making you confess. Almost. The obvious glint of mischief in his eyes tells you he has an unused card under his sleeve, one you should not ignore.

Without another word, he stretches his arm and beckons you closer with two fingers, obviously expecting surrender. And the pillow that has now become his number one enemy.

When you shake your head and smile brightly, he pauses for a total of five seconds before stepping closer to take matters into his own hands. That’s your cue to flee, so you run in the opposite direction, laughing loudly when he follows and you begin chasing each other around the apartment like little kids.

He’s letting you get away, pretending to be slower and clumsily stumbling over his feet just so your laugh can continue warming his heart, providing the flowers in his chest with the sunshine needed to bloom to maturity.

Then, out of nowhere, he manages to sneak behind you, arms circling your middle and pulling you to his chest with ease, lifting your feet off the ground as both of your laughter blend beautifully. Hyunjin begins attacking you with kisses all over your face and you stop pretending you want to get away, melting into his embrace and fully accepting your fate.

“Caught you.” He says in a sing song voice, over the moon at having you in his arms once again.

Your hands move over his, pillow falling to the ground with a soft thud as you lean back, head on his shoulder to reach his plump lips and press numerous kisses over them. When you move to pull away, one of his hands instantly comes up to cup your cheek to keep you there, tongue sneaking past your lips cheekily. The air shifts instantly as he hugs you closer, kissing you as he needs it to keep living, strong arms serving as an anchor while your body’s buzzing like you’re intoxicated, tingling all over.

Summoning all of your willpower, you manage to pull away from him for the briefest moment. “Just because I let you.”

Hyunjin smiles but you have a feeling it’s an automatic response, his brain not actually processing any of your words as he dives back in, impatient to feel your lips on his once again.

Kissing Hyunjin was always an experience, full of love and passion that had you weak in the knees – but kissing him after not seeing each other for a while felt like the air in your lungs was running out and him, out of the kindness of his heart, kept you alive by sharing his breath with you.

You turn in his arms, just like earlier, but oh so different, one hand gripping his tank top while the other sneaks its way into dark hair, pulling lightly to deepen the kiss which makes him groan lowly. Hyunjin’s grip on your hips burnt, your whole body on fire as he explored it to his heart’s desire, handling you in the exact way one would a priceless sculpture, a work of art he couldn’t look away from no matter how hard he tried.

He tasted divine, and his cologne made you dizzy, just like everything about him did. Without warning, he begins moving, pushing back and guiding your body expertly, biting down on your bottom lip right before breaking the kiss, to your great disappointment.

“Baby.” His voice is hoarse, breath shaky, a nervous laugh escaping him at the look on your face. “Our fort.”

With a groan, you ignore him in favour of placing sweet, open-mouthed kisses up his neck. “You have been driving me crazy with that fort of yours, Hyun.”

His grip on your hips is a warning, sending you mixed signals as he can’t resist but connect your lower halves, needing you as close as possible while he tilts his head back with a heavy breath. “And here I thought that was my irresistible personality.”

You grin, looking up at him while holding onto his biceps for support. “Nope, only your blabbering mouth.”

The tension dissipates as he laughs, eyes wandering and pupils blown even as you tear yourself from him and exhale, trying your best to calm down before going back to the fort you’ve both worked so hard on.

In the end, after weeks and weeks of waiting, you and Hyunjin are finally in your very own blanket fort, giggling like two children who have somehow forgotten what has just transpired a few moments ago.

“This is nice.” You hum, resting your head on his shoulder, glancing at the fairy lights he somehow managed to hang up. You’re both sitting cross-legged on some pillows, surrounded by snacks and blankets.

“I told you I got this. I didn’t need any help or tutorial.” He puffs out his chest, obviously proud he impressed you.

You nod, eyes almost fluttering shut, his bare shoulder surprisingly comfy. “Good job, Bob.”

The words barely have time to escape before you get a pillow to the face, the soft feathers getting into your mouth and startling you awake. You’re frozen in place, not realizing what happened until Hyunjin starts laughing next to you, delighted at the stunt he just pulled.

You push his shoulder, biting back a smile and he laughs harder, toppling over while hugging the pillow to his chest. A part of the sheet gets caught under him and before you know it, the whole thing collapses on top of you, trapping you under along with all the decorations and food neither got to enjoy.

It’s silent for a second before your laughter joins his as you reach to help him sit up, only for him to lose his balance and fall over you, feeling a little claustrophobic under the restrictive sheet. Holding himself up above you with his bulging arms, eyes two crescent moons and engulfing the whole room in a light that could only be produced by him, you move to squish his cheeks together. Lovingly, of course.

“I love you so much, my little liar. But I’m revoking your architecture license.”

Fortunately, Hyunjin didn’t look disappointed in the slightest.

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bigmoon-is-bigwife · 20 days ago

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Sneeg is trying so hard to give Ros "Scary Dog Privilege". For anyone unaware, "Scary Dog Privilege" is a term used for when someone has an intimidating dog (or often times person) that makes people hesitant to mess with them. It allows the person to feel more free and safe without worry of potential attack.

It's a role that Clown had fallen into with Ros. People know not to mess with Ros whenever Clown is around. There were several times when the hostile faction was going to attack Ros but reconsidered the moment they saw Clown looming over her shoulder. However, Clown isn't around a whole lot and in his absence people tend to push Ros around.

Sneeg has noticed this and has also assigned himself the role of "Scary Dog" on Ros's behalf. He makes the effort to check in with Ros when she is talking with other people and makes a show of asserting himself as someone on Ros's side. The other day when Tubbo and Krow were bothering Ros while she was building the castle the first words out of his mouth were "Are you bothering my architect?" Immediately he is making a public show that bothering Ros means bothering Sneeg. He wants people to know this. He also goes on to ask Ros if she actually wants Tubbo and Krow there and offers to chase them away in a very threatening manner. Ros isn't very confrontational so he deliberately makes it known that it is ultimately Ros's choice and that he will back her up. He wants people to respect Ros's choices and he has been making public displays to show there will be consequences if people do not. Sneeg also wants Ros to know that she can make her own decisions and have them be respected. Sneeg wants Ros to know that she can say no to people. It is a well known joke on the server that Ros has no backbone and can be easily convinced to do almost anything. She is afraid of confrontation and the potential retaliation that comes with it. She is also very afraid that people will turn against her. She was convinced that everyone would take Owen's side against her and she was hesitant to say anything to even her friends. Even after killing Owen the first time she worried that she was the one in the wrong and had to be reassured that what she did was understandable. Sneeg is trying his hardest to prove to her that he will be there to back her up no matter what. He is trying to prove to her that she always has someone in her corner that will stand up for her. He constantly makes the effort to put choices in Ros's hands and making it known that he will respect them. When Ros had left the yellow faction he repeatedly told her that, if she really wanted to leave, he would not force her to go back to The Kingdom. He just wanted to be sure it was a decision that she wanted and that she wasn't being forced out. He also refused to speak on her behalf when it came to telling Clown about it. It was important that Ros chose what to tell him. In fact, he also made sure it was Ros who started the confrontation with Owen and he only jumped in to support her when Ros was backing down. It's important to him that Ros is the one making these choices and not just following what others want. So now this brings us to Sneeg building an alarm system in the castle that gives Ros the power to summon him at any time. Ros has been complaining for months about how building the castle is so difficult because people always bother her there. Sneeg has been very vocal about his frustration of the constant intruders and people's lack of respect for Ros. It infuriates him that Ros doesn't feel comfortable to build her own castle because people don't leave her alone. So now he has embraced his role as "Scary Dog" and he's living up to it. He feels that the castle is Ros's and she gets to decide who is there. If people are in the castle and Ros doesn't want them there, he will chase them off. People will learn not to bother Ros and respect her wishes otherwise they will be bothering Sneeg. Very few people want to bother Sneeg and he is a lot less patient and less forgiving than Ros is. Ultimately it is up to Ros how much she uses the system but the important part is that it makes Ros feel safer telling people to leave her alone.

#like I cannot stress enough how Sneeg has just inserted himself into this role #Ros didnt ask any of this of him. He has gone OUT of his way to show up and make it known that he has Ros's back #Gee Ros how come your server lets you have TWO scary dogs?!#it is very sweet though. he cares so fucking much. he gets so upset when people dont respect Ros #sneegsnag #roscumber #the realm smp #coyote howls

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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 1 month ago

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P*rn ☆ Chapter 6, Fear and despair

Masterlist Word count: 2 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Ya'll ready to cry?! Me neither... Also, for anyone wondering why I don't English so good sometimes. I am Dutch and nothing is proofread <3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut. No graphic content. Mention of abuse.

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'You're not quite here with me.' You look up from the cup of tea you had been absentmindedly stirring since it was put in front of you. He's right. He's always right. Well... Most times.

Your mind has been a mess. There's the whole Sylus thing, yes, that's something that takes up way too much space in your head. You keep thinking back to last Saturday, sitting on the couch with him watching the rise and fall of sexual tension. Seeing him try so hard to do small talk while pretending he wasn't looking at your lips and body like a man starved. He had kissed your forehead when he left and you leaned into it. Even thinking about it gives you butterflies.

But there's another thing on your mind. A much more menial thing. Something much easier to discuss with Zayne.

'How come I never heard you shower when you lived next door?' Zayne tilts his head, looking at you a little confused.

'That's what you've been stuck on?' You reluctantly nod. It's stupid, so damn stupid, but Zayne still answers. 'When I moved out, Rafayel was talking about a new ventilation system. Maybe it connects to yours?'

'That makes a lot of sense actually,' you groan, leaning back in your chair defeated. 'I can't believe I've been so busy thinking about that.'

'You're an interior architect; shouldn't it be logical to you?' He's got a point and a very good one at that. You also could've just asked Rafayel, but no. You'd like to avoid that man as much as possible. He always tries to get you to do work for free, without even offering to lower you rent for a month or something. No way.

You look around the coffee shop. This is you and Zayne's regular spot. The place is very big and open, but sound doesn't bounce around nor echo. There's tons of natural light and very kind yellow lights when the sun goes down. The furniture is a mix and match of secondhand stuff that's surprisingly pleasing to the eye and most chairs are comfortable. Then again, the chairs that aren't comfortable to you could be very comfortable to someone else. There are tons of plants scattered around, lots of cut vintage decor like old Matchbox cars and very old adverts on metal plates. On the floor are a few rugs that have almost worn into the floor and have major damage where people often walk. Almost looks like the rugs have crop circles.

It might not be for everyone, even Zayne used to be a little uncomfortable here at first, but it's grown on both of you. The employees are kind and helpful, the music is always good and never too loud. It's a good atmosphere.

'Anyway, how is the new neighbor?' Your cheek flush almost right away when you meet Zayne's eyes. 'What is it? Are you alright?' He leans over the table to touch your forehead, worried you might be sick.

'I'm fine, I'm fine. His name is Sylus and he's hot- A LOT, he's a lot.' Zayne chuckles at your antics while you feel your ears burning. Not exactly the information you wanted to share with Zayne. Truly, it doesn't matter all that much in the end. He's like a brother to you and he knows nearly everything about your life. A fact that you wish was still true the other way around as well but he's been too busy to tell you everything. And now that you've dropped the "Sylus is hot" bomb, he's not letting it go until you tell him everything.

For a professional, cold doctor he's surprisingly desperate for gossip.

'I'm sure he's a lot,' he says with a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, 'you were worried he might be loud. Is that the case?'

'A bit. He's awake deep into the night, so sometimes I hear him moving around in his apartment or playing music late at night. It's nothing too bad though. Though Tara seems a bit cautious around him. Apparently, he's friends with her boyfriend.' A slight frown appears on Zayne's face. If you hadn't known him as long as you have, you wouldn't have noticed. But you do know him. 'What's that look for?'

'Tara is dating that Kieran boy, right?' You nod and he tries to soften his face. 'Hm, I don't know them very well. It's probably not who I'm thinking of.'

'Who are you thinking of?' And suddenly he looks real serious. The temperature inside is suddenly a few degrees lower and the bubble we were in feels like a soundproof chamber. 'Zayne, who are you think of?'

'I wish I could tell you, but patient confidentiality forbids me.'

“Patient confidentiality? What the hell? Is this even about Sylus?”

Zayne reaches out for my hand on the table and gently takes it in his. 'Don't worry about it too much. I'm not even sure if it's the same guy.'

'You're right,' you say, trying to smile as wide as you can while pushing the racing thoughts in your mind down.

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"She has a boyfriend? Shit." Sylus tries to quicken his pace while he walks past the coffee shop before you see him, but he's too slow. You spot him and smile at him. A big smile, one that almost makes his cheeks hurt from looking at it.

Wait... He's smiling back?

No matter, he keeps walking. But then he catches the slightest glimpse of the man sitting with her and his blood runs cold. It's like a distant memory, or more like a distant nightmare. He can only hope and pray and doctor Zayne hasn't seen him.

It's been years, but Sylus still fears the doctor might remember him. It wouldn't be too bad, the man saved his life, but he doesn't want you knowing. Not yet at least. What if he asked how his recovery is going? What if he asked if his scars healed okay? What if he asked if his situation has changed? How would he answer those questions and not revert back to that scared little boy she made him.

Because all that still feels so raw, even though it's years ago. He should've been fine by now, at least that's what he thinks. Time heals all wounds, right? Three years should be enough. More than enough.

That being said, his first doxing was her. She put his address out there as a last-ditch attempt to get him to "commit" to her. To make him obey like a fucking dog.

He isn't even sure how all of it happened back then, but it did. Maybe it was just young love. Yeah, young love at 24. No, he was just naïve and stupid. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

What he does know is that he is nearly running home. He's stuck in his own head, tears prickling in his eyes. How does this keep happening at any mention, thought, or glimpse of her? It's not normal. He should be okay.

It feels like he's picking up a fever as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He faintly hears the sound of his name but his chest is getting tight and he has to get inside. Why does this affect him so fucking much?

And suddenly he recognizes what is going on. He's having a panic attack.

He hasn't had a panic attack in the last two years. He's been fine, he should still be fine. Is it because he saw doctor Zayne again? Because he is with you? Because all he can think of when seeing doctor Zayne's face is how much pain he was in and how scared he was?

“This is not fucking normal. Breathe Sylus, breathe. You know how to breathe. You've been doing it all your fucking life. Just stop panicking!”

The voice in his head is no help. He slumps against the back of the couch in the middle of his living room, not able to make it to the bathroom to take a cold shower. Cold showers usually shock him out of it. His breathing stays rapid, his eyes looking for anything in reach that can help him but there are dark spots all over his vision.

He closes his eyes for just a moment. Just a little bit. A second, no more. He wakes up with a few slaps to his cheek. His head feels cold against the wooden floor of his apartment. When did he fall over?

'Sylus? Sylus? Look at me.' It's you. Your voice is desperate, scared, as you grab his shoulders and try to pull him upright again. He tries to help you, moving ever so slightly to a sitting position. Your hand raises up to his forehead, brushing the hair sticking to his sweaty skin away. 'Are you alright?'

'Always with you around,' Sylus says, trying to look and sound like a womanizer, but failing miserably. To you, he just looks a bit loopy. His breathing is still ragged and strange.

'Cute,' you note with a frown, 'now breathe with me.' You grab his hand and press it against your chest, just underneath your collarbone. 'Ready?' He nods. 'Breathe in.' He feels your chest rise slowly as you breathe in with him, your heard thumping under his hand in a steady, comforting rhythm.

Slowly, the whole world disappears. His eyes are laser focused on yours, ears zeroed in on the sound of your voice and your breathing. To him, you look like an angel. His guardian angel.

'Breathe out.'

Your chest falls, he breathes out. It feels like seconds have passed but by the time you let go of his hand, the sun is setting. He last checked his phone around 16:30 before he saw you at the coffee shop, so that means it's close to six, it being wintertime.

Finally lucid again, his heartbeat slowed, his breathing steady, he asks: 'Why did you follow me?'

The coldness of his questions shocks you and you answer: 'I felt like you needed someone to be there for you.'

He lets out a cold laugh, something that sounds close to disbelief but also much much closer to insecurity. A sound you hadn't expected coming from his mouth. He knows you think he's hot, he knows you are attracted to him, but he does not know you. He does not know about your youth, your struggle with panic attacks, your loneliness. But he doesn't need to know for you to be able to help him.

If only he'd believe that you only want to help.

'How do you know doctor Zayne?' There's something possessive in his tone, something you wouldn't have expected right now.

'He used to live here before you. We're friends.' He stays quiet for a while, staring at you but not quite. More like he's looking through you, disassociating. 'I'm gonna get you a glass of water.' You move to your feet, but he grabs your wrist and holds you where you are. He's suddenly back, eyes watching you with immense focus.

'Do you pity me?' The words sound like an accusation, like he's admitting he doesn't like what happened and that you "had" to see it. So much grief in those few words, a grief that goes much deeper than you can imagine.

'Pity you?'

He lets go of your wrist with an angry expression. He quickly gets up, refusing to look at you any longer. 'Never mind. I think it'd be better if you leave.'

'What? Sylus-' You try to reach out for him, but when he looks back at you there's venom in his eyes. Your hand hangs in the air, halfway reaching towards his forearm. And then you drop it. 'Okay, if that's what you want.'

He walks you to the door, his chest full of regret, embarrassment, shame. He was doing so damn well and now you've seen him like that. Like a shell, something defective, a bird with a broken wing. In the doorway you turn back to him so that he can't close the door on you. All he can see in your eyes in compassion, adoration and, strangely enough, love.

'For what it's worth, I don't pity you. My opinions and feelings about you haven't changed,' you hesitate for a second and look down at the ground, 'and I hope you'll still ask me out. I do really want to get to know you. All of you.'

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faorism · 2 years ago

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every once in a while, when it's a quiet moment between him and one of his partners—could be anything from a stake out to a long drive in lucille to the warm moments between making love and sleep—eliot will turn to them and say, tell me something i don't know.

parker will usually tell him secrets. the bits of history that only exist between her, bunny, and now eliot. there's a lot from living on the streets, when she was young. she tells him about training with archie; eventually, she tells him what it felt like. she tells him about loneliness and not understanding and frustration and how her hands hurt when she wants to flicker them around; when he asks her why she doesn't let them, she says to ask another night. that's too big a secret to share when another's been revealed already. he does ask, and she does answer. once, she says in a shaking voice, i love you and hardison so much, and parker feels silly because duh eliot knows that, hardison knows that, but eliot heard something deeper than she could express, so he held her tight and kissed her hair as she shivered through the weight of her confession. after sharing with eliot, sometimes parker feels comfortable enough to share with hardison, peggy, sophie, or a client who needs to know they are not alone in the mess and hardship of the world. much later, the fact that parker has shared something once makes it easier to tell her shrink as she gets on SSRIs, which she seeks out after confessing to eliot that even if it had been based on a lie to grift hurley, maybe there was something to her treatment at the second act rehabilitation center that she missed. occasionally, she'll tell him about art. he listens just as patiently as anything else she decides to divulge and she loves him all the more for it.

hardison infodumps. parker didn't press eliot for what he meant the first time he asked; hardison did. eliot had shrugged, anything you wanna share. hardison nips out a testy, so if i go off about (he paused thinking of something that would surely turn eliot off) optimal simcity street design strategies, you wouldn't mind? eliot didn't back down, even when hardison went into a two-hour spiral that branched into different iterations on the concept, including rollercoaster typhoon. eliot made a few comments here and there, asked some clarifying questions now and again, but otherwise let hardison rail on. the next time, the question was framed as what you working on? but the effect was the same. eventually, hardison stopped hesitating and started looking forward to these monologue sessions. hardison doesn't think anything of them other than he's got some quality time with his partner, until one day on a job with some leverage international trainees, eliot manages (elle woods style) to untangle the lie at the heart of a condo scam with a few pointed questions about the plumbing. when one of the trainees asked how the hell he knew that, hardison expects to hear over the comms how eliot once dated a plumber or an architect; instead, eliot scoffs, you met my partner. genius knows a little of everything. which is when hardison remembers once infodumping about sprinkler systems. eliot gets the tightest of hugs when he gets home for truly listening to hardison.

#leverage #eliot spencer #parker leverage #alec hardison #leverage ot3 #thiefsome #faorism headcanons #of hearth and home and other promises

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lorelune · 1 year ago

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bathtime

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 5.1k || ao3 || previous + next ->

Even the best bath water will find it difficult to cleanse 'sin'.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c welcome to part 3 of the architect-verse :3cc been cooking on this one for awhile 🙏 yandere blade is such a guy and scummy manipulative mommy kafka is so fun to write :3ccc thank you for beloved @ofmermaidstories for doing a read through on this one 🥺♥!! enjoy enjoy enjoy 💓

CW: dark content, yandere blade, captive/pet reader, discussions of noncon, references to past noncon on blade while he was underage and as an adult, references to past noncon on reader, use of the word rape, violence/thoughts of violence, past yingxing/dan feng, toxic blade/kafka

It’s normal for Blade to return to the Stellaron Hunters’ main vessel covered in assorted types of gore. Scraps of rent flesh, smears of blood, bile, scales— tendons and sinew wrapped under his forearms, clinging from the pressure of impact light-years away. The smell of it clings to him, still fresh, just barely beginning to rot. He stews in it during his typical return in small, covert starships. He half-suffocates with the stench of death.

This is typical. Blade does not carry any opinion about it. If anything, he welcomes the potential of asphyxiation, though it never comes.

Most routinely, Kafka will greet him as he returns and take him to clean up. Occasionally, when she is indisposed, Silver Wolf will be forced to hose him down in the communal gym shower or Sam will dunk him in the bath by the scruff of his neck. Blade does not... particularly enjoy the latter two options. Though he isn't sure entirely why, and he doesn't tend to dwell on it either.

When Kafka collects him, it is easier, if nothing else. Less fuss, less grimacing over the smell of burgeoning rot and complaining that Blade should do this prior to arriving home. Blade doesn't care about the other Stellaron Hunters’ complaints, not really, but it does make the ordeal longer than it needs to be.

(And maybe, maybe, he does not like being drenched in bone-chilling water and soaked clothing. He hates it.)

Kafka will lead Blade back to her own room, strip him, and give him a warm bath. Frequently, she’ll take off her own clothing and join him. She’ll hold him close, his back to her front. Kafka likes when she is able to cow him into resting against her front, cow him into resting his cheek against her breasts while she scrubs away the worst of the grime.

Never mind that they share the same, red-tinged bathwater.

(Occasionally, things escalate. Touch that volleys between innocent and clinical and sexual. Kafka will stroke down the planes of his body, reach for his cock, and bring him to release. It’s— it's nice. He thinks. He can't tell.)

It's hard to tell anything in the steam of the bath. Though Kafka's presence renders his mara mute, proximity makes it writhe regardless. It is not a soundless beast, though it loses its words. Muddy feelings, rather than anything clear cut. It's a reprieve regardless.

This is why Blade prefers to be cleaned by Kafka.

...

This mission, however, Blade receives a text from Kafka during his return journey that she will be out. Along with Silver Wolf. And that Sam is charging and shouldn't be disturbed.

However—

Kafka:

why don't you see if our little stray is up for a bath, bladie?

There's a thought. One Blade hadn't considered.

(There's a whisper of a refusal in the back of his mind. 'No'. Blade is not sure why. It is quiet but sure of itself.)

Blade:

When will you be back.

Kafka:

tomorrow. don't wait up until then. listen, just ask.

Kafka's mind weaving does not work over text. But it is, regardless, difficult to resist her command. This is habit.

Blade idles outside of your room. He has dripped mess across the vessel and left little piles of flesh and muscle in his wake. The quiet sound of blood splattering against the floor (his, maybe, though his regeneration should be almost complete) makes him aware of this.

It feels uncouth to enter your room like this.

Blade shakes himself off and leaks scarlet droplets against the metal paneling. methodically, he releases the five locks on your door. Each clicks when fully disarmed, and by the time Blade enters, you're already looking up at the door, eyes wide.

You're tucked into bed with a soft blanket over your lap. A tablet (a gift from silver wolf at Kafka's behest. For 'good behavior'. Not connected to any internet, but you've told Blade it helps pass the time.)

The device is promptly forgotten as you push yourself out of bed, "Aeons, Blade, what happened? Are you hurt?"

You approach him with no caution. It's reckless. It's foolish, especially with this much adrenaline tumbling around between his eyes and in his veins. He has the distinct urge to shove you away and into the floor. Compress you until you break and bleed and bleed and break.

Blade does not.

Instead, he lets you flit around him. He lets you draw your own conclusions.

You are not foolish. You know he is dangerous; he knows you know this. It is your... good nature that creases the surely-soft skin between your brows. It's your kindness that has you frazzled, shaking in your hands as you hover over him. Searching for wounds that are mostly healed.

"Blade, I said, are you hurt?" You ask, voice strained, bent at the waist while examining a slice in his pants. A lance had torn his calve wide open. It has already healed.

"I'm fine."

"Sure." You don't sound convinced, frowning. "You look like shit. Am I really supposed to believe that?"

"I have already healed. my injuries are no longer a concern."

"... Really?"

"I am an abomination of Yaoshi. This is my nature."

You already know this, yet you look defeated. Your jaw is tight. "Uh-huh. Alright. Fuck, do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine. I need to be clean."

"... Alright?"

"I need to bathe."

"... I see that... Do you want me to call Kafka?"

"She's off ship."

"Oh, fuck." you curse and shake your head. "I-is she going to be back soon?"

"No. Help me instead."

"M-me?" Your voice trembles and you take a fearful step back. Ever the skittish thing. something in him— sort of him— vibrates.

"Yes."

"Can you— not?"

"It's cumbersome to wash on my own."

"I see." You run a hand over your cheeks and adjust the wide collar of your shirt. It’s too big. It’s one of his— probably? A sleep shirt. One that Kafka stole from him to give to you. He knows you own several. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Fuck, I-I can help."

You shoo him into your bathroom.

You turn away from him almost immediately, poking around in a cabinet, plucking brightly colored products and muttering under your breath. Kafka mentioned that isolation is getting to you more than you think. She thinks it's cute.

Blade wordlessly begins to strip. First off is his blood-soaked overcoat, shredded around his ribs and with massive gouges taken out of the back. Then his undershirt. Followed by his pants. One of his belts rings a metallic clink as he undoes it.

You choose this moment to turn around and your eyes go wide.

"BLADE!" You cover your eyes, dropping a bottle. "What are you— you can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Get... naked?"

"You are going to help me bathe. This is necessary."

"I understand that." You sound exasperated. Your voice is shaky. The tone is pulling something in the back of his mind. The corners of his lips almost want to curl upwards. "But you can't just strip without warning. Aeons, have some manners."

Blade nearly laughs— good-naturedly. The urge to is something dormant and poisonous. Seldom used. Usually it's a sharp impulse, but it's almost warm now. Tepid and pleasant.

(All for you.)

You cover your eyes as you fumble to turn on the tap, "At least go rinse off a little in the shower first, please?"

Doable, albeit difficult. Blade grunts something akin to an affirmative and finds your shower. He turns the water on (hot or cold doesn't seem... relevant) and steps in. The spray pours down from the ceiling, sending the worst of the gore down the drain.

Blade does not move for quite some time.

"Blade?" you ask warily. "You... done in there?"

It takes him a moment to reply. The cold spray lags him, "Yes."

"... Can you come out? The bath is ready."

He idles, thinking about your question. The softness of your voice. The candle that he can smell, lit on the countertop. You yourself, dressed in soft lounge clothes and covered in scars that strangers gave you. He thinks about the way skin and muscle rend under his blade. The way yours could. Under him. Under—

"Blade."

You open the glass shower door, worry-eyed.

He blinks at you.

Gently, you grab his arm. He flinches with it. Has half a mind to slam you into the tile until you pop like an perfectly ripe fruit—

But he doesn't.

"C’mon, bath time," you coax him out, dripping, careful to not look down. It’s a preservation of modesty. It feels useless, Blade thinks, as he pulls away to clamor into the bath.

... There are bubbles. Fragrant and herbal, with a soft oil shimmering on the top of the water. It is the perfect temperature. It feels... good. He forgets how nice warmth is. He softens. You heave out a sigh and settle next to him, outside the bath. There's a dampened washcloth, already in your hand.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" You ask.

"I don't care."

"Give me a yes or a no,” you press him, glaring a little. You roll up your sleeves and rise to your knees.

"Yes, then." He does not care. Do you not understand?

(You probably don't. You definitely don't.)

Your expression is unreadable as you dunk the rag into the bathwater and begin to wash him. First his right arm, then his left. Gently rubbing him down, taking extra care with his hands. The rag is gentle over his stiff fingers. You check under each of his nails individually.

You’re meticulous.

You ask a question or two about how he washes himself, specifically his hair, but Blade can't give you answers. Kafka stocks his bathroom. His bottles are numbered, and he never deviates from their preassigned order. It is easier that way. Even in Kafka’s tub, she tends to use the same order of expensive-looking products that she favors.

The treatment you’re currently giving him is not routine.

The ends of your sleeves dip into the water as you stretch over the tub, toward his legs. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, bitten in concentration. (It’s cute.) Blade feels... compelled to assist you. He raises his leg up at the knee. Just as carefully, you scrub him down, and then focus on his other leg.

The experience fills him with a sense of unease.

(It’s too tender.)

(You treat him too delicately. Even Kafka acknowledges the damage he carries, and her touch is only gentle to punctuate a roughness later on. She toys with him— it’s a farce. The way you touch him is too kind. You are too kind for him. It reminds him— makes him feel the ghost of a touch from hands more delicate and powerful than your own. From a different lifetime, blotted by Mara, corrupted and molten in his mind—)

“Blade—?” Your voice is shaking, shattering. You’re frozen at the side of the tub.

Blade blinks.

He has his hand wrapped around your wrist; his grip swallowing the fragile limb. The force of it is bruising. He holds it under the water, forcing you to lean over the tub. You are submerged up to your elbow. Your expression is pinched, afraid. Your pupils pinpricked.

An animal snared.

His grip tightens.

“Let go, please.” You ask, lip wobbling.

He does not want to let go. He really does not want to let go. Blade cannot trace the feeling, it’s miasmatic. It was a bad idea to have you assist in bathing him. Mara webs itself behind his eyes. His jaw locks and breathes hard through his nose. He wants to sink his teeth into your throat.

“Please, stop,” You whine— whimper while tugging against his hold. You are half bent over the bath. Your eyes water, all shiny.

The tone does something to him. Many people plead around him— for their life, mercy, favor. It’s useless. He does not care. He has no reason to care. There are scripts to follow. However— there’s no script here. Just the warm suds, the blood pumping through your veins, and Blade’s tunneling vision.

With a sharp pull, he drags you into the bath.

You fall in headfirst. Instantly, you clamor at the side of the tub and his submerged legs to get yourself back above water. You scramble. It’s— cute. Your hair is slicked down around your face and forehead, eyes wide as you pant. His legs bracket your body. He tightens his thighs around you.

Your thin clothes are soaked and cling to you. Fabric over curves and folds over your flesh. Blade’s half-hard and feels bad about it.

(He can’t trace why. It’s far from the first time he’s been physically aroused in relation to you. It always makes him feel bad. Not with Mara, but something personal and sour and less mad. He hates it. He’s almost torn out a rib over the feeling.)

You hover, frozen, between his legs. The only sounds in the bathroom are your panting breaths and the drips rolling off your body, into the bathwater. You swallow, trembling, but remaining otherwise unmoving. It occurs to Blade after a few tense moments that you are waiting for him to strike.

Always like a little, frightened animal.

(Something in him writhes.)

He moves quickly, shooting a hand out to fist into your hair. His grip is unyielding, giving you no slack (though, he doesn’t yank and pull as he could. He could tear out chunks if he wanted. He just doesn’t want you to move.) He wants you closer— maybe. He wants you far away, thrown through one of the ship's thick windows and into the vacuum of space and dead.

(Though, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the void of space to kill you. He’d rather do it. He wants to do it, if you’re going to die.)

You whine and paw at his wrists, babbling something.

Blade feels disgusting as he drags your body to his, his chest to your back, and he curls over your form. His arms wind around your waist and squeeze. You scratch at him, beg maybe— he can’t tell, his ears are ringing. Your fists that slam into his shoulders and skull feel like swats from a declawed kitten. He doesn’t budge despite your protests.

You stop fighting when you realize he isn’t hurting you.

Blade doesn’t... want to hurt you. He thinks. Not really. Not in the way that Mara is screaming at him to. He isn’t content, you’re too warm and too alive to be this close to his body, but it's not bad. Contact both scratches an itch under his skin and aggravates a wound. It’s like a bath with Kafka, but worse—

(Because part of him wants this.)

Blade flinches when you go slack against him, chest heaving out breath. Even this little ‘scrap’ has tired you out. You’ve become weakened in your confined state— even if you really wanted to fight him, you don’t have the physical strength to be able to.

You sniffle, covered in soaked clothes and soap suds.

“Don’t cry.” Blade says without thinking. His voice is shot, dead-pan.

Trembling, you shake your head, “I w-won’t.”

It’s a lie. You’re already shaking in his arms.

It’s— unfair. You’re most used to him, and less wary of him than Kafka. Part of him, a loud but small part of his mind, thinks that a bath together could be enjoyable— if he wasn’t washing blood and filth from his hair, and you weren’t shivering in your soaked day clothes.

(‘This could be nice’, it urges.)

His hands rub over your sides in small circles at the idea.

You gasp and squirm, looking back at him with wild eyes, “Blade, please—”

He stops, but his hold around your waist doesn’t waver. You sigh and lean back into his chest, deflating. Your eyes go half-lidded as you look toward the ceiling. They look— dull. Light and life drained. Like how they did when he and Kafka first collected you from that gilded planet.

Blade knows that look— a dull mind and an active body. Your breath is still a bit too fast. Your heart is the same, running a prey-like rhythm. He assumes that you have left your body, gone elsewhere.

“Hey.” He shakes you lightly, dragging you back to the cooling bath. “Help with my hair.”

“... Hair?” You ask, voice soft and dreamy. “... Do you need me to wash it?”

“Yes.”

“... Okay.” You nod after a moment and rotate in his lap.

Your shoulders sag forward as you fumble for shampoo and squirt a generous amount into your palm. Half of it misses and the gel sinks into the bathwater below.

It’s unfair— part of him says again— he wants to tear it out and shred it between his teeth or under his blade. It screams that it's unfair that you dote on a creature like him. It’s unfair that you must shiver while lathering and rinsing his hair. That your pretty lips tremble with fear.

The Mara writhes. He has not been human in so long. He does not deserve the gentleness you so often give him. Especially now, when he has dragged you closer, made you filthy with the stench of blood, and forced you so close. He wants to bite out your throat as you tip forward to grab a brightly colored bottle of oil and begin to work through the knots in his air.

You are frowning. You are crying.

He wants to eat you.

Blade reaches for your chest, studying the way that the fabric clings to your skin-gone-gooseflesh. He finds the top button of your soft blouse in his own unsteady hands and undoes it. You freeze when he does, breath catching.

You don’t breathe as he undoes another button.

Then another.

And another.

You don’t breathe until the garment is nearly off. Just one button secures the fabric. He can see the peak of your breasts under the fabric, nipples pebbled in the cold. You’re so cold.

(Blade wishes, dead Yingxing wishes, that he were warmer.)

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, and in a small voice, you beg, “Please, d-don’t.”

“You’re cold.” Blade says. He reaches past you, sloshing water, to turn on the spigot for hot water. “You will stay cold if you wear wet clothes.”

You look at him strangely. At first, it’s wounded. Like you’ve been lanced through with Shard Sword, and now bear the gaping wound. It morphs to one of confusion, then you bite your lip. And grab his hands in your own and stare at them.

“... That’s all?” You ask.

“Mostly.” Blade replies. There’s— more. Far more. But nothing that is concrete enough, or important enough, to share with you. It would more than likely aggravate his spitting Mara.

“Okay.” You reply, looking up from your joined hands. Your eyes are round and watery. “You’re not trying to rape me?”

He freezes.

The word ‘rape’ pulls something disgusting and festering up from Blade’s guts. Something he wants to purge. He has the distinct urge to lean over the side of the time and vomit, but he hasn’t eaten in the last forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing to heave up. So instead, he is still.

It’s like he can feel the rot. He’s not sure why. He knows what the word means, he is pretty sure he has been raped. Probably. Either when he was a young child, a refugee fleeing a massacred world, or maybe when he was the bedmate to a dragon. Maybe, probably, from Kafka, any number of times. Maybe last week. His mind is cloudy.

What constitutes rape is foggy.

He knows it would mean that he wants to have sex with you, and you wouldn’t want to have sex with him.

And Blade—

(He— He— doesn’t want to have sex with you? Or he does. Maybe. He wants to be close to you, inside you. He wants to curl around you and make you swear to never leave. He wants— he wants so much. Blade is selfish. But—)

Not like that, he doesn’t think. Others have been, he’s sure— he’s sure.

Mara pours into his mind, and he remembers then. Pieces of times, fragments of old memories, of rape. Of violation of all kinds.

(At the hands of borisins holding him down as he screamed and cried, his body too little to do any fighting in the jaws of an Abundance beast.)

(A tradesman who allowed him to stowaway on a cargo ship, destined for the Luofu. ‘Payment’ — the man had called it. For safe passage and a little sack of rice.)

(Dan Feng, during one of his draconic ruts. He was the Child of a Cosmic Horror, ultimately. That’s all Aeons are, anyways. Yingxing had been split on his cock so many times, so full, he bled for a day, even with Dan Feng fussing over him with his cloudhymns, lucid-in-mind and torn apart by so much guilt for a wildly proud man.)

(Kafka, a few days after she first picked him up from the surface of the asteroid Jingliu had been beating him into. Kafka, a few weeks after that— in a hotel that stank of blue emory roses. Kafka, a few weeks ago, draped over his shoulders between missions. There’s more. Memories drenched in the smell of her rich perfume. They tangle in feelings of comfort and revulsion.)

Blade doesn’t want to do any of that to you.

(He wants something with you— but—)

(Not like that. He doesn’t want you to hurt.)

“I’m not going to rape you.” He tells you. He hardly sounds like himself as the Mara quiets.

He thumbs over your lips. There’s a scar in the middle of them where they had been split, repeatedly, and then healed over. You’d told him once that one of your old keepers used to deprive you of water if he felt like it. Your breath is hot against his fingertip.

You say nothing, but your breath is still fast and shaky. Your eyes are wide. A feral, wild animal.

“I’m not.” Blade tries to reassure you. You flinch with the sound of his voice. “You’re freezing. The bath can be refilled with warm water. Bathe.”

Tears break over your lower lashes as you stare at him. He stares back.

(He wonders what you’re thinking. If you have as much trouble thinking as he does— you probably do. You’ve sustained head trauma. Traumas. You’re both torn-up wrecks, maybe. It could provide him with some solace.)

“... Okay.” You rub your eyes with balled up hands and laugh. “Okay.”

Blade then helps you peel off your shirt. Then your shorts and underwear. When you’re bare, Blade drains most of the water from the, leaving you both with a layer of clinging bubbles protecting the barest bits of your modesty. You cover your chest and center with your hands, keeping your head down. Hiding your throat.

He refills the tub with more soap— too much probably. Mountains of bubbles appear as he dumps in a glug of shimmering, emerald-colored oil. It swirls into the water as it rises. You relax as it rises over your chest. Your eyelids droop. You look so tired.

Blade washes you like you did him.

You face each other as he does. Your gaze never leaves him, though it goes glassy again. Unfocused. Blade can feel your heartbeat through your skin, slowing more and more with each pass of the warm, soapy rag he is using. He massages products into your hair. He thinks that he may be doing so in the correct order. He hopes he is.

This close, he can see all of you. Most of you. Feel you too. He feels ridges and bumps of scars. Chunks of flesh that have been torn from you, replaced by cicatrix, uneven and unnatural under his touch. You shudder when he touches you, shivering despite the heat of the room. You’re sensitive. He doesn’t want Kafka to know.

You feel different like this. Blade is unable to place why.

When he is through with you, steam and bubbles still rising from the bath, you drag him closer. Your fingers dig into his biceps, latching on and scrambling to get closer.

“... You really mean it, don’t you?” You ask. Your eyes are still unfocused. “You’re not going to? You’re not fucking with me?”

“... What are you talking about?”

An unrestrained smile stretches over your face, “You do mean it. You do. You do.”

Blade can only guess what you mean. You clearly will not (or cannot) tell him. You shiver against a full body thing against him. It makes him uneasy. He flips you by the hips, so that your back is to his chest, and he can curl over your shoulders. He cast a shadow into the water.

Indulgently, he presses his nose into your cheek. You smell like fresh soap and skin. He thinks if he licked you, you’d taste like salt.

He doesn’t.

When that’s all he does, you laugh.

It’s a belting thing, the kind of sound that’s punched from your gut with the same force that could break ribs. Blade can imagine the sound and sensation of it obliterating your insides as your laughter bounces around the tile of the bathroom. It’s manic. It’s an unwell sound. You clutch a fist over your chest as you howl.

You don’t stop for a while.

It’s clearly too much. Blade can feel it. The sound echoes in his chest. It must be shredding yours.

His arm wraps around your midsection as you do, and he tries to press you closer— he thinks. He thinks it might help. Your breath starts to shake, each inhale pitching high and sharp. You’re hyperventilating around your laughter. You’re hysterical, but don’t fight his hold. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, splattering into the bathwater.

Blade says your name— it should come out sharply. He means it to.

However, it is gentle. His voice is hushed and rough.

“You’re alright.” He squeezes you until the breath is forced from your lungs, and there’s no fuel for your laughter anymore. “You’re okay.”

With a choked, quiet sob, you reply, “I know.”

...

It’s later— much later. Maybe the next day.

Your room still doesn’t have any way to keep time other than your little tablet, which has been powered off and charges across the room on top of your dresser, so Blade can only guess.

He lays beside you in bed, propped up on an elbow. You sleep next time to him, relaxed and soft-jawed. The soft duvet is pulled up to your collarbones, and you curl into Blade. He’s— warmer than the rest of your room. Even if he does run too cold to be properly alive.

He runs the side of his index finger over your face.

You had been so tired after leaving the bath, you’d hardly been able to dress yourself— you hadn’t been able to. Blade to pick out sleep clothes and help you get into them. He chose whatever he could find that seemed. Soft.

(A flowing, soft teal top and white shorts with golden thread sewn in the seams.)

You fell asleep quickly after that and have been ever since. Blade had only meant to sit on the edge of your mattress.

That did not happen.

Instead, he’s tucked next to you. One of your hands fists the front of his shirt, and your body is angled toward him. Seeking. Wanting.

Blade could take.

He recognizes that.

It’s a thought, though, not a temptation. Not after the bath. Not after feeling the ways in which your body has been torn apart and so painstakingly put itself back together. You are not a creature of Abundance, you are not built to live forever and to repair yourself endlessly like he is. Your vitality is finite. Every scar your flesh must restitch takes something from you and it will not be replaced.

You will end.

Your bedroom door clicks, five times, then opens with a whoosh of air. Kafka stands in the doorframe. A sickly-sweet smile stains her mouth. Her lipstick is the is freshly applied and glossy.

“I see you got all cleaned up, Bladie,” her voice is silken and smooth. He could drown in it. “Was our little pup helpful?”

“... Yes.”

“Good.” Kafka hums. Her heels click against the floor, and she takes a place next to you. Even as the mattress dips, you don’t stir. “You’re so helpful with training them. Good boy.”

Blade pauses his petting of you to glare and grunt at Kafka. She looks delighted.

“I wasn’t aware I was assisting with any sort of training.”

“It’s all implicit. As long as they’re getting comfortable, that’s what counts. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

Blade doesn’t like that answer.

“I don’t want to see them hurt,” Blade says.

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I mean it, Kafka.”

“I know, I know.” Kafka laughs. She sighs and falls into the bed, over the cushy duvet. She spoons you, flattening herself to your back and winding her arms around your waist. Your brow wrinkles and a little whimper scratches from your throat. “I’d like to see our new puppy kept in one piece too, Bladie. I’ve grown quite fond of them. However, we are both beholden to Destiny. If one of Elio’s scripts—”

“I know.” Blade snaps.

He does not want to think about it.

His hand that had been petting you winds tightly into your hair and your face scrunches up.

“Listen, Bladie, everything’s alright. You’re okay.” Kafka soothes, dropping a kiss onto your cheek. It leaves a smear. Kafka works Blade’s hand out of your hair. “Be good and keep them company while I give Elio a mission report.”

“That’s what I have been doing.”

“Then, keep it up.”

Kafka rolls out of bed with a sigh, not a hair out of place. She leaves the room almost soundlessly, the door clicking as it relocks. Five times.

Blade does as Kafka says. He keeps you company, sinking down into the mattress beside you. He wipes away the lipstick left over your cheek and presses a kiss to the spot. He lingers there.

Kafka can have— a lot of him. But, perhaps, he will covet you, all for himself.

(If the Mara in his mind had not been suppressed, perhaps he would have heard:

(FOOL FOOL FOOL! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU COVET AND CLING? DO NOT FORGET YOUR SINS! DO NOT FORGET HIS SINS—!)

Instead, his mind is quiet. He pulls you closer and sleeps. Space is dead around him, and you are dead to the world in his undying arms.

Blade thinks he likes when you bathe with him.

#lore writes #blade x reader #ren x reader #blade x you #hsr x reader #tw yandere #tw dark content #tw noncon #LETS GO!!!#PLEAAASE mind the tags but otherwise enjoy!!!

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abbysimsfun · 3 days ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 147 (Looking to the Future)

Heather's pregnancy progressed well into her second trimester. Changes in appetite and appearance were par for the course and she handled them like a seasoned pro. This baby would probably be her last, and she was grateful to be healthy, especially as construction on Buttercup Pet Clinic's remodel was well underway.

But between the spider bite in the jungle and the stress of Ash's kidnapping early in her pregnancy, good health felt like a blessing.

Conrad was always great help managing their household, and these days were no different. He walked the dog after work and spent time with the kids, giving Heather extra time to work with the architect and construction crew at her clinic.

While Ash was in San Myshuno for a weekend with the Landgraabs, the Gordons were surprised by a visit from the ghost of Boomer, Heather's white cat who died before Winterfest. Though most of the Gordons were now seasoned veterans when it came to ghosts, this was Lavender's first interaction with an ethereal being. She looked cautiously at the cat, but soon broke into giggles, leaning down to try to pat Boomer's head.

The encounter reminded Heather and Conrad not to keep Ben and Captain Whitaker waiting. Though their home was always busy and soon to be even more full, Heather brought it up the day before Ash was set to return from the city.

"Lavender loves all the pets," she said, pulling out her phone to check her schedule. "I have fewer appointments this week, and I think when Ash comes home we should go out to Deadgrass Isle with some ambrosia treats. We can leave Lavender with Hazel and Suri, but Ash should be there if he wants to be. After what you told me Rafa heard from Marco, I feel like I need to do everything I can to make him good, teach him empathy."

"We changed things," Conrad insisted. "He's not going to be whoever he was going to be."

"But he was kidnapped. Counselors say he seems fine, but what if the curse...? What if we can't change things?"

"What if nothing. The counselors are professionals, and they'd say if they thought anything was wrong."

Heather nodded. "I need you - and the counselors - to be right."

On a rainy Saturday in San Myshuno, Ash was hanging out with his father and sister Bridgette - but he was cornered, alone, by a figure he'd been attempting to avoid. He sneered at Marco's ghost, who left crystals of sand on the tiles beneath his feet. "What do you want? I don't want to help you!"

"I don't need your help! I've been trying to give you a message."

"I don't want to talk to you."

"If you don't, I'll never go away. If I don't tell you this, I'll never cross over."

"Fine. Say it or whatever."

"You've always been a brat, huh?" Marco curled his lip in frustration. "Look, in the future, you're the most celebrated college kid on the planet. You invented time travel."

"I...what?"

"That man from the future who's been all over the news? Emit Relevart only got here because you, a genius little shit, invent time travel before you turn twenty. At least you did. But we changed things."

"I'm not even ten. I don't know the first thing about time travel!"

"Maybe not now, but in one of your only interviews with the press, you said you became obsessed with the idea before high school and programmed the remote that first jumped through time for an extra credit project. You earned admiration, accolades, fame, and competition. But some people hate you for being the first, and others hate the thought of messing with time; they fear you for what you can do, and for your name."

"I haven't done anything!"

"You will! At least, you were supposed to, but taking you left you with a healthy fear of traveling through time, and I get it. That's my bad! But someone who's just as smart is out there right now hoping they'll be the one to discover time travel. They would have, if you hadn't done it first. They were close, but they're more careless than you. Since no one can get close to you - least of all Ximena - they're the one who sold her the faulty remote that got me killed."

"Who is it?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you that. I don't even think I know their real name, anyway."

"Not allowed by who?"

"The Grim Reaper! That bag of old bones broke a lot of rules to keep me here, and you don't even want to listen. But Grim won't walk me through to the other side until I tell you that you need to be the one to invent time travel or else it'll be too unstable."

"Why didn't Grim tell me himself?"

"He's not allowed to pass on last words, but we both agreed you needed to know this. The fabric of space and time is at stake here!"

"Maybe sims who mess with time travel should deal with it being unstable."

Marco growled and Ash peeled back in fear. "You don't get it. Time travel will be invented one way or another. Now that Emit's here, sims are intrigued. It's inevitable. Time travel will exist, but simanity can either do it the right way...or the wrong way."

"And I'm the right way?"

"Just barely." Marco shrugged. "I'm a bad guy, right? Bad guys want time travel, and everyone has an opinion about whether it messes with some grand design, but this is history we shouldn't mess with."

"Our friends, Felix and Lilith, are trying to make a time traveling device to help Emit find a time thief from the future. Can't they invent it instead? Then the other sim won't do it."

"You better help them, Ash Landgraab. History doesn't like to be changed too much, and I don't think they're going to do it without you."

Ash frowned. "How do you know? Why are you telling me this?"

The door opened with a click and Malcolm smiled at his son in the empty room. "Who are you talking to? And why is there sand on the floor? Where'd it come from?"

Ash looked nervously at his father. Marco had disappeared, and Ash suspected he'd never see him again, despite his unanswered questions. "Uh, Dad, can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"Sometimes, I can see ghosts. Just now, I was talking to the ghost of the man who kidnapped me."

Malcolm laughed. "What do you mean?"

"I see ghosts. Real ghosts who died, just like I almost did when I was little."

Malcolm furrowed his brow. "How long have you known you see ghosts? Do your mother and Conrad know?"

Ash nodded. "They know ghosts aren't all scary, but they can't see as many ghosts as I can."

"What did you and the ghost talk about?"

"He said I still have to be the one to invent time travel or else it'll change the future too much."

Malcolm grinned. This all sounded too far fetched to be believed, but he played along with his creative son's often wild imagination.

"Is that all? We certainly wouldn't be disappointed to have a genius inventor in the family!" ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Programming won the poll when I asked what skill Ash should max in his teens, and even though programming doesn't actually help with time travel via gameplay (yet?), it's all coming together with the plot!

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay #malcolm landgraab #blast from the past event #san myshuno

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sports-on-sundays · 1 year ago

Text

and I can change / CL16 / Part 2

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - Charles would do anything to convince you to forgive him. He'd do anything to revive his family.

Warnings: Again, Y/s/n is 'your son's name'. And again, his age is unspecified- you decide what you think. crying (LOTS of crying), mention of drunkenness, mention of sex, mention of cheating, broken relationships, broken family, censored cussing

Requested?: Yeah! Requested by some sweet souls who read part 1! @barcelonaloverf1life @architect-2015 @emz2092 @cilliansgirl @lunamelona @lightdragonrayne @leclercgirl16

Author's Note: You guys asked for it, so I gave it! I hope you enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Also I'm thinking after this part I'll write a part 3, and then after that maybe a little epilogue, to wrap this up. Tell me what you think. Also, this is the link to part 1 / and the link to part 3

"Y/n, people change.

"And I can change, too."

You lay on your bed, engulfed in the darkness of the room surrounding you. The darkness seems to go deeper than just your surroundings- deeper, and into you.

Over and over the scene plays through your mind. Those words that Charles had uttered. The way he had clutched your hand in both of his, as if it were his only lifeline. In that moment, the desperation his eyes had denoted was incredible.

Charles, why? Why couldn't you let go? You're making it all so much more complicated.

But you know what he would say. Why? Why, Y/n? Because this isn't just about myself. Don't you see the brokenness in our son? Don't you see it?

Guilt washes over you, and then rage.

I shouldn't be the one feeling guilt. He should. He's the one who messed up our family. He's the one who's fault it is!

The way he cried, though.

The desperation.

The thing is that he is feeling guilty. Or at least so it seemed.

But does he really deserve a second chance? Do you?

Your phone rings at 12:00 A.M. On the dot. Charles has always been on the dot. Unless he's drunk, that is.

Why is he calling?

Right when I'm thinking about him, too.

Although this really isn't too surprising, when you consider it. For the past week and a half or so, you've stayed up until roughly 2:00 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, thinking, unable to convince yourself into peace and slumber.

And now a call comes.

Charles, why?

It feels terrible as you answer. "Charles. Don't call me."

"Y/n," he says in a calm voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you snap, trying to keep it down. Your son is sleeping (hopefully) in the next room.

"For reacting so emotionally. I'm sorry. For years this has weighed on me, but crying and begging won't get us anywhere."

"We're not going anywhere, whether you cry and beg or not." You hang up.

A month after that call where you rejected Charles for what you hoped would be the last time, there's a knock on the door on a Saturday. You walk to it, and freeze when you look through the peephole.

Why is Charles Leclerc here?

Anxiety hits you. The house is a mess, you've got no food to give him, you look like a mess in your pajamas and unbrushed hair-

How can he just show up at your door like this?

It's obnoxious.

You honestly are about to pretend you aren't home, but then Y/s/n suddenly runs in, squealing, "Mama, who is it?! Is it the mailman?"

You sigh at your son's strange fascination for the mailman. You're not completely sure why he enjoys the young, dry, monotone mailman, and for years just assumed because he was generally a nice bloke, and little kids are weird, until you realized with an ounce of dread that the mailman resembles Charles, in a way. After that, you've never encouraged his enthusiasm for the mailman, just in case that was the reason, whether conscious or not.

"No, no," you sigh, unlocking the door. "It's not the mailman, love."

"Who is it, Mama?"

As you swing the door open, you murmur, "Well, love, none other but your father."

"Daddy!" the little boy, still in his Lightning McQueen pajamas, squeals, running to hug his father. You glance away, staring at the floor.

Charles hugs your son, kissing him, and exclaims, "Aw, there's my little buddy! How are you, man?"

"I'm good, Daddy! Are you coming to live here now, Daddy?!"

"Ugh- Not quite..." He picks up your son, and looks to you, immediately saying, "Sorry it's such short notice."

You grit your teeth, murmuring, "You mean no notice?"

"Right," he nods with a quick exhale.

While the presence of your son is a burden for you, preventing you from showing your true feelings, it may be an advantage for Charles, to get across what he needs to get across. Whatever that may be.

Because this is all just a game. Everyone with their own different motives. Y/s/n wants Mama and Daddy to love each other because he wants one place to live. Charles' motives are unknown, but probably are just manipulative and selfish- about making himself feel better. And your motive? You don't want to relive the past, so will avoid Charles at all costs.

Charles' and Y/s/n's motives align more with each other than your's.

You look at your son. Who you love so much. He looks at you with hope. Charles looks at you with... a very similar expression.

These two.

How can you love one and hate the other?

They're both family, as much as you hate to admit it. Because one of them, you wish you could erase.

No. But you don't. Because if you'd never met Charles, Y/s/n would never have been born. And you can't even begin to imagine your life without him.

You hold the door open, and gesture to the couch. "Sit down, Charles. I'm going to get dressed, and then put the kettle on." You say all this through gritted teeth.

How can he just walk in as if he owns the place?

He nods. "Thank you, Y/n." You watch in the doorway to the hall as Charles sits down on the couch with his son on his lap. You watch as he says softly, picking up a toy car from off the rug, "This car is awesome, Y/s/n. Where'd you get it?"

"Mama got it for me! For my birthday!" Y/s/n takes it from his father's hand with much pride, and starts driving it across Charles' chest, up onto his neck, and eventually onto his cheeks. The whole time, Charles laughs, his hand on his son's back to keep him from tipping off his lap.

"That's a super cool car. Does it have a name?"

"Uhhh," Y/s/n frowns. "Zoom! Because he goes zooooom!"

"Oh, it's a he?"

"Of course," Y/s/n says, as if this fact should be obvious. Then he giggles, "Because girls smell."

"They smell?! No way. Girls don't smell."

"Yeah, they do," he crosses his arms, frowning at his father. "You don't know any girls. You only know... Uh, Cah-los."

Charles laughs out loud. "The only person I know is 'Cah-los'?"

"Yep! And Uncle Arthur and Uncle Lorenzo, but that's it!" your son claims in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Their conversation continues, but you finally turn to leave and get yourself fixed up. You quickly shower, brush your teeth and hair, put on moisturizing cream, perfume, and deodorant, and put on a beige hoodie, grey sweatpants, and slides, before going to make tea. The whole time, you mind swirls.

Why is he here? Why is he here on a Saturday? Why is he here, without even asking to come? It's so... obnoxious.

You finish making two cups of tea, finding with awe as you make them that you remember exactly the way Charles likes his tea, and you're doing it automatically.

Because I used to do this so much.

You walk back in with the tea and see the two boys sitting on the rug now. Charles is tickling Y/s/n's tummy, and both of them are laughing- Charles with more of a chuckle and Y/s/n with more of a squealing giggle. When Charles sees you, he slowly stops, saying with a little sigh, "Alright, bud. Mama's back with my tea, and I mean to drink it."

"But Daddyyy!"

"Nope!" he grins, standing up, ruffling his son's messy hair. He then walks to you, and you hand him his tea. He lights up when he tastes the tea and looks at you, muttering softly, "My God, you remembered how I like my tea...?"

"Don't jump to sh*t, Charles," you murmur, soft enough for Y/s/n not to hear.

"Right," he sighs, sitting down again on the couch.

You set your tea down, walking to your son. "Alright, love. I want you to go in your room now, okay? Remember the Lego plane you were building? Why don't you work on that? I want to see it once it's finished, okay? And if you need anything, call, okay? Don't come in here. Just call, and one of us will come."

He looks questioningly. "Why, Mama?"

"Me and your father have important things to talk about. And if you don't listen, there will be consequences."

He blinks, pouting.

"I'll turn on your storybook audio for you. Come on." You bring him to his room and get him set up, until you're sure he's completely distracted with the Legos and the storybook. Only then do you come back to the living room and sit down awkwardly next to Charles.

He's still wearing his red windbreaker from when he was outside, and a black scarf hangs loose around his neck. His hair is a bit messed up, but he looks perfect, like always.

Too perfect.

"Let me take your scarf and jacket. And your shoes."

"Right," he says with a swift nod, handing you his scarf, coat, and sleek black boots. You put them by the door, and sit down, viewing the cozy grey sweater adorning his frame. You have a passing thought, considering how much unnecessary money he might have spent on such a garment.

"So?" you ask in a tense voice. "What is this all about, Charles?"

"There are some things we need to work out. You're right- one of the many things I've done wrong to you is always being a f*cking coward. You're right. I didn't say what was on my mind, and I faked it, and I kept quiet, because I didn't want to upset you. But now I see that the only thing I can do now is speak up, be honest, and be a man. You rightfully left me because I wasn't being a proper man. I wasn't being your proper man. I was being a terrible husband and a terrible father. But now we need to uncover what's true- we both have different views, both of which are likely exaggerated or incorrect in different ways."

"I don't care, Charles," you say quickly, flat out trying to ignore his admittance to wrong. Perhaps because you don't want it to be true. Because if he's sorry, that means you have to forgive him.

"So you're telling me you'd rather believe lies, just because it makes you feel better? What kind of thinking is that?"

You hate to admit that he's right. So you say nothing.

There's silence. But then he says, "So tell me what happened."

"You know what happen-"

"Tell me, Y/n." His voice isn't rude, but definitely firm.

You swallow, shaking your head. You don't want to work this out. You want to forget Charles. But clearly, that's impossible. "You were irresponsible. You'd get drunk, never be home, never help me. I'd be all on my own... You... You'd use me for your own pleasure but never show true, selfless love... Then you came home drunk saying stuff about a pretty woman and sex and getting pregnant... So you cheated... And I divorced you because I couldn't take it any more." You can't believe it, but you're trying not to choke up as you whisper, "Charles, what we had seemed perfect. Until you messed it up." Your mouth tastes like poison.

Charles stares down, his eyes swirling with everything but empty, at the same time. "Y/n," he whispers. "I was terrible. You're right. I was never around because I was immature and scared. I didn't understand. To get away from it, I drank and had fun with friends."

Your lip curls. "You're not the victim."

"And I never said I was! I was scared of being a father. I was scared of messing up. I wasn't ready and I let everything happen too quickly. I was a coward and I left you. Even though you divorced me, I was the one who left you. That's what happened. I was stupid. I was a terrible person. It's all my fault."

"Why would you be any different now? There's no way for you to prove that. Before the marriage you were fine. It was when we married that you went downhill. It was like... you couldn't stand me."

He looks torn apart. "I loved you. I... I... I still do. I knew I wasn't being a good husband or father and to forget about it, I drank."

"And why wouldn't you still do it now?!"

"Because I don't. I feel more guilt now than I did then! I feel more responsibility now than I did then! And that was my greatest fear! Responsibility! But now I don't drink excessively! Now I don't avoid reality! Because I need you... Our son needs us. Together. Don't you need me?"

"Not the you I know."

"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the same person I was." His voice is so uncommonly firm, it slightly shocks you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

He goes on, "That night, I didn't cheat. I was intoxicated. A young woman was trying to seduce me, but I refused because I had you. You, my beautiful wife, both inside and out. I wanted to convey to you that I said no because you were my wife. However, I failed to communicate this properly, and the next morning, I had completely forgotten the conversation. I chose not to tell you because I thought it would be better if you didn't know. I was afraid you would be angrier with me for being in that situation. I was a coward, and I didn't want you to be upset with me. I didn't realize for years that you believed I had cheated. If I had known, I would have assured you that I didn't cheat, just like I am doing now, and that I never would. Because I didn't. Despite all the mistakes I made, cheating on you is something I would never, ever do. I have always loved you, and only you, far too much for that."

Your hands tremble in your lap as you stare at him, listening.

Now you're the one getting emotional.

Charles leans in close to you- too close for comfort- and whispers, "I've changed... Please. I just want a second chance... To right my wrongs and give you and our son the lives you deserve. I need to give my all to you... I need to make it up to you... It's... It's crushing me."

"Why do you need a second chance?" Your voice, for once, isn't aggressive. It's gentle. Softer. Your voice cracks as you say, "You should have done it right the first time."

You see him swallow. "And you know what? I didn't. I f*cked up. I f*cked up everything. I f*cked up your life and I know it. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back in time and fix it and make it all better. I was stupid, Y/n. I was terrible. I hurt the most beautiful woman and her baby in the world. I'm the least." He takes your hand again in both his, but this time it's a gentler grasp.

"But you're not. You're famous. You have so many fans."

"Do you know how many times I've thought I don't deserve all this? If only I could share it all with you."

"Charles," your voice cracks again, and an unexpected, terrible longing fills you. "I want to believe you, but I can't. I'm broken, Charles, because of you. I can't afford to let you break me again..."

A tear rolls down your cheeks, and immediately he reaches up with his thumb, gently wiping your cheek, "No, Y/n, please don't cry... I don't want you to cry because of me any longer... Please..."

"Charles, I can't do this..." more tears fall.

There's hurt and confusion, but mostly longing and guilt in his eyes. "Please... If you'd only trust me, then we could make this right. I could make this right, after all I did wrong."

You can hardly believe yourself as you let your broken, silently crying self fall into Charles. You allow yourself to rest your head on his shoulder, and you allow his arms to wrap around you, giving you his warmth. "Charles..."

"Yes...?" There's a painful hope in his voice.

"I don't know if I can do this..." you cry into his shoulder now.

He whispers right in your ear, "Just give me a chance. Let me be there for you... Let me prove to you... Let me..."

You can't give him a yes or a no. Two sides war inside you- the mask and the face. You feel him stroke your hair as you cry, at the same time as remembering stroking his hair when he was drunk and needed comfort.

This is some sort of paradox, isn't it?

"Charles," you murmur, leaning away after you've gained control of yourself. "The answer is 'I don't know' right now, okay... Consider it... better than hating your guts with an adamant 'no.'"

As he gazes into your eyes, he leans closer. Softly, he places a tender kiss on your cheek and whispers, "I'll be ready whenever you are. And I'll never, ever stop waiting for you."

Weeks pass, and Charles can't understand why, after all that happened that day, still you insist on avoiding him like the plague.

Well, the reason is just that- avoidance. You're avoiding Charles because you don't want to face the possible truth. You're avoiding him because you don't want to make big decisions. You don't want to try again. You don't want to...

Well, you don't want to fall in love again.

And on that day, the way he treated you...

It reminded you of the man you married, and not the man you divorced.

And that scares you. Because you'll never forget the man you divorced.

So you're stubborn and resistent, and you're avoiding him.

So you sit, staring at the screen of your cell phone. Rereading the text on it. Over and over.

Charles Leclerc: I'm sorry for such a long text Y/n but you probably won't read it anyway, so what does it matter? I need to talk with you and you're doing exactly what I've done, what I'm apologizing for. For years I avoided this stuff and one of the reasons we split was that i couldn't stand up and address and tell you my problems. I was being a f*cking coward. And I've said sorry more times than I can count. I thought you might be on the road to forgiveness, to giving me a second chance. I know you felt the same way as me when you leaned into me and let me hold you when you cried- there's something more here, and I don't want you to ignore this. Can't we just try this? Please Y/n? I'm finally willing to step up, be a man, work through all this sh*t with you. Talk about it. I'm finally willing to be brave, and as soon as I am, you're doing the same thing you've yelled at me for years for doing- staying silent.

Charles Leclerc: I love you, Y/n, and this is a problem I desperately want to fix, but the truth of the matter is that you're being a f*cking hypocrite.

Me: How does it feel to be in the position you put me in for years?

You feel mean for typing that, and you're not sure how much you mean it. Maybe you meant to be kinder.

But the anger took over and your thumbs did the talking.

Charles leaves that message on read.

You sit in the cold metal chair, surrounded by pudgy, middle-aged parents and their gross kids all around you as a lone young mother sitting by herself. You're only here to see your son, and none of the other aspects of this situation bring you an ounce of joy.

All of a sudden, a shiver runs down your spine as a firm hand gently lands on your shoulder. Your head snaps up, meeting the gaze of Charles Leclerc. A look of disdain crosses your face, causing your heart to ache as you bluntly ask, "Why are you here?"

Charles takes a seat beside you in the vacant chair and casually remarks, "I've come to attend my son's school concert. And you?" A glimmer of amusement dances in his eyes.

Your jaw tightens in pure irritation, and you manage through gritted teeth in a tense, quiet tone, "Why did you choose to sit next to me?"

Charles hesitates, his expression softening, as he makes an effort to hold your gaze. "Well... Because I..." He swallows and says, "I'm not going to give up on you. That's why. So I figured I'd sit down next to you to watch my- our- son's concert. So..." Abruptly, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The veins in his hand are visible as he clasps yours tightly.

Your muscles tense, yet for some reason, you don't pull your hand away.

So throughout the whole school concert, Charles sits, gripping your hand, and seems to refuse to let it go.

And the moment the teacher is done on stage after the little production, thanking people for helping and the kids for doing such a great job and other stuff you don't listen to, Charles turns to you and says, "So, we have some minutes to spare."

Your eyebrows scrunch together. "Come again?"

He chuckles, but it doesn't feel called for. "You weren't listening to her? She said the students can be picked up from their classrooms by their parents in fifteen minutes."

Your jaw clenches again. "Charles, why?"

"Because I know you want it," he says incredibly earnestly. The inside of your heart melts as the outside hardens.

"But I don't think I do."

"But I know you do. Now come on." Your ex-husband stand up, pulling you up with him.

"Where are we going?" you ask. "And please let go of my hand. You've been holding it so long, it's starting to get sweaty."

He clicks his tongue and doesn't respond to either of these, then guides you down various hallways until you reach the school's exit. Finally, he sits down with you on a bench outside the school, and releases your hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's just hang out here for the next ten minutes, okay? We should talk," he says awkwardly, facing you.

"I don't get it. Charles, there's nothing you can do to-"

Charles interrupts, holding your face gently, gazing into your eyes. "Please, don't. Don't say that," he pleads, his thumb brushing your cheek. "There's something we can do. We can make this work... Please..."

His desperation, his begging, makes you want to cry. "Please just let it go... Let me go..."

"No, I don't want you to be trapped... Don't you see you'll be more free with me? You won't have to work as hard.. I'll take care of you and our son... I'll take half the work in the house you have to deal with... I'll... We'll... I just want you to believe that we'll be happier... I'm not saying we need to jump to anything today. I'm just saying, let's be kind to each other... Let's go out to eat sometimes, or go to our son's events together. Let's act just a little bit more like a family, even if we aren't yet. I just want to- I need to- I- I- I..." He trails off. His hands fall off your cheeks, and his shoulders slack. His head goes down.

It's like just the hard look in your eyes alone crushed him.

Like that alone is the huge weight he's bearing.

"F*** me, Y/n... F*** me," he whispers, his hands in his lap trembling. "I don't deserve you. I hurt you. Doesn't matter how much I changed. I still have to live through the consequences of my actions, don't I?" He seems to be talking more to himself, but you have no idea at this point. "Just f*** me." He exhales shakily, before suddenly standing up. He stares you right in your eyes, and your heart breaks when you see the hurt, the destroyed desperation. "It's fine, Y/n." He's trying to keep a level face. But his voice cracks. "I'll leave you alone. I'll let you go. I can see all this is just hurting you more. I never meant to hurt you more. I never meant to bring up the past to hurt you. I wanted to help you... I wanted to help you heal..." He drags a hand over his face. "But clearly I f***ing didn't. Clearly I messed it up again. I f***ing messed up again." He swallows. His eyes glimmer with wetness as he practically whispers, "The last thing I want is to hurt you. So I'll drop it. I'm just being selfish again, aren't I? I think this would be better, but you don't. And that's hurting you. And I never wanted to..." He swallows, his nose crunching up. Suddenly he yells, "I never wanted to hurt you ever again, because I love you, for f***'s sake! I love you, but I did hurt you, because, in the end, no matter what, I'm going to f*** it up anyway! So bye, Y/n!" Suddenly he turns on his feet. Like he doesn't want you to see him cry again. But you can hear the tears in his voice when the last thing he calls back is, "It will go back to normal, and we can pretend none of this ever happened! Pretend I'm a stranger! It's the best for you, anyway, apparently, and all I wanted was the best for you!"

You stare in shock as you watch him get in his car and drive away. You remain seated, gaze straight ahead. Tears well up in your eyes, and your body quivers, yet you manage to compose yourself, rise on unsteady legs, and compel yourself to return to the school to pick up your son.

But that just wasn't right.

I should have stopped him. I should have called him back. I should've.

How far can revenge go before it's gone too far?

For days, the guilt, the hurt, the rue- they weigh on you. Every moment of your days, it consumes your thoughts. Regret and confusion and anger fill you in every step, engulfing your every move. And if you thought you weren't getting any sleep before, now it's even worse.

You long to fix it, but you are unsure of how. Despite everything... You can't see how Charles isn't being honest. You want to have faith in him. A small part of you may even want to love him, just a little bit.

You're also fearful. Fearful of reaching out to him, because you don't know what you'd do. You have no idea.

But now you're dropping your son off at Charles's house. You swallow, and suddenly, on a whim, when you see Charles walking outside, waiting for Y/s/n, you get out of the car, too.

"Mama?" your son asks with a confused expression, still maintaining a little smile on his face.

You smile back down at him and say, "I'm walking you up to your daddy's house today, is all."

He shrug and nods, apparently accepting this.

He's such a good kid.

As you approach Charles, your smile twitches while you study him, but you say softly, "Hey, um... I... We..." Your tone sounds weak.

"Yes?" Charles asks, looking up. He looks perfect. As always.

Your eyes lock.

Please, Charles. I don't know how to say this. Please just understand.

His eyes remain blank. You let out a sigh.

And suddenly, you hug him.

Charles seems taken aback for only a moment, before he immediately hugs you back and says softly, "Hey... Want to come inside with me and Y/s/n?"

You nod. "Yes... Yes, please."

So Charles leads the two of you up to his flat. You sit down together on the couch, once again.

Last time you did this was the moment Charles cried out to you.

"Y/n, people change."

You swallow at the memory.

Is this another paradox? This time, will I be the one crying out to him?

Y/s/n is about to hop on the couch between you, but suddenly Charles scoops him up and says, "Hey, hey! I didn't get my hug from you yet, did I?!"

Your son giggles, getting comfortable on his father's lap, before giving him a big hug. "I scored a goal, Daddy..."

"You scored a goal?!" he grins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! Mama cheered me on! I scored a goal when I played football!"

Charles looks so bright. Happy with his son. So proud. He doesn't get to see him as often as you do. "No way. You've got to be joking. Was it the winning goal?"

"Yep!" your son says proudly.

You find yourself smiling.

"Oh yeah, what was the score?"

Your son shrugs. "Dunno! But we won!"

You smile and mutter softly, "I think it was 4-1." Y/s/n plays in the little league team affiliated with his school.

"Yeah, but my goal made it 2-1, so I won it," he brags to his father.

Charles grins. "Oh, I'm sure it did. You know, I don't know where you got that talent for football from. Do you think Mama is good at football?"

Your son just shrugs with a grin, enjoying the affirmation from his father. "Dunno! But Mama is good at cuddling and playing with me."

Charles laughs. "Yeah, your mama takes good care of you." He glances at you with sparkling eyes, before looking back down at his son.

The two continue babbling on about sports and football and what not, until Charles finally ruffles his son's hair and says, "Well, buddy, I reckon it's time for me and Mama to have some alone time."

Y/s/n frowns. "Aw, why?"

"Because I want to talk with Mama about things that you won't care about. Boring grown-up stuff. Doesn't sound very fun, does it?"

Y/s/n shrugs, still looking uncertain.

"Hey, don't look so down. How about this? I'll go put on Cars for you. How's that sound?"

Your son grins at this, immediately jumping up, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Yeah, yeah!" he squeals, and you watch as Charles leaves with him to go set him up with that in another room.

But soon Charles is back. He gently shuts the door behind him as he enters the room, and immediately sits down next to you, facing you once more. "Hey, Y/n..." he says in a tentative but gentle tone.

You swallow. "Hey, Charles..." You feel yourself getting nervous again. "You're so... You're so good with Y/s/n."

He smiles. "You are, too."

There's no, And I'm sure we'd be even better with him together.

Charles meant it when he said he'd give up on it.

But you move closer to him. You take his hands. "This is a lot for me, Charles. I'm scared. I'm having issues with trust."

He nods slowly. "I know... I know..."

You swallow, and hug him again.

He holds you, hugging you back. He kisses your cheek. He whispers, "I understand if you're afraid. I understand if you're scared, or if you're having issues with trust. I'm so deeply sorry I've broken you like that."

Y/n, people change. And I can change.

The words come crashing into your mind like a ton of bricks, emerging from the depths of your memory.

"Charles-" you break in, your voice cracking. "Those words have haunted me."

"What words...?" he mutters softly.

You swallow. Breathe slowly. And you whisper, "You said to me 'Y/n, people change. And I can change.'"

"I have changed," he whispers.

"But," your voice cracks. "You said a lot of other s***, too. I remember, during our honeymoon..." A tear rolls down your face as Charles continues to hold you. "You said I'm yours and you're mine. You said we'd be forever. You said you'd do anything for me. You said we'd have three kids together, and you'd never stop loving me, and we would be a happy family. You said we'd grow old together, Charles. That's what you said. But all those promises- they were broken... They were broken."

"You didn't want them to be," he whispers calmly. "But don't you realize? Perhaps those promises were not broken, but rather, they have just not yet been fulfilled."

You look up at him, blinking. More tears roll down your cheeks. Charles gently wipes them away.

"I want to be able to fix what I did wrong. I want to be able to fulfill those promises I made to you. That's what I want, Y/n."

"Charles..." you breathe.

He looks so perfect.

"Yes?" he asks gently.

Your lip quivers, and you lean into his shoulder, and you sob.

And he lets you.

For however long, he holds you there, rubbing your back, letting you weep. Finally, you get a hold of yourself, and slowly pull away. You wipe your wet eyes with the backs of your hands, before sighing. "Charles, if we were to do this... If I were to give in..." You sniff. Your voice cracks again as you utter, "Please, don't hurt me again. I can't survive it again. I can't let you put me through that again..."

He pulls you to him again and whispers in your ear, "I won't. I won't. I won't let you down this time. Please don't be afraid of me... I want to love you... Let me love you... If you'll just let me, we can fix this... We have have a relationship in which we communicate more. Oh, Y/n..." he sighs. "Don't you realize how much I care? I- I would give my life for you."

You blink, staring at him.

Everything looks so promising. That's why you're scared.

It almost looks too promising.

"You say you would give your life for me. But would you really? Maybe you would you give your life for me if it meant losing it. But would you give your life to me while you're still alive? Would you clean the dishes? Would you help me when I'm sick? Would you grab an extra ingredient from the store if I needed it? Would you drive Y/s/n to school when you could? Would you really? You're gone half the year, as it is."

His jaw clenches, then un-clenches. "I would do anything and everything I could do for you. I want to share my life for you. Until death. And I'm one hundred percent sure on that. I've had years of thinking about this." There's hope in his lovely eyes.

So much hope.

You sigh, staring down at your lap.

"Y/n. I'm sorry. Please. Not only do I need your forgiveness. But your son does, too." He hesitates. "And I hope you know no matter what happens, the guilt of what I've done to you will weigh on me my whole life. That's why I want to fix it."

You gently slip your hand in his and whisper, "Please don't hurt me."

He wraps his fingers around your hand, holding it. "I won't."

You nod slowly, another tear rolls down your cheek, and it feels like all the molecules in your body are being ripped apart as you barely whisper, "Okay, Charles. We can try this again."

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stompedchild · 1 day ago

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after the past few days i have a lot of thoughts about tr!ros and her lack of kingdom-to-kingdom communication so i'm putting them all together.

all of the below is /rp

so, Ros Roscumber. should be in the running for the Realm SMP's "how many things can one person have wrong with them?" competition, and desperately needs to start seeing a therapist not named Pangi or BadBoyHalo. She is plagued by approximately 10001 issues and i love her. She deals with loneliness, i'd argue social anxiety to some extent, being a people pleaser to a detriment to herself, at least 2 different guilt complexes, nonexistant self-worth that borders on being suicidal, and communication.

Communication is SO important in a place like The Realm where things change on a dime and significant events can happen daily. It's especially important if you're the Royal Architect who is ALSO dealing with about 10000 problems at any given moment. Roscumber has stated that she is not particularly good with phrasing, words, or memory. This does her no favors in being a good communicator, so surely to make up for that she'd frequently express if something's wrong to her faction right? Right??????

Nope! Roscumber has a horrific guilt complex around receiving help from her faction members. She cannot handle the thought of burdening or bothering other people, so she would rather try to be independent and work on things herself to not feel that guilt. Sometimes she'll cave and ask for resources, such as recently when she asked Sneeg to make her new boots (but only after she gathered netherite with Aimsey and Pangi, her friends, not faction members). But other times, such as her training with Clown as an example, she had to be asked to not eat sweet berries and Clown had to insist that it was okay for her to take some of his food.

If the guilt complex was the only issue than maybe Ros would be doing better, but there's another major communication barrier imo. I hesitate to refer to this as anything along the lines of "lacking a backbone" because i don't think that's it. Ros can stand up for herself, though that's typically through killing people who are kinda asking for it (harry, owen, badlinu) and feeling guilty over it afterwards. I want to say that she's passive to a fault but I'm not sure if that fully capture my thoughts. Regularly passive but passive to a fault with the King in particular? I'll figure out how I want to describe this character trait of Ros' eventually :3

When Roscumber left the Kingdom and was confronted by Sneeg, she confessed that she wasn't going to say anything if she wasn't asked. Maybe this says something about how readily her trust/faith and therefore ability to communicate gets shaken, but I think this is an example of her being passive to a fault. More recently she had a chat with Aimsey where she expressed feeling tired over having to constantly defend herself, which I think is a super important line from Ros. Because Ros has been messed with in some shape or form, somewhat consistently, since around the Hostile Faction joining and Mocha deciding to be her number 1 hater. Mocha dying didn't really save her either considering the recent actions of The Jester. At the end of the day, having to be on the defending end from so much shit from so many people for about 3 months now is undeniably exhausting and draining. So what does Roscumber to in response for this? She takes an even more passive approach than normal and simply takes the blows, especially the verbal ones, as they come.

But how does this tie into Kingdom communication? Roscumber's biggest and most active ally, Sneegsnag, is typically off doing his own thing 90% of the time. He is generally speaking out of the loop with a good chunk of things that happen on the server, but it's been noticable with Ros recently. The Jester is after her once again, and she feels as though Foolish is not taking her concerns seriously, and perhaps never thought of it as a big issue in the first place. Not to mention being terrified that Owen is winning him over to kick her out of the Kingdom. Her newfound friend Pangi is having troubles with Ilip, she's dealing with having to process what Owen's said to her, and she's organizing a ball on top of all that! Now, more than ever, she wants to be listened to by someone who can hear about Kingdom secrets without getting in trouble. And yet, she does not reach out for that help.

It's a mix of her tremendous guilt around receiving help from her faction members and not wanting to bother them, see "I fear Sneegsnag has done too much for me," - paraphrased line from Roscumber, but also lacking the will to call out for help, that concerning passivity. Instead of reaching out to her faction member, her teammate, her friend(!!!), she cannot bring herself to take the initial leap of writing /msg Sneegsnag, and will instead wait for one of her friends who is around spawn more frequently to notice that something is wrong and ask her about it. She wants help, she wants comfort, she wants to be listened to by someone she wants to trust, but in order for all of that to occur she first needs to ASK for that. She is instead passive, and waits for her woes to be noticed by those who see her often. She wants her mind to be read yet there's not a single person capable of that on the server. It does not help that she tends to constantly question her loyalties, she is worried about her words misconstruing the situation, and is worried that Sneegsnag's reaction to information will be negative. So with no other active Kingdom members to turn to in confidence, she confides to Aimsey and the Honey Badgers.

It is so cool that this is a solvable issue though! All that needs to happen is for Roscumber to ask Sneeg to talk, and she then needs to open up about her recent problems. Except she has expressed struggling to do that in the first place because of all of her many issues. Sneeg has expressed wanting to support Roscumber and wanting to hang out more, but because of this lack of communication it doesn't happen, and both parties are sad because there's no talking going on. It feels as though Ros is only able to open up when pushed to a breaking point, which is not healthy in the slightest. (not that she is doing that great anyways) Otherwise she will just Not Talk about her problems in fear of being a bother or receiving an unwanted (negative) response. Despite all of this I would like to believe that when the time comes for either Ros to reach out to Sneeg, or for him to inquire about something being wrong, Ros will be given what she has been looking for this past week.

#the realm smp #trsmp #roscumber #sneegsnag #losa #league of secret alchemists #<- ermm is it losa if i only talk about 2/3 of them idk im tagging anyways #anyways god i love tr!ros and her 10001 problems #i wish so badly for her to reach out and communicate with sneeg #her chat does their best to encourage trusting and talking to the losa #but alas it does not happen often lmao #anyways i describe ros as being passive to a fault #but im not sure if that captures what i mean #maybe its more like ros in an ideal world would want to be a passive character #someone who doesnt reach out to start things but is reached out to and reacts afterwards #if that makes any sense

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infinity-or-oblivion · 1 month ago

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heyyyy realm nation I have an au for y'all: arranged marriage foolhalo. now hear me out I'm thinking longgggg history of conflict between warring kingdoms (think montagues and capulets) I'm thinking fundamental moral differences that make peace nearly impossible I'm thinking innocent people caught in the crossfire and most of all I'm thinking doomed yaoi. foolish and bad hate each others guts so intensely and somehow have so much in common and I just think forced 'romance' is so fun. anyways foolish is the eldest prince of his family which includes ros and owen and clown and tango and perhaps sneeg and phil and then bad wants to strengthen their kingdoms alliance so he marries foolish except they HATE each others guts and bad’s kingdom/family of pili and pangi and hannah and baghera all keep attacking foolish and his family

okay so that was my initial idea and then I started thinking about the kingdom of fools found family dynamic (because I watch almost exclusively ros pov btw) so here's my pitch: eldest prince foolish and his siblings are Owen, clown, and ros. that’s all i really want tbh BECAUSE LIKE THE DYNAMICS ARE SO GOOD I WANT SOME FAMILY CONFLICT THAT IS ULTIMATELY ROOTED IN LOVE IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR

so like: middle child that often feels slighted owen, sometimes feels threatened by more talented clown, foolish who cares about all of them so much but he’s stretched thin and can’t do everything himself, and of course. clown and ros my beloveds, baby of the family ros, and all of her brothers love her and feel very protective of her. but sometimes she feels like she doesn’t add as much to the kingdom since she’s more of an artist than a fighter, and also others see her as a weak point, and sometimes she doesn’t get the support and validation she needs from her brothers (except clown??) and of course then there’s clown. he’s got weird eldritch shit going on, something about messing with the magical and ethereal that he becomes intertwined with it, also some ctechno-esque feelings about only being seen as a weapon/tool for others, ANYWAYS I love tr!clown wish he would FUCKING STREAM MORE. rotating them all in my mind like a rotisserie chicken

but like ive been thinking about that time foolish and ros went on a fishing trip after foolish came back from the dead and how good that was and I'm also thinking about the low-key jealous (??) vibe Owen has going on all the time and of course I'm the number one clown and ros fan so yeah. I can't stop thinking about them teehee

and tango is probably a trusted advisor to foolish or something along those lines, as well as sneeg (sneeg and clown divorce canon???? must've been the wind...)

and then on the red/green side there's bad as the king/whatever patriarch, with pangi as his nephew or something like that idk, and then pili is an assassin pangi somehow befriended that hangs around all the time and won’t leave. and also has/had some sort of insane situationship with ros?? also hannah and pac as trusted advisors and the rest of red team as other mercenaries/hired hands (architect sausage, pirate baghera, etc). and let's not forget that pangi and pili have some sort of insane doomed yaoi thing going on too, they truly are the most dysfunctional found family

and with blue, there’s tubbo, cpk, kind of phil and beky and coy and scott (??) and of course aimsey. oh my god tr!aimros is fucking insane, ros is having a Rough Time and foolish is really good at supporting her even though he doesn’t always have time or really get what the hell is going on with ros and aimsey. anyways tubbo is an old friend of foolish, gets along great with ros, and his ex-husband is ‘friends’ with pili. so that’s great. (huge fan of tr!Tommy just kind of being there and annoying tubbo from time to time very in character for him). and tubbo, aimsey and cpk are canonically brothers I don't make the rules, beky is silently recording everything and judging everyone, coy is just trying to build a cool farm and keeps getting pulled into drama

anyways. there's my concept and I keep trying to write something but I can't figure out how the fuck to go about it, so I figured someone else might like the idea. godspeed soldiers

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lunanami · 2 years ago

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TRUST ME — kaveh .

with al-haitham as acting grand sage, he was naturally out of the house more. that leaves time for some rather unorthodox activities between you and your boyfriend.

notes : f reader, mirrors , squirting , praise , creampie.

wc : >1k

“better hurry, princess,” kaveh smirked, the smoothness of his voice a perfect compliment to the lewd echoing of skin slapping against skin in the room. “he’ll be home soon… and you know how painfully punctual that man typically is,”

you weren’t too sure about how your boyfriend had managed to convince you to let him take you on his roommates’ bed, though the blonde had always been one to have a way with words. so much so that now, you were on your knees, tangled in al-haitham’s grey, silk sheets whilst kaveh rammed into you from behind. one large hand held both of your wrists behind your back, using the hold as leverage to bury himself deeper and deeper into your warm cunt.

he watched intently as your ass jiggled with each bounce, his ego inflating a tad more each time you squeezed his fat cock. the position that he had you in also allowed for kaveh to have almost complete control over you and your body. occasionally, he would bend down and whisper tender praises into the shell of your ear, reminding you how delightful your pussy felt wrapped around him, and how well you were for taking all of him.

"that's it," he rambled, "gooood fucking girl. . . best pussy ever, you hear me? so fucking perfect. . ."

each syllable of praise made your cunt flutter around his thick cock, especially when kaveh's balls collided with your puffy clit. "are you gonna cum for me, princess?" he cooed, "wanna cum all over haitham's sheets? make a pretty mess f'me, darling?"

"please. . ." you begged, "wanna cum on y'r cock... please, please, please,"

kaveh grew cocky at your repetition, using every ounce of his strength to lift your body so that your back was flat against his chest. he shifted his arms to hold you in place, continuing to fuck you as he did so. one of his arms snaked its way up from your stomach and to your face, gripping your chin and forcing you to take a look in the full-length mirror that rested opposite the bed.

"sweet thing," he hushed your pleasured cries, "such a mess already, aren't ya? y' wanna cum so bad, don't you, pup? keep watching, wanna show you how pretty you look f'me,"

his hand then trailed its way back down, teasing your pebbled nipple with a light tug before settling on your oversensitive clit. kaveh's digits massaged loose circles around the puffy nub, his lips finding solace against the sweet spot on your neck. "beg for it, princess," he mumbled against your skin.

you merely whimpered, words having fled your pretty little head a short while ago.

"already that far gone? 's okay, i've got you. just let go for me, alright, sweetheart?"

kaveh's lithe fingers sped up, though his thrusts grew sloppier. you muttered short semblances of phrases, with him finding your incoherence completely adorable. a couple of taps to your clit had you squirming, yet your eyes remain on the mirror — ever the obedient soul. the man managed to decipher from your babbles that you were about to cum, and with you in such a state of mind you would undoubtedly fall hard.

"go on, cum f'me, princess," he cooed. you saw white lights as you squirmed in kaveh's hold. your cunt clamped down around him, gushing all over his roommates sheets. he continued to fuck you through your high, shooting thick ivory ropes into you shortly after.

kaveh held you as you calmed down, knowing how much you valued being close to him afterwards. he wiped away any tears that had fallen, rambling soft praises into your hair as he kissed the crown of your head.

"love you," you spoke, reaching for kaveh's hand to hold.

"i love you too, my darling," he smiled back at you, "feeling okay?"

you nodded. not many people got to see this side of the architect, with his cocky exterior now deteriorated and leaving behind the most genuine, gentle man that you'd ever met. he held onto your hand as he stood up, admiring the mess left behind. not only was his cum dribbling out of you and beginning to pool on the sheets, but due to the grey material, you could see the exact spot where you'd squirted all over the place.

part of him wanted to leave it for al-haitham to find, though the small yet rational part of his brain decided to spare you the embarrassment of such confrontation. he went to go and grab a washcloth, though before he could even exit the room, he heard the front door begin to unlock. oh, he was really in for it now.

#kaveh smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin kaveh #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ new entry.

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witchofthesouls · 2 months ago

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Do you have a favorite snippet/head canon/world building bit you'd be willing to share?

I got quite a few:

Soundwave's Cassettes are a mix between real Cassettes and hidden kids. Ravage came from a mentor host, and he made Frenzy and Rumble. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ratbat are his kids but reformatted for Reasons.

TFP Soundwave came to the gladiatorial clades as a sparkling, and it shaped his outlook on life and death.

I prefer Prima and Megatronus being split-spark twins as it mimics the formation of Primus and Unicron. Which leads to the next point-

Primes aren't meant to stand alone, so Prima is definitely Not Okay. Prima deliberately made choices that eventually made the Quintesson Occupation possible and led to the civil war between Autobots and Decepticons after Megatronus Fell and never returned since the first Prime became obsessed with his twin's return.

Solus isn't a victim of a tragic romance and crime of passion spurred by jealousy but the main architect of its masterpiece. It was a triumph of her own making, and Megatronus was completely on board with her vision.

TFP Optimus is a legit Prime, but not a fully realized one due to the Matrix's influence. This particular world building is hinged on if he's the reincarnation of another Prime, like in the canon lore, he's supposedly the Thirteenth Prime. Each of the Thirteen had their own unique paths to claim new Champions, but unfortunately, those were lost to time and distance as Cybertron only used Prima's own Matrix to determine a new Prime. Prima and Thirteen had different Domains and Aspects as well as philosophies of the world and spirituality. Of course, there will be issues if a reincarnated Prime attempted to utilize another Primal Artifact without understanding who they truly are. Optimus is capable of awakening other Primal Artifacts, but he doesn't realize they're still 'asleep' in a way and hasn't tapped into their true potential.

The reason why Unicron in TFP didn't just burst out of Earth immediately is because of Megatronus Prime's efforts to forever chain the Unmaker away (and that's why the war moved to Earth, why the planet is teeming with Energon and relics, and why Optimus is fond of the place...)

Earth is also its own entity as it's supposed to balance out Unicron. Gaea is a reflection of both Primus and Unicron, and the brothers don't know what to do with a sister-daughter in their balance.

Since Thundercracker is the tallest/biggest of the Command Trine, and fanon likes to compare Seekers to birds of prey, then Thundercracker is a femme.

Tarn is a deep romantic, but he compares every point and trait to Lord Megatron. That mech is also a Mess with his personal relationships that it's soap opera worthy.

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dope-trope-105 · 1 year ago

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Self-destructive

Modern Aegon II Targaryen x Reader

A/N: I skipped to I'll Do Anything Aegon and the reader's future relationship, I don't think anyone is surprised by how this turns out, knowing what Aegon is like.

Summary: Cheating, manipulative, intense, self-destructive Aegon cannot change no matter how much he loves you. But he tries. You see his love for you in his jealousy and his violence, but you aren't sure if that's enough.

Warnings: Cheating, violence, mentions and indications of sex, mentions of drugs, blood, angst.

Word Count: 2.5k

Your relationship with Aegon was unconditional and sweet.

Deep into your relationship, you’d left to go to your parents for a month, literally on a different continent across the world, leaving behind the mess of a person that only your presence kept humane. Aegon cheated on you every single night he went out to a party, which was almost every night of the month. He went back to the heavy drinking, partying, senseless fucking and then living out the day like a zombie until the night. Every day, he'd wake up and remember the moment you two had in your house, how you took care of him in his grotesque state, how he promised to be good.

Of course, you'd call him and Facetime him from time to time. But it would be a late night for you and noon for him. He'd put on his best show, but he did feel better hearing your voice or seeing your face. You two wouldn’t talk for long, and the moment you'd hang up, Aegon would cry into your shirt. Your things were all over his room, and his infidelity suffocated him. His family was disappointed in him falling off the wagon, but not surprised.

He promised Aemond he'd tell you about it all, but you just looked so happy when you finally saw him at the airport, running straight into his arms. He didn't have the heart to tell you that day. "I missed you so much baby," you squealed. "I missed you too, so fucking much," he said, the widest grin plastered to his face. He handed you the small, brown, stuffed bear he got for you, his eyes gleaming. "You're so cute," you said.

Aegon decided to bring you straight to his house after that. He could wait another day. He looked at you as you went on and on about what you did, and he was listening so intently he'd never forget a word you said. Alicent hugged you the moment you came into her view, sharing a look with Aegon, who silently pleaded she wouldn't say anything. Nobody told you. Aemond looked disgusted when you finally disappeared into his room for the night, Aegon understood why his brother hated him. But he couldn't have his girl hate him.

His thoughts completely dissolved into nothing as your arms wrapped around his neck, lips hovering over his until he leaned in, sighing as he felt the comfort of your contact. The sex that day was slow, loving, and none of those other girls came even close to how you felt. You fell asleep soon, the jet lag getting to you. Your body was pressed against his chest, his arms tight around your waist, his hand cupping you breast as you slept peacefully. He'd brush the hair from your face, trace patterns all over your body, warmth filling his chest like nowhere else but how it did in your vicinity. He realised that day, he was alone without you. You were all he had.

You really were all he wanted. You were all he wasn't. You were pure, passionate in your work, and ambitious, you wanted to be an architect, for fuck's sake. "What type of architect do you want to be?" he'd ask you. And you'd go on a rant of every possible major you'd find interesting. You were singularly the best thing to happen to him. And he didn't deserve you one bit.

You turned around, sighing as your half asleep self called for him. "I'm right here baby, I'm right here," he said, your arms coming up to his chest as you basically climbed on top of him. "I'm right here," he whispered again, fingers running through your hair.

Aemond told you the next day at breakfast. "Aegon tell you about the cheating?" he simply asked as you all ate cereal together by their poolside. Both Aegon and Alicent's eyes shot up, your frame completely stilling. Helaena glanced nervously from Aegon to you. "Wha-what?" you stuttered. "Guess he didn't," Aemond shrugged, finishing the last of his breakfast and heading inside. "What's he talking about Aegon?" you asked. Alicent and Helaena left the table as Aegon began to explain. They watched from the living room as your shock turned to borderline agony.

By the time he was finished, you held your head in your hands, sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. "Baby I realise now-" he started, "Shut up," you said. You got up from the seat, tears streaming down your face. He stood up, grabbing your wrist. "Please, baby, just listen to me," he said, but you yanked your hands from him. "Fuck you," you cried. "You-you said, you said I was all you-" You couldn't complete your sentence as you completely broke down, letting him wrap his arms around you as you wailed into his chest.

"I knew-knew I shouldn't have been with you," you said in between cries. You were in so much pain, that Aegon wanted to kill himself. "You are all I want," he said again, trying to soothe you. "Liar," you said, still not pushing him away. "They didn't mean anything, all I saw was you, all I wanted was you," he told you, cradling you in his arms as your tears fell, whimpers falling from you at his words. "Why would you fuck them if you wanted me," you asked, not daring to lift your head because you knew, the moment you looked into his eyes, it would disgust you and you’d want to leave, but his arms were the only thing holding you together, you had no one else who would support you if you left his arms. "All I wanted was you, baby," he said again. And you didn't know why you listened to him, but you did. You let him soothe your aching heart. You let him comfort you, and you let him remain in your life.

You holed up in his room the whole day after that, and he sat beside you. Aegon silently gazed at you as your hands fiddled with the bear he got you. Time and again, you would start sobbing, holding the bear close to you chest. You'd move away if he got too close, but you knew he was aware of your sheer vulnerability, that despite it being nauseating, you needed his presence. You hated him but he was all that held you together.

"How could you do it so many times?" you finally asked. "Mindless sex was all I knew before I met you," he said. "Wow, so that's how it is. I leave for one day and you cheat on me?" you asked, your voice thick and sore. "It wasn't one day," he whispered, and you scoffed. "I don't know which one of us is more pathetic," you said, your words cutting Aegon like a knife. "I'm a fucked up person, but I can't be without you," he said, hand reaching for your leg, which you pulled back, folding your legs and bringing your knees to your chest. "I hate you," you said, eyes closing as you felt your tears fall again.

"I'm all you have here," he said quietly, speaking the bitter truth as he looked up at you. "What?" you said, voice cracking. "You're all I want, and I'm all you have," he said, and he pulled you to him. You let him. "We're made for each other, stupid mindless sex with random chicks can't change that," he said, pulling you onto his lap. You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it. "I know, baby, I know. You're holier than thou, you don't like parties or drugs, but I do, and I shouldn't change that for a relationship that is meant to be," he said, fingers removing your hair from your face. He wiped your tears.

"What the fuck are you saying?" you asked. "That I'm yours, and I didn't cheat on you because that wasn't my intention. I was just filling my time," he said. "Infidelity is a hobby now?" "no, sex is," "Where is this coming from?" you asked in disbelief.

"Will you break up with me?" he asked. You hated herself as you shook your head. "You can't do this again. Mindless or not, I won't be in a relationship if I'm not respected," you said. But you felt your self-esteem slipping away as he nodded, kissing away your tears. The sex was raw that day, raw with emotion. Your self-hate, your love for Aegon, your confusion, all of that was fucked out of you, time and again until you passed out. You slept away the night on his chest. You woke up early the next morning, and Aegon dropped you back home.

Your relationship with Aegon wasn’t unconditional and sweet anymore.

Aegon would be too tired to drop you at Uni, no matter how much he insisted on driving you everywhere, but he'd always be there to pick you up. He had gone here as well, and he had a reputation. People would whisper as he'd come into sight. Your roommate, Bailey, was nice, you made a few friends, but that was the extent. Most guys stayed off you, they avoided you like the plague. All except a guy named Edgar. Edgar Tyrell was a classic A-grade asshole.

You would usually sit at an unassigned-assigned seat outside the building, doing your studying. And Edgar would always find himself hovering around you. He'd wolf-whistle as you’d walk by, his mates shoving him or shushing him. He'd walk by your seat making obscene gestures. You ignored him, it was harmless enough, you thought. And then you found yourself crying in Aegon's arms when you opened your phone one day to find your face very obviously photoshopped on a porn actress giving head. It was meant to be a joke, the tweet below it said, "boutta see you like dis soon baby," by Edgar and you were tagged. Your socials flooded after that. Aegon didn't say anything, he only you as you cried herself to sleep.

The next day, you dressed in a simple outfit, black full sleeve top, blue jeans, black boots, and a scarf to cover the dark purple trail of hickeys Aegon left the day before yesterday. You tied your hair into a simple pony and did some makeup. "Bye baby," you said, kissing Aegon's sleeping form. Aegon's driver dropped you as you had stayed the night. You attended your first two classes and went to your seat outside. You sipped on a smoothie as you tried to study, but only stared off into space, almost wincing everytime you noticed someone whispering, knowing full well it was about you. You opened twitter to see some people were thinking that you were actually in a relationship with that slimy fuck. And with the universe playing on the worst of your fears, he strolled into the park whistling.

"You saw my tweet last night?" he asked, looking like the ugliest fucker ever. Some of his friends sat a little far away on one of the hedges, looking over cautiously. You wondered if they ever actively tried to stop him. Your attention was brought back to him as he grabbed your jaw.

"When are you gonna put the pretty mouth around me baby?" he asked. "Don't touch me," you spat, yanking his hand off your face.

"She speaks, gentlemen," he mocked.

And then he yelped as he was grabbed by the back of his collar and thrown onto the ground. His shock dissolved into screams of pain as Aegon punched him repeatedly. His face was a bloody mess by the time you actually got up. "Aegon?" you asked, unphased by the violence but confused by his presence. You didn't get too close. You’d seen Aegon in bar fights. No reason to involve yourself. But the crowd that had gathered around them was too much for you.

"Aegon, baby it's fine," you said, slowly reaching for him. "Aegon," you said, and he finally stopped, turning around to look at her with eyes blown wide in anger.

"It was just a joke, he's harmless," you said, grabbing his bloody fists.

"Harmless?" he scoffed in disbelief. He kicked Edgar on his stomach. Spitting on him the blood in his mouth, only injury he managed to cause Aegon.

"And what the fuck are you wearing this for?" he asked her, yanking away your scarf.

"Let them see you're mine." he said.

He walked away, hand dipping into his jacket to take out a flask. Your fingers lightly brushed over the trail of hickeys he left on you, knowing they spread across your breasts and thighs too. Aegon was a master of his art, and by that you meant bruises, either hickeys spread all over your body, or on the faces of guys who thought they could fuck with him. You looked down at Edgar, groaning in pain. You crouched, pretending to comfort him. You moved some of the hair stuck on his face. "Told you not to touch me," you simply said, getting up and packing your things. The crowd dissipated once you left. You walked in Aegon's direction, finally finding him leaning on his car as he smoked a cigarette. He looked much more calm and collected than how he did five minutes ago. He watched you walk to him.

"What the fuck was that Aegon?" you asked, snatching your scarf from him and adjusting it.

"Why do you have to hide that?" he asked, gazing at you as she tried to cover each and every hickey.

"What, so my professors can look at them and phone home for fucking abuse?" you asked.

"Why are you so mad?" he asked.

"You beat a guy bloody for me," you sighed.

"I did, and I'd do it again, the fucker doesn't get to make my princess cry," he said, flicking off the cigarette as he grabbed you by the waist.

"I'm calling Aemond," you sighed, pulling away from him.

"What's that twat got to do with anything?" he asked, removing the scarf much more carefully this time, pressing small kisses on all the hickeys he could spot. You sighed at the feeling.

"Stop," you said. "I saw your cocaine stash this morning, the one you promised me you got rid of," you said, tensing when he stilled. But then he continued, kissing you on the delicate spot between your neck and collarbone.

"I forgot baby, I'll throw it out today," he said.

"Two things, Aegon, no drugs and no cheating, that's all I ask," you said.

"And I give them to you, along with a thousand other things you don't ask for," he said, now sucking harshly, almost making you moan out in the feeling.

"Aegon, we can't do this on uni grounds," you said, feeling his hard-on on your thigh.

"Watch me," he said. Opening the front door of his car and completely leaning back the seat before lying on it, following his word despite your hesitation, his ever-obedient girlfriend. The tinted windows hid you two, but you doubted your sounds would be muffled.

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the elder #modern aegon x reader #modern au #aegon angst #Aegon II Targaryen #modern aegon targaryen #aegon ii x y/n

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ilovebuckers5 · 11 months ago

Text

*•♡never be like you pt 2 ♡¸.•*'

nika muhl x cheerleader!reader

"I am an architect, I'm drawing out the plan. its like 17, nobody understands "

word count - 2.6k

themes :

-slow burn

-comfort

warnings :

-toxic rls

-mentions to wet dreams

-cursing

a/n - I'm posting this today because one its my birthday and two I didn't want to starve you guys for longer than three days...

the amount of stress I had walking home was unremarkable. I had been staying at farah's dorm for a couple days. she already had a bed ready and made for me to sleep in once I texted her that I didn't want to be around Asher. I always kept a good amount of clothing there too so that I wouldn't have to take a trip to my apartment and deal with the millions of interrogations I would get from my boyfriend about where I was. the thought of seeing Farah completely cleared my brain and kept me calm until I walked off campus and began walking home. the door was locked. he never locked the door. I tore up my backpack looking for my keys but still couldn't find them. I kept on knocking on the door while searching for my keys before the door finally opened. there Asher was with his hair messed up. I took a moment to actually look up and look at his skin. his lips looked puffy, and had a red tint. more red than usual. his eyes were almost bloodshot.

"where were you huh? out with another guy?" he said while leaning on the door frame, already flexing his fists. I bit at the inside of my cheek, not being able to form words. its not like I was out with anyone other than Farah but I knew that no matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me. I held my breath and looked down at the floor while fidgeting with my rings. his hand rose up to my chin, grabbing onto hit and forcing me to look in his eyes. "fucking answer me." a couple tears started to well up in my eyes. I slowly swallowed the huge lump in my throat and croaked out the truth. "I was with Farah. no one else." his grip tightened around my skin before his other hand wrapped around my wrist, dragging me into the apartment. he snatched my bags out of my hands and tossed them in my room. the door slammed behind us before he took me into his room. "don't lie to me y/n. I know you are" his eyes were sinking into my soul every second that passed while our eyes were locked. I finally almost felt his grip loosen and the moment I thought it did, I attempted to rip my hand out of his grasp but he held onto me tighter. "asher can you please let go of me." I said, squirming my wrist back and forth as it turned red. this was the last thing I need right now.

right before I thought he would continue to pull at my wrist, he let go. tossing my wrist back at my side. a long relieved sigh was let out while I turned around to hide the couple of tears fell down my cheek. I sniffed in the small string of snot that was slowly falling from my nose and kept my face hidden.

"come here." Asher cooed while resting his hand on my waist. the light in his room was dimmed. the curtain were still open but barely let any light in since it was starting to get dark. before I spun around to look back at him, I reviewed how the room looked. it was mainly clean except for a couple pieces of clothing on the floor next to his bed. his bed had ruffled sheets and a comforter that was hanging off the side of the bed. I raised my eyes up to see that the closet door was almost closed and when I looked hard enough, I saw the white sclera of a girls eyes. my stomach dropped while she shut the closet door fully. Asher was only trying to turn me around so that I wouldn't see the naked girl hiding from me. as fun as it would be to call him out and slap both of the people across the face, I pretended that everything was fine. I let one more tear fall down my face while I turned to face asher's blue eyes. the man I was looking at right now was the one that always wondered if I was out getting fucked by another man. the man that couldn't keep away from me when he thought another mans hands was on me. the boy that told me if I was with anyone else, he'd kill me. when the entire time. it was another girl I should've been worrying about.

ashers knuckle dragged across my under eye, wiping the few tears off of my skin. he wiped the tear of his skin tight compressed shirt and then wrapped his arms around my waist, pretending to comfort me and care about me. I could tell that he was staring at the closet, hoping this girl wouldn't come out. yet he still acted like his eyes were facing my back, with his head down. he held me there in his arms before leading me onto his bed, stroking my hair. if he was going to cheat on me then I would just accidentally think it was Nika twirling my hair in her fingers. Nika who was rubbing my back. Nika. muhl, who was letting me fall asleep on her chest. I fell asleep with my makeup ruined like always but at least I didn't thing it was Asher who my dried mascara was falling on.

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the first thing I did when I woke up was check my phone. I ignored the fact that Asher was probably driving this random girl home while I laid on the bed she enjoyed my boyfriend on. when I opened my phone, I saw an Instagram notification.

nika.muhl started followed you

nika.muhl liked your post

damn. I mean at least it wasn't all of my posts.

i I actually unlocked my phone and texted Farah what happened last night. she called me within a second and all I could do was cry.

"hold on I'm coming to pick you up. grab asher's wallet."

farah took no time to drive over to my apartment and pick me up. she knocked on the door gently before stepping in once realizing that it was unlocked. I was still laying in asher's bed, tears soaked up my pillow case. I was wrapping myself around the blankets that was covering his body last night to try and find a sense of comfort. Farah been standing in the door way for a good amount of time before peeling me off of the mattress and standing me up in front of her. I refused to make eye contact until she raised my chin up with her finger. "listen to me. you are going to get through this. he's a cunt and I know you don't want to be with him. don't pretend like you do." she said sternly while wiping the few tears that fell down my skin. "cmon. lets go get coffee or something?" Farah wrapped her hand around my own, leading me out of the room.

for the first time in forever, I didn't even take the time to brush my hair or put on mascara or even change clothes. I just walked out the door, looking like I got hit by a bus, while being dragged to a coffee shops down the street by my best friend. she sat the two for us down at a table right next to the window. I felt a little breeze of cold air run through my hair each time the door next to us opened and closed. it was that hour that people would be coming inside for something to eat before classes. I swirled the stirring stick in my coffee,barely being able to take a sip.

obviously it hurt for Asher to manipulate me and act like I'm in the wrong. but its always been like that. it was always expected of him and I just got used to it. what I never thought he'd do is cheat on. especially when its all he thinks of me when I'm gone for more than 5 minutes "a cheater." the moment I locked eyes with that girl, all my emotions faded away and I was so lost I could even figure out who it was. but now that I'm thinking about it and remembering the moment. she had dark eyes. a taller yet thinner figure than my own. even with her hair disheveled across her head, I could see that it was darker, longer. I nearly spit out my coffee at the realization. he was sleeping with my second closest friend in the entire world. if Farah wasn't there to hold me (which she usually was) it was Natalie who would pull me in and kiss my forehead as if I'm a kid who scraped her knee. he was fucking Natalie Barlowe.

just a I was about to stand up and march to Natalie's house, Farah placed her hand on my shoulder mid setting down our breakfast. "woah woah what happened?" she gently pressed my shoulder down so that I would be seated.

"i-it was Natalie." - I choked out - "in the closet Farah. it was Natalie."

i felt my all my blood warm around my heart, almost squeezing it along with my lungs. I dipped my head down in my arms, pressing my now sweaty forehead on the ceramic table. the cool surface felt nice against all the heat that bubbled up in my head. hot tears fell down my eyes and I swear I could each and everyone of them splashing on the table beneath me. Farah's hand lurked up my back and slowly began rubbing back and forth. my back occasionally hitched up as more silent sobs left my mouth. I've felt this pain before and I never thought I would have to go through it again but here I am. Farah slowly slid into her own seat while trying to raise my head up to look at me. this time I wouldn't budge. not until I felt farah's hand leave my back to lift my body up and wrap her arms around me. still not letting my face into the public, my nose was dug into her shoulder while I continued to sob. once all the tears (for now) were emptied out, I pulled my head away from Farah's shoulder revealing my extremely puffy and red eyes. I quickly wiped a little bit of snot away from my nose and sat back down. I took a small bite out of the sandwich Farah bought for me. at this point I had no choice but to act and feel numb. I didn't smile but I didn't frown.

there was the breeze again. for some reason I felt the need to look at who was walking in the coffee shop now. to my surprise, it was Paige, Nika, and Aaliyah. I'm guessing they were trying their best to spend some time together before Nika and Aaliyah leave. once me and Paige's eyes locked, she sent over a small wave followed by her walking up to me and Farah's table. I looked away as fast as possible, covering my face with my hands, pretending to be asleep as if Paige didn't already see me shoot her a 'hey what's up' look.

farah was beyond confused by the fact that three star athletes from UConn were coming up to the two girls. I kept my head down, trying to dry some of my tears before someone could ask what's wrong with me. that's when I felt a tap on my back. "hey?" God that voice. I slowly lifted my head up and turned to see the 5'11 brunette standing above me. I felt my breath hitch and get stuck in my throat when I tried to speak. I cleared my throat and put my hand on Nika's, which was still resting on my back. I let her hand fall off of my hoodie but she kept a concerned look on her face. she tilted her head, using her eyes to ask me what happened. I had the idea of pulling her to the bathroom and explaining everything but that would awkward for almost everyone around me. Paige and Aaliyah quickly picked up a conversation with Farah, making her turn red out of embarrassment. I almost reached over to grab Nika's hand when she turned around to look at the people in this hop, I thought she was about to leave to buy a drink or something. I don't know why I was so freaked out by that thought. her hair flipped right back around when my finger grazed her hip after her hand. the way her eyes darted to mine sent a shock through my body and I swear the shop went silent.

as much as Asher hurt me, staring into Nika's eyes made me forget everything about. when I was with Nika it was like "who's asher?"

nika gave me a reassuring pat on the top of my hand, almost like she was letting me know she wasn't going anywhere no matter what. I looked behind me to see Farah sending me a 'save me' look but before I could barge in on whatever Paige was talking about, I blurted it out. "hey Nika do you want to go to a concert with me and Farah?" I have no idea why the fuck I did that but the good thing is I did.

"what?"

"what?" Nika and Farah said in unison. Nika's face almost lit up while Farah's slightly dropped. not with anger though, thank God. Nika's eyebrows furrowed towards her eyeballs while she scratched the back of her neck. "I mean-" she looked up at me then at Paige and then at aaliyah. they all gave her reassuring looks, telling her that she should go. "fuck it I guess. what day?" Nika pulled out her phone and opened the calendar app, getting ready to put down the date. Farah spoke before I could, "April 18th!" Nika quickly typed down the date and then shoved her phone back in her pocket. obviously I was fucking thrilled that Nika was coming with but how has she said yes when she doesn't even know who shes seeing? whatever. the only thing that mattered right now was the fact that one; I wouldn't have to deal with Asher at Olivia Rodrigo's concert and two; nika would be right next to me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

me, Farah, Paige, Aaliyah, and Nika decided to just hang out together while we ate breakfast instead of sitting at different tables. I took that moment to fill everyone in on what happened, not that I should've been getting so close and personal with them but...I now deem them as my new group of people to trust. because apparently teammates aren't reliable. we all said our goodbyes before walking back to campus in different directions. me and Farah spent the walk debriefing how I very clearly had a crush on Nika muhl and that the concert would be a perfect opportunity to make a move. a second one that is. Farah kept on nudging my shoulder and poking ta my stomach while smiling proudly.

"I can't believe you actually did that and she said yes like holy shit!" this entire morning made me completely forget about what happened the night before. and this time it didn't creep up on me thirty minutes later. I actually didn't care about it for a whole day. of course the next day was still difficult, I had completely started bunking at Farah's place until I had the confidence to just ditch Asher. he didn't deserve my presence anyways so I packed my shit and ditched.

farah was probably the most supportive person to breath, and not even just because shes my best friend I mean she will support anyone and everyone. whether they've done her wrong or not. sometimes it worries me how forgiving she is but then again we just had a breakfast buffet under asher's name so...

when we were back at her place, I plopped myself dramatically onto her bed while spreading my limbs about. the only thing I could manage to picture in my head was Nika. I cannot believe I'm actually going to a concert with basically a stranger. she never struck me as the type to go out on such short notice with someone like me. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and began to mindlessly scroll on Instagram, looking for something to actually be interested in that wasn't day dreaming about nika. of course she just had to slide into my DMS right when I'm trying to not think of her. the text popped up at the top of my screen and I felt my heart drop. I was already active so there wasn't any possibility of me ignoring her message. Hey. This is y/n right? I read the message and constipated what to say for way longer than I should've. shes just asking if I'm myself. am I myself? yes. yeah I totally am. hiii, yes this is y/n! I texted back while my thumbs almost shook.

we ended up talking all night I feel embarrassed to say it but I am fully head over heels for this basketball player now as if I would ever have a chance when so many other people have probably made moves on her by now. but then again why would she spend 4 hours texting me about anything and everything. our conversations alone made me happier than I had been in the past 2 weeks and I had just met this girl. no one has had this effect on me since high school and to be honest I've missed the feeling.

when I finally turned my phone off I looked up to see Farah standing next to me like a mom catching her kid playing a video game after bedtime. she had her hands on her hips and smug smile plastered on her lips. "who's got you kicking your feet huh?" Farah knew exactly who it was but of course she shoved the name out of my mouth. Farah laughed so hard she was on the brink of tears when she came back up for air. that's when I noticed she had her phone aimed at me, sitting on her bed with my feet in the air kicking back and forth. that's going to be posted in no time. I quickly rolled over to hide the fact that I was having the time of my life crushing on this girl. and as much as I tried to hide it, I get red when I think about her and when shes anymore in my vicinity.

i spent the entire night staring at the ceiling dreaming about how on earth I would try to actually have Nika love me if that was even possible. and of course when I fell asleep the first thing I dreamed (the only thing) was what the night would be like after the concert. what we would do after. if we made it back to a hotel or just drove home. maybe stopped at a gas station or any parking lot. talked for a little bit. maybe about the concert then maybe about how badly I wanted my lips against hers. but hey that's just a what if. and just a dream. so when I woke up in the middle of the night I had to gaslight myself into believing it in fact was going to happen just so that I could sleep peacefully without another wet dream about Nika muhl.

#nika muhl #basketball #uconn wbb #uconhuskies #lesbian #nika muhl x reader #nika x reader #paige bueckers #never be like you

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