#god I’m so obsessed with them I might die

[solar-eclipsed]

*wakes up* . Whuh. Huh. What the. Who is that. What is this. Where did all these drawings come from. Is that Deku. WHO DID THIS.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I’m absolutely obsessed with your writing! I was hoping I could request a one-shot where Daryl and fem!reader are married. They are working on separate outdoor projects but Daryl can’t stop watching the reader throughout the day. The dirtiest thoughts cross his mind as he watches her. Later that evening when they are home and finally alone he recreates all those thoughts with her throughout the night. Daryl has a pleasure and praise kink, includes oral, Daryl loves going down on the reader!

*Set during later Alexandria or Commonweath era (Daryl never goes to France!)

STOP IT RIGHT TF NOW ANON CAUSE WHY HAVENT I THOUGHT OF A PLEASURE KINK. DROOLING RN

Heres me admitting im only on season 9 of TWD so this takes place in Alexandria 😿

A/n: Thought I’d actually title this bc reading it again months later I just think it needs one 🥸

gif creds @daryl-dixon-daydreams

BUSY BEE

Daryl was going to simply pass away and die.

He hated his own mind for it’s never-ending thoughts, even more so when he had a literal job to be doing. His racing thoughts had been distracting him the whole day, occasionally using the wrong tool, knocking something over, and even almost spilling all the oil at one point.

It was just the way your hips looked, so well rounded in those jeans, shirt clinging to your body as you walked quickly with your own tasks in mind, not noticing your husband’s hardcore staring.

His mind was bursting with thoughts of what horribly dirty things he wanted to do to you. Sometimes he physically can’t wrap his head around how he ended up with someone like you. All Daryl could think about was just how bad he wanted to fuck you, cock already stirring to life in his pants.

No. No. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t be seen not doing his task and also now needed to hide the tent forming in his pants. It was worse that he was out in the open, having been assigned to work on the cars to keep them running longer.

You had been assigned to ask around to see what was needed for the next run, only for some reason you had timed yourself to get to everyone in under an hour, hence your quick pace and focused gaze. Daryl had seen you walk past at least three times, each time you sped past while furiously scribbling on a notepad. He felt like a teenager watching and obsessing over his crush.

God, he was so ready to blow himself up, staring down at under the hood of one of the cars used for runs. He forced his mind to focus on fixing shit instead of wandering off. Rick had been saying that the brakes had been failing, only Daryl couldn’t exactly do much without a jackstand.

He decided to test the car battery instead since it had been having trouble starting. Stepping around the car to the toolbox, he almost tripped as you bumped right into him. “Bulky bitch!” You yelped as you fell down onto your ass, dropping your pen and paper. Daryl gently but quickly pulled you to your feet, picking your stuff up. “Tha’ hell ya runnin’ from girl?” He stepped closer to you, sliding a hand to your waist. “I’m a very busy woman with places to be and times to beat” You rolled your eyes, yet smiled softly at Daryl. “Too busy fer me now?” You nodded, leaning up as if to kiss him but going for his ear instead. “Very busy” You whispered sweetly, placing a faint kiss on his cheek before speeding away again.

Daryl simply stood there with his cock straining harshly against the fabric of his pants, cock pulsating as he could feel himself leaking pre-cum. He should just blow his goddamn brains out, now.

He slammed the hood of the car shut and climbed inside, dropping his head onto the steering wheel. It felt like his head was about to fall off with how many filthy thoughts were flooding in. You were the biggest tease and absolutely knew it, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to silence his brain, hands gripping the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to jerk off inside a car with the clearest windows ever, at that point he might as well do it out in the open.

While Daryl was suffering silently, you were simply serene as you rocked on the porch swing of your house, turning in the list to Rick right before your timer hit fifteen minutes. You toyed with the ring on your finger, smiling down as you thought of how Daryl refused to get you something small. He had found a jewelry shop out on a secret run and spent an hour overthinking and questioning himself before finding the perfect ring. It was a sliver band with clusters of smaller diamonds around a larger one that so happened to be the shape of a skull, matching the one he wore every day. He smashed the glass without a second thought.

You smile fondly, also remembering that the same man was probably struggling to do his work. Getting him super worked up was your favorite thing to do as he basically melted in your hands the second he stepped foot inside.

Speaking of inside, you had stepped in earlier to change out your underwear, switching into a black thong you found. You could practically feel Daryl’s hands roaming your body, shivers running down your spine at the tingling sensation.

Whilst you were enjoying yourself, Daryl was still sitting in the car, staring down at the steering wheel as he tried to focus his mind on anything else, aside from the cocky sway of your hips, and the ghost of your lips against his ears.

He needed to get off badly. The only thing really stopping him were these shitty windows, however he proceeded to begin rubbing his hand on his clothed cock, letting out a shaky moan. Daryl slammed his hands back onto the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as he tried to recenter himself. He thought for a moment, sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

The car door swung open and he kicked it shut behind him, walking quickly to avoid anyone who might wanna talk, quickly making his way back home. He passed Carol, who was sitting out on her swing. She waved and he gave a short wave back, trying his hardest to keep his hard-on concealed as he sped past.

He stepped heavily up the stairs, the wooden porch creaking under his weight as he opened and shut the front door. It was remotely quiet as he kicked his shoes off next to yours, tearing his shirt off as he stomped upstairs to your shared bedroom, where he found you in one of his shirts lying on your stomach reading a book, closing it at the sound of your husband's arrival. “Already stripping nude for me, Dixon?” You pushed yourself onto your knees and he approached the bed, grabbing your face rougher than intended and crashing his lips onto yours.

It seemed like in that moment, Daryl’s hyperactive mind finally shut itself down, his shoulders relaxing as his hands held your soft face, licking into your mouth desperately. Your hands wrapped around his neck, fingers splayed out on his upper back as he moved to join you on the bed, readjusting you so your legs rested comfortably on either side of his hips. There was a burning desire in his gut as he sucked harshly on your skin, grinding against you as he did.

Daryl’s hands stayed locked at your hips, massaging and groping the flesh as he continued marking up your whole body, practically eating you. He reached your boobs and ran his tongue over the right one and started to suck deep marks into the sensitive flesh.

His hips picked up speed, becoming erratic before burying his face in space between your boobs, shaking as he literally came in his pants. It was the hottest thing you’d seen. “Feeling better?” You whispered breathlessly, watching him groan and lift himself sluggishly off your chest. “M’not done yet” His words were slightly slurred as he leaned back on his knees, hands fumbling to undo his pants.

You eventually reached down to unzip his zipper, and he was back on you instantly, shoving his boxers down enough to free his hard and dripping cock, precum pouring from the puffy tip. “God, Daryl, you’re so needy tonight” You moaned as he pulled down your pajama shorts, eyes staring down at the black thong. “Yes tha’ hell I am” He whispered, hands sliding up your sides and he slid down, cock pulsing as he got a look at your cunt even with the thong on. There was just so much he wanted to do to you that it was overwhelming his senses.

He ran his tongue up and in between your folds, tasting you through the measly garment. He rubbed circles in your clit as his tongue explored every inch, slipping past the thong and into your entrance, causing your brain to short-circuit as he worked you to release, especially since his own was drying in his underwear. Alongside his tongue, Daryl eased two fingers in, stretching and scissoring you open, his tongue going in much deeper and curling. “Fuck yes, baby just like that” You bit your bottom lip harshly, sliding your own fingers down to stimulate your clit, knowing how to push yourself off the edge quicker. He got so fucking hard at the sight of you playing with yourself, even more so that it was your ring finger, the diamond skull standing out as your fingers sped up. Daryl pulled his tongue out, continuing to move his fingers as he licked your clit, a strangled sob coming from you as you came.

Daryl settled for unleashing another attack on your torso while you recovered from your orgasm, licking, kissing, sucking, and biting at the smooth flesh of your stomach, one hand holding your thigh over his shoulder, and the other resting right by your boob, his thumb teasingly stroking the skin under it. He felt every curse, moan and gasp you let out, licking right in between your already marked boobs, kissing the junction of your throat all the way up to your lips. The head of his cock nudged your pussy slightly, and the heat of the kiss had you dizzy. “C’mon handsome, I can’t wait much longer” You batted your lashes at him, running your hand down his one of his big arms, your ring shimmering in the dim lamp light.

Your other hand slid in between your bodies to shift your soaked thong to the side, pulling him closer by wrapping your legs around his waist. He used one hand to steady his cock, and gripped the headboard as he slammed in, two of you moaning in unison. Daryl’s cock was more sensitive than ever, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he readjusted himself, pounding roughly into you as you gripped his bicep.

Daryl’s thrusts were relentless as he kept his pace up, bed creaking and headboard slamming as he panted like a dog, watching the way his cock was sliding in and out of you, a giant wet spot forming on his jeans as he showed no signs of stopping. “My big strong man, always fucking me so good with your fat cock” You bit down on your lips as one of your hands came to rest on his cheek. He turned his face to the side, kissing your palm while staring into your eyes with a lovingly lustful gaze. “M’all yers, m’gon always give my woman wha’ she wants” His voice was raspy and breathless against your hand before he locked your fingers together, pinning your hands onto the mattress and dipping his head down to press his forehead against yours, simply panting into each others spaces.

From how tightly you were holding hands, your rings dug into one another’s fingers, and it only turned Daryl on more. You were his and he was yours. “M’so proud ta call ya Mrs. Dixon. Gon fill ya up w all my kids” He whispered, bumping his strangely cold button nose against yours. “Let’s just start with one?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears, and by the way Daryl’s hips had sped up you could tell he was close “Not one now!” You shrieked, nails digging into his hands as he railed your sweet spot, orgasm already hitting him incredibly hard as he practically laughed in your ear from how hard he came, pulling out just a little too late.

He fell on top of you, but recoiled when something wet touched his navel, eyes flickering down to see his cum soaking into the black fabric of your thong and seeping out your hole. “Gonna clean that up for me?” You winked suggestively at him, and he lowered himself to be eye level with your messy cunt, massive hands spreading you further apart as he licked his lips. “Yes ma’am”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I made myself very horny writing this but I also kept falling asleep as I was writing

also I based both rings off Normans ring :3 (he should put his finger in my body)

[harrysfolklore]

idk if you’re still taking requests but you should do actress!yn who’s been a long time fan of harry since 1d and a fellow solo harrie and they’re the stars of this movie (maybe a romcom 🤔) and then y/n is so nervous around harry and he teases her?? then they realize they have so much in common and it’s just fluff everywhere 🥲

this is honestly one of my favorite blurbs i’ve ever done and i hope you love it as much as i do! enjoy and thank youuu for the request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

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yourinstagram The Bear has been out for a week and you can watch it on Hulu if you haven’t already ok we love u and goodbye!!

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ynfan1 SO SLAY

sza ❤️

ynfan2 ive been here since day one

harryfan1 HARRY LIKED THIS OMG

mtv We stan

harrystyles Amazing show and amazing work from everybody, love it x

↳ harryfan2 HARRY ???

↳harryfan3 his new show obsession now that succession is over

↳ ynfan2 YN IS A LONGTIME 1D FAN LOL I BET SHES CRYING

↳ yourinstagram omg this means a lot, thank you for watching and supporting !

TWITTER

//

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yourinstagram SEASON FINALE OF THE BEAR AIRS TODAY 🥲 thank you for all the love u all have my heart

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ynfan1 SOBBING

zendaya Congratulations little angel 🤍

ynfan2 SHES THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS

harryfan1 IS THAT?

↳ harryfan2 IM PRETTY SURE IT IS

mtv Crying over the flowers and note 👀

harrystyles Love, love, love

↳ harryfan3 HARRYYYYY

↳ ynfan3 if this ain’t love then what is

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harryupdates Harry and YN out in London today !

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harryfan1 WEEEEEE

ynfan1 OH

harryfan2 COUPLE ALERT SO DAMN RIGJY

ynfan2 chill i bet they’re just friends

harryfan3 NO WAY

ynfan3 the pipeline from being a one direction fan to hanging out with (maybe dating??) harry i’m so here for it

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theharrytea guysss deuxmoi posted this !! i think it might be about harry omg. thoughts ?

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harryfan1 OOOOHHH

harryfan2 harry in a romcom i could DIE

harryfan3 PERIOD DRAMA YES YES

harryfan4 omg makes sense i hope it’s true we need ROMCOMRRY

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yourinstagram scripts coming in and i’m like:

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ynfan1 YAYYYY

zendaya ❤️

harryfan1 harry liked thisssss

ynfan2 we need a movie now that the bear is over

dualipa LEGEND 🤍

harryfan2 harry what are you doing here

TWITTER

TEXT BETWEEN HARRY AND YN

//

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yourinstagram first day of filming check !! hiyaaaa costar ⭐️ @harrystyles

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ynfan1 AHHH

jefezoff 🥰

harryfan1 ITS GETTING REAL

ynfan2 imagine going from one direction dan to harry’s co star

harrystyles Hiiiiiiii x

↳ harryfan2 he was giggling and kicking his feet while typing this

↳ ynfan3 they’re in love

gemmachan Love you both ❤️

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harrystyles Which Brings Me to You. Coming Soon.

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harryfan1 AHHHHH

annetwist ❤️

ynfan1 WHY DID HE CHOOSE THIS PIC

harryfan2 y’all it’s joever

alessando_michele 🍒🤍

harryfan3 those saying that they’re dating don’t know what a work relationship and friendship is

yourinstagram 🥹🥹🥹

ynfan2 i soooo ship this

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harryupdates Harry and YN on set of Which Brings Me to You!

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harryfan1 AHHH

ynfan1 i love them so bad

harryfan2 i can’t wait to see this movie GOD

ynfan2 MY FAIRYTALE COUPLE

harryfan3 FAVES

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yourinstagram today is the day !!! world premiere of which brings me to you 🥲🥲 love u all thanks for the support

picture by the costar, awkward pose by meeee

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ynfan1 AHHH GO BESTIE

kaiagerber love you both sm 🤍

harryfan2 HARRY TOOK THIS I CANT

mtv This is my roman empire

ynfan2 no biggie just harry taking pictures of her

harrystyles Amazing photographer, amazing pose x

↳ harryfan2 are we interrupting something?

↳ynfan3 he’s in love

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harrystyles Which Brings Me to You World Premiere. October, 2023.

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harryfan1 BABY

jefezoff 🙌🏻

ynfan1 oh he hot

yourinstagram excuse me u get credits on my pic but i don’t ??

↳ harrystyles Picture by the costar, charming face by my mum x

↳ harryfan1 HARRY 😭

↳ harryfan2 I LOVE HIM SO BAD

INTERVIEWS

//

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yourinstagram press day ! be ready because tons of content from me and @harrystyles annoying you about our movie is coming sooooooon 🥰

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ynfan1 this is the best day of my life

jefezoff I feel blessed

harryfan1 MY FAVORITE DUO ON EARTH

harrystyles We are charming, aren’t we?

↳ harryfan2 itsg harry has never been more active

annetwist ❤️

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harrystyles We took a Lie Detector Test. The results were pretty interesting. You can watching it in Vanity Fair’s Youtube channel now.

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harryfan1 HEEEELP

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ynfan1 “have you ever had the hots for a co star before” THEY WEREN’T SNEAKY WITH THAT ONE

yourinstagram liar liar pants on fire

ynfan2 THEY’RE DEFINITELY DATING BYEEEEE

FANS VIA TWITTER

//

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yourinstagram in words of taylor swift: you’re my lover

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harrystyles

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[sadesluvr]

Ōrālis 

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification. 

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.  

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake. 

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain. 

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die. 

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.” 

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb. 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. 

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?” 

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.” 

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.” 

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“ 

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did. 

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.  

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.” 

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot. 

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…” 

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.” 

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged. 

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?” 

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.  

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.” 

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?” 

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.  

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.” 

You scoffed. 

“That is not true.” 

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture. 

“Is there a significant other in your life?” 

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small. 

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on. 

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.” 

You swallowed. 

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.” 

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.” 

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true. 

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity.  Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself. 

“Do you partake in masturbation?” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.” 

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?” 

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting. 

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.” 

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him. 

“H-How —“ 

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.” 

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this.  “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“ 

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.” 

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion 

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building. 

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. 

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.” 

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.  

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”  

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all. 

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.” 

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.  

Today that wasn’t the case. 

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this. 

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you. 

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.” 

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head. 

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.” 

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this? 

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.  

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later. 

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.” 

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine. 

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted. 

This was what you wanted. 

Right? 

Right. 

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”   

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better. 

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?” 

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control. 

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before. 

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.” 

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis. 

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in. 

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…” 

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had. 

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.  

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them. 

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation. 

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months. 

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.  

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.  

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,” 

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma. 

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.” 

[vulpisnocturna]

Binding Vow - Part II

Part I here

Part III here

Read on AO3

This is part II of III :)

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, captivity, Chrollo being a manipulative asshole, obsession, slight NSFW

Word count: 6k

The lilies in the vase by the windowsill were starting to wilt. Their petals were drooping, the stems getting darker, the vibrant white of the flowers starting to become ashen. In that way, you were like them. Wilting away in a prison you were forced to call home. 

But Chrollo never let you see them die. No, he brought you new flowers every week, along with all the other gifts he gave you. You did not know which ones were bought and which were stolen. Not that it mattered much. 

His pathetic romanticism fell on deaf ears. He could court you all he liked, but he failed to see in that brilliant brain of his that it would not work after kidnapping someone and holding them prisoners. A golden cage was still a prison, and he could not make the canary sing by locking it away, even if he used his silver tongue on it. 

Sometimes, you did not know whether he was completely oblivious or simply did not care. Every glare of yours, every time you ignored him, shouted at him or even refused to eat- he met all of your attempts at rebelling with a soft sigh and a stoic outlook, telling you he “would wait for your tantrum to quiet down to talk like adults”. Always patronising. He was always so damn condescending. 

Another month had passed since the day Chrollo had tricked you into having sex with him under the guise of letting you go free and then had drugged you and left that house with you. When you had woken up, you were in a new flat, which he told you would serve as a home for the both of you for a couple of months. 

He had reassured you that he would never harm you and that he would protect you, failing to understand you needed protection from him. He had also reminded you that the doors were all locked, and that he knew your life inside out in case you planned to do something foolish. 

The first night in this house, you had screamed your lungs out at him, fighting him, or rather, trying to hit him with all your might whilst he restrained you. In the end, he’d tied you to the bed and told you he would free you once you learnt to be civil. 

Next, you had refused to eat. That lasted until he tried to force feed you, and the humiliation of the act had made you start to eat by yourself again.

After that, you had refused to speak or even look at him. Luckily, he hadn’t tried to force himself on you, but he certainly seemed to want it. He had started to sleep in the same bed as you as soon as you had cut out the screaming and hitting, and no amount of begging had made him change his mind.

“I understand you dislike my approach, but I’m doing this to keep you safe, my love. If you can get past it, you’ll see it’s only natural that we sleep in the same bed. I love having you close to me. You are so peaceful when you sleep” he had said, stroking your upper arms as though the gesture could ever be perceived as soothing. 

You always made a point to fall asleep curled as far away from him as possible, yet, somehow, you always woke up with his arm wrapped around your waist. He was stifling.

Your best moments were the ones where he’d go away to do God knew what for a few hours, or when he would be so immersed in the book he was reading that he would not talk to you for a while. Of course, he would insist on having you sit on his lap as he read, but he had settled for letting you sit with him in the living room where you wanted, which was as far away as possible from him.

You hated to admit it, but when he left, you sometimes could not help but feel lonely. He was the only person you ever saw, the only one you talked to, the only one you could go to in order to find comfort. That fact alone was enough to make your stomach churn. 

But that was all stopping that day. You had decided that one way or another, you would escape. You were on the eighth floor of an apartment complex, but even Chrollo hadn’t been able to find a place that did not have windows. They were locked, of course, but you could break them if you used enough strength. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you had trained a little on your Hatsu to be able to do more damage than your muscles were capable of. And of course, you would get hurt, but it was all for a good cause. If you could make it out, then… then maybe he wouldn’t find you. If you were careful. 

That very day was your best bet. Chrollo had told you he would not be home for supper and had left you some food in the fridge. You packed it and filled several bottles of water, raiding the cupboards of chocolate, biscuits and fruit. You also found some gauze in the bathroom drawer, which you took with you in case you wouldn’t be able to use your Nen power straightaway. 

You had cursed your power for two whole months now, hating that you weren’t an Enhancer, that you weren’t strong or fast at all. Of course, Chrollo would still be stronger, but your chances at escaping would increase. But now, you were glad you had it: if you fell from a few stories, you would be able to heal yourself, so long as you did not die on impact.

Which was why you had gathered every single towel and sheet you could find and created a makeshift rope with tight knots. It was around ten metres, which left fifteen to twenty metres left to jump. You’d found that there was a tree underneath the window of the office, so that was where you decided to escape. 

The glass was thick, and you decided to wrap your hand in a section of your rope and punch it with all your strength. 

It took half an hour and the breaking of your knuckles, which had also split and gotten wounded, but you had managed to stay focused through the pain and heal them before you lost too much blood. 

Now, as to your escape. The window was now broken, and you did your best in creating a wide enough passage where glass would not be likely to cut you or the rope. Next, you looked down to see that no one was around. The apartment complex was situated on the side of a forest surrounding a small town, and the office happened to face the woods. You could not see anyone around.

You had around three hours to escape and get as far away from that place as possible before Chrollo came back. You had to move quickly, find out where you were and then find a way out of there. 

You breathed in, calming your thundering heart and swinging the rope out of the window after tying it to the sofa. It reached ten metres or so from the canopy of the tree beneath the window, which was not ideal, but not too bad either. You stepped on the windowsill, planted your feet and started descending. 

Ten minutes later, you had reached the end of your rope. You swallowed, the wind making your eyes sting and tear up as you looked down. Legs first. You had to either grab a branch with your hands or land on your legs. 

You jumped.

Your hand scraped against the bark, burning and shredding against it. The branch underneath you winded you as you landed on your side, but you managed to break the fall before you hit the ground.

You convulsed on the grass, nausea and cold shivers tearing through your body as you quivered, taking small breaths that had you dizzy from the pain.

Definitely broken ribs. Definitely a broken leg. 

Your trembling hand reached to your side, and you focused on your aura, feeling the pain, mending the bone, healing the damage until it felt like a dull throbbing rather than stabbing, burning agony.

Next was your leg. It took you longer than you wanted to consider to heal all of your injuries, but when you finally got up, you were okay. You could run, even though the numerous cuts on your body had made you lose quite a bit of blood and you felt lightheaded.

You started running. The feeling of hope that bloomed in your heart was quick to burst into euphoria, even though you tried not to lull yourself into false security. Running along the path in the forest felt good, freedom felt like cool breeze, autumn leaves and the faint scent of rain lingering on the ground.  

You must have run more than ten miles by the time you stopped as you got to the edge of the forest. The sun was setting on the horizon, and you wagered Chrollo would be back soon. You probably had another hour before he realised you were gone. Where could you go from here? The hills to your right looked too exposed, but so did the town to your left. He would expect you to be there. But with the amount of blood you’d lost, the fact that you’d been running for hours and the lack of shelter in the hills, you had to go to the town. Maybe you’d find a sheltered place where you could stay for a few hours, before you left again. 

But you never did get to the town. 

Because as soon as you got back on your feet and went to grab your bag, your wrists were caught behind your back in an iron grip. You knew that scent all too well. 

Your heart threatened to burst in your ribcage, and your chest heaved, your eyes widening as you writhed wildly to no avail.

‘If I were you, I would stop thrashing, darling. I am not in a gracious mood’ he murmured against your ear, voice cold, seeping into your bones like ice. You stopped moving altogether, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat.

‘Have you any idea of what that fall could have done to you? You’re covered in blood. Did you break anything in your brilliant escape?’ he continued, and you wet your lips, your temples throbbing. 

Would he kill you now? Would he simply take you back? Would he break some more bones to punish you? Tie you to the bed, or relocate you to a basement? 

‘Answer me. You do not want to make this any worse than it already is’ he said coldly, releasing you and staring at you. You knew trying to make a run for it would be useless. He would catch you in seconds. And who knew what he’d do to you. 

You were done. He’d found you immediately. There was no escaping him. 

‘My knuckles. My ribs- my leg’ you whispered, scanning his face for any clue on what might happen to you. His jaw tightened.

‘So you counted on your power to heal you, disregarding that had you broken your neck, you would not be able to heal. Not quite well-thought out’ he said, a tinge of cold fury in his voice. You ground your teeth, deciding you would go out swinging instead of listening to more of his patronising remarks. 

‘I did not have many options. I ran, because you kidnapped me. I was willing to take the risk’ you spat, and he lifted his chin, looking down at you, seemingly rigid in his posture. 

‘I must say that was a rather inventive plan. I think I might have read about a character doing the same thing in an adventure book once’ he mused, recomposing himself and disregarding your words completely.

‘You clearly cannot care for yourself, darling. Look what you've done to yourself. You are so very fragile. We have much to discuss. Of course, there will be consequences, but you should know I would never hurt you. I simply need you to listen. You can come with me now without a fuss or you can make the situation worse for yourself and risk more dire consequences for your behaviour. Your choice’ he said, looking at you, his eyes softening ever so slightly as you let out a strangled sob. 

Choice. Another choice that was already written in stone.

‘Just let me go. Let me free. Please’ you breathed, resorting to pleading in the face of defeat, hating the fact that you could feel the tears spill from your eyes. He let out a soft sigh, cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You did not know whether you wanted to spit in his face or let him comfort you for something he was guilty of. Because you were so alone, your heart was so wretchedly heavy.

‘Shh, shh. It’s alright, my love. You must be so exhausted. You need to rest. I’ve got you. I’ve got you’ he kissed your forehead, soothing your sobs, and perhaps it was desperation and exhaustion that made you cling to his shirt with trembling fingers. You let all of your tears of frustration, pain, hurt and anger out, sobbing in the arms of the one who had brought them to life. And he was so gentle as he held you. So painfully tender in the way he soothed you, stroking your hair, kissing the top of your head, holding you close to him.

Chrollo bent to pick you up in his arms, and you buried your head against him, not wanting to look at him and accept what you had just done and where he was taking you. What the consequences of your escape would be.

As the temperature started dropping, you found yourself seeking out the warmth of his body, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you quickly. You had finally stopped crying, but your head was pounding and your eyes were raw from the tears.

You saw a car at the edge of the forest, parked behind the building, in front of the tree and your makeshift rope. He opened the door and deposited you on the passenger seat, closing it behind you and getting in on the other side. He reached over and put on your seatbelt, locking the doors and staring at you.

‘Where are we going? What is going to happen to me?’ you asked, voice hoarse from all the crying. Chrollo slicked back the wayward strands of black hair that had escaped his hairstyle, regarding you with a cold expression, if not slightly laced with disappointment.

‘You saw fit to break the window of our flat. I called some people to take care of the mess there and get our stuff whilst I retrieved you. We are going to another place, this one is compromised now. As to you, my love... I do not know what punishment would fit this crime. Your sorrow and your tears have touched me, truly. But I must ensure you learn your lesson. You don’t want this to happen again, do you?’ he asked, turning the keys and starting to drive.

Did you want this to happen again? Of course not. His tone let you know that if you ever did this again, there would be Hell to pay. Who knew what he would do now, you shuddered to imagine what he might think to do if you tried to escape once again.

‘No’ you said quietly.

There was no escaping Chrollo Lucilfer. You had been stupid to think that you could have done so. Drunk on the idea of freedom. He might have said he would never harm you physically, but he hadn’t said anything of the sort about your loved ones. You had learnt that with him, the devil was in the details. He always twisted meanings and played with words like a musician would play an instrument. And there was no escaping his judgement.

Chrollo was not having a nice day. He had had to pull back a heist when Shal had informed him the museum had been tipped off, and had thought he would just get to go home and spend some needed time with his darling girl. He had seriously thought you had made vast progress in your interactions with him. In a mere month, he had managed to mellow you a lot, and even though it had irked him to put up with your foolish tantrums, he had done so patiently, knowing being less strict would eventually aid him in making you come around. You had started to talk to him again, even seemed content to sit with him in the living room to read.

He wasn’t too pleased you never took him up on the offer to sit on his lap, and sometimes, he wanted to pull you against him and hold you there, but he was a patient man, and he understood the perks of patience and strategy.

That was why he had been willing to compromise on not taking everything he wanted yet. He had put boundaries on what was non-negotiable, like sleeping in the same bed. After all, you were his. He had claimed you, given you food, shelter and protection, brought you all kinds of beautiful gifts that reminded him of you, made you feel good. He knew you liked the sex, too. You could not deny it, he remembered all too well how very precious you had looked writhing underneath him, begging and whining for him.

Nevertheless, he was waiting to do it again, simply because you were under the impression you had been tricked by him with the vow you had made, and that had upset you. Understandably so, but the fact that you hadn’t paid enough attention to his words was hardly his fault. However, if he was respectful of your body and did not force himself on you, he knew you would eventually seek him out. He could already see the slivers of your resolve shattering, and it pleased him to no end. The way you now let him kiss the top of your head, flinching less often when he drew you in for a hug or stroked your cheek. It was a chess game, and Chrollo knew he would win.

But now, you’d broken his trust. You’d disappointed him.

When he had come back home, looking for you, thinking you might be asleep or ignoring him as he called your name, and had eventually seen the window shattered and a makeshift rope made of sheets and towels, he had seen red. There was blood spatter on the glass, and the thought of you going so far as to harm yourself in order to escape him had made his stomach hot with rage and his chest tight with worry.

He had inspected the grounds underneath the tree he surmised you had used to break your fall, and he could see some blood, not enough to make you die of blood loss. Some drips had seeped into the blades of grass that led to the woods. Torn between cold fury, worry and admiration for your commendable resolve, for a moment, he had also thought you were truly so delightful. It was so sweet of you to believe you could escape.

He also knew you must have used your power to heal yourself, because he expected you to have broken at least a few bones. Therefore, you must have been lightheaded and weak. A fragile thing like you, alone in the woods, where anyone could easily harm you. He had been worried sick, ready to burn the forest to ashes.

It had taken him twenty minutes to scour the whole forest. When he had found you, you had been panting, holding onto a tree as your gaze shifted between the hills and the small town as though you were considering your course of action. So fragile, so impossibly delicate and fatigued, so oblivious to your surroundings. He hated how you put yourself in danger. Hated that you thought it would be better than being by his side.

Of course, Chrollo knew it was human nature to seek freedom, so he could not fault you for trying. But he was not pleased. You had put yourself in danger and broken his trust.

He had been ready to make you learn your lesson by confining you to a windowless bedroom, never taking his eyes off you, even pay a visit to one of your friends. However, the moment you had started to sob and clung to him, accepting his embrace, seeking him in your sorrow, he had been truly moved. You were truly so sweet in his eyes, so vulnerable, he just wished to hold you and never let you go.

Now, he was not sure what the best course of action would be. Should he be understanding, threaten what would happen if there was another attempt, and bask in your need to be comforted by him? If he happened to be too strict with you, it might halt the progress you’d just made. But if he offered himself as the only one who could soothe your worries and comfort you, then, perhaps, you would become more dependent on him. He wanted nothing more.

But things would have to move more swiftly, because his patience was starting to run out. If he was honest, as he had you back in his car, looking so meek with your tear-stained eyes and torn clothes, he had only wanted to move you to the back of the car and show you just how much he needed you. Just how much you truly liked him. Then, maybe, you would regret your actions. But he had to hold back.

He had nothing but time with you. And your attitude and outlook on your living situation was the most important thing right now. He had to change your perspective, or his work the past month would be ruined just because he had lost his temper after you made a mistake. You could still make things better.

‘Chrollo’ you murmured, wringing your hands in your lap. You rarely called him by his name. You rarely talked to him without him starting the conversation. He loved the way his name sounded on your lips.

‘Mh?’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ you repeated, small voice haunted. He placed his hand on your thigh, stroking your skin gently as he drove through the empty street.

‘You did something quite upsetting, dearest. You know I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you. I cannot let anyone, including you, harm you. I cannot trust you now; you understand that, don’t you?’ he asked, voice smooth. A part of him wanted to ask you what you thought a fitting punishment would be. But he did not do well with not knowing what you would say.

‘I won’t try to run again- just... please don’t hurt the people I care about. Please. I’ll do anything’ you said desperately, and Chrollo forced himself to restrain the urge to smile. Now, that was a pleasant development. He could utilise this. Could reap the benefits of your dedication.

‘My love, it pains me that you think me a monster. There would be no reason to visit your past acquaintances if this is a one-time mistake. But how can I trust your word? How can I be certain you will not try to run from me again? That you’ll be my good girl?’ he asked gently, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could.

Human imagination was truly intriguing. How you had come to that conclusion in your mind, already deeming it a reality, and sought to find a way out of it by offering everything you had. It was truly endearing, and Chrollo had barely had to do anything. And now, if he spared your acquaintances, he would be seen as merciful. You would be grateful. Even though he hadn’t planned to kill them as of yet, deeming it counterproductive for your opinion of him. But if he utilised your fears against you, he could appear as a compassionate source of comfort to you.

‘Because... I know it’s useless. And I don’t want to be the reason they might... get hurt’ you said earnestly, your bottom lip quivering. It made you look so sweet in his eyes. So innocent and pure. Completely different from him, someone so fascinating he could never take his eyes off you.

‘I- will behave. I’ll do- whatever you want’ you whispered, almost resignedly, your shoulders sloping. Chrollo let out a soft sigh. You had no idea of the effect you had on him when you said things like that. It was all he ever wanted. And soon, he knew you would say the same words with care and tenderness in your voice.

  He parked the car in front of the skyscraper, opening the door and stepping out, and a middle-aged woman approached him, holding a pair of keys. Chrollo took them from her, spotting Shal’s antenna sticking out of her neck when she turned to head towards the glass doors. Chrollo went back to the car, opening the door and giving you his hand. You looked at him, closing your eyes briefly before you accepted his help and stood up on unsteady legs. He took his coat off, wrapping it around you. It would not do to have you walk in the lobby with your shirt and legs covered in blood.

It was long and baggy on you, and covered your whole body. He thought you looked quite sweet in it. He made sure to lead you to the door with a hand on your lower back, not trusting your balance after the injuries you had sustained and the clear exhaustion he could observe in your sluggish movements.

This time, Chrollo had asked Pakunoda and Shal to find him a place as high up as possible, so you could still watch the sky and not get any stupid ideas. The woman led you and him to a lift and pressed the button for the fiftieth floor, the penthouse. He liked to show off with a better flat, a more luxurious one, but had it been up to him, he would not have cared much, so long as it was comfortable and had everything he might need.

The woman stayed in the lift as he led you outside, to the door of your new home. He opened it, stepping inside and conjuring Bandit’s Secret to lock the door with Nen that only he could unlock. He put the keys on the bowl on the accent table by the door, because they were as useful as a pen to you if you planned to use them to open the door.

The penthouse was spacious but decorated in a way he did not mind. Cosy and warm, with a big fireplace, a loveseat and two armchairs in front of it, bookshelves filled with books on the opposite wall. His friends had truly found him a good place to crash. The dining room and the kitchen were connected to the living room by a wall with open arches, and one side of the dining room was a full window that offered a nice view of the city. He decided to look for anything that might be amiss before you moved from the hallway, and walked through the corridor, opening the door to the bedroom and the bathroom. It must definitely be more expensive than his previous lodging, but he hardly cared or worried about that in his life.

His clothes and yours had been carried here in two suitcases, and Chrollo decided he would give you space to have a bath or a shower whilst he tidied things up. With that in mind, he stepped back into the living room, observing you as you put his coat on the armchair.

‘Why don’t you take a warm shower, darling? It will relax your muscles. I’ll be here if you need anything’ he said, and you looked down at your torn clothes, your eyes wandering around the room.

He quickly went back to the bedroom, opened the suitcases and grabbed one of his shirts and clean underwear. You could go without trousers. If he were honest, he wanted you to go without any of those cumbersome clothes covering your stunning body, but he doubted you would react nicely to it if he suggested that. He was willing to compromise.

Besides, the thought of you wearing one of his shirts was somehow even better than going without it. Something about having something that was his on you. Proof of the fact that you were his.

He stepped outside, handing you the clothes and planting a kiss on your forehead.

‘Uhm- I need... trousers’ you murmured, your face growing hot against his fingers. He smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Do you, darling? The shirt will cover enough of you up. I’ll be in the living room. Come over when you are finished’ he said, leaving you blushing in front of the bathroom and going to the bedroom, starting to sort through the clothes and objects in the suitcase.

When you came back, he had finished tidying up and was sitting down on the sofa with a book in his hand, the fireplace now crackling with orange flames and a glass of red wine on the coffee table.  

He had been right, you did look ravishing. With the smears of blood and dirt gone, his shirt on you, covering you to your upper thighs, leaving your legs exposed, he could hardly restrain himself. But tonight was not the right time to have you. No, he just wanted to hold you and see you. And perhaps taunt you a little as punishment for running away. Yes, he would definitely have you fulfil your promise to do anything he liked starting that very night.

He patted his thigh, and watched with sly amusement as you swallowed, clearly trying to find a loophole that would allow you to sit anywhere else. He enjoyed watching you rack your brains, knowing you might incur more dire consequences after you refused him the day you had attempted to escape.

It took you a minute, but eventually, you took small, hesitant steps towards him until you were firmly sat on his lap, his arm around you holding you to him. He loved your scent, loved the feel of your body against his, loved the sight of your pretty thighs. If he had been any other man, he would not have been able to exert control on his desires. But he would, because if he waited, the reward would be much sweeter. Besides, you seemed to think he would do something, and watching you squirm was delightful in it of itself.

He resumed reading the psychological thriller he’d picked up, stroking your ribs, knowing you’d mended them mere hours before. Your power was truly incredible. A power that sought to heal, remedy, one so in tune with your pure, kind soul. He found it so very fitting, so sweet. And so useful.

He could feel you shifting on his lap from time to time, and could not decide whether he wanted you to continue or to stop because it was so enticing. He decided he might do something, even if he would not take you to bed yet. After all, he had you there, glued to his body. It would be a sin to discard such a sweet chance.

He lowered his book, holding you more tightly, tilting your chin with his fingers.

‘Kiss me’ he murmured, watching you to see if you would hold to your word. He saw your pretty eyes widen, your lips parted as you scanned his face and shifted on him. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling lightly on it, and he could not wait to do that himself and feel just how soft your lips were.

He had held back on kissing your lips as well, and he still remembered how worked up he had managed to get you just with that. He had a nice plan in the making, but he wanted you to kiss him first. Set it into motion.

You hesitantly craned your neck to press your soft lips on his cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, cupping your jaw.

‘Do not play coy with me, darling. You know perfectly well what I mean. Now, shall we try that again?’ he crooned, and he could see the acquiescence on your face set, compliance in the face of what you had said in the car as you leaned back towards him, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his. This time, you did not have to be told to do it again. You knew what he wanted from you, and you acquiesced, tilting your head and touching his hair gingerly, your lips brushing against his, soft and timid. Chrollo restrained the urge to take the lead and show you exactly what he craved, because he wanted you to get there yourself.

At first, you kissed him slowly, tentatively, but then, the tip of your tongue traced the outline of his bottom lip, and you sucked it gently. Chrollo’s fingers curled around your scalp, tangling in your hair as he sank his teeth in your bottom lip, taking advantage of it to slide his tongue in your mouth. He had waited way too long to do this, but God, it was worth it.

You were addicting. He sucked and licked your lower lip, pressing his tongue against yours, tasting you, savouring the feeling of your restraint fading whenever he kissed you more passionately. A few times, he could have sworn you sought out his lips, hungry for more, battling your own desires but unable to deny them to the fullest. And it felt like a damn drug to him. He could force himself on you, but nothing could ever replace the feeling of watching you melt in his arms, so willing and pliant by the time you warmed up to his touch.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and his hand wandered down to cup your ass, fingers gripping the plump flesh of it, his cock already hard in his trousers. Judging by the way you were squirming and pressing your thighs together, he knew you would be wet if he touched you. And the thought alone was tantalising. He wanted to devour you, wanted you underneath him again, pretty and completely at his mercy. But he steered clear, deciding to just stroke your thighs, massage them, feel the goosebumps there as he continued to kiss you.

When his fingers inched closer to your inner thigh and you spread them for him a little, he knew he’d won. He smirked against your lips, sucking your swollen bottom lip one last time before he pulled back, looking at your flushed skin, bright eyes and tormented lips. You looked so tantalising, so compliant.

‘Have you any idea what you do to me?’ he whispered, his hand resting on your hip now. He let you simmer in that feeling, knowing that he would not have to wait much longer, he would have you soon.

He went back to his book, smirking slightly whenever you would squirm in his grasp. Oh, you must be so wound up. He wished he could help you. But this was all in favour of something better. To make you truly desperate, just as he was to get his hands on you. To have you all the time.

It did not take you long to start growing more sluggish, and before he knew it, he had finished the book and you were asleep, your head against his jaw, peaceful in your slumber. You were such a heavy sleeper, but he was also aware that you had exhausted yourself with that foolish stunt you’d pulled. He kissed your hair, setting the book down and lifting himself up, carrying you to bed. When he looked at you as you twisted in the sheets and his shirt lifted up to reveal the panties he’d picked out, he let out an audible groan.

Just a little longer, he thought. For now, he headed to the bathroom, seeking to relieve your effect on him.

You were disgusted with yourself. Disgusted with your weakness, disgusted with the effect he had on you. Yes, you’d said you’d do anything if he spared your loved ones, and you had been dreading him trying to fuck you. Having to go through it again. You had not expected him not to.

A week had passed, a week of torture. You had given up altogether on running away, especially because the door was impossible to open and jumping out the window wasn’t a viable option anymore. He had been more lenient than you’d ever imagined he could be, and hadn’t even tried to fuck you. He had merely demanded you sit on his lap and kiss him. And he had done so every day for the past week.

And every night for the past week, you’d been plagued with dreams about him having his way with you. You were horrified whenever you woke up drenched, pressure in your lower stomach, the unbearable desire to feel his touch rearing its ugly head again. Reminding yourself of who he was had become increasingly difficult, when all you could think about was how good he felt, how much his touch sparked heat in your body. And he knew it too, the clever bastard. You could see it in his sly grey eyes, in the sardonic smirk he would give you once he pulled away.

You were lonely, and you were tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the anxiety, tired of weighing your every word, of pushing him away, of walking on eggshells all day long. It would be so easy to give in. The only thing that held you back was giving him the satisfaction. But then again, you’d already done that the time you’d slept with him. What was the point? Wouldn’t you live a much easier life if you gave in? If you stopped fighting and just let him encroach himself in your life? It had already happened, and your stubbornness and pride were only making your life harder.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You were weak and twisted for considering liking someone like him. Someone who had kidnapped you, a murderer with no morals, a man who had no problems threatening your loved ones and keeping you captive.

But what choice did you have? What was there in the future for you? More struggle, more bile in your throat, more tightness in your chest, more pain and suffering? Or just acceptance?

He could be considerate, when you did what he wanted. And he could be your worst nightmare if he wanted to.

You couldn’t defeat him, couldn’t escape, couldn’t convince him to let you go. Your choices were to either live a miserable life of suffering, or to give in and experience something bordering safety. Something that might resemble a life one day. All in exchange for giving in to the one who had ruined your life. Somehow, the choice made itself in your mind.

Part III here

[evillemons]

WHAT A RELATIONSHIP WITH JUNGKOOK WOULD BE LIKE (JK pt. 2)

~ based on his ideal type as described in part 1, continued into part 3. Masterlist here.

• I do imagine JK as having gone through a fuckboy phase before finding “the one”, taking home random women that came onto him frequently. HOWEVER, if he really likes someone, he would revert back to the shy, slightly intimidated romantic cutie that he is on the inside.

• He really would be obsessed with her and think about her all the time.

• Would attempt to woo her with flowers, romantic dates, moving furniture into her new apartment (drooling over this visual), and being excessively eager to help with anything she needed.

• He wouldn’t stop until she fell for him (think of the Seven music video).

• He’s aloof and unserious on the outside which may cause her to feel reluctant in the beginning, but she would inevitably give in to those big, sparkly, adoring eyes and polite demeanor.

• Seriously, who can say no to those puppy eyes.

• I imagine he would like more activity-oriented dates like attending a local fair or hiking. Games together, too, when the relationship is more established (which he would purposefully lose to make her happy (which is saying a lot considering how much he loves to win)).

• I can see him wanting to assume the “traditional” masculine relationship role of paying for dates, picking her up at her door, serving as the protector etc.

• Despite who’s looking, he would grab her waist and sit her in his lap, put his arms around her, or kiss her neck whenever he felt like it (almost a little territorially).

• Lots of teasing and little pranks or jokes.

• Would fall asleep with his head in her lap during a movie after working himself to death all week.

• He can honestly be a little bit of a brat, but is too cute and sweet to stay mad at for too long.

• Weekly gym dates (to which he would probably be in awe of at the sight of her in fitted clothes).

• Jungkook is one pretty man, but god would he be a high maintenance boyfriend.

• He requires a lot of attention and reassurance, and he would no doubt get jealous easily.

• Out of all the members, I see him as the most confrontational if someone came onto her. He might punch someone if he’s really angry.

• God forbid someone makes her cry… prepare to die.

• Arguments between them could get loud and quite heated, but afterwards he would come to her meek and slightly teary eyed, telling her how sorry he is and how much he loves her.

• I’m not sure where he would fall on the spectrum in terms of publicizing the relationship. He would receive the most backlash by fans for sure, but I also don’t think he would care what others have to say if he really loves her.

• Similar to V, there could be potential for an unhealthy dynamic given his lack of experience at “normal” life, so she would need to be patient and mature with him and they would need to be able to communicate well.

• Although he can be a little needy or possessive, when he falls for somebody, I think he would be incredibly sweet, loving, and loyal and want to give her the world.

[your-mom-friend]

I’ve been losing my mind about The Ocean Saga from Epic:The Musical for like a couple days (weeks) and I have to say there’s a couple things I especially love

In “Keep Your Friends Close” Odysseus works so god damn hard to make sure no one can fuck up his chance to get back to his family. He dispels the treasure rumours immediately, tells the crew it’s the storm trapped in the bag, and still stays awake for NINE DAYS to make sure no one touches it.

Despite that, when he falls asleep and the bag is opened, the crew opens it and unleashes the storm. You can HEAR his desperation in the “NO” and yet and YET he focuses on the situation. “Help me close the bag!” “But sir it’s too late!” “We can keep whatever wind it left to use another day, COME ON!”

Despite the fact that these people betrayed them and they might all die he still pushes it aside to make sure they survive before he does anything else. Beyond that, he trusts them to help him, or at least, trusts in their desire to be alive

Also if someone fucked up the journey that badly and I tried to fix it and they’re like UHHHH ITS TOO LATE I’d shove that bitch overboard and be like anyone else want to be fatalist??? No??? Get the fuck to work

Also “OOOODYSSEUS OF ITHACAAAA” like a wrestler was amazing

And Poseidon being like “apologise for hurting my son and I’ll let you go alive” and Odysseus, gaslighter extraordinaire, said okay but have you considered I didn’t wanna hurt him and didn’t mean it

“We’re in the home of the wind god!” “You don’t know for sure-” “how many floating islands have you seen before?” We love a bitch with an attitude

“Eurylochous grab the harpoons- as many as you can find” “what do you have in mind?” “We’re gonna shoot for the sky” “WHAT?”

“Any last words?” “ALL I GOTTA DO IS OPEN THIS BAG” “WHAT-“ KING I LOVE YOU AND YOUR FUCKING SCHEMES

and I’m so obsessed with the music the music of this saga has been playing in my head on a LOOP I’m frothing at the mouth over it

[brucewaynehater101]

How dare you refuse to pay my therapy bills after the torment you’ve cause me 🥲 Anyway turnabouts fair play.

TW: dead body, resurrection (probs others it’s like 2 am so it’s time to get morbid in ur inbox :p)

I feel like if any of the bats tried to dip Tim in the Lazarus pits, something Tim has explicitly said multiple times that he doesn’t want to get dipped into then maybe young justice would have to intervene on Tim’s behalf.

Tim is obsessed with doing things perfectly and that includes things pertaining to himself. If he’s not coming back right then don’t you dare bring him back.

So i’m imaging Jason getting ready to dip Tim in the pits, after his obligatory mental breakdown about it, only for a blur to suddenly take Tim’s corpse away.

Then young justice has to deal with the fact that they have one of their best friend’s corpses with them that they’re just hiding from the bats. Probably having to use one of Tim’s contingencies to stay away from them while dealing with the emotion turmoil of everything that they’re doing.

Then there’s the question of just what exactly they’re going to do with Tim’s body. Do they keep playing keep away from the bats with Tim’s body until it fully decomposes. It would usually never work but maybe with Tim’s contingencies they could pull it off.

Or should they destroy the body so throughly that there’s nothing left to be dipped in the pit? Are they going to cremate their best friend knowing that they’re going to stop their friend from every coming back.

They would want Tim back and love him even if he ‘came back wrong’ but they have to respect Tim’s wishes. He would forgive them but they know that they would ruin Tim’s life if they ever put him through that.

Or maybe it’s a secret third option where they’re all scrambling to find a way to bring back Tim with no consequences. They’re all diving headfirst into cults, magical/cursed items, healing methods from the future that brought back the others or they’re reaching out to other planets and universes.

Nobody in young justice was mentally sane about other members. They’re all ride and die about each other.

Yay!!!! "Payment" for my therapy, lmao ^^

If YJ knew Jason was about to dip Tim in the creepy lime juice bath, they probably would intervene. I'd also imagine other Bats would as well.

You've listed 3 options for YJ post corpse-napping:

Keep away/hiding Tim's body until it decomposes (or until he comes back himself)

Destroying/cremating Tim's body

YJ finding an alternative solution to bring Tim back

I like the au/hc that Tim has a contingency in place in case he dies before he is supposed to. I don't mean this as Tim having plans for how to deal with his death (like his will), but as in Tim having a way to come back to life. It is, for obvious reasons, untested and not certain. Still, Tim might have a plan for that.

Therefore, YJ would either wait for Tim to come back or try to figure out another option just in case.

Either way, unless Tim explicitly told them DNR (with the R being revive/resurrect in this case), YJ is gonna get their bird back. The whole band will get back together for this cause (or at least provide support/aid where they can).

Just YJ desperately keeping Tim's body from the Bats as they try to revive him and keep that gods awful Pit juice from him.

[2knightt]

hiii I was wondering if u could do smth for the outsiders? Like Darry has a s/o who is the mother figure for the gang and often Johnny n pony call her ma / mom? I js thought it was sooo cute but if not it’s also okay dearrr

darry curtis x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.fem!reader

2.swearing

3.probably ooc LMFAO

darry would literally love you. oh my god.

you’re caring???? you help take care of the gang??? you help ponyboy with homework???

you might as well rip his heart out of his chest cause it’s already yours!

the gang loves you, probably even more than darry does!

but to darry, that’s impossible.

you’re heaven sent to him. he truly believes you’re a miracle!

when he’s stressed out, you’re right there to help him destress!

giving him a massage, giving him tea, shit maybe even all of the above if you feel like it.

“jeez dare, stop overworking yourself so much! you’re gonna die some day because of it!”

“no i won’t, been doin’ it for so long i’ve gotten used to it.”

“thats even worse!!”

when you cook for him he will GOBBLE it up.

homie can taste the love you put in and he thinks it makes the food taste 100x better.

but even you have stressful days! but, expect darry to treat you like a princess!

he will not let you leave his bed, he is getting everything you want.

water? done. a book? already in your hand. a fucking car? he’s wasting all his money for you!

he will follow you to hell if you ask him nicely.

he just loves you so much.

when he somehow get’s hurt in rumbles he’s so glad you’re there to patch him up.

but he isn’t glad that he gets an earful from you.

“you know i hate these things. why do you out of all people go darry? you’re better than this.”

he just grumbles because he doesn’t even want to answer anything with a black eye that’s slowly forming on his right eye.

the gang is so thankful that you can patch them up too. they sometimes fight over who you’re gonna help next.

“i’m goin’ after darry!”

“SODA! YOU’VE GONE SECOND FOR LIKE 3 TIMES IN A ROW. IT’S MY TURN!!”

“PISS OFF TWO-BIT.”

“actually it’s my turn.”

“shut the hell up steve.”

“AYE!”

ponyboy’s just happy he has a mother figure in his life again. his mom was definitely his favourite parent, so now that he has someone to replicate that, he’s on the moon.

he only calls you mom or ma in private, he’s too embarrassed to say it with others in the room.

BUT, he definitely lets the mom calling slip accidentally infront of the gang.

“mom, do you need help with the dishes?”

“MOM?!”

“WHAT?!?”

pony just looks down in embarrassment until you chuckle and agree to him helping you. then he’s all smiles and sunshine!

darry is so happy to see this you don’t get it.

darry asks for advice from you to get to know ponyboy better since he rambles on and on about whatever he’s most interested in at the time.

“so uh, about ponyboy…”

“oh! he really likes ‘gone with the wind’, i know you don’t have much time to read so, i can just tell you the important stuff!”

he just nods and stares at you as you talk about the characters, the main plot, and the small details ponyboy’s obsessed with.

he’s taking mental notes and thanking you heavily when you’re finished talking!

“thank you, y/n. really. i appreciate all you do for me.”

“awe! of course, babe. anything for you.”

he’s giggling and blushing at the last sentence

he’s so thankful that you’re there to talk some sense into the gang.

sometimes he sits on the sidelines and just watches.

“DALLAS WINSTON. WHAT ON GODS GREEN EARTH WERE YOU THINKING PULLING SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!”

“I’M SORRY! JESUS.”

dallas just throws his hands in the air in defeat, knowing that no matter how much he apologizes you’ll continue to scold him.

but he listens, he doesn’t do whatever he did for awhile.

darry just chuckles at the sight.

his mom used to scold dallas like that, so seeing you do the same brought back good memories for him.

being around you just reminds him of the ‘good old days’ so when he’s around you his mood immediately lifts.

like he could be yelling at ponyboy to raise his grades and you could walk in and darry would go “AND STUDY MO- oh hey babyyy!!☺️☺️”

everyone’s eternally grateful for you.

ESPECIALLY JOHNNY GOOD LORD.

he goes to you for literally everything.

something bad happened to him?? he’s at your front door! something good happened to him??? he’s right beside you telling you about it!

yeah, he calls you mom too.

he doesn’t mean to though! he just looks up to you so much, he’s always seen you has a mother figure but he never thought he’d actually call you mom!

“hey ma, does my hair look tuff!?”

“huh?”

he’s FROZEN in place. he’s so embarrassed, he’s literally overheating.

you just giggle to yourself and say his hair does infact, look extremely tuff.

he walks away smiling with a little hop when he walks.

the gang fights over your attention with darry.

they ain’t got a good life at home, but if you give them the motherly love they’ve been missing? they will kill someone for you.

darry loves and hates this.

he loves that you and the gang get along. he can’t be with someone the gang doesn’t like, but he hates that they like you so much they talk to you 24/7.

he sometimes just snatches you while you’re talking to someone in the curtis house.

like you could be talking to sodapop and he’ll come behind you and grab you by the waist and carry you into his room.

all that while soda chases him down, yelling nonsense.

“DARRY! I WAS TALKING TO HER.”

“that’s crazy…”

overall, darry would definitely look for a mother-like lover.

he needs it fr🙏

author notes;

1.EVERYONE SHUT UP THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST I CANT

2.when i read dear i lowkey giggled and kicked my feet

3.should i make a taglist??!!???? would literally anyone like to be tagged in my outsiders fics?!!!????

4.i really hope i did this justice LMFAO

5.btw if you’ve DMed me im not ignoring you, im working up the courage to talk to you. im a very nervous person😭😭

may 11th, 2023. 10:18PM.

[zorobraun]

sexual tension with ghost that leads to sex (but he’s not toxic anymore) part four

at one lonely night, simon thought that he just needed a distraction to stop thinking about you all the fucking time. yet… “you’re so big and strong.” ghost almost frowns when he hears the woman he was about to fuck — so he can think it’s you instead — whispering on his ear. fucking hell, this lady sounds pathetic; even though she’s not mocking him at all. however, he’d much rather hear you saying those words in your usual mocking tone, than her saying them in a seductive one. “actually, i have a girlfriend. sorry.” he lies, smiling politely. if he had been honest, he would’ve said: “actually, you’re not y/n, so i physically can’t get hard, even though you’re pretty fuckable. sorry.”

(…)

“jesus christ, maybe we should get him a dog.” konig says to alejandro and soap while they stare at their lieutenant’s miserable and lonely figure. ghost is taking a deep breath as he feels the sun on his not so exposed skin. “bro had to reconnect with mother nature to try to get over y/n.” soap jokes, making they burst out laugh. “y’all are mean. malos!” alejandro punches their arms, laughing. meanwhile, ghost decides that it’s enough mother nature for today and walks back to the base, just to find the three of them holding back a laugh. “morning, lt.” they all say together, looking quite suspicious. “get the fuck outta’ my face, bastards.”

(…)

after a few days suffering to get over you, the day has finally arrived — soap’s birthday. ghost sighs as he enters the downtown bar, the overwhelming noise of people talking loudly mixed with music invading his ears. “finally! i thought you wouldn’t come.” soap punches ghost’s arm, hugging him tight. “drunk already?” ghost chuckles, taking a look around. “you know me, lt.” he smirks, taking a long sip of his long neck beer. “come on, we’re all over there.” soap adds, pointing to the corner of the bar, where the pool table is.

they all greet ghost with sincere smiles and hugs, one thing about lieutenant ghost is that he’s very loved by people, somehow. he grabs a beer as he joins the team’s conversation, sitting on the edge of the pool table. “lt, that girl is staring. like, for real. i think she wants you.” konig discretely points to a blonde woman, making all of the boys look at her simultaneously. “fucking idiots, y’all don’t know how to fudge.” konig rolls his eyes, they all laugh.

“if you fumble her, i swear to god…” soap stares at his best friend. ghost grins, holding back a laugh. “i might, not gonna lie. i’m not in the mood.” simon shrugs, making them mock him with annoying sounds. “right, she’s not y/n!” alejandro mocks him again and ghost chuckles. “i’ll fucking kill you when we leave this place.” ghost jokes, pulling his jacket up to show his glock. “alejandro didn’t lie, though. you were always in the mood with her.” soap adds, they all laugh again, except for ghost.

“what did y’all expect?” obviously they all stay silent, or else simon would kill them. “i was on my knees for her.” he chuckles, knowing damn well that he is obsessed with you still. “literally.” konig points out, making them hold back a laugh. ghost sighs defeatedly when he notices the sudden silence, all of their dread faces, staring behind him. of course you had to come. “h-hey, y/n!” soap smiles nervously, walking towards you. ghost swallows hard, standing up. “happy birthday, soap.” you smile wholeheartedly, hugging him. “i bought you something, hope you like it.” you stroke his arm slightly, he kisses your cheek as he thanks you.

ghost turns his back to face you and the world stops. his heart skips a beat when you look back at him, you look so beautiful in this black short silk dress. you think he looks very handsome in all black too, but you’d rather die than say it out loud. they all clear their throat as they start talking to each other, pretending to not care about you and ghost at all.

“now what are you even doing here?” you finally say with some sort of disgust in your words. ghost is in shock with your bratty attitude, coming closer to you. “come again?” he frowns, your gaze on him suddenly getting on his nerves. “soap said you wouldn’t be able to make it, that’s why i’m here, obviously.” you roll your eyes, trying to ignore his perfume messing up all of your senses.

“well, sweetheart, soap fucking lied. now fix your attitude, we’re not together anymore.” he says in his usual bossy tone and you just hate it so much. you chuckle dryly, stepping in closer, so he can hear you very clearly. “have we ever been together, simon? i just remember being your sex toy, that’s all.” you force a smile, already getting mad at his stupid face. “you enjoyed every second of it, though. if you weren’t such a whiny bitch, i would’ve made us official.” he says straight to your face, just a few inches away from yours, actually.

you swallow hard, as if you were preparing yourself for something you’ve been wanting to do for a while now. you slap him in the face with such a force, that your palm stings. your breathing grows a bit faster, a part of you afraid of what he’s going to do about it. half of the people around you is staring at you and ghost, with curious but shocked eyes. suddenly, all you hear is the loud music; ‘closer’, by nine inch nails. you hold your breath for a while. simon has this hatred painted all over his face as everybody’s attention goes somewhere else, thank god.

ghost thinks you’re very lucky to be you and above all, a woman. he would never hurt a woman, specially you, of course. but oh god, he’s mad. he’s furious. he just wants to make you suffer so bad, he wants to absolutely ruin your entire life, make you feel humiliated in front of this entire bar, just like he’s feeling right now. he grabs your arm in a tight grip as his lips come closer to your ear. “you’ll fucking regret that.” his tone sounds deeper now that he’s seeing red.

before you could answer, simon’s grip obliges you to keep up with his wide steps. you’re following him like a puppy and it makes you try to get away from him, but he’s way stronger. and besides, you don’t really want to leave him. “hey you, let her go!” a random guy yells at simon, placing a hand on his chest. you frown, as if you’re telling the guy that he just made a huge mistake. “get the hell outta’ my face before i break your fucking nose.” simon says in a very annoyed tone, his grip on you never leaving.

“do it, asshole. you don’t have the b…” the poor guy suddenly falls onto the ground, his hand pressing against his bleeding nose. you widen your eyes, holding simon’s arm. for a moment, he realizes how much he missed your gentle hands on him. he doesn’t waste any more time as you both walk towards the exit. “u-um, i’m sorry, okay?” you mutter nervously as you both leave the bar. ghost is walking the two of you to his car, you notice.

“i wasn’t thinking straight.” you add when he pushes you against his car’s closed door. he’s looking into your eyes a bit differently than before; like his hatred just turned into something more powerful. simon grabs the sides of your neck so hard that you could almost choke. you start praying to god, maybe this is the day you’ll meet him in heaven. well, you’re indeed going to heaven tonight. just not to meet jesus. simon pulls you close by the grip on your neck, kissing you slowly. oh, so this is heaven…

the way he shoves his tongue in your mouth like he’s claiming you for the thousandth time makes you moan quietly against him. he swallows that one single sound of yours as if it was his favorite drink. you both hold back the urge to say that you’ve missed each other so bad as he eagerly bites your bottom lip. you breathe out as your hand goes to the small of his back, pulling his body closer to yours. he almost groans when he feels your tiny figure trying to get some friction against him.

“do you ever… think straight, when i’m around?” he finally says something as he stops kissing you, out of breath. your cheeks get red when you realize you’re already melting to the way his voice sounded firm, but calm and flirty at the same time. that burning hate of his seems to fade away when you chuckle. “not really.” he holds back a smile.

“as much as i want to fuck some decency in you…” he stares at your lips for a second. you press your thighs together. “i won’t do that.” he grabs your jaw, his face too close for your comfort. “‘cause i know this was your plan all along.” he places a suggestive kiss under your ear. “besides…” he pauses. his breathing on your sensitive area making you shiver. “i’m over you.” simon completes, knowing damn well that this statement will absolutely destroy you in so many ways. so you almost throw up when you notice that he sounds so sure of what he just said. little do you know, he’s a proud liar.

“no, you’re not.” you think out loud, wanting to punch yourself for sounding so desperate, so dependent of him, of his stupid affection for you. you just can’t bear the tought of him moving on so easily when you’re right where he left you. suddenly, you feel the urge to cry. you grab the hand that was on your face, placing it above your beating heart. “tell me you don’t feel a single thing for me and i swear to god, i’ll leave for good. you’ll never hear from me again.” you say with watery eyes staring into his. simon’s breathing grows erratic, his throat is so dry that he thinks you’ll be the death of him. he wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction from you, honestly. maybe he wasn’t the only one that still didn’t move on.

“you let your fear of love win again and you’ll fucking lose me, simon.” you’re literally tearing up now, his hand might be shaking against you. “this is the last time i’m fighting for you, do you understand? i’m done fighting alone, when you don’t even move a single finger for me.” your heart misses a beat when you realize you can’t even get a reaction from him. “i want you to fucking say something, do something!” you let go of his hand as you hit his chest, pushing him away. simon stays silent and you close your eyes, tears running down your face as you take a defeated breath.

you look at him. “goodbye, simon.” you’re saying these words so many times that it’s becoming your tagline. you lick your lips and sigh, walking away. he’s paralyzed as his heart keeps screaming don’t let her go, don’t let her go, don’t let her go. he feels like having a panic attack when he tries to breathe deeply, but he can only breathe shallowly. don’t be a pussy, you’re embarassing. your family, they were never a good example of love. you can let it go, you can let them go. what you can’t let go, is her. do something. do something. do something.

simon swallows hard as your absence pulls him out of his messy thoughts. he takes a look around, but you’re already far away. it doesn’t matter, he’d follow you through hell. his steps are wide and fast as he doesn’t lose track of you. he shoves some people away on the sidewalk. he doesn’t care. then you feel it — his hand on your wrist. you stop walking, already knowing that he’ll say some nonsense shit to make you feel less worse, just like the other night. you turn your back to look at him with annoyed eyes. he takes a deep breath.

“y/n, i once said to soap that you’re too good for me… but i was wrong. it turns out that you’re the best part of me.” simon’s hands go to the back of your neck, looking into your bright eyes. “i realized that too late, when i lost you.” he pauses, licking his lips nervously. “i can’t lose you again, i don’t want to. all i want is you, by my side.” you swallow hard. “i’m sorry, love, for being so complicated. i’m a fucking prick but… i’ll try to be a better man, from now on.” his fingers caress your cheeks.

“i love you. i love you too fucking much. i wouldn’t even want to fall in love if the person i fell in love with wasn’t you.” he chuckles sweetly when he notices your shocked face. “i’m sincerely in love with you and it pisses me off, ‘cause i didn’t know i was able to love someone this much. so stay with me. stay with me today, tomorrow, and the day after that. the other ones too.” simon gives you sweet little kisses all over your face, making the both of you chuckle. “you’re my entire heart, dumbass.” he grins wholeheartedly, and…

you kiss him hard. god, you want to fucking kill him, then bring him back to life.

well, you kind of did.

(…)

“how’s the water temp?” simon looks at your flushed face as you let the water run down your body. “warm enough.” you smile, pulling him close so he can get under the shower with you. he chuckles, kissing your wet forehead. you try to push him away playfully when you notice his gaze on your body — he doesn’t even move. “stop looking at me like that!” you complain, laughing. “you do realize that i’ve already seen your entire body like, a hundred times, right?” he raises an eyebrow mockingly, laughing at your unnecessary shyness.

“i’m not complaining, though.” he smirks, caressing your arm. “you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” you hold back a smile, rolling your eyes. you give him a quick little kiss, holding onto his forearm, since he’s too tall for you. “aw, thanks. it’s a shame i can’t say the same for you.” you joke, he closes his eyes as he laughs. “you’re so dumb, i swear to god…” simon cups your face so he can kiss you again.

“okay, okay.” you pull away, lips still close to his. “i think you’re very handsome, no joke this time.” you smile, looking into his eyes. “and i might love your forearm’s tattoo more than i love you.” you joke, caressing the area you just mentioned as you stare at his toned forearm. your man is just so attractive. he raises an eyebrow. you both chuckle. “just say you ‘wanna fuck, dickhead.” simon teases, you slap his arm.

“i don’t, dumbass.” you roll your eyes playfully, smiling too. he’s looking at you as if he knows you’re lying, but you both choose to ignore that. “help me wash my hair, i’m done with you.” he laughs, grabbing the shampoo. you close your eyes when you feel his fingers rubbing your scalp gently. your relaxed sigh makes him hug you from behind, foam getting all over your stomach. “sleeping on me now, love?” he teases with a kiss on your cheek. you’re really feeling sleepy as his face goes to the crook of your neck, feeling your soft skin against his body.

“i like having you close to me.” you mumble, eyes still closed. simon smiles half heartedly, holding you tighter. you’re both too warm to the touch. he sighs lazily as he pulls away, letting you wash the shampoo out. simon takes a deep lovesick breath while watching you do your thing. he sighs, touching his face — your natural beauty makes him ask himself when did he get so lucky. the way the water runs down your wet soft skin, your perfectly balanced body proportions… you’ve got him on his knees.

“‘wanna know a secret?” simons smirks. you chuckle, nodding. “i’m really happy that i’ll get to sleep next to you for the first time, in my own bed, at my own house. it’s something i’ve been… dreaming about for a while now.” you pout as he caresses your arm, chuckling at your cute reaction. you love the fact that the two of you aren’t at the base tonight, making the intimacy much better. “i can’t wait to cuddle with my beautiful, breathtaking, sexy girl and wake up next to her.” simon says playfully, looking at you with those eyes. you raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him. “you’ll let me fuck you, right, baby?” he jokes and you both laugh out loud. he pulls you into a playful tight hug.

“i already told you.” you roll your eyes playfully as you push him slightly away. “we’re not fucking tonight. i need to know if you really love me for me and not for the way i suck your dick.” you mock at him, making him laugh too loud again, in disbelief. “you got me there, sweetheart.” he clicks his tongue. “i do love the way you suck me, that’s why i fell for you in the first place.” he mocks back with a grin, lying. he fell for you because your vulnerability picked his soul up from a very dark place.

“you’re insufferable, simon.” you chuckle as you kiss him, and…

you let simon riley fuck you in the shower.

(…)

when the two of you finally lay down on his bed, you hear simon’s heavy but relieved sigh. you smile half heartedly as you both look at each other. “i can’t believe i had to wait for so long to sleep next to you.” you mock at him, making him roll his eyes as he laughs; the fact that he came off as the one who played hard to get due to his trauma is embarassing. “don’t even fucking start.” he hugs you, giving messy kisses all over you as a way to shut you up. you’re both laughing like idiots as you feel his heavy body almost suffocating you.

“g-get away from me!” you chuckle, making him chuckle too as he pulls slightly away from you. “you’ll see that it was worth the wait.” he jokes, kissing your forehead. “oh, i know.” you smirk as your face goes to the crook of his neck, making yourself comfortable. you hug him as you put one leg around his. simon chuckles, pulling you even closer as his hand gently strokes the small of your back. your breathing is too calm now, maybe you’re already asleep.

“wake up, sleepyhead.” he says playfully, hugging you tight before pulling away from you. you sigh impatiently as you open your eyes. before you could punch him in the face, he starts. “i need to make us official.” you raise an eyebrow, holding back a smile. “is that so?” you chuckle, kissing him. you sit on the bed as he caresses your thigh, still laying next to you. “i’ve never been that much of a romantic, so this will have to do, i’m sorry, love.” you both chuckle as you nod. “i’d rather marry you already but let’s take it one step at a time.” he smirks, making you blush.

“i wanna’ do it right this time. i no longer can imagine myself without you, so…” simon clears his throat, frowning. you can see that he’s struggling, so you kiss him quickly. “yes, i’ll be your girlfriend, simon.” you get it over with, making him let out a relieved laugh. “thank you so much, gorgeous. i just felt weird to ask you that, ‘cause i feel like we’ve been dating since the night you knocked at my door.” he chuckles, you obviously agree with that. “true, i remember being loyal to you even though we were just fucking around.” you point out, making you both laugh at the statement.

“i was loyal too, you know? my cock was very loyal to you as well, it wouldn’t even get hard with anyone else.” he mocks with a loud laugh, getting embarrassed with the memories. you slap his arm. “babe, i’m not joking.” simon adds, now you laugh out loud. “you’re disgusting, i can’t believe i accepted you as my boyfriend.” you joke, laying your body on top of him. he hugs your waist with a playful grin on his lips. “fuck, i miss when you actually had some sort of respect for me.” he gives your ass a slap, making you chuckle against him.

“you know i love you.” you look at him with a playful smirk. his lovesick eyes, his caring smile. oh, you’re really in love. you both stay still and silent for a moment, just feeling each other’s warmth. “i almost forgot.” he breaks the silence as you frown, growing curious. he stretches his arm under the bed, making you even more confused. simon sits on the bed with you on his lap. “i bought you flowers.” you open your mouth in both surprise and excitement. did simon-heartless-riley bought you flowers? “no, you didn’t. when did you buy them? i was with you the whole time!” you chuckle in disbelief before smiling like a teenager in love.

“i bought ‘em a few minutes before heading to soap’s party, as a promise to myself.” he explains, caressing your thigh with his free hand. “a promise to yourself?” you ask, smiling curiously. “yeah, love. a promise to myself that…” he pauses as his hand finally appears again, this time with a beautiful bouquet of mixed flowers. you pout softly as you caress his arm. “…that i would get the girl.” simon stares into your bright eyes. your reaction makes him chuckle quietly before kissing you in a very tender and meaningful way.

he certainly got the girl.

finally.

tags: @nijiru @ahleeyuh

[greycloudsinwinter]

Concept question Do you think Yandere Ned Stark would became a king’s guard sworn protector towards reader spastically male reader I can only see him becoming a sworn guard to male reader because he couldn’t marry him other than that I’m not sure what could’ve stopped him from marrying reader if reader was a female because he comes from a good house a strong house, one of the top high Lord’s houses so I don’t see why her parents would reject. Anyways, I can only see him being able to be a sworn protector if his brother was alive even after Roberts rebellion because as you know, he’s a second son he was not supposed to inherit the north. Additionally, I think he might have some issues with reader being the same gender. It’s only because throughout the show and the book he’s portrayed as a honorable character, honorable character and I think he m won’t know how to feel since you know almost everywhere in Westeros it’s very homophobic except Dorn and maybe where the wildlings live maybe. So he might feel conflicted overall, especially if he become a yandere after Robert rebellion and his brother died and his already married that will just make him more conflicted and he is the Lord of Winterfell even if he worshiped the old Gods I don’t know how old God react to loving the same gender. I know the faith of the seven reacts, but not the old Gods maybe you can share some insights. On what his reaction would be if he was obsessed with the same gender, and would he become a sworn protector if his brother did not die and how would he react to being obsessed with male reader romantically if his brother died and he became the Lord of Winterfall and is already married and has children and I think if Robert knew he would constantly tease him about it. 🤣 what would make it worse if reader was not only a male but a Targaryen specially after everything that happened during Robert rebellion but I would like you to answer this concept in that male reader is not a Targaryen maybe just a commoner.

YANDERE NED STARK QUESTION 1

🐺 I think he would become a guard to be be with reader as long as his brother is still alive.

🐺if his brother is dead he will still keep near him but he can’t have you around him all the time because now he has a heavy duty on his shoulders.

🐺he would hate himself a bit because he is in love with you.

🐺wishes that you were the different gender so he could have you…

🐺the old gods know that Ned is a honourable man so will be forgiving with him.

🐺if he has too marry and have children because he is lord of winter fell that’s when things get interesting

🐺every glance every look he gives his wife he imagines your face your body.

🐺even when he must make heirs with his wife it’s you he imagines.

🐺spends most of his nights with you however.

🐺you both mostly go hunting or sit and speak old stories as you stare at the stars.

🐺if Robert found out he is definitely making fun of Ned. But if anyone else did it to Ned he would have them punished.

🐺he is a very gentle and considerate yandere to you but not too others he can be cruel .

Thank you for the request ❤️❤️

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

 Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

  There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

  Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

  Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

  My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

  Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood.   You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient.   I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

  I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once…   Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side.   But I’m forgetting what’s important.   I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring.   Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses.  These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers.  “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

  I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but…   But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

  I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.”  I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

 “But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her.  All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story. 

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow. 

 “Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.”   Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

 “No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

  Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground.   In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

 “What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

 “You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

 “Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror.   Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman.  The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

  Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again.   What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

  Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

  Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss.   For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass.   I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

  I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

  But I was yelling about something else instead.   My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina!   I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

 This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

  My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

  I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

  It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

 In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October.  Her blood… and the roses.   And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

  I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity.   They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke.   But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa.   After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath.   But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

  After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

  Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist. 

  In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

  And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers. 

  Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

  Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

  Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

  I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

 Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

  My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

  I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

 Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

  I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

  No one was supposed to see or know.   Even me.    Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in.   I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone.   I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

 This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest.   Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing.     Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

  Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

 In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

  All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

  The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

  And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

  She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

  And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly.   It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story.   The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

  It was her exodus.   I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

  Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

  Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses.   The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me.   But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning.  Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one.  Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

  It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story.   The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·   How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin.   The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

  Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?"   But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

[isa-ghost]

isa my beloved not to be demanding on main but can you pls give me some hcs for phil but like specifically aimed around the time he first adopted each of his kids? 🥺

i’m very 👀 to see if you have any thoughts on his attitudes or behaviours with them being different then as opposed to how he is now

you can also throw in stuff for missa too if u want as he is also their dad and I imagine some hcs might overlap ghgh

(this is oopsie btw i forget if i told u about me refreshing my main blog lmao)

Oh bet? I'm gonna do Phil's first impressions for each of them. :)

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Chayanne

"Oh god this kid is gonna die why is he obsessed with the edge of the WALL"

It was all over for him when Chayanne took that bath in the 2x2 puddle on top of the wall.

It was double over when the phantoms came down and he, Missa AND Chayanne all freaked the fuck out and ran into that teeny tiny house.

The SECOND Chayanne was like "I wanna kick ass and be a protector and fighter actually" Phil was like THIS IS MY SON AND I WILL KILL FOR HIM NOT JUST BECAUSE I'M OBLIGATED TO FOR THIS EVENT.

Honestly he couldn't believe he got so lucky when he and Missa picked Chayanne in the adoption center. How did he manage to pick an egg so compatible with him, interested in the things Phil has spent eons investing time and effort in.

Lullah

He was extremely nervous. He was nervous with Chayanne too but this was a different kind of nervous. Lullah was this soft, sweet, kind of timid little girl and he'd spent all his time so far being all rough and tumble and doing warrior shit with Chayanne. Now he had this lil girl who was Much different than them to take care of. He had no idea how it was gonna go and he was terrified smth would happen on his watch (he wasn't wrong).

He felt even worse bc there was this clear "this isn't my family, and I've barely gotten to know my family before being dumped on someone else" vibe he could do very little about. Mans was totally scrambling to figure out a way to make Tallulah feel more like she belonged with them. He wanted her comfortable at least.

And then her affinity for flowers came about and he latched onto it. It reminded him of something (Rose). :) He could work with flowers, and turtles.

Knowing him, he felt very attached to her right away, but felt like she took longer to properly attach to him. He assumed she just saw him as Abuelito, an obligation to be around because family or whatever. Mr. Overthinker definitely overthought about how Lullah felt.

But he committed to working his ass off to do whatever he could to make her feel like some sense of her normal was being maintained even in her father's absence. And swore to be as ready to kill for her as he was Chayanne, and not just out of obligation as a babysitter.

Missa

He was SO EXCITED. I don't think he'd talked much to Missa prior to being assigned with him. He thought it'd be a cool opportunity to get to know him more.

Tbh much like with Chayanne, that first OH FUCK family sprint to safety meant it was all over. Something about that moment it just clicked. Like yeah, he could spend the next unforeseen amount of time with this guy and their goofy risk-obsessed egg.

And then he discovered Missa is musical and instantly fell. Not romantically. But boy he fell.

After Day 1 he was super looking forward to spending every day with him and learning more about him (and hearing more guitar and singing).

Something about them communication-wise just instantly clicked as well. They just locked in immediately. Despite the distance they're stuck facing now, that hasn't changed either.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Sometime Dreamers (crossover fic)

Summary: Doctor Who/Sandman crossover, 2nd person femme/female reader (though it's very vague through most of the story)

A/N: Launching this monstrosity as part of the Winter Solstice Writing Event even though I spent the morning puking and wrestling with a piece of toast. The Sandman elements will integrate in upcoming installments, I swear. *Eyebrow waggles* Interactions help me shout down my depression and get bits out faster! Love you all, and thank you for your support!

1.

The extraordinary finds you on an ordinary walk.

The sky’s all grey clouds and rainy breezes, even when the forecasters insist it’s blue. Half of the year’s leaves crunch underfoot. Half still give you a reason to look up and marvel.

Really, everything’s fine, even if you’re tired, too tired, worryingly tired, and you’re too wrapped up with thoughts of the House to pay attention to your feet, and you should get back to your latest assignment, or maybe –

“Ooof.”

Brown fabric in your face, your sneakers tangling with his – a full-on collision in front of god and everyone. The man’s so skinny you could’ve dodged fifty ways around him. Instead, you’re wrapped around each other in a bid against gravity.

You look up into brown eyes full of questions. Pretty. And sad. And distracting. You’re still touching, and it’s time you did something about that.

“I am so sorry.” You sort out your feet first, reclaiming your balance before abashedly releasing the fistful of trench coat you’d snared. Then you catch yourself trying to smooth away the wrinkles. Shit. Well. Too late to keep your hands to yourself, but you fold them behind your back anyway, smiling to convince the stranger you’re entirely harmless and definitely weren’t coming on to him, and damn you’re spiraling again. Time for more caffeine. Past time. The walk’s left you tired. You’d hoped it would finally energize you past the malaise hanging over the House. No such luck.

“Oh, no. My fault entirely.” He smiles with his teeth, and it’s definitely a lie, but at least he’s being nice about it. “I never watch where I’m going. But if you wouldn’t happen to – Are you feeling alright?” His whole face wrinkles around the thought, sharpening to pierce your thoughts. He looks in one of your eyes, then swings to the next, mumbling as he reaches in his coat.

“I’m fine. No harm done. You?”

He pulls out a whining device and shines its blue light in your face. “No, that’s not what I mean at all. You look awful.”

After months of obsessive dreams and a lethargy you can’t shake, yeah, of course you look awful. You have a mirror. You had a first-row seat to watch the shadows grow under your eyes. It isn’t even something your roommates dare bring up, because they have their own bruises and drooping smiles. Trust the pretty stranger to be an asshole, though.

Using the side of your hand to guide the buzzing light away, you clear your throat and ask, “I wouldn’t happen to what?”

“What?” He returns the light to his pocket, fishes out a pair of glasses, and squints at you again.

“You were going to ask me something.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Well. I guess you would happen to. You sort of already have, or do, not sure yet. Nice to meet you, by the way.” He thrusts out his hand and grins again, trying to wipe the slate clean and yank the wool over your eyes, like this was a perfectly normal introduction. “I’m the Doctor.”

You accept the handshake but only offer your first name. He repeats it, beaming and glancing around like your name might appear in print on the side of a building.

“Live around here, then?”

Ah, nah. Too far, too fast. He’s not pretty enough to die for. Even though you don’t live alone, common sense screams against telling a strange man where you live.

“I’m just out for a walk.”

Nodding, slipping his hands into his pockets, he accepts the refusal. “Nice place for a walk.”

Thank all fuck. He has tact if not manners. “Very. And it was nice bumping into you, but I’d better continue on mine.” You pass, spin on our heel, and take a few steps backwards. Maybe he was going to ask you for directions, and you don’t want to leave on a sour note, because the poor man might just be awkward. “There’s a lake if you keep going that way. And if you cut through the empty lot there’s a little woods. Or just follow the road and you’ll find some pubs and shops and things. If you’re lost or thirsty, I mean.”

“Oh,” he smiles, “I love a little woods.”

Strange, definitely strange, but fun. So long as he doesn’t follow you home and murder your in your sleep, you’ll work a story around those deep, sad eyes. You’ll dream up fabulous, new worlds for those well-worn Converse to wander. “Good to meet you. Sorry I was a bit of a road hazard.”

“Mutual. The hazard was mutual. Enjoy your walk.”

You face away and continue in the opposite direction. When you reach a good corner you peek over your shoulder, but he’s gone. It’s a relief, if a little sad. The end of an odd little tale, and the end of the story is always the worst part, even when it’s happy.

It’s another two miles back to the House. Your feet carried you far away, but your mind is still in your room, turning over fragments of inescapable scenes.

Mind and body meet on the doorstep. You come back to yourself, vaguely aware of how shaky your legs feel as you put your key in the lock and push through into the entry way.

Art crawls over the walls, growing across the ceiling. Decades of creatives moving through have left their mark in every imaginable way, and the lot you live with are busy adding their own. Jeremy’s painted a starling over the hallway mirror, and Blithe Sharpied her band’s logo at the foot of the stairs months ago.

Despite the chaos of the House’s interior design, it’s dead quiet. Where is everyone? In bed, probably. Asleep or wishing they were. They’re all under the weather, too, and if they have the energy to get up and be productive, they can only work quietly.

Blithe’s guitar hasn’t serenaded anyone in the wee hours of the morning for weeks, and you’re sure she’s missing rehearsals. Trevor hasn’t been to an audition in just as long. And Jeremy, well, he was always a bit quiet. He liked to keep his headphones on while he painted, and the biggest racket he ever made was when he knocked over the tray with his palette and brushes.

But none of them had ever been so lifeless. Jeremy made the old house’s creaking boards sing in the odd hours as he went from the attic to the kitchen for tea or biscuits. Trevor should be laughing on the phone with someone. Blithe should be composing new music to transcribe on the walls. No one seems like themselves, and all the doctors could do was mumble about stress and lifestyle choices.

But at least you’re home.

You’re tired.

You’ll just have a little nap before you put the coffee on.

You make it as far as the couch.

Then the fatigue swallows you, and thought unstitches from reality as you fall into the ratty floral print. Loose threads of memory follow you down, the rhythm of your walk echoing in your feet, and you find green grass sprouting from your imagination. The dream smells like summer, and droning rattles in your ears.

It’s another story. The same one you keep slipping into when you sleep. Growth, and death, and the thing that sits between lurking underground.

A hill.

A door where there is no door.

Old magic pulling bits of you inside, tattering the edges of your fingers as they steady you against an oak. Skin, fingernails, and tendon shred away like burnt paper, pulled towards the point of entry that doesn’t exist.

Under your palm, the wood groans and flexes, breathing, or pulsing, alive in ways you’ve always suspected trees are but can’t articulate. It’s all impressions here, and it’s pulling you in. The tree has more life than you do. You’re feeding the green, green grass and the hill beneath without growing into it, and that must mean you’re –

Awake.

Consciousness physically jerks you out of the dream, and a muscle seizes in your neck.

“Fuck.”

What’s happening? Did you jump scare yourself? As you try to rub the angry spot over your shoulder, the sound that roused you comes again.

A knock at the door.

Rolling your head to pop the bastard muscle back into compliance, you get your feet on the floor.

But the dream. You need to write it all down.

There must be a scrap of paper around here somewhere. A stubby pencil on the end table and an out-of-date band flyer come to hand. They’ll do. But as you scratch down words to shape the sensory madness of your wandering dream, the knock comes again, and you swear, stumbling to your feet.

“Damn it.”

You abandon your work and make your way to the door, pulling it open without checking who’s waiting on the other side. It creaks open as you glance down to make sure your feet are clear, and you look up to find the storied brown eyes from your walk.

“Hello again!”

He shoots the same, big grin, like this is not at all strange and really you should all remain calm while he stops in for a cup of tea.

[vampierium]

I’m so obsessed with Kinder/Darling and Makkoro’s relationship guys.. I care so much about them… if they don’t end up living happily together in a nice little secluded cottage, raising farm animals or something, I might just die

Not to mention the most recent part on MotH…. God bless the Guardian for probably saving their relationship

[fiveredlights]

I can't lie, I'm obsessed with your daniel ricciardo: team principal fic so I'd like to hear what's to come please? :3 probably cheating by asking about 2 fics in one but is the inception one Maxiel as well? Because oh boy I would love to hear about it too...

I'm sorry, you write so well I just want to hear about all of them now :D

daniel team principal au:

Max nods slowly, blinking a couple times as he searches for what to say. Daniel reaches across the table with his palm up and Max slides his hand in without hesitation.

Easily, one might say.

“I think maybe we have already gone through all the difficult bits so we deserve the easy things now,” Max says simply.

inception au:

When Max finds Daniel he’s lounging on a beach chair, wearing some god awful designer patterned silk set, sunglasses low on his nose, nursing a beer, rolling his three sided die in between his fingers.

And he’s got that fucking moustache again.

the interlude/summer break chapter is basically just max and daniel sitting down being like whatever shit we’ve held in to each other over the past couple of years needs to come out because i think they both know they’re probably exiting summer break in a different type of relationship.

like they probably know they love each other but this is the final hurdle to cross that bridge so they don’t enter a relationship with ghosts that pop back up halfway through!

inception au my (not so secret now) beloved child that mainly exists in my head… it’s basically if arthur and eames were together and the main focus of the movie but with maxiel. it’s a very loose interpretation of the movie, like the characters aren’t 1 to 1 but the whole dreaming stuff is roughly the same. no dead wives or estranged children they do it for the money and for the fact if they pull this off toto or whoever the client is will wipe their ledgers clean.

sebastian and lewis run the whole thing, and they recruit charles (the ariadne) as the architect etc. he’s a little bit infatuated with sebastian and daniel laughs his ass off when he watches charles realise that lewis is seb’s husband. whoops. alex and george are also there, alex as the chemist and george as the money.

maxiel are in a ??? relationship, like a friends with benefits that hate each other but also flirt with each other until their dying breath but also only ever fuck with each other. so dating but without ever saying the word dating otherwise both of them will run. max is the arthur, daniel the eames and their totems match—daniel has a 3 sided die and max has a poker chip with 33 white squares on the outer ring (because i’m annoying like that)

the actual inceptioning itself is something ridiculous like toto hiring them to intercept into christian or zak’s mind to get them to sign one of the mercedes drivers because toto doesn’t wanna fire them (because 💰) so he thinks paying this group to perform a complicated and never done before inception is easier… yeah rich people are weird but anyways