#i am simply filled with too many emotions

[cream-and-tea]

[ID in alt]

our paige.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 3

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering.i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4.9k

(Extra special shout out to @nitaekook for beta reading and holding my hand through this fic 😂❤️)

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Master List

“Where do you want these plates to go, my dear?” Jade asks from across the kitchen. 

You glance up at her from your spot on the brand new couch that was just delivered to the new apartment that morning. You’re sitting cross legged unpacking a box of the few things that you had brought over from the old apartment. In the kitchen, your best friend Jade (who is also Arthur’s girlfriend of about a year thanks to your meddling) stands holding up one of the new plates that you bought with her yesterday. 

“Wherever there’s room.” You say with a shrug, not really caring where the plates go because everything feels weird.

The apartment is pristine with its gorgeous hardwood flooring that Charles had refinished before you moved in, floor to ceiling windows that face out towards the water, and that new house smell that is totally unfamiliar and a little unnerving. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? Finally being free of the stifling apartment that you had shared with Lando should fill you with so much optimism and a sense of relief, shouldn’t it? But that’s not the case. Not even close. You’re scared and nervous and just the thought of deciding where those plates should go seems like the heaviest question you've ever been asked.

 Simply picking out the plates yesterday with Jade had been an ordeal and you had needed to take several moments to yourself while shopping. You liked your old plates that you had bought with Lando the week you moved in with him but at the same time, the thought of taking those to your new apartment was more painful than leaving them behind.

Jade must notice your anxiety because as soon as she finishes putting the plates and bowls in whatever cabinet that suits her fancy, she comes over to sit next to you on the couch. When she wraps her arm around your shoulders you melt into her in a desperate attempt to stop a fresh flood of tears from falling. It seems as if all you’ve done since leaving the old apartment was cry and if you’re not crying, you’re barely fighting off an incoming panic attack and jumping with every ding of your phone. 

“What’s going on, my love?” Her voice is gentle, like she’s talking to an injured animal that she doesn’t want to spook. It makes you feel pathetic, helpless, and angry for how much Lando has damaged you when he should have been loving you. 

You’ve known Jade for years now and she’s always been one of your closest friends. It was Jade that had been the first of your friend group to pull you aside almost a year ago to ask you if you were truly happy with Lando. She had seen the light dim in your eyes as your relationship with him progressed and watching you lose your spark had scared her. When you had told her the morning after your art show last month that you had finally decided to leave Lando, it had been so hard for her to tamp down her excitement that you had finally worked up the courage to leave him. 

“I should be happy, right?” You ask, voice cracking a bit with the heavy weight of what closing the door on the apartment for the very last time had done to you that morning. “I mean, I know I’ve been miserable for…” You scoff, “a really long time so shouldn’t I feel something other than heartbreakingly sad?” 

Jade tips her head so it rests on your shoulder, a humming sound playing at the back of her throat. “You’ve been with him for a long time, of course you’re going to be heartbroken. Youu’re doing the right thing though, I promise you. He couldn’t even stop playing that stupid video game long enough to support you last month!” 

You nod, memory flickering back to the fight in the hallway in front of Max. You hadn’t heard much from him in the weeks since that night aside from a few texts here and there and you had expected that. He probably was mortified at how you had behaved, embarrassed for you that you had allowed yourself to be treated that way in front him.

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he thought you were a weak little girl who deserved the treatment Lando doled out to you. It was the only way you could rationalize his silence. Seeing how far you’d fallen, how much you’d changed, had obviously had an effect on Max and he had decided he’d seen enough. It didn’t surprise you and you didn’t blame him. Jade was one of your only remaining friends and losing yet another person you trusted and valued in your life was just another thing Lando had taken from you. 

“I’m just so glad you finally are taking your power back, love. I know it feels all wrong right now but when you go from the chaos that you’ve been living in for so long, I’m sure the calm of this apartment feels wrong. You’ll get used to it. It might take some time but you’ll get used to it.” 

Your head swivels around to look your best friend and you search her face for any sign of her lying to you. You desperately want to believe she’s right, that you’re making the right choice. You know you are, deep down in your soul, but you’ve been with Lando for so long and have spent so many nights listening to him rant and rave about how he’s the only one who could ever deal with your dramatics that you wonder if Jade is wrong and Lando is the one who’s been right all along. You don’t voice the doubts though, knowing that those kinds of things are something that you should probably keep to yourself. So instead of voicing all of the fears that are bouncing around in your chest, making it feel heavy and tight with the pressure of doing something that absolutely terrifies you, you just nod and lean further into Jade’s shoulder.

 “I know.” You whisper, staring out over the open living room that is littered with small boxes and suitcases. 

With the help of your brothers and Jade, you had started moving your things out slowly while Lando had been otherwise distracted. Just a small box of clothes and trinkets here and there, over the last month while Charles had the apartment renovated and cleaned. When it was finally ready last week, you had begun looking for furniture and making final plans. 

The timing had worked out perfectly, with the apartment finally being finished perfectly aligning with a weeklong trip Lando had planned to go to Woking to spend time in the sim at the MTC. He rarely bothered you during these working trips, hell he barely bothered you during any of this trips, but his work trips were different, so you knew you’d have a solid week to get everything that mattered to you out of the apartment before he would be any wiser. 

“He’s going to be so mad when he comes home and my things are gone.” You murmur, staring down at your phone which hadn’t received so much as a text message from him in almost 48 hours. 

You hadn’t bothered telling Lando you were leaving, that you were done with him. You shied away form confrontation on even the best of days so telling the man that you’d spent the last three years building a life together that you were leaving him was terrifying. When you had started moving small boxes out while Lando was still in town, you had half expected him to notice but that had never been a problem. He hadn’t even noticed you leaving on several occasions with boxes of your books or suitcases of clothes. 

A larger part of you had another reason for not telling him, though. You knew that if you told him before you were fully moved out he’d try to get you to stay. He’d try to convince you that things would get better, that this time would be different. All the things that he’s said before when you spent the night crying over his neglect. And you knew you’d fall for it. You knew you’d go running back to him if you didn’t get out before he found out. Lando was persistent and an expert manipulator, you knew that and you still fell for it over and over again so this time you were trying to give yourself the chance to put yourself first and not fall back into his trap. 

“He’s going to learn his lesson when he comes home and finds that you’re finally moving on.” Jade says, tone firm but still gentle. She knows what it’s like to be in a relationship like you have with Lando and when you had called her that morning last month to tell her you were finally leaving him, she had decided she was going to make sure she’d do everything in her power to keep you from going back to him. Getting you unpacked and settled in your new apartment was a huge step forward, one Jade hadn’t been sure you would end up following through with. 

You nod, hoping she’s right but you have a feeling deep in your gut that when Lando gets back into town tomorrow morning he’s not going to see it that way. He’s going to be angry and he’s going to try to get you to come back home to him. 

Looking around your new apartment though, you feel something settle in your bones that you haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s a feeling of attachment to this place. Like if you’re careful and thoughtful, this little apartment tucked away in one of the most exclusive buildings in Monaco could be the best opportunity you have for getting your life back on track. You could heal here, you can feel that in the way the sunlight spills through the windows in the living room, in the way your anxiety allows you to breathe when you stand in the kitchen surrounded by things that you bought yourself, and in in the way you feel when you settle yourself on your brand new bed that will have never shared an intimate moment between you and Lando. Those memories have all been left behind and this new apartment seems like the perfect place for a new beginning. 

As Jade comforts you on your couch, your brother is across town arriving at the Monaco Sports Club where he has a game of padel scheduled with Max that afternoon. He had offered to cancel on him this morning when you spoke to him on the phone, saying that your first full day in the apartment was more important than any padel game, but you had insisted that he keep his game. You had wanted a bit of space to breathe from your brothers, who you knew meant very well and you were very grateful for but sometimes, the three men got to be a little suffocating. So, against his better judgement, Charles had skipped coming over that afternoon in favor of hanging out with Max. 

Max hasn’t stopped thinking about that night last month when he witnessed Lando being needlessly cruel to you. He had every intention of calling Charles that night, had every intention of telling him how the British driver was actually treating you but something had stopped him. He had needed a little more time to process everything that he saw. Max knew that Lando could be an asshole but he never could have guessed that he would have treated you the way he did that night he brought you back to the apartment. It had shaken him and it had taken him a bit to figure out exactly how to approach it with Charles because he knew if Charles really knew how Lando had been treating you, Lando might not make it to the next race alive. Because while everyone knew the relationship was toxic and Lando wasn’t a good boyfriend, no one really realized just how bad it had gotten until Max saw behind the curtain that night of the art show. 

When Max had invited Charles to play padel today, he had finally decided to tell him what had gone down that night. It had taken so long because Max kept waffling between ‘this is none of my business’ and ‘she’s everything’ but when he spotted Charles walking through the padel courts towards him, Max was surprised at how happy Charles looked. 

“You look happy.” Max observes before giving his friend a hug. 

“Oh, it is a very good day, mon ami.” Charles is practically glowing as he smiles over at his long time friend. 

Max lifts a brow, it’s been a while since he’s seen Charles look this optimistic and he wonders if it has something to do with you. 

As if Charles reads his mind, he continues, “We finally got the apartment finished and as of this morning, she’s fully left that piece of garbage.” A smug smile plays at the corner of the Ferrari driver’s mouth. 

The relief that washes over Max is surprising. He hadn’t realized how truly worried he was for your well being until that moment. The guilt that sets in though has his chest aching. How could he have gone so long without saying something to someone about what he had seen that night? Max carefully weighs his decision that he had been so set on just moments before. If you’ve already left Lando and are settling into your apartment, does Charles really need to know what happened that night? It would only cause more drama and Max knew that more drama and anxiety was the last thing you needed. 

In a split second decision that he knows could come back to haunt him, Max decides to keep quiet for now. 

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all day.” With a genuine grin, Max bounces the padel ball against the floor. 

Charles beams back at him and Max can almost see the stress that his friend has been carrying around recently melting away from his features. He had known that your brother was worried about you, had known your entire circle, or what was left of it, was worried but now that this was really happening, Max could practically feel the relief rolling off of Charles in waves. 

“You’re telling me.” Charles mutters before walking to the other side of the court to get the game started. 

Max hadn’t meant to end up in your old neighborhood, truly he hadn’t. He had been on a run the morning after playing padel for a few hours with Charles when he passed the bakery that was a few blocks from your old apartment. He hadn’t meant to come this far but the pressures of the season were starting to get to him as they usually did around this time of year and he had needed extra time to clear his head. The fact that he couldn’t seem to get you off his mind either plagued him the entire run too. The way you had felt pressed against his side as he walked you home that night last month, the way your cheeks flamed with humiliation as Lando had laid into you in front of him when he walked you to your door, everything about you seemed to be invading his thoughts and it worried him. 

It worried him because he couldn’t let you get under his skin like this. He knew it was a dangerous game he was playing, knowing what you’ve been through and allowing himself to wander down that road. He was just happy you were safe now and hopefully you would start to get that spark back that he knew you still had in you. Everything else would have to wait. 

So when he passed the bakery you had pointed out as your favorite the night he had walked you home, he couldn’t help but follow his feet inside. The smells of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries washed over his senses as the bell above the wooden door jingled, announcing his arrival. He knew exactly what he was looking for before the woman behind the counter even asked and before he was able to second guess his decision, Max was walking out of the bakery moments later with half a dozen of what he knew were your favorite almond croissants. 

A housewarming gift, he told himself. Because what other way should Max welcome his newest neighbor to the building where he had lived for the last two years? He knew these were your favorites and if he had to guess, wandering back into your old neighborhood just for some carbs was probably at the bottom of your ‘to do’ list right now, even if they were heavenly pieces of baked bread and sweet almond filling. 

While Max made his way back across town, laden down with a large pink bakery box, you were just getting out of bed and starting your day. Anxiety, a feeling that seemed to be your constant companion lately, sits heavy on your shoulders as you move around the new apartment. The quiet hush that blankets the small space is different than the stifling silence you're used to in your apartment with Lando. It was unnerving to say the least but if you allowed yourself to pause for even just a moment, you could almost feel your soul breathing a sigh of relief. 

That wash of contentment is short lived though when a knock at your front door sends your heart rate spiking through the roof. You know that Lando was going to be home today but didn't know what time. It didn’t even cross your mind that there was no way it was him outside your door because he simply didn’t know where you had moved to but just the thought of someone who you weren’t expecting waiting for you and the possibility that it could be your now ex-boyfriend had you spiraling. 

Reaching for your phone, you pull up the security system app that Charles had insisted you get installed, despite the fact that this was a very well secured building with its own doorman downstairs 24/7. The person standing outside your door has confusion knitting your brow together. 

Pancake ingredients forgotten, you pad towards the door shuffling through various emotions: relief that it isn’t Lando waiting for you on the other side, apprehension about seeing the person that was patiently waiting in the hallway for you, and a bit of relief that you hadn’t lost this person like you thought you might have. 

“Max, what a pleasant surprise.” You murmur when you swing the door open. 

In front of you, the Dutch driver is dressed for a workout in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his blond hair covered in a backwards baseball cap. You’re surprised at the shimmer of pleasure that works its way up your spine when he smiles at you but quickly squash the feeling, remembering the pity on his face as Lando had yelled at you that night he walked you home. 

“I was on a run this morning and remembered you saying this bakery was your favorite. I thought I’d bring you some almond croissants as a sort of ‘welcome to the building’ present.” 

Warmth spreads through your belly at the gesture and you hold the door open to welcome Max into the apartment. “Welcome to the building?” You ask, confused. 

Max grins back at you, rubbing at the back of his neck as he follows you to the kitchen. “I live up in the penthouse. I moved in about two years ago.”

Surprise flickers across your face. When you started dating Lando, your friendship with Max had grown distant so it shouldn’t shock you that you didn’t even know where your friend lived. “Oh, I didn’t realize.” You whisper, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. 

Max watches you bustle around the kitchen, decidedly avoiding eye contact with him. For a few moments he just observes you, trying to decide if he should leave or push. Charles had mentioned yesterday that you were nervous about living alone and Max wanted to make sure that you were okay. He knew he should probably leave you alone to continue to settle it, with it being only your second day in the apartment alone, but there was something keeping him rooted to the spot where he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

 “Are the almond ones still your favorite?” He asks, shattering the silence that had settled over the room. He knows you’re easily spooked now and Max desperately wants you to be comfortable about him. Maybe if he distracts you from whatever storm is brewing in your head, you’ll open up a bit. 

His patience is rewarded with the first unguarded smile he’s seen from you in a long time. “I can’t believe you remembered.” You laugh, reaching for one of the croissants in the open box. 

“You used to put these things away like nobody’s business when we were younger.” 

The blush that creeps across your cheeks has Max gripping the edge of the counter. The two of you fall into a comfortable conversation of safe topics, mostly about your new apartment and how Max’s cats are doing. You like this, the way you feel around him but you can almost feel your body bracing for the other shoe to fall. You keep waiting to have something stupid slip out of your mouth, causing Max to berate or make fun of you. 

Much to your surprise it never happens though and you spend the next hour talking through memories of when Charles and Max were fighting it out on the karting tracks when you were younger. Max remembered you well from those days, how you would beg to tag along with him and Charles and the older boys. 

The sun sits high in the sky when your phone start buzzing loudly on the counter. At first you ignore it, too lost in the conversation you and Max are having, the way he is so attentive to everything you have to say and how he asks you questions like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. You don’t want the attention he’s giving you to end but when your phone starts buzzing for the fifth time in a row, you get up off the couch to retrieve it. It was probably just Charles checking on you, you hand’t heard from him all day after all. 

Your heart sinks and your stomach churns when you see the caller ID though. “Fuck.” The whisper that tumbles off of your lips is broken and harsh, causing Max’s head to snap towards where you’re leaning over the counter, forearms braced on either side of your phone. 

“Everything okay?” Max gets up off the couch to join you in the kitchen, concerned over the way you’ve suddenly gone white as a sheet as you stare down at your phone like it’s about to reach up and strangle you right there in the middle of the room. 

In the couple of hours that you had spent catching up with Max, you had completely forgot that Lando was due to get home soon. “I guess Lando has discovered I’m gone.” The way your voice shakes has Max’s heart squeezing. 

“He doesn’t know you moved out?” 

“Well he does now.” You quip, nervous chuckle falling from your lips. The text messages came in first, it looked like. Nearly a dozen of them and as you scroll through the messages, your face heats. Of course this is going to happen with Max here. Why is he always a witness to your humiliation?

Where are you? Why is the closet half empty, where are all your clothes? Baby, why is your treadmill gone? And your Peloton?  Where the FUCK are you??? ANSWER ME NOW WHERE ARE YOU??? DID YOU LEAVE ME THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY YOU’RE DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE NOW COWARD

Shortly after the messages stop, the calls start. You stare down at the phone as Max watches as call after call comes through. 

“You don’t have to answer him.” Max murmurs, coming to stand right next to you. You have to resist the urge to lean into his warmth, to collapse against the quiet strength that rolls off of him in waves.

“It’s only going to get worse if I don’t.” 

“Does he know where you are?” 

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill over. Why was this all happening right now? You knew you were safe, that he had no idea where you had moved to but just the thought of being in the same city as him when he was this angry is enough to have the panic threatening to strangle the breath straight out of your lungs. 

“Then you’re safe. He wouldn’t ever do anything to put his career in danger, Dovie.” 

You have to laugh at the statement because it’s so true. Lando would never do anything to put his career on the line. He’d do whatever it took to keep you in line under his thumb, no matter how mean he had to be to control you but when it came to his career? His first love? He’d never do anything to put his seat in question and you knew that. You had always come second to racing and what Max said was the total truth. 

Max watches you shrink into yourself as the calls continue to come in, one after another, and he knows he has to do something. He glances at the time and instantly gets an idea. “I was supposed to go to dinner with Danny in an hour. What if you leave the phone here for the night and come to dinner with me?” He pauses, seeing the panic flicker across your face. “With us. Come to dinner with us.” He corrects quickly. “I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free too? It’s been a while since we’ve all had dinner together.” 

Your eyes drop down to the phone, now quiet for the moment, and weigh your options. You know you’re not ready to talk to Lando but the fact that you’re ignoring him makes you feel like a coward. You’re going to have to speak to him sometime but maybe it was okay if you put if off for a few more days. Dinner out with Max, Daniel, and your brother sounds so appealing but you still hesitate. 

“Come on, Dovie. You can’t spend the whole night starting at the phone. He’s going to keep calling and it’s not good for you to be alone right now.” 

The pain that slices through your heart at the gentle coaxing Max’s tone takes on is almost unbearable. Why is he always the one to see you laid so bare, so vulnerable? 

“How did I let this happen, Max?” Your voice breaks, soft and uncertain as you turn into Max’s waiting frame. Without hesitation, Max’s arms circle around you and he pulls you deeper into his chest. Something settles in him then, almost like he’s relieved you’ve allowed him in. The way you shake while he holds you has his chest aching and he’d really like to give the McLaren driver a piece of his fucking mind right about then, but he knows that’s going to have to wait for now. You’re much more important. 

“You were in love, schatje and that’s okay. You trusted him and he broke that trust. It’s not a reflection of you, sweet girl, its a reflection of him. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

You sob quietly into his chest, soaking his t-shirt through with your tears as the dam finally breaks. Humiliation threatens to drag you under but you allow Max’s words to resonate through you. They soften the sharp edges of your heartache and regret, knowing that someone like Max, who you respect and have known for nearly your entire life, doesn’t think this entire thing is your fault. You sink into his warmth, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, allowing his steady breath to ground you. 

Max just stands there, a quiet pillar of strength that he can feel you desperately need right now. Hr murmurs quiet reassurances to you as you cry against him, slowly rocking you back and forth. “Come on,” Max coos, lips brushing against the top of your head. “Go take a shower and then lets go to dinner. I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free. You haven’t seen Danny in ages, right? It’ll be good to get out.” 

Dragging in a deep breath, you hold the air in your lungs until they pinch. “Okay.” 

With one last look at your phone, you turn away and walk down the hallway, leaving Max starting at your phone which has finally gone quiet. For several moments, Max just stands at the counter in the kitchen, unable to move. Relief floods his veins when he hears the shower start though and he knows that you’re finally making a small step towards getting out from under Lando’s control.

@shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[mxymii]

RECOMMENDATION LETTER

pairing | teacher!lee byunghun x femstudent!reader

warnings | 18+, age gap (40 n 19), fingering (f receiving), masturbation, somewhat innocent reader, degrading/praising kink, slight oral (f receiving), lowercase int.

summary | when you’re determined to do anything for your teacher’s recommendation letter..

a/n | hii everyone, this is my first time writing on this platform as well as my first time writing smut so please bear with me :)) i hope you all enjoy !! (also i have the warnings up for you all to read, i am not your parent and will not be telling you what you should or should not read :))

having to stress over recommendations letters in your last year of high school was not in your agenda, it was taking up all of your time trying to receive as many letters as possible. you were a good student; having about several a’s and b’s, being involved in school activities which has earned you credits for your college classes was something you did throughout your four years of school.

one class in particular you were the best at, always showing up on time, dressed appropriately although you would roll up your skirt a few times to attract the attention of someone, always having excellent attendance but who were you to blame.

buffy built, rough hands which were always enhanced by his prominent veins, strict and authoritative voice which makes your legs shake from the roughness of it. he was perfect, just the way you liked but he was your teacher.

your favorite teacher

in which you have yet to receive a recommendation letter from. did he not like you? was he not giving any students recommendations letters?

you were a shy student, barely interacted with anyone unless they had asked for help on one of his homework’s but that’s about it. so you had no other choice but to ask for it yourself.

knocking softly on the classroom door you stood, your hands sweaty as your nervousness buildup. you didn’t want to be desperate for the letters but it would be such a beneficial thing for you to have and plus you also got to see him in all his glory.

the door opens quickly snapping you out of your thoughts, and there he stood tall, his built towering over you. his eyes are quick to scan your figure, lasting a bit too long on your wide thighs. he coughs a bit and meets your gaze, his face holds no emotion whatsoever.

“what can i do for you, miss y/n?”

the tone of his voice stands out, he’s just a nonchalant man with a strict way of communicating. sure some people would say he is the hottest teacher in the building but they seem to be too all intimidated by the aura he carries himself with.

“sorry to interrupt mr. byunghun… i just have something to ask of you?”

you’re glad your voice does not embarrass you at this point, you feel proud of being able to speak without stuttering with each word. he doesn’t speak but simply moves away to give you space to enter the room.

he pulls up a chair next to his desk, unbuttoning his blazer and sitting nicely on his desk as he awaits for you to sit.

“ask away whenever you’re ready.” he says softly

you cross your legs together, regretting putting on one of your shorter skirts today as you now feel embarrassed about it. you wanted him to notice the little details you put in for him.

“i wanted to know…” you stutter a bit, your nerves taking the best of you as your face heats up.

“if you’re able to give me a recommendation letter?”

he hums softly, as he fumbles with various files. “what makes you think you deserve one from me?” he says, tone stricter than usual.

visibly stunned and unable to say anything to his comment he continues to talk. “i’m sure you have received enough letters, y/n.”

“but i would like yours, s-sir..” you say, not caring about how desperate you’re sounding or the fact you stuttered.

“i’d do anything, please sir..”

that quickly makes him meet your gaze, his eyes dark filling up with desire and lust. he knows it’s wrong to crave to touch his student, but he loved the innocence to your face, the way your eyes sparkled when he simply gave you a tad bit of attention. having heard this know, he was willing to make it happen.

“you think you deserve it, y/n?” he states coldly, his dark lust filled eyes meeting yours. his rough hands now abandoning the amount of files scattered around his desk.

he sets a hand on your thigh, you shivering at his warm touch. this is the first time he has touched you in a way, you’re more in common with teacher having pat your back and whatnot or just innocent touches but he was not like them. whenever he would hand over paper he was quick to have some student do it, he was never the type of teacher to come close to you to explain the problems you were having. now having him touch your thigh was a huge deal not only did he initiate it, but it was you who he touched.

your thighs are quick to squeeze each other, wetness already seeping through your panties to create a wet patch. this shouldn’t have turned you on but the way his rough hands felt on your thigh and the way he is talking to you does not help.

he seems to notice your slight discomfort but it isn’t because of his hands, this somewhat proves to him that you like what his doing. testing the waters even move, he slowly moves his hand up. “you think you can come to my classroom and ask for the letter?”

your hands now clamped tightly on the chair, you couldn’t move, it was as if he had hypnotized you. you have never felt as horny as now, your pussy clenching on nothing to just feel some friction.

“what’s wrong darling? can’t talk?” he says jokingly, his hand now under your skirt. your hands quickly clamp his wrist, your fingers slightly shaking.

feeling your hand on his wrist he is quick to stop his actions, he looks at your face to find any sign of regret or hesitation but is only met with your lust filled eyes and bright swollen lips that you been bitting down on. he doesn’t push any further and removes his hand from underneath your skirt. he wants you to beg for him if you were willing to continue but having you stopped him was enough for him to not continue, he didn’t want to take advantage of you. he was better of a man to have you ask for it, to show him you do want what he is doing to you.

goosebumps start to appear on your thigh at the lost of contact and warmth his hand gave. you wanted more, needed more of him. you had waited so long to attract his attention and now having just a taste of what he had given you, you were now addicted.

“please..” you beg softly, your panties completely soaked from your wet pussy, that seems to keep clenching on nothing.

“what was that baby?” he asks softly, his hands moving a few strands of hair that fell on your face. “i need more…”

he hums softly, “thought you would of never asked..” he places his hand back where it was, his finger gliding down your pussy through the wet fabric of your panties. “you’re so fucking wet, baby..” he grunts softly, his fingers sticky as he continues his teasing.

soft gasp and whines escape past your lips, the feeling of his finger running up and down softly on your pussy is making it a lot harder for you. “please.. sir..i need more..” you beg, your hands resting on his chest.

“you take what i give you.” he states sternly, his fingers moving the fabric to the side, meeting your wet and hot cunt. he groans at the feeling, his simple action had made you a complete mess and with no holding back anymore he inserts his index and middle fingers into you.

moans erupt from you at the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. “is this what you wanted baby?” he whispers softly against your ear.

“so fucking wet..” he groans, his fingers picking up the pace and curving each way to feel your sweet spot.

at this point you couldn’t hold back your moans anymore, slight whines and whimpers escape from your lips. your legs are now wide open for him, both resting on his thigh as your hands clench onto his shirt. “sir..” you moan, your pussy clenching on his fingers. he can feel you coming close to your high and is quick to lessen the speed of his fingers.

“look at you.. all messed up for my recommendation letter?” he teases you with his words, his fingers deeply buried into you. your eyes rolled back with your mouth agape, this scene making him weaker. he loved the way you felt, looked, sounded all because of him.

“are you going to cum baby?” he asks you against your ear, unable to make out a sentence you nod your head. he didn’t care if you were loud, he wanted you to be. he loved the way he was making you sound, the sweet whimpers you would let out were music to his ears.

“fuck..please sir don’t stop..” you moan, your high coming quicker than ever, you felt so high up on the stars, the way he was making you feel was unimaginable good.

“cum for me baby..” he says as his finger moves to an even faster pace, hitting you in all the right places. it didn’t take long for you to cum undone on his fingers, your legs shaking furiously as you tried coming off your high.

“fuck baby…” he groans softly, as he slides down from his chair, licking his fingers and your cunt clean. soft whimpers and whine are sounded aloud in the room, your hand gripping his hair as he finishes licking your cum up.

he moves up to the desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to you with a smile.

“what is this?” you asked him as you can’t seem to move from the intense high he had given you, eyeing the envelope in his hands.

“what you had asked for.” he stated as he smirks softly

“i just wanted you to ask for it, because it was already done beforehand.”

a/n: tysmmm for reading my first post, ik it might not be as good as some might expect but i am willing to learn along my journey! thanks again and ily guys <3

mxymii out!

[meowzfordayz]

i belong to you

Author’s Note: short ‘n’ fluffy (w/ a hint of bittersweet 😅). 🥰

i belong to you

Hashira x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,800

CW: death content, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Song Inspo: I Belong to You by Jacob Lee

~faqs~

They’re all here for us, and I feel their aura, but just for a moment, I’ll pretend it’s just you

He’d never thought of himself as the marrying type, and yet, standing before you, he suddenly couldn’t imagine himself any other way. But truly, it wasn’t even sudden, this slow burning, building, consuming love for the feeling of your hand in his. It was inevitable, the revelation of his heart to yours, just as you gradually unveiled your own for his.

“In this existence of hardship and darkness, I can somehow wake every morning to an absolute truth: that you are beside me, and together, we will overcome anything.”

Perhaps this is a tall promise when every morning brings a different absolute truth as well — that death will come. Some day, somewhere, and likely all too soon. But it’s a promise worth fighting for. This much he knows in his chest as he feels your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing gently as if to promise in return Yes, yes we will.

As Gyomei kisses you, soft and certain, he swears that the world falls to pieces leaving only your body pressed into his, an achingly sweet melody ringing in his ears. And when you whisper I love you, he’s confident that you hear it too.

And I will wait to hear you say, as a tear rolls down your face, I belong to you

“Darling,” she whispers, a steady thumb reaching out to smooth your teardrop into your skin, “Are you okay?”

You nod once, a drowsy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes as more tears escape, tongue heavy in your mouth as she continues wiping your cheeks, her brow furrowed with an adoration that’s always been impossible to resist.

“I’m amazing,” you rasp, catching her hand and cradling it to your chest, ears warming as she kneads her fingertips into your sternum, “I belong to you.”

Mitsuri’s nose scrunches, worried expression soon replaced by a beaming grin, the sweetest of giggles filling the room as she maneuvers herself on top of you, hovering with her palms planted on either side of you while her breasts rest plush against your own.

“I am so in love with you,” she gushes, “With my wife.”

Her lips touch your forehead then your chin, careful fingers tilting your head left and then right to kiss your earlobes, goosebumps raising along your forearms and spine.

“We’re married,” you gasp, stopping her ministrations with a gentle squeeze to her hips, “I get to love you for the rest of our lives.”

Shining eyes meet shining eyes as she lets out a happy sob, bodies intertwined as you settle into the perfect quiet of forever.

Tomorrow I’ll open my eyes, and I will whisper to my wife, I belong to you

Loving you hadn’t come easy, but it hadn’t come especially hard either. For all the anger and regret of her past, you had reminded Shinobu that the present and future persisted, irregardless of her willingness to live in or for them. Perhaps this is why she yelled at you so many months ago, and perhaps this is also why she’d cried. You’d accepted her emotion so simply and resolutely, welcoming her frustration and grief with open arms instead of the very spite and scorn she’d always reserved for herself. And she’d heard herself, for the first time in too long of a time, say I’m sorry. Those two words muffled in the armpit of your haori, her face buried in your embrace, had made your devotion clear as day — a devotion she’d found herself happy and happier to reciprocate.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, airy voice tinged with a solemn adoration discernible only to you.

“Mmm,” you mumble, yawning widely as you burrow yourself deeper into her chest, “Hi.”

“Would you like to know something?” she asks, warming her cheek on the top of your sunkissed head.

“Definitely,” you mumble, limbs clinging drowsily to her small frame, “I enjoy knowing things.”

She slips a cool finger beneath your chin, raising your sleepy gaze to meet her determined stare, mouth soft and decisive when she kisses you. You sigh sweetly into her affection, her smile familiar yet delicate against your own, trying her best to tell you I belong to you. 

I know they see us but they don’t stand a chance, I have kissed those lips a thousand times before this

The first time he kisses you, you think he’s dying. Of course, all paths lead to death, and being a Hashira tends to make this path even shorter, but expected pain is pain nonetheless. You cradle his head in your lap, his hair sticky with blood, his strength overwhelming you Kyojuro-san, stop moving! despite his wounds as he cranes upward to touch his mouth to yours. Tasting of sweat and ashes, your tears cleanse his cheeks and chest, a silly little grin brightening his face while grief and longing sit deep into your stomach.

The second time he kisses you, you’re pissed he’s alive. Well, not that he’s alive, but that he took so long to tell you. Maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he’s just woken from a coma, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he limped literal miles to locate you, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering you were his sole thought and concern as soon as he regained enough consciousness to process that he was, in fact, conscious. But the brittle dread of He’s unlikely to make it has haunted you for months, and-

“Hey,” he rasps, cupping your jaw with a shy tenderness, “No need to ruminate, I am still here.”

Your gaze flits left and right, blurred as you avoid focusing on the steadfast devotion in his eyes, lips tingling from the surety of his kiss.

“I can see that,” you state dryly, your shaky inhale dissolving into a disbelieving sob, his arms atrophied yet certain as they wrap around you, his weight leaning shaky and perfectly against you.

The third time he kisses you, the fourth, and fifth — they are as precious and known, new and familiar, as the very first time.

And when he kisses you for the nth time, when he kisses you as your newly wedded husband, you realize you have already lived a thousand best moments of your life, and that a thousand and more await you.

If I could be honest, here at the altar, I refuse to grow older unless it’s with you

Age has always been a distant thing to Sanemi. He isn’t oblivious to it — the passing of snow into buds, to blossoms and then to the falling of leaves. But it’s a torturous thing to acknowledge. To remember how many more years he’s gotten to live than his mother. His five siblings. Colleagues and strangers alike. He feels as old as he is still young, steeped in death and dishevelment, sticky with yearning and fear, a projection of surety and arrogance fooling even himself. Strong and foolhardy, the clock ticks as he loses a piece of himself, another piece, another and another, to the illusion of living. And then you come slicing into his horizon.

Everything about you is almost polished. Your form, your strength, your five senses, flexibility and endurance… and somehow, he can’t find it in himself to loath you for being less than. Because you are more. You are more than the endless repetitions completed silently before him; you are more than the scrapes and bruises, stubborn retorts and near misses. You are the plate of ohagi left on his doorstep after a particularly harsh exchange of words. He knows he struck first, and yet, you open yourself to forgiveness. You are the letter received when he’s gone on an especially grueling mission. There’s not much to say, but your consideration of him makes him hesitate. You are the sight for sore eyes when he finally realizes, a year and some months into pondering your existence practically every day, that he wants you to be close. Closer. As close as you’re willing to be.

And if close means noticing when your face begins to wrinkle, your hair starts to grey, and your body learns what it is to ache, then he’s ready to remember. To reclaim. The pieces of himself he’d surrendered to time and space; he wants them back as much as he wants you.  All you ask of him is his whole self, and if he is to grant your wish, then he must acknowledge a simple truth: growing old need not be a curse any longer when it could instead be a gift to share with you.

“You’re crying,” you giggle, tears of your own dripping down your cheeks.

“Of course I’m crying,” he scoffs, faint grin softening the edge in his tone, “I get to marry you.”

Yes they can see us but only at a glance, only you know the man that I am beyond the surface

Marriage is hard. Learning someone inside and out is hard. Choosing that same someone day after day is hard. Growing and relapsing, nurturing and surrendering, saying Yes, and. A lifelong commitment of love is hard. And, honestly, Giyuu didn’t think he’d ever get there. He didn’t think he’d be waking up most mornings with your nose nestled in his chest or his arm, your leg stuck between his. He didn’t think he’d be murmuring I love you, a cold and desperate determination I will come home to you flooding his lungs as you do your best to stand strong when he waves. When he leaves. Knowing without a doubt that you’d crumpled as soon as he disappeared from view. He didn’t think he’d be returning to the softest, the greediest, the fondest and proudest, kisses. Kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, ears and chin. Kisses on his lips. Your hands checking his limbs while you listen to his breath; your eyes glistening as he whispers over and over I missed you, I love you, I missed you, I love you. He didn’t think he’d be this intimate, this familiar, this devastatingly and perfectly close to anyone. To you. And yet, here he is.

“Giyuu?”

“My love?”

“I love when you call me that.”

“I know.”

You blush, “Oh,” promptly hiding your face in his armpit.

“And I love getting to love you. I love that you are my love.”

[nochukoo97]

we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - teaser

pairing: childhoodfriend!jk x childhoodfriend!oc

summary: you and jungkook have been friends since birth, and as you both grow into teenagers, you can’t help but have some sorr of longing feeling towards him. but after a turn of events, you move away from your home town, growing apart from the boy you onced were close to. almost a decade later when you decide to move back, there’s someone familiar yet unfamiliar waiting for your arrival… was this the universe giving you a sign about him?

warnings/tags: story starts off when the both of them are children, but most of the plot is when they are adults :)), eventual: kissing, an emotional rollercoaster 🥲, they’re stuck in a ‘what are we’ moment, playing a waiting game of who confesses first, a little bit of angst, smut, but fluff too hehe

a/n: IM BACK 🥲 after being in writers block sighhh but i am back hehehe hope u r excited for this!! anyways this is just an intro for the actual fic, its more of what happened before the present which will be in the main part hehehe

TAGLIST OPEN!!

(this is the introduction, the main part is coming soon :)))

MASTERLIST

23 July 2007

You’re currently wedged between two bookshelves in the living room of your house, eyes trained on the words in your book, giggling to yourself when the plot takes a funny turn. Meanwhile in the background, Jungkook and your brother Taehyung, both a year older than you, the two ten year old boys play fighting in your parents backyard, their game was way too rough for you to even watch, you decided.

That’s always the way it’s been since you were young, Jungkook’s mum dropping him off at your parents place as he spent time with your brother, mostly roughhousing like they are now, and you, at nine years old, simply tucking yourself in another fairytale, which to you seemed like a much better way to past time.

You never truly spent a lot of time with the two of them when Jungkook would come over, besides the once-in-a-while moments where your parents would make you guys bond a little through board games or card games which the two elder boys would never take seriously, the games always ending in them either throwing the board game pieces at each other or stacking the cards into a pyramid.

When it came to school, you tried your best to stay away from bumping into your brother at school, but you’d always end up being teased in front of your friends by him and Jungkook, making fun of your two pigtails or your very glittery pink bag you had just gotten as a birthday gift, but you were used to it anyways, having grown up with a brother.

12 August 2011

Four years go by and now you’re finally completing your last year in middle school, Jungkook and your brother having moved on to high school, and as expected, they end up attending the same school, as they have done their whole life.

But since four years ago, a lot has changed. You’ve grown much closer to Jungkook, having gone on quite a few trips with his family, and you could even consider him a close friend. Most importantly, he’d grown from being a kid to a teenager, even though he was only a year older than you, the 14 year old boy suddenly became someone you always wanted to hang out with. To you, you saw him as someone cool. Instead of teasing you along with your brother, he now would defend you from your brother’s teasing, treat you to ice cream on the weekends and even teach you the video games he played with your brother.

“And then he let me get as many toppings as I wanted,” You tell your friends, clicking the buttons on your phone to show them the picture of your ice cream, filled to the brim with all sorts of toppings because Jungkook said you could.

“You’re so lucky, I wish I had a boyfriend like that,” Jiyeon sighs, pouting her lips as she sulks.

Your face turns red, tip of your ears warm as you quickly deny, “He isn’t my boyfriend! Just a friend… In fact he was my brother’s friend first,” No, you couldn’t even begin to try and imagine Jungkook as someone more than your friend!

“Well, but you should definitely confess to him on valentine’s day, it’s in like six months,” Yuji twirls her hair, nudging your leg slightly as she giggled.

To the three of you, as 13 year old girls, having a valentine was a big deal, especially since the whole idea of a crush and all was new to you guys as teenage girls.

“No! I don’t have feelings for him! He’s just nice to me I guess,” You frown at Yuji, just because she confessed to her crush and now apparently has a boyfriend, doesn’t mean you need to do it too, you decided.

You didn’t have a crush on Jungkook right?

You push away the thought quickly, this whole topic was so taboo to you, it made you feel squirmy thinking about it. No, you didn’t have any sort of feelings towards the older boy, never.

-

So that day when you arrived back at home, spotting Jungkook and Taehyung sitting at the table and doing their homework, you decide to take a seat away from the certain boy.

“Huh? Why are you sitting all the way there? Come back here,” Jungkook hums, pulling out his earphones in bewilderment, you had always sat next to him whilst the three of you would do homework together after school, nudging him here and there to ask for help with a math problem.

“I- okay,” You scooch towards the chair next to him, dragging your books along the table as you avoid eye contact. Your cheeks heating up again as you remember your conversation with your friends in school earlier, it made you feel all tingly inside, but why were you being so weird in front of him?

“You’ve been staring at that math problem for ages, need help?”

You jump up in surprise at Jungkook’s voice , letting out a small yelp as your brother snickers at you from across the table, you kick his shin in response, sending his hands flailing to the injury, mumbling some cuss word you don’t understand.

“Yeah,” You only muster out a whisper, handing over your pencil to the boy, who finds your behaviour a little off but nonetheless, doesn’t comment on it.

And while he explains the solution and working to find the value of X, you can only notice his eyes, his nose, the mole under his lips, the scar on his cheek from when he fought with your brother years ago, his lips.

And then you for yourself to snap out of your daydream when his eyes lock with yours in confusion as to why you’re staring at him instead of your workbook.

03 January 2012

But then five months later, opportunity for valentine’s day didn’t even come for you anyways, as you pack your bags to move miles away from the place you once called home, since your father had been posted to a new country for his work.

The whole idea of leaving your life behind and all the people you’ve ever known since young was such an overwhelming feeling that you didn’t even think once about your feelings for Jungkook anymore, or maybe you did once, but it didn’t matter.

So when you tugged your luggage and watch your brother sadly hug his best friend goodbye at the airport, reality struck, you wouldn’t ever get a chance to even properly assess your feelings for Jungkook anyways, so you simply wave him goodbye, not looking back so you don’t think further than a goodbye.

He did make sure to exchange his Instagram and Facebook with you, promising you and your brother to keep in touch, which you agreed to. Maybe there was a part of you that wanted to cling onto the idea of him, but you didn’t let yourself believe that anyways.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Subtle Admiration - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 1176

Summary: When one admires the person they love, would they not also show the world?

Anthony Bridgerton was a man of impeccable standards and unwavering convictions, known throughout London for his sense of duty and commitment to his family.

As the head of the Bridgerton family, his actions were often scrutinized, and his decisions influenced the lives of his siblings.

Yet, despite his formidable exterior, he harbored a deep, unyielding love for his wife, you, a love that he was determined to showcase to his family.

It was a crisp spring morning, and the Bridgerton household was abuzz with activity.

their late father, Edmund Bridgerton upheldThe family had gathered for breakfast, a tradition upheld by their late father, Edmund Bridgerton.

Anthony, seated at the head of the table, observed his siblings with a mix of affection and amusement.

Each one was unique, yet they shared an unbreakable bond.

As Anthony sipped his coffee, his gaze drifted to you, seated beside him.

You were engaged in a lively conversation with Eloise, your laughter like a melodious tune that brightened the room.

Anthony's heart swelled with pride and adoration.

You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of the family, your warmth and wit endearing you to each of his siblings.

"Anthony, you're staring," Daphne teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Do you have something to say?"

Anthony chuckled, setting his cup down. "As a matter of fact, I do." He stood, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

"I've been thinking a great deal about family lately, about how fortunate I am to have all of you in my life. But there's someone here who has brought me an immeasurable amount of joy and fulfillment, someone who has made our family even more complete."

He reached for your hand, helping you to your feet. "Y/n, you have been a beacon of light in my life, and I want everyone to know just how much you mean to me."

You blushed, your eyes shimmering with love. "Anthony, you're too kind."

"No, my dear," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I am simply stating the truth. You have shown me what it means to truly love and to be loved. You've brought laughter and happiness into our home, and for that, I am eternally grateful."

Benedict, seated across the table, raised his glass. "To y/n, the heart of our family!"

"To y/n!" the family echoed, lifting their glasses in unison.

Anthony smiled, his heart brimming with contentment.

He had always known that his love for you was profound, but now, standing before his family, he realized that his affection for you was boundless.

He was determined to ensure that everyone saw the depth of his feelings, not just in words but in actions as well.

Later that day, Anthony took you for a stroll, a favorite pastime of yours.

The park was a riot of colors, the flowers in full bloom, and the air filled with the sweet scent of spring.

As you walked hand in hand, Anthony couldn't help but steal glances at you, marveling at your beauty and grace.

"You're unusually quiet today," you remarked, a playful smile on your lips. "What's on your mind?"

Anthony stopped, turning to face you. "You. Always you." He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. "I want the world to see how much I adore you, how you've changed my life for the better. You deserve to be celebrated every day."

Your eyes softened, and you leaned into his touch. "Anthony, you do celebrate me, in so many ways. Your love is more than enough."

"But it's not enough for me," he insisted. "I want to do more, to show you off to the world, to our family. They need to see how deeply I cherish you."

You laughed softly. "You have a romantic soul, Anthony Bridgerton. Very well, if it makes you happy, I shall allow you to spoil me."

Anthony grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It makes me very happy indeed."

True to his word, Anthony set about planning a series of events and gatherings where he could showcase his love for you.

He organized family picnics, soirées, and even a grand ball in your honor.

Each occasion was meticulously planned, with every detail reflecting his admiration for you.

At one such gathering, a garden party held at Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton estate, Anthony outdid himself.

The gardens were transformed into a magical wonderland, with twinkling fairy lights and fragrant flowers adorning every corner.

Guests mingled and laughed, the air filled with the sounds of music and merriment.

As the sun began to set, Anthony took your hand and led you to the center of the garden, where a string quartet played a soft, romantic melody.

He held you close, swaying gently to the music.

"You've outdone yourself, Anthony," you whispered, your eyes shining with happiness. "This is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he replied, his voice filled with love. "I wanted everyone to see what I see every day—the incredible woman who has stolen my heart."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "I love you. More than words can say."

"And I love you," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "More than anything in this world."

As you danced under the stars, surrounded by family and friends, Anthony knew that he had succeeded in his mission.

He had shown everyone just how much you meant to him, and in doing so, he had strengthened the bond of your family even further.

In the days that followed, Anthony continued to find ways to express his love for you, both grand and small.

He would surprise you with handwritten love letters, leave your favorite flowers by your bedside, and steal moments alone with you whenever he could.

Each gesture, no matter how simple, was a testament to his unwavering devotion.

The Bridgerton family, too, embraced you with open arms. They admired Anthony's dedication and the way he openly cherished you.

It brought a new sense of warmth and unity to the gatherings, a reminder of the power of love and the importance of expressing it.

One evening, as you sat by the fireplace in your home, you turned to Anthony with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you know what I love most about you?" you asked.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is that?"

"Your heart," you said softly. "Your ability to love so deeply and to show that love so openly. It's a rare and beautiful thing."

He smiled, his heart swelling with pride. "And do you know what I love most about you?"

"What's that?" you asked, your eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Everything," he replied, leaning in to kiss you. "Absolutely everything."

As you sat together, wrapped in each other's arms, Anthony knew that he had found his true soulmate in you.

You were his anchor, his confidante, and the love of his life.

And he was determined to spend every day showing you just how much you meant to him, letting the world see the depth of his affection.

[benisasoftboi]

I am so happy with the conclusion of BBC Ghosts.

There were so many things I loved about the final series that I can't even keep it all straight in my brain, I'll have to rewatch it all (and the Christmas special, of course! Must remember it's the not the true end yet!)

But something I can immediately say I loved was what they didn't do. See, that line in the trailer that turned out to be from episode 5 - about there being a pattern to when they move on - worried me. One of the best things about the show, to me, is how there truly is not any reason at all to why the ghosts are there, or when they go. It's something the creators have said over and over, and that the show has always backed up; we saw so many times that, unlike in most ghost media, addressing unfinished business or achieving emotional resolution changes absolutely nothing. Pat hit some sort of emotional resolution three times. And Julian realised the importance of family, and Robin saved someone’s life, and Thomas discovered the truth of his death, and so on and so on. Finding closure isn't the end, and equally, the end isn't predicated by a climatic conclusion. It just happens. And the same is true for why people become ghosts. It just happens. And you exist, and fill your days, and then you’re gone. And no one knows why.

It's kind of the most agnostic television show I've ever seen.

I love that. Every other afterlife show I've ever seen has some kind of reward and punishment system. Or at least says that there's a reason for things, some kind of higher power at play, not necessarily a god but something like it. Even the American adaptation felt the need to bring Hell into it, which is why I need to specify that I'm only talking about the British version here. And I feel like a lot of fans wanted there to be reasons too, or felt like there simply had to be, that it wasn't even a question. I get why - it's not just because it's the standard for ghost narratives. It's really uncomfortable to think about the randomness of life and death. But Mary didn't go because of anything that happened before that day, and Cap was never going to go because he came out, and one day, when they've all gone, there won't have been a reason for it.

Because the real point of BBC Ghosts is that there is no point. You’ve just got to make it through the days, surrounded by people that irritate you, trapped in a confusing world where you’re mostly powerless. And it sucks, and you're angry, and sad, and bored as hell. And you also find happiness in the mundane chaos, and you get really good at chess, and watch the ants in the garden, and write bad poetry, and read terrible romance novels, and gamble money you don't have, and go camping, and play games, and learn French, and watch reality TV, and have sex with a decapitated Tudor nobleman’s body, and dance to old music, and look at the stars, and find that you actually really love all those annoying people after all, and that’s the point.

[feyhunter78]

Final Chapter - You have wed and the guests have gone, but the Dragon Queen has stayed. Perhaps it is time to visit Dorne.

NSFW content below the cut

The Dragon Queen remains a guest of The Rock, moons after the other attendees have returned home. It is not unpleasant, but you find yourself on edge around her. She has been nothing but polite, kind even but Jon’s words ring in your head. How many times will he be asked to break his oath? How many times can House Lannister change sides until they are no longer trusted? King Stannis was stern yes, and dour, but he was not cruel, not like Joffrey or the stories you heard of the Mad King.

And Jon, gods above Jon distrusts her all the more. For it was her brother that stole his mother away, her father who burned his uncle and grandsire alive. He is polite as well, but avoids her. It is subtle, mostly, though there are times Jon will simply leave a room when Daenerys enters, Ghost trotting behind him. This leaves you torn between staying to make excuses on his behalf, or fleeing as well to soothe Jon’s storm of emotions.

You have yet to see the dragons, yet to hear them, and you are quite sure you would rather it stays that way, the tales you have been regaled with are terrifying enough. Though your father, who had loved dragons since he was a child, swore to you, they were in the vicinity, camped out on an island nearby. They could stay there, their mother could join them, you wanted no part in this, not when you had finally gotten all you desired.

You find Jon hunched over his writing desk, quill in hand, inkwell closed, the parchment blank before him. He has done this many times, and you are never quite sure what or who he is intending to write.

“You know, usually one must first wet the quill before attempting to write.” You say, as you lean against the desk, and remove the inkwell’s stopper.

He sets down his quill and sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk, his head falling back, his neck extended and exposed. “I was not truly going to write anything, I simply…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“I know this has been difficult for you, perhaps we should visit your father in Starfell, put some distance between us and whatever fresh torture is brewing amongst the lords?” You suggest, replacing the stopper and putting away his quill.

Jon grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, his grown-out stubble tickles your skin. “Could we even do that? Would it be right?”

You slide between him and the desk to seat yourself in his lap, looping your arms around his neck. “What is right can be subjective at times.”

He gives you a confused look, his handsome face tanned from his time in the sun, his curls luxurious and scented with oils from Dorne. His broad chest well-fitted in fabrics you purposely did not tell him the price of, because you knew he would refuse to wear them on principle. He has thrived at The Rock, and satisfaction purrs within you at the sight.

“In the eyes of the realm it would not be right, you and I, together before your parentage was revealed, but it was right to us—or at least to me, I know you struggled with the idea.”

Jon’s hands settle on your waist as he listens intently, always so intently.

“If we had done what the realm thought was right, you and I would not be, and I cannot fathom a world where you and I apart is correct. So maybe it is wrong to leave, maybe it is not, all I care about is if I am with you, wrong or right.”

He kisses you gently, a brief fleeting thing, but no less filled with affection than his searing, lingering ones. “We could go, for a while, not too long, just a visit.”

You return the kiss, hands cradling his face, lifting it up towards you. “Not too long, not too short, we shall stay as long as you desire, Husband.”

He hums contentedly, pulling you closer, his lips against yours a slow languid movement, sweet and unhurried, caresses of unspoken affection and whispered promises.

Your head spins when you pull away for air, and Jon’s lips chase after yours, aching to recapture them as his hands begin to ghost over your sides, fingertips counting each inhale and exhale.

“Promise me we will do this in Starfell.” He says, his chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath.

“We shall do this and more if it pleases you.” You promise him, heart skipping a beat when his eyes darken.

A wolfish smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Aye, it would.”

Your back is cushioned by a mountain of pillows, all swathed in fabrics of red and orange, a golden stringed tassel caught in your grip as you dig your nails into a nearby pillow, desperately taking in air. “Jon, oh gods—”

He does not respond, his dark curls, his shoulders and strong arms are the only parts of him you can see. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open and still, unable to squirm away as he devours you. His wondrous mouth on you, his tongue making you see stars, his fingers digging into your skin so tight you know there will be bruises, but you care not.

He nips at your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your bud, his tongue moving in some nonsensical way that sends a bolt of lightning through you. Sparks of lust flying from your skin, a desperate yearning building within you again.

The sun is still high in the sky, streaming in through the large window, the scent of Orange Blossoms drifting on the breeze, accented voices and hurried footsteps come from below, but you pay no mind, and neither does Jon. His movements are unhurried, indulgent, groans of pleasure vibrating against your folds.

He is bare from the waist up, shoulders and back are marred with nail marks, your nail marks, reddened lines and half-moons. You tangle your free hand in his hair, yanking him impossibly closer, urging him to move faster, to release one of your thighs and coax your second release forward with his skilled fingers.

“So impatient.” He chuckles, lifting his head, his lips shiny with your arousal, as he does just what you desired, two long fingers slipping in with ease, stroking and curling until pleasure seizes you, driving all thought from your mind.

You whine in response, tugging harder on his curls. A flicker of pride going through you at the way Jon’s hips roll against the bed, a groan escaping him.

Jon returns to your core, tip of his tongue tracing shapes and symbols on your bud as his fingers coax you higher and higher. He slips in a third, and your walls clench around him, your breath catching in your throat.

Gods you want him to ravish you, to tear your flimsy Dornish gown from your body and pound into you until there is an imprint of your body in the pillows.

Then you shatter, coming undone into his strong grip, breathless and shaking, as you push up on your elbows to see Jon still desperate. His eyes meeting yours as he ruts against the bed, his head dropping forward, his forehead resting against your thigh, panting heavily as he finishes.

You lay there spent as he joins you on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We have dinner with my father soon.”

“I am sure he does not mind waiting.” You smile, pulling him back in with a leg hooked around his hips.

A cry from the chamber next to yours sends you both sitting up in bed, the night dark, the moon a mere sliver amongst the clouds.

You arise first, wrapping a robe around yourself and trudging sleepily into the nursery. Lyon, your son, with his thick dark curls and vibrant green eyes, is wide awake, kicking up a fuss in his bassinet. Leaning down, you scoop him up, and hold him close to your chest, shushing him gently.

Jon joins you soon, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “He is surely a lion with a cry like that.”

“I think he is more a wolf with all his howling.” You jest softly, stroking Lyon’s cheek.

He is beautiful, a perfect mixture of you and Jon, born in Starfell, while a third revolt took place in the rest of the kingdoms. Daenerys sat on the throne, your father, her hand. She had sent gifts, your father had come himself with them and dozens of his own gifts, with the contingency that you would receive the rest upon your return home. You would go soon, take your place within The Rock. To ensure your son would be as fine a Lannister as any could be, to begin to seek out an advantageous bride for him, and give him a sibling or three to play with. But for now, the realm could wait.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[boldstarks]

The Unwanted Wife Blurb #1: First Son

word count: 1K pairing: young!Robert Baratheon x wife!reader, oc x reader (mentioned) warnings: pregnancy, brief mentions of sex and childbirth, emotional neglect of a spouse

Despite you being nine moons gone with a child, your husband, the king, had very little issue leaving with an entourage of his most favored cronies on a hunting trip in the Kingswood. You didn't even protest when he announced the trip to you. You simply went back to your reading. A few months earlier, you would have raged at his callousness, but you are too tired now. You didn't know if it was from the pregnancy or maybe you were finally numb to Robert's poor treatment.

You simply told him to behave sensibly and turned back to your reading. When he set out a day later, you watched him leave from the balcony of your chambers. Many ladies gathered in the courtyard to send off their husbands in the king's hunting entourage. You made the excuse of being much too heavy with the child to make it in a timely manner.

You watched the group of men atop their horses ride away, your husband at the head.

"Your Grace, I'm sure everything will be alright," one of your ladies' maids said.

She means to be comforting, but her words fill you with bitter contempt.

"I am not the only woman with a thoughtless boar for a husband, and I won't be the last," you say, watching the riding party disappear outside the Red Keep's walls.

The maid said nothing and began gathering the soiled sheets from your bed; they were tainted by sweat and Robert's seed. Your coupling the prior night had been angry, tinged with a foreign tenderness that Robert had only developed when your pregnancy had started to show.

You figured Robert's surrogate father and Hand, Jon Arryn, would keep you company. This was both a good and a bad thing, in your opinion. You were fond of the man himself, but not of his wife, Lysa Tully. It was a struggle to get along with the woman despite trying to be kind to her.

You tried to tell yourself that this was just like any other time. Robert was away and left you by yourself for days on end. But you knew deep down that you would give birth alone. The King had barely been gone a day when your labors began.

You spent nearly a full day in the birthing bed, writhing with agony, without a word from the hunting party or Robert. You cried nearly the entire time. You cried for home, for your mother, for your father, and mostly for your first love, Alyn, who had died fighting during Robert's Rebellion. Then, at dusk on the third day of his absence, your child was born.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle said, holding the newborn child aloft after he had slipped free from the birth canal.

The squalling infant is quickly cleaned by some septas before being swaddled and brought back to you.

The boy is small and red-faced, and he entered the world howling furiously. He only stops wailing when he is put on your chest. You find yourself smiling when you gently cradle his small head of damp black curls as his Baratheon blue eyes stare up at you. Look at your little boy and feel that spark of happiness in your chest that you hadn't felt since you received news of Alyn's death.

"His name shall be Alaric," you tell the Maester without looking away from your baby.

You knew Robert wanted to name his first son, Stefan, after his father, and he would most likely throw a fit because of it. But he forfeited his vote in the matter when he decided to run around the Kingswood rather than be there for the birth of his heir.

_____________

A day after you gave birth, the hunting party arrived back at the Red Keep. Robert found that you had not come to greet him, just as you could not be bothered by seeing him off either.

He stormed into the castle, rather annoyed at this perceived abandonment. He entered your chambers without bothering to knock and found you sleeping in bed.

Right as Robert is going to start yelling, you turn in your sleep, and it becomes obvious to him that you are no longer with the child. A pang of fear echoes through him until he hears a soft coo and finds a child beside your bed in a cradle. The baby had a head of black curls and blue eyes and was rather large. The child had wiggled out of his swaddle while you slept soundly and was waving his small fists about.

"Hello," Robert says. He's utterly captivated by the little life that he played a part in creating.

He reaches a large hand out to the child and softly pets the head of black curls. The child gurgles contently at the touch of its father.

"His name is Alaric," you said, breaking the king's trance.

"I should have been here," Robert says.

The man had the decency to look ashamed of himself. You nearly tell him it's okay, but you know it's far from okay for a father to miss the birth of his first trueborn child.

"Moving forward, things will need to change," you reply and sit up.

Robert finally looks you in the eye. He seems hesitant about your remark.

"I cannot live a life where my husband and I are constantly at each other's throats. I don't want our son to be raised by parents who can't stand each other," you say.

You look at your son in his cradle and can't help but smile at him.

"What are we to do about it?" Robert asks, still skeptical.

"We shall dine together three times a week, and I would like to share our chambers. In the North, it is custom that a husband and wife share bedchambers, and I believe it will bring us closer," you said.

Robert looks at your face; your eyes are shining with optimism. You truly were willing to learn how to love him. Why couldn't he grant you this one thing?

"Okay," he said.

You're silent for a moment, somewhat shocked that Robert didn't try to put up any sort of fight. Not knowing what else to say, you nod quickly.

You change the subject smoothly: "Would you like to hold your son?"

It's Robert's turn to nod like a fool now.

[littlejapanesesightseeingtrip]

"Just Satoru"

Synopsis: Your ex-husband just wanted to see your daughter on his day off. But can this ordinary day lead to the revelation of secrets kept? Will you finally get answers to those unanswered questions? [warning: super cringe, I wrote this last year, this was my very first fanfic ever. Just releasing this so that you guys can read my raw emotions. hehe. enjoy 😗😆🙂]

| V

Satoru sighed as he completed the last of the curses assigned to him for the day. Checking his watch, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief—it was only 1 PM. He felt a sudden jolt of pain stab at his forehead. How could he be getting a headache now? 

He had barely slept for two hours each night for the past month and had lost track of how many missions he had completed.

Ever since moving out of Y/n’s house, his life had become a whirlwind of misery. He had started overworking himself, moved into a new place, and lost the comfort of shared moments.

---

Thinking of the good old days when Suguru and Y/n were around brought him bittersweet solace. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that you felt the same way. Y/n's father was a non-sorcerer, while her mother was a First-Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer. Taking after her father, she had always been grounded, but she could never forget the day her mother introduced her to her disciple, Shoko Ieiri. Shoko became her best friend and introduced her to her classmates—Suguru, Satoru, Utahime, and Nanami.

Shoko had described Satoru as "the strongest," "a guy with a cocky attitude," but to Y/n, he was simply Satoru. Treating him as an equal, trusting him, and appreciating him for who he was—this broke the shell he had lived in for years. They shared a healthy relationship that blossomed into a family, welcoming their little daughter, Himawari, who had Satoru wrapped around her little finger.

Their life together had been picturesque until it all came crashing down. Satoru began to act tense, and one day, he dropped the bombshell: "I cannot be a family with you anymore. I am leaving." Those words shattered Y/n’s heart. Perhaps he was always just the "cocky, selfish guy" everyone warned about.

---

Satoru hesitantly dialed your contact. Despite everything, he couldn’t bear not seeing his little princess, which was also an excuse to check on you. 

Each ring made his stomach churn.

“Satoru. What is it?” Your voice was cold, filled with indifference, which shattered his heart. He couldn’t blame you; he had asked for this distance.

“I have the rest of the day off. I was wondering if... if I could drop by and see Hima.”

“She’s at school, and I’m at the office. But her school ends in an hour. You can pick her up and spend the afternoon with her. I won’t be home until 7. You have the keys.”

“Oh… okay then.” You hung up, leaving him sighing, and headed to his daughter’s school.

---

Satoru found a shady spot near the school gate and waited for Himawari. Other parents gossiped about him, the handsome man who abandoned  his wife. They had heard about how Himawari said her daddy no longer lived with her, and the rumors spread among the group.

 "It’s always the handsome men who abandon their wives. Good thing Y/n is self-dependent. I bet he’s only here to win over Himawari too."

The bell rang, and children began to pour out. A certain girl with blue eyes and white ponytails searched for her father and, upon spotting him, bolted over.

“Daddyyyy!!! I didn’t know you were coming!” He scooped her into his arms.

“Surprise! I missed you, Hima.”

“I miss you too, Daddy. When will you come home?”

Himawari’s soft voice tugged at his heart. It was clear that Himawari was the spitting image of her father—white hair, ocean-blue eyes, and a charming smile. But while Satoru was known for his goofy, easy-going personality, Himawari had inherited her mother's calm and responsible nature.

“Let’s go home now, and we can spend the whole evening together!” He kissed her cheek, earning a nod of excitement.

-

In the cozy living room, sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the scattered toys on the floor as Himawari showcased her new block set. She was determined to build a castle.

“Is this game really meant for kids your age? It seems complex,” Satoru mused.

“It’s easy! I’m almost done!”

“I’m very proud of you, Hima.”

He noticed some tiny action figures lying around—representing a man, a woman, and a little girl.

“Are these going to live in your kingdom?”

“Maybe. They were supposed to be a happy family.”

This pierced Satoru’s heart. His daughter was suffering from their separation, and he hated that she had to endure this pain.

“Those three can be a happy family and live in the castle together, forever,” he reassured her, but the pain in his head surged.

Exhausted, he laid back on the couch, hoping to rest his weary Six Eyes. When was this headache planning to go away?

---

“Daddy… I’m done with the castle! Now the family can live here happily forever!”

When Himawari noticed her father had fallen asleep, she approached him and gently patted his cheek.

His skin felt warm. Remembering what her mother had taught her, she checked his forehead and realized he was running a fever.

---

“I’m home,” you announced as you entered the house. “Hima-chan? Satoru?”

Seeing your ex-husband asleep on the couch, a cloth on his forehead and Himawari beside him, panic surged through you.

“What happened, Hima? Is everything alright?”

“Mommy… Daddy’s head felt hot, so just like you put a cloth on mine when I’m sick, I tried to help him too…” Your daughter’s voice wavered with worry.

You comforted her, “It’s alright, baby. You did well. Just make sure to wet the cloth next time.”

As you touched Satoru’s forehead, a wave of familiar emotions crashed over you, but you pushed them aside. You had to focus on him. Just as you were about to get up, his phone rang.

“Shoko☠️😜 is calling.”

Thinking it was just Shoko, you answered.

“Hello, Shoko? It’s me, Y/n.”

“Huh? Y/n? Is Satoru at your place? How did you get his phone?”

“Yes, he came over while I was at work, but he fell asleep and has a fever.”

“What? Gojo never gets a fever! I told him to stop taking on so many missions!”

“Has he been working more?”

“He’s been overdoing it. He joked that he thought doing more missions would kill time now that he’s alone. I warned him that overusing those Six Eyes drains his energy.”

You felt sick with worry.

“Y/n, I have an urgent body to deal with. Take care of him and keep him there for a few hours. He needs to rest. I’ll talk to Yaga-sensei.”

You were left feeling nauseous. If you could no longer give him affection, at least you could offer medicine and sympathy.

---

Before you knew it, it was midnight. After making dinner, feeding Himawari, and constantly checking on Satoru, you settled next to him. It had been five hours since he had run a fever, and it showed no signs of letting up. You covered him with another blanket and grasped his hand, feeling it shake.

He instinctively intertwined his fingers with yours, holding you gently. Tossing and turning, it seemed he was waking.

“Y/n...? What is…” He struggled to form words, his weakness evident.

“Rest for now, Satoru. We’ll talk later.”

And so, you let him sleep through the night.

---

In the morning, you found Satoru sitting on the couch, hands buried in his hair, looking disoriented.

“I assume your headache is gone now…?” you asked.

“How did you—”

“Whenever you overuse those pretty eyes of yours, your head hurts. But never did I imagine you’d work so much you’d get a fever. Care to explain?”

“I… I’m fin—” 

“Before you lie, I just want the truth. Why did you leave? No explanation, no reason. Did all those years mean nothing to you? Didn’t you care about me?”

He buried his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“I miss you. A lot. I can’t stop thinking about you and Hima. It hurts. I thought if I worked more, I could distract myself and make time for her, but…”

“But what?”

“They said they would kill you both if I didn’t abandon you. The higher-ups knew how much I let things go my way because of my power, but they started blackmailing me.”

You were speechless. The weight of his struggles crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, and you sensed his eyes threatening to spill as well. 

Without saying a word, you wrapped him in a tight embrace, needing this moment just as much as he did.

From now on, you’d face everything together.

---

Meanwhile, Himawari woke up, sensing the usual morning bustle was replaced by quiet. She crept downstairs, hoping to find her mom and dad. Peeking into the living room, she saw the two figures asleep on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Not wanting to disturb them, she quietly retreated upstairs, a small smile gracing her lips.

---

And thattttt concludes my life's very first fanfic//oneshot!

so basically, a summary (incase someone's confused) (trust me even idk how i wrote this thing a year ago)

satoru lived a happy life with y/n, and had himawari too, but the higher ups were like 'this guy's only possible weakness is his family' so they decided to blackmail him into doing stuff their way or else they'd harm his two girls. so he reluctantly did so, making him act all tense and anxious. soon they told him to leave y'all forever if he wanted y'all to be safe. he is extremely heartbroken and hates himself a lot, and all that, and reluctantly leaves you. then to cope with it he starts overworking, while on the other hand you think that satoru is too selfish and prioritizes his jujutsu powers over his family, and thinks he left you because he was annoyed by your interference in his life. you start to feel a sense of betrayal. but this mess is cleared up as stated above so yeahh. i left it incomplete towards the end, to leave their complete reconciliation over your imagination. man i love open ended stuff. 

anyways yeah. 

X-X

p.s. :- 

(i'll also release the raw first draft I first wrote about a year ago but never released. the one above is just the older and more mature me correcting my errors. maybe you can get the full raw emotion from the me who was totally unaware of what was gonna come in this crazy year ahead. and the me who was 101% down bad for gojo satoru back then, not that i still ain't.)

edit: link to draft = link to draft :-)

if you made it this far i am proud of you to survive.

[youremyheaven]

Ketu: Detachment & Connection

I thought I would expand more on the nature of Ketu in this post. Although both Rahu and Ketu are shadow planets (they are the north and south node of the moon) they experience this darkness very differently. Rahu seeks intense immersion in their experiences and seeks to absorb as much of their material realm (Rahu is the head) but Ketu is disconnected from this completely (Ketu being the headless torso) and even if they want to, they cannot immerse themselves in the material realm, they find it disorienting or simply feel disconnected from it all. Its meaningless to them.

The Ketu nakshatras are Ashwini, Magha & Mula

Ketu is in the darkness and to be Ketuvian is to be in a tunnel perpetually seeking the light. It can be a very uneasy energy to inhabit if imbalanced but this is why spirituality is so important to Ketu natives, they have to cultivate spiritual discipline if they are to peacefully embody this energy and find clarity in its detachment. Most people struggle with overattachment, so having this Ketuvian energy is a great starting point since you're already detached but grounding is very important as there is such a thing as being too detached or uncaring.

The Ketuvian struggle for connection reminds me of certain 8h themes and I think 8housers and Ketuvians have a lot in common in that regard. You need to have an intense kind of connection to feel anything at all, everything else feels kind of mild to your senses. Only intensity can wake you up and make you feel "awake" or "aware" as Ketuvians are sort of in this passive detached state otherwise.

I noticed many of these themes in Jungkook's solo songs. He is a Magha Moon and Mula Rising (he has such a puppy energy, it must be Mula's dog yoni hehe)

I had mentioned in one of my previous posts that being heavily tatted (a full sleeve of tattoos or just being covered in tattoos) is a very Nodal thing to do because they're plunged in shadows and making a mark spiritually helps them feel more connected or because they have to indulge in the extremes of anything for it to feel impactful.

Jungkook has a song called "Still With You" released in 2020, widely considered a love letter to army. These are the English translation of some of its lyrics that I found correlating to his Ketuvian energy

"That faint voice of yours that grazed me Please call my name one more time I'm standing under the frozen light, but I'll walk step by step towards you Still with you

With no light in the darkroom I shouldn't get used to it But I'm used to it again The low-pitched sound of this air conditioner If I don't have this, I will fall apart We laugh together, we cry together I guess these simple feelings were everything to me"

Fame can be a very intoxicating and addictive experience for Nodal natives. Since they feel very disconnected otherwise, they experience connection when it is pouring in such a large or vast scale. But this sort of dependence on fame and fans can also be destabilising and unhealthy because you never know when it might all go away. Since fame is so fickle, its dangerous to rely on it to feel "connected". This is why soooo many Nodal natives who are celebrities are sooo often self-destructive. You keep chasing that high and you'll never feel satisfied, you can never fill the vacuum you have and the harder you try, the more empty you feel.

I don't say any of this to be discouraging, im only trying to point out the emotional expectations we place upon certain experiences and even relationships and how it turns toxic and unhealthy when we do that. If we were to use another person to feel connected or tethered to the world, whilst it may work for us, they must feel very drained by being our anchor.

Jungkook has another demo called Decalcomania and the lyrics go like this:

When I see you smile in the screen You're good at everything You're just perfect Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me? Do you know who I am? Or how do I look now? You don't like me like that

Come and tell me so much, you beautiful heart Oh, I'm gonna listen to you Please

All the numbers too big Can't get out of your game Oh, I want to paint it like you Please

I want to be your decalcomania I want you I want to be your decalcomania I want I want you

He is singing about himself and how he feels dissociated from himself. Fame can be a very dissociative experience for Ketu natives as their search for connection means they feel even more disconnected from the person they become to achieve this connection. Decalcomania refers to the process by which engravings are transferred to another surface (paper, pottery etc). It ties back to Ketu's need to be marked upon, they need something to make an impression on them, literally, because otherwise it does not feel real to them. Jungkook is asking himself to transfer the person he sees on screen to himself, so that he can embody the lightness and joy he sees on him.

Jungkook has another solo song called My Time in which he sings:

"24, feels like I became a grown-up faster than everyone else My life has been a movie, all the time I ran to where the sun rises every single night It's like I've been to someone's tomorrow The boy who found the world too big Keep on runnin' errday, pick the mic up Friends ridin' subway, I'll be in the aeroplane mode All over the world rock on, I made my own lotto But is it too fast? There are traces of losses Don't know what to do with, am I livin' this right? Why am I alone in a different time and space?"

Nodal natives (both Rahu & Ketu) regardless of whether they're child stars or not, have to grow up faster than others. This again makes them feel very disconnected from kids their age, you feel vv lonely.

Oh, I think I was in yesterday 'Cause everybody walk too fast I'm a little kid grown up not knowing it (Like a child who got lost) This got me oh just trippin’ It feels I'm roaming over Don't know what to do with, am I livin' this right? Why am I alone in a different time and space?

It feels confusing and disorienting to live a life that others cant relate to you. Immense wealth and fame can make you feel this way but Ketuvians feel this way in general. They look around them and they feel lost like everybody else is moving too fast.

"Sometimes when I'm gasping for air I wear my hat low and keep running Yeah, I don't gotta know where I go Even if it's opposite of sun One time for the present Two time for the past Happy that we met each other Now 'til the very end"

He's expressing his gratitude for everything even though it feels so alienating and confusing.

There is another song called Stay Alive in which he sings:

"그림잔 커져가지만 Although my shadow grows larger,

괜찮아 너란 큰 빛 덕분이니 It’s okay because it’s thanks to the great light that is you"

This is such a sincere explanation of what its like to be a Ketuvian in the limelight, he's thankful for having such a vast fanbase, the source of his "light" (remember that Ketu is in darkness and is always seeking light) but chasing this light means having to morph into somebody else/feeling disconnected from yourself which he succinctly expresses through the line "my shadow grows larger". Since Ketu is in perpetual darkness and is a shadow planet, it does not confront its shadow on its own. Its the seeking, the constant chasing for the light which they need that brings them to see their shadow.

Perhaps you feel very void and disconnected in general but you have a friend or a partner who makes you feel very tethered, through them you absorb their light but this also means you learn to look at yourself more clearly (Ketuvians are blind to their own nature) and this can be a very disconcerting and difficult experience if you've seldom ever felt "seen".

Emma Watson, Ashwini Sun, Mula Moon

I remember reading this interview in like 2010 where she said that whilst doing red carpets for the last Harry Potter movies she would have these moments where she looked into the mirror and felt very disconnected from the person she saw.

She subsequently turned to yoga and meditation and is even a certified yoga instructor. She has also mentioned going on silent retreats.

Ketu natives truly find balance in their lives when they cultivate a spiritual practice and devote themselves to it. Emma has largely stayed out of the limelight in the last decade or so and will probably continue to do so, this is very Ketuvian again, these natives find social interactions, especially the kind of intensive press tour celebrity life to be very draining, they need to retreat and do things in a way that is "real" to them. Emma has spoken about taking a break from acting and working behind the scenes.

Jungkook deleted his IG despite having 40+ million followers and like most Ketu natives he is very private and has no social media. It does not feel natural or real to them.

In her British Vogue interview, Emma said,

"...Her characters have felt, at times, “much realer” than she was. “I’m just so glad that I did [step away from acting] because I have this feeling of having my own voice and creative space and sovereignty in some way that I don’t think I did before".

This time has allowed Watson to concentrate on her “inner scorecard” (how you feel about yourself on the inside), versus her “outer scorecard” (your outward success, as seen on social media, for example). “I get a front row seat [with] some of the most successful, beautiful, incredible people in the world,” she says of Hollywood’s inner sanctum. “And when you have that seat it becomes very, very clear that there is just absolutely no level of success that will make you in any way happy or content if you do not like who you are or enjoy what you’re doing when no one’s watching.”

All of this feels like evolved, balanced and mature Ketu energy.

Miranda Kerr, Ashwini Sun

She is another person who I've always thought embodies a very healthy and evolved Ketuvian energy

Here's an excerpt from her interview:

“First, I try to do a little meditation and yoga, depending on how I feel. I've been meditating since I was 18. I've learnt Transcendental Meditation and Kriya Yoga Meditation, but sometimes I'm just too much in my head and so I need to put on an app. I use Insight Timer, which has different guided meditations, from a five- or 10-minute meditation or deeper ones which help if I can't sleep.

“Gratitude puts everything into perspective. The way that we speak to ourselves is really important, and to be aware to pull yourself up if you’re being self-critical and try and look at things in a positive way. For example, we can look outside and say, ‘oh my goodness, I can't believe it's raining’, or we can look outside and go, ‘well, it's cosy when it rains, I'd love to be inside and I get to wear my favourite scarf’ – we can switch our whole perspective on so many things. For me, waking up in the morning and thinking of at least three things I’m grateful for is so important. Just simple things like, ‘I’m grateful that we have fresh running water’.”

Salma Hayek, Magha Rising

Salma has been practising meditation and yoga for decades and has said: “It’s actually feeling the energy,” she said. “It moves and it dances inside of you, different sensations and emotions. So I use a lot of the frequency machines.”

Hayek claimed that her meditation works wonders for her appearance. “Sometimes when I’m doing it, people tell me when I come out of the room, ‘Oh my god. You look 20 again,'" she said.

She also warned that if she stopped meditating, her face would suffer. “When I don’t do it for a while, guess what?” she said. “The face starts to drop and everything starts to drop.”

Spirituality comes easier for women than men imo and Ketuvian women are more likely to buy into all things spiritual like crystal cleansing, chakra reading and even other offbeat spiritual techniques.

Gigi Hadid, Ashwini Sun & Rising

Gigi is another person who embodies really healthy Ketuvian energy

In her interviews, she always sounds very grounded and tethered. She said:

"I got pregnant and I really started to think about what I wanted after, when the world opened back up. (she got pregnant during covid) It kept coming back to just a more stabilized schedule where I’m not in a different country every week. This is very stabilizing. I have an office that I come to. I know everyone here. I don’t have to look a certain way to show up. It’s a different experience for me, and it was the right time because I was ready for that,” 

To realize what is causing you to feel unstable and deliberately manoeuvre your life to create that stability requires self-awareness and maturity.

Arnold Schwarzenegger, Mula Moon

He has talked about how bodybuilding and building his physique really helped him feel connected to himself in a different way. I think this is an interesting manifestation of Ketu's disconnection and need to go to extremes to feel anything. Arnold's workout routine from his Mr World days is pretty insane, he worked harder than anybody else and was single-mindedly focused on it. Pushing yourself to such extremes and committing to it is difficult but those Ketuvians who can do so will benefit from it immensely.

Ketu is detached from the material realm. For a Ketu native that isn't tuned into their spiritual side, this can mean feeling disconnected in general but the blessings of retreating to spirituality, slowness, stillness etc means shifting to a version of life where you feel anchored within yourself without depending on anybody or anything to feel that way.

All of the people I mentioned above turned away from the spotlight or made choices to make their lives more grounded and stable and as a result they feel content and satiated. They are detached from the material realm but firmly tethered to the things that matter to them.

I just wanted to make a brief post about how Ketuvians embrace their shadows and how spirituality anchors them.

I hope this was insightful.

[sleepymccoy]

Two thirds of a whole

“Your report indicated that you spent some time with the other Spock.”

“He was a strange man to meet,” McCoy muttered, sinking into a chair hesitantly.

“Tell me about him,” Spock invited, filling their glasses.

McCoy leant on the table and raised a hand. “Now, I don't want to sound egotistical, but the only change I know of was my not being on the Enterprise.”

“It is not egotistical to report your observations.”

McCoy smiled. “You might be wanting to take that back shortly, we'll see if I let you.”

Spock's gaze flashed to him. A strange expression passed his face, softer than most Spock let through when he was in control of himself, then he seemed to make a decision and looked at McCoy squarely. “Tell me,” he repeated.

“Well, he was lonely,” McCoy said simply. “He and their Jim weren't friendly. You- they weren't arguing or any sort, just not friendly. Jim was thinner too, more professional and detached. Broke my heart a bit. He did too.”

“He being the other Spock,” Spock clarified.

“Yeah.” McCoy pulled the water glass over and pressed it against his bourbon glass, feeling the grating tension of glass on glass in his fingers. “Didn't get along a lick with anyone on board. Didn't offer comments or defend his opinions beyond the bare minimum. He just worked, then went to his room and stayed there.”

“He sounds like a better Vulcan than I.”

McCoy glared at Spock. “You're the better man,” he shot back. Then, before Spock could disagree on principle, he continued. “He was sad, Spock, miserable and lonely! The way he latched onto me at the end there, you…” he sighed. “Ah, I dunno.”

Spock's eyebrow raise was enough of a response to keep McCoy talking.

“I don't know,” McCoy said carefully, “what he was getting out of me that no one else gives. I'd like to understand.”

“You are asking what benefit I find in knowing you?”

McCoy grit his teeth. “I suppose.” He drank. “You’re allowed to kick me out.”

Spock crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “It is a simple enough answer,” he said. “You are the antithesis of Vulcan logic. You exemplify the most challenging type of human interaction I could have - that is, one whose argument is based in emotion and unmoving. But you explain yourself well, and have improved my comprehension of the convoluted decision making processes humans take.”

“Huh,” McCoy said. He drank.

“Additionally- ”

“There's more?”

Spock ignored him. “- you take time to point out when I am culturally insensitive. Many simply take offense, but you communicate it. Often, you communicate it excessively. Perhaps this other Spock lacked your early tutelage and suffered for it. Although, I must add, Vulcan intimacy is far more impersonal than human and perhaps he is pleased with his relationships on board. Knowing no other.”

“He kissed me like he was dying.”

Spock's hand lurched, knocking against his water glass. It didn't tip over, they had broad bases in case of turbulance, but it shook from the impact.

McCoy went quiet and drank his bourbon.

“Where did he kiss you?” Spock asked at a whisper.

McCoy looked at the table top. Real wood, Spock was more of a sensualist than he admitted. “On the mouth, Spock, how dirty d'you think I am?”

“I mean- so, he kissed you in the human way?”

Spock's hands were balled into tight fists. His eyes were wide, his cheeks green. He was quite still.

“Yeah, I hadn't considered that,” McCoy said, trying with all his might to sound unaffected and like they were discussing lab results. He remembered the feeling of Spock’s fingers in his mouth. “He was good at it too, wonder where he learnt it.”

Spock waved his hand absently. Those fingers… “Before I met you,” he muttered. “Wait. You allowed it to continue long enough to tell? Were you willing?”

“I was surprised at first, but, Spock, there’s something about you- ”

Spock stood, his chair scraping back loudly.

“God, don't hit me,” McCoy muttered, “you're really strong.”

---

This fic is complete now! If you enjoyed the snippet you'll enjoy the rest of the shenanigans they get up to <3

[fushigurokogane]

Okay, so, I was thinking that since Megumi is really bad at expressing his feelings and emotions verbally that he is really good at expressing his feelings by writing them? He writes poetry or reader teaches him how to write poetry bc they notice he struggles to express himself verbally and figure it would be a good way for him to get his feelings out. Maybe his first poem is about his feelings for reader?? I am such a simp! I love Megumi! This is just something I've been thinking about for a while. I love your Megumi writing and was hoping you might use this. You don't have to if you don't want to. Love ya!♡

Awwww, I LOVE this idea so much! It's such a beautiful way to explore Megumi's character, especially since he's often shown as someone who struggles to communicate his emotions directly. The idea of him using poetry as an outlet is perfect!! It allows him to express things he can't say out loud. Here's a little something where Megumi works through his feelings and confesses then to the reader, with the a poem he wrote. ITS IN FREE VERSE STYLE BC I CANT RHYME.

Megumi stood there, nervously fidgeting with the folded piece of paper in his hands. His heart raced in a way he didn’t quite understand. He never thought he’d actually go through with it, but somehow, when he saw you sitting there, the words, his words, felt like the only thing that made sense.

He didn’t look at you directly as he handed the poem over, the paper crinkling slightly in his grip, but his gaze was soft, almost… vulnerable. He cleared his throat, a small and uncharacteristic gesture of his discomfort.

"Here," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "I…uh, I wrote this." You unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning each line, reading the words he’d put down so carefully. His heart seemed to beat faster with every second you took in silence. Megumi watched you, unsure whether you were going to say anything, do anything.

- Unspoken Words - I’ve never been good with words, never knew how to say what I mean, but I’ve spent too many nights thinking about you, watching you laugh, or simply being near you, and I can’t hold it back anymore.

There’s something about the way you look at me, like you see past all the walls I’ve built, like you know I don’t know how to ask for what I need— but still, you stay.

It’s a quiet thing, this feeling that’s been growing, something I didn’t know I was missing until it was there, until I realized it was you.

I don’t know what this means, or what I’m supposed to do with it, but I know it’s real, and I can’t hide it anymore.

So, here it is— simple, no grand gestures, just me, saying it in the only way I can: I care about you. More than I ever expected to. More than I thought I could.

And I don’t know where this goes, but I’d like to find out.

As you finished reading, the silence between you both felt different—quieter, but not uncomfortable. It was as if the air had shifted, filled with the weight of what Megumi had finally let out. His eyes lingered on you, and for a brief second, you saw a rare vulnerability there—a side of him that he didn't often show.

You closed the paper gently and looked up at him, unsure if you'd ever see him this uncertain again. "Megumi..." you began, but your voice trailed off as you searched for the right words, not wanting to rush what had just been shared.

He shifted on his feet, the tension in his shoulders still evident despite the softness in his gaze. "I... I don't know what happens now," he muttered, his words more to himself than to you. "I just couldn't keep it in anymore."

You took a step closer, your heart softening at the sight of him—his effort, his honesty, the way he stood there, waiting for something you weren’t sure he even believed he deserved. And maybe you didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear: he needed to hear it.

"I’m glad you told me," you said, your voice steady, reassuring. "You don't always have to have all the answers, Megumi. We’ll figure it out, together."

For the first time in a long while, his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. The kind of smile that felt like the beginning of something real, something that he’d never been sure he deserved—but now, with you, maybe he was starting to believe it.

He nodded slightly, the weight lifting from his chest. "Yeah," he said, his voice softer than before. "Yeah, I guess we will."

And as you stood there together, the future didn’t seem as uncertain anymore. Whatever came next, you both knew that this was just the start of something new.

I hope this REALLY captures the moment of megumi finally finding the courage to confess his feelings, and the vulnerability in him doing so through poetry! Anywayyyy i hope you enjoyed love, and make sure to stay hydrated and healthy!! BAI BAIII <333 love, ✭ Nika ✭

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 74: Fitz's Metronome

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, body control, emotional abuse, torture, captivity, hypnosis

September 1905

With a cold, stiff hand resting just on top of his head, Fitz was marched out of the dank basement like a marionette. He couldn't even find relief from being done with Lex's torture -- for now, at least -- because he was drowning in terror at his own fate, wondering if he'd ever control his own body again.

The Maestro had carried the weak lantern with him, so that Fitz could see a bit of the manor surrounding him. The oppressive patterns of the wallpaper, the dark wood door frames with their yawning openings, the intricately carved wooden furniture, all of it seemed to swallow what little light there was. The main floor of the manor was less obviously a prison than the basement where Lex had been chained, but it was a prison nonetheless.

Was this where he'd spend the rest of his days, in the dark, cold gloom? Would he die here?

His new master led Fitz into a room which seemed slightly more welcoming than the others. It was a music room, and what he could see was filled with antique instruments in perfect condition. Polished horns sat in neat brackets on the walls, violins and other stringed instruments rested in their stands, and an antique piano occupied the center of the room.

Fitz's body came to a stop in the middle of the room, standing as still as a statue, with Fitz hardly even able to blink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Maestro pull a measuring tape from his pocket. He measured the circumference of Fitz's chest and stomach, the lengths of his legs and arms, the length and width of his feet, and more, while Fitz's automatically body shifted to accommodate the measurements.

It reminded Fitz of the last time he'd been measured so thoroughly, that night in the auction house where he'd first met Lex. He'd been scared out of hits wits then, too, but he'd also had hope, hope that his charm and charisma and ability to look great in a red velvet ballgown would earn him a permissive master. Fitz couldn't muster up any such hope now. There would be no softening of Lex's sire, no manipulation to earn privileges, not when he wasn't even allowed to speak.

The Maestro sat down at a nearby desk, leaving Fitz standing stiff as a board in the middle of the room. He dipped a pen in ink and wrote out a note, then rang a small brass bell. A moment later, a tired-looking older man in a modest black suit appeared at the door.

"Fetch clothes appropriate for these measurements. I have another new thrall this evening."

His eyes flicked over to Fitz very, very briefly. "Yes, sir," he said, exiting the room as swiftly as he appeared.

Another new thrall? Fitz wondered how many he had. But he didn't have much time to wonder, because the Maestro stood before Fitz again, running an icy hand below his chin and tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

His eyes were as deep as the ocean and as dark as a moonless night, and Fitz couldn't look away from them, even as he felt their pull. He was being enthralled. His new master wasn't simply content with controlling every movement of Fitz's body. He was trying to control Fitz's mind too. Fitz could feel himself scrabbling for purchase, trying to keep his grip on his thoughts even as they began to slip from his grasp.

"That's it, child," he said in that dreadfully melodic voice. "You will look deeply into my eyes, and you will lose yourself. Your mind, your body, and your will are all mine, to do with as I must."

He slipped. He was falling, falling, falling down a pitch-black well that seemed to go on for miles and miles. His thoughts began to empty as he sank further into a daze, unable to resist the thick blanket of control that was smothering him.

"Fitzwilliam de Hastings. Third son of the de Hastings family and an abject disappointment in every conceivable way. Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Despite that unfortunate history, you may be excellent raw material." A porcelain thumb stroked Fitz's cheek just below his eye. "Your parents didn't have the strength, the knowledge, or the time to mold you into anything better than this pathetic creature, did they? Despite having little understanding of humans, I can be certain that they did not love nor care for you. If they had cared for you, they wouldn't have left your talents and better qualities to rot and spoil."

Fitz was sinking so deeply under his spell that he couldn't muster even an internal denial to any of this. No, his parents most certainly didn't care for him. They probably thought it was just as well that Fitz was gone, if they even gave it any thought.. His heart ached with the jealousy he'd felt each time his father praised his golden older brother, praise that Fitz would never hear himself.

"If someone had cared about you, they would have corrected your personality."

No, that wasn't right, couldn't have been right. Correcting Fitz was all his father ever did, and he knew that his father hadn't cared about him, would've just as soon not had a useless third son.

"Make no mistake, child, I certainly don't care for you either. I would be incapable of such a thing, even if you did deserve such tender treatment," said the Maestro, pulling Fitz in slightly closer. "I don't care for you, but I have time. All the time in the world, and some dim flicker of curiosity. Curiosity to see if I can mold something like you into something perfect. That is why I am prepared to do you a great mercy."

"Mercy…" Fitz's voice came out as a pleading whine.

"Yes, a mercy. I will be the one to correct your vile personality. Despite your deficiencies, I think you understand that it has brought you nothing but suffering. A lifetime of poor choices and waste."

Fitz wanted to deny it, but it was his choices that brought him here, wasn't it? If he hadn't pursued the stage, if he hadn't taken Miss Lily's bet, if he hadn't charmed Lex…

His master suddenly broke his gaze and released Fitz, who was still falling, lost in his spell. The servant from earlier had arrived silently, and handed the Maestro a set of neatly folded clothes with a deep bow. The Maestro looked over the clothes and nodded at the servant, who exited the room with an unnaturally rhythmic gait.

Fitz knew that would be him, a puppet on strings, fit only to serve, and the cruel voice in his head whispered that maybe it was all he was good for.

The Maestro turned back to Fitz and began unbuttoning his shirt, one button after the next. His chest was exposed to the cold, damp air of the manor, but under his master's power, he could hardly even shiver. There was nothing he could do to resist as one leg lifted, and then the other, allowing the Maestro to remove his shoes and socks, followed by his pants.

As his clothing was removed and set aside, Fitz was reminded that he was wearing his stage magician's costume. He'd had a performance just earlier tonight, his last. It already seemed like ages had passed since them.

And then he was standing utterly nude before his new master, body fully controlled and mind ensorcelled, with no protection and nowhere to hide.

Fortunately, the Maestro didn't seem to care for Fitz's nude body. He wasted no time dressing Fitz in the clothing the servant had brought. The drab suit was scratchy and uncomfortable, and it was such a small thing, but Fitz couldn't help but despair at it. A lifetime in uncomfortable, stuffy clothes.

Once Fitz was dressed, the Maestro examined him this way and that, pinching at the cloth here and drawing it upwards there. "This will require some tailoring, but that can be handled later. It's an improvement for now." He tossed Fitz's old clothes to the side like rags and rang the bell once more. The servant arrived to collect them, and then the only possessions Fitz had left were gone.

The Maestro gestured to the piano, and Fitz's body moved to sit on the bench. He was going to have to play, and Fitz already knew his meager skills and repertoire of popular ragtime tunes wouldn't satisfy his master. There was a metronome with a shining brass arm sitting on the top of the piano, a surprisingly modern touch.

His master reached past Fitz's shoulder and started the metronome in a slow rhythm, and Fitz couldn't help but watch it and listen to its tock-tock-tock. His fogged mind wondered when the Maestro would make him start playing, but as the minutes dragged on, he realized that he wasn't going to play. No, all he could do was sit there and watch the metronome.

Almost experimentally, he tried to turn his eyes away, and found that he could not. His master had taken hold of his very eyes, keeping them glued tightly to the metronome's arm. Now he was aware of the way his eyes were being forced to follow, and he couldn't help but try to resist it, with a spike of panic. Resisting it was like walking through a wall, or struggling against thick chains, and it only made his pupils jitter strangely, the metronome's arm going briefly out of focus.

"You will allow the rhythm to enter your head," said the melodic voice near his ear. "You will allow it to govern your thoughts, your movements. You will allow your own thoughts to fade."

Fitz could feel it, the way his thoughts were slowing and swirling in time with the metronome, the way his emotions were growing dim. He dug in, determined to stubbornly fight it as long as possible. Even if it was futile, he didn't want to go out easily.

"Everything you are, everything that is not me will fade away. You cannot fight this. You will not fight this. You are weak and you know that you will slip."

He tried to pull whatever happy memories he had from the recesses of his mind, one last moment of fun before the doom. Taking his bows to raucous applause. Laughing and drinking with fellow actors after a show. Bluffing his way to a poker jackpot.

"The only sound in your head is the rhythm. The only thoughts in your mind are mine."

tock - tock - tock

Dancing in the music room with Lex. Lex holding him while he fell asleep. The night he'd finally got up the courage to kiss him.

"The only desire left to you is servitude. You will submit."

No --

"You will submit. Blank. Empty. A doll on which to impose my will."

Lex wouldn't want him this way. Lex wanted him just the way he was.

But…

As Fitz was kissing Lex in his mind's eye, he saw that handsome face with a silver knife jammed into the eye, dark blood dripping from the wound in a rhythm like

tock - tock - tock

Fitz knew he wasn't worth it. Fitz could never have been worth all of that.

tock - tock - tock

"You will feel relief as you are washed clean. It is the only relief you will have for some time, so I suggest you savor it."

His mind swirled with the images of Lex's tormented body lying motionless on the basement floor.

tock - tock - tock

Relief. Yes, he wanted relief. He didn't want to see that any more.

"No more thoughts. No more wants. No more needs. No more distractions or decisions. You are my doll to pose, to mold, to break. My empty vessel. You are better this way. Far, far better."

One more memory flashed into Fitz's rapidly fading mind. His father looming over him, so tall and so stern, and all Fitz wanted was to please him, but he never did. He grabbed Fitz's arm too tight. It hurt, and Fitz bit back tears. "Why can't you just do as you're told?"

He wanted to. He wanted to just do what he was told so badly, but he couldn't.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam," said his master. "You will never again have to despair at not doing what you're told. I will make you do what you are told, always. I will make you perfect."

Tears were dripping down his chin in the same rhythm as the metronome. "Thank you, sir."

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Next week, Vivian is on Alexander's trail.

Thanks so much for reading this story. The feedback I get always brightens my days.

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[callmemonster68]

SUNOO - Doll ( smut )

" Y/N: Sunoo... you don't need to hide from me. (she said calmly, but the weight of her words made his heart race) I know what you are... and I know why you bought me. "

In a world where loneliness is combated by customizable companions called "human dolls", Sunoo, a shy and dreamy young man, finds in Y/N the chance to fill the emptiness he carries. However, as they live together, he discovers that Y/N is more than an ideal companion – she is capable of seeing his deepest secrets.

Pairing: Sunoo X FemReader (Masterlist)

Genre: Obscenity

WARNING: text a little longer than I usually write

Warning: graphic description of gore ( bloond/injuries ) explicit content, unprotected sex, suggestive, penetration, explicit language, climax, sex, swearing, loss of virginity, hickeys, messy make-out sessions, dirty talk, compliments, rough sex, touching bruises, handcuffs, chains, sadomasochism , masochism, brands, group sex,double penetration, oral sex, anal sex, masturbation

In the world where Sunoo lived, human interactions were a difficult territory for many shy people like him. Fortunately, an innovation completely changed the social dynamic: the "human dolls and dolls." These people were trained from an early age to be the perfect companions, offering emotional support, friendship, and, for some, even more intimate experiences. The selection process was simple and completely customizable: appearance, personality, voice, even the way they smiled. Sunoo, shy and dreamy, saw it as a chance to fill the emptiness he felt.

He spent days browsing the site, analyzing the options. His heart raced with each click, until he found what seemed to be the perfect doll for him: Y/N. She had eyes that sparkled as if they were always smiling, a gentle and affectionate personality described as "perfect for those seeking comfort and sweetness." Sunoo hesitated before clicking the purchase button, but with sweaty hands, he finally confirmed the order.

When the big day arrived, he was so nervous that he could hardly concentrate. The doorbell rang, and he practically jumped off the couch. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door... and there she was.

Y/N was standing there, with a radiant expression and a smile that seemed to light up the entire hallway. Dressed simply but captivatingly, she held a small suitcase, as if she were ready to start a new life by his side.

Y/N: Hello! You are Sunoo, right? (she asked with a sweet voice, tilting her head slightly)

Sunoo felt his cheeks burn and stammered a response.

Sunoo: I-it's me... uh, come in, please! (he took an awkward step to the side, making room for her to enter)

Y/N entered his house with light steps, her eyes exploring the surroundings with curiosity. She placed the suitcase next to the door and turned to him, smiling again.

Y/N: I am very happy to be here with you, Sunoo. I hope to be exactly what you need.

He swallowed hard, trying to process the situation. She was even more beautiful in person. Her presence seemed to fill the empty space in his house with something warm and welcoming.

Sunoo: I... I-I too... (he started, but his voice faltered)

She laughed softly and stepped forward, placing her hand gently on his arm.

Y/N: Everything's fine, Sunoo. You don't need to get nervous. I'm here to help you with whatever you need, okay? Let's start slowly.

He took a deep breath, trying to relax, but his heart was beating so fast that he was sure she could hear it. The idea of having someone there, so attentive and beautiful, was surreal.

Sunoo: O-okay. Thank you... for being here. (he finally managed to say)

Y/N: How about showing me the house? (she suggested, her eyes shining with enthusiasm)

Sunoo nodded quickly and began to guide her through the rooms, showing every detail of his small but cozy house. As the day went by, he began to feel more at ease. Y/N was amazing at breaking the ice, asking light questions and complimenting the simple yet unique choices he had made to decorate the space.

After some time, they were sitting together on the couch, drinking tea that Sunoo had made (even though his hands had trembled while holding the kettle).

Y/N: You seem to be a very kind person, Sunoo. (she said, looking directly into his eyes)

He averted his gaze, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

Y/N: I... I don't think I'm that special... (he murmured)

She shook her head, a loving smile on her face.

Y/N: You are special, yes. I can already feel it. And I think we are going to get along very well.

Sunoo looked at her again, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. For the first time, he felt a small spark of confidence welling up inside him. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to open up more. And with Y/N by his side, he felt that he had found someone who understood him in a way that no one else ever had before.

But he still had many questions... about her, about how that relationship would work, and even about what he really wanted from her. Little did Sunoo know that this would be the first of many lessons he would learn alongside his "human doll."

The interaction between Sunoo and Y/N had already become more natural, although his shyness was still evident in every gesture or word. She, on the other hand, seemed increasingly at ease, exploring the house and adapting to his routine with ease. Y/N had a unique talent, acquired during her training, to read people with precision. She was able to perceive things that even the owners of the emotions were not aware of. And Sunoo? He was like an open book to her.

One morning, while he was trying to concentrate on breakfast, Y/N approached, bringing with her an air of provocation. She was wearing comfortable clothes, but they fit her body perfectly, and the cute smile on her face hid something more mischievous.

Y/N: Sunoo? (She called him with a sweet voice, leaning slightly towards him, her hands crossed behind her back) Don't you think I look pretty when I blink my eyes like this?

She blinked a few times, exaggerating a bit, while a smile played on her lips.

Sunoo, who was already nervous just by her proximity, almost choked on his sip of coffee. He quickly averted his eyes, blushing deeply.

Sunoo: I-I... I think you are... very beautiful... (he murmured, trying to maintain his composure)

She laughed softly, crossing her arms as she continued to tease him.

Y/N: Isn't it pure perfection? (She tilted her head to the side, her eyes shining with something Sunoo couldn't decipher) Cute, polite... Am I not the perfect stereotype?

He shook his head, the words failing him as he tried to formulate a response. Y/N took a step closer, leaning to support herself on the table, bringing her face nearer to his.

Y/N: Ah, Sunoo... you can't even look at me right now. (she said in a tone between cute and mischievous) I have all your attention, don't I? Or do you think you can play with me like that?

Sunoo: N-no! I would never do that! ( he replied quickly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture, but her tone made him even more nervous )

Y/N smiled again, but this time there was something sharper in her eyes. She stepped back just enough to straighten her posture, but her gaze never left his.

Y/N: Sunoo... you don't need to hide from me. (she said calmly, but the weight of her words made his heart race) I know what you are... and I know why you bought me.

He widened his eyes, swallowing hard, feeling the blood rush to his face.

Sunoo: W-what do you mean by that? (he asked, his voice faltering as she kept her gaze fixed on him)

Y/N approached again, stopping right next to him. She leaned in, whispering in his ear with a sweet tone, but laden with ulterior motives.

Y/N: You're a pervert, aren't you? (she said, her voice soft as a whisper but laden with malice) It's okay, Sunoo. You can use me, if you want.

The silence that followed was so intense that he could almost hear the sound of his own heartbeat. He was completely paralyzed, not knowing what to respond or how to act. Part of him wanted to deny it, but another part knew she was right, at least on some level. After all, he had fantasized about having someone as perfect as her, even if he had never admitted it to himself.

Sunoo: Y-Y/N, I... I don't... it's not really like that... (he stammered, but she interrupted him, placing a finger delicately on his lips)

Y/N: Shh, you don't need to explain anything. (she said with a cute smile, but her eyes shone with something deeper) I'm here to be everything you need. Just... don't be afraid to be honest with me, Sunoo.

He looked at her, emotions mixing in his chest. There was shame, nervousness, but also a growing desire to open up to her, truly. But how could he, when her mere presence was already so overwhelming?

The days went by, and the coexistence between Sunoo and Y/N became increasingly... peculiar. While he did everything to keep control of his emotions and avoid inappropriate thoughts, Y/N seemed determined to test all his limits, always maintaining the mask of innocence and cuteness.

She wandered around the house wearing only a t-shirt that was too long for her body — or maybe not so long after all. When she sat on the couch, she crossed her legs carelessly, revealing a glimpse of the white panties she wore underneath. Sometimes, she would lean down to pick something up from the floor, and the fabric of her shirt would ride up just enough to expose her thighs. Sunoo, unable to look away in time, turned as red as a tomato, mumbling softly as he hurriedly walked away.

Y/N: Sunoo? Is everything okay? (with a genuinely worried expression, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes betrayed her true intentions)

Sunoo: Y-yes, everything's fine! (he responded quickly, his voice faltering as he tried to appear natural)

But she never stopped there. There were moments when she would walk past him in the kitchen and lean over too much, letting the neckline of her shirt reveal more than he wanted (or could) see. Other times, she surprised him by placing one of her hands on his chest or even casually touching his thigh while they talked on the couch, as if it were completely normal.

Y/N: You are so cute, Sunoo. (she said once, running her fingers gently through his hair while he tried to watch a TV show)

He shifted uncomfortably, his hands trembling slightly as he held the remote control.

Sunoo: T-thank you... (he murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen, but unable to pay attention to what was happening)

Y/N, of course, couldn't help it and slid their fingers across his face, an innocent smile on their face.

Y/N: You are so tense. Do you want me to help you relax? (she asked, leaning towards him, and the warmth of her body came very close to his)

Sunoo: N-no need! I'm fine, really! ( he exclaimed, stepping back quickly and almost knocking the remote control to the floor )

Every day, her provocations seemed to increase, and Sunoo knew he was reaching his limit. He tried to ignore, divert, avoid direct contact with her, but Y/N's presence was overwhelming. She was too perfect, too provocative, and seemed to know exactly how to tease him without ever crossing the line.

Until one night, after another day of taunts, something inside him simply broke. He was sitting on the bed, trying to calm his mind and ignore the thoughts that kept coming back, when Y/N walked into the room. She was wearing the same long t-shirt as always, but this time it was slightly damp, probably from the shower she had just taken. The fabric clung to her skin in a tempting way, and the gentle scent of her soap filled the room.

Y/N: Sunoo? (she called, walking slowly towards him) You seem... strange today. Is everything okay?

He lifted his gaze to her, his eyes darkened by the whirlwind of emotions he had been holding for days. Y/N stopped in front of him, tilting her head cutely, but the smile at the corner of her lips still carried that mischievous air.

Sunoo: Y/N. (he said, his voice lower and hoarser than usual)

Y/N: Yes? (she replied, bending down to be at his height, her face so close that he could feel her breath)

It was at that moment that Sunoo finally exploded. He held her wrists gently, but with enough firmness to show that he was no longer willing to run away.

Sunoo: I... can't take it anymore. (he said, his eyes locked on hers) You know what you're doing, don't you?

Y/N smiled, the mischievous sparkle in their eyes becoming even more evident.

Y/N: Maybe... ( leaning in even more, until their faces were almost touching ) But you just needed to admit it, Sunoo.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but the truth was he didn't want to talk anymore.

Sunoo: I want you. (he finally said, his voice firm but laden with desire) Please... I can't hold back anymore.

Y/N smiled, her gaze softening slightly but still laden with mischief.

Y/N: Finally. (she murmured, before leaning in and brushing her lips against his) I was waiting for this.

She climbed onto the bed and attacked him immediately, the kiss fierce, their tongues exploring each other's mouths, she didn't want to waste any time, and she removed his clothes, leaving him completely naked. Sunoo's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and desire, his lips swollen from Y/N's assault. Y/N stepped back just enough to take off the shirt she was wearing, she was already naked underneath.

Sunoo's eyes widened, it was the first time he saw a naked woman in front of him, and she was sublime, his cock twisting eagerly to be inside her. She kissed him again, encouraging him to lie down on the bed. She positioned herself on top of his body, her lips moving from his mouth to his jaw, then to his neck, her lips descending down to his groin.

Y/N: Look at me, Sunoo.

He looked, shy but full of expectations. Then she grabbed his penis and he whimpered. She pumped it a few times before taking it into her mouth.

Sunoo: Y/N no... (he grabbed her hair) A long time waiting for this (he says trying to maintain control) I wouldn't last even two seconds if you keep this up.

She smiled, gave two more licks to his head, and walked away.

Y/N: Sure, I still want to enjoy your cock.

So she adjusted herself on top of him, positioned her intimacy on the head of his cock, and without warning, she sat down completely, eliciting a loud moan from Sunoo who felt a shiver run through his body.

Y/N's body moved over his, as if she were completely in control, and she was. From the beginning, she knew what she wanted and how to get it. Sunoo was exactly where she needed him to be, vulnerable, surrendered, in the hands of her perfect doll.

While pleasure consumed them, Y/N leaned over him, her tousled hair falling around his face. She leaned closer, her lips near his ear, and whispered slowly and melodiously:

Y/N: Because, my dear, dolls kill...

Sunoo opened his eyes, confused, but the desire that filled his body prevented him from understanding immediately.

Y/N: Don't provoke us or we will... push you down the hill. (her voice was sweet as honey, but there was something sharp hidden in every word)

She sat down again, her hands sliding under the pillow beside her. When she started to go up and down on it again, Sunoo noticed the shine of something silver in her hands. A knife.

Y/N: We can be beautiful, but we are still as cruel as we are sweet... (Y/N continued, spinning the blade between her fingers with a terrifying skill, while her body still enveloped him, each movement perfectly calculated to leave him on the brink of madness)

Sunoo was frozen, pleasure mingling with a wave of pure adrenaline. His eyes widened as he saw her grip the knife firmly, her gaze so deep and intense that it seemed to pierce through him.

Y/N: Knife hidden under the blankets, my dear... dolls kill. (she murmured, her eyes fixed on his, before tilting the blade dangerously close to his neck) Don't provoke us or we will...

The room seemed to fill with tension, the only sound besides her words being their irregular breathing. He stood still, feeling her body pressing against his, the cold blade near his skin. But then, to Y/N's surprise, Sunoo's lips curved into a slow and unexpected smile.

Sunoo: You say you read people well. ( in a low, hoarse voice, but filled with something darker than fear ) You were right to see that I'm a pervert... but it seems you didn't notice one thing.

Her eyes narrowed, curious and slightly suspicious, as he continued, his voice now laden with something she hadn't expected to hear.

Sunoo: I'm also a sadist. (he said, and the smile on his face became more evident) You can do whatever you want with me, cut me, hurt me, use me...

He raised one of his hands, gently holding her wrist, as if encouraging her to press the knife harder against him, causing a superficial cut on his chest.

Sunoo: I will be your doll from now on.

His words hit Y/N like a gust of wind, making something inside her snap. For a moment, she just stared at him, still with the knife in her hands, still over him, the two connected in a way that transcended the physical. Something in Sunoo's eyes, in his smile, made her hesitate.

He wasn't afraid. He wasn't like the others she had planned to manipulate and discard. He was... different.

Y/N: Are you kidding me? (the tone still firm, but there was a note of uncertainty that hadn't existed before)

Sunoo: I am completely serious. (he replied, his eyes shining with something as intense as hers) If you want to play with dolls, I will be your toy.

Y/N felt her control crumble for a fraction of a second. His words echoed in her mind, disrupting the meticulous plan she had created from the beginning. For the first time, someone looked back at her, not as a doll to be used, but as someone willing to throw themselves into the darkness with her, without fear, without limits.

She dropped the knife on the bed beside her, leaning over him once more, her face inches from his.

Y/N: You're crazy. (she whispered, with a small smile at the corner of her lips)

Sunoo: Crazy about you. (he answered without hesitation)

Y/N didn't know whether to laugh or dive even deeper into the intensity of that moment. But one thing was certain: the plan had changed. And now, she no longer knew who was in control of that relationship.

Y/N was still on top of him, moving at a pace that defied any sense of control. Sunoo moaned beneath her, his fingers digging into her waist, guiding her, as they both seemed to sink into a spiral of pleasure and madness.

The knife gleamed beside them, forgotten for a brief moment, until Sunoo, with a slow and deliberate movement, reached out and picked it up. The cold metal contrasted with the fervent heat of their bodies. He held the object firmly, raising it and looking directly at her.

Sunoo: Y/N... (a hoarse and trembling voice, not from fear, but from excitement) I want you to mark me.

Her eyes narrowed, but the smile that appeared on her lips betrayed the satisfaction those words brought her.

Y/N: Mark you? (the knife now in your hands again)

He nodded, his eyes filled with something intoxicating, almost submissive, but at the same time bold.

Sunoo: Do it. Here. ( he said, pointing to his own chest, right on the left side, where the heart was beating rapidly ) Write your initial. I want the world to know that I am yours.

Y/N tilted her head, a crooked smile adorning her lips as she looked at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Y/N: You really are crazy, aren't you? (she murmured, sliding the knife between her fingers, teasing him, as she had from the beginning)

Sunoo: I already said, crazy about you. (eyes half-closed, challenging her)

She laughed, a low and almost sweet laugh, but it carried with it a touch of cruelty. Y/N didn't hesitate any longer. With precise movements, she leaned over him, the knife steady in her hand. Sunoo took a deep breath, his muscles tense as he awaited what would come next.

The first stroke was slow and deliberate, the blade cutting the skin carefully as the blood began to flow. Sunoo arched his back, a mix of pain and pleasure reflected on his face.

Y/N: My initial... (licking their lips as they continued, forming the perfect letter on his chest)

Sunoo: Your initial. (he echoed, his voice breaking as the sensations pushed him to the limit)

When she finished, the blood had already stained the sheets, and Y/N stood momentarily still, admiring her work. The writing shone in bright red, a mark of possession, a symbol of something no one else could have.

Y/N: Perfect. (a soft voice while running fingers over the cut, mixing the blood with his skin)

But she didn't stop there. With an unexpected movement, Y/N bent down, running her tongue over the freshly made cut. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she moaned softly, as if it excited her even more.

Sunoo was on the verge of delirium. He grabbed her hair, pulling her up, his mouth seeking hers with an almost animalistic desperation. The kiss was intense, chaotic, full of desire and something darker. The blood on her lips mixed with his, the taste connecting them in a way that was both intimate and disturbing.

Their movements became frantic, almost wild, and the pleasure grew in waves until they both reached the peak together, their bodies trembling and intertwined as moans and sighs echoed through the room.

In the end, Y/N remained on top of him, panting, her hands resting on his chest as she looked at him with a glimmer in her eyes that was hard to decipher. Sunoo smiled at her, exhausted but satisfied, the traces of her initial still glowing red against his skin.

Sunoo: I think there's no doubt now about who I belong to. (the tone laden with devotion and insanity)

Y/N leaned in, kissing him again, this time more slowly, but no less intensely.

Y/N: And I also have no doubt that you are exactly what I needed. (she replied, with a dangerous smile on her lips)

The room was now engulfed in a tense silence, only the sounds of their ragged breaths filling the space. Y/N was still on top of him, observing every detail of his face with an almost predatory intensity. Sunoo, marked, surrendered, looked at her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world.

It was strange. This wasn't what she had planned. From the beginning, her idea was clear: escape. It was simple. Killing him would be easy — quick, silent. Without him, there would be no one to track her. She could disappear, find her freedom, and never live under orders or expectations again.

She should have plunged that knife into him. The perfect moment had arisen several times. He was vulnerable, overconfident, so surrendered to the illusion of control that she had allowed him to have.

But something had changed.

She looked at the cut that now marked his chest, his initial carved into his skin like a seal of possession. The blood had stopped flowing, but it still gleamed in scarlet tones under the dim light of the room. Sunoo, lying there, still naked and completely exposed, smiled at her. There was no fear in his eyes. Just a devotion she didn't expect.

He was different. Different from all those who had trained her, from all those who had tried to control her. Sunoo didn't want to subjugate her, mold her, or transform her into something she wasn't. He just wanted... her. In all her complexity, in her cruelty and sweetness.

Sunoo: You're thinking about something, aren't you? ( he asked, interrupting her thoughts, his voice soft but full of curiosity )

Y/N tilted their head, fingers playing with the handle of the knife they still held.

Y/N: You know I came here to kill you, don't you? (in a low voice, but without hesitation)

Sunoo blinked, surprised but not scared. He laughed lightly, as if she had told a joke.

Sunoo: I imagined. (he replied calmly) But something tells me you changed your mind.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the response.

Y/N: And why do you think that?

Sunoo: Because, if you wanted, I would already be dead. (he smiled, his eyes shining with something she couldn't decipher) But instead, you marked me as yours. You don't want to be free, Y/N. You want something more.

His words resonated within her like an echo. She didn't respond immediately, just watched him, trying to understand what exactly had changed. He was right. Killing Sunoo would mean freedom, but it would be an empty freedom. And now, looking at him, marked by her, completely surrendered, Y/N realized something.

She didn't just want to escape. She wanted control, she wanted power, but she also wanted... him. Sunoo, the shy and perverted boy who had bought her without imagining what she really was. He was different, peculiar, even disturbed in a way that fascinated her. And, somehow, he had done something no one else ever could: he had bound her without chains.

Y/N: You are strange. (she murmured, finally smiling at him, but there was something softer in that smile now)

Sunoo: And you are scary. (laughing lightly) I think we make a good pair.

Y/N leaned in, their foreheads touching, fingers still playing with the knife, but now with no intention of using it against him.

Y/N: You know what this means, don't you?

Sunoo: That now I am your doll. (he replied without hesitation)

She smiled more broadly, satisfied.

Y/N: Exactly. But remember...

She raised the knife for a brief moment, only to let it fall beside them on the bed.

Y/N: Dolls still kill.

Sunoo laughed, holding her face between his hands and pulling her in for a kiss.

And, at that moment, Y/N's initial plan was discarded. Running away seemed pointless when she had exactly what she wanted right there. She would be free, yes, but with Sunoo, bound to her forever — her doll, her accomplice, her everything.

They didn't need anything else. There was no one else in the world who could understand or accept each other's madness. Sunoo was hers, and Y/N was his. Two distorted souls, living a reality that only they could understand.

✿ If you don't reblog and comment, you can be sure I'll be showing up in your dreams tonight... and I won’t be as sweet as in the story ✿