#every time he cares for someone he puts so much into it ... INCLUDING his 'dark passenger' ... which is where the problem arises

[d4rkpassengerz]

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR LOVE?

BLACK: LOVE AS HEALING.

Your love is the carefully tilled soil of last year's garden. In that way, loving you is rich with possibilities and growth. You are a quiet weekend night, as the stars begin to wink down at you. You sit, you listen, you reflect. Perhaps in the past you've been misunderstood, maybe by yourself. Everything has the potential for love. Love is a promise for you.

TAGGED BY: @trickheaven ( ty! ) ... TAGGING: @odditymuse ( kurt! ), @exxcrucior, @amischiefofmuses ( Jake! ), @crownedinsin and YOU!!

[haniette]

grasping your love. // ln4

part one. || part two.

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | angst, fluff, friends to lovers, childhood best friends au, hurt-comfort

word count | 11.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, heartbreak, emotional distress, themes of regret and longing, abandonment themes, low-key manipulation themes??, use of alcohol, cursing, crying.

inspired by: sydney rose - we hug now, conan gray - memories, the kid laroi - bleed

summary: you told yourself you’d moved on. that you didn't care, and your heart had mended. but when he came back, all ruined and raw, you realized some hearts don’t forget who they were meant to beat for.

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! as soon as i saw the requests for part two i started working on this, and actually, it turned out to be longer than i expected- OOPSIE but y'all.. writing this kinda broke me :,) i'm so happy that at least they got their happy ending </3 hope you'll enjoy !!

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of stillness that wraps itself around you, like the silence after a storm—where everything feels too calm, too heavy with unspoken words. You could hear the soft ticking of the clock in the hallway, the distant hum of the fridge, the muffled sound of your parents’ breathing in their room down the hall.

You padded across the hallway in thick socks, dressed in your oversized sleep shirt with sleeves tugged down over your fingers. The exhaustion from the day had settled into your bones, dull and familiar. You’d brushed your teeth, put your hair up, wiped the smeared mascara from under your eyes—and still, somehow, you felt heavy.

Not even tired. Just… drained. Hollow in a quiet way. The kind of tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep, but with the ache in your chest that had been there since that night.

The night when you sat under the stars, knees drawn to your chest. When he was crouching in front of you with that lopsided smile, and made you feel like you could hope again. 

The night you almost said it. The night he almost knew.

But after that night, there came the distance. Not cruel, not sharp, just drifting. Like smoke through fingers, like something slipping underwater.

And you were trying. Trying so hard to be okay with it. But god—you were exhausted. 

However, it wasn’t the physical kind of exhaustion. It was something deeper, a kind of tiredness that came from the emotional weight of trying to convince yourself that everything was fine, that things were normal. But every time you opened social media and saw Lando’s name, or caught a glimpse of him in the halls at school laughing with Olivia, leaning in close, his hand in hers, her lips on his cheek—it all felt like a cruel reminder that the world had moved on, and you hadn’t been included in it. You were stuck in a loop of saddness and regret.

When you reached your bedroom door, hand resting on the knob, a strange noise came from downstairs, making you stop mid-step.

Clink. 

You wanted to brush it off, taking for granted that it was just the wind, or the house creaking. But then it came again—the scrape of a drawer, the distinct sound of a cup hitting the counter, the slight clink of something being set down. 

You sucked in a breath, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Your first thought? Someone broke in.

You tiptoed out of your room, pulse quickening, each creak of the floorboards beneath you feeling like an alarm bell. The hallway was dark, save for the faint glow of the nightlight near the stairs. You could hear the rustling louder now, the sound of something being knocked over, maybe.

A breathless moment of hesitation, then you flicked the light on, your hand trembling slightly. The glow of the kitchen illuminated the open doorway.

And there, leaning against the sink, was no one other than Lando himself. A glass of water in his hand, his back hunched slightly like he’d been holding up too much weight for too long.

When his eyes set on you, he blinked a few times like he wasn’t sure if you were real or if he was dreaming you up.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Lando… what the hell are you doing here?” You blurted out, your voice far sharper than you intended. “It’s fucking one in the morning! You scared the shit out of me.”

He observed you, eyes bleary, and half-lidded. He didn’t seem surprised—just tired. His lips curled up slightly, almost forming a smile, but also an apology. 

Your chest tightened at that sight. “You broke into my house?” You said with your voice trembling, not from fear anymore, but from confusion. Anger. Sadness. Everything at once.

He didn’t seem bothered by your accusation. Instead, he just shrugged, “The key,” Lando muttered. “Was still under the orange flower pot.”

That flower pot. The one your mom had left by the doors years ago. The one he used to hide candy under for you in middle school. The one that had, unknowingly, never switched places.

You stepped closer, the light casting his figure in sharper detail. His hair was a mess—curls flattened on one side, wild on the other, like he’d run his hands through it over and over. His shirt was wrinkled, untucked, stained slightly with something you didn’t care to identify. And his eyes—god, his eyes. Always so bright and beautiful, in that aquamarine color, but now bloodshot, tired and wrecked.

You blinked, still trying to process what was happening, what had led him to your kitchen at this hour. “Lando, what happened?” You took a step closer. 

Your anger melted into something else—worry, and concern. You had never seen him like this. Drunk, disoriented. Not even the usual playful charm he wore like armor.

Your heart clenched at the sight. What happened to him?

“Lando… what’s going on? Why aren’t you with Olivia?” Saying her name left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted, like his knees had given out. Slowly, he slid down the cabinets until he hit the floor, back against the drawers, legs stretched out carelessly. 

You panicked for a second as he looked pale, dizzy, and lost. “Lan— hey.. are you okay?” You crouched beside him instinctively, heart pounding. 

Then he slumped into you without warning. His head fell to your shoulder, the warmth of his skin pressing into yours. And for a long, drawn-out moment, you just let him rest there. His breath was slow, ragged, like he had been running a marathon, like he had been fighting something for a long time. 

But all of it—the tension, the pain, the confusion—had finally spilled over in this one vulnerable moment. 

Lando sighed against your collarbone. “M’tired.” His hot breath tickled your skin, making you shiver at the sound of his voice.

And you stayed like that. There, on the kitchen floor. Tiles cold beneath your legs, your body stiff beside his slumped frame while letting the boy rest on your shoulder. The silence settled again, but heavier now, thick with questions you didn’t know how to ask.

His breath was slow and warm where it met your neck. You stared ahead at the fridge, heart unraveling in your chest.

This was still Lando. Your Lando.

The boy who used to throw pebbles at your window at 2 a.m. just to see if you wanted to go stargazing. The boy who once tried to braid your hair in sixth grade and ended up tying it in a knot. The boy who almost said he loved you once—and you didn’t hear it in time.

And now he was here, on your kitchen floor. 

“I don’t wanna leave you.” Lando mumbled, his words barely audible, his voice thick and muffled against the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath caught in your throat. “What?”

But he didn’t repeat it. He just exhaled like he’d been holding that in for years. Like that sentence had broken out of him by accident, cracked through whatever wall he’d built around himself.

You held him there, on the cold kitchen floor, unsure of what to do with his confession. Your heart pulsed violently in your chest, because what did he mean? Did he mean tonight? Or forever?

Why wasn’t he with Olivia? Why wasn’t she the one holding him now? Why did he come here like you were still his safe place?

But you didn’t ask, not knowing how. You just sat there with him—shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same air, memories thick in the space between you.

But the weight of his presence, of him leaning into you, of him saying those words that you didn’t know what to do with, was unbearable. And it broke something inside you. Something that you hadn’t realized was still holding on.

You closed your eyes, the tears threatening to spill again. You didn’t know what you wanted from him—or from yourself. You just held him. You held him because you couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Not when he was still here.

And you didn’t know it yet, but that moment would stay burned into you—into your soul. 

Days after the kitchen night, the silence between you and Lando grew so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You thought maybe he’d text. Apologize. Mention what he said. Explain this whole situation. 

But he didn’t.

And so, you convinced yourself that it was a mistake—drunken words said in a foggy haze. Words meant for the moment, and not especially for you.

Still, you couldn’t forget the way his head had rested on your shoulder, like he belonged there. You couldn’t unhear the slurred, soft-spoken “I don’t want to leave you.” Those six words looped in your head like a broken record. 

Were they meant to be comforting? A warning? A confession?

But even worse than that was how everything returned to normal or, at least, seemed to.

You stopped bumping into him at school. He stopped showing up in the group chat. 

Olivia posted more often now—the two of them posing in bookstores, going to brunch, prepping for their “future.” She seemed so perfect on his arm, so carefully curated. Their relationship was like a photo in a museum: admired by everyone, but no one really understood it.

And you—you felt like a visitor. A stranger peering into a life you used to be a part of. You didn’t go to the group hangout in the woods. You skipped the movie night that once used to be your thing. Your friends texted, called, asked where you were. But you always had an excuse: studying, babysitting your cousin, or just being tired. 

Anything but the truth.

The truth was that it hurt to exist in a space where Lando no longer looked for you. Even when you did see him, it was… different. He was quieter, more distracted by being new version of him. He even laughed less than he usually would when he was around you. He didn’t hold eye contact like he used to—not the way he did when it was just you two in the corner of a room, stealing glances across dinner tables or hiding giggles behind shared inside jokes.

It was like watching a star dim slowly, day by day, losing its uniqueness.

You’d pass each other in the halls sometimes. There was a flicker in his eyes—like maybe he wanted to say something, even the smallest thing. But the moment always passed and you’d look away first, because it felt safer that way.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the window, the same one you both used to lean against when you studied together. The sky outside was soft and grey, and the silence in the room felt like it was screaming at you.

You clutched your phone in your hand, screen still open on the last video you ever took together—blurry, spontaneous, just you two laughing over some dumb joke, your laughs loud and vibrant. You looked at your smile in it, and how easy it had been to smile with him. How full you had felt back then.

But then came a new notification. A tagged photo on Olivia’s Instagram.

“Couldn’t be happier to start this chapter with you. Amsterdam, here we come <3”

The picture was beautiful, in that staged kind of way. Lando kissing her cheek, his arm around her waist as she held her passport and their tickets. The luggage was behind them, and departure gate in the background.

You blinked once. Twice. Then your chest caved in.

He hadn’t told you. Again. But this time he hadn’t even said goodbye.

There had been no message, no last knock on the door, no final look.

The disbelief washed over you in waves. First it was confusion, then came the bitterness. And then that slow, aching pain—like someone had reached inside and quietly rewired your heart. And it would knock the breath out of you, because suddenly it would make sense.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

But he did. And he was already gone, taking his future with Olivia, leaving you with nothing but the words he’d whispered to you on that kitchen floor. Words you still didn’t understand, but somehow knew were real.

────୨ৎ────

The airport was too bright.

Everything felt like it was glowing under harsh, white light—the floors, the departure signs, the rows of metal benches where people sat with neck pillows, their luggage beside them, and some even taking a nap. 

Lando could hear Olivia's voice next to him, cheerful and animated, chatting with her mum as they went over last-minute plans. He smiled, or at least tried to, but it didn’t feel right on his face. It didn’t stick.

He stood a little outside of it all—just off to the side of the check-in area, surrounded by people but entirely elsewhere. His eyes kept drifting toward the entrance doors. Every few seconds, his gaze flicked there—searching.

It had been weeks since that night. The kitchen. The water. Your shoulder. The words he wasn’t supposed to say out loud. 

You hadn’t texted him since. Not even once. He had tried writing a couple of short, awkward messages but he always changed his mind, immediately deleting them. 

And yet, some stupid, desperate part of him believed you’d still come.

Maybe you’d rush in, sleeves of your favourite hoodie pulled up your arms, out of breath, pretending you just happened to be nearby. Maybe you’d roll your eyes and mutter something like “figured you’d want a dramatic send-off, loser.”

He would’ve smiled, laughed even. He would’ve known what you meant. So he kept looking. Every flash of the color which your favourite hoodie had. Every girl which walked a little too fast through the crowd. His stomach turned every time he thought—that might be you.

But it never was.

“Boarding group A, you’re now welcome at gate 27.”

The announcement echoed through the terminal. Olivia squeezed his hand, excited, practically buzzing with it. “Ready?” She asked, sending him a warm smile. Lando nodded, but his eyes were still locked on the doors. Still waiting, hoping, hurting.

Olivia tugged his hand gently, and he looked one last time, but you weren’t there. It felt like something inside his chest folded in on itself.

────୨ৎ────

The house was quiet. Your parents were already gone for the day, hanging out with their friends which came to your city. The sun was filtering in through the curtains, soft and golden.

You were still in bed. Blankets pulled up to your chin, phone in your hand, screen dark. You hadn’t looked at his Instagram story. Not yet. Seeing Olivia’s post was enough for you.

You didn’t want to see the gate, again. The luggage. Olivia’s arm looped through his. You didn’t want confirmation that this was real. That he was really leaving. That he was no longer just not here, but truly, physically and emotionally gone.

Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. And now you laid in your bed, curled under your blanket, breathing through the quiet kind of grief that doesn’t come with sobs or screams—just this low, constant ache in your chest. Like your ribs were too tight. Like your heart was trying to remember how to exist without him.

You stared at the ceiling—eyes wide, dry. You weren’t crying, you just felt… hollow.

Somewhere in a crowded airport, Lando was still looking for you in a sea of people. But now it was too late. 

He had left. And you had let him.

────୨ৎ────

a few months later

The sky hadn’t been blue in weeks. Months.

Every day carried a quiet grayness, like the world had slipped into a version of itself that was somehow dimmer—dull and breathless. The leaves had started to curl at the edges, the sun set earlier now, and everything seemed to echo more, especially the silence in your chest.

You didn’t realize how much you had gotten used to him being part of your days until the days went on without him. Not suddenly—not like a door slammed shut, but like a faucet that dripped until the sink overflowed. Now, the drip was gone, the tap turned off. But you were still soaked in the memories.

He was gone. And you hated how easily everyone had accepted it.

It was late afternoon, the kind of cloudy-gray sky that made everything look softer, like the world had been rubbed with a layer of dust. You sat outside the library, on that same bench tucked beneath the skeletal arms of a tree that had long since shed its leaves. The wind moved gently through the branches, dry and cool, like fingers brushing against your skin, but you barely even felt it.

Your textbook lay open in your lap, untouched. You weren’t reading—you hadn’t been reading for a while. You were just… sitting. Existing. Or something like it.

Students moved past in waves—laughing, talking, balancing coffees in one hand and phones in the other. Their lives felt fast, full, like they were already becoming something. Moving forward, getting somewhere. But you? You felt stuck in the same still frame, like time had stretched out for you but kept moving for everyone else.

Your phone buzzed once in your pocket. You didn’t reach for it. You already knew it wouldn’t be him.

It hadn’t been him in months.

Lando was gone. Not just in the physical way—though yes, he was hundreds of miles away in Amsterdam, probably stretched out in a dorm bed beside someone who wasn’t you. But he was also gone in the invisible, intimate, excruciating way. In the way someone disappears from your days, not all at once, but in pieces. One text not sent, one weekend not spent together, one secret not shared until all that’s left is pure silence.

You saw all the stories, posts, sunlit selfies. Blurry party photos, Olivia’s cherry gloss smudged on his cheek, and his hand around her waist like it belonged there. His smile—it looked so familiar, yet no longer yours.

He had everything he had ever wanted.

A new city. A new life. A new girl.

And you were still here, feeling as if you’re basically wasting your time. Staring at the same sidewalk cracks, listening to the same sad songs and playing the same night in your head—the one where you almost told him everything. The one where he looked at you like you were the only person in the universe, only to walk away and give his world to someone else.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, you thought back to that night in your kitchen. When he showed up drunk, lost, whispering he didn’t want to leave you. You hadn’t understood what he meant back then. Not fully. Maybe you didn’t want to, but now, in the echo of his absence, it haunted you.

It wasn’t even the relationship that hurt the most. It was the way it all disappeared—like you had never mattered, never been chosen, never been even considered.

You remembered finding out about him and Olivia. You didn’t sleep that night. You just lay there, eyes burning, heart breaking in this small, quiet, invisible way—where you weren’t allowed to scream or sob or say this isn’t fair because technically, nothing had been promised. 

But it had felt like a promise. Hadn’t it?

In the shared glances, in the laughter, in the way he used to text you when something dumb happened and say you were the first person he thought of. In the memory of him crouching in front of you at the party, brushing a tear from your cheek and saying he missed you.

Damn. Had you been that easy to forget?

Now, months later, you still carried that grief, that quiet ache but one else really noticed it. You’d gotten good at pretending—at laughing when you were supposed to, convincing that everything was great when people asked about school, often responding “yeah, I’m okay” with just the right smile to convince them.

But deep down, you were stuck, you couldn’t move on, and that’s what scared you the most. Because he had already moved on. 

His heart had mended so quickly, while yours was still bleeding. 

You saw it every time you opened Instagram. The way he glowed in those photos, new hair suiting him so goddamn good, looking like nothing ever haunted him. Like you had never haunted him. Like the version of himself that only existed when he was with you had vanished—as if it never mattered in the first place.

And yet you still remembered.

You remembered the time he fell asleep with his head on your lap, mumbling half-dreamed thoughts about how safe he felt with you. The time you screamed the lyrics of your favourite songs in your room, both of you out of breath from laughing too hard. The moment, months ago, when he almost confessed—voice low, eyes soft, something hidden in the way he touched your hand. But you had brushed it off. Laughed, and teased him about it, not taking him seriously because back then you hadn’t known. 

You hadn’t realized, and now it was too late.

It wasn’t fair, how one person could move on and build a life, while the other lived with an ending that never truly ended.

You looked up from your textbook and blinked into the gray sky. Your chest ached—dull and constant. It had become part of you now, the same way a scar settles into skin.

Sometimes, you wondered if he ever missed you. If he ever thought back to the version of his life that included you. But you knew the truth. For him, it was just something that happened. Something small. But for you? It was everything. And it felt like the world ended when it did.

Some mornings, you stared at your phone for too long. You’d open your messages and scroll to his name, only to lock your screen again. His contact was still saved—still with the dumb nickname he’d given himself when you finally saved his number. Still with the photo of him pulling a face, mid-laugh, cheeks pink from the cold. You couldn’t bring yourself to change or delete it because deleting it would make it all real, and you weren’t ready for that.

You still carried all of the conversations in your head. Those little ones, and stupid ones. Like what he would say if he saw you after going to the hairstylist, how he’d tease you for the playlist you’d made for studying or how he’d groan dramatically about missing your mom’s cooking if he walked through your front door again.

You still remembered the way it all slipped. The last few months of high school had felt like they were lined with fog—slow, delicate, full of things unsaid. You had started keeping your emotions in a box, tucking them beneath small smiles and empty reassurances. You didn’t want to be a weight on his shoulders, didn’t want to make things harder. And most importantly, you didn’t want to lose him by telling him how much you needed him to stay. But you lost him anyway.

When you got to know that he was going to university with Olivia, it felt like your heart had been held above a flame. Slowly, gently burning. 

He had made his choice, and it hadn’t been you.

You never told anyone how much that night broke you. How you cried in the shower with your hand pressed over your mouth, not to muffle the sobs, but to hold yourself together. You didn’t want anyone to know that you’d fallen apart over someone who, to the outside world, had never been yours to begin with. 

But he had been yours. In the stolen glances, in the late-night conversations, in the inside jokes that no one else understood. He had been yours in every way that mattered—until he wasn’t.

Now, time was moving without him. He was off in a new city—Amsterdam, with new friends, new routines and new loves. And you? You were left behind with the echoes. 

You never told him how often you still wore the hoodie he left at your place after one of many movie nights. Or how your chest still clenched every time you passed his old house, how sometimes you swore you could hear his laugh in the crowd, only to remember he wasn’t here anymore. The worst part? No one knew you were still grieving. Because you decided to just smile through it as it had never been said what you two were. 

Some days, the sadness came in small waves—manageable, dull, like a bruise. Other days, however, it felt catastrophic, like you were drowning in everything unsaid. Everything he’d taken with him, everything he’d left behind.

You wondered—deeply, painfully—if he thought of you at all. If there were nights when he missed your voice, if he ever wished, even just for a second, that he’d done it all differently.

But you didn’t ask, you didn’t reach out because if he had wanted to stay he would’ve.

Right?

And yet, even now, all this time later, with the silence between you stretching wider and wider from one day to another, you still dreamed of him sometimes. Still woke up with tears on your pillow and his name lodged somewhere in your throat. Still felt like he was right at your fingertips. 

Close enough to remember, but too far to touch.

────୨ৎ────

Amsterdam had been covered with heavy, dark rain clouds for a week now. Thin, cold rain that didn’t fall in sheets, but misted the air like grief that never stopped clinging. The kind that soaked into the seams of your hoodie and stuck to your eyelashes. 

He’d been in this city for eight months now. Everything should’ve felt like a new chapter. Everything should’ve felt like the freedom he once craved — the escape he told himself he needed. Instead, he felt… off. Out of place in his own life. Like he had walked onto someone else’s path and didn’t know how to find his way back. 

He had new friends here, a schedule, a routine, a girlfriend. He even made sure to decorate his room with little posters, like you once told him to. But even then—even with those pieces of color and personality—it felt hollow. He felt hollow. Olivia filled the space beside him, but not within him. That space had been carved out slowly, over the last year. And it hadn’t been carved for her. It had been carved for you.

Lando hadn’t been able to sleep properly in weeks. His room was too clean, too beige. He missed the cute mugs you used for drinking tea with him and the way your socks never matched. He even missed the ridiculous alarm tone you used—that one song you claimed was the only thing aggressive enough to get you out of bed. Now his alarm was Olivia. Waking him up with a practiced kiss to the cheek and a to-do list for the day already in her hand. Organized and efficient, but distant.

She always smelled expensive and her hair was always perfect. Her perfume clung to his hoodies now, replacing the faint vanilla and lavender scent that used to make his chest clench unexpectedly. She fit the picture—but not the frame.

He didn’t notice how much he was unraveling until he stopped recognizing himself. Everything he said felt like a script, everything he did felt like it was on autopilot. He went to class., he sat through lectures, then he answered Olivia’s questions, and he smiled when he was supposed to smile.

But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the Lando he had been all his life, this was a new, artificial version of him. He’d laugh at something someone said at a party, and the sound would feel different. He’d catch himself zoning out at lunch, his eyes drawn to things that reminded him of home—a chipped tile, a girl wearing her hair like you used to, the specific color of a hoodie like the one you always borrowed from him. It has never stopped.

You were a ghost that followed him everywhere, not haunting him maliciously—but softly, and quietly. Just present enough to hurt.

And every time Olivia asked him what was wrong, he’d lie.

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s just adjusting to a new place, that’s all.”

Sometimes, when Olivia was out late with her friends, he’d sit on the cold tile floor of the kitchen—like he had that night in your kitchen, and he’d let the silence settle.

He remembered what he said to you, slumped against the cabinets, head spinning, your shoulder warm beneath him. At the time, he hadn’t fully understood what that meant. But now? Now he did because he had left, and it had ruined him.

He checked his phone before the flight, over and over. Desperately hoping for a message. One of your typical, low-effort, high-meaning texts:

“Don’t forget your passport, idiot.” or “You’re gonna do great, Lan.”

But it never came.

He’d hoped—selfishly—that you’d come say goodbye. That you’d be there at the airport, even if just standing in the back. That maybe, just maybe, you’d catch his hand, say something like “Stay.” But you didn’t.

He’d looked for you anyway. Chest tight, heart racing, his eyes scanning the faces of every person who showed up to send him off. Laughing, hugging, cheering. But not you. And in that moment, he felt something twist deep in his chest—a mix of guilt and disbelief. Because even after everything… some part of him truly believed you’d be there. You always were, until now.

And something inside him snapped quietly in that moment. Like a string too tight for too long finally giving way.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t come.

She didn’t—

Lando never deleted your messages. He couldn’t. They were still there, buried deep in the chat log. All those late-night voice notes, the blurry selfies, the playlists you made, the “tell me you got home safe, idiot” texts. Now they sat untouched, blue and gray bubbles frozen in time.

One night, he tapped on one of your voice notes and hit play, and your voice filled the room. It broke him. He sank to the floor—knees pulled to his chest, face in his hands—and cried. Really cried. Not the frustrated kind, or the angry kind, but the kind that came from loss. From deep, heavy regret because now, with the noise of this new life screaming around him, he realized how quiet you had been when you left.

You didn’t beg, you didn’t argue. You didn’t even try to convince him to stay. You simply stepped back, and he let you.

Everything with Olivia started to rot after that. Not all at once—but slowly. He stopped laughing at her jokes, she started noticing how distant he’d become, they argued more. She asked why he wouldn’t touch her like he used to, why he stayed up late when she went to bed. Why didn't he try. He didn’t have an answer she wanted to hear. Because the truth was that he was still in love with someone else. And he’d left her behind.

He tried. God, he tried. Olivia was everything on paper—beautiful, perfect body, intelligent, well-spoken. She had a plan for her future, a five-year vision board, a curated Spotify playlist for every mood. But she didn’t know how to read his silences like you did.

She didn’t call him out when he was spiraling in his thoughts, having anxiety attacks. She didn’t remember how he hated fish or how he picked at the skin on his thumb when he was overthinking. She didn’t feel like home, and over time, he stopped trying to force it. He stopped texting her when he stayed on campus later than planned, he started noticing how tight her grip was on his arm, how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when he mentioned your name—which he always did by accident.

You had a way of slipping into his sentences, even when he wasn’t trying.

“Oh yeah, she always said that movie was mint!”

“We used to listen to this song in the summer.”

Each time, Olivia would go quiet, and Lando would pretend he didn’t notice—but he did.

He just didn’t know how to stop it.

The nights were the worst. When the city noise finally died, and all that was left was the glow of streetlights bleeding through the blinds. He’d lie awake, the bed too big, the air too thin, your voice still echoing faintly in the back of his mind. 

It wasn’t even the last time he saw you that haunted him—not really. It was everything before that. The look in your eyes when you told him you were fine, the way you nodded, even though your voice cracked. The way you smiled for him even while your heart broke quietly behind your ribs.

He’d never forget the weight of your head on his shoulder in that quiet kitchen. The warmth of your presence, the familiar rhythm of your breathing, the silence between you that somehow said everything he wasn’t brave enough to. You just let him rest there, drowning in the alcohol, the ache, and the guilt.

Lando has thought about messaging you so many times. Late at night, early in the morning, after a fight with Olivia, after a dream that felt too real. He even typed out a few drafts, but he always deleted them because it felt too selfish. Because what right did he have to pull you back when he was the one who walked away?

So instead, he stayed silent—and hoped you’d reach out first. Yet days passed, and you didn’t.

He scrolled through your Instagram more often than he wanted to admit. You’d changed your profile picture, and even cut your hair shorter. You posted photos with friends, laughing in golden sunlight, and yet your eyes still carried something heavy, something distant. He zoomed in on one photo once, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it—that slight sadness you always tried to hide behind your smile.

You looked okay. But not happy. And it wrecked him to know that he was probably the reason why.

At the four-month mark, he started skipping more classes, stayed in bed longer and let his favorite lego sets collect dust. Olivia noticed, of course, but she didn’t ask the right questions—and even if she had, he wouldn’t have told the truth. Because the truth was simple and devastating: he missed you more than he ever thought possible. Not just in the romantic sense—but existentially. Like something about his very being had gone numb without you there to ground him, like he couldn’t find the version of himself he liked anymore. The version who laughed too loudly, who stayed up late talking about nothing, who said stupid things just to make you roll your eyes and smile.

He felt like a stranger to himself, and the more he tried to fit into this new life, the more he realized he didn’t belong here.

He hadn’t told Olivia yet about the truth of what he was feeling. About the growing distance in his chest every time she kissed him. About how every time he said “I love you,” it felt like a lie wrapped in an apology. He couldn’t look at her without thinking about how he got here. And how he should’ve never left you behind.

────୨ৎ────

The apartment was dim, lit only by the blue glare of a paused movie screen and the glow of Olivia’s phone. Outside, the city murmured its usual midnight song—distant traffic, wind brushing windows, occasional laughter from people who still had somewhere to be.

However, inside, it was dead quiet.

Lando sat slouched on the far end of the couch, elbows on his knees, thumb pressed hard into the side of his temple. His jaw ached from clenching. He’d been this way for the past hour—motionless, burning silently. 

Olivia didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but chose not to care. Her legs were tucked beneath her, wrapped in that gray blanket she bought when they were picking things for the apartment. She scrolled on her phone, her thumb moving in slow flicks, laughter bubbling from her lips every now and then at something on her screen. 

It didn’t even feel like they were in the same room. 

“You’re really not gonna talk again tonight?” She finally said, not even looking at him, too busy replying to someone on Instagram.

He blinked slowly, taking a deep breath. “There’s nothing to say.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “That’s bullshit, Lan. You’ve been weird for weeks.” She tilted her head, getting a better look at him. Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, exhaling through his nose.

“Is this about college?” She asked, more pointed now. “Or is this about her?” He stiffened at her last words. 

There it was—the unspoken name, hanging in the air like a match above gasoline.

“Of course it is,” She scoffed, throwing her phone down. “You’ve been floating since we got here. You barely try anymore. Like your body’s here, but your head’s somewhere else—always looking back to Bristol. You need to understand that this city and every memory that is connected with it is already long gone.”

He looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, really looked—and didn’t recognize the person staring back. She wasn’t the Olivia he had first met, full of ambition and spontaneous affection. She was different now. Controlled, and expectant. Like she wanted to mold him into someone else. 

How could he forget about Bristol, about you?

“Because I don’t feel like myself anymore, Liv!” Lando finally snapped, voice sharp, loud and desperate. “I don’t even know who the fuck I am when I’m with you.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, “Wow,” She snickered, voice trembling with disbelief. “That’s a shitty thing to say to the person who moved hundreds of kilometers to a foreign country with you.”

“No. You moved here,” He snapped, his voice finally rising. “And I just followed. I followed after you here because I thought that maybe it would fix whatever I was feeling. But it didn’t. It just made it worse.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. She blinked a few times before finally letting out a scoff and replying, “Okay, so this is my fault, huh?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Bullshit!” She stood now, the blanket falling off her lap. “You’ve been checked out for months. Is this really about her, Lando? Just say it. Have balls and say it, straight to my face, that this is true.”

Lando’s chest tightened. He ran a hand through his curls, pacing in quick, tight circles. He could feel the frustration building in his throat, like it was choking him. 

“I haven’t spoken to her in months, Olivia.”

“But you still think about her. I see it on your face every time we walk past something that reminds you of home. Every time someone says her name. You go quiet, and get lost in your little, stupid head again, overthinking everything.”

Her words landed like a punch in the stomach. He stopped pacing, his back was turned to her. Softly, he answered, “Maybe I am.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Her breath hitched, hands trembling, knotted into fists.

“You’re such a coward, Lando,” She whispered in disbelief. “You couldn’t even admit you loved her. You just kept pretending, and now that this life isn’t perfect, you want to run back like a scared little boy.”

He turned around, eyes shining now, but not from tears. From fury. “I never wanted this life, can’t you understand it?!” He shouted, gripping his fists tightly, his nails digging deeply into the skin of his hand. “You planned it all out and I just… I went along. I left my family, my best friend, my home. I thought I could make it work, but I can’t. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Olivia.”

“So what now?” She spat, a non-chalant grimace visible on her face. “You’re gonna crawl back and expect her to just be waiting for you with open arms? Like none of this happened? Pretend like you didn’t break her heart too?”

That brought him to a halt. He hadn’t let himself think of it that way—how much damage he might’ve caused. How you had stayed quiet while he disappeared into someone else’s world. 

Lando felt sick.

“I don’t know what she’ll say,” He admitted, softer now. “But I can’t keep doing this. Not when I feel like I’ve lost everything that made me who I was.”

Olivia stared at him for a long time. Then, her expression hardened. “Then go. And don’t bother coming back.” She added coldly.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Go ahead. Pack all of your shit, dickhead. Go chase your fucking dream girl. Just don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out who you are.”

He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes stinging. “I wouldn’t even ask you to.”

And just like that, he turned around and walked into their shared bedroom. He pulled out the old bag from under the bed—the one with his initials stitched into the side from when he was sixteen. It hadn’t been touched in months.

He threw in clothes without thinking. Chargers. Toothbrush. Photo strip he’d once tucked into a side pocket—the one with the two of you, silly grins and bright eyes, back when life had been simple. With all the necessary things, he zipped the bag up, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped back into the living room.

When he came back out, Olivia stood there, arms crossed over her chest, tears in her angry eyes. She was bitter, not even trying to stop him. 

“Lando.” She called him one last time, and he turned to look at her for the last time. “You’ll regret this,” She continued, voice low and furious. “She won’t take you back, and you’ll be left with nothing.”

But Lando didn’t say a word, he just walked out, slamming the door behind him. The moment the door clicked shut, he felt it—like breathing after holding it too long. Like grief and relief tangled into one.

For the first time in months, the silence didn’t feel suffocating. It felt like something new beginning.

────୨ৎ────

You weren’t expecting anything—just the usual hum of silence broken only by the rain pounding on the windows. It had been a quiet evening. Too quiet, actually. 

You’d brushed your teeth, turned the lights low, your skin still warm from a shower, wrapped in a worn hoodie far too big for you. A movie played softly in the background, but you weren’t really watching. You never did anymore. Everything had dulled around the edges. You went through motions now. You existed in between hours, in between memories of what used to be and the aching of what could’ve been.

It was close to 1:00 AM. You hadn’t planned on staying up this late, but sleep never came easy these days. Not since he left. So when the knock came—three distinct raps followed by a silence so heavy it filled the room—your stomach dropped. 

You froze mid-step, heart punching your ribs, unsure whether it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then it came again—three more knocks, slower this time. Heavier. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure they had the right to be there.

Your feet moved before you realized it. Soft, tentative steps across the hardwood. The kind you take when your heart is at your throat. When everything in you says, “Don’t hope. Don’t you dare hope.”

You reached the door and slowly peeked through the peephole. And in that moment, everything inside you fell apart.

It was him. Lando.

Soaked from head to toe, rain dripping from his curls, hoodie clinging to him like the weight of every decision he’d made. His face was pale, exhausted. His eyes locked on the doormat like he couldn’t bear to look up. He looked like regret had come to life.

You stared, frozen in place. Every nerve in your body screamed. Every instinct said this isn’t real, that it was just a trick of your mind conjured out of all the times you’d cried yourself to sleep.

You didn’t even think twice as your fingers already fumbled at the lock, breath shallow, pulse racing. When the door finally creaked open, the rain surged in, bringing cold and memories with it. 

Lando slowly lifted his head, making your eyes meet, and in that moment it felt as if everything around stopped. The storm behind him blurred into white noise, and the air between you buzzed with everything unspoken. 

Your throat tightened, and you felt as if your knees threatened to give out any second. You hadn’t seen him in eight months. Just glimpses, pictures with Olivia that felt like salt in a wound you never asked for. But now here he was, Lando in the flesh, standing right in front of you. And you couldn’t breathe.

Lando didn’t speak. He just stood there, rain running down his face, mixing with something that might’ve been tears—but you couldn’t tell. He looked older somehow. More tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. Like life had eaten him alive.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to scream, and cry. To ask him why—why he left, why he never looked back, why he let you shatter without a single word. 

The pain hit you all at once—heavy, violent, and consuming—making you break apart. Your throat burned as you moved towards him. You shoved him back once, then again. Your fists thudded against his chest, angry, raw, messy and real. 

“You bastard—” Your voice broke into a sob as you hit him again. “You goddamn— selfish coward—” Lando flinched at your words, but still didn’t move away.

You shoved him harder. “You— you left me! You said nothing, not even a single word! You just disappeared! You think you can show up here after months and what? What?!”

Your fists pounded his chest as anger boiled over into pure heartbreak. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? How much it hurt?” Still, he took it. He didn’t raise a hand. He let you hit him. “You just left! Like I was nothing to you. Like I wasn’t even— God, I hate you!” 

Each word broke more of you apart. Hot tears blurred your vision as your fists pounded against him with every ache you’d buried for months. You were crying now, properly crying. Ugly, broken sobs tearing through your chest. The kind of crying that made your knees weak, that shook your whole body.

“You fucking asshole! You didn’t even say goodbye—” Your voice cracked. “I waited, Lando. I waited for you to say something. To make it make sense. And you just— you were gone.”

Still, he said nothing. His breath was shaking, lips parted, eyes wet from more than just the rain. And then finally—finally—he moved. Slowly and carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal, he wrapped his arms around you in a strong embrace. You struggled at first—your fists still weakly hitting at his chest, but his arms only tightened more. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed across your back, grounding you.

“Shhh… I know. I know.” He whispered, his throat tightening, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked on the last word, and that’s what finally shattered you.

You stopped fighting.

His arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go. Tight and desperate. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing you against him like he was terrified you’d disappear. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest—fast and scared. He was shaking, and so were you.

You sobbed into his hoodie, the fabric soaking up your tears and rain and months of silence. He didn’t say a word. His chin dropped to rest on the top of your head as he held you there, like if he let go, the world would fall apart again. You gripped at him like a lifeline, hands fisting into his hoodie, face pressed into the warmth of his chest as your body trembled. You missed him so much.

No words were needed. Not yet. Just the rain and the sound of your heartbeat against his. The thud of two souls colliding after too long apart.

You cried into his chest while he stood in your doorway, dripping rainwater and regret, your name probably sitting at the edge of his tongue.

And still, nothing. Nothing except the unshakable feeling that even now, even after everything—this was still home.

────୨ৎ────

Some time had passed before you finally led him inside.

The house was still quiet. Not the kind of quiet that hummed peacefully—but the breathless kind. The kind where the walls still echoed with everything left unsaid. 

Rain had soaked into the hallway carpet beneath your feet, his clothes leaving wet spots behind him that you didn’t have the heart to care about. Your hand trembled slightly as it held onto the railing while you climbed the stairs. Behind you, Lando followed wordlessly, his movements hesitant—like he wasn’t sure he belonged here anymore.

Your room hadn’t changed much. Same soft light from the lamp on the bedside table, same books piled up on your desk, same blanket folded at the end of the bed. And yet, when he stepped in behind you, something shifted. The air tightened.

Lando stood in the doorway, dripping, still breathing like he hadn’t figured out how to do it properly since he saw your face again. And you didn’t say anything. Not yet. You just turned around to face him, heart pounding in your ears like a warning, and the second your eyes met again in that dim golden light, something collapsed inside you. Not with noise, but with a softness that hurt.

You crossed the room slowly. No rush, no desperation, just the ache of every second that had passed since he had left. Every second you’d spent trying not to miss him, trying not to hate him, trying not to wish for this exact moment.

He looked down at you when you stopped in front of him. His hair was sticking to his forehead. His shirt clung to his skin, knuckles were scraped, and his eyes held centuries of regret. And you reached for him—not with certainty, but with instinct.

Fingers brushed his sleeve, then his hand, and finally, without a word, he let out the quietest exhale and stepped closer to you, forehead pressing to yours like he’d finally made it home.

You stood like that for a while, eyes closed, neither of you moving. The sound of the rain bleeding through the walls.

“I…” He started to whisper, voice cracking—but you shook your head against him.

“Don’t,” You breathed, your voice trembling. “Not yet, Lan.” The nickname made his heart squeeze painfully, remembering all the happiest times when you called him that.

Lando nodded as he understood what you meant. This wasn’t the time for words, for answers—not tonight.

You took his hand and pulled him gently toward the bed. It wasn’t romantic nor filled with lust. It was the comfort and longing that made you do that.

You handed him a towel from the dresser, watched as he clumsily dried his hair, and peeled off the hoodie that stuck to him like a second skin. Then you passed him one of your old sweatshirts—the navy one he used to steal during movie nights, and the one you could never bring yourself to throw away. He hesitated, but eventually he took it, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it over his head.

You turned away to give him space. But when you sat down on the bed, you felt the weight shift beside you. He was close, but not touching. Like he was scared to ruin the fragile thing you’d just begun stitching back together. 

Not knowing what to say, you lay down, and he followed your steps. It was awkward at first, like learning again a language you used to speak fluently. His arm grazed yours and you shifted slightly, making him mirror your moves. The duvet settled over you both like a secret, warm and heavy and sacred.

It took time—slow, aching minutes—for your body to relax. But it happened, eventually. Your head found its way to his chest, just above his heart, and his arm found your waist. Your legs tangled together under the covers like they’d never forgotten how to fit. And still… you said nothing. 

You listened his breathing—to the gradually slowing thump of his heart. To the rain whispering against your windows. You felt the warmth of his skin through the borrowed fabric. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

He held you like you were made of glass. Carefully, and reverently. Your fingers curled in the hem of his sleeve and didn’t let go. And finally—finally—you allowed yourself to breathe.

You didn’t want to sleep. You were afraid all of this would vanish if you closed your eyes. That if you let go, he’d disappear again. That the morning would come and this would all be just another cruel dream. But your body betrayed you, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep wrapped in the arms of someone who knew you. Who had broken you, and had come back. 

You didn’t dream You just slept—heart pressed to heart, hands entwined in quiet forgiveness.

And Lando? He stayed awake, watching the way your face softened in sleep. The faint frown that still lingered, even now. He studied every inch of your skin like he was afraid he’d forget it again. His thumb brushed your back, up and down, slow and reverent. 

He couldn’t believe that he’d left this, that he’d chosen to leave you.

You stirred slightly, breathing shifting against his chest, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear so gently it almost broke him. 

And that was when he knew.

No matter what it took—no matter how long it would be—he wasn’t leaving again. He couldn’t. You were his home. And this? This was just the beginning.

────୨ৎ────

The next morning the rain hadn’t stopped. It painted the windows in soft streams, whispering against the glass like an old lullaby, a rhythm that felt almost like breathing. Slow, gentle and unrelenting. The world outside was hushed, dulled beneath a curtain of gray skies and water-soaked streets, but in the stillness of the apartment, it felt safe. Wrapped in that soft kind of silence that only rain brings—where time slows, and nothing demands to be done except existing.

The bedroom was still dim, bathed in the faint amber glow of the bedside lamp that was left on throughout the night. Its golden light caught on the edges of things—the half-empty glass of water on the dresser, the corner of a blanket trailing off the bed, the framed photo next to the books which depicted you and Lando, laughing at something neither of you remembered now. Younger, lighter, unaware of the ache the years would bring.

But now, your older selves lay beneath the covers, wrapped up in warmth and each other. Skin against skin, his arm draped around your waist, your legs tangled naturally beneath the duvet. As if you’d always belonged in this shape. Like the spaces you left in each other had only ever been waiting to be filled.

His thumb moved slowly against your side—back and forth, back and forth. A silent check-in. A promise, a reminder that he was there.

When you woke up, you didn’t move at first. Just let your eyes follow the soft pattern of shadows across the ceiling, let the sound of the rain blur into the quiet thudding of your heart.

Lando shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His curls were messy, and his eyes—blue and familiar—were half-lidded but awake. “Are you okay?” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and something deeper.

You hesitated, then shrugged, your voice soft. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He questioned, his tone careful. Like he already knew the answer might sting.

You blinked slowly, and swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “You know… I don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet,” You whispered. “Not fully.” The words cracked slightly on their way out, and you hated how vulnerable they sounded. How fragile they made you feel.

Lando didn’t flinch, nor pulled away. He just held your gaze. “I know.” He said quietly. 

You turned onto your side to face him fully, his hand now resting on the curve of your hip. The mattress dipped slightly under your movement, the duvet sliding down your shoulder. Your skin cooled instantly in the air, but it wasn’t why you shivered.

“I told myself I had,” You continued, a little more steadily now. “I wanted to. But I still remember the silence. The way it felt when you left, Lan. Like— like I’d been erased from your life overnight. Like I didn’t matter.”

Lando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly at your words. Then, slowly, he reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch lingered, as if trying to memorize you all over again, his eyes full of regret.

“I think about that too,” He murmured. “Every single day.” There was no defense in his voice. No excuses. Just the truth, bare and broken. 

“I was a coward. I was scared, and I let that fear decide everything. I left you without a word and convinced myself it was the right thing. That you’d be fine, and that you didn’t need me. But it wasn’t about you. It was about me—and I hurt you because I didn’t know how to stay.” He shook his head, like the memory made him sick. “I was selfish. I chose a version of myself that made me feel safe, even if it meant becoming someone I didn’t recognize. Even if it meant walking away from the one person who ever really saw me.”

His eyes searched yours, shimmering. “And I’m sorry.”

The words hung between you, bare and trembling.

“I’m sorry for the silence. I’m sorry for every night you waited, every time you wondered what you did wrong, every piece of yourself you had to stitch back together without me. I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought for you.”

You felt your throat tighten. Your chest ached with the force of how badly you’d needed to hear those words.

“I think I didn’t deserve your love,” He continued, “but I had it. And I broke it. And that’s something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. But if there’s a chance—any chance—that I can still be the person you trust again… I’ll spend every day trying.” His voice cracked. “I just want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

You blinked, and the tears finally slipped down your cheeks again—warm, unstoppable.

You sat up slowly, mirroring him now, the duvet pooled around your waist. And for a moment, you just looked at him. Looked at the boy who had left, and the man who had come back.

You whispered, “Thank you.” as a wave of relief ran down you. 

You never knew how much you needed to hear that apology. And though forgiveness wasn’t something that could be wrapped in a single moment, it lived in that breath. In the way your body leaned into his without fear. In the way he exhaled like he’d been holding that apology in his lungs for a year.

You didn’t need a grand gesture. You needed this. The truth, laid bare. Between two people who had shattered each other once—and were now choosing, quietly, to try again.Together.

Your eyes met his. “Do you regret it? All of it?”

He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling with the weight of the question. “Not everything,” He said finally, “But most of all, the time I wasted pretending I didn’t love you.” That cracked something wide open inside you.

“I thought if I stayed gone,” He continued, voice shaking now, “if I became who Olivia wanted me to be, then maybe I’d forget how much I needed you. But I didn’t. I never did. And one morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.” He paused for a second, his throat tightening at the recall of all the memories, “I missed you so much it made me sick.”

Your breath caught. That was the moment you let the tears fall once again—not loud or gasping, just silent, and honest. They slipped down your cheeks like the rain on the window, blurring everything.

“I missed you too,” You whispered, your hand finding his beneath the blanket, your fingers curling around his like a lifeline. “Even when I told myself I didn’t.”

When you said that, Lando smiled. It was small, soft—nothing like the wide grins he used to wear when the world was still simple—but it was real. Tired and tender and entirely yours.

He leaned forward until your foreheads touched, his breath warm against your skin. Neither of you spoke for a while, there was no need to. Just that quiet, precious stillness—the kind that only came after the storm, after the wreckage, when you realized you were both still here. Still breathing. Still reaching for each other.

When he finally whispered, “Can I stay?” it wasn’t a question about just staying at your place. It was about everything that came after—your future.

You nodded, voice barely audible. “You never have to leave again, Lan.” And you meant it wholeheartedly.

His hand curled around your side again, anchoring you close, and your body folded into his like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had. But never like this. Never with the knowledge that tomorrow wouldn’t take him away again.

The rain outside kept falling, steady and quiet, but the storm between you had broken. And in that little apartment, tucked beneath layers of blankets and bruised apologies, two people who had once been torn apart by time and distance had finally found each other again.

Not in grand confessions. Not in desperate pleas. But in the way his thumb still moved against your hip. In the way your fingers clutched his like they couldn’t bear to let go.

This wasn’t about going back to the beginning, rather about starting from here. Where the pain had already been named. Where the truths had already been spoken. Where love, battered but burning, had quietly survived.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow could wait because right now, in the amber light and the hush of falling rain, you were home.

────୨ৎ────

3 years later

Your shared apartment smelled like warm vanilla and the candle you lit hours ago—something earthy, sandalwood maybe, that had slowly wrapped itself around the quiet of the afternoon. 

Outside, the sky was beginning to shift into early evening—dusted pinks and soft oranges stretching across the skyline like a watercolor bleeding into paper. A soft breeze drifted in through the cracked balcony door, swaying the white curtains like waves.

You were nestled into the couch, legs stretched out, a blanket tossed haphazardly over both your bodies. Your head rested on Lando’s chest, his hoodie swallowing you up, the fabric worn-in and smelling like him—clean cotton and a scent you could never name but always recognized. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair, slowly, over and over again, untangling the strands with gentle care like it was the most important task in the world. And in that moment, maybe it was.

A record played low in the background, some old song he loved that you’d grown to love too. Lando had his arm wrapped around you, his hand trailing slowly through your hair. Over and over. Fingertips catching in soft strands before sliding free again, curling around them like he never wanted to stop touching you. 

You were laying there, head on his torso, the quiet rise and fall beneath your cheek like a lullaby. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. It was one of those moments where everything was said in the silence—in the closeness, the steady breathing, the way your fingers rested against the inside of his wrist, your thumb brushing the faint line of a scar you both knew the story of.

Lando shifted a little, just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head. No words, just that.

You smiled into the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers tracing slow circles over the inside of his wrist. “You’re gonna make me fall asleep, Lan.” You mumbled, your words softened by the weight of comfort, eyelids heavy.

He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips against your hairline. “Then fall asleep,” He whispered, voice laced with that familiar warmth that always made your chest flutter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled into his shirt, your heart swelling, a quiet little ache blooming behind your ribs. “You always say that.”

He smiled, too. “Because I mean it. And would it be so bad?” He said softly, the corners of his lips twitching into a half-smile. “I like having you like this, pretty girl.”

You tilted your head to look at him, chin resting against his chest. “Like what?”

He met your eyes, all warm honey and quiet adoration. “Close.” 

And then he leaned down, connecting your lips in a kiss. Not in that rushed, desperate way he used to when everything was still uncertain—when love felt fragile and maybe temporary. No, this kiss was slow. Anchored. Like he was still choosing you, over and over again, even now.

You kissed him back, one hand curling into the collar of his shirt, the other still resting against his chest where you could feel his heartbeat under your palm. He pulled back just enough to brush your nose with his, grinning against your mouth. Lando looked at you like you were something precious—like he still couldn’t believe you were real, like even in all the time that had passed, he hadn’t gotten used to having you close again.

Your fingers slid up to his jaw, thumb brushing along the line of stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. “You know, sometimes I still feel like I’m dreaming,” You said softly. “Like I’ll wake up and you’ll still be gone.”

His brows knit together, and his free hand came up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey,” He said, voice suddenly serious, “you’re not dreaming. I’m here.”

You nodded, but your throat felt thick, full of memories you hadn’t spoken aloud in months. The silence between you shifted—still soft, but a little heavier now. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked, quiet and sure.

You nodded again, slower this time, your eyes starting to sting. “I know.” His eyes searched yours, his thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

His hand slipped back into your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. “I don’t think I knew how much until I almost lost you.”

You blinked, your lips parting, but no words came. Instead, you just laid your head back against his chest, curling in tighter, wrapping your arm around his waist. You didn’t need to say it—he could feel it in the way you held him like he was home.

“You know,” He murmured after a while, “I could do this forever.”

You pretended to think about it. “Do what?”

“This,” He whispered. “Be with you. Like this. Wake up next to you. Watch you fall asleep on me before we finish a movie. Let you steal all the covers.”

“That sounds a lot like a lifetime commitment.” You smirked, making the man beside you grin at your words.

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

You looked at him then—really looked—and it hit you again, how much love had filled the quiet spaces in your life since that night he came back. Since the rain, the doorstep, the apology. Since everything shifted.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. “You know,” You said softly, “I never thought we’d make it here.”

He leaned into your touch, gaze steady. “Well, I did.” And with that, the silence wrapped around you both again—no pressure, no need to rush. Just comfort, and peace. The quiet knowledge that love didn’t need to be loud to be real. 

It was here. In the way your body curved into his, perfectly fitted. In the way his eyes softened every time they landed on you. It was here. Always.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you melted further into him, burying your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. You stayed like that for a long time. Breathing. Existing. Loving.

The light outside faded into dusky blues. The candle flickered, the music looped. And still, you stayed like that—wrapped in each other. Lando’s fingers never stopped moving through your hair, slow and thoughtful, like he was memorizing the feel of you. And when the night time finally came, when the only light was the glow of the kitchen lamp left on across the room, Lando gently scooped you up—blanket and all—and carried you to bed.

Because this wasn’t the beginning of something new. This was the finally. Finally together, finally home. Finally, always. 

Everything that had once been right at the fingertips, was now fully grasped.

© haniette | 2025, all rights reserved.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

taglist: @xoxomansee @htpssgavi @toriiez @neo-teenkidz

[bioblsm]

WHAT DOES THEIR CAMERA ROLL LOOK LIKE?

❀ ꒰warnings꒱. boothill backstory spoilers, not proofread ಥ_ಥ

𖧷 characters. jing yuan, blade, dr ratio, ruan mei, aventurine, sunday, boothill

☆彡 notes. aventurine 🤝 boothill — being some of the most gay ass mfs i’ve seen in a hyv game (apart from bronya and seele) seriously their flamboyance still gives me whiplash…anyways this has been on my mind for months now but i’ve never gotten around to writing it!!! >_<

JING YUAN 𐚁 景元

[◉"] 2,304 photos, 83 videos

⌖ if you scroll really fast down or up his gallery, all you’ll actually manage to see is splotches of pink, blonde and silver

⌖ everything ranges from cute candid shots of yanqing (he takes multiple if yanqing’s fallen asleep while on duty), to sneaky pictures of fu xuan as she’s working where he’s in the foreground doing peace signs — the final picture of course being her looking at the camera lense directly to glare up at him

⌖ reaching weekends when he’s slightly a little more free or allows himself a small break to stroll around town, his camera roll is either filled with pictures of food he’s eaten or swords that yanqing may or not definitely ask about that he’s now more inclined to buy as he’s seen them in person (he’s a boy dad who loves spoiling his child, alright?)

⌖ the large majority of his photos unfortunately are work related, only really the recent ones being deleted from his gallery to clear up some space

⌖ however, while his photos are preoccupied with either his two kids or random scrolls with messy and rushed handwriting, each video is of you; jing yuan thinks a picture would belittle your beauty too much.

⌖ he needs something a little more real, a little more active and animated to help him quell the chirping loneliness that creeps up on his heart whenever you’re away from him for a prolonged period of time; if he’s feeling particularly mischievous he might sneak a quick but blurry picture of himself to send to you ♡

BLADE 𐚁 刃

[◉"] 9 photos, 2 videos

⌖shit is BARREN. literally a complete EMPTY VOID. if you snatched his phone somehow you’d assume he just got it despite him not having changed it ever since he received one

⌖ perhaps on the occasion you’ll find a cameo picture from one of the stellaron hunters as his phone is left unoccupied and someone decided to blast his entire gallery with their face (silverwolf specifically just hacks into his phone to keep putting random screenshots he’s never taken in his gallery to make him believe he’s taken them)

⌖ maybe sometimes he’ll screenshot different ways to die or health clinic locations he can avoid when he’s fortunately bleeding out but otherwise? nothing.

⌖ if you’re a massive yapper and love sending him pictures, he won’t go out of his way to download them for later usage (whatever that may be…) but he also won’t go out of his way to delete it if it’s accidentally automatically downloaded on his phone — maybe elios intended for it to be there?

⌖ it’s quite nice having a reminder of his significant other where he doesn’t have to actively listen to their voice… that’s a little exaggerative; but he loves just mapping out the features in your face, it helps him sleep just the slightest bit better with no ailment if he’s able to trace your features like a constellation on his blank, dark wall

DR RATIO 𐚁 真理医生

[◉"] 1000 photos, 100 videos

⌖ call it a form of ocd, but he NEEDS to have a decent ratio (i didn’t even mean for this to be a pun i’m so sorry) of his photos to videos; he doesn’t care if it’s 10:1, 2:1 1:5, he needs something that’s at least somewhat pleasing to the eyes

⌖ ratio immediately deleted anything he doesn’t need or thinks he won’t find use in for at the very least the month (this includes every single cameo shot aventurine or you have taken of yourselves on his phone without his permission, which by the way, he didn’t hesitate to scold you two for)

⌖ maybe if he’s feeling particularly loving (when is he ever?) he’ll allow ONE picture to stay.

⌖ his camera roll is purely filled with test results, written exams, student emails he needs to read over, things concerning the guild or the ipc and secret purchases of ducks he’s made (he’s not ashamed, he just doesn’t want you to know he’s buying ducks that are bigger in size every time so he can fill your shared bathroom)

⌖ realistically, maintaining such a perfect ratio of photos:videos is rather impossible unless you’ve got impeccable timing with things you save and delete so, in order to bypass this, ratio made a photo library to help serve as a base number of sorts

⌖ that photo library is of course a secret and locked haven filled with pictures and videos of you, none of which you can even recall taking. all of them hold at least some sort of significance to the both of you, but the ones that dr ratio loves the most is the ones that are just natural

⌖ the ones that show you being yourself, whether it’s where you’re cuddled up near a blanket reading something with a leg hiked up over the sheets or where you’re sleeping with your mouth wide open because you’re sick and unable to breathe through your nose properly; he loves it all

RUAN MEI 𐚁 阮•梅

[◉"] 505 photos, 28 videos

⌖ she tries to keep it as neat as possible; that means no sneaky pics taken of her by you, accidental blurry shots she’s taken (god forbid, those ones are immediately scrapped and done anew especially if related to an experiment of hers) thought that doesn’t mean she clears it in the regular

⌖ ruan mei actively saves any photo you send her, sometimes she’ll even screenshot the chat itself if she finds herself clutching at her heart as she swoons over a few lines of flirting that apparently you couldn’t hold yourself back from due to how much you missed her

⌖ she’s not someone really sentimental so despite having photos of her little cake-cat hybrids, she rarely ever rechecks them unless the trailblazer sent another report on their status to match

⌖ honestly her memory is impeccable to the point she doesn’t even need screenshot reminders of things like dates and experiments saved (would it even be called machine reductionist to call her a walking computer model at this point?) therefore, anything she saves that’s work or science related probably has more intricacies that she can account for

⌖ her gallery is a little boring otherwise. for someone of her morally grey standards you’d expect at least something worth mentioning, maybe even something dumb like a secret recipe she uses to make the sweetest (anti-truth serum…) pastries but no— nothing.

yet the reason for that is very blatant; not even her beloved has the privilege to witness her mendacity.

AVENTURINE 𐚁 砂金

[◉"] 8,793 photos, 777 videos

⌖ it’s a complete and utter mess to say the very least; dr ratio refuses to so much as glance at it whenever he’s near and topaz just gets an ick:

“how do you even manage to find anything?”

“luck.”

⌖ his photos range from absurd, to sweet to egotistical. things that remind him of you such as random rocks he finds, alcoholic beverages that have the same colour scheme of an outfit you wore the night before, an animal he saw that he swears if reincarnation was real would so be you

⌖ he has a specific library for just solely screenshots based off your chats, most of them including a significant amount of “i love yous” and goodbyes that promised a little something more when you met up next; everything that aventurine utterly cherished and craved

⌖ …and then the rest was either him showing the background of him photobombing others, pictures he took to send to you (or one of the ipc members to piss them off, sometimes even the trailblazer for a cheeky laugh) and on the even more popular occasion, all his extraordinary wins whether it be in poker, pool or uno

⌖ compared to his photos, his videos are slightly more interesting. a near 50/50 split that ranged between him telling dumbass jokes to piss off his coworkers, recordings of the back of dr ratio’s and or topaz’s head just for the future laughs (he likes the reminder that he does actually have friends and they aren’t just deliberate hallucinations born of loneliness).

⌖ but of course, all his “favourited” videos involve you somehow. sometimes it’s just a slip of your name while he’s sneakily recording a meeting, him telling you he misses you or vice versa, other times it’s just when he feels like he has a home. you snuggled up on his chest, hands intertwined together as your breathing nearly synchronises with him…moments where he feels as though he could forget the trademark imprinted onto his neck.

SUNDAY 𐚁 星期日

[◉"] 777 photos, 111 videos

⌖ now as much as i want to say “oh it’s all you! he has a special folder for you <3” i unfortunately can’t.

⌖ it’s almost most definitely videos of robin’s concerts, solo shows, videos he stolen off of audience members with good seats when he wasn’t available to personally hide in the crowd…a lot of the photos are also the same way; robin’s promotional pictures, screenshots from her recent advertisements and negative hate comments or news stories that he’s going to personally deal with later

⌖ that doesn’t mean he values or priorities you over his sister, absolutely not. you two are the only people in his life who he would unironically take down the skies and survive utter torment for if it meant your voices were the last things he heard as bellowing winds sliced past his eardrums to tune the world out in order to hear his own final breath

⌖ he tries his best not to be sentimental or nostalgic, as he’s been told as he grew up into the bright and maybe just slightly tragic and guilt-infested man he is today, those things in his eyes are an innate weakness of humanity. clinging onto something thats not tangible anymore.

⌖ but he can’t help but hold on to every video you send him. every picture of you smiling, laughing, every text of you saying i love yous, quoting love songs to him or showing him pictures where you jokingly said “that’s us” (did he tilt his head a few times when you kept sending animals to him with that particular correspondent message? perhaps, but it never made him blind to the intentions).

BOOTHILL 𐚁 波提欧

[◉"] 12,113 photos, 191 videos

⌖ he truly doesn’t gaf (give a fork) about how messy it is, all the things that are genuinely important are already locked and loaded into his noggin’, there’s no point in being frugal with the space he’s been given on a little cellular device

⌖ you wouldn’t believe it, but he rarely uses it unless it’s for emergencies. there’s plenty of trouble that comes around when you’re a galaxy ranger, which means having a constant tracking device on you like a phone that you update daily is a stupidly bad idea; which is precisely why his photo gallery is a mess

⌖ he quite literally can’t go in and clear it out otherwise it risks giving out sensitive information.

⌖ not applicable to you, that is. in boothill’s eyes, you’re an “emergency”. if you’ve texted him, it’s obvious you want his attention, which potentially means you could be in danger and he has to rush to the rescue like the flamboyant cowboy he is (no he absolutely knows you don’t need help, but there’s always that nagging “what if” factor, you know?)

⌖ he inwardly blesses whoever invented screenshotting because it would be an understatement to say that little as half of his gallery is littered with you. he’s just a bit of a boomer when it comes to technology like this, despite being a whole walking charging port himself ehem, so a lot of the pictures he has saved of you that you sent over whenever he cutely pleaded;

“missing ya, send me a lil’ somethin’ wont you?”

unfortunately are uncropped and framed with the outline of whatever messaging app you’re on.

⌖ if he lets you scroll up far back enough, maybe you’ll get to see just a glimpse of how similar his adoptive daughter’s smile was to his

© BIOBLSM ✮ do not copy steal or repost

[aworldinsideaperson]

Gala - Doctor Michael Robinavitch

Pairing: Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Charge Nurse!Reader

Plot: Dr. Robby and Charge Nurse!Reader, attend a fundraising Gala for the hospital.

Warnings: Age Gap (18-20 years)

Word Count: 3700

A/N: For the first time in almost a decade I could not stop writing until I finished. I have spent every spare second, stayed up past my bedtime, and hurt my back scrunching over my laptop for hours while I wrote a fic. I am really excited about this and I hope that other people enjoy this as much as I do. Even my bestie @ethereal27cereal who has not watched a moment of The Pitt enjoyed it so hopefully that’s a good sign!

Her idea of a good time after work usual consisted of fluffy slippers and her newest romance novel, her current read being a work place romance that made her feel weak in all the best places. To her a good time did not include shimmying her hips into a dress in the hospital bathroom after a long shift. But she was new, she wasn’t sure she could tell Gloria no when she insisted they NEEDED the new day shift charge nurse at the PTMC fundraising gala. In fact, Gloria was gone before she’d gotten any response at all.

So here she was, smoothing out the glittering fabric of a dress she’d never even imagined trying on, as she walked down the hall of the emergency department to grab the last of her things. The first voice she heard was Frank Langdon, a resident recently returned from a leave she hadn’t been nosey enough to ask about.

“You look… wow.” Was all he could manage, his mouth agape and eyes like saucers.

Y/N’s face contorted, eyes darting to Princess who sat at the computer closest to her.

“Is it too much?” She asked as a look of panic washed over her face. “I’ve never gone to one of these things but Javadi said it was kind of on par with what people typically wear and Cassie said it looked nice so I-” Her rambling was cut short by a whistle.

“Actually, I said it was hot and I was totally right!” The grin on McKay’s face seemed to only grow as she came closer to the small group that was beginning ot form at the corner of the nurses station. “Turn around;” She encouraged. “Give them the whole look.”

Y/N’s tight shoulders sagged, a small smile coming to her lips as she did a slow turn, revealing the low back with strands of cream pearls draping from one shoulder across to the other, then turning around again. Her eyes were glued to the ground, lips pulled in tight. A new voice letting out a soft “wow” causing her eyes to dart back up towards the sound.

“Well put Robby.” Langdon chuckles, patting his mentor on the shoulder as he passes by headed for his next patient.

A gasp comes from just down the hall. “Oh my gosh you look so pretty!” Mel exclaims, the smile on her face bright and genuine as she approaches the dwindling group of staff. Y/N whispers a small thanks, smiling at the sweet woman now before her. “And you look very distinguished Dr. Robby.” Mel continues, her head held high as she continued to smile at her attending.

“Thank you Mel,” Robby smiles, “ someone finally notices the old man in the very expensive rented tux.” He eyes the remaining crowd.

“Well comparatively, you’re not much to look at.” Matteo lets out a smooth laugh, grabbing a tablet and chasing after Langdon; catching him just as he was walking out of the patients room likely to get the tablet Matteo was handing him.

Y/N shuffles closer to Dr. Robinavitch. He was tall, with dark locks, sweet brown eyes, and she wondered if the beard felt as soft as it looked. She often had to talk herself down from reaching out to touch it. Especially now. Well groomed, it looked shaped and brushed and oiled. She thought about how smooth it’d feel against her skin. Surely a thought that would get her into so much trouble. Michael Robinavitch, nearly 20 years her senior, was handsome and sweet and kind and if she thought about it too much she might just break the careful wall she’s been building to keep her desires at bay. Yet she still reached out. Still slowly moved her hand over his shoulder. Lint. She’d explained to herself. Though looking at him with a sweet smile and a soft compliment, “Well I think you look great Robby.” She felt like she was on fire.

He smiled, eyes locking with hers, sounds of the emergency department dissipating to a low hum, “Thank you Y/N, but he’s right, you are the better looking ED staff.” He was quiet, as he often was with her, as if the two of them were in their own little world. Her thanks just as soft before the two of them turn to the remaining staff, all of whom pretending as if they were not just watching their interactions like some HBO romantic drama.

“Don’t be afraid to come get us if you need anything.” Robby’s voice loud, stressing the last word of his sentence.

“And he does mean anything. Need help with a bandage please do not hesitate to come get one of us, preferably me, from the very stuffy and exhausting event where we will be begging for money.” Her face pleading.

“Yes, and as the attending you should really come get me.” He stressed.

McKay rolled her eyes. “We’re not going to be getting either of you. Night shift is here soon we can hold down the fort until then.”

“I just really think one of us should stay with you guys. And as the attending it really should be me.” He was beginning to sound like a child, begging not to go to great grandma’s house.

It’s Collins, fresh out of a patients room, bump protruding as she places her hands on her hips. “Get out of my ED before I have you both banned from the property.”

“You can’t do that.” Robby insisted.

Cocking her head to the side, her smile dropped. “Wanna bet? I’ve got an in with the security around here.”

This caused Y/N to place her hand on Robby’s chest and gently direct him to the door. “Alright well I guess we’ll head out. Unless anyone needs anything last minute.” Making one last attempt to get their way thwarted by a chorus of “Get out!” from what seemed to be the entire department. Y/N shoots back a final “Have a good night guys.”

As they finally make their way out the door, Santos yells out after them. “Go get us some fucking funding!”

What they don’t hear are the chattering voices wondering. “Think they’ll make it the night without sleeping together?”

Or the responses of, “Fuck no.”

Together the two walked across the street in silence. Comfortable walking side by side, Robby offering his arm as they stepped off the ledge of the sidewalk and into the street. She moved slower than usual in the heels she’d donned but he didn’t seem to mind as he kept an eye out for cars and potential hazards until they stepped back up to the sidewalk in front of the event center.

That’s then that she froze. Face twisted and breath caught in her throat. “Are you sure this looks okay?” She asked, eyes trained on Robby who kept his glued to hers. “I know I keep asking I’m not fishing for compliments I just don’t want to make a bad impression and maybe ruin something good coming to the ED.” The words were rushed, pouring out of her as she spiraled into panic.

Robby took a deep breath, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Relax.” He began. Demonstrating deep breathes to encourage her own before continuing. “You look gorgeous.” His voice reassuring and her shoulders dropped, breathing finding a more normal pattern. “If it makes you feel better I’ve only been to like 2 of these and both times I threw up in the parking lot and we still got new chairs for the nurses station last year.” He let out a soft laugh, though from the look of mild distress he seemed to be telling the truth.

A wide grin spread across her face, eyes lighting up with joy. “So really so long as I don’t kill anyone they’ll let us keep our half working coffee machine?”

Robby laughed, a full laugh that shook into his core, a thing he seemed to do more and more the more time he spent around Y/N. “If you’re really charming they may even put name brands in the vending machine.”

Feigned horror and shock painted across her features before becoming stoic and serious. “There’s a lot riding on this then.” Her face cracked into a small smile and his heart stuttered.

“You’re gonna be great.” He assured once again, his thumb now stroking back and forth on her shoulder, the tips of his fingers grazing the skin of her shoulder. “Hell of a lot better than me probably why they invited you.”

Y/N looked at the older man skeptically. “I don’t know Robby, you’re pretty charming.”

“Only to you.” The words slipped, his smile dropping slightly as he finally removed his hand and turned to the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

The doors opened into a large banquet room with high ceilings and chandeliers. Y/N wondered how much had been spent on this event while the hospital remained understaffed. It was a beautiful space and music filled the air around them, loud enough to hear, to spur some folks to dance, and soft enough to speak over. That was the purpose after all, speaking, begging, convincing people that their hospital, that the Emergency Department, was worthy of their donations. It’d be a long night.

Robby leans down, his lips closer to her ear than needed. “I’m going to grab us some drinks. Why don’t you find our seats.”

A quick nod and Y/N is setting off in the direction of the poster that seemed to be holding table assignments. Images of her best friend’s wedding nearly a decade prior flash through her mind. The last time she’d worn something so formal, been in such a beautiful space. She had 3 kids now and their once daily chats had dwindled to quarterly calls. She knew all about Robby though. She called after Y/N’s first week in the Pitt and she’d clocked then Y/N’s little crush. Called it sexy trouble.

Finding her way to the table she and Robby were assigned she thought about the phrase from her friend. ‘Sexy Trouble.’ Doctor Micheal Robinavitch was definitely sexy and the way she felt when he was close, so so much trouble.

He placed a glass of champagne in front of her and one in space beside her. Their table was empty, likely already mingling. “What’s our plan of attack?” He asked plopping down beside her.

“I was going to ask you that. You’re the one whos done this before.” Her face again began too contort, anxiety raising in her chest.

“Have you seen the state of the ED? I’m not exactly doing a great job.”

“You’re doing the best you can. Gloria and the board might not know that but even in these last six months I’ve seen it very single day. You’re doing the best you know how.”

Robby closed his eyes, taking her hand in his and giving it a tight squeeze. Looking into her eyes a beat of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time reaches his ears. Smiling brightly he stands. “May I have this dance?”

“Only if you don’t mind me stepping all over your toes.” She laughs though she’s already standing, hand still holding tightly to Robby’s.

“I’ll take my chances.” Giving her hand another squeeze he leads her to the space a few pairs have made, swaying to the beats of an eclectic playlist. Robby’s hand slides over her hip to her lower back, palm burning into her exposed skin. “You know, they played this at my senior prom.” He laughed thinking back to Barbra Wilson, his prom date, and the atrocious white tux she’d begged him to wear with the pink cumberbund and tie.

An exaggerated look of shock came to her face. “Wow, it’s amazing you can remember that far back.”

Robby rolled his eyes and huffed. “Ha ha ha. I’m not THAT old.” He insisted, though the feeling in his lower back was making him think otherwise.

A grin spread across her face as she spoke. “I wasn’t born when you went to your senior prom.”

His face dropped, hurt painting itself across his features for only a moment. “Okay ouch.”

“It’s okay,” She began, settling her lips close to his ear to whisper. “I won’t call you a cradle robber if you don’t call me a grave robber.”

The air in his lungs stopped moving. Slowly his face turned, so easily their lips could have slotted together. If only the universe didn’t enjoy his misery. It’s Jack Abbot’s voice that breaks the fantasy. “You guys are here too? I thought I got roped in because you guys wouldn’t come.” He’s shoving a crab cake into his mouth as he speaks, a second still in his hand.

“What are you doing over here?” Robby asks, reluctantly pulling his hands from Y/N’s body.

Abbot eyes him then shrugs. “Gloria called me and it sounded more like a threat than an invitation so I came.”

As if to speak her being into existence, Gloria strides toward the three of them. The look of horror etched into her face growing deeper the closer she gets “You’re in your scrubs?” Her question stressed through gritted teeth.

Again Jack shrugs. “You’re the one who told me to get here ASAP. To me ASAP doesn’t involve changing.”

Her muscles tense a moment, eyes closing as she lets out a slow breath to calm herself. “Just go.” She breathes again, now turning toward the pair appropriately dressed for the event. “Robby, Y/N, I need you to come tell some people about the idea you had for chairs.”

Robby frowns, “The one you shot down 2 weeks ago?”

Gloria gives an exasperated sigh.“Yes. Let’s go.”

The two followed Gloria to a small group of unfamiliar faces and it’s nearly an hour and a half before they find themselves back in their seats, both well into their third glass of champagne, skin prickling with hope. They’d seemed interested in their idea. Their interest had sparked interest in Gloria and hope filled their chests. Maybe this would help, maybe tonight would actually make a difference. Y/N let her head drop to Robby’s shoulder, eyes closing as a new melody floated through the air. She sighed. “I love this song.”

Robby nudged her head from his shoulder and stood, holding his hand out to her. “Come on, I think my old bone have one last dance left in ‘em.”

She smiled, slowly rising from her chair and the pair made their way back onto the dance floor, now even less crowded than it had been earlier, and resumed their earlier positon swaying to Coldplay’s Yellow. Their body’s were pressed closer than they had been before; looking Robby up and down she huffed a small chuckle. “Why don't you dress like this more often? I could get used to this look.”

Robby laughed aloud, pulling her even closer to his chest. “Oh yeah I’ll just start running around doing intubations and chest tubes and shit in a shirt and tie. Hey maybe I’ll even wear suspenders and a white coat like that one guy you keep telling me I look so much like from your show.”

Her eyes grow wide, hands coming to gently slap against Michael’s chest.“Oh my God that guy from ER!” She exclaims. “I used to love that show. When I was growing up my mom and I watched it religiously. Dr. John Carter.” She looks at Robby wistfully. “Probably the reason I dated so many doctors in my youth.”

Again, he can’t help but laugh. “Your youth, as if you’re not currently young.”

“I’m 31, that’s the ancient for women didn’t you know? I’m half way in the grave.” She attempts to make her statement sound matter of fact though she’s hardly able to hold back her grin.

“Well I think you’re incredibly beautiful for being half dead.” Robby’s voice is soft, and her shoulders relax as she places her head against him. The space between them is quiet for a moment before his soft voice speaks again. “Is that what made you want to get into the medical field?”

“What?” She’d been lost in her own world, a fantasy where this was more than colleagues, more than friends. Just more.

“ER. With your mom?”

“Oh! No. Well not because of ER but because of my mom.” She takes a quarter step back, giving herself space, removing herself from the fantasy. “ When I was like 11 my mom got really sick and we spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong. We were in hospitals all the time. I watched the nurses work really hard to make sure even if they couldn’t fix my mom they were doing everything the could to help. It left an impression on me now here I am 20 years later.”

“Did they ever find out what was wrong with her? Your mom?” His questions aren’t pushy or probative, they’re genuine, questions he wants to hear real answers to.

She nodded. “MS. But because her doctor didn’t want to run a test in the beginning it took them 10 years to figure it out and by then the window of relapsing remitting had passed and she’d moved into secondary progressive. She got really bad about 3 years ago then 8 months ago she died.”

Robby closes the gap, pulling her close against him again, both arms wrapping around her tightly. He adores his mother even at 50 years old he can’t imagine what it will be like when he loses her. “I’m so sorry.”

She smiles softly, her eyes dampening with a few tears. “Thank you. It’s why I’m here really. I needed to move. I needed to be somewhere different.”

“It might be bad to say but, under any circumstances, I’m glad you’re here.” Robby brings his hand to her face, his thumb wiping gently at a small shed tear. But she smiles.

“It might be bad to say, but Me too.” She once again rests her head against him as they sway through the last notes of the song and into the next, then the next and before they realize it the room has become close to empty and they begin to take their leave. Again Robby gives her his arm as they cross the street but he doesn’t let go once they’re standing on hospital property, not when they walk into the building, through to the parking garage. Not even when they’re standing beside her car.

Leaning up against the driver’s side door, Y/N fiddled with her keys. “Do you need a ride?”

Robby shook his head. “Nah I left my backpack inside and I’m like half a block away so I’ll make it.”

She nodded, her voice still low. “Well thank you for walking me all the way to my car.”

“Of course.” The air between them grew thick, Michael lifted his hand placing his palm against her jaw, thumb smoothing over her heating cheek. Staring deeply into her eyes he spoke hardly above a whisper. “It might be the champagne hitting me but God, I want to kiss you right now.”

“Maybe you should.” The words tumbled from her lips before she could think.

“Please don’t tease me.” He begged.

“From here you’re the one thats teasing.” That as all it took before Micheal Robinavitch was leaning in and pressing his lips to hers. A soft, tender, electrifying kiss turning into one of need and passion. Her hands gripped tightly to his lapel. The satin slick against her fingers as she pulled him closer. So much closer. Melting into his body as Robby wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her tightly against him and their lips and hearts synched and all the pieces around them began shifting into place.

A cough across the parking lot pulls their lips apart but they stay connected. Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, breath shaky. Y/N whispers. “I should head home. My shift starts at six.”

Micheal nods, not pulling away from her. “Mines seven.”

Still connected she smiles, pressing a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow Doctor Robinavitch.”

He sighs. “Michael.”

“Michael.” For the first time in years prefers the sound of his name over Robby.

“Say it again.” He pleads

“Goodnight Michael.” She places another slow and tender kiss to his lips before finally pulling away and moving to get into her car.

“Goodnight Y/N.” The grin he keeps trying to hide is painted with her lipstick. He steps back, watching her drive away then leans up against the wall. Calming himself for nearly ten minutes after she’s driven away before he can walk back into the Pitt, before he can face his friend because Jack Abbot will know something has happened and he’s no ready to field those questions. Not when all he can think about is her.

It’s nearly five hours into their shift when a small group finds themselves standing at the desk, looking at the board. It’s McKay who speaks up first. “Has anyone else noticed how… chipper those two are?” Her eyes finding Robby and Y/N standing down the hall way, smiling brightly as they speak.

Princess nods. “Y/N has been humming the same song all morning.”

“Robby too.” Frank adds “It kinda sounded like Yellow by Coldplay but I didn’t think he listened to anything from this century.”

“That’s what I thought I heard from Y/N.” Javadi adds, hand up blocking the light from her still sensitive eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone with her mom the night before, or maybe she just shouldn’t have had so much champagne. Then her eyes grow wide, looking around the small group. “You don’t think they…?” Her question trailing off.

Perlah’s face breaks out into a grin, pure joy radiation from her face. “Oh for sure.”

Santos scrunches her noise, sending a dirty look to the nurse across the desk. “Well no collection until confirmation Perlah. I’m still holding out for his surprise party next month.”

Just then Y/N pops up beside them. “Keep it down about the party damn it!”

[b00tyliciousbabe]

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙

oddballs and eggnog

goofybf! x THICC male reader

summary: love me a nerdy man that’s got a lil spice to him. plus a lil xmas lore!

notes: HI BEAUTIFULS! merry xmas to those who celebrate. it’s been a while fr, my bad dawgs uni work has been ploughing my ass so violently im reconsidering if a degree is even for me. but as a masochistic bottom, i had to channel my energy elsewhere; thus, this fic is just me showing the variety of my tastes as the true indecisive femboy that i am. show me a cute guy and i will plan my whole life with him. i need to get a grip.

originally, i canonically wrote this character with ginger hair (y’all know i fold for redheads), but the more i kept writing, the clearer it became to me that dark brown hair/black aligned with my OWN understanding of him. it’s all fiction anyways so feel free to adapt body types as you see fit. enjoy my lovelies 🎀

album rec: flo - access all areas. these girlies have my heart. been following them since about 2022 and they are genuinely my fave artists, cannot wait for flo world domination.

you guys had mutual acquaintances for a couple years, but it wasn’t until the two of you got to university that your friendship really blossomed. the engineering student didn’t have the best luck when it came to relationships; in fact, people would only toy with his emotions when they wanted something from him, so he learnt to put up a wall of cynicism.

these barriers he had fortified for his own protection made him quite a reserved guy. never cruel or nasty. just quiet. sure, he wasn’t a complete loner, he had a few VERY close bros who he’d let in, but it was clear that in this silence, he was safe.

he’s super handsy, whether that means pulling you on his lap, be it at parties or when he’s gaming, or placing his hands in your back pocket when y’all walk to class, he just wants to hold you. probably got something to do with the fact that he needs to make sure you’re real and not the angel he believes you to be. you love your needy bf and his craving for physical touch.

this is kinda juxtaposed by how flustered he gets by your words. the minute you whisper in his ear, he could cum in his jeans on the spot. he gets so red when you compliment him which makes him squeeze you tighter.

he wasn’t a virgin before meeting you, he’d had a few hookups but nothing sexual with someone he genuinely cared about. as a result, it made sense why he was very nervous when it came to your first time together.

to relax him, you decided to give him a blowjob to ease the tension and allow him to cum quick in the first round so he’d last longer during anal. sat back on the edge of his bed, he wore a vest and baggy joggers, awaiting your fingers to unleash his raging boner. you knelt down and flashed a comforting smile to him, which he failed to mirror perfectly.

‘we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready to. I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.’ you said concerned, stroking his abs, clear to you that he was stressing.

‘nah baby, i want this so bad. it’s just gotta be really special because you’re really special to me.’ he said gripping your chin.

‘i love you, y/n. like a lot.’

‘i know that you weirdo, i love you too, you mean so much to me.’

‘now, lemme show you how much.’ you said coyly, to which he was more than happy to oblige.

when i tell you, your man eats so well that his cum is literally like milk. the typa white, thick, pearly cum that you would swallow every drop of, because it truly is just disrespectful not to. the first time he came was a surprise for the two of you. he didn’t realise how much he loved seeing his cum all over your face, decorating your juicy, wet lips. the head you gave him was so good, he napped for 2 hours straight after you drained him. but that deffo changed him for the better.

his hobbies include boxing and gaming. he’s such a nerd he makes his own demo projects, playing with his classmates. you always chastise him for not making his hobby a lucrative endeavour - your boy’s got a talent and he doesn’t seem to know it. equally, he loves his legos and comics just as much as he enjoys coding, making you the prettiest bouquet of lego flowers for your first date. after spending some time walking, he took you back to his place and y’all spent the entire night binging his favourite marvel and dc films.

one time it was his birthday and you thought it be a good idea to make a short graphic novel of the journey of your relationship - ending steamily with you pregnant.

‘baby, i love this so much! who knew how sexy you’d look with a baby bump?’ ‘anything can happen in the multiverse’ you laugh, as he kissed your jaw.

‘I’m gonna fuck you so good tonight.’

as we have established, he’s far from experienced. he holds your hand through missionary always because it makes him feel safe. makes so many jokes during it as a way to deflect. lowkey loves being choked. you took the lead most of the time before, using him as a pole and ride the shit out of him.

but, that night he ploughed you with a sense of purpose, so deep and mercilessly that your insides were moulded into an incubator for any hypothetical foetus he would soon impregnate you with. after, he laid curled up next to you, caressing the belly that he had now filled with

‘i hate biology sometimes,’ he says breathlessly. ’you’d look so good with our lil baby growing inside your belly.’

your boyfriend is the goofiest mf ever; playing practical jokes on all his friends and fulfilling his role as your comedian. definitely one of your favourite characteristics of his.

his sleeper build is INSANE. he might appear tall and lanky, but he is far from it. bench pressing more than 100 kilos with one arm - the brudda is basically superman. he’s what you’d get if clark kent had ginger hair, and was a huge weirdo.

though he cannot dance to save his life. he used to be very awkward and shy, but the minute them clothes are off and you two are in the sheets? stroke game is giving pornstar baby girl lemme tell you! ever since your first time, it’s like you awaken the sexual drive in him that’s been missing all his life. this, paired for his complete adoration for you makes him a lethal weapon in bed - quite literally, your man casually packs an 8 inch pussy destroyer with veins that massage and pummel your gummy walls so well.

after this moment he became the BIGGEST TEASE. slapping his dick all over your face. as you chase his dick like a good puppy, he giggles at how desperate you are. ‘sweet Jesus you feel good’. ‘holy shit’. ‘don’t act like you don’t love it.’ painting hickeys all over your neck . he loves when ppl ask you because of how flustered you get, makes him want to mark you more. he’s no longer shy to the world and he thanks you everyday for that. living to call you princess - in both a mocking and endearing tone, he loved toying with your nipples because you’re his lil doll. in cowgirl he will play with them whilst jerking you off to get you to cum all over his abs. and! he LOVES eating ass - like almost obsessively, as if he’s high of your pussy.

he smells so good. so good. you always act like a bitch in heat whenever he steps out of the shower with a towel skimpily wrapped around his adonis belt.

your bf loves playing with his cum and using his dick as a paintbrush to decorate your belly, butt, and face. ‘my masterpiece’ + ‘my muse’ he professes. somehow managing to entrance you to always stroke his dick during makeout sessions. he brings his hands to play with your hair, knowing that his dick is in extremely good hands with you - literally. always pulling you off of his dick because he is really sensitive and ur mouth is a fucking weapon, but will show you that he’s the boss and could leave you bedridden for a couple days after a good fuck.

things he would say drunk off of eggnog:

‘i would die a happy man beneath those beautiful cheeks of yours’

‘put ur hole on my North Pole.’

‘ay, you Don’t get to call me handsome unless you’re gonna HANDsome of those fat cheeks of yours to my lap.’

‘come on, I’ve been a good boy, Santa says gimme some of that pussy you know I love so much.’

‘that ass of yours, come here lemme unwrap it.’

this man has you written into his destiny. he always dreamed of raising a son and dressing him up in the flyest outfits and with you, that desire became reality. you too truly are a match made in heaven.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙

taglist:

@ghostking4m

@gayaristocrat

@lysanderplume

@acoustickitten

[monzamash]

my side of the sofa — lando norris

rating – mature (language, sexual references) requested for✨monzamusings✨ inspired by the kooks' sofa song – and i kinda want to continue this lil story... lmk what you think x

lando was the andy to your april, the tom to your zendaya – on paper there was no logical reason why your dynamic worked, polar opposites in almost every way. he was sunshine personified, wildly charming and devilishly handsome. he was the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve, staunchly loyal with a smile brighter than the stars he swore you hung in the night sky.

in contrast, you walked on the darker side of life; a little mysterious, quietly confident and self assured but humble, generous and effortlessly beautiful but to some, you were intimidating – always kind and caring but scary until those impenetrable walls that had been iron clad from birth started to come down.

somehow lando norris had achieved what most thought was impossible.

it started small with knowing smiles and inside jokes – my god, you had jokes for days! and he laughed at every single one, without fail. wild curls thrown back and smile lines crinkled together, creating a jigsaw you desperately wanted to piece together. you loved in his dry british sense of humour – dark, macabre jokes sprinkled with tasteful sarcasm that he saved just for you. on paper, you couldn’t make sense of it, how your heart felt safe with someone so different to you.

“you know that giving a guy a key to your apartment means things are getting serious right? like, way more serious than a stupid label…”

lando stood in your kitchen, patiently brewing you a cup of tea – strong and dark with the tiniest dash of milk, just the way you liked it, while you scrounged around in the cupboards for the shortbread you bought on a whim just in case you had visitors, though rare it did happen from time to time. why the fuck did I put them up there, you muttered under your breath. lando placed down the teaspoon he’d been drumming on your countertop and came to your rescue, his warm hand resting on you lower back as he reached up beside your head and plucked the shortbread from the top shelf with ease.

“short arse.”

“prick.” you quipped back, snatching the delicious snack from his hand and skipping away.

“and to answer your question – no, i don’t think giving you a key means anything but being smart because it saves me having to come all the way down here to unlock the door for you... because you're here allll the time,” your drawling tone earned a pinch to the ribs as you launched onto the sofa, lando following closely behind.

“i’m here all the time because you call me, miss ‘i’m scared of the dark and need a big, strong man to look after me’,” lando mocked in a high pitched voice, causing you to scoff into the hot cup of tea nestled in your hands.

“big feels generous…”

a shocked expression swept across lando’s face – eyebrows raised as he playfully brushed off your burn, “ooh does it now?” his attitude turning cocky in the blink of an eye.

“i don’t think that’s how you felt last week in monaco – just saying,” he shrugged before taking an exaggerative sip from his mug, your eyes suspiciously narrowed but the smile itching the corners of your mouth threatened to give you away.

“admit it.”

"no way!”

“come oooon, admit that i’m big or i’m not watching vanderpump with you.”

lando quickly grabbed the remote control from the coffee table in the midst of his ultimatum and held it above his messy head of curls as you carelessly shuffled into his tracksuit-clad lap, determined to take back what belonged to you.

“don’t you dare threaten me, norris – i have so much dirt on you so you do not want to push me…” you couldn't be serious if you tried.

"all the dirt you have on me includes you, my sweet girl so do your worst,” he taunted with a whisper, his smug smile making your eyes roll.

he had no idea who he was dealing with.

“three words; facetime in singapore… or maybe you need me to re-jog your memory?” lando’s face dropped in disbelief, dragging his bottom lip between his two front teeth at the memory but as he peered into your playful eyes, a dubious scoff puffed from his mouth.

"pfft, you wouldn’t do it…”

“oh baby,” you mocked, hands pressed to his tight chest as you settled into his lap, eliciting a groan when you looked down at him, “try me and find out..”

lando's eyes fluttered shut for a millisecond as his head lulled back in defeat, placing the remote on your side of the sofa, “you win.”

“i always win.”

lando softly hummed, tilting his head with a smirk, “nah ‘cause after all that, who’s side of the sofa are you on?” the proud smile lit up his handsome face and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how goofy and beautiful he looked admiring his handy work.

“so you see, i win. and maybe you can too.”

“oh, i’m definitely winning.” you leaned in with a smile and pressed a firm kiss to his perfect lips, melting into his touch. the one thing you knew for sure was that you could kiss him all day, every day, maybe for the rest of your life.

lando was the first to come up for air, eyes blurry and heart shaped while you took a couple more seconds to return to the real world, begrudgingly opening them to see the sweetest human being staring right back. the sigh he exhaled was so deep that it reverberated through your bones, worrying you a little until his hands brushed down your sides and the smile etched on his face remained.

“why are you being such a chicken about us being together?”

“i’m not being a chicken, i’m just being realistic,” you whispered, desperately wanting to change the subject, “... your eyes look really pretty.”

lando chuckled, “i know they are so why don’t you want to wake up to them every morning and tell me that, huh? because i wanna do that.”

“tell yourself that you have pretty eyes?”

it was lando’s turn to eye roll and plant a soft smack to your backside, “such a smartarse.”

“you love it.”

“yeah i do and i love you sooooo…” lando nudged gently, searching for an answer that would ease his fear of losing you.

“soooo…” you mimicked but quickly shied away from his intense gaze, “i’m in love with you too, you dumbarse but we’re weird and so different to one another and i feel like people aren't going to understand us and ruin everything... what do you think?”

you hadn't even realised that you'd started chewing through the black varnish on your nails until lando gently grasped your wrist and laced his fingers with yours. he sighed and kissed the back of your hand – the pause in conversation gave him time to gather his thoughts while the circles he drew into your palm with the pad of his thumb calmed your racing mind.

lando answered hundreds of questions every day but he was struggling to think of a time when his response to a question held this much meaning. actions meant everything to you, and he couldn't wait to hold your hand in public and not be afraid of getting caught sneaking kisses in the paddock when the two of you were meant to be working, but words were a good place to start.

“what i think is that we love each other, yeah? and what i know is that i don't give a shit what other people think because you're fucking hot and i love being weird with you, my scary little angel of death,” he teased, tickling your sides until tears ran down your cheeks and you succumbed to his embrace, face buried in his neck.

“i love being weird with you too.”

shout out to mar (@percervall) for the prompt! more writing...

[jinx-xxed]

Wriothesley Headcanons

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; Something simple while I work on pt. 2 of “sweet mornings” (and some other ideas lol)!! I hope everyone’s pulls went well :)

Content; NSFW 18+ headcanons included

Wc; 1.6k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

☆ Outside of the Fortress, Wriothesley refrains from big shows of PDA, always concerned somebody may target you because of it, because of him. Even if you can handle yourself, he can’t help being too careful.

☆ He’ll always hold your hand or take a quick kiss on the cheek though.

☆ When you’re in the Fortress, Wriothesley can’t seem to leave you alone except for when he’s working. If he has any free time, he’ll immediately come find you and be all over you. Unless you’re the one working of course, then he’ll merely sit nearby and enjoy your presence.

☆ If you visit him while he’s working, you’ll usually find yourself in your comfortable spot curled up in his lap. Wriothesley certainly doesn’t mind, it’s quite easy to keep reviewing and signing documents while you doze off with your head tucked nicely beneath his chin, one arm wrapped snugly around you.

☆ You spend every meal together, either in his office, in the cafeteria, or out in the overworld when you two can sneak away for lunch. It’s something he always looks forward to, those simple moments with you where he can set aside his duties for a little while.

☆ Wriothesley can read you like a book, no matter how well you think you’re hiding your emotions. He’s gotten a knack for it after having to read the faces and body language of all the prisoners that come through the Fortress.

☆ That’s why he finds himself able to trust you more than anyone else. He feels inexplicably at ease around you, your honesty in all senses calming something within him.

☆ It took Wriothesley almost a year of knowing you before he let you finally investigate his gauntlets after your incessant asking. You’d said you were fascinated by the machine work and whenever he brought them out you were always staring with wide eyes. The ecstatic grin you gave him when he agreed at last is something he won’t forget.

☆ Wriothesley loves to listen to you talk, your voice is one of his favorite sounds. He thinks it’s adorable when you get excited about something you’re passionate about, going on and on about it with this sparkle in your eye. You always share new discoveries in your research or the plot of the latest book you’ve been reading (he never has time to read so he likes hearing you tell him the story instead), and it couldn’t make him happier.

☆ Sometimes old memories get the better of him. Sometimes he’ll wake with a start, his heart beating too fast and a thin layer of sweat on his skin. When that happens, you’ll brush his hair out of his face, tell him he’s okay, and take him upstairs so you can make him some tea. You’ll sit with him in silence until he feels better, until his mind has calmed and those dark memories are beaten back to where they came from. You know he’s alright when his hand finds yours, a whispered thanks falling from his lips.

☆ Wriothesley comes to bed late most nights, slipping under the covers so carefully to try not to disturb you. It’s usually futile, your brain subconsciously waiting for him to join you and so when he’s finally there, you immediately cuddle into him. He’ll put those strong arms around you and it makes everything right in your world. You both are out like lights a minute later.

☆ He’s in constant disbelief that you’re his. He never expected to find someone like you, someone who fits with him like his missing puzzle piece. You’re so perfect that he sometimes feels guilty about it, about keeping you down in the Fortress with him, deep under the sea. You’re always quick to reassure him, promising you’re there purely of your own decision. You’ll tell him how much you love him again and again until any trace of doubt is washed away for good.

☆ You adore caring for Wriothesley, when he’ll let you. You can tell he’s been independent his whole life, eager to do things by himself, so you try to help with the small things. Brewing the hot water for his tea, delivering paperwork, fixing up any kind of busted machinery. Then, in the later hours, you’ll hold him close and run your fingers through his black and silver hair, reveling in the way you feel his body relax against yours, his content sigh tickling your skin.

☆ Wriothesley is always holding you at night, your warmth being the best way to chase off the cold he feels creeping in his bones. He enjoys when you snuggle right into his side the most, not even a hairsbreadth of space between your bodies.

☆ Sometimes he’ll stop by your office just to see what music you’re listening to. You always have something unique playing, something he hasn’t heard before in any of the operas or shops around Fontaine. It’s vastly different from the classical he has playing in his own office, but he’s quickly come around to the pumped up beats and vocals.

☆ Sigewinne is beyond grateful that you showed up in the Fortress. She’s never seen the Duke so consistently at ease and she knows she has you to thank for that. She’ll giggle to herself over the way he follows you like a dog sometimes.

☆ You’re very flexible with his work schedule, knowing how unpredictable or brutal it can be some days. There’s been a few instances where your dates have consisted of just sitting quietly in his office while you both work, enjoying each other’s company. Wriothesley thinks himself unbelievably lucky to have found someone like you who’s actually happy simply working beside him when the papers pile a bit too high.

☆ He’s always sure to take you someplace nice after days like those.

☆ You box together! He originally scoffed at the idea when you suggested it, but decided to humor you after seeing you were dead serious. He tried to go easy on you, holding his strength and thinking this was just something for you to get out of your system, but very quickly had to switch up when he realized you were extremely intent on knocking him on his ass. Now you two go blow for blow without a second thought, much to Sigewinne’s dismay.

☆ Your boxing matches are a great way to release tension or to get warmed up. More often than not, they result in you pinned under Wriothesley after he got a little too hot and bothered by your sweaty body and displays of strength.

☆ Being in your arms is Wriothesley’s safe space. When something’s troubling him, or he’s had a rough day, or when he just needs you, that’s where he’ll find himself. It washes away all his worries, even if for only a little while.

» ☆ «

NSFW

☆ Wriothesley very much enjoys using his full body weight against you, pressing into you and pinning you to the bed so that all you can feel is him.

☆ Trust that he will be using those sharp canines. He loves to nip at your skin and hear the noises you make.

☆ He’s put his handcuffs to use more than a few times. It all started when you offhandedly asked about them, trying to be sly, and as a response he locked them onto your wrists and watched as your face turned red. It was a long while before they finally got taken off.

☆ Morning sex is one of his favorites. Fucking into you first thing is a great way to start his day and keep him going, your quiet moans and soft body so perfect for him.

☆ Wriothesley is big on praise, giving it to you whenever he can. Saying how good you are, how well you take him, how much you were made for him, how much he loves you. He can’t degrade you unless you ask, but even then he has to make up for it with plenty of kisses afterwards.

☆ There’s times where he’ll tease you relentlessly, bringing you up and down again over and over until you’re begging and in tears. He can’t help it, you look pretty when you cry.

☆ If you’ve been gone for a while, like on a trip for work, it’s impossible to get him off you. He’ll take you wherever he can; in bed, on his desk, on the couch, in your office. He can’t get enough of you and he missed you so much. His nights were so lonely without you, spent with his face buried in your pillow while he rutted against the sheets, having to use his hand to get off.

☆ Wriothesley is very cuddly after sex, pulling you in and encasing you with his big, warm body. Even if he has somewhere to be, he’ll take at least a few minutes to just bury his head in the crook of your neck and breathe you in. You think he does it to ground himself.

☆ He’s always ready to try new things with you when you suggest it. He’s eager to please you, to let you use him the way you want. Seeing you lost in your pleasure is something he takes great joy in. It’s a two way street of course—you always return the favor.

☆ You’re constantly amazed by his body, his strength and all his scars. You see that and think of how gentle Wriothesley is despite it all, how much he cares for those around him, your wonderful man. On quieter nights, you’ll take your time kissing each of his scars, of which there’s many. You love doing it because it’s the one thing that makes him flustered, a pretty blush on his face when you’re only halfway through.

[jd-loves-fiction]

can i request hcs of dorm leaders w a goth fem s/o. if not fem, gn if ur uncomfortable ty^^

🌑 Immediately remembered... Every single Halloween card they've ever had😭 they rock goth style so hard😩👌

❖ 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 ❖

Agh he's so cunty I can't take it

Pray there isn't some rule against it💀

Post-overblot tho, he'll have no problem with the way you express yourself, after all it's not hurting anyone or causing that much chaos

Unless you wear your uniform egregiously wrong, or influence someone else to do so... Then he'll definitely have a problem

Just show him that it's what makes you feel truly comfortable and happy and he'll give in soon enough in the face of genuine self expression

He might even EVENTUALLY wonder what it'd be like to dress like you... Not that he'd ever admit it

If you do figure it out (he's very obvious with the longing glances he throws at every new outfit or makeup style you put on) and offer to help him try it out, he'll do so hesitantly

A part of him still aches as he's still unlearning the harsh rules engraved in his mind all throughout his life, so be patient and compliment and reassure him all throughout this self discovery process and he might just show up one day with a dark lipgloss on

Or perhaps a dark jacket

Truly he could pull off a full goth outfit AND he's so weak to praise you could probably convince him to at least try it on 👀

❖ 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚 ❖

This guy...

Despite being from the SAVANNA he's constantly in dark clothes and leather💀

I'm a firm believer that Leona is a sucker for confidence of any kind

So I'm sure he'd be very into your style, or more so, the fact that you're confident enough to strut about dresses like that

It'd definitely draw his eye👀

He definitely enjoys the rebellious aspect of it

Plus the guy barely wears his uniform correctly so he'd be the last to care about what you're wearing and whether or not it's school appropriate

"Wear whatever you want, I can fight" type of boyfriend

If ANYONE tries to give you a hard time for it, even the staff, he's got your back without question

Leona rocks dark eyeshadow, PLEASE do his makeup for him

It's a pretty intimate process and it might just put him to sleep but he'll look so great by the end off

Totally up for trying the style out... So long as you do all the work picking it out. And if it's not too uncomfortable. Otherwise he couldn't care less what you put him in

❖ 𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 ❖

Sweet Azul🥺

Might be less inclined to match with you than others, at least in public

He's got a reputation to keep and the suit adds to it

But also he's completely weak to the one who's managed to lock down his heart, so you could probably convince him to try it at least once if you really try ;)

Oh but seeing him get red in the face once you put him in a matching ensemble? Unmatched 🥺

Plus, Azul holds a lot of influence over NRC, staff included, so you don't need to worry about getting in trouble for it🫡he's got your back

Azul strikes me as someone who'd be quietly appreciative of those who dare stand out without shame as well as someone who pays attention to how the smallest details in someone's appearance can change their perception

He might feel inspired to be just a little more bold with his looks when you're around

Especially if it makes him more intimidating when doing business 👀

❖ 𝐊𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐦 ❖

Sunshine incarnate ☀️

I doubt he's used to seeing people dressed that given where he's from

So it'd definitely catch his eye

He wants to know everything!! Why you want to dress like that, where you get your clothes, what other styles you tried before this one - everything from the most mundane information to what's actually interesting, he'll excitedly listen to it all

(Jamil is so incredibly grateful that you're able to keep him in one spot for so long💀)

If you offer to put together an outfit for him? Oh he's over the moon, stars in his eyes and everything

Doesn't matter what you put him in, he'll wear proudly at least once before deciding if it's for him or not

In love with the idea of matching with you🥺

Truthfully, I don't think it'd be for him, given how he usually dresses, but he'd never dismiss it without at least trying

Also he's rich, so if the clothing you want is hard to find or expensive? Have no fear, Kalim's credit card is here :D

❖ 𝐕𝐢𝐥 ❖

This diva😌

He deeply values beauty and the work that goes into it

So I feel like he'd be the one to appreciate your look the most!

Tho he is very particular about his style and how he presents himself, I think he'd absolutely be willing to try your style out and if he feels it suits him? He would have no problem including aspects of it into his everyday wear

Some goth styles might put him off tho - anything too messy/chaotic would probably not be too appealing to him. For himself, that is

If you're his s/o he no doubt holds your self expression - your own sense of personal beauty, highly and will therefore encourage and help you with it in any way he can

Like doing your makeup! Just show him how you like and he'll work his magic no problem, he's incredible at it and sees the activity as an intimate time for bonding so he enjoys it quite a bit

He just loves making his baby even prettier🥺

Definitely goes shopping with you, making sure to only give you absolutely honest feedback to ensure that you look your best always

And you don't need to worry about odd stares or anything like that, people know that if you're hanging around Vil and he has no problem with how you're dressed, then it must be the height of beauty!😌

Plus he's quite protective of your honor, after all if you're with him, you're worth every expense❤️

❖ 𝐈𝐝𝐢𝐚 ❖

If he ever decided to put more effort into how he dresses (or left his dorm more often, for starters) he could totally rock it

Unfortunately, he's an anxious mess and dressing in such a way, at least in public, would definitely not help with that😭

But behind closed doors, he's your biggest hype man

Helps you take pictures, shop online, come up with outfit ideas (tho his may be a little unorthodox...)

He just thinks you're super cool, and admires the confidence necessary to dress that way

Does his best to work up the courage to actually compliment you to your face, hair pink in embarrassment, lips stuttering and eyes flickering nervously

Be patient with him, he's trying his best and you're just... A little intimidating to him when you're in your getup

He could definately use some help with his styling and he'll listen intently... whether he'll actually put it to use is another story... and if you even get to see it

If he does decide to dress like you, he'll take a cute little embarassed picture to show you, since IRL is a bit too nerve-wracking for him (please telll him he looks pretty he'll melt completely)

Hyping you up from the sidelines but no less than the others! :D

❖ 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 ❖

My goth king 😊

Honestly, look at how this man dresses and tell me you dont agree

He's definately somewhat goth style adjacent without realizing (he doesnt know what you mean by that... all the gothic he knows has to do with architecture)

He's so curious about non-fae customs... and just about anything to do with you tbh

He's a lil obsessed

You'll definitely have to explain to him why you like it BUT HE WILL NOT JUDGE!! He's just very curious about you and your style

Just tell him you'd like to see him in your style and he's yours. Loves to feel included, will let you dress him in anything you like and will wear it with pride

Might be more partial to more regal goth styles... They remind him of his grandmother and he just thinks they look very noble and severe - which as Briar Valley royalty he definitely enjoys

We've all seen his majestic eyeshadow, he can rock any makeup no question

Please do his makeup, and don't mind the way his eyes grow wide as he admires your focused face, your careful fingers, how softly you handle him, despite knowing how strong he is

He's utterly enchanted by you is all, he thinks you look the perfect picture of a queen, dark and regal, you'll fit perfectly together when the time is right😌👀

[merrybloomwrites]

Been Here for Days

Summary: You never thought about the dangers of dating a celebrity. But when you get taken by a man who's after Harry's money you're faced with the jarring reality that you're not as safe as you thought.

Word Count: 3.7K

CW: kidnapping, drugs, violence, attempted sa, hospitals

AN: I've read a few mafia AU stories where reader gets kidnapped because of Harry's dark world. So it gave me the idea for a non-AU story in which the reader gets kidnapped, simply for being the partner of a famous and wealthy popstar. I've had this partially written for a while but it seemed fitting to include in Whumptober so I finally finished it up.

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Dating Harry Styles came with a certain level of attention. This wasn’t a surprise to you, and you learned how to deal with it fairly quickly. Harry also did a lot to protect you and try to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible. 

Whenever he did get overprotective you’d remind him that it’s okay, you knew what you signed up for. But he always reiterated that his personal life should be private, and he didn’t want people trying to get more information about the two of you than he chooses to share.

One thing that’s obvious is that no one really cares about you. Not as an individual. They care that you’re Harry’s girlfriend. There’s not a doubt in your mind that if the two of you ever broke up, you’d never have photos posted of you again. 

And you’re fine with that too. It doesn’t bother you that you’re just seen as the girlfriend, mainly because it means people don’t care to go digging and finding facts about your life. Your family has been left alone for the most part, and you can still go out alone without being bothered.

Occasionally an individual will show deep interest in you, and you’ll find a social media account dedicated to you. Sometimes it’s a fan page, sometimes it’s a hate page. You let them be, since they’re still only posting things that are already released to the public. Even these ‘more enthusiastic’ people aren’t really crossing boundaries, since they’re not trying to find private photos or follow you to get photos of their own. 

Or so you thought.

Since spring began, and the weather turned nice, you’ve been making sure to walk to work each day. Ironically, you’d gotten a job in a local bakery. You wanted a steady job of your own while Harry isn’t touring, and this seemed like a perfect choice. You love getting up early to bake and decorate what’s needed for the day. It’s calm, and therapeutic. You mostly work in the back, doing the actual baking, but occasionally you fill in up front at the register. 

Each morning you walk to work as the sun is just rising, and you get home by early afternoon. This gives you time to run errands, do some chores around the house, or just take some time to relax before Harry gets home. He’s been working more in the studio recently, but still makes it a point to get back by 5PM in order to spend a couple of hours with you every day.

You cook a meal together, talk about your days, and often put on a movie and cuddle. It’s the simple things that bring the two of you joy, just getting to end your days together. 

You wake up on Monday morning, and it starts just like the rest. You get dressed, kiss the cheek of a still sleeping Harry, and begin your walk. You have an odd feeling, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. You were up a bit later than usual the night before, enjoying some adult activities with Harry, so maybe you’re just a bit tired.

The same feeling is there on the way home. But you’d had a tough day at work with someone calling out, leaving you to try and continue baking while also working the register. 

This feeling continues the whole week, and you continue to make excuses as to why you’re so anxious during your commute each day. But when the next week is the same, you begin to grow wary. Finally, on Thursday of the second week you realize that it feels as though you’re being followed. This thought does freak you out, and you plan to talk to Harry that night at home.

But you don’t make it home.

The weather on your walk back to the house is perfect, if not even a little warm. But you don’t feel it. You feel chilled, and nervous, and you’re glancing over your shoulder every two seconds. You’re mad at yourself, berating yourself for not calling Harry to have him pick you up. You’d convinced yourself it would be fine, and you didn’t want to bother him. But now as you walk alone, sensing another person might be following you, that logic seems incredibly stupid. 

As you’re pulling out your phone to call Harry you hear a noise in the bush next to you. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound. Everything happens so quickly, yet as though it’s in slow motion. A man rushes at you, covering your mouth so you can’t scream and using his other arm to keep you still. 

You try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. Despite your best efforts, he still manages to get a needle into you. At first you feel the pinch of the needle, and then you feel nothing at all, and your world goes black. 

When you wake up, you’re disoriented. You’re in a bed, and while it’s comfy, it’s not your own. The bedroom you’re in is completely unrecognizable. Slowly, your memories come back. There was a man. Who’d probably been following you for weeks, tracking your schedule, and he’s now taken you. 

And not to some basement, or a warehouse or something creepy that you’d see in movies. No, he took you to his home. To a bed. And that feels even worse. You quickly assess your body, and are relieved to find that you’re still in your same clothes, and all you can feel are a couple minor scrapes and bruises, likely from trying to fight the man. 

There’s a window in the room so you get up and peek out. It’s dark, indicating a lot of time has passed. You can’t see anything outside, no other houses, and hope it’s just because of how dark it is. Because the idea that there’s nothing nearby is causing you to panic even more than you already are. 

You check the door, but of course it’s locked from the outside. The window won’t open either. You’re trapped. 

There is a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but no way to escape from there either. It does mean you can take a sip of water and splash some water on your face which helps calm you briefly. 

Taking deep breaths you begin to pace. Your mind spins, trying to come up with escape scenarios, and hoping that someone is figuring out where you are so they can come get you. The sky turns pink outside and you check your surroundings again. 

There’s nothing but a large open field. No biggie. Maybe there’s civilization out the front of the house. There’s no way you’re locked in a house with a crazy person out in the middle of nowhere. 

Tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. There’s got to be a way out of here. A way back home. A way to Harry. 

You’re left alone for what feels like hours. You’re a little hungry, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment. 

Finally, the door opens. You stand your ground in the middle of the room, not wanting to back yourself into a corner for whatever is about to happen. 

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight, not showing any weakness to the person who took you. 

“Well good morning sweetheart,” he says. The pleasantries, the nickname, it’s all nauseating to you, but you keep your expression unreadable. 

“My name is Roy. I’ve been watching you and your boyfriend. You make a very cute little couple.”

“What do you want with me?” You ask, ignoring how violated you feel at the confirmation that this strange man has been following you. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Money. I want money. Harry seems to be quite devoted to you. I bet he’ll pay anything to get you back.” 

And it is obvious, really. It shouldn’t come as a surprise at all that people would want Harry’s money. But you never expected anyone to literally kidnap you for it. 

“Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure you have food and water and a safe place to stay. Might rough you up a bit, maybe have some fun,” he says as he steps forward and runs a finger along your cheek, causing you to recoil and bump into the bed behind you. 

He laughs at that, seeming to enjoy your discomfort, and then adds, “Of course that may be some good incentive for your boyfriend. I’m sure he’d hate to see anything bad happen to you.”

Your fear amps up a notch hearing this but you keep your emotions off of your face. You’re determined to stay strong throughout this whole ordeal. This man does not get to overpower you, doesn’t get to see you break like you’re sure he wants. 

He steps back a moment later and says, “Just need a quick picture, you know proof of life, proof I have you, all that.” Before you can register what he’s saying he takes out an old camera and takes your picture, the flash stunning you. 

“I brought you a sandwich and some water. It’s all sealed so you know I haven’t done anything to it. Wouldn’t want you starving yourself or dehydrating,” he says as he hands you the items. You take them, confirming they are in fact unopened. 

“Eat. I’ll be back later,” he says before stepping out of the room. You hear the definitive click of the lock but you still double check, just in case it’s open. 

Of course it isn’t, but you had to try. After examining the food to confirm it hasn’t been tampered with you take a tentative bite. It’s good, and that first bite kick starts your appetite so you quickly eat the rest. 

Roy comes back hours later to drop off dinner. He again leaves you alone to eat, and you’re starting to get lulled into a false sense of security. You think that maybe it won’t be so bad. If he’s just after money, then he might just leave you alone and then he’ll get paid and you’ll be home. 

But of course it can’t be that simple. 

Later that evening he comes back in.

“I’m bored,” he says. Just two words shouldn’t be so bone chilling, but you understand the implication. He’s bored and you’re at his mercy. He’s already drugged and kidnapped you. There’s not telling what else he’s capable of. 

By the time he leaves again you're bruised, and there’s blood running from your split lip. He’d thrown you around, hit you hard enough to send you to the ground where he kicked you repeatedly. It was terrifying and painful. 

But you admit to yourself that it could’ve been worse. You somehow convince yourself that it wasn’t so bad, that you’ll recover quickly once you get home.

After another day and a half with Roy, you’re doubting that will happen. You’re doubting you’ll recover. You’re doubting that you’ll get home. The situation has turned from terrible to terrifying. 

You’ve spent three nights in this room, including the one you were mostly unconscious for. Roy’s violence has grown, and now he seems to be changing plans again. 

“These bruises look lovely on you,” he says. It’s creepy as fuck, and indicates that whatever happens next will be awful. 

“While the violence has been fun, there are other ways to bruise your skin. I think I’ll do that today instead.”

After days of beatings you’re too tired to fight back. You lay there crying as he climbs on top of you and pins you down. His mouth goes to your neck and he begins to suck a mark there. Bile rises in your throat and it takes everything in you not to vomit at the feeling of him so close to you, touching you in this way. 

You’re wondering how you’re going to survive what’s sure to come next when there’s a noise. Suddenly the door slams open and nearly a dozen people enter the room. At first you’re terrified that they’re here to hurt you as well, but then Roy is pulled off of you and handcuffed and you realize that they’re police officers there to save you. 

One comes and talks to you, reassures you that everything is going to be okay, but still, you’re scared. It’s too much. Too much noise, and commotion, and people. You’re overwhelmed.

And then one more person enters the room. He looks different, more frazzled with a longer beard than you’ve ever seen. But as he crouches beside the bed and holds your hand between his, there’s no denying that Harry is here. 

There’s a darkness that’s been pulling at you for a while, and now that Harry’s here and you’re safe, you finally let it pull you under. 

You wake up in an uncomfortable bed wearing an itchy gown. There are bandages wrapped on various parts of your body and tubes and wires attached to you. Everything is still hazy, but you know there’s a hand holding yours. 

You quickly and clumsily pull away, not wanting anyone to touch you right now. 

Slowly the world around you refocuses, and you realize the person next to you is Harry. As much as you want his comfort, you can’t bear to have anyone’s skin touching yours. Not when it only makes you think of Roy and what he did. And what he was planning to do. 

Over the next few hours people come and go from your room. Nurses, doctors, detectives, all sharing information and asking you questions. 

But you say nothing. You don’t respond. You lay there, watching with a blank expression. Someone brings in food for dinner, and you eat just enough to make them happy before pushing away the tray and curling further into your blankets. 

The next day is much the same. They bring in a trauma counselor and though she’s a kind woman, you still say nothing. 

And it’s not that you’re upset with, or mad at these people. They’ve done nothing to you. But there’s this block in your mind right now. You’re so exhausted from the whole ordeal that it’s taking everything in you just to eat food and drink water and get yourself to and from the bathroom. 

Another two days pass and your doctor is in the room talking to Harry. He tried speaking to you but still you’re unable to find your voice. 

“Medically, she’s well enough to go home,” the doctor says. “Her injuries are healing well enough that I’m ready to discharge her.” 

You perk up a bit at this news. You miss home, miss the big comfy bed with the big windows. You miss your garden, and how peaceful it is. Hearing that you might be able to go back to your house with Harry has you more alert than you’ve been in days.

But then the doctor adds, “However, I’m concerned by her mental state. She still hasn’t said anything, and she barely lets anyone touch her. It’s important that her bandages get changed regularly and I’m worried that she won’t allow you to help with that. So until that changes she’ll have to stay here.”

Your heart drops at that. The despair you feel has you finally breaking through and suddenly you say, “No. Home.”

They both look at you and Harry quickly moves to the side of your bed. 

“What was that, baby?” he asks. He looks hopeful and you know that he’s just happy to hear you speak again.

“Home. Please,” you state. It’s hard to talk, full sentences being something you can’t do yet. But you get your point across and Harry looks at the doctor to see what he has to say about this advancement. 

Your doctor comes closer as well and asks, “Will you be okay with Harry helping you at home? He’ll have to touch you to properly clean and bandage your wounds.”

You nod, but you know that alone won’t convince them. Even though it takes a lot of courage to do this, you reach out your hand and grab Harry’s. He gasps at the contact and quickly laces your fingers with his. It feels foreign, and you hate that you no longer feel comfortable holding hands with the person who used to be your safe place. 

Apparently that was the right move, though, because you’re discharged by the end of the day. You get wheeled out, and Harry helps you get from the chair into the car that’s there for you. There’s still an overwhelming part of you that wants to flinch away from his touch, but you tell yourself that he needs this. He needs to be able to help you. 

On the drive, Harry informs you of the updated security the two of you will have. It’s weird to know that there will be people watching the house at all times, but you admit to yourself that it makes you feel better. 

Once you’re finally home you breathe a sigh of relief. And then you get to your room and the exhaustion hits again. 

You sit down on the bed and Harry moves through the house, doing all kinds of things that he thinks will help you. His nervousness is obvious, and you want to tell him you’re okay, that he should relax.

When he focuses on you again he asks, “What can I get for you? What do you need?”

“Bed.” 

“You’re tired? You want to get ready for bed?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, we can do that. Let me get you some clothes and then we can go brush our teeth together. And I’ll bring up some water and maybe some food in case you wake up hungry since you didn’t eat too much dinner before we left the hospital,” he rambles. It seems that he’s trying to make up for your lack of words by speaking more than usual. 

Harry grabs the clothes and walks over to you. It’s clear that he’s about to help you up and so you quickly stand and walk to the bathroom before he has the chance to touch you. You hate seeing the pain in his eyes at your rejection, but you’re just not ready yet. 

After getting ready you climb into bed. It’s so soft, so comfortable, and so familiar that you quickly fall asleep. 

You wake up with a jolt, your heart racing as the images of your dream race through your mind. The worst part is that it’s not just a made up nightmare, but the memories of the nightmare you actually lived. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks and he reaches out a hand to comfort you. He quickly pulls it back when he sees the way you eye it with fear and trepidation. 

“I can go,” he says. “If you’re uncomfortable with me in the bed I can stay in the next room.”

Immediately you panic at the thought of him going anywhere. “No. Stay. Please. Just, don’t touch,” you reply.

He nods and the two of you sit there in bed next to each other. You begin to cry and Harry fights back tears of his own. 

After a few minutes Harry says, “They wouldn’t let me pay the ransom.”

You turn to him, confused for a moment. And then you realize that he’s explaining why it took so long to get you out. 

“When I got the message from…him. I showed it to the detectives who were here and told them I’d pay immediately so I could get you back. But they wouldn’t let me. Said it would set a precedent and put you in even more danger. Make you a target. That if I listened to this crazy person’s demands and gave him what he wanted, more people might try to take you to get money as well. I hated knowing that they were right. That I couldn’t do the one thing in my power to help you without making life riskier for you. And I hated that you being with me put you in that position in the first place. Y/N, I am so sorry that this happened to you, that it happened because of me.” 

His voice breaks and you sit for another moment absorbing what he’d just said. You didn’t realize before, but now you know that you were mad at him. You were mad that it took so long for them to get you. But everything he said makes sense to you.

And as horrible as the experience was for you, it was awful for him as well. He looks just as exhausted as you are, and though he didn’t deal with the pain and terror that you did, he spent days filled with anxiety and fear and guilt. 

You lay down on your back, looking up and trying to silently send him a message. Once he understands he lays down as well. Slowly, one inch at a time, you shift closer to him. Finally, you turn and lay your hand on his chest. He brings up his hand and places it gently on top of yours.

The touch no longer feels foreign to you. It finally feels comforting again. Building up courage, you move again, lifting your head until you can place it on his chest. This time he doesn’t hesitate, but quickly wraps his free arm around your shoulders, holding you close to him.

For a moment you panic, feeling trapped by him. But then you take a deep breath, inhaling Harry’s distinct smell, and you relax into his hold. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. Harry lets out a sob and you squeeze his hand reassuringly. After a moment he controls his tears and regulates his breathing. 

“I love you. So much,” he says.

“I love you too,” you reply.

You know that this isn’t the end. There’s a long road of recovery ahead of you. But being able to lean on Harry, to trust him fully again, you know that you’re going to be okay. He’s going to be there, he’ll help you on the bad days and celebrate the good. 

He begins to quietly sing, filling the room with his familiar and comforting voice. He lulls you back to sleep, but stays up for a while just watching you, reveling in the feeling of having you back in his arms, home where you belong. Safe and sound once again.

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AN: Thank you for reading!

[antimony-medusa]

Someone asked me for notes on writing technoblade so:

this is how I do characterization, just in random order.

deadpan or "dry" but not monotone— he's often quite expressive just in a deadpan way.

FUNNY. Humour is hard though so you can skate by on just being sarcastic and deadpan.

Sarcastic.

doesn't often say that someone is important to him in words, not in a literal fashion— the reason why things like "for you the world" or "my best friend" or "bro" or "good friend and disciple" gets celebrated is because he wouldn't say that sort of thing often. He is not out here calling people sunshine. Techno's out here saying "oh I'm not endeared" and "there's a RACCOON in my basement" and "that's what I'd expect from you, old man", but at the same time in actions he's very clearly showing that he cares— fight alongside someone, give them gifts, invite them to stay. Complaining about being woken up and how he needs his beauty sleep and how he's gonna wither to ashes while he makes you supper and won't let you apologize and sets up the guest room for you. And then says of course he's doing it he values this friendship. and then tells you how you could make anything you want for breakfast don't wake him before ten or he'll crumble to dust

especially with phil, very rarely MEAN/cutting, even while bantering and complaining— he'll call him an old man who's fallen off but he won't make fun of how he talks or call him stupid or a burden or tell him to shut up. He will tell tommy to stop talking but that would be because tommy was yelling his opinions at people like a grackle

anxiety— he wins fights because he overprepares. the beginning of every stream is so much brewing and armour and grinding. The world is dangerous and the only way to face it is to Git Gud. HE WILL BE GRINDING.

loves animals.

general-purpose nerd. people boil this down to english-major a lot, but things I have heard technoblade go on tangents about include math, psychology, greek mythology, metaphor, and How To Balance The Game

canonically into golf? I don't use that but yeah.

it's fair if I can grind the game sufficiently to make it work. will use exploits and edge cases and also expects them to be used against him cause that's just the game we're playing, right?

dark humour. this is a guy who made jokes about his execution and then his cancer. If he is in peril or something terrible is happening he will be joking about it. Most of the time however that is very carefully dark humour that is about, in the metaphor, him on the gallows, not being part of the crowd at a public execution.

Neurodivergent. This Man Has ADHD. in-game he had the zoomies a lot, he jumped conversational topics, he got distracted and missed stuff.

socially uncomfortable but has social skills— you see the discomfort especially on places like SMPearth or when he's not in a highly scripted lore call. He'll be falling back on silence or falling out of the conversation unless he's comfortable with people, and then you see WAY more of the fast joking, on a sliding scale of how comfortable he was with people. You can absolutely tell if he's comfortable with people and it correlates to how much company manners he's putting on. Like he'll make the effort socially, but you can tell he's plotting his escape from this conversation most of the time on SMPearth unless with his allies.

you can get an incredibly long way with dropping your gs, "bruh", and deadpan sarcasm.

kinda guy to use "wanna" and "soporific" in the same sentence. Big vocabulary, informal mode of speaking unless he's giving a prepared speech.

On SMPearth jokes about world conquest and domination, on DSMP jokes about being the bad guy/withers/terrorism, on origins jokes about cancer.

Will talk himself up as the best and powerful while also in a way that implies he doesn't really believe that or think it's important. First Try, Chat, he'll say, while very clearly and obviously going for the sixth try. Didn't even sweat, while a moment ago he was audibly panicking down the mic. Kinda guy to talk about his enormous clout and then turn the conversation around to how Ranboo has higher viewership and he personally has fallen off and is dying and being flattened— not in a complaining way, but in a "you're doing so awesome you beat me so good great game" way.

does not swear while on stream. We know he swore off-stream but those clips are few and far between. You will get people twitch if you have techno swearing though.

I've run out of thoughts, does anyone else have more ideas for Techno characterization?

[tryingtofindava]

── 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

: ̗̀➛Back to source

INCLUDES: Ticci Toby, Jeff the Killer, Clockwork, Nina the Killer, Eyeless Jack.

THESE CAN BE READ AS ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

Giggling the whole time.

Feels like Halloween horror nights are the only time of year he can walk around without covering his gash.

Will yap to you about how fake the blood looks and how it’s not thick or dark enough.

MAKE SURE YOU KEEP UP WITH HIM CAUSE HE WILL RUN OFF.

Type of guy to walk in the path of scare actors so they try and scare him, only to laugh in their faces when they do.

He’ll also push you in the direction of scare actors. (He’ll feel a little bad if you genuinely get scared)

“I suh-said I-I was sorry!!”

“You pushed me into him!! I don’t care!!”

Will hold your hand if you do get freaked out about stuff like this<3

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Also like Toby, feels like it’s the only time of year where he can walk around freely in public (not that he doesn’t anyways at night) without any consequences, cause for all they know he’s just a sick bastard dressing up as a real life serial murderer for the horror fest.

Will also probably pretend to be a scare actor to scare everyone. You two may or may not be kicked out for that…

Gets pissy if someone scares him or catches him off guard. (They will end up dead)

Will not try to comfort you if you get scared, will probably make fun of you and try to scare you even more.

Let’s just say you guys probably won’t be doing this again next year..

╰┈➤ 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

She lives for this shit, a total adrenaline junkie.

Will point at all the cool gorey things, also may tell you if she’s done something like that to a victim… not to freak you out of course just because she found it funny that’s she’s offed someone similarly.

Will be your knight in shining armour if you get freaked out or something, and put an arm around your shoulder.

She will cackle if she sees a kid crying after getting jump scared and deffo gets disapproving glares from parents, so you’ll have to drag her away.

“Heh, that kid shit his pants!” She said all too loudly, the mother of the crying child shooting her a deadly glare.

“C’mon, let’s go…” You grab her wrist and tug her away, casting a apologetic smile to the mother.

You guys will probably just spend the night giggling and looking at everything.

╰┈➤ 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Every time she gets scared she’ll scream as loud as she can then laugh her ass off.

Will haul your ass around, she definitely wants to do EVERYTHING all at once.

Will totally crush on the scare actors.

She’ll gush over the most repulsive bloodiest monster ever.

“OH EM GEE!! He’s so cute~!!”

“Nina, what… the fuck?”

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

Very underwhelmed by everything, he just watches while you drag him around.

People will probably mistake him for a scare actor from his mask, and just how tall he is in general.

Will let out a small huff of amusement if you scream at anything.

Hm, the fake blood does make him hungry though, so you’ll have to make sure he’s well fed. Unless you want to make it a real horror night…

Overall not gonna get much reactions outta him, better luck next time.

WROTE THIS FOR MY HALLOWEEN SPECTACULAR AND IM TRYING TO CATCH UP

[padfootagain]

Coming Home

Hi!! Answering a request by @stevecore here! Thank you for your request!

Hope you like it! It’s pretty sweet! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem! Reader

Warning: Fluff, comfort, being reunited

Summary: After being separated for several weeks because of his touring, you and Andrew are finally reunited as you come pick him up at the airport.

Word Count: 1990

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

By the window, you can see the planes landing. The dark tarmac, the rain falling, turning skies grey and the world blurry. Such busy places, airports. Happy ones, too, for the most part. You think about the journeys you have started in this place, the adventures you have gotten yourself into, the wonderful memories you have built.

A mother hushes her child past you, carrying the boys backpack, heading closer to the gate you were patiently waiting before as well. The boy seems excited, he must be waiting for someone, just like you are. You remain behind most of the group that has gathered in front of the large sign screaming ARRIVALS. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, or to the person you’re waiting for. You don’t want anyone to notice who you’ve been missing, who you’re about to meet again.

You check your watch, for what has to be the thousandth time. Andrew should have reached you twenty minutes ago now, but planes are rarely on time. You heave a sigh, try to ignore the giddy feeling that tickles your stomach when you think of him, of holding the man you love again, of welcoming him home.

It’s a risky business, to come pick him up at the airport and to wait at the terminal instead of the car. Anyone could recognise him, take a picture, put it on social media, and you don’t want to be included in the public part of his life. None of you want to. This, what you share together, it’s just for the two of you. That’s what makes you a safe place for him, that’s what makes him be him when you’re around, that’s what keeps you safe, too. So, you’re extra careful not to be in anybody’s way, staying a few steps away from the small crowd. No one is paying attention to you, and you’re satisfied with that. The risk is worth it, though. Andrew’s been away for three months, it’s one of the longest runs he’s done without seeing you at all, and you’re missing him so much at this point, you’ve stopped functioning properly. This long distance part of your relationship is shit, but you love him, and you know he wouldn’t be happy without music in his life. So, it’s worth it. Besides, there are very few moments as happy as your reunions. Holding him against you again makes it worth the long, lonely wait.

The last time you were here, it was to help Andrew carry his stuff when he left. You can see yourself again, walking across the hall, putting on a brave face while your heart was breaking, carrying his guitar and one of his bags while Andrew carried the rest. You remember seeing Alex and Rory from afar, they were all leaving together, but Andrew had stopped while still being a fair distance away from them. He had turned to you, a gentle smile on his lips despite his eyes turning fully green with tears.

I’ll call you when I land.

You close your eyes for a second, feeling his arms around you, the way he had held you close that morning, three months ago.

Wait for me. I love you more than anything. Let me come back to you.

He says that every time he leaves, like he expects you to move on without him. How can he be so fucking stupid? How can he be so blind as to not see that you would wait a lifetime for him if you had to.

You can almost feel his lips onto yours, the skin tickles with the memory of his stubble brushing your chin, of his hot breath on your mouth, of his fingers on your cheeks.

You hear a small boy crying out, and you notice it’s the one who has walked by you just a moment before. He rushes through the crowd to an old man wearing a tweed cap and a long blue coat. Grey hair, a grin on his lips as he bends to scoop up the boy. You smile as you watch the cute reunion, grandfather and grandson together again.

That means your man should come out soon, too. Usually, Andrew lingers at the back of the groups of passengers, waiting for most people to be gone or too busy with their loved ones to pay any attention to him. So, you’re surprised when you see him towering above the crowd, a red cap on his head, his hair tied in a messy bun. He’s wearing a simple brown blazer, some blue jeans, an old black hoodie. At least three layers of clothing. Your eyes water at the sight, you can’t help the wave of fondness that washes over your heart. Him and his bloody layers…

You wave at him, trying to be discreet, but that’s enough for him to spot you, his eyes scanning the crowd until they find yours. You’re surprised again when he makes a bee line to you, moving awkwardly across the crowd, head down and apologies stumbling again and again from his lips. He’s not being discreet at all, but you don’t mind, because that means he’s almost reached you now. You don’t spot Alex, nor Rory behind him, and to be honest you don’t care at all about them. You guess they’re waiting patiently for the crowd to dissipate, but Andrew hasn’t. He’s almost running now, his long legs devouring the metres that still separate the two of you, and you move towards him as well. You catch his gaze with yours and see the same relief, the same haste, the same desperation in his eyes as the feelings you recognise in your own heart. You’re going to cry, any second now, but you don’t mind…

He lets his bags drop at his feet, his guitar case strapped to his back, and then his arms are wrapped around you, capturing you in a tight embrace, one that makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t mind. The mere sight of him has knocked all the air out of your lungs anyway, and you hold him with the same desperation.

You break when you breathe in his cologne, something woody and filled with rain, something so familiar, something that screams home to you…

“Christ…”

His voice is weak and shaking, deeper than usual, you know he’s crying too. Happy tears though. Your tears are happy and relieved. He tries to move away but you cling onto him, making him chuckle as he holds you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear, the arm around your waist helping you keep your balance while you’re on your tiptoes and he’s bent down to bury his face in your hair. “Jesus… I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

You can hear the tears in his voice, the way his throat has tightened, but you’re no better, so you can’t tease him about being a sap…

“I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad you’re home, baby…”

He relaxes in your arms as he hears the pet name. Your embrace is his true home, your sweet perfume numbs his senses and tells him he’s right where he belongs. Three months without you was too long, he’ll never make another run so long again, he can’t function properly anymore, and he would be lying, were he to pretend that he took care of himself. He knows that when you’re home you’ll worry when you help him out of his clothes, between kisses you’ll run your fingers down his chest and frown at the traces of his ribs under his skin. You won’t say anything, you’d never make a comment about his weight, but he knows what your frown will mean. That you’re noticing he’s lost some weight, and you’ll worry he’s not eating enough on the road, that he’s not taking care of himself. You’ll serve him an extra portion of pasta at lunch, a few hours later, after you’ve taken a shower together and spent a few hours catching up on the intimacy and pleasure you’ve missed on these past months. He’ll say nothing, and eat everything, and he won’t say it but he’ll feel that warm feeling, that radiant fondness he has only for you, because you take care of him… because you love him…

He's waited so long to hold you, it feels like a lifetime ago since he left. Touring is hectic and generally makes him lose track of time, but this time around he was away from you for too long. He had been counting down the days till he would be home for the past month. He’s never staying away for so long again… never again…

You move your head to kiss him, he knows that’s what your hand in his hair means, and he meets you halfway, turns to kiss you, at long last. He’s waited so long for this, and he doesn’t know how you do it. How kissing you, even after years of relationship, is still as exciting as your very first kiss. How he still has the same butterflies, the same warmth in his chest, the same stammering of his heart. Although, he’s wrong, it’s not quite the same, he realises it now. It’s better, thanks to all the time you have spent together, all the love you have nurtured for each other along the years.

When he pulls away, he holds your face in the palm of his hand to look at you, to study your face, committing each detail to memory, even if he already knows every millimetre of your face, of your entire body. He dries your cheek with his thumb, gives you an emotional yet bright grin.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, making you smile.

“Hey, handsome,” you answer, making him stupidly giggle.

He feels giddy, like a schoolboy, euphoric even.

And you feel the same. You straighten his cap on his head, you’ve messed it up when you kissed him and got a little carried away. You have a million things to say, a thousand stories to tell him despite talking with him on the phones almost daily, a billion kisses to shower him with and all you can think now that you stare at his handsome features is the bed you share together and the feeling of his skin against yours, how you long to feel it again.

You’re about to tell him that you should go home. He’s going to nod, and kiss you again before grabbing his things and heading out of the airport without waiting for Alex and Rory. He’s told them goodbye when they picked up their luggage, and he won’t even think about them when you hold onto his arm and pull him towards the exit. He’s going to let you drive because he’s tired after his flight, and it’s your car anyway. You’ll chat, and he’ll call you a goddess for having a thermos of black coffee waiting for him on the passenger seat. You’ll head home and spend the day together, and the week together, and the month together, as much time as you can, before he has to leave again.

But for now, there is something important that you must remind him of, the most important thing in your life. He too has something important to say, and you giggle when you both realise you’re saying the same thing at the same time.

“I love you.”

[starberry-cupcake]

it took me so long to be able to sit down and recap that I had to scroll a lot to find my draft

previously in nona del 9:

this happened (including a very unexpected thing I predicted)

this is the general tag (where you can find out how long I've started predicting that and how unaware I was of what I was doing)

CHAPTER 28 (cracked sixth skull!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! noooooo!!!!!!)

nona wakes up disoriented like jonas in dark

someone says "Chill" and I know immediately it's probably gideon

nona

(aka ice cube barbie, I guess, but we're gonna call her nona while she's behaving as such)

(I did guess that one right as well, that one I'm more proud of than the ice cube barbie nickname)

finds herself in a truck that's in a tunnel

and indeed gideon is there, staring at her

gideon asks nona "where is she?", which I think means where's harrow

wouldn't all of us like to know

she also asks "do you love her?" which kind of leaves nona totally confused

and pyrrha tells gideon to "take a walk"

but I'm on gideon's side tbh

because for all intents and purposes, from gideon's pov, she finds harrow's body (after having occupied it briefly) and has this random ice cube barbie in it and she's like

it isn't her fault that everyone got attached to nona while she wasn't there and that nobody has the same attachment to harrow that she does

like, I know allegedly some of them care about harrow (idk how much pyrrha does, but most of the surviving canaan gang might, minus judith) but nobody has the same link to her that gideon does

are you gonna tell me camilla would have behaved differently if this was about palmolive's body being used (and potentially killed) by an ice cube barbie? if she didn't know where actual palmolive was? or pyrrha with og!gideon? I don't think

am I being too defensive on gideon's behalf when nobody asked me to? maybe so

anyway, pyrrha back off, thank you

pyrrha looks like she's half past dead and very tired, but don't we all

pyrrha also tells gideon to "stop being a little shit" to which gideon replies with "it's genetic" and that got a chuckle out of me ngl

pyrrha is about to call nona "A—" (which might be AL, etc.) and nona freaks out and tells her that she doesn't want to remember

nona also has some necro stuff on her that's meant to keep her in harrow's body as long as possible

also, nona snaps at pyrrha and acts more like ice cube barbie would, with the things she tells her and how she says it

she's very upset

taunting pyrrha for acting like a family and saying "you should have given into your desires and eaten us"

she also asks pyrrha to let her die

btw, turns out they found the sixth thanks to the kiddie intel

most hard working characters in the whole series

especially kevin

pyrrha is also again with her pessimism saying "I'm not sure any of us are getting out of this one"

not with that attitude, pyrrha

nona then looks around at the sixth, helped by pyrrha, who carries her, and notices that most of them have been blinded

camilla is in a wheelchair with chad!palmolive behind her

palmolive is very nervous about how his mom is going around making friends with every BOE person she meets

we missed palmolive's mom, she's great

palmolive says yandere twin is getting lively and kicking, which makes it sound like him and chad are expecting

pyrrha says palmolive is too lively, which means he knows something she doesn't

as if that didn't happen all the time since we've met the man

he always knows something we don't

and he's not very good at giving a heads up about it

we suffer is also feeling like pyrrha so, not good

palmolive and camilla are again discussing plans nobody has any idea about, basically mentioning the escape and that gideon helped with some specifications

BOE is trying to do what they can with the heralds and whatnot but it's not looking great

so, palmolive says they need to put the sixth house back in the truck

palmolive's plan is to go through the river, take everyone to the nine houses and find the sixth they parked outside the star system

this is pyrrha after hearing the plan

palmolive and camilla have a plan to make this happen and he asks for camilla's family to be present, but she wants just her sister because her dads wouldn't "understand"

this is me rn

especially because camilla is looking very weak and that doesn't align with my fantasy

pyrrha catches up with what they're trying to do and gives a moving speech so that they don't do it ("you've been stand-ins for something I haven't had for longer than either of you can understand")

but we all know that if palmolive and camilla have decided something, it's done

camilla says "Just watch us", which proves my point

pyrrha kisses them on the mouth also

the invited party come in, with coronabeer also there, looking very tense

palmolive and camilla go sit on the floor together and camilla is feeling really tired

it's time to start the prayer circle, familia

nona tried to get closer but she almost falls flat on her face and gideon is still trying to act like she doesn't deeply care about her besties

then, the emotional speeches begin

"the perfect friendship, the perfect love. I cannot imagine reaching the end of this life and having any regrets, so long as I had been allowed to experience being your adept"

"will she know who we are, in the River?" "I truly think we see ourselves and each other as we really are"

"but say yes, and we will make this end, and this beginning, together"

"My whole life, yes. Yes, forever, yes. Life is too short and love is too long."

"Don't look back. Whatever you do, don't look back."

CAN WE TAKE A MOMENT FOR THIS AMAZING QPR???

CAN WE TAKE A MOMENT AND APPRECIATE THAT????

WE LOVE TO SEE IT

WE HATE TO SEE IT UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, BUT ALSO WE LOVE TO SEE IT DEPICTED

so, after all that, camilla bursts into flames spontaneously

yes, ok, so

WHAT THE FUCK

she rolls around, stands up, rolls around some more, becomes featureless and, eventually, the flames die

they ROASTED my WIFE

I'm fine, I'M FINE, I'M TRUSTING THE PROCESS

then, the figure stands up, naked, and asks for clothes, as if nothing had just happened

we suffer gives them her coat and nona notices an emotionless expression on them

nona says they have camilla's figure and features, but new eyes and face

NEW EYES, YOU GUYS

but nona notices that the new person isn't quite camilla nor are they quite palmolive

they march towards the inert body of yandere chad and take the handkerchief from them

they give it to nona as a birthday gift because, as we guessed, the birthday party is cancelled

not for a lack of guests, because nona is back in the gang

but the whole imminent disaster for the planet is making it quite difficult to host a party there

yandere chad wakes up and says "So there was another way, Sextus, after all"

and the new person offers yandere chad to come with and says "We are the love that is perfected by death—but even death will be no more; death can also die. There's still time, Ianthe. Time for you, and for Naberius Tern."

yandere chad says "I bet you say that to all the boys" before dropping vacant again

YOU HEARD OF CAMILLA AND PALMOLIVE

YOU HEARD OF CAMOLIVE

NOW GET READY FOR

CAMOLYCTOR

CHAPTER 29 (first house skull, means I'm in danger)

the sixth goes back into the truck without any complaints, which means every single one of them are saints, because I'd probably rather die at that point

that takes away points from my sixth house test

camolyctor doesn't need a wheelchair or medication anymore in their new camolyctor state

they actually go around healing people with a touch or two

which is perfect because I'm writing this recap on easter

if there was a day to talk about the resurrection, amirite

but everything is fine, and not only because camilla somewhat survived and my potential sixth qpr polycule is packaged in one container

but because NOODLE IS HERE

angel teacher and yandere pash are also there, but it's not as important as noodle being there

and yandere pash says they're coming with, because angel teacher decided that they are

I'm gonna have to put up with yandere pash for longer

but I'd love to see how her and gideon get along

(I hope not well, for my personal entertainment)

(playing with two dolls and making them fight)

(I hope gideon throws hands with her cousin)

(here's where all the yandere pash fans come for me, I've been here before, I know how it is)

angel teacher says "we" exist and that makes them a "liability"

STILL DON'T KNOW HOW THIS VET IS SO IMPORTANT

I've had theories about things before, some I got right, others I got wrong, but I'm lost with this one

I don't even have a theory for this one

she says she's the messenger, that the message has two parts and nona is looking at one of those parts, which is "aim", passed to her from her predecessor "Emma Sen"

she says the message is too easy for humans to understand and asks if nona knows

but nona is as lost as I am

"aim high?" "aim true?" "aim to the emperor's head?" that one isn't two words

I wondered if "emma sen" was also some kind of a message, since they call this one "aim" and that's a message in itself, allegedly

but so far, I'm nowhere with this

I assume nona aka ice cube barbie is gonna get it when she has to and not before

meanwhile, nona is becoming more and more paralyzed

and pyrrha says "I think it's time we wake you up"

KNOCK KNOCK TOMB

she wasn't there when harrow got there but, at this point, what do I know

barbie facts, apparently, that's what I know

god I hate that jonman and I were on the same wavelength about some things

was his mom the one who stole my hollywood hair barbie?

where was jonbutt's mom in the 90s and was it a camping site in south america

gideon was already in the cockpit when they get there and pyrrha goes "Hey, kid"

pyrrha, which is it? are you nona's dadmom or gideon's dadmom, you can't pick both sides

gideon finding out her heritage in the worst time like jon snow and being like "thanks, I hate it"

camolyctor comes in with the commander, coronabeer and judith, who's looking a bit better but still needs to support herself on coronabeer

or maybe they don't need to do that but they want to cuddle

it's all good

we suffer says she's leaving them with the entire hope for BOE, which, no pressure

she gives them Protocol One which, for them, means "live"

camolyctor chooses a name that isn't camolyctor, which is what I'd like to keep calling them

they choose paul

because palmolive is probably a fan of dune

he read the books and likes the new movies more than the 84 one but likes kyle maclachlan more than timmy chammy as paul atreides

why do I keep using these recaps to post headcanons about palmolive's potential takes on media????????

anyway, we suffer says goodbye to the gang and to camolyctor paul atreides

and says she's gonna give a special goodbye to palmolive's mom who has learned a lot of the names of the BOE already

we love palmolive's mom

coronabeer is like "Paul...Hect?" and they're like

gideon also tries to get into the nickname game and suggests "u lap" and "aulp" but camolyctor it is

they're a better, improved and not dub con version of a lyctor, but the name fits for me

everyone looks worried except for camolyctor paul atreides, who is just chill

have no idea what that would feel like

they start driving but, at that moment, nona gets interrupted by a john chapter

which means she's unconscious???

JOHN 5:4

"From time to time an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters. The first one into the pool after each such disturbance would be cured of whatever disease they had."

ok then

happy easter

dr reverend emperor john cringe is now on a beach and writing initials in the sand

he writes a J and an E, then changes it for an A and then for an H

earth, annabelle lee and harrow????

I started my earth theory about 16 chapters in

not sure exactly how harrow fits into all this

if it's not a harrow thing precisely or if, because she's a baby blender, harrow has a connection to ice cube barbie and is why she could see her

like, when her parents did the thing they did, the mini resurrection and all that, and also she got some of gideon's battery power through it, maybe she also got something from the tomb because it was right there

alleged harrow asks about what it means to love god as a child of the ninth

which might be the first (?) direct time she references something harrow-related

dr reverend emperor john says that "after this" she'll resurrect "them"

"The ones I left, I'll bring back. I know I can. Even G—. In fact, G—'ll be the easiest–he won't remember the compound–none of them will have to remember anything."

I'm sure this will solve the fact that you're both a cringe man and unhinged

making everyone forget how cringe and unhinged you are

it's not as if we clocked it the moment you showed up

(it's been over a year of these recaps, it's taking me some sweet ass time, you guys are patient)

"I did need to do it"

his story also isn't aligning with some details, it seems he detonated everything before og!gideon's bomb went off, but he forgot to cover that for a second

he says there can be no forgiveness but doesn't specify for whom

he goes "do you remember what happens now?" and harrow stands up

she isn't "alleged harrow" anymore, now she's named harrow for real

and she goes "through her, I've seen it", which means she did somewhat connect to ice cube barbie, probably by the end of book 2 and all that

she says dr reverend emperor john always resets things on his terms and with whoever he sees fit

and that he needs ice cube barbie for it and she can't die if he doesn't

ice cube barbie is only scared of dying

"I saw the face of the Earth and the chocked life out of it and ate it whole"

I WAS ON THE RIGHT TRACK, BABY!!!

he knew the others turned into RBs, and that they would come for him

I assume ice cube barbie isn't one because he kept her in that form

so he brought back his gang to help him fight while he hid

he says something will satisfy them eventually but nothing will ever satisfy him

"that's all the end of the Earth was...making things clean. It gets dirty again, you clean it again."

isn't that a speech I've heard a million times and an ethical, moral, social and political red flag

but harrow is here for the receipts

"I want to understand the mathematics, now that I have seen them for myself. I want to know how many of the Resurrection are left, and how many you begun with, and what the discrepancies are. I want to know where you put them. They didn't go into the River. I want to know why she was angry...and why you were terrified."

"perhaps, the child of the Nine Houses will recognize a different divine"

harrow says she needs to find god even if she "lies, right now, within the Tomb"

so harrow goes into the river

and she sees a tower somewhere in the distance, appearing from the water

she steps into the river and decides to start there

and I'd love her to go to the tomb because our gang is going to the tomb so maybe we can sort out this body-soul freaky friday situation we've got going on here

AND THAT'S IT!!! It's very late but I wanted to finally finish this recap so I can keep reading later this week, fingers crossed ♥

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this wasn't my planned update but here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your grandmother is where she always is. In her chair reading her book. She doesn’t look up and you don’t bother saying a word. She’s getting exactly what she’s always wanted and she doesn’t even realise it. She’s getting rid of you. Another thing you’ve done for her that she’ll never acknowledge. 

You go into your room and look around. You sit on the bed and examine each wall. You’re not going to miss this place, just your freedom. There is no illusion left around Andy. He’s shown how far he’ll go to make his will your own. You don’t expect him to ‘take care of you’ as he keeps promising, not in the way it sounds. 

You huff and hold your head. You’re not going to sleep. You don’t have time to. You have to figure out what to take with you. What do you tell your grandmother? She won’t care either way, will she. She’ll finally have her empty nest. At least someone will have what they want. 

You don’t have much to your name. Your switch, your headset, controllers; that’s the expensive stuff. Your clothes are mostly used, easily replaceable. You’re not really worried about dressing up. 

You spend the hours going through every little nook and cranny. You’re not sentimental, you don’t have much that it more than material. Only a box of keepsakes from the few years of your life; a friendship bracelet the neighbour girl gave you before she moved away, some meaningless award you won in grade school for attendance, and the only thing left to you by your parents, besides resent; a baby sweater you wore when they thought they could love you. 

You fit everything you’re taking in a single bag. The rest you box up and drag out to the curb. In the early hours, the house is quiet and you try not to make too much noise. Your grandmother’s snores stir from her room. She’s blissfully ignorant just as always. 

You strip the bed and put the sheets and blanket in the wash. Hopefully you can switch it over before you go. You wipe down the furniture with a wet cloth and dust the corners and the empty closet. You’re covered in sweat and breathless by the time you have the entire space barren. You’re so tired you’re dizzy but closing your eyes only brings Andy’s voice to mind. 

There’s a creak and you raise your head as the ripples dissipate. Your grandmother slouches as she clings to the door handle and scowls. She looks around the room and her grey brow twitches. 

“Eh, what’re you doing?” She growls, “making all this noise.” 

“Leaving,” you shrug. 

“Leaving? To where?” 

You’re dumbfounded she’s even asked. You sit up and show your hands, “gotta go back to school soon anyway so I’m going to crash with Kara. I’ll leave money on the table when I go.” 

“Oh.” 

That’s all she says before she goes. She believes you only because she doesn’t care enough to doubt you. You hang your head and sigh. You can’t help but think of what Andy said. You hate to admit it but he’s right. There’s no one else who wants you. It doesn’t make him a better option, just the only. 

Thinking makes your head hurt. Or maybe that’s the lack of sleep. You check your phone and wrap up the charging cord. Morning already. Nearly 7am. You spent hours clearing out your old life; a life that was never really living. 

There’s a message waiting for you. Two. Both from Andy. The first is a good night you never answered and the second from just twenty minutes ago, asking if you’re awake. You send a thumbs up. That’s all you can handle right now. 

The call comes almost as soon as the message sends and the check mark turns blue. You answer without hesitation. Your so numb to the inevitability of it all, there’s no sense in avoiding any of it. You just want this over with even though you know it won’t be. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” Andy purrs from the other end. Your throat clenches and your cheeks tug into a frown. “How are you?” 

You go to speak and cough, your mouth dry. You clear your throat and rub your forehead as it throbs with the effort, “awake. Packed.” 

“Oh, honey, you sound tired.” 

“Mm,” you hum flatly. 

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he says, “I couldn’t stop thinking of you.” He pauses, waiting for the lies you won’t give him. “Well, when do you wanna head out? Do you need a little more time?” 

“Ready,” you utter. Not really ready but resigned.  

“Sure, sweetheart, I’ll just get myself together and be over in twenty minutes, how does that sound?” 

Why is he asking you like you have a choice? You garble an agreement and hang up. You put the phone down as you sit on the naked mattress and stare. Your head is swimming with fatigue. As you close your eyes, the fear returns. You’re really doing this. 

You fold over your lap and whimper. It’s over, not that it ever really begun. Not that you were ever really expected much. You just wanted to be your own person, have your own space, make your own way. For once in your life, you just wanted to be you. 

Andy isn’t going to let that happen. You don’t know him but you know he wants you to be something you aren’t. Whether it’s delusion or cruelty, you don’t know, but you know something isn’t right. It can never be right. 

You get up and unlock your phone. You key in a message with the last of your strength; ‘meet me at the corner’. You don’t think she’ll bother herself but you wouldn’t want your grandma to see the truth. You’re not sure she’d even care enough to judge you. 

You come out as she grumbles into a coffee cup. You roll your bag behind you and grab your jacket from the hook by the door; a light canvas one you wear in the mornings when the dew chills the air. She stares at the television as the news blares at her. 

“Here,” you take out the little bit of cash you have left to your name and place it on the table at her elbow, “I’m... going now.” 

“Erm,” she grunts and slurps the coffee. She doesn’t even look at you. Should you tell her you’re not coming back? You leave your keys with the money 

You just turn and pull your bag after you to the door, stopping only to put your shoes on. You open the front door and step out into the soft hues of morning. It would be a beautiful day if the world hadn’t gone gray. 

Your bag wheels scratch the pavement behind you, the whole thing jostling at the end of the long handle. You head down to the corner and park yourself on the curb, waiting as your eyes rove the area. You take it all in; the fences, the hedges, the cracked birdbath, and the few welcome signs on doors. 

The low whir of an engine approaches. You know without looking it’s him. But you do. You have to face it. 

“Hey,” Andy steps out as you stand on the curb. “Let me get this, sweetheart.” 

He reaches back inside the car and hits a switch. The trunk opens on its own. Is it pathetic that you’re kind of impressed by that? You’ve only seen trunks that you open with your hands. He lifts your bag inside easily and taps another button, the hatch closing slowly behind him. 

“Come on, you look beat,” he touches your shoulder and you flinch, curling inward as you shake his hand away. “I brought you a coffee. Not the hotel brew, the good stuff.” 

You numbly follow him around to the other side. He opens the car door and you stare at the interior. You take a breath and grab the trim of the door and haul yourself inside. You drop heavily into the seat and your head bounces against the rest. 

He lingers. You feel his gaze on you. He’s expecting something you can’t give him. Not yet. You don’t know if ever. You let out a murmur as he leans in to kiss your cheek. You fight not to show your disgust. 

“Just relax. I’ll drive, you get some sleep, sweetheart,” he caresses your arm. You don’t react. Not a look, not a flinch. 

He shuts the door and walks along the hood. You watch him through the windshield. He’s wearing one of those suits. Dark navy slacks and white shirt with a black tie. You let your head loll and see the matching jacket folded neatly in the back seat. 

He gets in the car, his weight felt in the axle. He hits the button to wake the engine and buckles his belt. He glances over. 

“Hey, safety first.” 

You huff. He's acting like the dad you never had. You click the seat belt into place and turn your face to the window. He inhales deeply and lets it out slow before he puts the SUV into gear. 

“You say goodbye to grandma?” 

“Mm... mhmm,” you grumble. 

“She’ll miss you, huh?” 

Your lip curls and you hide your face as you focus on the houses rolling slowly by. Why is he playing this game? Did he not throw her apathy in your face to get here? 

“Did you bring your switch? We could play some at the hotel,” he offers. 

You close your eyes and ball your fists. It takes everything you have left not to scream and hit him. It’s like he’s rubbing it in. He won! He won! 

And you lost. Just like always. 

“What about Kara?” You ask crisply. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re hoarse. Try some of the coffee,” he reaches to flick the top of a travel mug. You narrow your eyes as you follow the gesture. The purplish pink metal is topped with a white plastic lid. On the side, the outline of a game controller is patterned on the multicoloured finish. “It’s a good brew. Only a few places I’ve found have it. I’ll take you to the shop back home once you’re settled.” 

You’re not arguing with him. You’ve seen how far that gets you. You take the cup and pop the tab on top. You take a tentative sip as you feel the heat within. 

“I added some sugar,” he says. 

“I don’t like sugar,” you snap the lid shut and put the lid back. 

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “guess we have a lot to learn about each other.” 

“Kara,” you insist again. 

He sighs and taps his fingers on the wheel, “I called last night. They’re holding her so we can pay the bond.” 

We? He’s not subtle. You sniff as your back racks with the sort of achiness that comes from being so tired. 

“I’ll talk to them. Get the charges knocked down. If anything, I can get them piled onto that boy she keeps around. He’s trouble, if I’ve ever seen it--” 

“Seen?” You echo, “have you... seen him?” 

He hesitates and his cheek dimples under his dark beard. He stares at the road ahead as his lips move as if he’s talking silently. Finally, he answers. 

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe. I know better than any that hanging out with the wrong crowd can get you into a lot of trouble--” 

“No, Andy, tell me. Were you watching her too?” You sit up with effort. 

“You should sleep, it’s a long drive,” he girds. 

“Andy, tell me--” 

“I had too. You cut me off and I had to be sure you were okay,” he insists. “And you weren’t. Not really. Sweetheart, things are going to be a lot better. Together. You just can’t see it right now because you never--” 

“Oh, I know what I’ve never had,” you fall back and slump against the door, “you don’t need to keep reminding me.” 

A roiling silence fills the compartment. He exhales again and slows as his blinker clicks noisily. He turns onto the next road as you feel his anxiety. Or maybe it’s your own. 

“I’m sorry. I only want...” he trails of as he measures his words, “I want to take care of you. To give you all that stuff. I don’t want you to feel bad.” 

“I’m tired,” you snip and fold your arms. 

“Right,” he says tensely, “yeah, get some sleep. Easier to talk after.” 

Talk? You’re done talking to him. He only says the same thing over and over again.  

[goldhoekin]

Angel || Sam Riordan Smut

Angel || Yandere!Sam Riordan x Fem Reader

summary: After Marie becomes #2 and Brink is killed by Luke Jordan slips in the rankings. They begin to obsess over the rankings neglecting their girlfriend who lets their frustration slips and Jordan takes their frustrations out on their girlfriend.

cw: fem!reader, porn with some plot, creampie, unprotected sex, dubious consent, oral sex ( f! receiving), overstimulation, biting/marking, dacryphilia, obsessive behaviors, and nonconsensual use of aphrodisiacs .

Words:2.03k

He sees you every single time Luke is brought down for his infusions, each time you look at him with such kindness and sadness as you plead for his freedom. It makes him happy to see someone actually fight for him. One time you’d even held his hand in exchange for him to stop struggling.

“Hi Sam. My name’s Y/N, I’m so sorry you have to go through this. Would you like it if I held your hand to help? I know its not much but maybe that’ll make this a tiny bit more bearable?” You say, a genuine look in your eye, that’s how he knows you’re real and not a puppet, you’re a real angel. 

You’re his personal angel…and he has to have you. You were so nice to him, you must like him right? For weeks he spends his time sketching you on pieces of paper, hiding them each time you visit him, and spend time with him.

One day after lunch he asks to speak to Shetty, telling her he has a deal for her. He’d dreamt of you sitting down in his room, reading comics with him, holding his hand as he saw the puppets all with those sparkly eyes of yours.

“You let me have Y/N for a few hours a day and I won’t fight you anymore..” Sam says, eyes sparkling with hope, voice steady…well as steady as he can make it.

The woman’s brows raised in surprise, you were a simple supe who made pretty little light shows. Harmless enough, you were one of the few supes she actually had no issue with, you were an angel truly. Though as much as she didn't like bargaining you off to a highly dangerous supe…she wasn’t left with much choice Sam was integral to Luke’s success and if giving you up to him for an hour, after doping him to high hell so he didn’t kill you, then so be it. Vought didn’t need to know what they did for the Woods project to go smoothly and if she had to get her hands dirtier than so be it, keep them distracted on what she was really doing.

“You can have her for one hour a day and that’s only if you take your medications without fuss, Y/N’s a sweet girl. We don’t want her hurt, do we Sam?” Indira says, a false smile on her face.

“O-one hour? No cameras right? I won’t her I promise!” Sam hastily replies.

Shetty simply nods her head in confirmation and turns towards the exit, “She’ll be here for you tomorrow, don’t screw this up Sam.”

You were called to Dean Shetty’s office, she texted you and said it was urgent. She told you to dress up, wear white and tell no one. So when Andre asked you where you were going looking like a sexy Virgin Mary with your pure white sundress, matching shoes, garters and underwear included. You hated not looking put together, a habit you’ve had due to your belief that keeping up a certain image will help your brand, which for all intent and purposes it did. 

You simply said, “Some of us don’t get dressed in the dark while spending my daddy’s money on tacky clothes Andre.”

A cackle leaves Luke’s lips as Andre’s face turns into one of shock, Jordan silently crying into a throw pillow, Cate struggling to breathe through her laughs. Without another word you make your way to Dean Shetty’s office, the woman already waiting outside her door, two cups of a hot beverage in hand.

She walks towards you and guides you in the familiar direction to the Woods, handing you a warm cup that you take without hesitation. You unfortunately knew about it, finding out by accident. Dean Shetty knew of your record of caring for those who need it, this should be right up your alley. Though she knew you wouldn’t be the most susceptive to Sam’s advances without help so she slipped a high dose aphrodisiac into your cinnamon creme drink that you love so much.

“Y/N love, I have a special mission for you.” Shetty says as they move downwards towards the prison facility, “Sam needs someone to spend time with, he said he’d love to talk and spend time with you! Would you be willing to spend an hour a day with him, just help him adjust and stay settled? I know you’ll be great at it love!”

You think its actually sweet that Sam felt safe enough with you to ask to spend time with you.  The poor boy needed help that Vought could give him, maybe you can as well. Maybe you can even work with him to get him a little tv or something or more books for him to read.You fall into your thoughts as you absentmindedly sip your drink, noting how good it tasted. 

“Sure we can read some comics, maybe even have some snacks,I think it’ll be really fun!” You say with that lovely smile on your face, the same one Sam loves and Dean Shetty fears will never grace your face again after today as she takes the now empty cup from your hand.

Making your way down to Sam’s room you wait for him to enter, promptly security and Shetty leave and the door is securely closed behind you.

Sam stares at you in awe, mouth agape at your appearance.

She dressed up for me, my angel put on this pretty outfit for me. Y/N really does love me!

“Y-you look really pretty. I can’t believe you did all this for me!” Sam beams, moving forward to grip your hand. You notice he has a band-aid on his wrist, noting that he’s been injected with something.

At that moment you feel your body growing hot, prompting you to immediately take off your tell tailored white coat. Your breasts now on display as you chest heaves as you try and fail to gather air in your lungs, you hardly noticed Sam’s face so close to yours, his eyes staring at your lips. Without hesitation he slams onto yours, his hands gripping your waist in a bruising grip.

They must’ve given a strength dampener, because he could’ve fucking crushed me…

You think to yourself as you feel his lips clumsily move onto yours, you move yours against his, feeling the weight on your chest lessen slightly. You feel your pussy grow wetter and wetter as his hands roam your body, making his way under your dress to grip your ass.

You move him in the general direction of his bed, the young man breathless. 

“I–i can’t believe you like me back!” Sam whispers, his knee grazing against your dripping wet cunt.

“What-I like you, just as a friend Sam.” You say as you feel his neck brush against your neck, which promptly stops at your words.

“If you don’t like me then why are we in my bed? Why are you kissing me and letting me touch you?” Sam asks, his voice hurt, you couldn’t help but sigh.

“I…I can’t stop for some reason. I’m so horny it hurts, if I could do this with someone else trust me I would Sam. I’m so sorry!” You whimper, unconsciously grinding your weeping pussy against his knee, desperate for friction of any kind. At this he tosses you back, so roughly you land on his bean bag, legs spread wide. A large gray spot showing how wet you are, your face hot and your breasts threatening to spill out from your dress.

“You’re mine!” Sam growls, eyes darkened as he crawls in between your legs, he takes his time pulling down your panties and exposing your pussy to the open air. He keeps your legs open with his strength as he dives into your wetness, your hand immediately goes into his hair gripping it harshly. A moan leaves his lips as you pull him as close to you as possible, your moans pouring from your lips as he licks at you with inexperienced vigor. 

“Use your finger Sam! Take two, move them in and out of me, keep your mouth on my clit. Y-you’re so good baby, fuck you’re doing so fucking good!” You moan, thankfully Sam listens to you his deliciously thick fingers plunge into your cunt and sucks at your cunt harshly, the knot that was forming in your stomach tightening more and more. You wrap your now free legs around Sam’s head grinding your cunt against his face as you feel yourself about to cum.

“Oh fuck! Sam, I’m gonna cum!” You scream as you feel yourself gush, your legs shaking violently as you come down from your high. Sam’s tongue lapping up your juices eagerly, licking and sucking you damn near clean. After you stopped shaking he pulls back, swiftly pulling his cock out, the tip violently red. His tip is leaking large amounts of precum, he runs his hand up and down his shaft.

“Don’t worry I’ll be good, so good that you won’t want anyone else! It’ll be perfect and maybe you can stay down here with me longer!” Sam says settling between your legs, he begins to rub himself up and down your still twitching cunt, your pussy gripping on nothing. Without warning he plunged himself into you, his body leaning over you as he pushed himself into you to the hilt, his face buried in your neck. He begins to push himself in and out of your pussy, the feeling becoming overwhelming fast as you feel him pick up the pace, albeit not the smoothest rhythm was set. 

“Y-you feel so good! You really were made for me my angel, I can’t believe I get to go do this with you! Tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it! I’ll do anything for you, just ask!” Sam says breathlessly, his hands find their way to the top of your dress, roughly pulling down the bodice to watch your breasts spill out. Sam latches his lips around your pebbled nipple, nipping and biting down harshly on your chest, a gasp leaving your lips. You begin to feel another orgasm building, causing you to wrap your arms around Sam’s neck and your legs capture his midsection. 

“I’m gonna cum again! Fuck!” You moan as you feel Sam’s thrusts grow sloppy, hopefully he’s smart enough to pull out.

You feel yourself cumming again, thick cream coating Sam’s dick as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the overstimulation causing you to cry from the overwhelming sensation. 

Sam looks up at your face as he feels your tears, he couldn’t help but think about how good you looked like this. All fucked out, those beautiful eyes shinging with tears from how good he’s making you feel. Sam decides that he wants to see you like this more often, him fucking you till you cry and him filling you up, his various bite marks and hickies littering your decolletage and those wide angel eyes filled with tears. This pushes him to prop himself up on his hands and piston in and out of you, your breasts bouncing wildly and your hands trying to push him away as the sensation is too much for you and the fear of him cumming inside of you. He buries his face into your neck, biting down harshly as he cums deep within you, filling you to the brim.

‘Don’t worry Angel, we’ll be so happy. It’ll be great just watch, I made you mine and I’m never letting you go.” Sam whispered into your neck, by now the drug that was slipped into your drink was wearing off and your face began to contort into one of horror, thoughts of you being stuck down here with him. You possibly ruining your a career by having a child too early while you yourself were a child became too much and those lovely eyes of yours went dark, the spark dying instantly. 

Fuck.

[hencheri]

Who in wayv do you think is into impact play the most?? like whipping and spanking

18+ mdni.

pairing: xiaojun/hendery/yangyang x fem!reader

warnings: impact play, more like physical violence in some situations, implied noncon, i always go in every direction with these hdcs lol.

.

let me go into dark stuff because ughhh bdsm is just not something i want to write about.

xiaojun

obviously xiaojun, duh. if you follow me since the beginning, you know how much i love sadistic!xiaojun... i even think he's into receiving some pain, but still in a sadistic way. he loves your fingers pulling really hard on his hair because he's already hurting you, going in without any preparation. or your teeth biting into his bottom lip, drawing blood, because you don't want him to kiss you. he loves that type of pain because it's the reminder that he has the upper hand on you, that it's merely pathetic attempts at defending yourself.

xiaojun will hurt you no matter if he loves or hates your guts. i won't lie that he'll hurt you even more if he likes you. leaving marks on your body is like telling you he loves you, that you're worthy of his attention. your skin is like xiaojun's canvas, he uses it to paint his love, his admiration. he's a passionate man, let me tell you that... but what if he hates you? if in one situation you're his canvas, you can imagine you're nothing as beautiful in the other.

but xiaojun certainly likes to squish your face in his hand, absolutely adoring how your cheeks puff out. loves loves loves to bite you, there's nothing sexier than looking at your shoulders littered with his bite marks, or even better, the inside of your thighs. and of course, he spanks you. your ass, your thighs, your pussy, your face... he always does it. the intensity may vary depending on his feelings for you, but you can be sure that if you slap him back in the face, he'll be so turned on he won't be able to stop fucking you for very long.

yangyang

because someone mentioned it in my inbox (still haven't answered pls im so sorry), yangyang is so into knife play. and biting. i just can imagine him so well loving to scare you off with a knife, it definitely amuses him. scared of this little blade cutting you? scared of feeling pain? how cute. i don't think he actually wants to hurt you, but scaring you is so hot to him for some reasons. truthfully, he's a little piece of shit.

yangyang is like a little vampire, too. he bites all the time. he especially loves it when you get annoyed by it, pushing his head away from your neck, but he only smiles and laughs, doing it again as soon as he can.

he's not that much into impact play i think, oops, but he wouldn't mind it. if you ask him to slap you, he'll do it without any hesitation because that means you're as freaky as him and he loves it.

hendery

can't talk about impact play without including xiaodery :/ that'd be absurd. hendery literally does anything to you, anything he wants. he just manhandles you so roughly you always end up in so much pain. bruised knees, bruised hips, sore legs, sensitive pussy. sure he doesn't directly hits you, but he does like seeing you hurting because of him. it actually makes him so hard he has to fuck you again and again.

hendery sure doesn't mind some slaps here and there, but what he likes the most about it is certainly the little noises you make after feeling his palm against your ass. he likes lewd and loud sex, so he'll do everything that crosses his mind. if he wants you on the floor on your bare knees or your face shoved into the pillows with your ass up in the air, that's how it's going to be. you best believe that if any of the positions that he puts you in hurts, he'll probably not care.

i know hubby!hendery feels bad about it, but ... dark!hendery doesn't :( whether you're his girlfriend, just friends with benefits, or a one time thing, this man is here to fuck. like i swear you're not leaving without bruises.