#i need to stop thinking about how I was so much better before but I can’t stop

[sleepincrow]

suggestive content.

what if he sex bans YOU. what if he threatens YOU with the lack of delicious sex?? what if he punishes YOU with no sex—to see what would happen to you, how pathetic you would become, hm? begging him to forgive you and for him to just relent and fuck you?

AND WHAT IF HE REGRETS IT, NOT A WEEK INTO THE MONTH-LONG SEX BAN HE PROMISED YOU. WHAT THEN???

"please, pretty baby~ 𖹭" he'd coo so fucking pathetically. it doesnt matter what position you could be in, in the end, he's the pathetic one. he would bat his eyelashes, trying to woo you over with his velvety words, all the while he tries to hide the tears that's gathered in his eyes from the soulful desperation of not being able to rut his hard cock on your thigh, let alone fuck you. "ive already forgiven you, so let's just stop this whole thing, yeah?"

oh stars, he's trying—trying to act as if he didnt put you in this situation.. as if he didnt put himself in this situation. you clicked your teeth. it's truly so cute how he thinks he still has the choice.

"but baby," you start, also batting your eyelash in false innocence. "you were right, i needed this punishment, so im taking full responsibility!" the slight growl and grunt thet came out of his irritated mouth was enough for you to know that your acting was perfect.

"don't act so mature now!" his grip on you tightens. underneath these calloused hands that hold onto you with a rough and wanting motive was the hidden sea of desperation. the hold youve got on his hips, keeping him from touching you, its pissing him off.

"come on, honey, you wanted this for me, right?" you mumbled under your breath, looking through him with those big eyes of yours. its taking everything in him to not just rut into you. anything'll do.

and he couldnt help it.. he was desperate!

"fuck.. come on, please? sh-shit i cant— i cant do this 'nymore. need- need to feel ya, baby, please?" he's fully given up at this point. he curses out his sex drive for giving up so early, and silently curses out to you. how could you endure this further than him? surely this is of your doing. somehow.

yes. it has to be you. youre too pretty doing whatever you want. its not like he can help it, youre too addicting. looking at you is a treat for him, a privilege to others, is it not? thats why. thats why he cant go much longer than a week without feeling you

he's deep into your neck, nose pressed against your soft skin, inhaling the scent of you. whatever he can get backfires cause his cock just becomes harder in the confines of his pants. strong arms envelope you, quivering in the need to fill you. look how you have him wrapped around your finger, clinging on to you as he pleads in your ear.

"im sorry, please, just fuck me."

he doesnt remember why he even punished you in the first place. all he wanted was to know how long it would be before you'd come crawling to him, begging to put his dick inside you. turns out he folded way before due. all he can think about is shaming his own hand for not being able to replicate how your pretty cunt squeezes him just perfectly. just enough to force his eyes into the back of his head. nothing could replicate you.

you feel too good. better. youre his ecstacy, dont you get it?

[girl-lostconnection]

Small continuation to this. @nightunite @beloveds-embrace I remember your interest in Price’s divorce, so here we go

Thinking thoughts about ex-husband John, who’s never there, who’s married to his work in the best and the worst sense of the phrasing. He misses birthdays and Christmases and Valentines and everything in between.

He promises-promises-promises, kisses the crown of your head, eyes tired and deeply seated in the web of his crow’s feet — dark blue of his irises so unreachable it feels like choking when you try to even try and touch the bottom of it.

Pressure changes, pressure threatens to burst your eardrums, pressure promises to make you sorry for trying to push through it.

John sighs and turns away, shoulders a rough square, tension already lacing through him because yeah, of course, luv, not like he doesn’t know that he’s missing your anniversary.

Yes, he knows. Yes, he gets it, sweetheart, he really does, but didn’t you know who you are marrying?

He is not even angry, exasperation of his tone slicing through your chest and it almost feels like condescension — the way he keeps patting your head and trying to kiss it better, like a spare kiss and a kind word would suffice for everything he didn’t live up to.

Like it can reinstate your trust in him after another cancelled date and another lonely dinner when he swore he’d get a day off and never did.

Honestly, he has no one but himself to blame and all things considered some people would say it’s a miracle you lasted this long with him.

It’s wonder you loved him so much you forgot that you need some love too. A true miracle you always loved him and never looked the other way, god knows he had to fight a lot of potential suitors for your hand before you decided you want him.

Angry, stubborn, moody and controlling him.

You picked him up as an explosive sod in his mid twenties and made him the man he is now, carefully manoeuvring through the triggers of his and making him smile when it all felt like a big load of shite.

Why did you even settle for him?

Why does he now feel like you settled for him — a closed off git who spent his whole life proving that he’s worthy of respect and his rank and responsibility.

And you.

God, it’s been years and he’s still not sure if he really is worthy of you.

John stares down at the divorce papers on his desk and feels something very similar to hurricane unfurling in his chest, rage pounding inside his head, panic icing our all warmth that was there, ring on his finger suddenly so slippery he has to curl his fingers into fist.

Can’t risk losing it. Not when he’s already losing you.

Simon watches him sometimes, John notices, but Ghost never says anything or perhaps, he does, just not to John. Small mercies.

John can’t help but feel a twinge of acidic envy at Simon getting along with his bird so well — his pretty partner picking up the behemoth of 141’s lieutenant.

Simon’s partner who always murmurs something in his ear and Ghost’s eyes crinkle in the corners.

Simon’s partner who seems content with how things are and with how often Simon is absent and Price just doesn’t bloody get it.

Simon works almost as much as he does, Simon is always away, Simon is never home for holidays.

And yet Simon’s partner says “yes” to a proposal and grins like the happiest person in the world whilst standing at the altar.

And yet Simon’s now spouse is bringing him snacks and is kissing his jaw and doesn’t fucking plan to divorce Simon.

Drives John right up the fucking wall, it does.

But there is no way he’s going to ask his lieutenant why his marriage isn’t failing, why his spouse seems to still love him. Why John’s doesn’t.

John drags his feet through the whole proceeding, John watches you with heavy bottomless eyes but stays stubbornly silent because okay, that’s your choice.

You want to get rid of him so badly that even wedding vows aren’t stopping you? Off you go then, he’s not gonna tie your leg to a kitchen table and lock you in the house.

John just scoffs and looks away but still hides your car keys in his fatigues so you don’t leave after another fight.

John murmurs “alright then”, but doesn’t sign the fucking papers because “I’m sorry, love, I lost them” and asks for the seventh copy.

John nods and says he’s letting you go if that’s what you want, but he doesn’t take off his ring and shakes his head when you offer to give him back your engagement one.

Yeah, it was his mom’s but it’s yours now, alright, love? Always yours.

He’s yours.

John is the wickedest man there is because he says one thing thinks another and does the third one.

And never never admits what the fuck is going on, because he can’t, because there has to be something wrong with him if even his lovely spouse is running.

Because John must be sinking if even his better half doesn’t think it’s worth staying and he doesn’t say anything but just stays in the kitchen while you are shuffling around the house.

Drinks the same cup of earl grey for hours on end, twirling spoon in it mindlessly, nervous tremor to his left wrist getting harder when his head gets a little too dark.

You hover in tne doorway, eyes deep with something he isn’t sure how to reach and it would be so easy if you said something like always. If you made the first step so he doesn’t have to.

But you just stand there, awkwardly shifting weight from one leg to another before you finally leave upstairs to get ready for bed.

Feels just like another defeat for John and at this point he is not even sure he knows how to play.

His tea gets cold the longer he sits on a wooden chair, lower back aching in protest but he just stares out of the kitchen window in the darkness of the night.

John says he can do this, John says it’s nothing, John says that he will sign it all.

John promises-promises-promises and still crawls in your bed, wrapping arms around you and breathing in your scent.

John whispers sweet quiet things in your skin, pleads you to reconsider, murmurs that he can’t do it without you.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder and scoops you up in his embrace, covering your whole body with his (come morning, he’ll pretend to be thoroughly asleep when you pull yourself out from underneath him just to be able to leave the bed).

Price still kisses your temple before work, press of his lips to your skin is more of a ritual than a routine, a second nature of his to love your whole being.

Price sits at his desk for a good hour before realising he hasn’t been writing a single fucking thing, he just can’t.

Not when his stomach churns at the thought of you right now packing up your things.

Of you leaving the house and leaving him.

Simon watches him carefully and at this point, it’s bloody annoying, can’t a man at least go through the divorce in peace?

Ghost huffs air out, rolls a fag between his teeth, tilting his head to the side — eyes heavy bottomless nothing, eyes the colour of graveyard soil, eyes-dark-holes that lead to a darker place of Simon’s head.

“Thought you didn’t want to divorce ‘em.”, Simon hums out like it’s a fact, like John hasn’t been missing every important date and important thing for the past few years.

Like John has been a good husband that deserves to have good things and deserves you.

Truth to be told, even before he became captain, John never fucking deserved you.

Could have lived a thousand lives and never earned the right to call himself your husband.

Still did though.

(Doesn’t matter if he deserved it if he really fucking wanted it, right?)

John rubs his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms down until the kaleidoscope of his ganglion cells doesn’t start to dance with flashes of colour.

Fucking hell, what is he even doing here? How did things turn to be so complicated?

“I don’t.”, he doesn’t realise he has said it out loud until he pulls his hands off his face and Ghost is still watching him with the same unnerving intensity.

He will get his lieutenant sunnies on one of these days and will never have to deal with this headache of a gaze.

“Then why do you?”, Simon asks like it’s simple, like it’s a fucking fairytale that Price can fix with a snap of his fingers or a kind word or a kiss of true love.

What’s the point of his true love if he’s not sure you can even feel it?

“How do you do it?”, John asks instead, words tasting like acid in his mouth, scraping his tongue and tender insides of his mouth, bleeding sickening weakness down his throat.

His father would have smacked the taste out of John’s mouth if he heard the way he sounds right now.

But Ghost is not his father, Ghost just watches him silently, the only indicator that he even heard the question is a raised eyebrow of his. This cunt.

“Your spouse.”, John adds grumbling, dragging his feet through the whole conversation because god, he hates having talks. “They seem to be happy. Mine’s aren’t. ‘ts like I’m snuffing out their fire”, admitting it is even worse than thinking.

Admitting it is his personal defeat, his biggest flaw, his grandest fuck-up. Admitting it is a weakness.

Yeah, he deserves this fucking divorce all right. Miracle you put up with his arse for this long.

Ghost watches him with annoying understanding, with something almost akin to amusement, the same way you watch a dog run into clear glass doors repeatedly and then whimper on the porch in confusion.

“When’s the last time you talked?”, the question catches John off guard because it is so…normal? He honestly expected more silence or something more obscure but instead he is just awkward again.

But before John even gets to answer, Simon adds “Actually talked, John. Not snapped at each other like a pair of miserable toads”

Price has half a mind to tell Ghost to go fuck himself and his fucking talks but coincidentally Ghost is the one of them who is not going through the divorce, so John shuts his fucking gob.

“Think when you two actually connected like people. You’ve been together longer than some live in our line of work, sir”, Simon presses a cigarette butt down the ashtray, thin thread of smoke still rising off his desk.

“But when you are together this long you start forgetting that the other party can’t read your bloody mind. Goes for both of you by the way”, he chuckles, crossing arms over his chest, muscles rolling under the dark sweater of his.

“Reckon it’s third time they’ve been wringing you through it, isn’t it? Why’d you think they won’t back down now? What changed, eh?”

Price keeps rolling this pep talk on repeat the whole day, his mind a broken record speaking with the voice of his lieutenant and watching him from inside out with your eyes.

When was the last time you talked to each other?

When was the last time he asked you about the book you were reading? When was the last time you asked him about the op he came back from?

What changed?

John rubs his face, anxious sharp coils crawling up his arms to his heart, tremors getting worse before he has to physically force himself to stop and take a breather.

Not as young as he has been once, can’t just power through it anymore.

John shifts his weight from one leg to another, standing in front of the front door to your house and hates his own arse because what is even going on with him.

Price doesn’t want to think about the possibility of house being empty when he steps inside.

He will burn this bridge when he gets to it.

John gets inside and slowly pulls the heavy boots off, carpet cushioning his steps to the kitchen, warm glow of it welcoming him the same way your arms usually did.

You sit with his cup already filled up, steam rising off of his Earl Grey, something in his chest clawing from inside out in the open.

You don’t say anything but just raise to your feet and get ready to leave. So he can have his evening sit down with a cup until you fall asleep.

So you can hover for a moment longer in the doorway like the ghost of your own marriage before taking your leave and pretending later that you don’t melt into John’s embrace. That you don’t curl into him at night.

Price watches you, eyes heavy and dark, fingers of his right hand twitching involuntarily.

Here it comes. Now or never, John.

“Would you…do you want to have a cuppa with me? I bought these biscuits you seem to fancy, saw them on my way home, I—”, oh for fuck’s sake and now he’s rambling. This is just prime, John, that’s exactly how you were supposed to sound.

He coughs in his fist trying to mask the embarrassment, available hand still gripping the poor baggy of biscuits like it might run if he doesn’t do it.

What does he even think he is doing, offering his spouse fucking biscuits halfway through their divorce? He’s gone mad, that’s for sure.

“You are probably tired though. Must have had a long day with…everything.”, he adds softer, eyes down in his cup. Giving you an out.

Giving himself an out.

No need to have all these awkward conversations with your emotionally inept husband if you get divorced, right?

He’s a fucking coward when it comes to you. Always has been. Maybe that’s part of his “charm” you bought into?

“I can stay for a cup.”, you murmur quietly and plop himself down next to him. No cup in sight, John’s cheeks aching in a way that feels entirely too unnatural but your eyes crinkle and god, you are the prettiest, aren’t you, sweetheart? “Gonna make me one or you plan to stand there and look handsome?”

Teasing snaps him out of it, force of his smile just getting harder and he must be beaming at you like a proper idiot. But you don’t seem to mind too much.

Maybe you still like him after all.

“Just a moment, love”, John says, kiss to your cheek making his heart flutter, warmth spreading in his chest when you ravage through the baggy and bite off half of the biscuit.

Got them right this time, didn’t he? Seems like he’s still good for something.

John spends his whole life proving to himself that he deserves you and never asks whether you think he does or no.

John knows how to make your tea since your third date and knows what kind of biscuits his love fancies since the second one.

John decides he’s going to marry you on the first date you two have.

There is something bittersweet in brewing tea for a spouse he will always love and will always fail.

Because that’s what he does, because he never learned how to talk it out and he isn’t sure a daft old dog like him can learn any new tricks.

Coward’s way out.

No need to watch him claw his chest open and present you the infected wound of his heart if you get divorced, right?

Yeah, he never deserved you. But he always wanted.

John presses a dozen kisses to your face while he moves around the kitchen.

Each one a haste warm thing, more of a breath on your skin then actual touch.

That’s as much as he can muster up of actual tenderness without crumbling at your feet and swallowing his pride.

It all feels like a dead end. Like there is nowhere to go from here, he’s looking straight in the wall and he’s never been one to barrage through the obstacles.

Maybe that’s what was lacking. Maybe that’s why Simon’s spouse still loves him.

“You are thinking awfully hard there”, there is no malice in your voice, only quiet laughter and it spreads through Price’s achy bones like hot bath water, bubbles raising to his thorax.

Prettiest fucking thing you are with laughter like a hundred bells. Absolute darling.

John hums quietly, eyes meeting yours and he has a thousand different blunt questions that wary in degrees of hurt and confusion but you are still here.

Sitting in your kitchen, sipping tea he made for you, wearing his bloody sweater.

His spouse, his love, his partner for life.

“I got really lucky, didn’t I?”, it’s a rhetorical question, but there is choking tenderness the size of Jupiter in John’s mouth and he isn’t sure how to tell you that he’d kiss the soles of your feet every day the same way he kisses your forehead.

That bathes with you felt holier than any baptism, that he was closest to god when he was with you, your fingers combing through his hair like he’s something precious. Like he’s something you love.

John doesn’t know how to express the enormous amount of love he feels when you smile at him, when you yell at him, when you push back and snap your fingers in his face, his cheeky treasure.

John doesn’t think he earned the right to pleadask you to reconsider.

“I got more than most people ever did”, he murmurs softly and laces his fingers through yours, softly squeezing — callouses of his hands rubbing on the skin of yours.

There is a small twitch in the muscle of your jaw, your eyes intense enough to make him sorry if he tries to push harder and reach the bottom of your head.

“What’s that?”, your voice cracks the same way it usually did when you’d catch flu, cough ravaging your throat, rasp weaving itself in your vocal cords.

John looks at you for the first time in a very long time and there is no exasperated condescension in his eyes, crows feet of his eyes melting into a smile so gentle you feel like crying. This bastard.

“You.”, he murmurs, thumb circling the knuckle of yours, eyes soft in a way they haven’t been in forever and this is so unfair, he could ask you anything and you could never say no when he does it like that. “I got you.”, he adds quietly and his smile gets gentler. “Even if I never deserved to, I just want you to know that I always wanted it. Always wanted you. Always will”

John holds you like your are precious fragile thing, his skin warm from holding his cuppa, palm cupping your face when he angles your face up and kisses your brow.

Like it’s a goodbye.

“You deserve to be happy, love. You deserve to feel loved, not just know that you are”, Price says and wipes away a stray tear of yours, his eyes creasing in the corners to hide the redness of them, sharp lashes wet with something he would never admit.

Weakness that bleeds down his throat and chokes him out. Tenderness he never learned because men aren’t about the sappy talk.

John thinks one thing, says another and does the third one so he never mentions that he knows you have the stack of copies of divorce papers in your nightstand and never mentions that he left a signed one on top of them.

You deserve better than silent signature and stubborn husband.

You deserve better than him. But god, if it doesn’t kill him to admit it.

Just one more thing John Price will never talk about.

[gojoidyll]

MYDEI GETS ANGRY AT YOU, or when Mydei says something to you that's hurtful when all you're trying to do is show that you care.

angst, mydei x fem!reader, arguments, mydei is kind of mean here, fluff at the end, etc.

“I- I’m sorry Mydei, I really didn’t mean anything wrong by-“

He silenced you by taking a step forward, that lone action striking fear in you as you took a step back, the back your thighs hitting the bed as you lost your balance and ended up falling into the mattress, but you were quick to sit up as Mydei looked down at you.

“You’re always sorry,” he bit, “but you don’t understand at all. You do not understand the choices I have to make or the responsibilities that I bear, and yet you preach about how I need rest or need to take a break when you don’t even know what I do to keep you and everyone else safe,” he snapped at you, barred his teeth, lashed out.

You knew he was stressed, and all you wanted to do was to help…

“I- I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out as tears began to bubble up at the corners of your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. Your lips doing that quivering thing they always do when you start to cry ugly tears.

“Tch, and now you’re crying,” he turned away from you, “if you stopped nagging at me and stopped being so damn clingy and acting like you know what’s best for me then you wouldn’t be crying so damn much.”

He went to leave and you called after him, asking him where he was going.

“Out, your crying is annoying. I need some peace and quiet since you talk so much.”

You bit back anything you had left in your mouth in fear that he would turn around and have even more to share with you. And when you couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing any longer and even a loud slam of a door, you fell back into the bed, your tears coming out faster and harder than before.

When you see him again, you’ll apologize. You didn’t want him to be angry at you for long.

You curled up on his side of the bed, your hands reaching for the covers as you pulled them over you in a mock embrace. You sniffled as you closed your eyes in hopes that sleep could put your mind at ease…

Meanwhile, Mydei was taking his frustration out on multiple training dummys which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain deliverer.

“Don’t you think they had enough,” Phainon mused as he watched Mydei hack yet another head off. The straw made head falling a little away from them due to how much force Mydei had used to cut it off.

“Not now deliverer. I’m not in the mood.”

Phainon watched as Mydei cut off another dummy’s head, his eyes scanning the man carefully – he observed Mydei’s body language, saw how his fist would punch a hole into a dummy’s stomach straight through before moving onto the next. Only one person could get Mydei so worked up.

“Did you fight with your wife again?”

Phainon had to hold back a laugh at the way Mydei so visibly tensed. It was just too easy to read the kremnoan man.

“Well,” Phainon pressed, “you should make up with her soon, fighting with her will do you no good.”

Mydei unclenched his fists before sighing heavily, “I do not believe she wishes to see me.”

“Why is that?”

Mydei glanced to Phainon and weighed his options, but decided to talk to the man anyway as he was … the closest person he could talk to about this. So he recounted the argument with Phainon, and much to his displeasure, by just looking at Phainon’s face he could see just how much he messed up.

“Friend, I am going to say this as kindly as possible… you messed up.”

“Tch,” Mydei crossed his arms over his chest as he looked away, “I already know that.”

Phainon sighed, “how long has it been since the argument?”

“This morning.”

It was already well passed noon.

Phainon shook his head as he gestured to the exit of the training grounds, “you better hurry on back to her.”

Mydei didn’t even need anymore convincing as he rushed home. Many in the streets wondered what at the kremnoan prince in such a rush, but he paid them no mind as he ran home to you.

Bursting through the doors, he went into each room he came across, but you were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until he reached your shared room did he find you under the covers and curled up on his side of the bed, right where he had left you. Were you waiting for him to come back?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went up to you and kneeled beside the bed. He reached for your face as he brushed the stray hair from your face, your eyes were puffy and cheeks dried with tears. Regret was filled inside of him.

“Y/n,” he called for your gently as he ran his fingers along your cheek, the cool metal of his gloves waking you up as you groggily opened your eyes.

“Mydei?”

When you saw his face, your eyes were immediately started to fill with tears again, he was quick to wrap you up in a hug as he pulled you close into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he tried not to strain those words as he apologized, tried to even make it sound soothing as he held you, “please do not cry. I was a cruel man with what I said to you, all because you were worrying about my well-being.”

You sat up a little and wrapped your arms around his waist, “I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, “I knew you were stressed and tried to help instead of giving you space.”

Mydei shook his head, “I don’t ever want you to give me space. I should have listened to you, please forgive me.”

He knew words alone would not fix what he had said and done. He knew that he scared you today, he could see it in your eyes earlier that morning when you were trying to back away from him. You were … afraid … of him.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

[angelyuji]

yandere mark grayson

might be a little ooc lowkey... sorry.

tw // stalking, nolan is an enabler, yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, honestly nothing too crazy compared to what ive written in the past

mark grayson x reader

im gonna talk mostly about story mark and not the variants but ill add a couple cutesy little remarks at the end

markie poo is very intense as a yandere, not in the kidnapping sort of sense but like emotionally

you’d probably meet him in college and start off as friends

he’s def the type to fall in love at first sight tho like he sees you and its like some angelic light bathed you

he was in awe

he def uses his powers to stalk you and figure out everything about you

william lowkey encourages it too cause…. he seems like the type to stalk his crushes (he’s a normal person so its like kinda a normal amount)

anyway he doesn’t really realize how he’s following you or watching you until someone points it out (eve) and he’s like “omg im so evil im so bad and evil and i should die”

and he confesses it to his parents cuz who knows better than him? mama y papa!!

“im so sorry, i know i shouldn’t use my powers to stalk (y/n). i know what im doing is wrong. i just like them… so so much.” mark buries his head in his hands, too ashamed to look at his parents.

he hears his mom sigh, “mark what you’ve been doing is-” she stops. mark looks up to see his dad whisper into her ear. she bites her lip before nodding. debbie pulls him into a hug before leaving the room to go upstairs. mark feels tears well up in his eyes, seeing the disappointment in his mom’s eyes.

“mark.” he looks over at his dad. “come here, son.” nolan pats the space next to him on the couch. mark hesitantly, moves to sit next to his father. “i sent your mother away because i needed to explain something to you. something she would never understand.” his father’s voice was low. mark swallows, trepidation building. “when i first met your mother, she had rejected me.” he sits back, “and i loved her more for it. everyday i would watch her, where she worked, where she lived, who she spent time with, everything, mark. i needed to know more about her, i wanted for her to be mine… i was-” nolan barks out a laugh, “i was willing to take her away from everything if she would’ve rejected me again.” he looks over at mark, “fortunately for all of us, your mom agreed for a date and now… here we are.” nolan smiles, wistfully. mark stays silent, processing everything. nolan pats his son on the knee, “what i’m trying to say, son, is that what you’re doing is normal. you are my son, of course you could love like i do.” nolan ruffles mark’s hair before standing up.

“but mom-”

“what your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her, mark. and what (y/n) doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

i made up that nolan did all that, but like…. who would be surprised if he actually did lol

anyway, nolan highkey made mark worse becuz why would u say all that, man… (i made him say it but that’s beside the point)

mark doesn’t even have his own place yet, so kidnapping is off the table and with papa nolan in space, he knows debbie won’t be down for him bringing back a gagged you lol

if ur single, he’ll just push and push and push until you’re like omg fine ill go on a date with you

he’ll do everything right just so you won’t think about not dating him

he doesn’t want to tell you that he’s invincible but if it means you’ll trust him to protect you, he’ll do tell u

he’s very very very overprotective

if you’re in danger… everybodys dying he does not gaf

if ur in a relationship, ur partner’s going missing… sorry to them but mark will swoop in while you’re grieving and then bam somehow you guys are dating

he would never hurt you, but he would hurt other people to get to you/make you realize you’ll never escape him

like father like son as they say

anyway some quickie thoughts about invincible war before we move on

the moment those unhinged freaks stepped foot into this universe, they’re gonna find you

similar to that moment in the show where the burned looking mark when home to fake-cry to kill debbie, smth like that except they show up and take you with them

anyway i have similar thoughts but mostly about omni-mark and the other freaked up mark #needthatbad

they’re sooo obsessed with u but its hard to give a generalized behavior headcanon cuz each of my freaks are so different

also before i go, i wanna go back to when i said he’s very emotionally intense

he’ll twist your words and make you feel bad for rejecting him/not listening to him

mark would def use his fears to make you do what he wants

“mark, i need to get to class.” you try to pull yourself out of his grasp, but his hands go back around your waist. the two of you lay naked next to each other in your dorm after he had come back from patrol, you can see his suit peeking out from under the bed as you try to pull yourself away once more.

“(y/n), please don’t go.” you turn to look at your boyfriend, he pouts as he pulls you closer. he buries his head into your chest and you feel your face get hot.

“mark, i have to go to class. i’ve already missed 3 lectures because of you.” you push yourself away and off the bed. you feel his hand clasp onto yours. “mark.” you frown and look back, annoyed, when you see his tears. “oh my god, mark,” you immediately fold, holding him close.

“i just… i’m sorry i know you have to go to class, but i was so worried with everything that’s happening. i had- i had a nightmare i lost you.” his voice was thick as he held back his tears. he presses his lips against yours, rough and needy. you let him; your heart heavy as you feel the weight on his shoulders. “i can’t lose you, (y/n). you’re my… you’re my everything, i can’t survive without you.” you let him kiss you once more, letting him pour his love into you. soon, you find yourself wrapped up in his touch. his lips against every part of you, his hands caressing your skin, his voice whispering sweetly into your ears. you missed your classes once more as mark held you tight. “i won’t survive without you, (y/n)…” his voice lulls you back to sleep, “and i won’t let you leave me.”

[astudyinimagination]

That's... kind of the internet version of the story. And I think the real thing is so much better.

Sherlock Holmes was dead. For ten years. It was three months shy of an entire decade between the publishing of "The Final Problem" and "The Empty House."

It wasn't fan demand that brought him back.

It was his creator.

People really like to think that Arthur Conan Doyle hated Holmes from 1893 to the end of his life. And sure, I think that Doyle did hate Holmes, from about 1892 to some indeterminate time afterward. He did kill him off, very purposefully.

But Doyle kept coming back to Holmes. There was the play that he was trying to write, that William Gillette ended up rewriting and finishing and thus became the first major Sherlock Holmes actor. There was The Hound of the Baskervilles, when Doyle had a spooky story he wanted to write — and he'd already written plenty of spooky stories! — and he decided that this would work best (or at least sell best) with Sherlock Holmes in it.

And then he needed money. And he asked an ungodly amount from the Collier's magazine. They were willing to pay. And thus, Holmes returns from the dead in "The Empty House."

Sometimes Doyle still grumbled about it, but he knew that his detective was a cash cow, and he kept returning to him. Sometimes when he had an idea; sometimes when he needed the money. But he kept writing Holmes stories, on again and off again, up until 1927, just three years before his own death at the age of 71.

He'd been writing Holmes since he was twenty-seven, in 1886 (yes, he had to wait more than a year for A Study in Scarlet to be published once it was finally accepted). He stopped in 1927, just over forty years later.

No writer, no creator, no artist does that "for the fans."

He did that because, in the end, even he couldn't hate Holmes forever. Even he felt some measure of just how big his creation was.

Doyle kept coming back to Holmes, of his own free will.

And I think there's something so, so beautiful in the idea that you create this character when you're really young, and then you grow to hate him because he's so hard to write, and then you kill him off, and then he won't leave you alone, because he's still there in your head. And in the end, you don't hate him, because he's part of you.

Sometimes I remember he died, he was dead for real, but SO MANY people loved him SO MUCH that he was brought back to life and got to have so many more adventures and get old and eventually retire and yes it's a fictional character but sometimes I think about that and I have to lie down and have a cry about it. We love you Sherlock Holmes

[artemisiasmuse]

rafe catches you watching p*rn

cw: 18+ MDNI duh, fingering, p*rn mentioned, AFAB reader, ovulation mentioned, “girl” used, lots of dirty talk, he talks u thru it

you’ve been so needy all day and rafe your stupid fucking boyfriend has been gone. you know you shouldn’t be mad really it’s not his fault he has to work and you’re ovulating. not his fault your skin has been burning up all day after he kissed you goodbye, looking as irresistible as usual and smelling so good after his shower.

you’re nearly beside yourself with neediness when the clock strikes 6 and he’s still not home. you huff and writhe on the couch, sick of the pulse between your legs being unattended. you don’t know why it’s so bad this time around, maybe because usually when you’re ovulating rafe is there to take care of you. you don’t know that he’s tracking your cycle, always knowing when you’re the neediest. but he’d forgotten to check the past few days, so caught up with work.

so there you are, in one of his shirts and only your panties, embarrassingly wet from just thinking about your boyfriend. you know your imagination won’t do it though and if you thought too much about him you’d just get angry again. you pull out your phone, idly swiping through twitter, finger hovering over your bookmarks. it would be easy to dip your fingers under the band of your panties and deal with the burning in your core. so easy that you can’t even stop yourself when a video plays on your screen and your fingertips slide past the elastic.

the video reminds you of rafe because of course why else would you watch it. it’s a guy holding his girl’s legs open, slurping obscenely and eating her out like a fiend, unrelenting even after she squirts in his face. the sounds fill the room and you huff a breath as your fingers pick up their pace, entranced by the noises and how you could almost feel rafe doing the same to you. you’re so engrossed that you don’t hear the garage door open, don’t hear your boyfriend walk up to the living room. in your defense you were playing the video loudly.

rafe almost panics at the sound, the insecure and slightly insane part of him ready to knock whoever the fuck is doing that to you out. but then he realizes it’s a video, you’re not even making a sound. he walks as quietly as he can to the source, seeing the top of your head over the couch and he watches your arm move, thrust. he shouldn’t be angry he knows it’s ridiculous to be jealous over your own hand but he is. he’s also getting hard so fast he’s nearly dizzy from how all his blood rushes south. he knows if he sees you he won’t be able to hold back so he makes his presence known.

you’re on the precipice of your orgasm when you hear someone clearing their throat and you instantly lock your phone shut. hand slipping out of your underwear as you prepare to be humiliated. he rounds the couch and plops down next to you, a smirk curling his lips as he watches your pretty eyes widen and your plush thighs close. you’re nearly shaking from arousal but you still hold back because of him.

“no by all means baby keep going.” his arm rests on the back of the couch, leaning into you. he smells just as good if not better than before, his sweat and skin mixing in with his cologne, it’s an addictive scent that you know only you find intoxicating. you’re still so wet and he’s not helping.

“rafe-“ your voice comes out small, almost a whimper. you sound so desperate he feels bad, clearly he hadn’t tended to you properly.

“or how about, you tell me about it?” his arm comes down on your side easily, pulling you onto his lap. you whine at the small friction of his pants against your clothed cunt.

“i needed you all day,” you whine at him, the feeling of your release fleeting is making your eyes sting and you pout at him. rafe’s hands slide against your skin, disregarding the shirt and kneading at your waist. the tips of his fingers graze your waistband and you’re not above begging for him to dip under.

“what were you watching baby?” you whine at his question, realizing he won’t give in until you talk.

“rafe please-“ your hips grind down, his hands keep you still, firm and bruising.

“come on you wanted to be a whore, you can answer.” he slaps your clit, not quite touching you but reminding you that your still his.

“he was eating her out, reminded me of you.” you murmur and he smiles behind you, stocky and long fingers pushing your panties to the side as his hand glided over your messy cunt.

“good girl.” you huffed at his words, trying to grind yourself against his hand. “nearly dripping onto me, you miss me that bad?” you’re so wet rafe thinks you must have been needy for hours. he’s only felt this after marathon sex and even then it’s from his mouth. he can feel your clit throbbing and your folds are puffy from inattention.

“y-yes.” you nod against him, moaning when his fingers slide into you. you’re so sensitive from being worked up all day the cold press of his ring makes you shake against him. it’s a delicious contrast to the heat you feel melting your brain. rafe’s fingers and hands are one of your favorite parts of him, they’re long and thick and somehow always know where to touch you best.

“poor baby, just needed someone to touch this drooling cunt huh? can’t go a day without my dick hmm?” you can’t respond when he starts fingering you, you think you won’t even be heard because your cunt is obscenely loud. squelches fill the room as he thrusts into you, your slick connecting his hand to your cunt like a string. he can already feel a wet patch on his pants under you and he swears under his breath at how wet you are. you’re so tight around his fingers, clenching like you don’t want them to ever leave. he curls them upwards and you shriek, grabbing his arm with both of your hands. “fucking brat, take it.” your grip does nothing to slow him down, hammering at your most sensitive spot and your brain shuts off. the sparks of pleasure fry your nerve endings and your eyes roll back into your head, rafe adds a third finger stretching you open and his thumb swirls around your clit. combined with the drag of his fingertips against your g-spot you’re crumbling within seconds. “there it is, come on baby, you’re doing so well” his gruff voice coaxes you into submission. the pressure building and building until you’re screaming and thrashing in his arms. your orgasm wrecks you and the dam breaks. you’re squirting into the air in front of you and rafe isn’t slowing down, pulling everything he can out of you. you’ve already drenched him what’s the point in holding back now?

a/n: omg heyyyy did yall miss me :> i missed u all ive been super busy and dw i am writing! this just came to me and i had to post it asap and yes im ovulating next question

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter two

a time to build

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 1.3k

content: fluff, angst if you squint. satoru is so sweet i wanna eat him.

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

the morning after your wedding, you wake up alone.

soft morning light slips into the room as you sit up. satoru is gone.

you look at the space where he’d been. you’re not even sure he actually slept. you stayed awake long enough to know that neither of you had moved, separated by a stretch of empty bedding.

you swallow, shifting to the edge of the bed. what now?

there was no guide for this part. no lesson in duty or obedience to dictate what happens the morning after. you were prepared for a different beginning—a different role to step into. but he hadn’t touched you. he hadn’t even looked at you when he told you to sleep.

maybe this is normal.

a servant arrives before you can linger too long. she bows politely, informing you that preparations have been made to move you into your new home.

your new home?

you think about it as you get ready for the day. you had assumed you’d live in the main estate—where the rest of the clan lives, where elders gather, where your husband handles his affairs. why would the two of you be anywhere else?

but no one questions it. no one treats it like a strange thing. your belongings have already been sent ahead.

and when you step outside, he’s waiting.

satoru doesn’t look like a man who was awake all night.

he stands with easy confidence and his grin is loose, unbothered—like nothing about last night was out of the ordinary. like he’s just happy to see you. the sun is bright, casting white hair in a soft halo as he lifts a hand.

“morning, stranger,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

you lower your head in greeting. “good morning.”

his gaze flickers over you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he expected you to say something more. but when you don’t, he only tilts his head toward the path ahead. “come. i’ll show you.”

the walk is short and quiet, but the main estate fades behind you quickly. the new house sits past a grove of trees, far enough that the bustle of the clan’s daily life feels distant.

it’s… beautiful.

traditional in structure but warm in detail. the garden is well kept, a narrow wrap-around veranda bordering the home, lined with lanterns.

satoru watches you closely as you take it in. he lifts a hand, rubbing at the back of his neck. “if there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll change it,” he says, and there’s something almost bashful in his voice, like he’s bracing for your reaction.

you glance at him. you hadn’t thought much about where you’d live before. it didn’t concern you. but now, as you look at the home—your home—something like relief moves through you.

a separate house means space. a separate house means privacy.

maybe you’re more grateful for that than you should be.

“it’s lovely,” you say finally. “thank you.”

his shoulders relax slightly, and he exhales through his nose, looking at you with a boyish grin. “yeah, yeah. c’mon.”

he walks ahead, pointing things out as he goes. “living room’s here. bath is that way—better than the ones at the main house. that’s the study, if you’re into that.”

then, a pause. he stops at a door and slides it open.

his voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“and this one’s yours.”

yours.

it’s unmistakable—a space of your own. the first thing you notice is the quiet, how the walls soften the outside world into something distant, manageable. the bed is low and wide, draped in something finer than you would’ve chosen for yourself. a nightstand sits beside it, and on the other side, tall shelves stand empty, waiting to be filled.

“everything’s new,” he says after a beat, as if the stillness needs an explanation. “didn’t know what you’d like, so i kept it simple. we can change anything.” he sounds… nervous? “or, you know—everything.”

the door on the far wall catches your eye. you step toward it, curiosity stirring, and find that it leads to a small garden—freshly planted, barely grown.

you press your lips together. your eyes burn.

you didn’t know what you expected, really, but it wasn’t this. it wasn’t him, standing here, offering you something so careful, so thoughtful. like he had considered you in ways you hadn’t even thought to consider yourself.

and yet.

you’ve pictured the shape of a marriage a thousand times—a shared room, a shared bed, a life intertwined. but he keeps putting space between you—first last night, now here.

why does he want you here and not there, sleeping beside him?

you don’t ask.

+++

the next day, the wives of the clan gather for breakfast in one of the estate gardens, their laughter bright, conversation flowing. you’re welcomed among them without hesitation, and for the first time since your wedding, you feel something like ease.

until the conversation shifts.

the woman beside you turns with a knowing smile. “and i imagine you’ve barely had a moment to catch your breath, dear.”

you blink, setting your cup down carefully.

another hums in agreement, setting her spoon down with a soft clink. “yes, the gojo men have always been… demanding.” she glances at you, eyes twinkling. “and with a husband like yours? you must understand that well enough by now.”

you open your mouth—to say what?

before you can decide, an older woman leans in, her tone sweet but pointed. “and what of an heir?”

“oh, let the poor girl breathe,” another laughs, waving a hand. you’ve never been more grateful. “they’ve barely been married two days.”

a few chuckles rise, and just like that, the conversation drifts—to their children, to gala preparations, to something else entirely.

+++

he sees it before anyone tells him.

the way you’ve started doing things.

cooking. cleaning. managing. quietly stepping into a role no one asked you to fill.

the servants try to redirect you at first, gently, respectfully. you’re the lady of the house, not a maid, not a servant. but you insist. repeatedly.

after a few days, no one stops you anymore.

today, satoru finds you in the kitchen, sleeves rolled back, fingers dusted in flour. he watches for a while, arms crossed against the doorframe.

you’re focused, preparing something delicate, carefully measured. you don’t rush, don’t hesitate.

he’s not sure if it’s endearing or frustrating.

finally, he steps forward.

“what’s this?”

you jump, nearly knocking over a tray. when you turn, he’s already settling onto a stool, forearms resting on the counter.

he catches the way you school your features before answering. “i—” you glance at the array of bowls and loose ingredients. “i’m making dessert.”

he leans in, chin resting on one palm. “and why’s that?”

something crosses your face—uncertainty, maybe. “i thought it would be nice.”

he watches you from behind his sunglasses.

you’re trying to be useful. trying to be good. but why?

he doesn’t call you out. instead, he asks, “what’s your favorite?”

he watches as your hands still against the counter, your eyes narrowing slightly—like you’ve never had to think about it before.

finally, like a secret, “i guess it would be kikufuku.”

his head tilts, a grin spreading slow and knowing. “oh?”

you nod, refocusing on your task, hearing his quiet laugh. he likes the way your lips curve, almost undetectable.

“you know,” he says, swiping a pinch of sugar from a bowl and popping it directly in his mouth, “if you wanted to impress me, you could’ve just asked my favorite.”

you glance at him, brow furrowing. “why?”

his grin turns smug. “it’s the same as yours.”

your lips part slightly, caught between surprise and something else. you don’t answer, returning to what you were doing like he wouldn’t notice.

and he lets you.

but when it’s finished, he slides a piece toward you first, making sure you take the first bite.

and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it.

[norrisainz33]

dream job || ls18

summary: you are starting the 2025 season in your dream role, as a f1 journalist and end up meeting a certain aston martin driver who sweeps you off your feet

pairing: lance stroll x journalist!nonfamous!reader

fc & warnings: none & some hate comments

requested: yes! thank you for your patience anon!!

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

liked by yourbff, friend1, friend2, friend3, coworker, skysportsf1, yoursibling, and 432 others

ynuser: grwm for the first day of my dream job! so excited to cover f175 with skysportsf1 today 🤍

p.s thanks to friend3 for letting me borrow my outfit and yourbff for the hair and makeup

view all comments

yourbff: thats my best friend!!!! here before you become the most popular journalist in the game

ynuser: an og fan! thank you sm bestie

friend3: outfit looks so good omg 😭

ynuser: thank you 😭😭 i appreciate you so much

friend3: couldn’t let my bestie go out there and not serve tf

friend1: soooo coool!!!!!! [liked by ynuser]

skysportsf1: can't wait to see you there!

ynuser: looking forward to it admin 🫶🏻

friend2: i will be watching the red carpet to try and get a glimpse of you bb

ynuser: if you see me please take a picture 😫

yoursibling: don't blow up and pretend you don't know us no more pls

ynuser: how could i ever?!

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: im trying so hard not to fangirl but is that OLLIE AND ESTIE?! AND LANCE

ynuser: yes!! it is!!!!!! not fangirling was incredibly hard. you'll also NEVER guess what happened

yourbff: screaming already - what happened?!

ynuser: after we stopped recording lance told me that he really liked the questions i asked and that he hopes to see me with the media at the races

yourbff: SHUT UP! GIRL

ynuser: and then ofc i forgot how to be normal and told him that he hasnt seen the last of me and then he said and i quote 'i hope thats true.' and then left

yourbff: if i didnt know any better id say he was flirting?

ynuser: literally no way he was just being nice

yourbff: its ok bestie ill be delulu enough for the both of us

friend3: ollie bearman the man that you areeeeeee

ynuser: he was so goofy silly im such a fan

user1: fire content this is going to do numbers on f1twt

friend1: OMGOGMOGMMfgajfgg

ynuser: same

friend2: I SAW YOUR INTERVIEW WITH LANCE!!!!!! AND LANDO??!!?@?@?@?@??@? A N D THE LEWIS HAMILTON????

ynuser: ahhhh you saw them?!?!

friend2: yes!!! you're all over socials for making lance and lando giggle

ynuser: that would explain all the new followers hahaha but seriously all of the drivers were so kind im so excited for the rest of the season. bahrain can't come soon enough

yourcoworker: never gonna get used to this

ynuser: me neither. definitely going to take time to sink in

user3: loved your interview questions! truly such unique ones and you can tell the drivers really appreciated it!

user33: how the heck did u get this job

lance_stroll has posted to his private story

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estebanocon: why do you need this information mon ami?

lance_stroll: science! research!

estebanocon: mate

chloestroll: ..... care to share w the class what this means?

lance_stroll: nope :)

chloestroll: you know that’s not gonna fly

lance_stroll: 😔

chloestroll: TELL ME!!!!!!

lance_stroll: fine!!!!!

lance_stroll: skysports got a new interviewer and she asked really good questions and was really pretty and we chatted a little and i can’t stop thinking about her ok. let a man live

chloestroll: 👀 trying to be nonchalant about this

lance_stroll: see this is why i didn’t want to tell you

pierregasly: kika says it was y/n y/l/n! that is if you mean the girl that asked the funny but really good questions

lance_stroll: yes thats her! thanks pierre or should is say thanks kika xxoo

pierregasly: she says you’re welcome but that you’re gonna have to spill the beans abt what is going on here next time we hang out

lance_stroll: deal

flavybarla: 🤨

lance_stroll: 🤭

fernandoalo_oficial: ask the social media team they'll know

lance_stroll: i'm scared to bc you know they'd make me do like 2 tikoks in return for the info

fernandoalo_oficial: fair

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: obsessed with the duality of the groutfit from target and the insanely fancy drinks you're drinking in this last slide

ynuser: i felt a bit out of place in the restaurant in my little tj maxx dress but he was so insanely sweet it didn’t matter

yourbff: i’m sure you looked stunning bestie. PLEASE spill the beans about your DATE

ynuser: if you had told me it was a dream i would have believed you! like we’ve been texting for a couple weeks but idk i was worried about how it would be in person but talking to him was so easy it felt like we had know each other for forever

yourbff: 🥹🥹🥹 obsessed. are you going to see him again?

ynuser: he did ask me if we could go out again 😭

yourbff: YESSSSSSSSSSSSS I STAN THIS SO HARD

user33: man didnt know being a journalist meant you could afford 5 star restaurants... must be nice

lance_stroll: thanks for taking a chance on me and coming out tonight

ynuser: thank you for inviting me out! i had a really lovely time getting to know you better

lance_stroll: likewise! i’d really like to keep getting to know you 😅

ynuser: it’s a good thing i feel the same way

friend3: was this the dinner and drinks with you know WHO?!

ynuser: yes and it was incredible 😭

yourcoworker: longest day of my entire life. running from the airport directly to the track is not for the weak

ynuser: no for real. our sleep schedules are going to be crazy but it’s going to be so worth it

user1: looking forward to seeing your interviews!

friend2: what is your life these days... a jet setting super star u have become

ynuser: pleaseeeee i am still just little old me

lance_stroll posted to his story

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user28: you’re really spoiling whoever this is

user18: SOFT LWUXNHEVFOW NG IRNG

user18: sorry let me calm down

chloestroll: looooook it’s my favorite girly

lance_stroll: already trying to steal her from me huh

chloestroll: yes! she’s the sweetest little thing ever 🥹🤍

user19: the miami gp better be good to you this weekend i swear

ynuser: i love loving you

lance_stroll: these past few months have been the best of my life

ynuser: same 😭🤍

user33: did you…… get this girl a birkin?????? gotta be a gold digger im

estebanocon: i’m really happy for you mate

lance_stroll: i appreciate you so much mate. thanks to you and flavy for making her feel so welcome last weekend 🤍

estebanocon: you both are always welcome to visit us when we have time off ❤️

yourbff: who is that cutie

lance_stroll: my girlfriend 😉

yourbff: she was mine first 😔

user21: how will i ever survive knowing you’re off the market

user29: i’m taking bets that this is that journalist from skysports

ynuser has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, yourbff, user1, skysportsf1, your coworker, lance_stroll, chloestroll and 11,345 others

ynuser: imola - you were a dream. make sure to catch my interviews from the weekend over on skysportsf1!

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user1: you’ve really bewitched me this season i think you’re my new favorite media person [liked by ynuser]

lance_stroll: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

ynuser: ❤️‍🔥

user18: i’d know that lance stroll hair in slide 3 anywhere

yourbff: LOVEEEEE this pretty girl

ynuser: bestieeeeeeee thank you 😘

user33: the glow up you’ve had is interesting….. wonder where all these nice things have come from….. seems like a certain billionaire..

flavy.barla: obsessed actually

ynuser: and i’m obsessed with you 🥹

skysportsf1: catch y/n recaping the weekend over on our page! [liked by ynuser]

user12: need outfit details stat

friend3: there are so many people here not sure how to act normal

ynuser: just be you bbgirl

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, user7, user8, user33 and 18,375 others

f1gossip: flavy, alex and y/n have all arrived at the monaco grand prix! y/n y/l/n, sky sports correspondent, is rumored to be the girlfriend of lance stroll and has been spending a lot more time in the paddock and with flavy and alex when she’s not reporting.

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user1: god they’re so beautiful

user2: the ultimate trio

user3: i wish i could be part of their friend group

user33: i s2g this girl is just using lance for his $$$

user1: get a life and leave her be

user99: i have noticed that he’s very clearly giving her stuff. like if you look at her posts before they were together she was not dressing like the rest of the wags and now suddenly she is?

user28: this is the happiest i’ve seen lance in like literal years stfu and stop being mean to her

user33: she just wants the influence.. have you seen how much more traction her interviews get now?

user19: being mean isn’t gonna make lance like you user33 like be so for real rn

user18: omg y/n made the wag page this is huge

user20: pleasseeee someone tell me where alex’s dress is from

user11: they’re all literally glowing wow

lance_stroll has made a post

liked by astonmartinf1, ynuser, estebanocon, chloestroll, fernandoalo_oficial, pierregasly and 523,496 others

lance_stroll: with love from summer break ft my favorite person in the whole world 🤍

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fernandoalo_oficial: looks incredible! hope you two had the best time 💚

lance_stroll: we did! looking forward to seeing you soon mi amigo

user18: looks like the vacation of a life time

ynuser: i love you my handsome man

lance_stroll: i love you gorgeous girl

yourbff: cutie patooties i love you both so much

lance_stroll: we love you so much

ynuser: 🤍🤍

chloestroll: thanks for letting me crash your vacay for a few days

ynuser: seeing you was one of my favorite parts 🤍

lance_stroll: it’s always wonderful spending time with you and scottyjames31

user11: honestly this is my royal family. you two are goals idc what anyone else has to say

user23: i can’t wait to see you back on track

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!!! likes and reblogs appreciated🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[beanietopia]

your boyfriend satoru meant the absolute world to you. he was sweet, always spoiled you, and not to mention a huge fucking nerd.

you’ve always found yourself attracted to the introverted types that looked like they have never even spoken to a girl, and that was your man. the first night you met you let him speak to you about his favorite digivolutions for what seemed like two hours. he was a total social pariah, but you found that endearing about him. no one ever understood how satoru was able to bag a fine girl like you, but there was a secret the both of you kept from everyone else.

satoru was obsessed with porn, and he wanted to try everything he learned on you.

it didn’t help that satoru was also a bit of an attention whore at the same time, his twitter account having amassed hundreds of thousands of followers from the content he posted on there. at first he started by just reposting porn he found on the timeline, and before you two became a thing he tweeted the filthiest things he wanted to do to and with his future girlfriend. how lucky he was to have you fall in his lap soon after that! you instilled a confidence in him that he didn’t have before meeting you, and once you learned about his twitter you actually encouraged him to post more. aren’t you such an angel?

sex with satoru was always exciting. he knew how to switch things up in the bedroom, all thanks to his “gooner” fanbase, he likes to call them. he had to practically beg you to start filming whenever you two fucked, and how could you say no when he was whining your name so desperately like that? to satoru, fucking you was like breathing in air—he had to do it or he’d die. you couldn’t even worry about his phone recording the two of you, you were all too focused on the crown of white hair that was now nestled in between your legs.

satoru was obsessed with eating you out. he told you one of his favorite categories of porn to watch was men eating pussy, and he wanted to show you what he learned. this man had your legs folded up to your chest as he devoured you, his tongue lapping up your juices while trying not to lose himself too soon. “taste s’good baby..” he moans, chuckling to himself as you fight to squirm away from his hold. sometimes his glasses would slide down too much and he’d just throw them somewhere, which he always ended up regretting later. “you’re not going anywhere,” he warns once he comes up for air, spitting directly on to your pussy before sucking your clit between his lips. he got so messy with it, too. spreading his saliva all over your inner thighs as he made out with your lips, gently tugging them between his teeth. he could spend the whole day kissing every crevice of your body. well, almost the entire day. he still had to play digimon. 

and there’s nothing more that satoru wants than for you to cum on his tongue. after all the work he put in to make you see stars, why would he let the bedsheets get rewarded for all his hard work? he needs to literally be shoved off your pussy to get him to stop, which gets you met with his pouty lips and petulant stare. 

remember how you forgot that he was recording? right, now he’s showing you the video while already thinking of the caption he’d post along with it to his twitter account. of course you two went viral, being shared and reloaded by hundreds of porn accounts on the site. since then, your pervy boyfriend’s been asking you to record more of your intimate moments. 

you’re no better than him, though. you keep saying yes.

can you BELIEVE it guys 2 posts in one weekend i'm really hitting my stride.. anyways to that one anon who wanted me to make porn!addicted jjk to a series YOU WIN.. until i get another idea to write for .. also should i make a taglist idk how to go about that but anyway i got work soon beanie out xoxo

@gojoscinnamonroll @webism @yemmuis @xxsapphirescrollsxx

[byshens]

yang jungwon x fem! reader. smut + mdni.

warnings breeding, rough jungwon, hair pulling, riding, choking, multiple rounds, small orgasim denial, overstimulation, slight sub! jungwon at the end(?) … lmk if i missed any. 🧍

requests are open! word count 616

i cant be the only one who thinks about the duality jungwon would have in a relationship.. like he would be such a cute boyfriend, he’s always spoiling you with gifts, never missing a holiday or sepcial occasion. could never harm a fly type of guy, until hes in bed.

in bed, oh yeah, he’s rough. he’s throwing you around on the bed, pushing your head into the pillow as he fucks into you hard, his speed so fast you could barely speak. sweat trickling down his neck as he grabs a fist full of your hair to pull you up, forcing a moan out of you.

then, he’s wrapping a hand around your throat to keep you up, his grip squeezing every now and then. his thrusts slowing down as he makes you beg, then speeding back up when he’s satisfied.

oh he’s a menace, i tell you.

turning you around so you’re on your back before plowing back into your heat, moaning your name so prettily that you cant help but kiss him hard. “please, wonie..” you whine, he brings one leg over his shoulder so he can hit deeper into you, your back arching off the bed with a loud moan.

“fuck, yn. taking me so well,” he moans above you, the grip he has on your waist so tight he could leave bruises, which you pray it does. always loving the marks he leaves on your skin. jungwon doesnt stop until you come, but you know thats not the end.

even when you cover his cock with yourself, he doesnt stop. your legs shaking as you claw at his back. you know he never stops at one round, he has too much stamina for that. “god, you’re so so pretty, just for me.” he praises, loving how messed up you looked.

he pulls out just to flip you both over, so now he’s on his back and you’re on top. one of his favorite positions and you know it, he loves the view from down there. you take his length and position it back at your entrance before sinking down, a loud whine leaving your lips.

jungwon doesnt even wait before he’s gripping tightly onto your hips and fucking up into you roughly, watching how you bounce on top of him. your hands find themselves on his chest to try and keep balance, your back arching as he hits the sweet spot over and over again, your eyes watering from how good it is.

“fuck! fuck, please wonie. i’m gonna—“

“hold it.” he demands, your walls instantly clenching around him as he continues to use you as he pleases. “be a good girl for me and wait. can you do that for me?”

you immediately nod your head and let out a moan, letting him get off with your body. the knot in your stomach getting tighter with each thrust, so desperately needing to release but you knew better.

jungwon’s thrusts start to get sloppy but rougher, trying to fuck you as much as he can. “baby, can i come inside? please please, i need to fill you up.” he begs, his voice whiny as he digs his nails into your hips.

your legs are shaking, breath is trembling, and you nod. “please, breed me.” you reply, his hips snapping up one last time before you feel his load shoot into you, “come for me,” he says watching your face as you release, yeah, always his favorite part.

you fall forward onto his chest, so out of breath. he only smiles and rubs your back, his thrusts now at an annoyingly slow pace. he giggles, “don’t get too comfortable, we aren’t done.”

© byshens. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or post onto another platforms without my consent.

[casscainmainly]

Okay gonna analyse some common Duke beliefs just for quick and easy reference. Some of these are up to interpretation (as indicated), but these are some common things I see that aren't quite accurate to Duke as a character.

Claim: Duke started We Are Robin

True or false: False. Alfred started We Are Robin, and the entire core cast of We Are Robin was already there before Duke.

Claim: We Are Robin is a gang

True or false: kind of tricky? They're technically a gang in the most general sense of the word, but 'gang' has racial implications that I think people gloss over (We Are Robin is primarily composed of kids of colour). Movement is a much better term, and We Are Robin doesn't self-identify as a gang to my knowledge.

Claim: Duke led We Are Robin

True or false: tricky. While Robin War has him as the leader, for the majority of Duke's time in We Are Robin he does not give orders or act like a leader at all. We Are Robin generally doesn't have a leader. Duke certainly has leadership abilities, but WAR is not the best showcase of them. Up to personal interpretation though.

Claim: Duke is a Wayne

True or false: False. Duke is not adopted.

Claim: Duke is intimidated/scared of any Batfamily member

True or false: FALSE!!! There is unfortunately some horrible comic writing, but for the VAST MAJORITY of Duke's appearances he is not scared of any Batfam member. He's certainly not afraid of Damian, Jason, or Cass.

Claim: Duke can emit light

True or false: probably?? His powers are constantly in flux and he develops new abilities all the time, so who knows. But he is much more likely to use light to turn invisible/manipulate his perception of light than attack with them (for which he can use his shadow powers). Up to personal interpretation/fun headcanons.

Claim: Duke jumped out of a cop car

True or false: True, but it's a Tom King comic and he's written horribly in it. If you want another example of him not being the 'sane one', I recommend using the time he got shot by a bullet and thought about how baller it was.

Claim: Duke is new to the Batfamily and doesn't know their dynamics

True or false: Please stop 😭 It's been like a decade since his introduction there's no need to make him the clueless newbie. Also he's a fiercely intelligent detective who makes references to Jason's daddy issues, there's no way he's still in the dark about most of their relationships.

Claim: Duke tends to obey Bruce's orders

True or false: FALSE. Duke sneaks out even during his training days, and for the most part operates independently. He generally has a grudge against authority of all kinds.

Claim: Duke is very sunshine-y, bright, and optimistic

True or false: False. I get where this one is coming from (sunshine boy is cute I love it), but while his powers are light-based, his personality is not. He's pragmatic, rude, skeptical, and often disillusioned. He is an optimist in the sense that he believes in community and change, but he's nowhere near a bright, bubbly kid.

Claim: He's the normal one AND/OR he's just as crazy as the other bats

True or false: Both of these are somewhat false. Duke is not the normal/sane one, he's literally a vigilante how would that make sense. But he also thinks of himself as more normal than the others (at least at one point). Duke discourse should move on from this debate, both these statements obscure what makes Duke unique and interesting.

Claim: Duke designed his Signal outfit

True or false: False. This isn't really a belief I just see people assuming he designed it, he didn't though, Bruce gave it to him. There's no indication he had a hand in the design. Bruce actually gave him TWO designs, I think Bruce just loves giving him outfits tbh.

Claim: Duke's parents are still under the Joker toxin

True or false: Technically false. His mom was healed in Urban Legends #19, but Duke's sporadic appearances mean this was never really followed up on. I have no clue what happened to Doug. Up to DC to SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!!!

Claim: Anything to do with his portrayal in WFA

True or false: False. Literally everything. (The only, and I do mean only, thing to take from WFA is his interactions with Damian)

Okay that's all, I hope that was helpful to anyone out there!!! There are tons of things here that are my interpretation only of course, the best way to get to know Duke is to read his comics. We Are Robin and DC Rise of the Power Company is waiting for you <3333.

[ankababy]

A Home (part 17)

Part 1 Part 16

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

TW: not even exactly the mention of 🍇, not even a literal hint, just a small part of a sentence that can be read as that. You probably won’t even notice, don’t look for it.

AN: I know that the way to the Beach is way too long and y’all want the Beach already but I promise I know what I’m doing😭 This is needed I promise.

You sighed, holding onto Chishiya’s sleeve, keeping up with their pace as the three of you walked. The butterfly was long forgotten in the distance, but the thought still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind. Maybe there’d be more where you were going. Maybe you’d see other little creatures, ones you could stop and admire for a few moments before Niragi crushed them.

You glanced up at him, watching as he twirled his gun around his fingers, his movements careless but precise. The way he handled the thing, the way he loved that damn gun—it made your stomach turn. He had proven exactly how much he enjoyed using it.

Still, it was Niragi.

That was just him.

You’d come to accept it, even if you didn’t like it.

“…Are we playing today?” you asked, voice soft but casual, as if you weren’t asking about potentially risking your life.

“Of course we are.” Niragi said, like it was obvious. Like it was just another part of the day.

You let out a breath, nodding. “Okay.” you murmured, more to yourself than anything.

Niragi suddenly pushed your head away with his hand, palm against your forehead, laughing.

You stumbled slightly but didn’t fight it, letting him manhandle you like a ragdoll.

“You’re so fucking weird.” he teased.

You pouted, rubbing your forehead.

“I wasn’t even doing anything.” you grumbled, frowning at him.

“Exactly.” he said, tapping your nose with his finger. “That’s what makes it fun.”

You sighed.

Of course Niragi found you entertaining just by existing. It was ridiculous. But you didn’t fight it. Didn’t snap at him, didn’t tell him to leave you alone.

Because, truthfully…you were used to it.

You didn’t actually mind it.

Not when he was like this.

Not when he was touching you without hurting you.

You could handle Niragi when he was annoying.

It was better than when he was violent.

Chishiya exhaled sharply beside you, clearly unamused, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on you for a second longer than usual before he looked ahead again.

You didn’t ask what he was thinking.

You probably didn’t want to know.

“Come on.” Niragi said, throwing an arm over your shoulders again and tugging you along, as if you weren’t already walking.

And you just… let him.

You always would.

~

Your feet ached. Every step sent a dull pulse of pain through your legs, and the sun, hanging low in the sky, cast long shadows across the empty streets. You had been walking the whole day, without stopping, without food, without water, and it was finally getting to you.

You never complained.

Not really.

But right now?

You let out a soft, pathetic whine, dragging your feet as you trailed behind them. “I’m hungry…”

Nothing.

They heard you. You knew they did.

You could see Niragi’s shoulders tense slightly ahead of you, could see the way Chishiya’s head tilted just a fraction, but neither of the responded.

“I’m thirsty.” you tried again, slower this time, like they needed to understand the severity of the situation.

Still nothing.

You huffed, rubbing at your face. “…I’m tired.”

Niragi finally turned. And he looked at you like you were the most annoying thing he’d ever laid eyes on. “You’re always tired.”

Your pout deepened. “Because I never get to rest!” you whined, arms swinging at your sides. “We’ve been walking all day—without stopping!”

“And?” Niragi said, mocking. “What, you want me to carry you again?”

You paused.

Blinking.

Because well—

Now that he mentioned it…

He barked out a laugh at the look on your face, grinning. “Oh, no. No way.” He turned forward again, continuing on like you weren’t suffering. “I already did that shit once. You get one.”

You sighed, dragging your feet harder now, like they’d feel bad and slow down.

They didn’t.

You tried again.

“Chishiya…” you called, more hopeful this time, speeding up slightly to get closer to him.

But he didn’t even look at you.

“I’m not carrying you either.” he said simply.

You let out a dramatic groan. “I wasn’t asking for that!”

You totally were.

He didn’t call you out on it, though.

But Niragi did.

“She totally was.” he laughed, nudging Chishiya’s shoulder. Chishiya barely reacted, eyes set ahead.

“Just—can we stop?” you tried. “Just for a little?”

Niragi snorted. “No.”

And you nearly stomped your foot. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.” he answered so quickly, like a petulant child, before laughing again at his own stupidity.

You didn’t laugh. “You’re mean.”

“You’re slow.” he shot back. “Maybe if you moved your ass instead of complaining so much, we’d already be there.”

“I wouldn’t be complaining if I wasn’t dying!”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

You let out a frustrated little noise, throwing your hands up.

This was so unfair. He was awful.

And Chishiya? Well. He was at least less awful.

You slowed your steps again, lagging behind them, defeated. And even though you were tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and miserable—you still followed. Because you had nowhere else to go. You dragged your feet along the pavement, arms crossed over your chest, your bottom lip sticking out in a deep pout. You were hungry, thirsty, exhausted— and the worst part? You had to pee.

Badly.

And knowing these assholes, that wasn’t going to go over well.

But you had to try.

You picked up your pace a little, hurrying to close the gap between you and Chishiya. Niragi was always an asshole, but sometimes, if you were really lucky, Chishiya would at least consider listening to you.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“Chishiya…” you called softly, peering up at him.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t even acknowledge you.

“…Chishiya.” you said again, more insistent this time, tugging at his sleeve.

He let out a small breath through his nose. “What.”

You blinked up at him, still pulling at his sleeve. “I have to pee.”

He was silent.

Then—

“No.”

Your mouth fell open. “What do you mean, no?”

“We’re not stopping.” he said simply.

You let out an exasperated noise, dropping his sleeve and turning your attention to Niragi instead.

He was already grinning.

You didn’t like that.

“Niragi.” you started, hopeful. “I really, really have to—”

“Pee yourself.”

You froze. Blinking. The audacity. Your brows furrowed instantly, a small gasp leaving your lips. “I am not peeing myself!”

Niragi just laughed. “Well, then hold it.”

“I can’t hold it forever!”

“Figure it out.”

You groaned. “You’re both awful.”

“Yup.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Your eye twitched. This was so unfair. It wasn’t like you were asking for a lot! You weren’t even asking them to find a real bathroom—just a second, just to stop for one second so you could go somewhere behind a car or something.

But no.

Because they were assholes.

Evil.

Your legs pressed together slightly as you walked, and you let out another dramatic whine. “I can’t believe this.” you muttered. “You’re really making me suffer.”

“You’ll live.”

You sighed, shoulders dropping. You had no choice but to keep walking. You’d have to figure it out later.

But you weren’t forgetting this.

They were going to pay for this.

You walked along behind them, practically dragging your feet, your arms swinging dramatically with every step. The sky was growing darker, the city eerily quiet, but all you could focus on was the increasingly urgent need to pee.

It was honestly becoming a crisis.

“Come onnnn.” you whined, hurrying a few steps to catch up to them again. “Can’t we stop for just five minutes?”

“No.” Chishiya replied without looking at you.

“Why not?” you protested, throwing your arms up. “It’ll be quick! I’ll be quick!”

“Still no.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Please, I’m begging you.”

Niragi snickered, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Didn’t know you’d get so desperate over something so boring.”

You shot him a glare. “It’s not boring if you’re the one who has to pee.”

“Piss your pants then.”

You gasped. “I am not going to pee myself!”

“Why not? Could be fun.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “That’s disgusting.”

Niragi just laughed.

You stomped your foot, frustrated. “You’re both being so mean to me!”

Chishiya let out a small breath through his nose. “You’ll survive.”

You whined again, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

They kept walking. You stared at their backs, your nose scrunching in frustration.

Okay. Fine. If they weren’t going to stop, then you’d just… you’d…

Wait.

If you went off to pee by yourself…

Alone.

In the dark.

In a creepy, empty city.

Your stomach sank.

You glanced nervously over your shoulder. The streets stretched on endlessly behind you, shadowed alleyways and looming buildings on either side. Even with the sky darkening, the silence was deafening.

What if something was out there? What if someone was out there?

A shiver ran down your spine.

…Maybe stopping wasn’t such a good idea.

But you really had to pee.

Your lip wobbled.

This was a dilemma.

You hurried up to them again, practically skipping to catch up.“Niragi.”

“What.”

“I don’t wanna go alone.”

Niragi raised an eyebrow, looking over at you. “What, you want me to watch?”

“No!”

Chishiya sighed.

You whined, stomping your foot again. “You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

You huffed. “You’re both awful.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Niragi waved a hand dismissively. “Quit your bitching.”

“I’m not bitching.”

“You’re definitely bitching.”

You pouted. “I just don’t wanna go alone.”

Niragi tilted his head at you, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he shoved his gun into your hands.

“There.” His lips curled into a wicked smirk. “Now you can go take care of yourself.”

You stared down at the gun in your hands. Looked back up at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Niragi shrugged. “Point and shoot.”

You frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He stepped closer. “Unless you’d rather I come with you.”

You shoved him. “Ew! No!”

He just laughed.

You huffed, glaring at him, but your eyes dropped back down to the gun.

…Okay. You could work with this.

It wasn’t exactly comforting, but at least you’d have something with you.

You sighed, gripping the gun a little tighter. “Fine.”

Niragi snickered, and Chishiya simply kept walking, not even bothering to look back at you. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before stepping off the road and into the shadows.

You could do this.

Probably.

Niragi had a habit of testing boundaries.

It wasn’t enough for him to win someone over. No, once he had someone close—once they were within arm’s reach, once they trusted him enough to look at him without fear—that’s when he started to push. He wanted to see how far he could go. How much he could get away with before you snapped, before you pushed back, before you told him to stop.

But you never did. That was the thing about you. You didn’t push back. You just took it.

Sure, you pouted, you whined, you huffed and rolled your eyes, but you never once told him to stop. You never yelled at him. You never looked at him with the kind of fear or disgust that he’d gotten used to from everyone else. Even when he scared you—and oh, he knew he scared you sometimes—you didn’t run.

You stayed.

It was fascinating.

You were fascinating.

Soft. Sweet. Easy.

Like a little wind-up doll, all dressed in pastels and wide eyes, clinging to his arm with those delicate little hands and flinching at the sound of gunfire. You forgave him far too easily, like it was second nature. Like you didn’t even think about it. He could scream in your face one minute and have you curled up against him the next, and you wouldn’t question it.

Maybe it was because you were scared.

But Niragi didn’t think that was it.

He’d seen fear. Hell, he lived for fear. He could practically taste it when it clung to the air. But you… you weren’t scared. Not really. Sure, you flinched when he got loud, and your eyes went all wide when he waved his gun around, but there was something else there, under the surface. Some quiet, unshakable belief that he wouldn’t actually hurt you.

And he wouldn’t.

Probably.

You were too fun to mess with.

Besides, you were his.

Not in a romantic sense. Not really. But in the way a cat claimed a favorite toy. Or maybe a favorite bug. One he could bat around a little, watch it squirm, see what it would do.

You made things… interesting.

And as long as you kept taking it, he wasn’t going to stop.

Why would he?

But Chishiya? Chishiya was a whole different story. Where Niragi was loud and reckless, Chishiya was quiet. The kind of person who never did anything without a reason. Every look, every word, every step was carefully measured, weighed against some invisible scale that only he could see.

Chishiya didn’t push.

He watched.

There was a kind of quiet judgment in his gaze, the kind that made people squirm without him ever needing to raise his voice. He could sit silently for hours, observing the people around him, taking in every twitch, every glance, every flicker of emotion, and somehow know exactly what made them tick.

And that made him dangerous.

You intrigued him.

You were soft. Open. Easy to read. Everything you felt was written plainly across your face, from the crinkle of your nose when Niragi teased you to the way your eyes softened when Chishiya so much as glanced in your direction. There was no mask with you. No calculation. Just pure, unfiltered emotion.

It was almost… refreshing.

Almost.

But it also made you vulnerable.

And Chishiya didn’t trust vulnerability.

He watched the way you latched onto Niragi, how you clung to his arm even after he’d scared you half to death. He watched the way you forgave. The way you trusted. The way you gave and gave and gave, even when you got nothing in return.

And he didn’t like it.

Not because he cared.

Not really.

But because he knew people like Niragi. People who took and took and took, chewing others up and spitting them out without a second thought. He knew what it meant to be soft in a place like this. He knew how easily softness could be crushed.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to see that happen to you.

Maybe.

But he wasn’t about to admit that.

You picked up the pace, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the empty buildings. When you finally reached them, you shoved the gun back into Niragi’s hands without ceremony. “Here. I don’t want this anymore.”

Niragi laughed, loud, spinning the gun in his hand. “Aww, done playing soldier?” He gave you a grin that showed just a little too much teeth. “Figured you’d end up shooting yourself in the foot.”

You ignored him, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. “It’s so hot.” you whined, tugging at the front of your dress to fan yourself. “I feel like I’m gonna melt.”

Chishiya barely spared you a glance. “It’s summer.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” you grumbled. “I hate it. I feel all sticky.” You wiped your hands on the hem of your dress and wrinkled your nose. “And I’m hungry.”

Niragi scoffed. “You’re always hungry.”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Because you never feed me.”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re not a fucking puppy.”

“I could be. If it meant you’d actually give me something to eat.”

“Well, aren’t you just precious.” he sneered, reaching out to flick your nose. You swatted his hand away, scowling, but he only grinned wider. “You’ll eat after the game.”

Your stomach sank. “After?”

Chishiya glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Be patient.”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the right words. “But…” You looked around, gesturing to the empty street. “But it’s already late. What if the game takes hours? What if I pass out from hunger in the middle of it?” You pressed a hand dramatically to your forehead. “You’ll have to carry me.”

“That’d be the least of our problems.” Chishiya deadpanned.

You turned to Niragi, wide-eyed and pleading. “What if I die?”

He snorted. “Then at least you won’t be hungry anymore.”

You gasped, slapping his arm. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re dramatic.” Niragi smirked, twirling his gun again as he walked ahead. “Come on, princess. You’ll survive.”

You huffed but followed, dragging your feet a little just to be petty. The heat pressed down on you, making every step feel heavier, and the hunger gnawed at your stomach. At least you didn’t have to pee anymore. Your eyes drifted to the sky, watching as the colors darkened, the last streaks of sunlight melting into shadows.

Fuck. Fuck them. Fuck you. Fuck.

~

The game was set in an old department store—a massive, darkened labyrinth of empty shelves and abandoned checkout counters. The automatic doors had long since stopped working, left ajar just enough for people to slip through. It felt cold inside, even with the summer heat lingering outside, and the air smelled faintly of dust and rust. The kind of place that felt haunted even if there weren’t death games happening inside.

The three of you stood near the escalators, waiting. The others—about ten or so—scattered through the first floor, some lingering near the dark aisles, others watching the entrance. Everyone was quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the emergency lights overhead. Each flicker of movement had heads turning sharply, eyes darting, bodies tense.

Niragi stood to your right, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. His gun rested easily against his hip, one finger tapping lazily against the handle. He scanned the room with a bored expression, though you knew better. He was watching. Calculating. Deciding who would scream the loudest if he shot them first.

Chishiya was on your left, leaning against the glass railing, his gaze equally sharp but far more subtle. He had that quiet curiosity about him, like he was studying everyone as if they were pieces on a board, already thinking three moves ahead.

You, on the other hand, were fidgeting. The cold air made your skin prickle, and you shifted from foot to foot, glancing around. You hated the waiting. The quiet. It was always worse before the game started, when the silence felt heavy, like it was pressing down on you.

You frowned, glancing around the store. “It’s weird. I always thought department stores were kind of cozy, you know? When they’re open and full of people.” You rubbed your arms, shivering a little. “But now it feels… wrong.”

“That’s because it is wrong.” Niragi drawled, pushing off the pillar and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “This place is a graveyard. Bet you anything half these losers won’t make it out.”

You frowned but didn’t shrug him off. The weight of his arm was grounding, in a way. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed. “What, too dark for you?” He squeezed your shoulder, leaning in close. “You better toughen up. Games don’t care how sweet you are.”

You sighed, resting your head against his arm. “I know.”

Chishiya watched the exchange quietly, his eyes flicking between the two of you. He tilted his head slightly, observing the way Niragi hovered close, possessive in a way that felt more animal than human. He’d always been like that. Claiming things. People. Biting into them just to see how much they’d bleed.

But you… You were soft. Warm. And Niragi clung to that warmth like a drowning man, desperate and reckless, sinking his claws into you just to keep from going under. Chishiya couldn’t decide if it was pathetic or dangerous. Maybe both.

You shifted, pulling away from Niragi just enough to face Chishiya. “What about you? Do you think we’ll be okay?”

He blinked slowly, considering you. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On the game.”

You sighed, leaning against the railing. “You’re no help.”

Niragi snorted. “Told you.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, but before he could retaliate, the lights flickered. Everyone tensed, eyes snapping to the ceiling as the emergency lights blinked twice before settling into a steady glow. The sound of heavy metal doors sliding shut echoed through the building, sealing everyone inside.

A screen flickered to life above the escalators, casting the room in a cold, blue light.

GAME: SILENT.

DIFFICULTY: 5 OF DIAMONDS

Of course. You glanced at Chishiya, who barely blinked. Niragi just sneered.

RULES:

Each player will be assigned a section of the store. You must locate your section and remain there until further instruction.

If the sound sensors detect noise above a certain threshold—

A low beep sounded from overhead. The screen shifted, showing a digital counter set to 100. It hovered ominously, a bright red warning against the cold blue screen.

—the counter will decrease.

The screen displayed a quick animation: a digital figure knocking over a can, the counter ticking down. When it hit 0, a loud, sharp buzz echoed through the store, and the figure collapsed. Dead.

If the counter reaches zero, all players will be eliminated.

Silence. The room felt colder. Heavier. You gripped your arms tightly, barely breathing.

“Wait…” You frowned. “So we just have to be quiet?”

Niragi laughed under his breath, low. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Chishiya’s eyes narrowed. “There’s more.”

The screen flickered again, showing a floor plan of the department store. Various sections lit up—electronics, clothing, home things—each one marked with a small red dot.

A challenge will be issued in each section. Complete the challenge without triggering the sound sensors. Failure to complete the challenge will result in a penalty.

You didn’t even want to know what the penalty was.

Complete all challenges before the counter reaches zero to win.

And just like that, the screen went dark. The emergency lights dimmed even further, barely illuminating the space. The only sound was the faint buzz of the screen and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

A soft click echoed through the store, and you jumped as small wristbands slid out from a slot below the screen. One for each of the players.

Niragi grabbed his first, spinning it around his finger before snapping it onto his wrist. Chishiya took his without a word, fastening it with a soft click. You hesitated before slipping yours on, the band tightening automatically.

A soft beep sounded as the screens on your wristbands lit up.

GAME START.

A small map appeared, showing your location and marking a path to your assigned section.

“Well,” Niragi said, rolling his shoulders. “looks like we’re splitting up.”

Your heart sank. “What?”

He tilted his head. “You heard the rules. Each player gets a section. Don’t worry, babe. I’ll come find you when you screw up.”

You frowned, glancing nervously at Chishiya. He sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “The challenges will test your problem-solving. Staying quiet is just the extra layer of difficulty.” he murmured.

“But…” You bit your lip. “What if I can’t do it?”

Niragi snorted. “Then you die.”

You flinched, but Chishiya just rolled his eyes. “He’s exaggerating.” He glanced at his wristband, already scanning the map. “The goal is to complete all the challenges before the counter hits zero. As long as you’re careful, you’ll be fine.”

You weren’t sure you believed him.

Niragi turned toward the aisles, whistling softly—the sound immediately earning a soft beep from the ceiling, the counter ticking down from 100 to 99.

“Oops.” he grinned. “Guess I should be more careful.”

You wanted to slap him.

Chishiya sighed. “Let’s go.”

You followed them through the store, the silence heavy around you. Your section was in the clothing department, while Chishiya’s was in electronics and Niragi’s in sport.

As you approached the branching hallways, Niragi gave you a sharp grin. “Don’t get lost.” He flicked your forehead, making you flinch. “I’ll come find your corpse later.”

Before you could snap at him, he walked off into the darkness, gun resting on his shoulder.

Chishiya looked at you. “I think you’ll survive.” His gaze softened, just slightly. “Stay quiet. And don’t overthink things.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Okay.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on you, before finally turning away, slipping into the shadows.

And just like that… you were alone.

~

The sky was dark, darker than usual.

You stood alone on the cracked sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around your little pink bag like it could shield you from the horrors of this place. The game was over. You survived. But that familiar weight in your chest wouldn’t ease.

The street was dead silent, save for the soft scuff of your pretty shoes shifting nervously against the pavement. You glanced down at your hands, trembling slightly as they clutched the straps of your bag. You squeezed your fingers tighter, trying to ground yourself.

You were fine. You were alive. That’s what mattered.

Then you heard footsteps.

Your head snapped up, heart lurching into your throat. From the shadows, two figures emerged—familiar, but no less unsettling. Niragi’s long frame cut through the night like a knife, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, mouth twisted into something like a sneer.

Chishiya followed a few paces behind, quieter, calmer, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just come from a life-or-death game. His eyes flicked over you once, taking in the way you curled into yourself, before settling somewhere past your shoulder.

“What, you thought we’d die or something?” Niragi’s voice was low, almost bored, but it made you flinch all the same. His eyes glinted under the faint moonlight, his piercings also.

You shrank back a little, but forced yourself to speak. “I… I was worried.” Your voice came out soft, barely above a whisper. You hated how fragile it sounded. “I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Niragi scoffed, shifting his rifle with a careless swing of his arm. “How cute.” He tilted his head, studying you. “What do you think this is, princess? Some happy little survival club? No one cares if you’re worried.”

You dropped your gaze, biting your lip.

Of course he’d say that. Of course. But still… you had worried. You always did. Even when you knew you shouldn’t.

“I care.” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Niragi’s grin faltered for a second. Just a second. His eyes flicked over you again, slower this time, like he was trying to figure out what the hell you were made of. Then he snorted, shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work.”

You shifted uncomfortably, fingers tightening around your bag. “I’m glad you’re okay.” you said softly, eyes darting toward Chishiya. He hadn’t spoken a word. Just stood there, quiet.

“You too, Chishiya.”

He blinked, surprised for a moment that you’d addressed him. Then he offered the smallest nod, eyes lingering on you a beat longer than necessary. It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

The silence stretched between the three of you, heavy and uncomfortable. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, searching for something—anything—to fill the void.

“So… how was the game?” you asked quietly.

Niragi let out a sharp bark of laughter. “What, you wanna swap war stories now?”

You flinched. “No, I just… I don’t know.” You looked down, scuffing your shoe against the cracked pavement. “I guess I just want to talk.”

Niragi scoffed again, but it sounded almost tired this time. He turned away, staring out into the darkness like he could see something you couldn’t. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You bit your lip, unsure if you should apologize. You shifted on your feet, then hesitantly stepped closer to them. Neither of them moved. Slowly, carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against Niragi’s sleeve. His body tensed instantly, and for a moment, you thought he might shove you away. But he didn’t. He just stood there, silent and still, letting your touch linger.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you whispered again.

Niragi scoffed, low and quiet, but you heard the way his breath hitched. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Maybe you were. But you didn’t let go.

You shifted again, biting your lip, voice soft and hesitant. “Um… Can we eat now?”

Niragi’s head snapped toward you so fast you almost stumbled back. His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth curling into a sneer. “What?”

You swallowed thickly, fingers twisting into the fabric of your bag. “You… you promised.” you whispered. “After the game. You said we could eat after the game.”

Niragi stared at you for a long moment, eyes glittering with something unreadable. Then, to your horror, he let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot I made a promise to the princess.” He leaned in close, voice dropping into something low and mean. “Newsflash, sweetheart. Promises don’t mean shit here.”

“But I’m hungry.” you said softly, almost pleading. “You said—”

“I said,” Niragi snapped, cutting you off. “a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I have to keep my word.” He grinned, sharp and mean, tilting his head to the side. “Besides, what’s a little hunger? Builds character.”

Your stomach twisted painfully, both from his words and the ache gnawing at your insides. You’d been walking all day, barely eating anything, and the fear from earlier had left you drained. You were exhausted. You were starving. And Niragi… Niragi didn’t care.

Niragi stared at you for a moment, eyes flickering over your trembling form, before scoffing and turning away. “Jesus. You’re so fucking pathetic.”

Your heart sank. You bit your lip, glancing toward Chishiya for support, but he remained silent, watching the interaction with that same unreadable expression. You dropped your gaze, shoulders sagging.

Then, quietly, Chishiya spoke. “She should eat.”

Niragi froze, his head turning slowly toward Chishiya. “What?” he hissed.

Chishiya met his glare with infuriating calmness, his voice quiet and even. “She should eat.” he repeated. “You promised her. Keep your word.”

The air shifted instantly. Niragi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. He took a step toward Chishiya, his sneer sharpening into something colder, crueler. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in charge now.” His voice dripped with venom. “Didn’t know you suddenly cared.”

Chishiya didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “I don’t.” he said simply. “But she does.”

Niragi’s grip tightened around his rifle, knuckles going white. For a moment, you thought he might actually raise it. The tension between them crackled like static in the air, dangerous. You shrank back, heart racing, eyes darting between them.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Niragi let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying.” He turned away, muttering under his breath.

Niragi started walking, the weight of his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder.

You blinked hard, trying to stay focused, but the pavement felt like it was tilting beneath your feet. Your stomach twisted painfully, the hunger gnawing at you sharper now, almost dizzying. You started walking after them. You didn’t want to cause any more trouble.

The game had been long. The walking had been longer. Your body felt drained, trembling slightly with every step. But you kept going. You always did.

Then your vision blurred. The world tilted sideways, and your knees buckled.

“Woah—shit.” Your knees hit the pavement before you even realized you’d fallen, the rough concrete scraping against your skin. Your pink bag slipped from your fingers, landing with a soft thud beside you. The world spun violently.

“Y/N?” Chishiya’s voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the haze in your mind. Footsteps followed, slow.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself, but it didn’t help. The hunger, the exhaustion—it was all too much. “I’m… I’m okay.” you whispered, though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. “Just… dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” Niragi’s voice snapped through the night like a whip. His footsteps were faster, louder, echoing in your ears. “The fuck do you mean ‘dizzy’?”

You blinked up at him, vision still swimming. He loomed over you, jaw tight. His rifle hung loosely at his side, but his other hand twitched at his hip, fingers curling and uncurling like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You forced a weak smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “I just… I think I need a minute.”

Niragi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “A minute.” he repeated. “You’re sitting on the fucking ground, looking like you’re about to pass out, and you need a minute?”

You flinched at the sharpness in his tone, but before you could answer, Chishiya’s voice cut through the tension.

“She hasn’t eaten.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You saw the way Niragi’s body tensed, his fingers curling tighter at his side. He turned slowly, fixing Chishiya with a look so cold it could’ve frozen the air between them. “What?”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, his face unreadable. “She hasn’t eaten.” he repeated calmly. “I told you.”

Niragi’s jaw tightened. “Oh, fuck you.”

Chishiya shrugged. “You’re the one who said promises don’t mean shit.”

Niragi’s grip tightened around his rifle, knuckles going white. For a second, you thought he might actually swing it at Chishiya, but instead, he whirled back toward you, crouching down so you were eye-level. His face was inches from yours, scanning your face like he was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with you.

You shrank back slightly, heart racing. “Niragi, I—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he snapped. His voice was sharp, almost angry, but there was something else beneath it—something raw. “Huh? You were just gonna fucking keel over and die on us?”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone.” you whispered. “You were tired after the game, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Niragi stared at you. Then he scoffed, running a hand through his hair and letting out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.” He stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away before turning back to glare at Chishiya. “You think you’re so fucking smart, huh?” He jabbed a finger at him. “Standing there, all high and mighty, like you knew this was gonna happen.”

Chishiya’s gaze flicked toward you, lingering for a moment before shifting back to Niragi. “I did.”

Niragi’s grip tightened around his rifle, but before he could lash out again, you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Both men turned toward you. Niragi looked pissed. Chishiya just looked… tired.

“I didn’t mean to make things difficult.” you said softly. “I just… I didn’t want to cause any more trouble.” You forced a small smile, even as your vision swam again. “I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”

Niragi stared at you, his jaw tight, breathing heavy. Then he let out a sharp breath and crouched down in front of you again, his hands resting on his knees. “You’re so fucking stupid.” His voice was quieter now, almost… soft.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “What?”

“You heard me.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re fucking stupid. Always putting everyone else first. Always apologizing.” His eyes narrowed. “You think that makes you strong? It makes you weak.”

You swallowed, lowering your gaze. “I’m not weak.”

Niragi stared at you for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he sighed and dropped onto the pavement beside you, legs stretched out in front of him. “You’re lucky I like weak things.”

You glanced at him, confused. “What?”

He ignored you, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled protein bar. Without a word, he shoved it into your hands. “Eat.”

You blinked down at the bar, then back up at him. “But—”

“Eat.” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “Before I shove it down your throat.”

You hesitated, glancing toward Chishiya, who just raised a brow and gestured vaguely toward Niragi. “Don’t look at me. I told him to feed you an hour ago.”

Niragi growled under his breath, but you ignored him, carefully unwrapping the bar and taking a small bite. You nearly moaned. Your body practically sighed in relief, the dizziness easing just enough for you to breathe again.

You glanced toward Niragi, your heart softening a little at the way he stared out into the dark, jaw tight, refusing to look at you.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

He didn’t respond. Just sat there in silence, his fingers twitching slightly at his side.

Chishiya watched quietly, eyes flicking between the two of you before he let out a soft huff and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Idiots.”

Neither of you answered.

The dizziness had faded to a dull throb behind your eyes, and your body felt less like it was about to give out. Small victories.

You shifted slightly, curling your legs beneath you as you hugged your pink bag to your chest. Niragi sat beside you, silent now, his long legs stretched out in front of him, rifle resting lazily across his lap. He hadn’t spoken since forcing the protein bar into your hands. Didn’t even look at you. Just stared out into the night like he was waiting for something—or maybe trying not to feel something.

Chishiya lingered a few feet away, leaning against the crumbling wall of the store behind you.

“Do you think…” You hesitated, voice soft, almost unsure. “Do you think we could go back inside?”

Niragi stiffened slightly, his head snapping toward you. “What?”

You swallowed, curling your fingers tighter around your bag. “The department store. There might still be food in there. Or water. I just thought…” You trailed off, heart pounding a little faster under his sudden scrutiny. “It’s probably a stupid idea.”

Niragi stared at you for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he pushed himself to his feet, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

You blinked, startled. “Where are you going?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Where do you think?” He jerked his head toward the dark entrance of the store. “Someone’s gotta keep you from passing out again.”

Before you could say anything, he walked off toward the building. You stared after him, a little stunned. Niragi… was going to get food? For you?

Chishiya let out a soft huff, drawing your attention. “I wouldn’t be so touched.” he said dryly. “He probably just wants an excuse to shoot something.”

You frowned, hugging your bag tighter as Niragi disappeared into the shadows. “He’s not that bad.”

Chishiya raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “No?”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the wall behind you. “Okay, maybe he is that bad. But… he didn’t have to go.”

Chishiya shrugged, his gaze drifting toward the dark entrance. “He likes having an excuse to feel useful.” His eyes flicked back to you. “And you give him a lot of excuses.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The silence stretched between you. You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on your bag before glancing up at him.

“What about you?” you asked softly. “Why do you stay?”

Chishiya blinked, clearly not expecting the question. He tilted his head slightly, considering you for a moment. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged. “I asked first.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it faded quickly. “I stay for the entertainment.” he said simply.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Softer, somehow. You glanced toward the department store, half-expecting Niragi to come stomping back out, but the entrance remained dark and empty.

“Do you think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Chishiya huffed a soft laugh. “He’s probably having the time of his life.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You worry too much.”

You smiled faintly. “Someone has to.”

Chishiya didn’t respond. Just watched you quietly, his expression unreadable.

Niragi had been gone for a while now, long enough that you started to feel that familiar worry twist in your stomach. But when you glanced at Chishiya, leaning against the wall a few feet away, he looked as relaxed as ever.

You bit your lip, watching him quietly for a moment. The shadows stretched long across his face, the soft moonlight catching on the silver of his hair. He didn’t look at you, eyes half-lidded as he stared off into the dark. Always so distant. Always so quiet.

“Hey.” you said softly.

Chishiya’s gaze flicked toward you, slow and lazy, like you’d interrupted some deep train of thought. He raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, fingers twisting into the fabric of your bag. “What’s up with you?”

His brow arched higher, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like you’d asked him the dumbest question imaginable. “What?”

You shrugged, glancing down at your hands. “I mean… how are you? You’re always so quiet. I just wondered…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I don’t know. You don’t talk much.”

Chishiya let out a soft huff, barely a laugh, and looked away again. “There’s not much to say.”

You frowned, shifting slightly to face him better. “That’s not true.” You hesitated, then patted the empty spot on the pavement beside you. “Sit down.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just sit.”

For a moment, you thought he might ignore you. But after a long pause, he let out a quiet sigh and pushed off the wall, walking over to sink onto the pavement beside you. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned back on his hands.

You watched him quietly for a moment, trying to read the expression on his face, but as always, it gave away nothing. He just stared out into the darkness, eyes half-lidded, mouth set in a soft line.

“Better?” he asked dryly.

You smiled faintly. “A little.”

The silence settled again, heavier this time. You shifted slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “You know… you’re really hard to read.”

Chishiya huffed softly. “Good.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” You hesitated, fingers tapping lightly against your bag. “I just mean… you never talk about yourself. Not really.” You glanced at him again. “Why is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the dark store, eyes narrowing slightly as if he was watching for any sign of Niragi. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “What’s the point?”

You blinked. “What?”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, the moonlight catching in his hair. “Talking. Sharing. It doesn’t change anything.” He shrugged, gaze still fixed on the darkness. “People like to think it does. But it doesn’t.”

You frowned, hugging your bag tighter. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He scoffed softly. “Of course you don’t.”

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. “You shared with me once.”

That made him pause. His gaze flicked toward you, assessing. “Did I?”

You nodded slowly. “A while ago. You told me things.” You looked down at your hands. “I remember.”

Oh, he remembered that very well. One of his happiest memories in that miserable life of his, probably.

“That was a mistake.”

You blinked, surprised. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because now you think you know me.”

You stared at him, heart sinking a little. “I don’t.” you said softly. “But… I’d like to.”

Chishiya turned toward you, eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something cutting. But then he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, and the silence stretched long between you.

Finally, he sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You’re exhausting.”

You smiled faintly. “I get that a lot.”

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The darkness stretched around you, quiet and still, and the soft hum of the night filled the air. You glanced at Chishiya again, watching the way his chest rose and fell with each slow breath, the way his silver hair fell into his eyes. He looked almost peaceful. Almost.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

Chishiya’s eyes opened slowly, gaze flicking toward you. “For what?”

You shrugged, smiling softly. “For sitting with me.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes searching your face. Then he let out a soft huff and closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Don’t mention it.” he muttered.

You shifted slightly, resting your chin on your knees, arms wrapped around your legs. The pavement was cold beneath you, but you didn’t mind. Chishiya stayed quiet at your side, eyes closed, breathing slow and even like the dark world around him didn’t exist.

You let yourself relax for a moment. The dizziness had faded a little. Or maybe you were just getting used to it. Either way, the night air felt cool against your skin, and the weight in your chest didn’t feel as heavy with Chishiya sitting next to you.

Then, in the distance, you heard footsteps. Heavy ones. Loud. Familiar.

You turned your head, watching as a shadow emerged from the darkness. Niragi. Aa plastic bag swinging from one hand, rifle slung over his shoulder. Even in the dim light, you could see the irritation painted across his face.

“Well, aren’t I just the fucking delivery boy.” he sneered, holding up the bag like it physically offended him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You blinked, surprised. “You actually found stuff?”

Niragi scoffed, dropping the bag into your lap with a loud crinkle. “Yeah. You think I’m useless or something?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just… Thank you.” You smiled softly, fingers curling around the plastic handles. “Really.”

Niragi stared at you for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he rolled them, muttering something under his breath as he dropped onto the pavement beside you, stretching his legs out with a huff.

You peeked inside the bag and felt a rush of relief at the sight of the food. You grabbed the water first, cracking the lid open and taking a long, slow sip, your throat burning with each swallow. God, that felt good.

Chishiya watched quietly as you started pulling things out of the bag, carefully tucking each item into your pink bag. You worked slowly, carefully fitting everything inside, fingers gentle, movements soft. Niragi just stared out into the night, rifle resting across his lap.

But you… you couldn’t stop talking.

“You know,” you began softly, glancing between the two of them. “you guys are really different.”

Niragi snorted. “No shit.”

You smiled faintly. “I just mean… you’re both quiet. But in different ways.” You glanced at Chishiya, who arched a brow. “You watch people. You’re careful. I feel like you’re always calculating something.”

Chishiya huffed softly. “Observing.”

“Right.” you said, nodding. “Observing.” You bit your lip, glancing at Niragi. “And you… you’re loud. Even when you’re quiet.”

Niragi shot you a look. “The fuck does that mean?”

You shrugged, carefully sliding a protein bar into the side pocket of your bag. “You fill the space around you. You’re… intense.” You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the zipper of your bag. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

Niragi stared at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re weird.”

You laughed softly. “I get that a lot.”

You get a lot of things thrown at your head, Y/N.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so heavy this time. You sat quietly, tucking the last of the food into your bag before zipping it up and hugging it to your chest.

“Why do you care so much?” Chishiya asked suddenly.

You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

Chishiya tilted his head. “Us. Why do you care?”

You stared at him for a moment, heart sinking a little. “Because… someone has to.”

Niragi scoffed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You smiled faintly. “Probably.” You glanced between them, heart softening a little.

Chishiya watched you quietly. Niragi just rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms cover his chest.

“Lucky us.” Niragi muttered.

You just smiled, hugging your bag tighter. The food inside felt like a tiny victory, even if Niragi had made a show of slamming the bag into your lap like it was some huge inconvenience.

You glanced between them—Niragi, lounging against the wall like the world bored him, his long legs stretched out and rifle balanced lazily across his lap. Chishiya, quiet and still, arms folded over his chest, eyes half-lidded like he was seconds away from falling asleep. They were so different, and yet… here they were. Both of them. With you.

A soft breath slipped past your lips, and you pushed yourself to your feet, brushing the dust from your clothes. Niragi tilted his head back to look up at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him, shifting your bag over your shoulder and holding out a hand. “Come on.”

Niragi stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “What?”

“Let’s go.” You gestured vaguely at the empty street ahead of you. “We can’t just sit here all night.”

Niragi scoffed. “Why not? No one’s stopping us.”

You huffed softly, reaching down to grab his hand. He tensed beneath your touch, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t let go. His fingers curled instinctively around yours even as he scowled.

“Come on.” you said again, gentler this time. “Please?”

Niragi let out a long, dramatic sigh, but he stood, towering over you as he stretched his arms above his head. “You’re so fucking annoying.” he muttered.

You smiled softly. “I know.”

Chishiya watched the two of you quietly, his gaze flicking down to where your fingers curled around Niragi’s hand. He arched a brow, but said nothing.

“And you.” you said, turning toward him. “You’re not off the hook.”

Chishiya blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hm?”

You grabbed his hand, fingers curling around his wrist, tugging gently. “Come on. You too.”

Chishiya didn’t move at first. He just sat there, staring at you like he was trying to figure out what the fuck your angle was. Then, with a soft sigh, he let you pull him to his feet. His fingers slipped into yours, cool and steady, the complete opposite of Niragi’s tense grip.

Satisfied, you started walking, dragging them along behind you. Niragi grumbled under his breath the entire time, but he didn’t pull away. Chishiya stayed quiet, his steps light and even, barely making a sound against the cracked pavement.

Eventually, you let their hands slip from yours, walking a few steps ahead. The night air felt lighter now, the tension easing from your shoulders with every step.

You glanced back at them, smiling softly. Niragi walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, scowling at the ground like it had personally offended him. Chishiya moved like a shadow, eyes half-lidded as he watched you from a few paces behind.

“You know,” you said softly, glancing over your shoulder. “I’m really glad I found you guys.”

Niragi scoffed. “Yeah, well. I didn’t fucking ask.”

You just smiled, turning your gaze back to the empty street ahead. For now, with their quiet footsteps trailing behind you and the weight of your cute pink bag against your back, you let yourself believe it’s good. That you’re fine.

~

Niragi was pissed off.

Not at you. God, never at you.

He watched you walk ahead, your pink bag bouncing softly against your back with every step, the gentle sway of your body almost hypnotic in the quiet night. Chishiya had moved further up the road, putting space between himself and the two of you—typical. The bastard never liked getting too close. Niragi didn’t care about him, though. Right now, his eyes were locked on you.

You were so fucking soft. Even after everything you’d seen, everything he’d done right in front of you, you still turned around to check on him. Still smiled at him like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t a monster.

It made him furious.

Because Niragi wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was.

Violent. Cruel. Twisted. He’d killed people. Laughed about it. Wallowed in the blood and the fire and the chaos of it all. This place it gave him permission to be the ugliest version of himself. And he liked it. He liked the way people flinched when they saw him. The way they shrank back from his smile and the glint of his rifle.

But you? You never shrank away.

You should have. After everything he did, after the man he killed right in front of you, you should’ve run as far and as fast as you could. Let’s not even talk about when they made you kill that guy. But instead, you stayed. Even when you flinched at his violence, even when your eyes welled up with tears and your hands shook, you stayed. You cried, but you didn’t leave. And when the tears stopped, you reached for him. Like he deserved your comfort. Like he deserved you.

It made him sick. It made him angry.

Not at you. Never at you.

At himself.

Because Niragi felt.

And he fucking hated it.

He hated the way his chest squeezed when you smiled at him, soft and sweet like a sunrise he didn’t deserve to see. He hated the way his hands ached to touch you, to feel your warmth, your softness, your kindness—things he’d never had and never would. He hated the way his body gravitated toward you.

He hated that you made him want to be better.

He shoved the thought down deep, scowling as he watched you walk ahead. You moved so easily, your steps light and soft even on the cracked pavement. Like you belonged anywhere but here. Like the darkness couldn’t touch you.

Niragi’s fists clenched.

You didn’t belong here. Not with him. Not with Chishiya. Not in this fucking place.

But you stayed anyway.

And it terrified him.

Because what the hell was he supposed to do with that? With you?

You shifted your bag higher on your shoulder, glancing back at him over your shoulder, eyes soft and warm even in the darkness. “You okay?” you asked softly.

Niragi stared at you.

Was he okay? No. Fuck no. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out. His skin itched with the need to be closer to you and the instinct to push you so far away you’d never find your way back. His chest ached, tight and unfamiliar, like his ribs were trying to crush something too soft to survive. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to fall to his knees and beg you to stay and shove you away in the same breath.

Instead, he shrugged. “Whatever.”

You frowned, biting your lip. God, you were so soft. So sweet. How the hell were you still here?

“Okay.” you said quietly. Then, as if you hadn’t just shattered him with a single word, you turned back around and kept walking.

Niragi let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand through his hair. He glanced up ahead, watching Chishiya’s quiet silhouette move further away. Niragi sneered. That smug bastard didn’t deserve you either.

But at least Chishiya didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t.

Niragi… he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing anymore. All he knew was that he couldn’t let you go.

Even if it killed him.

He watched you like a predator, his eyes tracking your every move. You walked with that soft, steady grace, like the world hadn’t already tried to chew you up and spit you out a thousand times. Like you hadn’t just survived another game. There was something infuriating about it, about you. Even in the middle of this hellhole, with death around every corner, you still managed to be… light.

And Niragi hated it.

No—he hated that he needed it.

The world had stripped away every soft thing inside him, leaving behind a jagged, broken thing. People were weak. People were selfish. That’s what this place taught you. Kill or be killed. Hurt or be hurt. He’d chosen to be the one holding the gun, the one laughing while the world burned. That was the only way to survive.

But then you came along.

You with your kindness. Your softness. Your goddamn heart.

It made him sick. It made him angry. It made him feel.

And Niragi didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.

His eyes followed the gentle sway of your pink bag, the way your fingers curled around the strap like it held something precious. You always did that—treated everything with care. Even him. Especially him. After everything he’d done, after all the blood and violence, you still reached for him. Still forgave him.

Why?

What the fuck did you see in him?

You glanced over your shoulder, catching his eye. “You sure you’re okay?” you asked softly, the concern in your voice making his stomach twist.

Niragi scowled. “Why do you care?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Because I do.”

His jaw clenched. His fists curled. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab you, shake you, make you understand what a stupid, dangerous thing it was to care about someone like him.

Instead, he just scoffed. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t shy away. You just smiled—soft, patient. “Maybe.”

Niragi stared at you, his chest tightening, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay. He wanted to rip himself open and shove every ugly part of himself into your hands just to see if you’d still look at him like that.

But he didn’t.

Because Niragi didn’t know how to be soft. He only knew how to destroy.

And the scariest part?

He was terrified that one day, he’d destroy you too.

His eyes drifted down to your hand.

You’d stretched it out toward him, soft and open, palm facing up. An invitation. A gentle offering. The pink strap of your bag slid down your shoulder as you turned toward him, slowing your pace to match his. Chishiya was still ahead, quiet and distant, but you… you were right here.

No one had ever held their hand out to him like this before.

He’d held hands before—sure. When he was a dumb fucking kid, he used to clutch his mom’s hand when they crossed the street. He could barely remember the feeling of it now, warm and soft.

School was no better. The only time anyone ever grabbed his hand was because they had to—stupid group projects or forced activities, holding hands in a circle like they actually wanted him there. He remembered the way they would barely touch him, just their fingertips ghosting against his skin like he was diseased.

And the girls at the Beach? They’d touched him, sure. In bed, their hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping down his back. But even that wasn’t real. They were drunk on fear or power or the sick rush of survival, just like everyone else. Their hands never lingered. Never stayed.

But this?

This was different.

You were different.

You held your hand out to him like you actually wanted him to take it. No fear. No obligation. Just warmth. Just you.

Niragi stared at your hand, his breath catching in his throat. He felt frozen, like if he moved too quickly, the moment would shatter and you’d slip away. His fingers twitched in his pocket, itching to reach out, to feel the softness of your skin against his own.

But he didn’t deserve it.

Not after everything he’d done. Not after the blood on his hands and the violence in his heart. You shouldn’t be reaching for him. You should be running from him.

But you didn’t.

You just waited, patient and soft, your fingers curling slightly like you were coaxing him closer. “It’s okay.” you said softly, your voice gentle in the quiet night. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Fuck.

He felt his heart lurch, something sharp and unfamiliar twisting in his chest. It hurt. God, it hurt.

Before he could stop himself, Niragi’s hand slipped from his pocket. Slowly—so slowly—he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. You just curled your hand around his, squeezing softly.

Niragi swallowed thickly, his palm pressing against yours. Your hand was so much smaller, so much softer. You just held on.

And Niragi?

He held on too.

His fingers tightened around yours, his grip almost too firm, like if he let go, you’d disappear. His heart pounded in his chest, loud and heavy, and he clenched his jaw, staring straight ahead like it didn’t mean anything. Like his entire world hadn’t just tilted on its axis because of you and your stupid soft hands.

You smiled softly, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “See? Not so bad.”

Niragi scoffed, looking away. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

But he didn’t let go.

Not even once.

Niragi never meant to get attached.

That wasn’t who he was. Attachments made you weak. They gave people leverage. Made you soft. The borderlands didn’t have room for softness. It was a place where kindness got you killed and love was just another kind of weakness.

But then there was you.

You, with your soft hands and your stupid pink bag, walking with him like you didn’t have a single fear in the world. As if this hellhole wasn’t breathing down your neck every second of the day. As if monsters like him didn’t exist. Or maybe you knew they did and just… didn’t care.

That was the worst part. You knew. You saw what he was capable of. The violence. The cruelty. You’d watched him kill a man without blinking. You’d seen the blood on his hands, the gleam in his eyes when he pulled the trigger. You should’ve run. You should’ve screamed. You should’ve hated him.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

And worse—you cared.

You were so fucking soft, always checking on him, always offering little smiles like they could melt the darkness inside him. Like you saw something in him worth saving. It pissed him off. It made his skin crawl. It made him want.

Want what? He didn’t know.

At least… he didn’t at first.

The more time he spent with you, the harder it became to ignore. The way his eyes always found you first. The way his chest felt tight whenever you strayed too far from his side. The way his fingers twitched, itching to grab your hand again, to feel your warmth, to make sure you were real.

And god, the way you smiled.

That was the worst part. The way you smiled at him like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t a monster. He hated it. He needed it.

Every time you looked at him like that, something inside him cracked open, raw and bleeding. It felt like standing too close to a fire, the heat licking at his skin, burning through his defenses. He wanted to shove you away. He wanted to pull you closer. He wanted to tear himself open and shove every ugly, broken part of himself into your hands just to see if you’d still smile at him.

He hated you for it.

No—not you. Never you.

He hated himself.

Because Niragi was selfish. He knew that. He’d always been selfish. He took what he wanted, consequences be damned. And right now? He wanted you.

But he didn’t deserve you.

He knew that too.

It didn’t stop him from watching you, his dark eyes tracing the curve of your neck, the soft sway of your hips, the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders with every breath. You moved like you didn’t belong here, light and soft, like the darkness couldn’t touch you. Like he couldn’t touch you.

And maybe he shouldn’t.

But god, he wanted to.

He wanted to grab you, to press you up against the nearest wall and feel you breathe beneath him. To drag his hands over every soft inch of you and burn the memory of your warmth into his skin. To hold you close, closer than anyone ever had, and never let go.

But more than that…

He wanted to keep you safe.

That was the part that scared him the most.

Because Niragi didn’t care about people. People were weak. People were selfish. People betrayed you the second you let your guard down. That was the first lesson the world taught him—the only lesson that mattered.

But you weren’t like them.

You were soft. And sweet. And you cared. About him. About Chishiya. About people who didn’t deserve it. People who would break you if you let them.

And Niragi hated the idea of anyone breaking you.

Anyone but him.

He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his rifle. His gaze burned into the back of your head as you walked ahead of him, still holding his hand, practically dragging him along, your soft hum drifting back on the breeze. Chishiya was still ahead, quiet and distant, always watching. Always judging. Niragi sneered. Fucking bastard. Always acting like he was better than everyone else.

But even Chishiya wasn’t immune to you. Niragi saw the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his posture softened ever so slightly whenever you smiled at him. It made Niragi’s blood boil. Not because Chishiya cared. No—Niragi didn’t give a fuck about that.

What pissed him off was that Chishiya let you get close.

Because the second you got close? That was when you got hurt.

And Niragi… he wasn’t sure what he’d do if someone hurt you.

No. That wasn’t true. He knew exactly what he’d do.

He’d kill them. Slowly. Painfully. And he’d enjoy every second of it.

Because Niragi was a monster.

But even monsters could love.

His fingers curled tighter around yours, his grip almost too firm. You didn’t pull away—you never did—but your thumb brushed softly over his knuckles, easing the tension. It was a soft, absentminded thing. Maybe you didn’t even realize you were doing it. But he did.

He noticed everything about you.

The softness of your skin against his, delicate and smooth, like you’d never had to fight for your life. The way your pinky finger rested against his, warm and gentle, like you belonged there. The faint scent of whatever soap you had at the apartment, sweet and floral, clinging to you even now.

It made his chest ache.

Niragi kept his eyes straight ahead, scowling into the darkness, trying to ignore the way his pulse quickened every time you squeezed his hand. The street stretched out before you, cracked and quiet.

All Niragi could feel was you.

It was stupid. He’d touched you before. A lot, actually. We know that. You were soft like that—always reaching for him, always offering your warmth without a second thought. It made his skin itch, made his heart pound, made him want to rip himself open just to see if he was even capable of feeling anything good anymore.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the quiet. Or the darkness. Or the fact that you’d almost passed out earlier, too dizzy and tired to keep going, your body finally giving out after god knows how long without eating. He’d never admit it—not even to himself—but it had scared the shit out of him.

You weren’t supposed to be weak. You weren’t supposed to break.

But you did.

And Niragi realized something, walking there watching you sway on your feet, eyes fluttering closed while you clutched at your stupid little pink bag.

He cared.

Not just about keeping you alive. Not just about having you close.

He cared about you.

The thought made him feel sick.

Because Niragi didn’t care about people. They used you, then threw you away the second you stopped being useful. That was the first thing he learned growing up—the first thing that shaped him into the man he was now. He’d been nothing to everyone his whole life, and when the Borderlands came, it finally gave him permission to be the monster they always said he was.

But you…

You made him want to be something else.

He glanced down at your hands, the way your fingers tangled with his, soft and trusting, like he wasn’t capable of snapping them in half with a single squeeze.

God, you were so fucking stupid.

But he liked it.

He liked the way you hummed softly under your breath when the silence stretched too long, a quiet little melody that barely reached his ears. He liked the way you squeezed his hand when the darkness pressed in too tightly, as if he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. He liked the way you smiled at him, soft and patient, like you weren’t terrified of what he might do.

And fuck, maybe the worst part was that you weren’t scared.

Not of him. Not really.

You’d seen him kill. You’d seen him laugh while the blood pooled beneath his feet. You’d seen the worst parts of him, and still—still—you reached for him. You forgave him.

Why?

What the fuck did you see in him?

Niragi clenched his jaw, his free hand tightening around his rifle. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you. He was a killer. A monster. The kind of man who burned things down just to watch the flames. He’d taken lives. He’d laughed while people screamed. He’d reveled in the chaos and destruction of it all.

But here you were.

Holding his hand.

Soft. Gentle. Kind. Everything he wasn’t.

Everything he wanted.

His fingers squeezed yours tighter, almost desperate, like he could hold onto this feeling—hold onto you—and never let go. You didn’t pull away. You just squeezed back, your thumb brushing over his skin again, soft and patient. Like you were telling him it was okay.

Niragi felt something crack inside him.

It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. A tiny sliver of warmth, burning beneath his ribs, curling around his heart. It was uncomfortable. It was terrifying. It was everything.

And for the first time in his miserable fucking life, Niragi realized he wasn’t scared of dying.

He was scared of losing you.

His grip on your hand tightened, almost bruising, but you didn’t flinch. You just turned to him, eyes soft, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. “Still okay?” you asked softly.

Niragi stared at you.

No. He wasn’t okay. He was fucking falling apart.

But he just scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You ask too many questions.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand again. “You never answer them.”

He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But still, he held your hand a little tighter.

It was nothing.

It had to be.

Niragi told himself that over and over again, the words pounding in his skull like a drum. It was fucking nothing. You were just soft. Soft people did soft things. That’s all it was.

It was nothing when you brushed the hair from his face back at the apartment, your fingertips gliding over his skin like he wasn’t a fucking monster.

It was nothing when you tied his hair up for him, gentle and patient, your fingers carding through the strands like you actually gave a shit.

It was nothing when you sat close to him on the couch, your shoulder pressed against his, your warmth bleeding into him.

It was nothing when you leaned your head on his shoulder, soft and sleepy, like he was something safe.

It was nothing when you pressed your little pink bag into his chest some of these days and asked him to hold it while you fixed your shoes. When you giggled because it looked ridiculous, this big, dangerous man holding your delicate little things. When you thanked him after, like it actually meant something.

It was nothing when you cried after he killed that man and still let him wipe your tears away. When you leaned into him, small and shaking, while he whispered quiet, cruel things into your ear, his hand stroking your hair. When you let him carry you after, your soft little body in his arms, trusting him not to drop you, not to hurt you.

It was nothing when you slept in his arms, soft breaths ghosting over his neck, your fingers curling into his shirt. When he stayed awake the whole night, walking, then sitting down, feeling the rise and fall of your body with every breath.

It was nothing when you turned to him just now, holding out your hand, soft and open, and waited for him to take it. When you squeezed his fingers and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you asked if he was okay, like you actually cared.

It was nothing.

But then why did it feel like he was fucking burning?

Niragi’s grip on your hand tightened, his nails digging into your skin. You winced slightly but didn’t pull away. Of course you didn’t. You never did.

You were so fucking stupid.

Didn’t you know what he was?

Didn’t you understand what he could do to you?

He could crush your hand in his, snap your fingers one by one just to hear you scream. He could shove you against the nearest wall, pin you there, and take whatever softness you kept offering him, whether you wanted to give it or not. He could kill you. Right here. Right now. Just because he could.

But he wouldn’t.

Because you’d ruined him.

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth so hard his head ached. His heart pounded in his chest, heavy and loud, drowning out everything but the sound of your soft breaths. His skin burned where you touched him, his body screaming for more. More of your warmth. More of your softness. More of you.

He hated it.

He hated you.

He hated himself more.

Because he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to care. This world didn’t have room for feelings. Feelings made you weak. Attachments got you killed. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago, and he’d thrived on it. He’d burned every soft part of himself down to ash, replaced it with violence and cruelty and fire.

But you…

You made him want to feel.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath ragged, trying to shove the feeling down. Trying to drown it in the darkness. But it clawed its way back up, sharp and relentless, cutting through him like a fucking knife.

Because the truth was, he wanted you.

He wanted to feel your soft hands on his skin. He wanted to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in. He wanted to hear you say his name—soft and sweet, like a prayer—while he carved himself into every inch of you.

But more than that…

He wanted to keep you.

Niragi didn’t know how to love. All he knew was how to take. How to destroy. How to burn everything he touched to the ground.

And if he kept you… if he let himself have you…

He would ruin you.

Just like he ruined everything else.

Still, he held your hand a little tighter.

And you let him.

It wasn’t enough.

Your hand in his—soft, small, trusting—it wasn’t fucking enough.

Niragi’s grip tightened, his nails biting into your skin, but you didn’t pull away. You never did. You just kept walking, soft little fingers tangled with his, humming some quiet song under your breath. Like you weren’t walking beside someone who’d killed for less than a wrong look.

Like you weren’t inches away from being ripped apart.

Because that’s what he wanted to do.

Tear you open. Rip you apart. Crawl inside and make a home of you.

His blood burned hot beneath his skin, boiling over into something dark and messy, something he could barely choke down. He was never good at choking things down—never good at holding himself back. Not when he wanted something. Not when it burned through him like this, heavy and suffocating, curling around his throat and squeezing until he could barely fucking breathe.

And god, he wanted you.

He wanted you soft and begging underneath him. Wanted to bruise your sweet little skin with his teeth, his fingers, his everything. He wanted to shove you against the nearest wall and make you feel every inch of him, wanted to hear you gasp and whimper and cry for him. He wanted to ruin you.

But it wasn’t just that.

That was the problem.

If it was only that, he could handle it. He could fuck you and forget you, break you open and leave you behind like he had with every other fragile little thing that crossed his path. He could burn through you and walk away without a second thought.

But this? This was worse.

Because he didn’t just want to fuck you. He wanted to keep you.

He wanted to shove you behind him whenever danger came too close. Wanted to feel your soft little fingers in his hair, tying it back like you did that day in the apartment, soft and patient, like you actually liked taking care of him. Wanted to wrap his arms around you at night and feel your heartbeat against his chest, soft and steady, reminding him that you were still alive.

He wanted to be the only one who got to see you like this—soft and sweet and trusting. He wanted to be the only one you reached for when the darkness pressed in too close. The only one who got to hear your little giggles, your quiet hums, your soft breaths in the dead of night.

He wanted to lock you away. Keep you hidden. Protected. Safe.

His.

His jaw clenched, his body tight with something dark and ugly. He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t want like this. It wasn’t normal. Wasn’t right.

But Niragi had never been normal. And he sure as hell had never been right.

He was ruined. Rotten. A monster dressed in human skin.

And you… you were an angel.

Soft and sweet and his. Even if you didn’t know it yet. Even if you never would.

He squeezed your hand, dragging you closer, and you stumbled slightly, looking up at him with wide, questioning eyes. He ignored you, his jaw tight, his heart pounding in his chest, heavy and suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

You should run.

You should be scared.

You should have never reached for him in the first place.

But you didn’t run. You didn’t pull away. You just squeezed his hand back, soft and patient, like you were comforting him.

And god, that was the worst part.

Because Niragi didn’t deserve comfort. Didn’t deserve kindness. Didn’t deserve you.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let you go.

No.

You were his now.

And he’d burn the whole fucking world down to keep you.

Your yawn was soft. Barely more than a little breath, muffled against the back of your hand. But Niragi heard it. Of course, he heard it. He heard everything when it came to you. The soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement. The quiet little hum you made when you stretched. The gentle sigh that slipped from your lips when you looked up at the stars, eyes soft and distant, as if the sky held some kind of answer you were searching for.

It made him sick.

You yawned again, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, soft and sleepy. Then you turned to him, blinking slowly, your lips parted, voice soft and sweet. “Aren’t you tired?” you asked quietly, concern flickering across your face. “You’ve been walking all day… maybe we should stop soon.”

You were worried about him.

Him.

Niragi swallowed thickly, his throat tight. His fingers curled tighter around yours, his breath ragged, his body taut like a live wire.

Tired?

No. He wasn’t fucking tired. How could he be tired when you looked at him like that? When you spoke to him like that? When you touched him like this, soft and trusting, like you didn’t know you were dancing with a monster?

Tired?

No. He was burning.

He wanted to shove you up against something and watch the fear bloom in your eyes. Wanted to press his body against yours, trap you there, feel every soft inch of you against him. He wanted to hear you gasp—soft and breathless—as he dragged his teeth along your throat. Wanted to feel your pulse flutter against his tongue. Wanted to mark you. Bruise you. Own you.

He wanted to rip that stupid little pink bag from your hands and watch it fall to the ground, forgotten. Wanted to slip his fingers into your hair, tugging hard, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him. No choice but to see him. To see what you’d done to him.

He wanted to feel your breath hitch when he leaned in, close enough to taste you. Wanted to feel the way your body trembled beneath his touch—whether from fear or something darker, he didn’t fucking care. He wanted to drag his tongue over your pulse, slow and deliberate, feeling the way it pounded beneath your skin. He wanted to sink his teeth into your throat, hard enough to make you cry out.

He wanted to tear you apart.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Piece by fucking piece.

But more than that…

He wanted to hold you after. Wanted to feel the weight of you in his arms, soft and spent, trusting him to keep you safe. He wanted to run his fingers through your hair, soft and slow, while you drifted off against him. Wanted to feel your breath against his skin, soft and steady, a quiet reminder that you were still alive. Still his.

He wanted to keep you.

Niragi didn’t keep things. Niragi destroyed things. He burned them down. Tore them apart. Left them broken and bleeding in his wake.

But you…

You just looked up at him, soft and trusting, your eyes gentle, your lips parted. “Niragi?” you asked softly. “Are you okay?”

He laughed.

Low. Bitter. Broken.

No. He wasn’t okay. He was fucking ruined.

“Fine.”

You just squeezed his hand again, soft and patient, and kept walking.

Niragi let you.

It hit him like a bullet to the chest.

He wanted you.

Not in the fleeting, careless way he’d wanted things before—not like a cigarette between his lips, burned down to the filter and flicked away without a second thought. Not like the random girls at the Beach, faceless and nameless, used to fill the void for a few desperate moments before he shoved them off and left them behind.

No. This was different. This was worse.

He wanted you in a way that scraped at the inside of his skull and twisted something dark and ugly in his chest. It made his skin feel too tight, his throat dry, his body heavy with a need he couldn’t even begin to name.

He wanted you. So fucking bad.

He wanted to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you close, feel the soft press of your body against his. Wanted to bury his face in your neck, breathe you in, drown himself in your warmth until he couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

He wanted to pin you beneath him, feel you squirm, hear you whimper his name in that soft little voice of yours. Wanted to drag his teeth over your skin, taste you, mark you, ruin you. Wanted to see you fall apart under his hands, wanted to watch the way your body trembled for him, wanted to hear the sweet little sounds you’d make when he finally, finally took you.

But it wasn’t just that.

That would have been easy. That he could handle.

What made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that he wanted more.

He wanted you pressed up against his side, soft and sleepy, your head resting on his chest while his fingers tangled lazily in your hair. Wanted to hear your quiet breaths, steady and soft, lulling him to sleep. Wanted to wake up with you curled against him, your body warm and soft and his.

He wanted to hear you laugh. Wanted to see the way your nose scrunched up when you smiled, wanted to be the reason for it. Wanted to hear you say his name—not in fear, not in pain, but soft and gentle, like a secret just for him.

He wanted to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you his.

The realization made his stomach twist, his jaw clenching so tight it ached. His hand tightened around yours, but you didn’t flinch.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near him. He was a fucking monster. A killer. A creature made of violence and rage and blood. He’d burned away every soft part of himself a long time ago, torn out anything that even resembled kindness and left it to rot in the dirt.

But then you came along.

Soft and sweet.

You smiled at him. Talked to him. Touched him.

You held his hand like it meant something.

He fucking liked it.

It made him want things. Soft things. Stupid things. Impossible things.

It made him want you. Want want you.

His grip on your hand tightened, almost painful now, but you just squeezed his fingers softly, your warmth bleeding into his skin.

He wasn’t okay. He was fucked. Completely, utterly fucked.

Because he wanted you.

More than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire goddamn life.

And he was going to have you.

One way or another.

~

Acceptance came easy to Niragi.

Why wouldn’t it?

He wanted you. He accepted it.

There. Simple. Done.

What was the point in denying it? In pretending he didn’t want to sink his teeth into your soft little neck, mark you up, make sure every inch of you knew you were his? What was the point in fighting the way his fingers twitched with the urge to brush the hair from your face, the way his chest burned whenever you looked at him like he wasn’t a fucking monster?

No. Niragi never ran from what he wanted. He took it. Claimed it. Burned everything down until it was his and only his.

So yeah, he accepted it.

He wanted you. Badly. Madly. Completely.

And now, as you walked beside him, your small hand curled in his like it belonged there, your head drooping a little with exhaustion after walking all night, Niragi didn’t even hesitate.

The whistle ripped from his lips—sharp and loud, echoing off the empty buildings around you—and Chishiya’s steps slowed ahead of you, his shoulders tensing. He turned, shooting Niragi a flat, unimpressed look.

Niragi grinned. God, he lived to piss that little bastard off.

“What?” Chishiya drawled, voice dry, bored, already annoyed.

Niragi tugged on your hand, pulling you gently toward the curb. “She needs to sit.”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “I’m fine—”

“Sit.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument, and your eyes softened at the sound of it. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto the curb, pulling your pink bag into your lap, and Niragi crouched beside you, his long legs folding easily, his arm resting over his knee.

Chishiya stared at the two of you, his expression unreadable, his gaze flickering briefly to you before landing back on Niragi. “Oh? Since when do you care?”

Niragi rolled his eyes. “Since it’s my fucking problem if she collapses, genius.”

Chishiya scoffed softly, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “She wouldn’t be collapsing if you let her sleep.”

“And she wouldn’t be alive if I wasn’t around to keep her safe.” Niragi shot back. “So how about you shut the fuck up and let me handle it?”

Chishiya stared at him for a long moment, the air tense, electric, and Niragi could see it—the irritation bubbling just beneath Chishiya’s calm facade. It made his blood sing.

But then Chishiya’s gaze flickered back to you, soft and sweet, curled up on the curb, your head resting against your knees, your eyes half-closed with exhaustion, and something flickered behind his eyes. Something dark. Something possessive.

Niragi’s grin slipped.

That was his look.

His hand twitched, fingers curling into a fist. He wanted to grab Chishiya by the throat, slam him into the pavement, tear that bored little smirk off his face. He wanted to make sure Chishiya never looked at you like that again.

But then you sighed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, your warmth seeping into his skin, and just like that, the rage melted away.

He glanced down at you, his breath catching in his throat. God, you were so fucking soft. So warm. It made something inside him twist, tight and painful, burning hot.

Chishiya could watch all he wanted. It didn’t fucking matter.

Because you were here. With him.

And Niragi would tear the whole fucking world apart before he ever let that change.

He was not scared.

No. Absolutely not. Scared was for weaklings. For soft, pathetic little things that cowered in the corner and hoped the world would spare them. Niragi wasn’t scared. Niragi made people scared. He was the monster in the dark, the gun against your skull, the last laugh you’d ever hear before the world went black. He wasn’t scared. He didn’t get scared.

Except… well.

Okay, maybe there was this one thing. One teeny, tiny thing. And by thing, he meant you.

But that didn’t count. That was different.

He just… He didn’t want to fuck it up, okay? That’s all. No big deal.

You were warm. Soft. Sweet. Everything he’d never had. And now you were here, sitting next to him, leaning your tired little head against his shoulder, trusting him like he was something good—and for once in his miserable fucking life, he had something to lose.

And that? Yeah. That made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to think about.

So no, he wasn’t scared. He was just… cautious. Smart. Calculating. Yeah. That.

Because what if you said no? What if you looked up at him with those soft eyes of yours, and there was fear there? Or worse—pity. Like you felt sorry for him. As if he was some kind of pathetic little stray you’d picked up off the street. As if the twisted, ugly thing inside him could be fixed.

And what the hell would he do then?

Niragi tightened his grip on his knees, his jaw clenching. No. No way. He wasn’t scared. He just wasn’t a fucking idiot. That was all. He’d bide his time. Play it smart. No need to rush. You were already here.

Meanwhile, Chishiya—fucking Chishiya—just stood there. Staring. Like the smug little bastard he was.

Oh, Niragi knew Chishiya was watching him. Always watching. Niragi could practically feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. And sure, it could’ve been another one of Niragi’s little mood swings—god knew he had plenty of those—but no. This was different. Chishiya knew better.

Chishiya was smart. Annoyingly smart. The kind of smart that made Niragi want to bash his head in with the nearest blunt object. And right now, Niragi could practically hear the little gears turning in that pretty head of his. Trying to figure him out.

Yeah, good luck with that, asshole.

Chishiya shifted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking between the two of you. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Niragi could feel the judgment radiating off him in waves.

If Niragi had a bullet, it’d be in Chishiya’s head right about now.

Yeah, the asshole wasted all of them.

But you? Oh, you had no idea.

You just sat there, half-dead, blinking sleepily at the empty street like the world’s saddest little creature. Niragi glanced down at you, his scowl softening. Christ. You looked pathetic. And adorable. And pathetic. Like a wet kitten that had been left out in the rain. All droopy eyes and soft little sighs.

Niragi shifted slightly, his arm pressing against yours. You didn’t even react. Just blinked slowly, like you were seconds from passing out, your pink bag clutched tightly in your lap. God, you were so fucking cute it made him sick.

“You okay?” Niragi asked, his voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, your eyes glassy with exhaustion. “Mm. Yeah. Just… tired.” You yawned, rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Bleh.”

Bleh.

Niragi almost laughed. Jesus. You were ridiculous.

But then you shifted closer, rubbing your head against his shoulder, Niragi felt his chest tighten. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head, resting his chin against the top of your head. You didn’t pull away. You never pulled away.

And that? That was almost worse than if you did.

Because it made him want. God, he wanted. Wanted to pull you into his lap and hold you there, feel every soft inch of you pressed against him. Wanted to bury his face in your hair and just… breathe. Wanted to tell you that you were his. That he’d kill for you. Burn the whole fucking world down for you.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he just sat there. Quiet. Still. His arm brushing against yours, his fingers curling into his palm, his breath slow and steady.

And Chishiya? Oh, Chishiya saw everything.

Niragi could feel his gaze. But Chishiya didn’t say a word. Just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

Niragi squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw tight, his heart pounding in his chest.

Not scared. Not scared. Not scared.

Just… waiting.

Because eventually, you’d see.

Eventually, you’d understand.

You were his.

And one way or another… he was going to make sure you never forgot it.

But the pavement was cold. Not that you minded much. It was kind of nice, actually. Cool against your legs, the rough texture digging into your skin through the fabric of your pants.

You blinked slowly, your eyes half-lidded, watching the empty street in front of you. The buildings stretched up into the sky, dark and quiet, their windows hollow and empty. Everything felt still. Silent. Like the world was holding its breath.

You sighed, your head tipping slightly forward, not partly resting on Niragi’s collarbone, too. He was warm. Really warm. Almost too warm, but you didn’t care. You leaned into him, your body soft and pliant, your eyelids fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again.

“How come we’re not there yet?” you mumbled, your voice soft and slurred, like you were half-asleep. “Shouldn’t we be there by now?”

Niragi shifted beside you, his body tensing slightly, but you barely noticed.

“We’ll get there when we get there.” he muttered, his voice low.

You blinked slowly, trying to process that. It felt like you’d been walking forever. Was the Beach even real? Or was it just some stupid dream? Some distant promise you’d all made up to keep yourselves moving?

You sighed again, your fingers curling into the fabric of your bag, holding it tightly against your chest. Your whole body ached, your legs heavy and sluggish, your eyes burning with exhaustion.

You just wanted to sleep. Right here. On the cold pavement. It wouldn’t be so bad.

Chishiya stood a few steps away, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched you quietly, his eyes flickering between you and Niragi, taking in the way you leaned against him, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the slow, steady blinks that meant you were seconds away from passing out.

“We should stop for the night.” Chishiya said softly. “She’s tired.”

Niragi scoffed. “No shit, genius.” His arm shifted slightly, pressing against yours. “She’ll be fine.”

“I’m not fine.” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired.”

Niragi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’ll live.”

You pouted, your brow furrowing. “But I’m tired.”

Niragi rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t catch it. You were already slipping further into sleep, your body growing heavier, your head resting more firmly against his shoulder.

Chishiya could see the way Niragi’s jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you, the way his body tensed every time you shifted against him.

“Just let her sleep.” Chishiya said quietly.

Niragi scowled. “Mind your own business.”

Chishiya raised a brow, but said nothing.

The silence stretched out, heavy and tense, the only sound your soft, steady breaths.

“Fine.” Niragi muttered. “We’ll stay.”

Chishiya smirked. “Good choice.”

Niragi glared at him, but said nothing.

Instead, he shifted slightly, pulling you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, holding you against him.

Niragi hated him.

God, he fucking hated him.

Every little thing about Chishiya made his skin crawl. The way he stood there, all quiet and smug, like he had it all figured out. Like he was some fuckass puppet master, sitting back and watching while everyone danced on his little strings. It made Niragi’s fingers itch for the rifle next to him on the ground. It made him want to hurt something.

But the worst part? The thing that really twisted the knife?

It was the way you looked at him.

Even now—half-asleep, head resting against Niragi’s shoulder, body soft in his arms—you still glanced at Chishiya. Still checked for him. Niragi could see it in the soft flutter of your lashes, the subtle tilt of your head, the way your gaze flicked over to that quiet fucker.

And Chishiya? Oh, he saw it too.

That was the thing about Chishiya. He didn’t have to say a damn word, and Niragi could still hear the condescension, loud and clear. It was in the slight raise of his brow, the curve of his lips—just shy of a smirk. Like he knew exactly what Niragi was thinking. Like he knew exactly what Niragi wanted.

Because of course he fucking did. Chishiya was smart. Too smart. He saw everything. Saw the way Niragi’s grip on you tightened, the way his thumb brushed slowly over your arm, the way his body angled towards yours, like you were something to be shielded.

Chishiya wasn’t threatened.

He didn’t need to be.

It drove Niragi insane.

And what drove him even more insane was the fact that you never seemed to notice.

You sat there, pressed against Niragi’s side, your body soft and sweet and warm, and Niragi wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

But that wasn’t all he wanted. No. Niragi was twisted. Fucked up beyond repair. He wanted to mark you. Ruin you. Make sure that every time you closed your eyes, it was him you saw. Not Chishiya. Not anyone else. Just him.

And yet—for all his fire, for all his rage—he still held back.

Because for the first time in his miserable fucking life… he was afraid.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Not even to himself. But it was there, festering in the pit of his stomach. The fear that if he pushed too hard, too fast, you’d slip through his fingers. That you’d look at him the way everyone else did. With fear. With disgust.

So instead, he just sat there. Silent. Tense. His arm wrapped around you, holding you close, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Chishiya understood.

No, he didn’t want to understand. He wasn’t supposed to care about things like this. Not anymore.

But then you showed up.

Soft. Sweet. Open. An anomaly in this fucked up world. And somehow, without even trying, you wormed your way under his skin.

You were quiet. Gentle. So goddamn kind it made his teeth ache. And Chishiya hated himself for it, but there were nights—long, sleepless nights—where he’d lie awake and wonder what it would be like to touch you. To have your hands on him, soft and warm, tracing over the angles of his ribs. To feel you curl against his side, sleepy and trusting. To have you.

And Niragi? Niragi wanted the same thing.

That’s what made Chishiya’s blood boil. Not that Niragi wanted you. But that Niragi got to hold you. That Niragi got to touch you. While Chishiya stood there, silent and still, watching from the shadows.

He could see it, clear as day. The way Niragi looked at you. Like you were something holy. Something to be worshiped. Something to be owned.

Chishiya wanted to tear his fucking throat out.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, arms crossed, gaze flicking between the two of you.

Because that was the difference between them.

Niragi burned hot. Chishiya stayed cold.

But they both wanted you.

(AN: Listening to The Red Means I Love You while writing the part where Niragi holds ur hand is an otherworldly experience I’m FLOATING) (Next song on the playlist, ONLY LOVE CAN HURT LIKE THIIIIS) (writing these as I’m writing the story itself, I’ll put it at the end of the post later) (ily) (the playlist I have for the fic is insane)

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii @potato-vagina @cherryyserenade @l5byrinth

[mclager]

Hints | Landoscar x reader

Short and fluff just to forget sad Oscar after the Australia GP

Lando and Oscar were filming a interview, I was in the corner of the room trying to be invisible in the middle of staff. It was one of those 'genz will like this' type of interview, so one of the questions was "How is better at flirting?", Lando and Oscar exchanged a look and Lando looked at the interviewer.

"I never saw him flirting, all the time I know him he had a girlfriend."

"You can imagine how he would do if he had to ask a girl out."

"Why it has to be a girl?" Lando blurted out without thinking, Oscar laughed and just then Lando understood what he said, he chuckled too, clearly blushing. The interviewer laughed it off waiting for the answer.

"You can imagine can't you?"

"Yeah, I can, he's probably bad at it. I need to talk to his girlfriend."

"I'm not bad, you know that." I don't know if the interviewer didn't listen or if he just ignored it, but the subject changed quickly.

After the interview ended Oscar and Lando walked towards me while chatting about something.

"Too bored?" Oscar asked as he hugged me.

"Not really, I really liked the part Lando hinted you don't date only women." I chuckled looking at Lando that rolled his eyes.

"Don't even start with that."

"His trying to show that he has a chance, don't blame him." Oscar said jokingly.

"Come on, you can't expect me to not be a good Gen Z and don't fight for your rights of flirting with men." I laughed at him and nodded.

"A great addition to twitter I must say." Oscar rolled his eyes.

"Is not like I told you at my own volition, you can't keep a secret." Osc said with the only intention of picking on Lando.

"Of course I can!" He stayed silent for a second and looked confused at Oscar. "How you didn't tell me at your own volition? You were the one grabbing my waist and flirting all night."

"That was vodka's volition not mine, and you should've said I'm a great flirter."

"You're not."

"You fell for it." Lando couldn't deny it so he just stayed in silence. "Check mate."

"You two sound like a married old couple."

"Close enough." Lando looked around seeing that we were alone.

"Ok, my turn." He took Oscar's arm off me before hugging me. "Why did we agree you would be the one dating her publicly?"

"We didn't, paparazzis did." Oscar said pissed off just from remembering that.

"Oh, yeah, forgot that."

"And they had awful pictures of me."

"You look beautiful no matter what, darling." Lando said before grab my face and give me a quick kiss.

"You know, we should go, work day is over anyway." Oscar said, he smirked and Lando nodded.

"Yes, I agree, too much for keeping my hands to myself." He grabbed Oscar's hair and gave him a quick kiss.

"We should go." I went to grab my purse as Lando and Oscar started to walk towards the exit, and just as we did that a very agitated person walked in the door.

"Oh, sorry, I thought nobody was here." They stopped looking confused at us.

"No worries." Lando smiled at her.

"Something's wrong?" Oscar asked and they picked up a phone that was on top of the table.

"Just forgot this, sorry again, I have to go, bye!" They walked away as quickly as they came in the door.

"That was fucking close." I said stopping by their side.

"Way too close." Lando mumbled looking at me and Oscar.

"Let's go." Oscar said and we started to walk away.

"Can we have pizza for dinner tonight?" I asked and they both answered:

"Yes." We laughed, the attention of everyone around was on us after that, turns out, we are awful at hiding our hints.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty Three - Crash

Part Thirty Two

———

Overuse was experienced by the earliest pilots from nearly day one, back when the tech was not being adapted for the human ability, when it was a machine being connected to flesh with no failsafes. Most of the scientists thought that would be the most dangerous time to be a pilot. 

It was overwhelming and painful, but those first pilots had more determination than anyone before or after them. Going through the motions of being a pilot, the unknown all around them.

The amount of time in a suit that leads to overuse depends on the compatibility level of the pilot, though not as expected, the more compatible the worse the symptoms, the less compatible the easier. 

Any extended amount of time in a suit can lead to overuse, the crash, or both. Just depends on the type of connection, the coding in the suit, and the health of the pilot. 

—

When they crash landed on an alien planet light years from Earth, one of the many things Breakdown hadn’t expected was becoming the designated ambulance for his unit. Let alone come to understand that for seemingly all sentient beings of any type, they all seemed to hate the doctor as much as humans did. 

Hell, as much as he did most of the time, but this one had an attractive personality.

Dragging them kicking and screaming to Knockout was not how envisioned a fun assignment, every few minutes able to take up post and let his cannon go at the enemies, that was the fun part. All the rest of it was mundane until Knockout was able to wipe his brow and take a moment to sigh.

That was why he did it, to have just a moment of the mech's time, to try and draw a smile from the medic. Why did he always fumble when it came to those in the medical profession?

Lowering the dripping mech to the slab, Breakdown sighs deeply, shifting back to look over to Knockout. 

Knockout was focused, completely in the zone and the transformed tools from his hands were working precisely. He glanced up and the movement stopped for a moment, he smiled before looking back down at his patient, “Take a capture, it will last longer.” And Breakdown’s throat tightened slightly before he clears it. 

“Knockout, this should be it for the time being, the Quintessons are falling back now that it’s daytime again.” Knockout hummed and kept working, energon splattering up his arm, Breakdown took a partial step back before turning and leaving the med-tent quickly. 

Doctors and nurses might be attractive, but certainly not while they were working or being splattered with toxic substances. 

Breakdown almost ran straight into Ironhide, who scowled for a moment before looking up at him, “Damn you’re tall. Where are you going in such a hurry?” Clearing his throat slightly, he glanced over his shoulder at medical and Ironhide nodded, “Ah, yeah, that’s understandable. Unfortunately, I think my prime is hiding in there for the moment.” He sighed before gesturing, “Sunstreaker was looking for you, over that way.” Nodding a bit, Breakdown sighs, “Thank you, sir.” 

Turning, Breakdown started that direction as Ironhide stared, “So, they're not all civilians.” He frowned slightly, watching the different hitch to Breakdown’s step, his frown intensifying as he watched a section down near Breakdown’s ped fold back up against his leg.

Not at all like a t-cog transformation, more hydraulic than that. Slowly, he moved into medical and over towards where Optimus had claimed a space to work, surrounded by familiar faces.

Better here than in command where Megatron would likely be. Venting slowly, he moves over.

Optimus looks up, “We need to speak about the humans.” Ironhide tried not to swear, “Everytime I turn around, we need to speak about the humans.” But he drags over a stool and sits anyway. 

—

Sunstreaker was waiting, rather impatiently, for Breakdown and Hound to show back up. Most of the blood and gore from the Quintessons had been rinsed off and the dull aches from battle were starting to come in, his cameras also were drifting in and out of focus annoyingly. 

The sun had risen and it was almost midday and to be perfectly honest with himself, he was starving but didn’t want to eat till they were all there. There was a certain peace of mind Sunstreaker preferred to have when it came to the crew and taking care of themselves, them eating together just seemed to help that. 

He knew Breakdown was in medical, helping Knockout move around a few of the wounded but he hadn’t seen Hound since they split up that night. It had been hours since he saw the man, but people were still coming in off the field. 

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Sunstreaker sighed deeply. Bluestreak had gone to some meeting somewhere and now he was alone, enjoying the lack of conversation, but still alone. Being alone was difficult for him. 

Tilting his head back, he stared at the slightly orange sky, it reminded him of the days after major cities had been partially destroyed. Some things didn’t seem to change, no matter what planet you were on.

Groaning, he stood and started towards the main part of camp, rolling his neck as his implants oozed uncomfortably. It eased the burning he’d been dealing with but the discharge was worse, always worse than the burning. Sunstreaker cursed and shook his head a bit to get it away from the worst of his connectors.

Once the others were sat down to eat, they could all disconnect for an hour or two, not the handful of minutes they’d gotten, who knows how long ago now. Frowning a bit, Sunny scratched at his neck, gloved hand coming away covered in discharge and light traces of blood. 

He sighed again, rubbing his face with his other hand. Through his speakers, he could hear the light tinkle of broken glass over the protective cover, he tried not to wince. 

Everyone looked exhausted, then again even he felt exhausted, they’d had fights but nothing like this or even the events of the last few days. There was something in the air that was unfamiliar to Sunny, because he was a civilian. 

For the rest, for the cybertronian’s, it was far more familiar. The feeling of desperation and deterioration, the ware and tear you only get from war, the feeling of loss even with a win because you all knew that it would just drag to the next. 

Coming into the main part of camp, Sunny only got in a few steps before Breakdown came from around the side of the medical tent, nodding to him slightly, that was one down but where was the other?

—

New Kaon in the middle of the day was hot, it didn’t have much in the way of water or organic materials, so it was hard to avoid the heat. Most of the mecha who lived here got used to having more coolant than they’d need on Cybertron.

Unfortunately for the humans, there was limited air conditioning in their suits with the new seals for space travel. Normally, it was too cold for them and New Kaon at night was not a comfortable cool night, it was the brisk near zero temperatures that any desert would reach. 

In all, not conducive to the life inside of a metal suit.

It had been hours since anyone heard from Hound. 

His comms were still offline from during the main attack.

There was very rarely good news when one of the humans would go radio silent for an extended amount of time. 

—

Sand, there was sand obstructing his view and a lot of it, when the hell did he get back to Mojave?

Hound started to come to slowly, painfully as he was more away of himself than his suit. After the first few dazed minutes, everything hurt. He was hitting that wall at the edge of overuse, the wall that could lead to the crash. 

There had only been a handful of MECHA pilots who’d experienced the crash in the past, mostly in suits much bigger than his own, though a few of them hybrid-class like he was now. Damn his head was pounding.

Unable to open his eyes, Hound groaned painfully, focusing on the connection with his suit more as he woke up. The more he focused, the more he could see even without opening his eyes. He was being dragged over the sand, arms over someone’s shoulders, and it made them ache even more from the strain. 

Coherent thoughts were capable, coherent speech was not. Hound was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out, at least nothing that he could hear, god how had it gotten this bad?

The voices outside were muffled, the people dragging him were striking in color but he really couldn’t tell who it was. 

With a groan, Hound attempts to que his microphone, “Guys, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t entirely convinced that was what he said, or that any sound came out. Groaning again, he hangs his head and closes his eyes, or feels like he does.

It felt like the briefest of moments that his eyes were close, but he’d still been a fair distance from base camp when he’d collapsed, now there were a few structures in his view as well as rapidly approaching suits of familiar yellow and blue.

He didn’t know what was worse, having to be towed back into camp or for there to be other pilots nearby to watch. 

The arms of his suit were quickly drapped over Sunstreaker and Breakdown’s shoulders, no longer being dragged through the sand and more helped along towards the medical tent. With a flick, Hound turns off the translator, “I’m okay.” This time he could tell that he’d actually spoke and not made strangled sound. 

“Like hell you are.” Sunstreaker sounded pissed, shifting the suit closer slightly and almost throwing off Breakdown’s balance, “No one has heard from you in hours, Hound.” Breakdown’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear and Hound’s head lulled again.

Shade and cooled air of the medical tent almost made Hound sigh from relief, his suit was cooking him alive, but he glanced up and caught the eye of several medics who were in fact staring in horror. He could almost imagine the sight.

Two mechs, one of which with a shattered visor, holding up another who could have the paint melting off his plating. 

Breakdown was quick though, pulling them towards a corner and drawing a curtain around Hound and Sunstreaker, leaving Sunny to help Hound down to the cot while he attempted to smooth things over with Knockout. Least that’s what Hound thought. 

He was shoved non-to-gently down onto the slab and Sunny was quick to ping him. All the instruction he needed to close his eyes again and disconnect.

The suit was boiling and he was thankful to be kneeling on the floor of his cockpit instead of in the piloting chair, taking several slow and deep breaths, he answered Sunny’s hail. Though he didn’t have a mirror, Hound could imagine how terrible he looked from the state of Sunny’s expression.

”Yeah, I know.” Shoving off the ground on wobbly legs, Hound limps over towards his cot where everything was stored, “Hound.” He waves behind him as he tried two different times to grab hold of the cooling kit. 

Another ping hits their comm and Sunny answers for him, though thankfully Breakdown stays quiet about Hound’s current state, “We’ll be left alone for now, Knockout will probably be over in a while to check on you and Hound.” Nodding a bit, Sunny didn’t shift his gaze from Hound’s slowly moving form.

stripping off the exterior of his assistance suit helped, then pulling on the cooling vest provided just that little bit extra relief. He’d be sweating if he wasn’t dehydrated, “Hound,” Now it was Breakdown’s turn to worry, sighing he shuffles back to camera with food and water, cooling kit in tow.

”I know, I know, it was stupid.” Lowering himself to the floor, he pulls off the boots of his suit and sighs, closing his eyes briefly before starting to drink from the water pouch, “I fear it was worse than stupid.” Hound chuckles slightly.

Nodding a bit though, he shrugs, “You and me both Breakdown, but the job is the job.” He winced as his head twinged painfully, shifting back to the cooling pack to pull out something else.

He held a cold compress to his face, groaning painfully as his head pounded. Hound hung his head as mecha flitted in and out of the med tent on the other side of the curtain, “I’ll be fine, I’ve come to this edge before.” Sunny was worrying his lip and Breakdown was lightly shaking his head.

”One of my brothers, he went through the crash—“ Hound held up a hand, trying not to glare, “I have not crashed, this isn’t that.” It was the clearest his voice had been in hours.

Sunstreaker and Breakdown spare each other a glance before looking away.

He’d be fine in an hour or two, even better once he got some sleep and ate some real food, but for now if anyone were to enter their closed off area, he would be perceived on the outside as unconscious. 

Adjusting the screens, he shifts Sunstreaker and Breakdown onto a monitor each, plus a single angle with an outside view. Sitting back, he kept the compress to his face and opened one of the containers of food he had, frowning lightly at the offputting yellow shade of the fruit. 

Lifting a piece, he slowly started to each but kept his head down. Hound couldn’t even look at them now, couldn’t bear to bring himself to look at them, mainly because every time he did they were cringing. 

That’s how you could tell it was bad, when other pilots who experienced so much the same as you would shrink away from your appearance. To be fair, a shower would help immensely in it, getting rid of the dried blood that was turning the white compress pink and oozing discharge which had gone from clear to now nearly the same shade of green as Quint blood. 

The Crash was close, too close considering they were in the middle of a war zone. 

Hound sipped some more water and wiped the blood from his nose, holding back a hard cough painfully, Sunstreaker shuddered, “Hound.” He held up a hand for a moment before lowering the water pouch, “I’m fine Sunny, I just need some sleep.” 

But Breakdown shook his head, “Hound, the crash can kill you.” Sighing slowly, he pushes off the ground and moves back over to his bunk to get a change of clothes and some more bandages, “Better me than one of you, to know what our limit is.” He tried hard not to scratch his implants. 

—

North Iacon had some Quint sightings and Sideswipe was staring at one of the scouts right now. If it were any other time, any other place, it would have been no question to go after it. He almost had.

Chromia kept her hand on his shoulder while Skids and Punch moved in, guns raised, quick and lethal without damage to the surrounding area, “I still don’t quiet understand why you don’t carry a firearm Sideswipe.” her voice was quiet, watching.

He stayed quiet too, staring with wide eyes as the pair of them shot the Quintesson more than a dozen times a piece before it went down, “Uh, because I’m a civilian. And that, we don’t have the same sort of tech for guns back home, we, uh, use something different.” Wincing when a tentacle swung out and sent both Skids and Punch faceplating onto the frozen ground.

With a heavy sigh, Chromia patted his shoulder before moving in quickly, gun coming seemingly from nowhere to offer assistance, it should be dead but at least it was stuck on the ground.

Even as it was literally wiping the floor with Skids and Punch.

”This is why the civilians don’t have guns on Earth, because we figure out faster ways of handling the enemy, even when it means breaking shit and getting things dirty.” The Quint screamed before the fourth shot from Chromia split it’s skull. 

Moonracer, Anode, and Lug were just behind him, he could hear them muttering in a language slightly different from main Cybertronian, but the translator was still trying to pick it up. 

Sighing slowly, he lowers himself back to the seat nearest the heater, watching the team move in a practiced ease he hadn’t seen before. Looking even to those who had been late to the party they seemed to fall into some sort of pattern as well. 

Then Chromia smiled at him, “Come on Sideswipe, there’ll be more where that came from, whoever gets the most confirmed gets off the night shift.” He smiled just a bit and stood, moving over, “Uh, you realize humans need more sleep than you all do, right?” There were a few chuckles as they started towards the border.

“Yeah, if you get the most,” “Which I doubt.” Moonracer added, elbowing Lug with a smirk, “Then you get your next shift off. We got a deal?” And he smirked, quickly shaking her hand.

—

To be fair, he really did look unconscious from the outside, so it was no wonder that Knockout scared the crap out of Sunstreaker when he near silently peaked into their curtained room

The medic was frowning at all of them, from the seemingly unconscious Hound, to Sunstreaker with his shattered visor, and Breakdown who appeared to be fine but had alarmed the prime enough to turn the opposite corner of his medical bay or in this case tent, into a meeting room.

Sunny looked up at him and struggled with his cameras to get them to focus on Knockout, frowning a bit, “Uh, hi.” Knockout’s gaze was frightening, especially when he scowled, “Are you going to let me replace your visor, or will I need some seekers to hold you down?” Sunny gulped and disconnected from the comm, relieving some of Hound’s headache.

”So, uh, my visor.” He gestures lightly before Knockout had hold of his hand and was pulling him out, “I’ve already asked Bluestreak to come sit with you, but this needs to be done, now.” Glancing back, Breakdown pulled the curtain closed again.

Sighing slowly, Sunstreaker swore as he was sat on a slab all his own and Knockout filled his cameras, light shining into them quickly, “Oh god.” Wincing slightly as he attempted to turn down the brightness, “So, your visual feed is sensitive to light in this state.” Suddenly, Sunstreaker understood why everyone avoided all the medics.

He’d met two and had yet to have a pleasant experience with one. 

It was hard not to flinch back as Knockout started to remove the bandages and cover, “Don’t worry Sunstreaker, it all will be alright.” Knockout smiled lightly, for a moment before the cover came away and he froze.

To his credit, he didn’t start swearing, but he nearly tore the curtains around the slab Sunny was on even when Bluestreak started to come over, if mecha could look pale that is how Sunstreaker would describe it. 

Barely catching Blue’s glance, he figured that for them, however his suits so-called face looked pretty gruesome. If he had to describe it, the poor mech looked ready to be sick.

Knockout came back in after composing himself, taking a breath, “So, you don’t feel any pain?” Shaking his head a bit, Sunny shrugs slightly, “No, not really.” Even Knockout looked ready to be sick, “Is it that bad?” Closing his eyes, Knockout needed a moment.

The medics hand gently rested on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, “Sunny, when you became this, pilot, what all did they change?” Frowning a bit, he couldn’t help but shift uneasily, “What do you mean?” Groaning and hanging his head, Knockout gained his composure, “Sunstreaker, you don’t have eyes.” He was getting choked up, “They took your eyes.”

For a moment, Sunny wanted to laugh from the relief of it, but thought better of it. Shifting some, he clears his throat, “Do visored mecha usually still have eyes behind the glass?” Knockout nodded. Sighing slowly, Sunny brought a hand up carefully, “I have cameras, dozens of small cameras.” He bit his lip for a second, “All pilots have cameras behind their visors.”

Knockout swore loudly.

—

Hound wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been, but he’d curled up on the cot in the corner after Sunstreaker had been dragged off and disconnected their comm. Breakdown had settled down for some sleep himself, so he figured it was safe enough outside.

He was still exhausted, he couldn't have slept for more than an hour but it was better than nothing, both him and his suit had cooled off significantly in that time which was a relief. 

Sitting up slowly, he grabs the mostly empty water pouch and drains it the rest of the way with a sigh. His head was spinning and every part of him ached. The nausea was back and his heart was beating harder every five beats or so, if he didn’t know better he’d think he was sick.

Then again, overuse was a type of sickness. Turning to the box he kept, he pulled out some assortment of medical items from the Odyssey, the painkillers he was just about out of were tossed aside for the small slip of antibiotics. 

They originally weren’t supposed to make the manifest, but he’d packed enough for each of them to be on the edge of death at least twice. Hound couldn’t help but save his for the rainiest of days, popping open the foil like protection to get to the medication, drinking down the last of that pouch to take them.

Of course, doing one smart thing does not take away from at least two days worth of stupid ones.

Standing and shuffling over, Hound starts to pull on the pieces of his assistance suit, groaning a bit from the weight of it. He would be fine if he could just get back in the piloting seat, back in the right headspace of it all.  

Dragging on his helmet, he was limping back to the main console and started to adjust his settings. 

It wasn’t hard to remember how he used to like them, some were the same between hunter and striker, but there were subtle differences. Preference in camera angle and scanning capabilities. He needed to be able to see, not view, but actually see. 

The piloting chair had never felt so comfortable as Hound went about adjusting his settings, smiling lightly at the basic maintenance, ignoring the pain. 

Ignoring the drainage, each pound from the headaches, hallucinations, all the sensitivities, how tired he was, his stomach turning uneasily even with putting water in it, the rash across his arms and shoulders that was new, the bleeding, and of course the way he felt like if he’d slept any longer he could have simply keeled over and died. 

Smiling with some sense of satisfaction, Hound glanced over towards where Breakdown was shown, still dozing over their comms before he grabbed the cabling for his suit.

His heart was racing, fight or flight was there and both sides had valid arguments. Taking a breath, Hound closed his eyes.

They were so close, if they could just keep New Kaon safe they’d earn a rest. He’d earn a rest, maybe some time in Iacon, maybe some time by himself in Iacon. To actually see the planets he was protecting, to even tend to the garden they had in the apartment for more than five minutes.

To have a moment to feel alive again, to feel himself again, and that meant being connected with the suit, to hunt and kill the enemy. 

With gritted teeth, Hound took a deep breath and reattached his oxygen mask, adjusting the data on his helmet’s visor. 

Connecting, his implants zap lightly against the cabbeling as he attempts to stand from both the slab and his piloting chair. 

The best way to describe what Hound saw was as if he blue-screened, which in a way his suit did. The connection was not precise enough and with the side effects of overuse, it was enough to trigger the reaction. 

When the cabling for the suit cannot make a proper connection with a pilot, likely caused by discharge from overuse, it leads to one catastrophic conclusion. 

The Crash hit him like a bus and he was going in and out. Having been standing one moment, then to on his hands and knees the next, gasping to breath. There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance that he thought absently could have actually been him.

All the voices around him were going in and out, like he was going in and out of consciousness. Who knows, maybe he was.

There was one sole good thing about the crash, once you crashed you wouldn’t again; mostly because you either survived by the skin of your teeth or, well.

A second experience with the crash was unheard of and supposedly impossible, the only unfortunate thing was that Hound had experienced one so long ago he’d forgotten till now. 

Or he was made to forget till he was in it again.

Back before making the change to Striker. A hunter crash, now a striker one. Something deep in him told him that if he made it through it, there wouldn’t be another looming in the darkness. 

His suit hit the ground and there were hands on his shoulders quickly, trying to lift his dead weight, “What’s going on?” The voice was still muffled and unfamiliar in his current state, coming through exterior audio only.

“He’s in the crash.” Breakdown’s voice was clearer, piped in through comms. There was more distant talking, more muffled as Hound’s ears went numb before Breakdown came through clear again, “No, not a crash. The Crash, move.” He was hauled back up onto the medical slab and it jarred his back some. 

The light shined at his cameras was blinding, then it was like he couldn’t breathe, the procedure of drawing someone from the crash when they were trapped. It was horrific, but necessary.

Hound still couldn’t hear, seizing painfully in his seat, it wasn’t until his head hit the back of the seat and there was a deafening snap through his brain did everything seem to come back into focus.

He still couldn’t breath, so his hand came down hard on Breakdown's, which was pressed hard against a line in his side that connected him to the main air tanks. Gasping once Breakdown pulled away, he started to cough painfully.

Breakdown was staring, watching Hound through their comm line, watching the man pull himself back from the edge of death with the same stupid determination that almost put him there. After a moment, they shared a glance.

The Crash hit it’s first pilot, so who would be next?

Unable to help it, Hound went back to coughing and hacking, even as he removed his oxygen mask. The drift connection was almost painfully weak compared to what it had been last night, but then again, almost dying would make those connections weaker.

Breakdown kept watching, holding back the medics with a pained determination, “There is nothing to be done, he will either live, or he will die.” And that was as simple as it was. Heartbreakingly simple. 

———

A/N

Wow, what a chapter. I swear, I did not mean for it to seem like it was ending on another cliffhanger. (Meaning, Hound is not dead, he is out the other side of The Crash) I probably need to go more in depth about what the crash is at some other point.

I hope this chapter makes sense? It’s been a rough week, which I’ll go into later this next week in a rant post. But yeah, not a fun time for me recently.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter as much as I did writing it. I tried to get it up on Friday, but I was literally midnight when I finished writing out this authors note. Go figure. I’ll reblog in the morning though to those who live in different time zones. :)

Tags

Thank you @keferon for the ever amazing Mecha AU, it has brought so many of us together. It’s fantastic.

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[itsabouttimex2]

Vital question- who out of the lmk cast would get cuteness aggression with y/n?

Cuteness Aggression

Sun Wukong is the original cuteness aggression sufferer. He has thousands of tiny monkey friends, and every time they do something cute, he has to fight for his life not to compress them into fluffy little carpets. He settles for aggressively patting their little heads instead.

But then, in general, all the show's monkeys (minus MK) would have this, manifesting mostly as "If I rub my face on you really really hard you'll smell like me and everyone will know that we're troopmates!" while only occasionally drifting into "I'm so fucking excited that I'm going bite you, sorry about the blood."

Also, if one little FFM monkey thinks you're so damn cute that you need nuzzles and bites? Every monkey thinks that you need nuzzles and bites. Pray that your rabies shots are up to date.

But for Sun Wukong especially, I think there's kind of this want to fill the loneliness in his life with a cute Y/N, even if it means picking them up and squishing the living daylights out of them. And the squishing isn't so bad until your bones stop popping and start straining to the point they may well snap.

Lots of kisses, too! If you've got fur he'll definitely kiss it until it's horribly ruffled out of place, and then he spirits you off for a long, loving session of grooming!

"You can't leave yet, bud! You look like such a mess! Aw, c'mere... let me fix you up..."

Hey, remember that thing I said about biting? Yeah, Macaque does that. Oh, so much biting. He's not even trying to be mean here! He really just stops thinking and leans over to take a chunk out of you because- you're Y/N! You're cute! The cutest, even! The very cutest in Megapolis, and maybe the whole wide world around! How can he not have a taste?! He just wants a quick bite! You're too adorable to resist!

Once he gets used to having you around it'll slowly taper off into mild nibbles and the occasional impulsive lick, but the need to be carried to the bathroom and patched up slowly fades away and is replaced with more basic forms of affection like sneaking into your bed at night and crawling into the bathtub and asking for help to wash his fur once you're done screaming.

Basic forms, not normal ones.

"Oof, Y/N. That's, not looking too good. In my defense, I didn't expect to cut that deep... oh well, guess I'll have to kiss it better~"

Yeah, I don't think anyone is gonna be surprised to see Mei here. Come around her place in a dress with lacy frills or pop out of the bathroom in a fluffy onesie for a sleepover and Mei's draconic brain overloads and bluescreens, and then she's right up on you, cooing and squealing and falling to her knees to beg for an album's worth of photos.

As best she’ll express her gleee through high-pitched noises and vibrating in place like he’s buffering. At worst she’ll consider indulging in the urge to violently shake little creatures before going to take a breaher because she wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.

Screaming, and so much of it. “LOOK AT IT! LOOOOOK! Y/N DO YOU SEE THE PUPPY IT HAS A HAT.” She always stops just short of actually blowing out your eardrums, but damn if she doesn't come close.

She’s not the most aggressive, but damn if she isn’t the loudest.

Red Son would rather die than admit it, but he absolutely suffers from cuteness aggression-especially when it comes to you. He claims to be above such “foolish displays of emotion”, but the moment you do something even remotely adorable, his hands clench, his jaw tightens, and the flames in his body spark uncontrollably as he struggles against the overwhelming urge to combust from sheer affection.

Aside from you, the only thing Red Son truly finds to be “cute” are… well, small, fragile things. Little sputtering machines skittering at his feet. Itty-bitty mutts begging for scraps. Kittens misjudging jumps and smacking headfirst into the walls.

If you’re cute, that means you’re fragile, and if you’re fragile, that means the world is far too dangerous for you to navigate alone. So obviously, he has to escort you everywhere, with a firm grip on your wrist (or your entire body thrown over his shoulder, depending on the situation) because gods forbid he actually just hold your hand like a normal demon with a massive crush.

[nightscythe]

I’ve been sick for the past two weeks, and it’s got me wondering—how do you think the primarchs would handle their s/o being sick for that long? Would some of them totally panic and try to carry you to the medbay even if you just have a cold? Or would they be the quietly worried type, sitting next to you and acting like they’re not checking your temperature every five minutes?

Would any of them try (and fail) to cook you something? Or maybe sit there reading to you because rest is important? I need to know who’s handling it with grace and who’s acting like you’re dying of the plague.

i hope you feel better anon!! i hope this gives you a bit of comfort ◡̈

pre-heresy primarchs when their muse is sick? just another way of saying that their entire world is shutting down. because they don't get sick so they just can't compute it properly.

cw for sickness/illness of course, worries about death, and alpharius' one is darker.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the lion: he would never, ever leave your side. he may not outright tell you he's worried but given the fact he's moved in days, its safe to assume his worry has consumed him beyond anything else. actually, the only time he did leave was when you fell asleep one time and he wanted to make you food himself (because, if whoever was making your food before was doing a good job, you'd be better already). he can't actually cook but he does his best for you an it actually turns out well, and when you inadvertently compliment him he decide then and there he will walways be the one who makes your food. convinces himself he's the reason you're getting better in the end. and when you finally find a bit of rest? he finally lets his hands shake because he was worried. tiny over-reaction.

fulgrim: pff, dramatic? that's not fulgrim at all. convinces himself you've contracted the black plague for certain, but keeps up his happy appearance and tells everyone you're going to be fine anyway. no expense is too much, an array of possible things to make you better are presented each day, no matter how many times you tell him you don't need tiny rocks to make you feel better no matter how pretty they were. would probably need shutting down eventually and for you to tell him you would just like him, not everything he can offer. his heart practically melts at the thought, and even if you did have the plague, he'd still risk getting it to so he could revel in how much you wanted him around.

perty: hates more than anything that he can't fix it for you. probably spends more time away from you in an effort to cure whatever illness you have (because antibiotics could surely be more efficient), asking for four updates an hour from his sons. also probably thinks he's useless being with you, so there's no point with you. let's say you have enough of not seeing him and find him, sit beside him and watch him work. he wouldn't notice you at first, so focused on distracting himself from worry that shouldn't even exist to him. but when you place your hand on his, he freezes. what do you need? he'd ask, and when you say you need him, he short circuits for a moment. yes, of course, whatever will help. probably one of the first times he realised it was him that you loved and not his mind.

khan: there's not many times he would show his feelings openly. but he doesn't understand human weakness, certainly not something so mundane as being sick. so when he tries to imagine it in his head, he somehow inflates it to something far worse than it actually is. he makes an effort to keep light banter with you, even jest at how he'd never expected something like this to phase you. he'd want to let you rest, but when you ask him to stay, he'd be the first to sit back down and make sure no one was disturbing him for at least 24 hours. he'd talk to you until you fell asleep and stay by your side until you woke up. the second you feel better he tells you he always knew you'd be fine, but internally he's finally stopped worrying that he was going to lose you.

leman: laughed it off at first (nervously) because he knew you were strong. forgot you were not a primarch and could acually be defeated by something as small as a cold in the more dire circumstances. he'd be quite proactive in trying to get you to recover. no mopping around in bed all day when you could be having a warm bath or sitting beside him eating a good meal. somehow by trying to convince himself everything is fine and normal he becomes extremely efficient in making you feel better because you just feel... normal. but when you really have had enough, and you just want to rest, it only takes one look for him to give in. come here, little one, he'd say as he pulled you into his arms, resting his head against yours, you are strong, you'll be okay.

dorn: he may not have the words to say to you, but he's comfort incarnate nonetheless. he holds your hand, a bit (a lot) tighter sometimes when you show any symptoms of your illness. he asks for things to be brought to you that he knows will help (ie, soup, and even tastes it to make sure its the perfect temperature), he processes every bit of information logically so he knows what could possibly happens. accidentally focuses on the most negative side effects. a side effect of your medication is death? doesn't matter how many times you tell him they have to say that in case you have an allergic reaction, he's convinced himself of the worse. only recovery will remove this fear. is your personal guardian until you feel better regardless.

curze: has no clue what to do. is angry at you for being sick (he told you to wear a jacket when it was cold and this is what we've come to?). angry at himself for not being able to change it (because he should have held you in his arms and forced you to share his warmth). he could just go and check if you needed anything but that's too easy. life isn't that fair to him, there must be more to it. turns his attention elsewhere in ignorant bliss. returns to your bedside in time for you to wake up and still doesn't say anything to you, just watches. if you seem any worse he'll send someone, he's no help in this situation. no, he just goes and procures you a bunch of flowers and a gift to show his affection.

sanguinius: he already treats you like the most fragile thing in existence, so when you actually do show an ounce of weakness? he caves. he will not let you lift a finger. he will not have you bear a single thought without his support. you may just have a sore throat, he'd silence you with a kiss and speak for you, as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. he'd smile sweetly as he did everything in his power to ensure you were recovering (yes, he'd have someone check on you every ten minutes, even has an oximeter on you just in case...). type to lay beside you as you sleep, watch you so closely he can track each of your breaths, shield you from anything the outside world has to offer. and he knows you'll be fine. but whats a better excuse than this to treat you like he always wanted to.

ferrus: well you're not allowed to have anything happen to you, so good luck. he doesn't really know how to tell you anything else. you're not leaving me, he'd say as he sat beside me. and you can tell him over and over its literally just tonsillitis or whatever. he doesn't listen. its like him telling you over and over will somehow indoctrinate your body into listening to him. immediately begins looking into a way to make sure you're not susceptible to illness again, but never leaves your side. it would seem that vaccines need to be made stronger...that is how they work, if they were more effective, you would not be in this condition. how do you tell him you can't vaccinate against every single bacteria and virus. in his own arrogance of telling you you can't leave him, he doesn't worry too much.

angron: it was okay at first. then he really thought about it. he's unable to cope at all. please don't leave me he'd whisper in the dead of night. he's so quietly observant, seeing your fever get worse, how you reached for him as if you wanted him to help. please, my love, tell me you won't leave me. he knows you're sleeping and won't hear him, but he can't bring himself to say it at any other time. he just sits there, his legs and hands shaking, waiting for your fever to break overnight. there were a few times he felt utterly powerless and this was one of those times. and when he finally sees you open your eyes, how you seem just a touch better? every part of his body relaxes. he knows you're past the worst of it. he knows you won't leave him.

rob: brings in the best medicae he knows, stands behind them observing all their tests to ensure he is satisfied they know everything that's wrong and have a complete follow up treatment plan. basically becomes versed in medicine as well so he can form part of the discussions and reassures himself the best that can be done is being done. ignore that all you had was the flu. yeah it sucks but you'll more than likely be fine. he micromanages every part of your recovery alongside the medicae to ensure optimal recovery. does he worry? yes. but he hides it better than the others in front of you. outside your room? he's pacing. he's got about 5 action plans in the works for what to do if you start to feel worse, don't respond to the paracetamol, and if you do get better when he's not there.

morty: it wasn't very often that mortarion felt weak himself. but when you're sick? when he can't immediately take away your pain or your hurt? that's when he breaks. you were used to his blank stare 90% of the time and having to work out how he actually felt. but the second his voice broke, it was obvious - he was not coping well. because he felt responsible for you, keeping you safe, keeping you well, and he felt like he had failed you. he'd personally take control of your recovery. he'd spent each minute with you, never allowing himself to take his eyes off you until he knew you were well again. even if you told him you were okay, he'd shush you, still seeing that you looked tired or your hands shook a little. the only person he could ever trust to help you was himself, and its in this time you see the mortarion that existed behind all of the walls he built.

magnus: he can feel everything you can, so no point lying to him. every ache, every pain - you can't hide anything from him. and that makes it so much worse because he starts to panic even more. he's completely devoted to you and he's not afraid to show it either. he'd lay with you, cast illusions of grandeur to try to make you feel a bit better. craft stories to take your mind off whatever you're feeling. use ancient treatments to offer you any reprise he can. and when you do fall asleep? poor guy just falls apart. he's scared to lose you already and seeing you in any kind of weakened state really sets him over the edge. he's cry whilst holds you, he'd search every future he can to see an outcome. when you wake up and tell him you're feeling a lot better? his heart almost bursts with joy. such a soft huge guy its unreal.

horus: he says he's not concerned (he is) because he's seen men lose most of their body and still survive (yeah thanks for that). he doesn't leave your side though, opting to cancel every engagement he was meant to attend in favour of spending it with you. i know it will pass, sweetheart, he'd say as he wrapped his arms around you and kept you as close to him as possible, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, but i would rather be with you until i know you're okay. he cares deeply about you and he's completely obssessed with you, so of course he's going to worry - but he turns that into extra love for you.

lorgar: he first of all believes that this is punishment for something he's done wrong. he's convinced that the powers above, be it his father or something else, knew that the fastest way to hurt him was through you. when you explain its because you caught it off a serf (an immediately retracted admission because this poor serf was almost about to feel the wrath of a primarch in love), he questions it, but accepts it. he would not feel whole again until you were well - this literally breaks him inside (because he later convinces himself this was fate's punishment and blames himself). he's so caught up in his divine presentation of you that he forgets you are human, his worship doesn't make you invincible. don't expect anything practical from him, he's now making plans to actually make you a divine entity.

vulkan: praise to the one primarch who doesn't overreact. he understands the depths of why you're unwell (be it a cold, a virus, or something more serious) and tailors his approach perfectly, knowing exactly what you do and don't need. and you know his big warm hands are extremely nice to feel no matter what's burdening you. he will give you your space when you need it, especially when you're sleeping so he doesn't disturb you, and when you want his company? he's right there with anything you've previously told him you liked. hot water bottle, blanket, energy drink (poor choice but 1 is permitted), he would have it all. let me take care of you, he'd mumble, pulling you into his arms. perfectly normal reaction, really.

corax: acts like he doesn't care, but he does. sends medicae your way the second he sees a slight shift, even if its just your voice sounding a bit hoarse or if you wince when you move a little. stands at the other side of the room and listens to everything they say with great detail to ensure he carries out their treatment to the best of his ability. if its something small he can sigh in relief for now, but anything else would leave him a bit of a mess internally. because what would he do without you? how can he get through life without you by his side? immediately assumes the worst and becomes a silent observer. makes sure everything you need is at your side immediately when you need it - including him.

alpharius: you needed him so much that he liked it. you always kept your independence around him, but when you were sick? you asked for his help in everything. and he lived for it. so maybe he manipulates your recovery. you thought you'd feel better after a week, but 3 weeks in and you still don't feel 100%. the medicae tells you its just a stronger form of the virus you caught. must have mutated. you're not paying enough attention to notice how they glance at alpharius when speaking. i'll keep you safe, he tells you, locking your door behind him. its not like you could get up to leave anyway, the strong painkillers kept you in bed. i won't let anything happen to you, he whispers softly as he strokes your hair and holds you against him. i won't lose you, as he wonders how he's going to convince you that you're still sick when you have no more symptoms.