#isolation and coldness can be things to desperately long for

[darlingxs-blog]

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Every story has a dumb start.

Chapter 01 - "Soulbound" Saja Boys x reader

CW- Violence towards reader (if you don't like this, Abby isn't going to be your favorite for a few chapters)

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Soggy leaves smush under the soles of beat up shoes rain pattering against the fresh leaves that decorate the trees and dripping down to the fertile ground below.

Drenched hair clings to shivering skin; shudders climb up the spine and runs down arms that are wrapped around your midsection as a desperate attempt to trap some heat into your body,

and yet, you keep walking forward.

It's the only thing you can do.

Life is bleak. Hopeless. Life has no meaning, no special talent or skill that you could offer to the world. Why must the gods amuse themselves by passing misfortune onto your life, you didn't do anything.

No, you can't really complain if you didn't do anything with your life. Can you?

Years spent trying and failing to find a reason to exist on this planet, The purpose you serve to this world and nothing, hobby after hobby, sport after sport nothing has ever clicked.

You are nothing, you will always be nothing.

Your feet drag you forward, every step draining energy out of your already drained body. Today was already bleak – Thankfully it's your last, you made sure of that.

Having your soul stolen by a bunch of demons who are disguising themselves as a boy band.

Honestly? You wouldn't have believed it either, if you didn't see it before your own eyes,

in that damned musky alleyway between a concert hall and the local convenience store.

It was so quick. The person's soul gleaming a lively blue as it exited the dislocated mouth of the poor victim. The soul was fed to the ground as muddy magenta lines appeared and caused a tear to what looked like eternal damnation. One second the victim was there and the next he just wasn't, gone. And all that was left was the Saja boys with jagged body markings beating with a purple pulse, and those eyes.

Sharp, cold. Demonic.

Not a shred of mercy.

Like they haven't just killed someone- no.

like they have, and they just didn't care.

To them the murder was only another duty.

Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip, the texture of chapped and cracked skin with the metallic tang that settled on your tounge from the action brought you back to the present.

Currently you are walking deeper into the densest forest you've ever seen while some blue tiger guides you through the path with a bird with too many eyes perches itself on its head.

You can only accept your fate, you're about to die by the hands of demons. Really hot demons but that doesn't matter. So much for that 'my suicide will be so beautiful I'll turn into an icon' bullshit.

You got to thank the tiger though. Its alien blue fur was your only source of light other than the weak moonlight.

The cold nips at the bits of skin you couldn't cover.

Like the world is out to punish you just for existing.

Dread and drowsiness grows with every step taken deeper into the isolated forest.

Speed slows to a slug's pace as your eyes droop.

You've stayed up many nights before but you've never really had to do anything except for staring at your ceiling and contemplating where you went wrong in life.

All it takes is a blink that lasts a second too long and you trip over your own foot, stumbling forward with a sharp gasp of chilled air that feels stabbing at it fills your lungs.

The tiger stops, you almost feel bad for distracting it but you're just too damn tired to care.

Its paws pad on the wet ground as it turns around and brushes against your outer leg with it's soaked glowing blue fur.

You cringe as the now dampened fabric of your pants uncomfortably sticks to the moist skin of your leg. "I'm comin' I'm comin'..."

You reassure the demonic feline with your fingers threading through its sopping coat despite yourself

The rest of the walk is calm with the occasional interruption of a howl of wind that makes you aware of just how silent this forest is.

And how alone you feel walking in it.

In a flash you're surrounded. Fear bubbling in your body with bile rising up your throat as yellow eyes pin you down to the spot where you stand.

You can't move.

You wouldn't dare to anyway.

"You saw" a deep voice shatters the silence with ease. Does Jinu always talk for the Saja boys?

"I did." The reply slips out of your mouth with ease laced in fear.

"We can't have that." That's a fancy way of saying your fucked. Basically.

You're supposed to say something back, a witty retort or a desperate plea for your life but nothing comes out.

You freeze, unsure of what to do. Just like every other time.

"Could you just-" You take a deep inhale before raising your head, your eyes lock with Jinu's.

You want to flinch.

Turn away.

Refuse to meet eyes.

But that would turn this into any other conversation you've ever had, and this conversation is everything but regular.

"Why do you steal souls?"

That wasn't the question you wanted to ask, no.

You wanted to know how they could take someone's life so easily with complete apathy.

"Who said we would answer your questions? We don't owe you anything."

The voice is coming from a distance right beside you, it's deep and oddly dark.

Has someone in the band been faking their voice with their disguise? With all the interviews and variety shows nobody has had a voice that low.

But, Jinu has done most of the talking. Maybe you're just remembering wrong?

You're head turns to face the owner of the voice. When you see that damn fluff of cotton candy blue hair it's not surprising that makes your eyes raise but realization instead.

That's right, Baby saja, the maknae of the group has never really said anything other than using his voice for rapping.

The only thing he's ever said publicly was 'goo goo gaga'.

He's too comfortable with the name baby.

Does he feel shame?- With all the fans fawning over his innocent act why would he? If it pays why should I care.

"Did my answer shock you that much? You didn't think I would actually give you an answer did you? That's pathetic."

That same voice makes you zone back into the current, where you are surrounded by five demons who really don't like the fact that you've witnessed them killing someone.

Baby Saja's tone of voice stings. It makes the familiar feeling of being trapped in your skin rise to your throat in the form of bile.

Your heart races too fast, filling your lungs with air that seems impossible to breathe out.

"That's not- I was just zoned out, okay?" Maybe giving attitude to a demon isn't the smartest thing to do in this situation but they just wouldn't stop staring

"If I was going to give you my soul I just wanted to know where it was going to end up."

"You mean when we take your soul?" Baby saja quips back with a raised eyebrow, he's mocking you and he isn't even trying to hide it.

Now you know why Jinu doesn't let him answer, he's a fucking brat.

The urge to roll your eyes is strong, but you don't feel like dying without being able to speak your mind first.

"No, I was going to give up my soul as soon as you came here. It's not like I have a chance to escape this and if I do that at least I can convince myself that the reason for my death was out of my own will...or something like that."

There isn't enough words in the vocabulary to make that sound professional, poetic and not edgy at the same time.

"You're allowing us to take your soul?" Jinu takes your attention away from Baby saja by taking the conversation back in his hands. Fucking finally.

"No, I'm offering it. Makes it sound cooler." You haven't felt cold in a damn long time, you shiver as you remember the temperature outside.

Oh for fucks sake.

Silence is all that answers.

Mud squelches behind you as someone steps forward.

You don't have a chance to react before someone's arm is around your neck. Your body seizes- a broken gag scraping out of your throat before your gasping and clawing at the skin underneath your fingers.

Through your peripheral vision you see Jinu step forward and raise his hand, palm up and fingers just slightly curled before you feel a sudden cold euphoria spreads throughout your veins.

The pleasure mixes with the pain of suffocating that causes a hazy fog to fill your brain.

You see your soul leaving your body before your vision starts spotting, and you can't panic. Your brain doesn't want accept it, but your body already has.

Ringing fills your head and stabs your brain. The heels of your feet dig into the soft ground, you try to run but you can't.

Not until you are finally released and fall to the ground, gasping for air while coughing on the saliva that filled your mouth.

With eyes still blurry and filled with tears you can make out the figures of the Saja boys, crouched down and raking at their skin with their sharpened claws like their skin is too tight around their body.

From above them you see the familiar Mist streaming above them, swirling around itself to create a cloudy orb. It's their soul.

That familiar magenta color is above each one of them before it glides in the air, your eyes follow it and watch as the demons souls start to taint your own. You're too late to react when the mix of six souls is right in front of your chest.

It digs its way into your skin, pulling at your ribcage and bending your bones to wrap thinly around your heart and tighten until it's torn to shreds.

Liquid fills your lungs.

Muscles begin to contort

You aren't even fully aware anymore, you are conscious of what is happening at a distance until you feel the familiar now damp fur brush against your arm.

An aura of blue fills your vision and you push yourself to stand on unsteady legs, following that glow even as your body works against you.

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A/N- yay, you finished the first chapter!! Please read this I promise I'll lessen the amount of authors notes after this but I just wanna explain some things.

1. I wanted this chapter to kinda like get the bond started and out of the way, sorry if this chapter feels rushed or anything like that.

2. Yes, I am not great at writing conversations and writing scenes where there are multiple people. I kinda just focus on like two people's actions at a time which is unrealistic if I'm being honest so all help is appreciated!!

Same with constructive criticism, if you notice a bad habit I have in writing that could be noted on and changed please please let me know.

3. I promise I'm done trying to add my humor into the book, I just wanted to get this chapter done.

4. The Saja boys will get better, I promise you. But right before they didn't really feel anything and now they do so yeah!

5. And finally Yippee!! The fun part of this book can start now!! Honestly thank you so much for staying and reading my yap session (if you did)

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What's next?- Chapter two "Hostile denial"

[miss--soapy]

HIIII!!

could you give me a quick look at Ashton's backstory and like what he is or who he is and WHAT HOUSE HE IS IN CAUSE IM SO LOST.

and btw I LOVEEEE YOUR STORIES

Hi Hi!

So short but long story of Ashton's current lore below the cut 🙂‍↕️

Before Hogwarts:

So Ashton is American. Specifically from New York. He was adopted along side his older sister Kahli (no relation), from the same orphanage, by two dark witches who fled Scotland to start a family. Ashton's last name is "Maze" while Kahli's last name is "Voxx". They have two different last names because they took them from each of their mothers.

So both Ashton & Kahli lived in isolation but after a while, started to sneak out against their parents wishes and into the city. Eventually, Ashton met a group of kids he called "friends" but in reality they were abusive and manipulative because he was different and as a kid, he had striking eyes which they didn't take to kindly to. They call him ugly and a monster for it. Despite this treatment, Ashton was desperate to make friends so he thought this behavior was "normal". He was a bubbly and aloof kid so they took advantage of this.

Until one day the hatred got too much and they inflicted the scar on his eye. His mothers saved his sight but the scar remained. This moment changed him and he was never the same again. He became angry, selfish, cold & vengeful. He one day seeked out these kids and one by one, in their sleep, took them out. The euphoric rush basically led him to the dark arts which he would find his Mothers' old books on that they kept locked away. He read and studied them for days on end. He soon developed the ability to harness ancient magic.

Eventually he was approached by Professor Fig in one of his nightly outings. Professor Fig could feel that something was special about him and offered to enroll him in Hogwarts as long as he asks his parents for permission. To keep his parents hidden, he states it is just him and his sister and he will return with an answer when he talks to her first. Ashton returns home and states to his parents that he going to Hogwarts regardless if they like it or not. Ashton already heard rumors of a great power there so of course his greed was taking over. Despite their protests, they know they can't stop Ashton so they let him go. Kahli joins him as well out of concern.

-

During 5th year:

He arrived at Hogwarts, got sorted in Gryffindor after having a mental spat with the sorting hat and the events of the game begins. Through out 5th year, Ashton's only goal was the Repository. Ashton is very independent and takes pride in learning things himself but acknowledges Sebastian's skills in the unforgivable curses which Ashton uses him to learn. Overall he chose to be alone and he didn't care if someone lived or died.

-

After 5th year (death):

Now fast forward to the end of 5th year and after absorbing the Repository's power, Ashton started to notice changes. He started to get weak. Had frequent headaches and nosebleeds until one day he had a sudden heart attack and died. The power of the Repository was too much for a child to absorb completely so it ate him from the inside out.

He then woke up in a dream state meeting someone named "Rocky Kane". Rocky is one of the embodiments of death and, if she likes them, can recruit freshly passed humans into Reapers. She saw what Ashton was capable of and it's exactly what she needs for a perfect soldier. So she revives him and gives him a second chance at life as a Reaper.

Ashton is now technically a walking corpse with no heartbeat but is still warm to the touch. Rocky can manipulate him in any way she likes for example stopping his physical aging once he reaches 30 which he will continue to live on forever. She can completely take over every aspect of him but she chooses not to because she likes the way he works.

But over all, he can't get hurt, can't get sick and doesn't get affected by magic/potions. He also has immeasurable strength, hearing and the ability to phase to places he recognizes. Almost like apparating. He can also erase memories whether it's partial or full. So for example, a bystander knew someone was in the house but they can't remember his face or voice almost like it was blurred out with an eraser. He can erase their memory in full but Ashton is chaotic and does like a bit of tension and mystery to loom over towns.

He can also sense souls and he will know when someone's time is almost up in which he must carry out his Reaper duties. If he comes into physical contact with a human enough, he can study their souls to the point where he can sense where they are to some extent. Thats how Ashton was able to find Sebastian passed out on a bench.

Also to note that Ashton is filthy rich with the amount of money and stuff he steals from the newly deceased. Or just from people in general lol.

The snakes currently know what he is which Rocky is fine with as long as they don't get in the way of his duties. But obviously if too many people know, it could become a problem. Currently, she has not contacted Ashton ever since that day. He has no guidance or direction on his abilities so he just discovers things as time goes by or via natural instinct.

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But yeah that's it! Obviously now things have changed with him like how much he deeply cares for the Snakes and his relationship with Seb. But I hope this almost complete run down was enough even if it was long LMAO. I might be missing some stuff or it's kinda a mumble jumble mess so I appologize lol 🫶🏻

[happyheidi]

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 & 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥

[jacksabbotts]

✧ cold storage — ❪ part two ❫

. ᵒ . ➛ PAIR . dr. jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!morguetech!reader . ᵒ . ➛ SUMMARY . after jack’s furious outburst in the morgue, you can’t sit with the silence—or the guilt. even with no space left and no backup available, you wheels a stretcher up to the er yourself, determined to prove you are doing your job. what follows is a quiet, desperate attempt to avoid confrontation while making things right even if it means handling four dead bodies alone.

. ᵒ . ➛ TRIGGER WARNINGS . lowercase intended!!! \ age gap ( reader is late 20s, jack is late 40s ) \ medical setting ( hospital/morgue ) \ mentions of corpses / dead bodies / autopsy prep \ death discussed clinically \ anxiety / overthinking / spiraling thoughts \ harsh tone from a superior ( prior scene reference ) \ self-isolation / emotional suppression \ physical overexertion / self-neglect \ internalized guilt \ negative self-talk \ touch aversion ( mild )

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you pressed the button for the third floor.

the elevator doors closed too slowly.

your hands were clammy around the collapsible gurney handle, your palms sticking to the rubber grip as the platform shuddered into motion. you hated these elevators—how loud they were, how long they took, how the lights overhead always buzzed like they were about to die.

you hated this entire decision.

but you were doing it anyway.

because it had been an hour since he stormed out and the silence was unbearable.

you’d refreshed your email inbox eight times. no response from admin. no pickup update from the funeral home. no call from your boss the medical examiner, who was likely asleep and blissfully unaware of the fact that the basement morgue was packed full and you were about to try and make room for four more.

this was stupid.

there was no room.

but the idea of him—jack abbot—still believing you weren’t doing your job? that you were down here eating lentil soup while patients bled out upstairs?

it gnawed at you. it rotted you.

so you brought the gurney. the elevator dinged at every floor like it was mocking you. you exhaled slowly. in through the nose. out through the mouth.

okay. just apologize. simple. direct. professional.

you tried again, whispering under your breath :

'dr. abbot, i just wanted to say i’m sorry again for the delay—'

no. too stiff. too scripted.

'i know it’s not ideal, but i’m doing my best to keep things moving—'

too defensive.

'i didn’t mean to make things harder for you, i just—'

too pathetic.

the elevator stopped at the second floor. no one got in. you swallowed hard. tried again.

'it’s just me downstairs. i’ve been trying to manage everything as best i can. i should’ve escalated the situation sooner. i’m really, truly sorry—'

and then maybe he’d say—

no.

no, don’t imagine what he’ll say.

you weren’t good at that.

jack didn’t follow scripts. he didn’t talk like anyone else. he didn’t even look at you like anyone else did—and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad yet. all you knew was that when his voice had filled that cold little morgue, something inside you had snapped in half.

no matter which version you picked, they all made your stomach twist. none of them sounded right. none of them felt like enough.

you shouldn’t be doing this. you shouldn’t be making space for four new bodies. but the funeral home had come through early—just two pickups, but enough to buy you drawer room and a single empty table.

you could’ve waited for security to bring them down.

but part of you didn’t want to look like you were hiding.

the elevator dinged.

the doors opened into fluorescent light and barely-controlled chaos. someone shouted a room number. monitors beeped down the hall. a paramedic wheeled in a gurney while two residents followed, talking too fast.

you slipped into the corner like a shadow, trying to make yourself as small as possible as you scanned the room for him.

jack wasn’t there.

your shoulders dropped an inch. not in relief. not quite. you’d been bracing for impact. now you didn’t know what to do with the leftover adrenaline.

you angled your stretcher toward bay two—the furthest from the main desk, where the most recent doa had been placed. you could be fast. quiet. invisible.

'hey!'

you flinched.

dana. you didn't know her, but you know of.

of course, things could never go the way you planned them.

she strode over from the central desk, still in her navy compression top and trauma boots, a clipboard tucked under one arm. 'your the new morgue tech, right? you’re here for the stiffs?' she asked, jerking her head toward the curtain. 'jack's gonna lose his mind. he’s been bitching for hours.'

you couldn't help the rumbling in your stomach as dana referred to dr. abbot as jack. were they really that close? they seemed close in age and had the same no fuck around attitude. but you supposed it wasn't any of you business and nodded.

you nodded quickly, eyes darting toward the er entrance. 'great, i'll just get him so he can sign the transfer papers,' she turned to walk away and you stopped her with what could only be defined as a mouse peep.

'um. could you just give him the papers after i leave? i'll sign them and everything.'

dana blinked. 'why?'

you hesitated for a moment, probably trying to come up with a believable lie. 'he’s busy. he doesn’t need to worry about . . . something that’s just my job.'

she raised an eyebrow. 'you sure? he’s been chewing everyone out about this. if i tell him you’ve got space—'

'please,' you said again, more firmly. 'it’s okay, really. he needs to worry about the live ones, i've got the dead ones.' you immediately wince at your phrasing but don't say anything else.

dana looked at you for a beat too long. her expression softened slightly. 'alright, morgue girl. holler if you need any help.'

you nodded.

she patted your shoulder once—light, but enough to make you tense—and turned away without another word.

you exhaled slowly.

your hands were trembling again, just a little. the unexpected social interaction was a little more draining than you had anticipated. you adjusted your grip on the stretcher and moved toward the curtain, telling yourself you’d be gone in five minutes.

tops. no conversations. no confrontations. and absolutely no Jack, if you could help it. just a job. you were good at your job.

you took them down one at a time.

no one offered to help—not because they were cruel, but because you didn’t ask. the er was busy, and you didn’t want to pull anyone away from the living. besides, you were used to it. the elevator was slow, and the stretchers stuck sometimes when you turned them, but you managed. you always managed.

by the time you returned with the fourth body, your shoulders ached and your hands were stiff around the rails. you were sweating under your scrubs, even in the chill of the morgue—but the work gave your mind something to focus on. something that wasn’t jack abbot or the echo of his voice in your head.

the funeral home had picked up two earlier—unclaimed cases from last week. that gave you just enough room to do what needed doing, if you were smart about it.

and you were always smart about it.

you turned the thermostat down as far as it would go. the whole morgue shivered in response—cold creeping into the corners like frostbite, numbing the walls, the vents, your fingers. you didn’t mind. you preferred it that way. like a walk-in freezer, steady and sterile.

you slid the first two onto the autopsy tables. not ideal, but manageable. you pulled the vinyl covers over them and laid their charts on the tray beside each one. you’d process them later, when things were quiet again.

the third went between the file cabinets.

you’d cleared that space before—back when the coolers were under repair. it wasn’t perfect, but it was dark and low and close to the vents. the cold pooled there. it would hold.

the last body took the most time.

there was nowhere left.

you looked around the room, scanning every corner, every shadow, until your gaze landed on the empty gurney beside your desk.

it wasn’t even a decision. just motion. you rolled it forward, locked the brakes, and transferred the body as gently as you could. you covered them. labeled the tag. added a note to the chart.

then sat down.

right there. at your desk. beside the dead.

it didn’t bother you.

not really.

you’d always been good at compartmentalizing. at pretending you were part of the quiet. part of the stillness. being surrounded by the dead was no different than being surrounded by filing cabinets or lab equipment. they didn’t need you to make conversation. they didn’t expect you to smile.

the body beside your desk wasn’t a person anymore.

just paperwork.

just weight.

you rubbed your fingers, cracked from the cold, and jotted down notes in your log. your breath fogged the air.

you didn’t know what time it was.

you didn’t think about jack.

not directly.

but your hands trembled when you reached for the next file.

just a little.

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[sleepyafcapricorn]

Tranquility in Marriage — Gojo Satoru x Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI, heavy implications and talks of sexism, gender inequality because its in a more traditional setting, fluff, arranged marriage, quiet love, slowburn, distrust at first, elders acting like shit.

SUMMARY: Getting into an arranged marriage with you was the only order Gojo Satoru had ever obeyed from the Elders and it was certainly not one he regretted.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is heavily inspired on a slow love song I found and it's like a part one of the background of a mini-series for the arranged marriage au. Link to part ii.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

You looked in front of the mirror with cold, empty eyes that practically screamed for you to get out of there. The beautiful white gown fit your body perfectly, the painted lips left not a single smudge around it, the curled hair flowed down elegantly—every detail in place, every inch seen and carefully given attention to, an evident of your family's perfectionism. But it felt nothing like you, almost as if you were in someone else's skin or more precisely, a nightmare that could been ended with a single pinch.

However, no matter how many times you tried to dig your sharp nails into the flesh of your elbow, desperately attempting to wake yourself, you were instead met with a sting from the pinch and the bitter realization that this was indeed real. All of it was your reality now and you didn't have a say in it anymore.

Growing up in a traditional and strict clan meant that you had been taught lessons that you would never have learnt if you had been born in a normal family, your childhood no longer becoming your own as the adults around you took control.

While other little girls learnt how to tie their shoelaces and sing the alphabets during their childhood, your mother and the ladies of the clan homeschooled you and taught you the ways of how marriage works early on in your childhood. They tried to drill the idea of being a perfect wife in your head, becoming obsessed over time to turn you into a bargaining doll- a perfect bride to be sold of to another clan for power and fame.

In your childhood, you became lonely and isolated, cut off from the rest of the world the high walls your clan built around you. The women of your clan would frequently tell you horror stories, meant to keep you afraid, obedient and most importantly, loyal. They told you all about the cruel men who would sell you for money, how shame and ruin will only follow you beyond the clan's protection, and how staying within tradition is important to preserve your dignity.

"None of us would become anything without tradition," Your father lamented during supper, while your mother poured more tea into his cup, "Each of us have duties to be fulfilled with the roles given to us. You must do the same."

"But I do not know him, Father," you spoke up, voice steady as ever, causing several figures around you to stiffen, including your mother whose hand froze around the teapot handle. "How can I marry someone I do not know? I don't even know what he looks like. I've only heard from the whispers of others. "

Even with the suffocating pressure of tradition, you had always clung to your freedom. Long before you ever learned about the outside world, before you secretly discovered what life was like beyond the clan walls, you had already felt the longing of freedom in your heart. You wanted to live without fear and discover the world for yourself. You wanted to become more than what you were destined for.

And once you did learn and saw how different things could be for women outside of the clan's high walls, you couldn't erase it from your thoughts.

You began to question it. At first, your rebellion came in sharp bursts during your teenage years, which consisted of loud arguments, slammed doors, sleepless nights. But over time, you learned to wield your defiance more carefully. Quietly. Strategically.

You learned how to maintain your peace while still discovering pieces of yourself that they will never reach. You found freedom in stolen books, brief conversations with outsiders, and long moments spent in your gardens where no one could hear you think.

But no amount of rebellion could stop the letter that arrived from the Gojo clan.

And now, sitting at the table during supper, you could feel that old, familiar burn in your chest. The ache of a future chosen for you, wrapped in duty and a name far more powerful than your own.

Your mother's face slowly turned red with fury, lips tightening, ready to yell at you, "You ungrateful brat—"

"You will know him soon enough, flower," your father interjected gently but firmly, shooting a warning glare to your mother. She fell silent with a click of her tongue.

Your father turned back to you, eyes softening with understanding and sorrow. "And you will do your duty," he said, not as a command but rather as a reminder. "As I have. As your mother has. As every soul at this table has for generations, and many more to come."

There was no malice in your father's words. There never had been.

You were his only child. His only daughter.

Out of everyone in the clan, he had dreaded this day the most. He had postponed your marriage as long as he could, always making excuses to the elders that there wasn't a suitable match for you yet, allowing you to have more time with your freedom. He had ensured you had everything your heart desired growing up, whether it'd be bookshelves filled with books to private gardens for you to wander alone, away from the suffocating clan members.

He had given you everything he could and he was the one to raise you as you are now, but even he was bound. "I would keep you forever here if I could," your father had said quietly to you in private when the announcement was first made. "However, I am unable to postpone this. The Gojo clan had been asking for your hand for quite some time now."

And just like that, your heart broke into pieces.

The Gojo clan, the most powerful and ancient family within the Jujutsu Society, had proposed a marriage between you and their only heir, Gojo Satoru. A name that's known in every household as he was known to hold the most powerful gift ever known, appearing only once in a hundred of years.

The Strongest, the Chosen One and now, your soon-to-be husband.

That was why your clan paid no mind to expenses. The wedding preparations was meant to become a spectacle to guests to dazzle. They wanted the whole world to know that their bloodline would be bound to the most exclusive and the most powerful clan in all the Jujutsu Society. And one day, their bloodline would be the one to have heirs of the Six Eyes and Limitless.

They paraded you around like a crowned jewel. A daughter. A symbol. A transaction for power.

Your father tried his best to comfort you throughout the whole process and even told you of how kind and polite the young Gojo was, but you still felt dread crawling up your chest every time you were reminded of the wedding.

Eventually, your father arranged a formal supper, hosting an official meeting between the two clans. A chance for you and your betrothed to meet face to face.

The Gojo clan would be arriving that evening.

You had never seen him before. Not even a glimpse. But the rumors painted him vividly. The piercing, otherworldly blue eyes that marked him as the wielder of the Six Eyes. Eyes said to see through everything and everyone. Eyes that couldn’t be lied to. Eyes that made people tremble at the mere sight of them.

You didn't know him. Not really. And that made him unpredictable.

And in your perspective, unpredictability was dangerous.

It didn't help that during the rare times you were allowed to leave the estate—escorted by maids who watches you closely—you still managed to hear the whispers and gossips from others. And when you snuck out on your own, hidden beneath a dark cloak as you always are, the whispers grew louder.

Some said he was mad. That he laughed too easily, smiled too widely. That he was far too powerful to be stable. Others whispered that he was dangerous—that behind that charming mask was a storm waiting to unravel. Some pitied you.

"Poor girl," they said. "She’ll be the one to face his gift when he loses control."

You couldn’t help but wonder who was right or perhaps, if all of them were and it depends on who he was with.

And still, you would have to sit beside him. Smile. Bow. Be the bride everyone expected you to be. Even if your hands trembled beneath the silk sleeves of your gown from fear and anxiety.

In the middle of the dining room, the air was thick with tension as servants rushed back and forth, arms full of trays and porcelain. Your aunts barked orders, your uncles corrected the seating arrangements for the fifth time, and your mother hovered over the flower arrangements like the wrong color petal might ruin the whole evening. You breath caught in your throat again. It had been happening all day. It was like a ticking time bomb and the explosion was getting closer with each breath you took.

And yet, no matter how many times they spoke of your betrothed, he remained nothing more than a blur in your mind. Unpredictable. Possibly destructive.

So, you did what you always did when the walls began to close in. You ran.

You slipped past your family members, past the servants busy with arrangements, past the elder who tried to stop you with a half-hearted call of your name. Your slippers barely made a sound on the wooden floors. You knew every corner, spending your whole life memorizing it to escape from everyone without getting noticed. You pushed a hidden door open to your garden.

The only place that ever felt like yours.

The only place you could freely be yourself with no eyes around.

No one was allowed here. Not the elders. Not the servants. Not even your mother dared to enter without invitation, which she can never get. Your father had made sure of that. It was your sanctuary and on days like this, it was the only thing that kept you breathing.

"It's just a stupid man," you tried to assure yourself, breathing deeply. You should consider yourself fortunate for not having Naoya Zenin as your betrothed. He was close to becoming your betrothed but your father refused to after sensing something terrible within the Zenin, which caused your mother to frequently complain to her sisters about since besides the Gojo clan, the Zenin clan is quite powerful as well. However, you heard that he was terrible behind doors towards his own staff and that your father had indeed saved you from a cruel destiny with him.

Perhaps Gojo Satoru isn't as bad as they say? You heard that he was a teacher as well to a school in Tokyo and becoming a teacher certainly teaches one patience and understanding.

Your whole body became alert when you felt someone open the door.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to bolt," came a voice from the doorway.

You froze.

The voice was low and teasing but calm as if he'd been waiting.

Your head snapped toward the sound, eyes locking onto a tall figure. His white hair caught the silver of the moonlight, and a pair of dark-tinted glasses covered his eyes. He didn’t look dressed for a formal dinner, though he wore the same colors as your clan's celebration garb, only looser, more relaxed, as if tradition didn't sit tightly on his skin the way it did on yours.

Gojo Satoru.

You didn’t need to ask.

You just knew.

"I had a feeling you might be here. Your garden looks lovely," he remarked with a smile, stepping casually onto the stone path but he made sure to keep a distance between you to keep you comfortable. "Though I have to admit, I expected you to climb the back wall and disappear completely. Not take a detour through your rose bushes."

You stared at him in disbelief, both at how relaxed he was and how annoying he was. "How do you know this is my garden?"

He tapped his ear. "I listen. Your maids gossip a lot."

You narrowed your eyes. "And how did you get here if you only listened? Did you follow me here?"

"I wandered," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "And stumbled into your sanctuary entirely by accident."

He looked at you. "Lucky me. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have seen such beauty."

You weren't sure if he meant the garden or you.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look insane. If anything, he looked as if he was trying to figure out what to do or even say to you in the situation you are in. You two are meant to be married soon after all. His posture was relaxed, his voice soft and unassuming. The famous Gojo Satoru, who wielded the Six Eyes and Limitless, who could obliterate entire clans with a flick of his hand, stood there looking more like a polite yet awkward houseguest than the strongest sorcerer alive.

And then, just as your heart started to calm, he reached into his sleeve and pulled something out. Your eyes widened in surprise at the sugar bun he brought out, neatly wrapped in a pale paper.

He held it out to you, completely deadpan. "Peace offering."

Your brows furrowed. "…For what?"

He shrugged one shoulder, a lazy motion that somehow still managed to carry elegance. "For crashing your very exclusive garden party. And, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."

You blinked, taken aback by the casualness in his tone.

He tilted his head and added, "I’m aware I don't exactly have a peaceful reputation, but I heard you liked sweets and I thought you would find flowers boring."

You stared at the sugar bun. Then back at him. Then back at the sugar bun. You did like sugar buns and you did favor snacks over flowers any day, but how could he have known that?

"…You’ve been spying on me?"

"Research," he said, one hand dramatically placed on his chest. "Basic recon. You’d be amazed what I can find out from your maids in just a few minutes."

"But even so, how did you manage to get the sugar bun on time? Your family couldn't have been here for that long," you pointed out, suspicion creeping into your voice.

Gojo grinned, the kind of grin that belonged to someone far too pleased with himself.

"Teleportation," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked. "Teleportation," you repeated in disbelief.

"Yep. Technically, it’s a manipulation of space, but that’s boring talk." He gave the sugar bun a slight wave in front of your face. "What matters is that one moment I’m sweet-talking your maids, next moment I’m popping into my favorite bakery with the most delicious sugar bun that I know of in Tokyo, and then boom, I’m back here with the gift in hand."

"I didn’t want to show up empty-handed," he said with a casual shrug. "First impressions matter, and I didn’t think you'd be impressed by the usual fancy clan offerings. The elders suggested gold, pearls, cursed weapons— they're quite a bore."

You almost smiled.

The absurdity of it. The sincerity behind that sugar bun.

"And besides," he added, stepping a little closer and holding out the sugar bun again, "I wanted to give you something you would actually like and enjoy."

That made you pause.

It was true that you expected gifts from him not because you wanted it but rather that it was obligatory for the bride and groom to gift something in their first meeting. It had always been mandatory.

But this? A sugar bun from Tokyo, delivered through a manipulation of time and space, because he thought you would like it?

You took it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

"Thank you," you murmured with a sincere smile.

He smiled so gently that it made you wondered for a moment—just for a moment—why you had been so guarded before.

"Anytime," he said.

—

"Where have you been?" Your mother whispered harshly the moment you stepped into the living room where the two families waited. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe with thinly hidden irritation.

You had told Gojo not to follow you, knowing very well that his presence beside you would raise several eyebrows, especially with the more traditional members like the elders at present. He understood though. He always seemed to understand, even when you didn't mind his company. It was something that needed to be done.

Before you could explain yourself, her eyes dropped to the sugar bun still in your hand. Her face turned furious and without missing a beat, she snatched the bun from your hand and shoved it to a nearby servant who got startled by the sudden presence of the snack in her hand.

"You are already spoiled enough," she hissed under her breath, as though your existence was a stain on a fine porcelain, disgust evident in her eyes. "But hiding away from your own engagement to eat sweets? Have you no shame?"

She aggressively smoothed out the front of your attire.

"Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself," she muttered, deeply annoyed. "If anyone knows better, they would have thought you passed through a storm to get here."

Aunts materialized around you like a daily routine, fixing your hair and adjusting stray threads from your attire with careful fingers and disapproving silence. They were less vocal about it, thinking that your mother's constant criticism would be enough for you to learn a lesson. You barely had the time to breathe through your mother's little makeover before you were presented—more like, pushed—to the heads of the Gojo clan.

Gojo Naoyuki and Gojo Sayaka.

Your future-in-laws.

Maintaining a steady posture, you bowed to them with grace as a formal greeting that was ingrained since childhood and one that. You had wondered what they might be like because unlike Satoru, there were barely any conversations surrounding them. One might even thought Satoru didn't any at all, given how rarely they were mentioned. Gojo Naoyuki held a great resemblance to his son—sharp jawline, striking white hair, the same proud nose—but he had none of Satoru's charms or even the twinkle in Satoru's eyes. Instead, his gaze was heavy and rather restricted, a large contrast with Satoru's own personality.

In some ways, he reminded you of your father—bounded by tradition, but he seemed to have experienced it far greater than your father had, tradition carved deeper into the lines of his every expression.

Gojo Sayaka, by contrast, was as beautiful as the whispers did claim, ever so graceful and composed, features refined like porcelain. There was an effortless elegance to her, the kind not taught but inherited. And yet, she had said very little since the moment you entered. Her silence was not absent though, it was calculation. Her poised eyes had followed your every movement the moment you stepped into the room, unlike her husband, whose focus had remained locked in conversation with your father.

Her gaze wasn't cruel, nor was it warm. It was observant. Formal. Dutiful. The way a queen might pay attention to her court; nothing personal and only done with a purpose.

While Satoru’s presence made you feel seen, Sayaka’s made you feel studied, like a judge almost.

However, you were used to judging eyes as well. You had been your whole life with the way the women in your clan, especially your mother, have berated you all these years and insulted you as well for every little thing you do. Yet, here you are, having to marry a family that's far better than the one your mother had married into. If it wasn't an arranged marriage, you would have been prideful of it sooner but after knowing your future husband, you were more at peace and only made your formalities. At the very least you will make sure to not tarnish the Gojo name.

Your father stepped forward first, bowing with practiced grace. “Gojo-dono. It is our honor to welcome you into our home.”

Naoyuki inclined his head. “The honor is mutual.” His voice was deep and calm, but carried the weight of a man who measured every word. “We have long observed your clan’s reputation for discipline. We are pleased to see it was not exaggerated.”

Your father offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We strive to uphold what was passed down.”

Naoyuki gave a single approving nod before his eyes shifted toward you. They swept over you—not in scrutiny, not even judgment—but in the way one might inspect a weapon, a seal, an heirloom. “You carry yourself well," he remarked smoothly but lacked in warmth. "As expected of your clan. Daughters are often the reflection of a clan's discipline."

You bowed again. “Thank you, Gojo-dono.”

“It is not praise," he said evenly, “It is the standard.”

Silence hung for a moment too long and your aunts braced themselves for the bite that you usually do, but instead you just smiled politely. "Of course, I was raised well by my family and I will continue to honour the Gojo family with everything I was taught."

The room remained still for a heartbeat longer. Your mother’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, unsure whether to feel pride or suspicion. Your aunts exchanged brief glances, perhaps uncertain if your response was a surrender or a warning wrapped around in silk.

Naoyuki studied you, and while his expression didn’t change, there was a shift in the air, the slightest pause before he nodded once. Accepting. For now.

"Very well." He said. "You'll come to understand that more intimately once you take your place in the Gojo clan."

Murmurs of agreement followed afterwards, mostly from your aunts and other members of the Gojo clan. As for Sayaka, she only blinked slowly. A small tilt of her head. Nothing more, but you could see that it was a sign of approval from her.

You dipped your head politely, not submitting, but choosing not to engage with the provocation. You’d been raised to survive this kind of game. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Satoru relax slightly at your composure, his shoulders loosening as if to say, You did well.

Naoyuki gave a small nod of approval. Not of warmth—that was never his style—but of recognition. You had not faltered.

But you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you'd be expected to endure someone else’s standards. You watched as your father continued to converse with Naoyuki, but you could still feel a gentle gaze on you.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[callikari]

──────── ☕️ CEILINGS

。and it feels like the end of a movie i've seen before

... 沈在允 x fem!reader 🐑 angst 、 1550 wc (ᵕ—ᴗ—) emotional manipulation heartbreak regret guilt unrequited love emotional isolation

【 more like this 📞 】

part 2 of we hug now, lacy

jake’s world feels… louder, somehow, now that you’re not in it. it’s like everything’s too bright, too noisy, and yet there’s this stillness, a cold, empty space where you used to be. it’s hard to ignore how it feels to not have you in his life anymore. it’s a silence that screams.

he thought he’d be fine. he thought he could move on with her, with distractions that kept him busy enough to forget. but nothing ever worked. no matter how many times he saw her smile, it wasn’t you. you were never just another face. you were the person who understood him in ways no one else did. and yet, he let you go. he’d taken you for granted, always thinking you’d wait. always thinking you’d be there.

and now, you’re gone. and that fact, sitting in the pit of his stomach, gnaws at him.

late nights are the hardest.

it’s just him, lying there, staring at his ceiling, the soft hum of his phone’s vibration the only thing that keeps him company. but even then, it’s not the messages from you he’s seeing in his inbox. it’s the silence. the absence of your name.

“can we talk?”

he keeps typing it, erasing it, typing it again.

but he never sends it.

he’s scared. scared that you’ll ignore him, scared that even if you do respond, it won’t matter. you’ll be long gone. you’ve moved on, and he’s just stuck in the past.

a month goes by.

you’ve moved on.

and it’s strange, how easy it is now. how simple. there’s no ache in your chest, no lingering longing, no desperate hope. you let yourself breathe again, feel light, like you’ve shed a weight you didn’t even realize you’d been carrying.

it doesn’t even bother you anymore, the silence from him. the lack of anything. it’s like a distant memory now, fading into the background of your life.

and even when you think about him, it’s not the sharp, aching pain it once was. it’s just a memory—faint, like the shadow of a dream that doesn’t hold much weight anymore.

he doesn’t own your thoughts anymore.

he doesn’t own you anymore.

the world keeps spinning, and you’re fine with that.

the tour ends, and jake comes back to korea.

but when he walks into his apartment, when he breathes in the familiar air of his dorm, it doesn’t feel like home. it’s almost like the place he’s lived in for years is suddenly too small, too suffocating. he wants to escape it, but the guilt’s too heavy, weighing him down.

his schedule is packed. always. too busy to even let himself breathe. but when he gets a moment to himself, he finds himself scrolling through his phone, looking at pictures of you, of the messages he never sent.

he knows what’s coming.

he knows he needs to fix this.

but how?

there’s no way to rewind time. no way to undo everything he fucked up. the more he tries to forget it, the more it gnaws at him. he should have been better. he should have shown up.

but he didn’t.

and now, it’s too late.

it’s just another day when he sees it.

your name.

on his phone screen.

“can we talk?”

he blinks.

his heart stops for a second, then starts again, faster this time. he wants to respond. he should. he could finally fix this.

“can we talk?”

but it’s been days.

you still haven’t replied.

the thought of you not waiting, not needing him anymore, it hits him like a brick to the chest.

the silence feels louder now.

and it’s all his fault.

he doesn’t know what’s worse—

the thought of losing you for good, or the fact that he’s already lost you.

he waits. he texts.

but the text never comes.

your silence is heavier than any words could be.

you’re not looking back.

you’re not coming back.

he doesn’t see you again until he’s walking past that café.

he sees you through the window, and for a moment, it’s like time stops. he sees you sitting there, calm, content, as if nothing ever happened. as if the past few months of his neglect don’t exist.

he walks inside before he even thinks about it.

his heart is pounding. his palms are sweating. his breath feels shallow.

and then, he says your name.

you don’t look up.

and he’s almost relieved, because if you look at him, he knows he’ll fall apart. he’ll beg you to take him back, beg you to forgive him for everything.

he wants to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat.

he feels small in front of you now.

like he doesn’t deserve a thing.

you finally glance up. there’s no sign of the girl who once waited for him. no hint of that familiar warmth.

just cold eyes.

and it hits him. he fucked up.

you don’t stop walking when you leave.

and you don’t even look back.

jake stands there. frozen. the café is quieter than before.

it’s just him and the memories of what he lost.

and for the first time, he finally understands.

the grass wasn’t greener.

he didn’t realize how much he needed you until it was too late. you don’t need him anymore.

he watches you disappear into the crowd, his stomach sinking deeper and deeper into the hollow ache of knowing.

there’s no coming back from this.

not this time.

later that night, jake stares at his ceiling again.

this time, the silence is deafening. and he knows—it’s his fault.

维维安的 taglist : @ash-engen @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @chrrific @ijustreallylike2read

© callikari — all rights reserved

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I think the key to writing Viktor is remembering that we the audience see far more of him than any character in the show does. Including Jayce. "Emotional and super sensitive but very guarded" is the way Harry Lloyd described it, and I think that sums it up very well. The way you show that in a visual medium is by letting the audience see things that no one else does.

Viktor isn't shy or meek at all, but everything intense about him is so contained. He has an expressive face and big big feelings (like, canonically he comes to the conclusion that his problem is having too many goddamn feelings) but we get to see far more of that than he shows to anyone in his life. Seriously, go back and look at the blocking in his scenes and how often we can see his face when no one else in the scene can. Outwardly he can appear confident, calm, earnest, passionate, wryly funny--at least until he gets too sick to hide his exhaustion and pain. Meanwhile anything that might express a vulnerability, a need, is tucked away where no one can see it.

All those sneaky glances and yearning looks thrown at Jayce? Jayce doesn't see them. Usually there is no one else there either. All his interactions with the Hexcore--the frustration, fear, reckless determination; the apprehension and then triumph of running on the dock? He's alone. Crying over Sky, curled up in a ball on the floor? Alone. Everything in the astral plane--the open curiosity and wonder, the casual physical closeness with Sky's and Vander's astral bodies, the despair after Jayce rejects him? Alone. Astral Sky isn't real; she's a figment made up either by the Hexcore or by his own brain (I think either interpretation works) to make him feel less alone. I 100% believe that no one whose mind he looks into is allowed to look back at him, up until the few moments at the end where he allows Jayce to see him.

When he's angry--and he does get angry--it's a cold, still anger. Contained. He glares and his tone gets sharp but he doesn't so much as raise his voice. He doesn't shout or use big gestures. The one time we see something that might be considered an outburst (when he slams his fist on the desk and scatters his notes in frustration at trying to understand the Hexcore), he is (1) desperate and scared, (2) very clearly angry at himself, and (3) once again, alone.

A bit of a tangent but I think it fits here: this extends to his physicality with his mobility aids too. I realized that the reason "Viktor whacks people with his cane" always bumps me in fics is not just that Viktor isn't casually mean like that--although he's not. It's that when it comes to habitual, everyday movements, he never uses his cane or crutch for anything other than support. He doesn't gesture with it or use it to grab things or stick it out to stop a door from closing. (Which makes the rare instances when he does use it for something other than support really stand out.) It's not like he's hiding it, but he doesn't do anything to draw extra attention to it. He lets it fade into the background as much as possible, for as long as he's able to. Contained. It's a very specific physicality that I think says a lot about how he's trying to be perceived.

And like, to me, lover of wordless longing and isolated/self-isolating characters (which could mean nothing) all this is fucking catnip for fic material, because prose gives you such easy access to a character's interiority, and then you get to watch them hide things from other characters and deny things to themselves. (Love a character being confidently wrong in the privacy of their own head.)

When I'm writing a new pairing I am often trying to figure out, like, what's the tension? The tension on the relationship can be subtle, but if a smut scene is not popping off for me I often find it's because I haven't correctly identified the tension, or I've released it too early. Sometimes the tension is societal or interpersonal, but often (for me) it's internal. The main thing holding the characters back from uncomplicated enjoyment of each other is themselves, their own traumas or fears or insecurities.

I think something clicked for me with Medicinal where I was like, oh, the dynamic I like for them is when their natural state is to stick together like magnets, and they are constantly having to pull themselves back. Viktor doesn't shy away from Jayce's touch or his attention; he craves it and is constantly having to take that firehose of yearning and reel it back in, because he thinks Jayce doesn't feel the same way. Contain it. Yeah man that's the good shit.

P.S. I would be remiss if I didn't include the god tier example of the kind of Viktor POV I'm always striving toward, Uncover Him by spqr.

[bumblebeeswrite]

Touching just to feel some sort of comfort with/for Sam, baby 🥺🫶🏻

If you wanna delete this, that’s fine! Or take it anyway you please!

A MILLION MILES | SAM O’BRIEN

summary: sometimes sam still feels a million miles away

cw : ptsd, flashbacks, anxiety, physical injury, emotional distress, mentions of war and violence

The air in the small living room hung heavy, mirroring the weight in Sam’s chest. He sat rigid on the couch, his gaze locked on the muted television screen, but the images blurred into meaningless shapes. The sounds of the daytime talk show were a distant drone, unable to penetrate the wall of memories that had erected themselves in his mind. The dust, the heat, the screams… they were always there, lurking just beneath the surface.

His right leg throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that was more than just physical. It was a constant reminder, a tangible link to the day his world fractured. He could still feel the searing pain, the shock, the cold fear that had gripped him as he lay on the ground, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils.

He felt adrift, a small boat tossed on a stormy sea, miles away from any shore. Even with you here, in the familiar safety of your shared home, the distance felt immense, a gap carved out by things you couldn’t see, couldn’t understand.

He watched you from the corner of his eye. You sat in the armchair, a silent observer, your presence a faint anchor in his swirling thoughts. He knew you saw it – the vacant look in his eyes, the tension coiled in his shoulders. You always did.

The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable. He hated it. It amplified the noise in his head, the echoes of explosions, the phantom cries. He needed something to ground him, something real.

A desperate urge clawed at his throat. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap that separated you, but the words wouldn’t come. Shame, a familiar companion, held him captive. He was supposed to be strong, a soldier. Asking for comfort felt like weakness, a betrayal of the man he was supposed to be.

But the isolation was crushing. He felt like he was suffocating in the silence, drowning in the memories. He had to break through.

His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his throat dry. Finally, the words, rough and hesitant, escaped him.

“Can… can you come here?” His voice was barely a whisper, strained and uneven. He didn’t look at you, his gaze still fixed on the meaningless flicker of the television screen, shame burning in his chest.

He heard the soft rustle of fabric as you shifted in the armchair. Then, the creak of the springs as you stood. He held his breath, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He felt the dip in the couch beside him as you settled a respectful distance away. The space between you felt vast, a physical manifestation of the emotional gulf he was struggling to cross.

He clenched his hands into fists, the knuckles white. The urge to reach out was almost unbearable, but the fear of rejection, of burdening you, held him back.

Another wave of anxiety washed over him, the memories threatening to pull him under. He could almost smell the dust, feel the heat on his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but it was no use.

“Please,” he whispered again, the word barely audible. “Just… touch me.”

This time, his voice held a vulnerability that he couldn’t mask. He finally turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. They were filled with a desperate plea, a naked longing for connection that mirrored the ache in your own heart.

You didn’t hesitate. Your hand reached for his, your touch gentle but firm. Your fingers wrapped around his clenched fist, and you squeezed, a silent offering of comfort and reassurance.

His breath shuddered as your warmth seeped into his cold skin. He kept his eyes locked on yours, searching for something – understanding, acceptance, anything to anchor him to the present.

You didn’t speak, didn’t offer empty platitudes. Your eyes, filled with a deep empathy, conveyed everything he needed to hear. You understood. You saw the brokenness beneath the surface, the raw vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to witness.

Slowly, he unclenched his fist, his fingers intertwining with yours. The simple act of holding your hand was a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge of the abyss.

He leaned into your touch, a small, almost involuntary movement. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, the frantic rhythm of his heart beginning to slow.

“It’s… it’s loud in my head,” he confessed, his voice still rough. “Everything… it’s all just… loud.”

You squeezed his hand again. “I know,” you murmured softly. “I’m here.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of your hand in his, the steady warmth radiating from your skin. It wasn’t a cure, not a magical fix for the demons that haunted him, but it was something. It was a tether, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

He shifted slightly, turning more fully towards you. He lifted his other hand, his fingers brushing tentatively against your cheek. The skin beneath his fingertips was soft, a stark contrast to the rough callouses on his own hands.

He leaned his forehead against yours, the simple contact a profound comfort. He could feel your steady breath against his skin, the gentle rhythm a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

“Just… stay,” he whispered, the words a plea.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice a low murmur against his forehead.

He stayed like that for a long time, your hands clasped together, his forehead resting against yours. The silence still hummed in the background, but it no longer felt quite so menacing. Your touch was a steady anchor, a silent promise of connection in the face of his inner turmoil.

The television continued to play, unheard and unseen. The only reality was the feel of your skin against his, the steady beat of your heart a comforting rhythm against his own. In that moment of shared vulnerability, the million miles that often stretched between you seemed to shrink, replaced by the simple, profound comfort of human connection. He was broken, yes, but in your touch, he found a fragile sense of wholeness, a momentary reprieve from the weight of his silence.

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Woman Beyond the Wall

Cregan Stark x Wilding!Fem reader

Summary: Cregan must go beyond the wall to aid Castle Black after a large group of Nights Watch men are killed under strange circumstances, only for him to discover the “strange circumstance” is a beautiful and mysterious wilding woman that will make him forget everything he thought he knew.

not proof read yet!!

cw: angst, smut, dom fem reader, dom cregan, freaky cregan, reader is kind of odd 😭

word count: long af

part 2 , masterlist

⛫ ⛫ ⛫

Cregan sat, contemplating the decision before him.

“Forgive me, sirs. The kingdom greatly appreciates the sacrifice you men have made to serve the Nights Watch, but I cannot abandon my duties as a lord to go beyond the wall for Gods knows how long.” He tells them, hoping they won’t take offense to his declination to participate.

“We wouldn’t ask if we were not desperate, my lord.” The maester says, “But 15 men have disappeared just in this past exhibition. The Nights Watch grows scarce of fighters the more men beyond the wall continue to disappear.”

Cregan sighs, not wanting to go beyond the wall and leave his kingdom without a lord, but also not wanting to leave the Watch vulnerable.

“Alright, Maester Devron.” Cregan sighs, “We owe you men a great debt… I need to know what are these strange circumstances you speak of?”

“Men have reported finding the abandoned bodies with arrows in both their eyes, perfectly positioned every time. It’s rather… unusual how perfectly calculated the shot is. It never changes. Then, the bodies are positioned in circles, with no footsteps left behind. We fear it to be witching.”

A shiver ran up Cregan’s spine, but he hid it well. Witches were almost always stories told by Septs to children in an attempt to get them to behave, so to hear a maester say it was unnerving.

“Don’t be ridiculous, maester.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. When you find the group of men who disappeared only a fortnight ago, you’ll see.”

“When? Not if? How can you be so sure I’ll find them?” Cregan asks.

“She leaves them in the same place every time. About 20 miles beyond the wall, facing north.” The maester says.

Cregan sighs, already frustrated with the venture, and eager to kill a wildling.

———

3 days later, 15 miles beyond the wall, and alone in the blistering cold, Cregan couldn’t help but contemplate his decision. Although he was miserable, he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He wouldn’t have done it, if otherwise.

His horse stopped suddenly, its hair raising and body becoming stiff.

“Dusk.” He said her name. “Move.”

His horse ignored him, standing her ground. “Dusk!” He yelled at her.

She sensed something, but he didn’t know what.

They sat there for what felt like hours, but what was merely seconds.

Finally, the horse began to tredge forward… very, very, slowly. Cregan groaned in frustration, his hands gripping the reins.

They walked like that for miles. No matter how much Cregan tugged the reins, Dusk maintained her slow pace, as if anticipating something was nearby, ready to pounce on them at any given moment.

Night eventually came, and Cregan was forced to set up camp.

“Bloody horse.” He mumbled to himself as he tied her to a nearby tree.

He set up a fire nearby Dusk, then leaned against the tree she was tied to. He fidgeted with the dagger he kept in his armor, carving little dire wolves in the bark. He spoke to Dusk, hoping the already timid horse would comfort his feeling of isolation in the barren icy landscape. It didn’t help.

He eventually fell asleep standing up, leaning his weight against the tree, too on edge to leave himself vulnerable on the ground.

The fire near him had gone out, leaving nothing but the red glowing embers.

The wildling who had been following them for miles used this to her advantage.

She stalked quietly, her boots making no noise or crunch as if she weren’t even there, floating like a ghost.

She made no attempt to immediately kill him, but kept her bow poised, ready to grab an arrow and fly it into his eye if he woke. Normally, any crow out here would’ve been dead miles ago, but this man wasn’t a crow.

She believed him to be a lord, and when her fingers grazed the dire wolf on his chest she knew him to be a Stark. Excitement fueled the fire burning in her veins. She had never seen a lord, especially one so handsome.

Her fingers twirled one of his brown locks, but when he shuffled in his sleep she quickly backed away like a scared bunny.

She decided she would let the cold kill the handsome man, but not before taking a souvenir to remember him.

Her slim, dainty fingers wove into his furs, silently snagging the dagger strapped to his chest. She twirled it in her fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. No smith she had ever met was as talented as the one who made this dagger. She traced the wolf sigil on the handle, then ran the sharp tip of the blade along her finger. A drop of blood hit the snow in front of their feet, and then she ran, snow immediately falling to cover her tracks.

When Cregan awoke, he immediately knew someone had been in the camp. But, how? How could someone have even passed through without him waking?

He looked down, and picked up the snow with the drop of blood on it. His blood immediately ran cold, colder than it already was. There were no footprints. Where could this have even come from?

He checked himself, but was free of any cuts. It was here he noticed… his dagger.

“What in Gods…” He mumbled, feeling all around his body to make sure he hadn’t misplaced it.

He angrily yells into the trees, cursing and violently threatening the woman who stole his dagger, hoping she heard him.

And she does. She quietly giggles in a nearby tree at his brutish behavior. He kicks the burnt wood from the fire, startling his horse.

He mounts the horse, slowly trekking onward to find the bodies of the missing men.

Within the hour, he finds himself at the base of the men’s camp, their bodies positioned like how the maester said they would be.

Cregan sighs, dismounting his horse and staring at the corpses, their bodies frozen and not yet decomposed from the harsh cold.

He was, for the first time in his life, unsure of what to do. He knew the woman had already found him, but how was he to find her? He assumed she left him alive out of mercy, but he knew there was no chance of finding her unless she wanted him to.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, slightly embarrassed at his desperation. “Alright, witch! I know you’re out there!” He yelled into the trees, not actually knowing if she was out there.

She was, and she paid attention as he continued.

“I don’t know your goal, if you even have one!” He paused, not even knowing what else to say. “Stop killing these men!” He said, lacking in confidence. She giggled again. Quite an entertaining man he was.

He gave up, tired of feeling foolish. He began dragging the bodies into a pile, preparing to burn them. It took nearly half of his day, and when he was done he finally sat, sweating, despite the cold.

After his brief rest, he burnt them, saying the custom words, “And now their watch is ended.”

He watched, silently mourning the fallen men who gave their life.

Afterwards, he mounted his horse and started his journey back to the wall. There would be no finding the woman. She was rogue, didn’t run in a pack. He’d be searching for the rest of his life if he stayed.

He didn’t make it far, only a few miles before night fell upon him and his horse. He didn’t want to rest, but he had no choice. The day had worn him, and traveling at night was unwise when he couldn’t see his surroundings.

He set a fire again, and sat down, forcing himself to stay awake.

Suddenly, his horse whined. He whipped his head around, standing to his feet quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He said, trying to shush the mare. The horse bucked, breaking its reins from the tree before scurrying off.

“Fuck!” Cregan cursed, angrily. What in Gods names was he to do now?

A voice rang out behind him.

“Pretty little beast you’ve got there.”

He whipped around again, unsheathing his sword.

A woman knelt across the fire, her bow and arrow already drawn. She wore gray, thick pelts and gloves, and a pair of fur clad boots. No wonder she was so silent. She pulled her thick hood off, revealing the most beautiful set of eyes Cregan had ever seen. The woman was gorgeous, ethereal. She literally took his breath away.

“Suppose I should say had there.” She teases.

“It’s you.” He finally says, after a moment of silence.

“Mm.” She hums in response. “And who might you be?”

“I think you already know, given you raided my camp last night.”

She laughs. “Raided? You southerners.”

“You’d do well to mind your tongue, witch.” Cregan spits at her, tightening his grip on his sword.

She notices and stands, raising her bow, “And you’d do well to mind yours, crow.”

“I’m not a crow.”

“And I’m not a witch.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Sharp little tongue on you. Ain’t you lords supposed to treat ladies with respect?”

“What kind of lady are you? Killing good men and desecrating their bodies?”

“I never desecrated them. In fact, I left them better than I found them.”

“Those were noble men.”

“Please.” She laughs. “Those crows were rapists and thieves. The north is better without them coming into our land.”

Cregan says nothing, so she continues. “I suggest you watch how you speak to me, Lord Stark. I could shoot this arrow right through those pretty gray eyes before you’d even realize what happened.”

“Try it, witch.”

“I already told you. I’m no witch!” She lets the arrow fly, only intending to let it kiss his ear and hit the tree behind him, but he raises his sword, and the arrow shatters against the Valyrian steel.

She lowers her bow, shocked, before her features return to their stoic form.

“It appears I’ve met my match.” She smirks, impressed.

“Perhaps you have. For that reason, I’d suggest returning my dagger.”

She pulls it out. “Oh, this pretty thing? I think I’ll keep it… Unless you’re brave enough to come take it from me.”

Heat flushed through his stomach. For the first time in his life, a woman repeatedly left him at a loss for words. He did not know how to approach her, or how to respond.

“You obviously walk these woods often. How do I get back to the wall?”

“Simple.” She smiles, “South.”

Cregan stomps towards her. She nervously laughs, backing into a tree as he presses himself against her, his height towering above her own.

“Show me the way or I’ll put your pretty little head above my mantel.”

She breathlessly chuckles, “All you have to do is ask nicely, Stark.” She places her hand on his broad chest, giving it a light push yet keeping her hands entangled in his armor straps. He grabs her wrist, pulling it from him. He removes her quiver from her back, tossing it on the ground. He takes her bow from her other hand, going to give it the same treatment before she stops him.

“No, wait, please don’t leave my bow.” She asks, genuineness in her voice for the first time. He searches her eyes, but finds no answer there.

“You won’t need it where you’re going.” He responds.

“Leave my bow and you’ll die in these woods. And trust me, southerner, you’ll die long before I do.” He looks at the darkness that clouds her eyes, then grunts and puts the large bow around his body.

She smirks as he ties her wrists together, dragging her along behind him. “We’re going now? These woods aren’t safe at night.”

“The sooner you’re no longer my problem, the better.”

She stops in her place, but he gives her a yank that pulls her to the ground, dragging her body behind him. “I’m serious! We need to stay at your sad little camp.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll cut out your tongue.” He says. He takes a few more steps, still dragging her, before stopping. He knows she’s right, but refuses to admit it. He growls in frustration, turning back towards the camp.

She laughs, still being dragged on the ground. What a strange woman. He thinks to himself.

He sits back in front of the fire, still holding the rope attached to her wrist as she crawls towards him.

“Do you have any food?” She asks. He sighs, taking out a little sack of dried meat. He holds a piece out to her, and not moving from her knees, takes it from his hand with her mouth.

“You’re bloody off.” He mumbles to himself. She laughs, a strange and wicked laugh in an attempt to scare him, as well as mock him for thinking she was a witch.

It works, as it startles him into giving her a confused look. He picks up a big pile of snow, throwing it into the fire to put it out.

He lays down on the snow, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. She crawls towards him, opening his arms and lying against his chest.

“Get off me, woman.” He says, pushing her.

“I’m cold! You’re telling me an honorable Stark is going to let a woman freeze to death?”

“Witches don’t get cold. Your blood runs with fire.”

“You southerners and your silly little-“ He pulls her into him, wrapping his big arms around her. He hates to admit it, but her warmth comforted him from the cold.

“I’ll keep you warm if you shut up.”

She listens for once, saying nothing and nuzzling her head into his chest. He sighs, not having the strength to push her away… but not really wanting to either.

Her knee forces his legs apart to push her leg between his, slowly lifting it towards his crotch. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing?” She says, playing dumb. He doesn’t respond. She wiggles her knee more, rubbing her thigh against the leather covering his manhood.

“Stop. Moving.” He says.

“Was I? Sorry, didn’t notice.”

He shifts, trying to keep her from noticing the bulge growing in his leathers.

———

Cregan awakes before her. He stares down at the woman against his chest, her cheeks are tinted from the cold, and her lips are parted slightly. He admires her for a long time before she stirs. He pushes her away, thinking she’s awake.

“Ow.” She grumbles, sleepily. “Why’d you do that?”

“We need to get moving.” He stands, brushing the snow off him.

“Can’t we just lay a bit longer? I didn’t sleep well with you poking me with that thing all night.” She says, running her hand up his knee.

“I wasn’t.” He responds quickly, pushing her hand down. She stands, stretching as best as she can with her hands tied.

They begin walking for a few miles, with her trying to make conversation with him.

“You’re a rather quiet man.” She says, when her previous questions get no response.

“I just don’t have many words for a woman like you.”

“I leave you speechless?” She says, with a smirk.

“Try annoyed.” He responds flatly.

She steps close to him, pressing her chest into his back.

“What are you-“ Before he can realize what she’s doing, she cuts the rope on her wrists on his sword.

He whips around, prepared to knock her unconscious, but she’s too quick. She ducks, kicking his ankle and sweeping him down.

He hits the ground hard, but is back on his feet almost instantly. She runs, fast, beyond him.

He chases after her.

“Witch!” He yells, turning to look for her in every direction after she seemingly vanished.

“I told you I’m not a witch.” She says, stepping from behind a tree.

He stomps towards her, grabbing her by both of her arms, itching to give her a good smack across the face.

He looks down at her, that sly little smirk on her face, her cheeks red and flush, staring back up at him through her wet eyelashes.

She moves her arms from his grip, tracing her skinny fingers up his armor.

“You’re…” He whispers, starting to lose his strength. “Unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

She grabs him by his neck, and he gasps in shock, but it’s quickly cut off as she pulls him down to meet her lips. Her kiss is harsh and fierce. Cregan had known women, but never one so blatantly unapologetic to be herself. She growls like an animal, ripping to get off his furs and leathers.

He matches her intensity, kissing her with the same energy. He lets the anger she ignited in him release itself unto her by biting and kissing her neck. She tugs at his hair, grinding her hips into his.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” She responds, taking a step back to remove her own furs. He steps back towards her, pulling them off her himself.

“I only ask for your comfort.” He growls, frustrated with her attitude.

“Comfort? This isn’t the south.” She pushes him back, standing before him naked and unashamed. He breathes in the sight before him, his length growing at her beauty.

She practically pounces on him, pushing him to the snow before he’s even fully undressed.

“You are a fucking witch.” He moans, as she crawls her way up his body to rest her wetness above his face.

“Are you hungry, wolf?” She asks him.

“Starving.” He whines, wanting to taste her.

Her grip on his hair pulls him towards her, finally bringing his mouth to taste her sweet cunt. He can’t help but look at her as he eats her. Her nose and cheeks are so red from the cold, all he wants to do is warm her up. His large arms have a hold on her thighs, his fingers resting between them. She pulls off his gloves, letting his fingers grip into her warm legs.

She moans and whines in ecstasy. The sound turns him into a wreck, clawing and gripping at her thighs to the point he draws blood. She doesn’t even care, relishing the sweet pain.

She pulls and tugs on his hair so harshly, forcing his face so deep into her cunt. If he even thought of stopping, she’d kill him herself. She grinds her hips into his tongue, crying and whining into the cold air. It seems as if everything has gone silent, even the winds, the world around them stopping to hear her sweet ecstasy. He moans her name into her cunt every time she pulls his hair, wanting to be her release. He’s desperate to taste her release, she’s desperate to give it to him.

Cregan, the man he was, never having been with a woman so lust driven, couldn’t help but urge his own desires to see her writhe in his arms. One of his hands left her bloody thigh, grabbing a cold chunk of snow to rub against her warm cunt. She gasped at the feeling, whining from the cold. He rubbed his fingers against her sweet spot. Her nails dug into the arm still on her leg, moaning his name as she finally let herself go onto his tongue.

He swallowed every drop, only wanting to taste her sweetness for the rest of his life.

When she came down, he shoved her off him, mounting her and positioning himself between her legs.

Her body was growing red from touching the bitter snow, but it seems like she hadn’t even noticed.

Cregan wrapped his hands around her throat, leaning in and giving her a deep kiss. “I could kill you right now if I wanted, get this whole mess you’ve caused for me over with.” He whispered into her lips.

“You won’t.” She whispered back. “Not before you get to even fuck my sweet cunt.” She reaches her cold hand down, snaking it into his breeches and rubbing his length.

“You’re right.” He kisses her again. “I want all of you.” She unlaces his breeches, pushing it down along with his soft clothes.

She glides him along her wet entrance, and Cregan groans. He pushes himself into her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her lips. He gives her no time to adjust, immediately thrusting his hips back and forth.

She moans, tears brimming her eyes, having never been fucked by a man so large as Cregan.

“What? Why are you crying? Never been fucked like how you deserve?” He growls. She does nothing but nod.

“Nothing?” He asks. “Have I finally shut you up?” He fucks her harder, and she pulls on his brown curls, using her other hand to scratch all along his back. Cregan loved the thought of it, coming home with battle scars from her. He kisses her jaw, licking her salty tears.

He stands and picks her up, worried about the cold getting to her skin. He pins her to a tree, her back scraping against the bark. It hurts in such a sweet way, better than the cold snow. She cries out his name so loud as he fucks her against it. His hands roam her body, wanting to feel all of her but also wanting to warm her up.

“Tell me it true, Cregan.” She moans, her naughty attitude returning with a smirk. “Are you going to kill me?”

She knows his answer before he even does. He growls as a response, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that sweet cunt bested the Lord of Winterfell.

“I hate you.” He growls, fucking her even harder so she shuts up. “You killed innocent men.”

She laughs and moans at the same time, “I killed crows, My Lord.” He moans at ‘My Lord’ “I’d never… fuck… harm an innocent man. That’s why you’re here now, fucking my dripping cunt.”

He wraps one of his hands around her throat, the other holding her up, his thrusts growing sloppy as he nears his peak. “Fucking witch.”

To his surprise, her hand finds his throat too, but he loves it. He loves her aggressiveness. She matches him, she’s practically a savage wolf herself.

He wants to pull out, knows he should pull out, but he can’t find the strength. All he can focus on is the wetness surrounding his length. His hands grip her waist in such a harsh way it’s bound to bruise, and he relishes in the thought of marking her so those other wildlings knew she was his now. He had claimed her, and any other man who dared try to touch her would meet the Gods.

He grabs her and pushes her back into the snow, falling on her hands and knees. His hand takes a grip in her hair, pulling her head back toward him and forcing her to arch her back. He fucks her in such a shameful way. If any lady in Winterfell were fucked like this, she’d nearly be a whore. But she was not a lady, so he felt no guilt fucking her how she deserved, and how she eagerly wanted. Her hips bucked into him, matching his rhythm.

She cried such sweet moans at the pleasure, finding her peak so close. Her fingers spread into the snow, shaking, and she released onto him again, and he growled, fucking into her until he found his own peak.

His spilled into her so deep it touched her womb. She rested her face in the snow, panting. He pushed her off of his length, her body falling into the cold. Cregan stood, out of breath, staring down at the woman in the snow, her body curled into a fetal position as she laid there catching her breath. He was hooked. Obsessed with her beauty and madness, even as she laid there sweaty and cold.

He grabbed his furs and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping the warm furs around her.

“You might catch a chill.” He whispered, slightly worried now that their lust had subsided.

“I’m a witch, right? My blood runs with fire.” She breathed. He laughed softly.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Lord Stark.” She smiled, a soft and sweet smile. His heart nearly melted.

After dressing, they began walking again.

“Can we make a quick stop?” She asked, not letting him answer before she ran towards a cave in the not far off distance.

He sighs, not making an effort to chase her.

He walks into the dimly lit cave. It appeared lived in. He eyed the area, while pulling at his collar, due to the heat in the cave.

“Is this where you live?” He asked, his voice echoed back to him, making him feel alone.

She nodded, undressing herself again. “It’s a hot spring.”

She jumped into the water, moaning at the warmth. He twitched.

“You gonna just stand there lookin’ pretty?” She asked, her thick northern accent appearing. He sighed, slowly taking off his furs and armor before stepping into the hot water. She spit some of the water at him with a little smirk. He tried to hide his smile, but couldn’t. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and into his lap. She curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s stay here.” She said, voice unsure. “You’re a wolf. You belong out here, not in the south.”

He took her hand in his. “My place is in Winterfell.”

“Then stay with me just for tonight.” She said. He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her hand and nodding. She rested her wet head against his chest.

“I won’t cause any more trouble for you, Lord Stark.”

He sighed, knowing what it meant.

He yearned to bring her back to Winterfell, to give her a place in the castle, and to take her in his bed at night, but she was too wild. She would cause too much trouble for the servants and handmaidens. She would never be happy either.

He made it count, fucking her over and over again in that cave. When they slept, he held her close to him, refusing to even let her roll over. Her head fit perfectly against his neck. It felt like a crime to let her go.

———

They had been walking for three days to return to the wall, only growing closer and closer with each moment they spent together.

“I thought you said it was a day’s journey.” Cregan said.

“On horse.” He shot her a look, frustrated with the forgotten mention. She only smirked. He didn’t want to part from her just yet anyway.

“Lord Stark!” A voice yelled. He quickly pushed her behind him, unsheathing his sword and searching for where the voice came from. He was terrified for her, but she showed no fear. He knew if they seen her, they would kill her immediately.

4 men in black, all on horses trotted up besides them, encircling them.

“Gods, I can’t believe it.” The Lord Commander said, “You Starks, damn it. You put the rest of the North to shame. I can’t believe you found the witch.”

“I’m not a witch.” She said, but Cregan only grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing her from starting a fight. She kicked and growled into his hand, but eventually submitted.

“Why is she still alive, m’lord? You should have taken her head the moment you found her.” A boy said.

“It’s not that easy. She’s strong, more useful alive.” Cregan said.

She kicked her foot back into his shin, stealing his sword from his hand. Cregan yelled and grabbed his leg. He grabbed her arm with his other hand with a harsh grip. Her elbow met his face, knocking him on the ground as blood pooled from his nose.

“Took you long enough to find your own way back here, crow.” She said, looking at the Lord Commander specifically, the heavy valyrian steel sword dragging from her hands onto the ground.

He only snickered at her.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to lift that sword. I’d rather watch Stark behead you himself.”

“Can’t do your own dirty work?” She sneers.

Cregan sensed the tension but said nothing. He stood and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her back and taking his sword from her. He stared her down, breathing angrily, his eyes fuming with rage. He wanted to take her on the snow again as revenge for breaking his nose, but restrained himself.

She looked back up at him, anger in her own eyes, his hand lingered on the back of her neck.

Cregan turned back around to face the Lord Commander. “I will not behead her. She is a prisoner of Winterfell.”

The Lord Commander fumed. “She’s killed half our men-“

“You killed half your men when you sent them searching for me.” She spits.

“Enough!” Cregan yelled, but she ignored him. She broke from his grip and ran at the Lord Commander. The horses spooked, bucking the other men off them and scattering.

She jumped, using the stirs of the saddle of his horse to mount it. She pulled out the dagger she stole from Cregan earlier, and slit the Lord Commander’s neck.

Hot blood spewed onto her face as he weakly grabbed at her throat. She smiled, that wicked smile again, licking the blood that spat across her face, her eyes wide with madness.

“Goodnight, crow.” She whispered.

Cregan ripped her off the horse, throwing her onto the ground.

“Do you understand what you have just done?!” He screamed at her. She smiled up at him, blood staining her teeth. She kissed him, the blood on their faces smearing. He briefly matched her love with the kiss, before pulling away.

He tried snatching the dagger back from her, “No, it’s mine!” She yelled.

He pulled her by her collar close to his face, “You have to go now… or I’ll kill you.”

Sadness swept across her face, her lip trembling like a scorned child.

“Keep your fucking dagger, then!” She yelled, stabbing it into his shoulder.

Cregan cried out, letting her go, and falling to the ground. He ripped the dagger from his shoulder. She used this as an opportunity to take her bow back from his body.

She reached into her boot, pulling out an arrow. She knocked it and drew it back. Cregan weakly jumped on the Lord Commander’s horse. The other Night’s Watch men were returning on their horses, having calmed and gathered them.

“Back to the wall!” Cregan commanded them. He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew if he had, she would’ve shot the arrow right through his eye. Instead, she hit him in his rib, perfectly hitting where it would hurt, but wouldn’t kill him. Cregan yelled in pain again.

The men rode off, not stopping until they made it to the wall. Cregan passed out multiple times on the way, visions of her flooding his thoughts as the men had to drag him to the maester.

She stayed in the same place for hours, sobbing and sobbing, as the icy cold froze her tears. Only when night fell then did she turn and leave, knowing she would never see the Lord again.

[aoflameandco]

Netflix Lady: the devil’s in details 

The role of demons, politics, Dante's power level are all beloved aspects when it comes to criticizing the Netflix adaptation. Still, everything pales in comparison with the biggest object of dissatisfaction  - the new version of Lady. 

Why do people dislike Mary Ann Arkham so much? What's the difference between her and the original Lady? Today I’ll try to break through prejudices and, playing Devil's advocate, deconstruct the fandom's myth around her.

Lady vs Mary 

She isn't even Lady! This woman calls herself Mary even though the real Lady despised her birth name! 

It's well known that dmc Lady hates her name. The one she got from her father, the cold-blooded murderer of her mother. Lucky her, Dante was around to suggest a new iconic way to call herself.

So where did "Mary Ann Arkham" even come from? Surprisingly enough, the full name isn't Adi's invention, you can meet it in the CD-drama to the dmc2007 anime. But even in this source, Lady made it clear that she won't allow anyone to call her that.

So why not respect her personal choice? The tragedy has already happened, her mom died before her eyes, but Netflix Lady still goes by “Mary”. The answer is quite simple: she keeps her name, because she never disowned her dad.

The show portrays John Arkham as a devoted family man who truly loved his daughter. It's safe to assume that before the subway incident they spent a lot of time together, which is why little Mary was so upset and desperate to reach out when her father changed and became isolated.

We see Kalina's death from Mary's POV. Her father has turned into a demon, a monster who mercilessly killed her mom. Still, the last thing the girl saw through the flames was his human face, regretful, him reaching out to her.

In ep 4, Arkham keeps appearing in Mary's hallucinations, in both: demonic and human forms. Like her fallen teammates, Arkham the human blames his daughter for his painful death. After all, she was the one to set him on fire.

Of course, the vision is nothing but a mirror of Mary's guilt. She separates her beloved father from the demon who killed her mother. She blames herself for being too weak to prevent - not only Kalina's death, but the entire family tragedy.

The name she keeps isn't tainted by the most brutal betrayal. In a way, the show has chosen to adapt the scenario that Arkham used to manipulate Lady in dmc3, convincing her that he was incapable of fighting possession. The question is... Is his story truly over this time? Or maybe soon Mary will have no choice but to consider the nickname Dante has already given her? Long story short, in the show's universe Mary doesn't have a solid reason to abandon her birth name yet. 

Lady the government lapdog

Lady working for the government? The rebellious girl we know would never take orders from anyone! 

Once again, the difference comes from the changes in her backstory. The original Lady lost her family when she was in high school, which according to the manga was about a year before the events of dmc3. So she was ~16 yo. Still a teen, still deeply traumatized, but at this point the core of her personality was already formed and she had more opportunities to act independently. 

Now, I'm not so good at guessing the ages of cartoon characters, but there's no doubt that Netflix Lady was much younger, just a child, when the tragedy happened. A traumatized orphan, an easy target for someone's influence, as Rabbit pointed out in his calling out speech. The show heavily implies that Mary didn't get the Darkcom card accidentally and, who knows, they might have even groomed her for years before she became a real soldier.

Little Mary always wanted to fight monsters and protect people. Her father went crazy because no one took his warnings about demons seriously. And now she suddenly had the opportunity to join an organization that knows about demons and has real weapons to deal with them. Of course, she didn't hesitate.

Despite her traumatic past, Mary is hardly blindly obedient. She doesn't hesitate to make her own decisions, such as releasing Makai refugees, which was clearly not in the protocol. Gradually her moral compass starts to oppose the given orders and even Baines notices this, trying to tighten her leash. Still, in a tough struggle between heart and duty, duty wins. But more on that a bit later.

Finally, the soldier Lady was quite necessary from the writing perspective. Let's be honest, it was never really explained why dmc3 Lady is so good at fighting demons and has an entire arsenal at her disposal. Well, things happen, when a veteran mercenary is turned into yesterday's school girl to meet the public demands. But it's fine, it's a game and the rule of cool works pretty well, besides, the power of revenge does wonders. Meanwhile the show took a more realistic approach, so we got military training and an access to the latest technologies instead, which also allowed Mary to fight by Dante's side in the final battle. 

Lady aka overpowered girlboss

Why does Dante always lose to Lady? He toyed with her in the game! She's human, she stands no chance against serious opponents!

And very smoothly we move on to the next point. Thanks to the changes in the backstory, Lady has acquired a good combat experience and some tricky gadgets. Analyzing her fights, it’s easy to understand that she succeeds not because she is stronger, but because she is more strategic and knows which buttons to push, while Dante isn't in his best mental state. However, in a direct confrontation, when he really focuses and gets serious, Lady loses immediately.

Interestingly enough, they kinda contrast with their dmc3 counterparts. Lady is more emotional, driven by revenge, so her anger fuels her clashes with Dante, who always gets in her way. While he keeps his feelings to himself, hiding behind a devil-may-care mask for much of their interactions. No matter the fight, the power imbalance between them is rather obvious.

Meanwhile, Netflix portrays Dante and Lady as equals, each with their own strengths in different areas. Dante is a power house, brute force, stamina, regeneration, but he's too reckless, chaotic, uncoordinated and easily emotionally manipulated. Lady has a cool head, quick adapting and a smart use of environment on her side, but she often bites off more than she can chew, which results in Dante’s dashing acts of heroics. 

In the end, the show maintains a nice balance in their winning/saving score. The power imbalance isn't that visible, bc Mary is already in a solid form, while Dante is just starting out. But he'll certainly level up, so the power scalers could find some peace. 

Lady -  the screentime thief

Devil may cry? Ah, yes, the Lady show, which features Dante as a cameo! 

Now this is a really funny argument because technically Dante has more screentime than Lady, although the difference isn't that big. So why are so many people convinced that Lady stole his glory?

Let's start with the fact that Lady is the clear deuteragonist of Season 1. With Dante as the protagonist and Rabbit as the antagonist, duh. So she was bound to have a solid part of the story to herself.

It does help that Season 1 has Vergil only as a cameo now the real one. The role of the deuteragonist was taken over by him in the end of dmc3, leaving no room for Lady in the final battle. Meanwhile, Mary had no such restrictions and used her place as Dante's foil at its fullest. Actually I'm surprised that nobody blamed her for stealing Vergil's color palette lol

Lady is an active player, she needs to act first, because she knows that she may not get a second chance when the fate of the world is at stake. So she strategies, comes with the plans, rushes to change things, fights for her truth.

Dante's original goal is much smaller in comparison: he just wants his chill life and his mom's necklace back. Suddenly, he finds himself in the middle of the 4-D chess game, without any helpful knowledge. Darkcom and Rabbit keep fighting over him, moving him from location to location, the news about Sparda hit him like a truck, and he faces some big self-acceptance issues. Lady gets the luxury of making her own choices, while Dante is constantly forced to do things, because otherwise someone will die on him again. And just when he finally finds a solid motivation and decides to take a step out of his routine, he gets a beauty sleep in a freezer instead. 

The adaptation chose to explore Dante's inner world, showing his doubts and vulnerability, which I personally like to see. He still got his cool action scenes, but in contrast to Lady, who has her flashbacks too but also does a lot of stuff to influence the plot, Dante's role in Season 1 might look rather passive. Again, the problem is that Dante just starts his journey, absolutely unprepared, while Lady knows stuff and has some experience in critical situations. Still, this can create the illusion that the more active participant is the actual lead, while the protagonist is busy fighting his inner demons.

What a bitch is this Lady!

Netflix Lady is a horrible person! She never was so mean! Why does she keep abusing Dante and calling him slurs?! 

Well, first of all: Mary isn't mean to everyone, despite her sharp tongue, she is actually quite caring when it comes to her allies. A quick look at her interactions proves that she is friendly, when a person gains her respect, always willing to lend a helping hand, feels deeply responsible for her teammates.

Now let's talk about her enemies: of course, Lady hates demons with all her heart. And Dante falls into this category, because she refuses to acknowledge any exceptions at first.

In this prejudice she is no different from her dmc3 counterpart. The original Lady continued to judge Dante by his origins until their final confrontation, even though he had already saved her life several times by that point.

In the show Lady's attitude towards Dante slowly changes once she learns that not all demons are bloodthirsty monsters. Her mean behavior peaks in ep 3, when she is convinced that Dante is a super-cunning demon who is only pretending to be an idiot to fool everyone. But after she allows herself to reconsider her perspective, she gradually softens towards him, which even her enemy notices.

But she shot him in the leg after he saved her life! And the original Lady fired at Dante twice after he stopped her fall, initially not even knowing if he would survive the headshot. What can I say, Lady was always ruthless when someone gets in her way, but in the show, she also tries to protect Dante and stop him from doing something stupid in her own stern, caring way.

Now about “hellblood” being a slur- sorry, I think it's “a friend who is too woke” situation. Demons aren't a race, for starters. If anything, Dante is on thin ice too, remember how he mocked poor Cavaliere!

Funnily enough, when Dante isn't around, Mary is comfortable calling him by his name, but she clearly avoids doing so directly. Maybe it's her own revenge for “Lady”, but you can see that in the last episode she doesn't use "Hellblood" in a negative context. Still, whether this nickname is appropriate is up to you to decide.

Uncensored Lady

Devil may cry? More like Lady may swear!

This probably should have been the first point on the list. Because a lot of people have complained that Lady sounds like she's from another big cartoon about demons. And you know what? As someone who doesn't swear irl, I'll even agree with the criticism. But not without throwing in my two cents.

The problem isn't that Lady has a foul mouth. She has one, dmc2007 wasn't shy about it either. The problem is the amount of swearing, which at some point becomes a bit comical. It's like Lady is trying too hard to be cool and menacing.

But what if it's intentional. Mary is a young woman in the military who rises through the ranks, takes responsibility for people, chains her feelings behind armor. It's worth noting that she uses swear words mainly to establish that she is in control, fearless, to hide her vulnerability, to demonstrate that her enemy is worthless and can't do shit to her. It's like another layer of her armor, a hard facade she has created.

Or maybe Adi just thinks it's cool. Let's check out the next season(s) to see if character development correlates with the amount of cussing.

Et tu, Lady?  

Lady was never a backstabber! Her last decision destroyed all her progress for the season!

The last few episodes proved that Lady warmed up to Dante. She was trying her best to convince him to cooperate, to trust Baines, because from her POV, Darkcom is the only organization capable of protecting the amulet and Dante by default.

Mary's faith visibly cracks after Baines treated the deaths of her team so coldly and then ordered the "demon" to be taken into custody. It's more than obvious how upset she was by this turn of events.

The final battle gave Mary even more reasons to struggle: she saw first-hand what Dante's carefree confidence could lead to. Dante now has a new personal goal: to find his brother, who is clearly connected to the greatest threat to humanity. Mary, as a person, understands and sympathizes with his desire to reunite with his only family. She deeply regrets betraying his trust, especially after he asked her to come with him. But Mary, as a soldier, could not allow that to happen. Not when it could cause another apocalypse.

Mary's choice feels natural: she knew Dante for a day, while Darkcom was her everything for much longer time. But it's also important to consider - when Mary made her final decision, she didn't know that Baines would attack Makai first. She didn't know that he had ordered the deaths of all the refugees she had saved, to begin with. In the end, she looks absolutely devastated, her moral sacrifice for world peace was in vain.

Well, that’s the tragedy of Mary Ann Arkham. A character who is clearly beloved by writers, but often misunderstood by fans. It’s hard to disagree: she’s not the Lady we know. But it’s also important to add: she’s not Lady yet. And if that tedious long speech has convinced you to wait a little longer and give her a chance to prove herself, my mission is well accomplished

[emilsendo]

YANDERE!Headcanons

For: Draken, Tengen(without his wives), Kyojuro Rengoku, Mitsuri, Gyomei, Asahi, Bokuto, Kuroo, Baji, Mikey, Tsukishima, Tomioka, Mitsuya Takashi. (Part 1) (It's so long that my brain stop working 💀)

Warnings: Yandere Tendences, sick obsession, killing, beating, blood, aggression, tears, abusing, manipulation, threats, and all this type of madness xDD

_______________________________________

DRAKEN:

● Guardian-Like Possessiveness – Draken sees you as someone who needs his protection, even though you are perfectly capable of handling yourself. He justifies his possessiveness as “keeping you safe,” but in reality, he doesn’t want anyone else getting too close.

● Unwavering Loyalty – Draken’s yandere tendencies are rooted in devotion rather than insanity. He isn’t the type to hurt you, but he will mercilessly eliminate threats—whether it’s rivals, enemies, or even friends who get too close.

● Hiding your secrets - he personally ensures no one ever discovers it, even going as far as intimidating or silencing anyone who gets suspicious.

● Overprotective to the Extreme – If Y/N gets injured, Draken loses all rationality. The one responsible? Gone. Even if it's something minor, he'll act as if Y/N is fragile, forcing them to rest and refusing to let them out of his sight.

● Subtle but Unbreakable Control – Draken never chains Y/N physically, but emotionally? Different story. He subtly manipulates situations so that Y/N relies on him more than anyone else. Other people will always seem unreliable compared to Draken’s steady presence.

● Jealousy is Dangerous – Draken isn't outwardly possessive like some yanderes, but his jealousy is lethal. A simple conversation with someone else can result in that person suddenly disappearing from Y/N's life—whether through intimidation, threats, or worse.

● Knows When to Give Space—But He’s Always Watching – Draken isn’t suffocating in the usual yandere way. He lets you be independent because he knows trying to control you outright would backfire. But no matter where you go, Draken knows.

● Whispers of Manipulation – If Y/N ever tries to leave or distance themself, Draken plays the long game. He won’t beg or act desperate; instead, he’ll plant seeds of doubt, subtly making you feel like the world without Draken is cold and unreliable.

● If Y/N Ever Tried to Escape… – Draken would let them go—at first. He knows chasing them down immediately would make Y/N rebel more. Instead, he waits. He watches. And just when Y/N starts feeling like something is missing, Draken appears again, acting like nothing happened, but ensuring Y/N never tries leaving again.

TENGEN:

● Obsession Hidden Behind Glamour – Tengen is naturally charming and flamboyant, so at first, his obsession with you might not be obvious. He showers you with attention, gifts, and grand gestures, making it seem like he’s just being his usual flashy self. But beneath all that, his love is possessive and dangerously deep.

● You’re His Most “Flamboyant” Treasure – He sees you as the most precious thing in his life, even above his career as a Demon Slayer. The way he talks about you to others is almost reverent, as if you’re some rare, untouchable jewel that only he is worthy of admiring.

● Overprotectiveness Disguised as “Caring” – Any interaction you have with another man is met with Tengen subtly interfering. He’ll throw an arm around your shoulders, make exaggerated jokes about how you’re “already taken,” or if he’s feeling especially possessive, he’ll straight-up intimidate the other person with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

● Soft Yet Threatening Possessiveness – Unlike a violent yandere, Tengen doesn’t lash out in a fit of rage. Instead, he manipulates the situation to keep you close. If you try to leave, he’ll guilt-trip you with that charming smile, whispering things like:

“You wouldn’t want to make me unflashy by running away, would you, (Y/N)? I might just lose all my flair without you.”

●Isolation Disguised as Luxury – He makes sure you have everything you could ever want, so there’s no “need” for you to go anywhere else. Exotic foods, expensive clothes, private performances—he drowns you in pleasure and attention to keep you dependent on him. But if you ever express wanting to leave, his usually playful expression darkens.

● The “Loving” Jailor – If you ever try to run away, he doesn’t get angry. Instead, he gets... disappointed. That hurts more. He’ll sigh dramatically, shake his head, and remind you in the sweetest yet most chilling voice:

“I love you too much to let you go, you know? So don’t make this difficult.”

● A “Happy” Ending, Whether You Want It or Not – In the end, no matter what you do, Tengen ensures that you stay by his side. He won’t hesitate to use force if necessary, but he prefers making you so emotionally and physically dependent on him that you don’t even think about leaving. After all, why would you ever need anyone else when he can give you everything?

KYOJURO RENGOKU:

● Devoted and Protective to an Extreme- Kyojuro is already fiercely loyal, but as a yandere, this devotion becomes overwhelming. He sees you as his greatest treasure and will stop at nothing to keep you safe. The moment he senses danger—whether real or imagined—he steps in without hesitation, cutting down anything that threatens you. He constantly watches over you, even when you don’t realize it. If you’re on a mission, he somehow always finds an excuse to accompany you or, at the very least, check in with you before and after.

● Overwhelming Affection - He’s always smiling, but that doesn’t mean his grip on your wrist isn’t just a little too tight when he’s leading you somewhere "safer." Hugs that last just a second too long, lingering touches, and words of encouragement that sound more like vows of eternal devotion. He praises you constantly, talking about how incredible you are, how much he admires you, and how honored he is to "protect what is his."

● Subtly Controlling - He doesn’t outright lock you away, but he always finds ways to make sure you’re by his side. He insists that training together will make you stronger. He convinces you that traveling with him is safer than being alone. If another slayer or Hashira gets too close, his smile doesn’t waver, but his aura shifts. His voice is still warm, but there’s a quiet, underlying menace when he asks them why they need to be so familiar with his dearest companion. He discourages you from forming deep relationships with others, subtly steering conversations so you rely on him alone.

● Jealousy Burns Like Fire - If someone flirts with you, they mysteriously find themselves sent on the most dangerous missions—or, if they’re particularly bold, they might not return at all. He doesn’t threaten you directly, but his presence alone makes it clear that you belong to him. “I will always protect you,” he says, and the way he grips his sword makes it seem like he's not just talking about demons.

If you ever try to leave him, he’s heartbroken but doesn’t let you go. He insists that it’s for your own good and that the world is far too dangerous without him.

● Unwavering Devotion - Despite his possessiveness, Kyojuro never stops being a warm and radiant presence. His love is suffocating but never cruel. He truly believes everything he does is for your happiness and safety. If you ever reciprocate his feelings—even just a little—his obsession intensifies. The idea that you love him too fuels his delusions, making him even more convinced that you were meant for each other.

No matter what happens, Kyojuro will be with you. Whether you accept it or not is irrelevant—he’s already decided that his place is by your side, forever.

MITSURI:

● Love at First Sight, Intensified - Mitsuri already falls in love easily, but when she meets you, it’s something different. It’s as if her heart was made just for you. She’ll blush, giggle, and become completely infatuated—except this time, it doesn’t fade. Instead, it deepens into something much more intense.

● Extreme Devotion & Affection - She showers you with love—constant hugs, compliments, homemade meals—but it’s overwhelming. You’ll never go a day without her telling you how much she loves you, how much she needs you. Even if you try to distance yourself, she’ll find ways to stay close, whether it’s through small favors or inserting herself into your daily routine.

● Jealousy That Burns Bright - Mitsuri is usually sweet and bubbly, but if she sees another person getting too friendly with you? Her smile falters, her grip on her sword tightens, and her usually warm gaze becomes unsettlingly sharp. She doesn’t lash out violently—at least, not at first—but she’ll subtly intimidate anyone who gets too close, wrapping herself around you like a vine to make it clear that you’re hers.

● Clinginess Turned Possessiveness - She adores spending every moment with you, and if she could, she’d keep you by her side forever. She’ll start with small things—holding onto your arm longer than necessary, ‘accidentally’ showing up wherever you are. But soon, she won’t even want you leaving her sight. “You don’t need anyone else, right? Just me!” she insists, her voice laced with a desperate kind of love.

● The Soft, Guilt-Tripping Captor - If she feels like you’re pulling away from her, she doesn’t react with anger—she reacts with heartbreak. Tears well up in her big, bright eyes as she asks, “D-Do you not love me anymore?” The thought of hurting her is unbearable, and she knows it. If she ever has to restrain you (whether physically or through emotional manipulation), it’s always accompanied by apologies and kisses. “I just want to keep you safe, that’s all! Please don’t hate me…”

● Lethal When Necessary - Mitsuri isn’t naturally violent outside of battle, but for you? She’ll make exceptions. If someone keeps getting in her way—or worse, tries to take you from her—she won’t hesitate to ‘deal’ with them. You might never even know, as she’d rather keep that side of herself hidden. But if you do find out, she’ll simply smile through the bloodstains and say, “I only did it because I love you so much~!”

● Her Idea of a ‘Happy Ending’ - Mitsuri doesn’t want to hurt you, and she certainly doesn’t want to lose you. In her ideal world, you love her just as much as she loves you, and the two of you can be together forever—whether that means running away together, living a peaceful life in a secluded place, or even something more... restrictive. “I’ll do anything to keep you by my side, okay? No one will ever take you from me. Ever.”

GYOMEI

● Overprotective to an Extreme Degree- Gyomei already sees the world as cruel and full of suffering, and the moment he realizes he harbors feelings for you, his protectiveness reaches an alarming level. He sees himself as your guardian, shielding you from all possible dangers—even imaginary ones. He refuses to let you fight, even if you're a skilled swordsman. "You are too precious to risk, even for the cause," he says, his large hands trembling with emotion. If you're a Demon Slayer, he will find ways to subtly sabotage missions that put you in danger—delayed crow messages, reports "accidentally" misplaced, or even outright demanding Kagaya Ubuyashiki to keep you at the estate.

● Isolation Through ‘Love’ - Unlike some yanderes who might chain their beloved up, Gyomei believes he is doing what’s best for you. He limits your interactions with others, not through force, but through sheer emotional weight. "The world outside is cruel, full of loss and sorrow," he tells you in his soft, prayerful voice. "Stay by my side, where I can keep you safe." He convinces you that others wouldn’t understand your bond, that they don’t appreciate your existence as he does. He guilt-trips you without realizing it, making you feel as though leaving his side would be an unforgivable sin.

● Physical Affection as Restraint - Gyomei's strength is beyond human, and when he holds you, it feels both secure and inescapable. His embraces last too long, his hands firm as if afraid you’ll slip away. If you try to resist or argue, he holds you just a bit tighter, not enough to hurt but enough to make you realize you can’t escape. "I only wish for you to be safe," he whispers against your hair. He is constantly touching you—whether it's resting his heavy palm on your shoulder, holding your wrist when walking, or brushing his fingers over your pulse as if to confirm you’re still there.

● Devotion That Borders on Worship - Gyomei is deeply spiritual, and in his mind, his love for you is almost sacred. He prays for your safety, your happiness, and even for forgiveness—because he knows his obsession isn't normal. At night, he kneels in prayer, murmuring your name like a mantra, asking the gods to grant him strength to protect you, even if it means going against your will. He compares you to something divine, untouchable by anyone but him. "You are my guiding light," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I would die before I let darkness reach you."

● Absolute, Unquestionable Possessiveness‐ Despite his gentle demeanor, Gyomei does not tolerate threats to your bond. Anyone who gets too close is subtly warned—he doesn’t need to say much, just standing near them is enough for them to feel the sheer pressure of his presence. If someone confesses to you, he will intervene before you can answer. He won’t get violent, but the quiet authority in his voice makes it clear: You belong to him.

If you ever try to leave, he will weep, his body shaking as he begs you not to go. If you still resist, he won’t hesitate to restrain you, holding you in his powerful arms until you’re too exhausted to fight. "I cannot let you go," he whispers brokenly. "Not when I have already lost so much."

● Soft-Spoken, but Unbreakable - There’s no reasoning with Gyomei once his obsession is solidified. He truly believes everything he does is for your sake, and no amount of pleading will make him change his mind. If you cry, he will hold you, pressing his forehead against yours as he reassures you. "One day, you’ll understand," he says, voice thick with emotion. He hates making you unhappy, and it pains him to see you resist, but he genuinely believes you are safest in his care. He doesn’t need chains, locks, or threats—his sheer willpower is enough to keep you bound to him.

● If You Ever Accept Him… - If you eventually stop fighting and return his feelings—whether out of genuine affection or resigned acceptance—Gyomei will be ecstatic. He will treat you like something fragile and precious, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. He will shower you with quiet praises, murmuring how grateful he is, how he thanks the gods every day for allowing him to keep you. If you initiate affection, he will be overwhelmed, silent tears streaming down his face as he holds you close. "You have given my life meaning," he whispers, voice trembling. "I will never let you go."

ASAHI

● Asahi isn’t the typical yandere—he’s not overtly violent or sadistic. Instead, his possessiveness manifests as overwhelming protectiveness and paranoia. He constantly worries about your well-being, convinced that the world is too dangerous for you. He overthinks everything, imagining worst-case scenarios where you get hurt or taken from him. Because of his gentle nature, he doesn’t resort to extreme methods right away, but his obsessiveness grows over time, especially if he feels like he’s losing control over you.

● Obsession & Possessiveness - Asahi has severe anxiety when it comes to you interacting with others—especially other guys. He won’t outright forbid you from talking to them, but his mood visibly sours, and his grip on you tightens (literally and figuratively). If you’re close to someone he deems a “threat,” he’ll start subtly manipulating the situation to keep them away—spreading rumors, “accidentally” interrupting conversations, or guilt-tripping you into spending more time with him. He has an irrational fear of you leaving him, even if you reassure him. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, and he’ll start acting even clingier.

Expect lots of apologetic affection—he knows his overprotectiveness might seem suffocating, but he can’t help it. Every time he gets too intense, he buries his face in your shoulder, mumbling, “I’m sorry… I just don’t want to lose you.”

● Jealousy & Control - He tries so hard to be reasonable, but his jealousy eats away at him. When he sees you smiling at someone else, he feels physically sick. He doesn’t lash out violently, but his emotions come out in passive-aggressive ways—long silences, avoiding eye contact, or suddenly clinging to you in public.

His biggest coping mechanism? Marking you. Not just physically (hickeys, tight hugs, etc.), but also with his things—his jacket, his scarf, anything that makes it clear you belong to him.

● Breaking Point - Asahi snaps when he feels like he’s losing you—maybe you start spending too much time with someone else, or you try to set boundaries. His desperation overtakes his guilt, and he’ll resort to more extreme methods, like isolating you. He might convince you that no one else understands you the way he does.

At worst? He might lock you away, justifying it with: “It’s for your own good… I love you too much to let anything happen to you.” His gentle voice cracks with fear, his hands trembling as he grips yours. Even if you resist, he’ll break down into tears, begging you to just love him back the way he loves you

● He genuinely believes he’s protecting you, even when his actions become dangerous. You could try to talk him down, but if his obsession has already taken over, he won’t listen. At that point, you’d have to either escape or accept him.

BOKUTO

● Obsessive Affection: Bokuto is already naturally affectionate, but as a yandere, his attention toward you becomes suffocating. He constantly clings to you, texting and calling you non-stop, making sure you’re always thinking about him. If you don’t reply quickly, he spirals into insecurity, showing up at your house or practice unannounced.

● Extreme Mood Swings: Bokuto's emotional highs and lows are even more intense. If you praise or acknowledge him, he’s on top of the world, showering you with hugs and endless compliments. But if he feels ignored or senses competition, he crashes hard—sulking, guilt-tripping, or becoming dangerously possessive.

● Overprotective and Jealous: He gets visibly upset if you spend too much time with someone else, especially other guys. If you talk about another player’s skills, he immediately tries to prove he’s better. He’ll puff up his chest and challenge them to a match, just to "remind" you who’s the best.

● Physical Possessiveness: Bokuto enjoys casual touches—slinging an arm around your shoulders, ruffling your hair, or pulling you into a tight hug. But as a yandere, his touch becomes more insistent. He’ll hold onto you longer than necessary, grip your wrist if you try to walk away, and wrap himself around you as if to shield you from the world.

● Emotional Manipulation (Unintentional, but Effective): Bokuto doesn’t mean to manipulate you, but his emotional outbursts make it difficult to deny him. If you try to set boundaries, he’ll look devastated—eyes wide, voice trembling as he asks, “Do you hate me?” It’s almost impossible to say no when he looks so broken.

● Overwhelming Devotion: Bokuto genuinely believes you’re the best thing in his life. He dedicates victories to you, tells his teammates about you constantly, and even starts tailoring his playing style to impress you. He lives for your approval and craves your presence like oxygen.

● Childlike Dependency: Bokuto’s worst fear is you leaving him. If you ever hint at needing space, he panics. He’ll grip your arm tightly and beg, “But you promised we’d always be together, right?” His desperation is raw and heartbreaking—making it feel almost cruel to pull away.

● Subtle Isolation: He doesn’t outright stop you from seeing others, but he makes it difficult. He’ll insist on walking you home, dragging you into late-night training, or even guilt-tripping you into skipping plans. He frames it as “I just want to be with you more!” and it’s hard to argue when he looks so eager.

● Unshakeable Loyalty: Despite his possessiveness, Bokuto isn’t cruel—he’s just overwhelmingly intense. His love for you is all-consuming, but it’s genuine. He’ll do anything to make you happy… as long as you don’t leave him. Because if you ever try, well—Bokuto doesn’t know how to exist without you.

● Sudden Bursts of Aggression: Bokuto is usually playful and upbeat, but if he feels seriously threatened—if someone flirts with you or tries to get too close—his aura shifts. His usual golden eyes darken, his playful grin tightens, and his voice drops into something dangerously serious: “Back off. He’s mine.”

KUROO

● Charming but Possessive - Kuroo is a smooth talker, using his natural charisma to keep you close. At first, his affection seems harmless—lots of teasing, playful jabs, and flirtatious remarks. But beneath that laid-back exterior, he's deeply possessive. He doesn't like sharing your attention. If anyone gets too close, he'll subtly insert himself into the conversation, redirecting everything back to himself or making the other person feel unwelcome.

● Subtle Manipulation - Kuroo is a strategist on and off the court. Instead of outright controlling you, he makes you believe that being with him is your best option. If you try to make new friends or spend time with others, he’ll guilt-trip you in a way that doesn’t seem too aggressive. “Oh? You’re hanging out with them again? Guess I’ll just third-wheel my own best friend, huh?”

● Overprotective Streak - If anyone makes you uncomfortable—even unintentionally—Kuroo will be the first to step in. He’ll throw around snide comments and passive-aggressive remarks, making sure the person knows they’re not welcome in your life. If they don’t take the hint, he’s not above fixing the problem in more underhanded ways. A few rumors, some well-placed insults, and suddenly, your other friends don’t seem so reliable anymore.

● Jealousy Disguised as Concern - He hides his jealousy behind “looking out for you.” If you talk about someone too much, he’ll start planting seeds of doubt: “Are you sure he’s not using you? People aren’t always what they seem.” If you insist that your other friends are trustworthy, he’ll play the “I’m just trying to protect you” card. It’s frustrating because he never outright forbids you from seeing them, but he makes sure you second-guess every interaction.

● Physical Affection as a Claim - Kuroo uses physical closeness to stake his claim on you. An arm slung around your shoulders, leaning in just a little too close, ruffling your hair—he wants people to see that you belong to him. If he’s feeling particularly threatened, his touches become lingering. A hand on your waist when guiding you somewhere, fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels too deliberate. If you pull away, he’ll pout and guilt-trip you into letting him do it again.

● Gaslighting and Mind Games - If you ever call him out on his behavior, he’ll play dumb. “What? You think I’m controlling? I’m just looking out for you. That hurts, y’know?” He’s an expert at making you question whether he’s actually in the wrong. He never raises his voice or gets aggressive, but his disappointed tone is enough to make you second-guess yourself.

● A Slow Descent into Isolation - Kuroo won’t force you away from others, but he makes sure you naturally drift away. He convinces you that he’s the only one who really understands you. If someone does try to warn you about him, he’ll flip the script. “They’re just jealous of what we have.” And he says it with so much confidence that it’s hard not to believe him.

● Breaking Point - If you ever try to distance yourself, that’s when his composure cracks. He doesn’t snap immediately, but there’s a shift in his tone. He’ll give you space at first, but behind the scenes, he’s watching you. Every interaction, every movement—you’re never truly alone. When he finally makes his move, it’s not forceful, but firm. He’ll corner you somewhere quiet, his usual playful smirk replaced with something darker. “You don’t really think you can leave me, do you?”

BAJI KEISUKE:

● Violent Protector – Baji is the type of yandere who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone to a pulp if they so much as look at Y/N the wrong way. If someone flirts with them? Broken nose. If they touch them? Someone might end up in the hospital.

● Brutal but Loving – Despite his aggression toward others, he is soft only for Y/N. He knows that you can fight and handle yourself, but Baji still insists on stepping in when things get too dangerous. "I know you can kick his ass, but let me do it instead."

● Possessive and Territorial – Baji is constantly marking you as his, whether by throwing an arm around you, biting your neck (as a warning to others), or just outright stating that Y/N belongs to him. If someone asks if Y/N is single, Baji will laugh and crack his knuckles.

● Worships Y/N's Strength – Baji is obsessed with how Y/N fights, especially when they go brutal. Seeing Y/N lose control makes Baji grin like a madman—he loves watching the destruction unfold. He’ll even encourage it, whispering, "Go on, baby, show them what happens when they mess with you."

● Destructive Jealousy – If Baji ever feels like Y/N is getting too close to someone else, he won’t hesitate to pick a fight. He might even do something reckless, like challenge a whole gang just to prove he’s the only one Y/N needs.

● Would Die for Him – No hesitation. If Y/N was in danger, Baji would throw himself in the line of fire without a second thought. He’s already reckless, but with Y/N, he’s even worse. "If it means keeping you safe, I don't care what happens to me."

● Tries to Control His Rage (for you) – If you hate unnecessary violence, he'll do his best to hold back his impulses—but it’s hard. If Y/N asks him to let something go, Baji will, but it takes everything in him not to go back and destroy the person later.

● Only Soft for Y/N – Baji doesn’t care about looking scary to the world, but with you, he’s different. He’ll let you touch his hair, lean against him, and even listen when you tell him to calm down. He’d never admit it, but you're the only one who can get through to him.

MIKEY

● Obsession Disguised as Protection - Mikey convinces himself that Y/N needs him to stay safe, even though Y/N is fully capable of handling themself. Whenever Y/N fights, Mikey watches closely, both proud and possessive, thinking, They're mine, and no one else should see then like this.

● Hiding His True Nature (At First) - Mikey acts playful and carefree around Y/N, pretending to be just a friend or a leader who cares. But behind that grin? His mind is always scheming to make Y/N more dependent on him. He starts isolating you subtly—making sure you spend more time with Toman, ensuring that your world starts to revolve around him.

● Extreme Jealousy & Controlling Behavior- The moment Y/N talks to someone else too much, Mikey goes eerily quiet, his eyes dark. The next day, that person either disappears, gets beaten, or suddenly avoids Y/N. If Y/N refuses to listen, Mikey's first instinct is to guilt-trip them:

"I just want you to be safe. You trust me, right, Y/N?"

If that doesn’t work? Mikey threatens people Y/N cares about, not directly, but in a way that makes it clear: Stay close to me, or bad things happen.

● Denial of Reality - Even if Y/N rejects him, Mikey won't accept it. He’ll say:

"You're just confused. You love me too, you just don't realize it yet."

If Y/N tries to escape or cut ties, Mikey hunts then down and gaslights them into thinking it was all just a misunderstanding.

● Clinginess & Emotional Manipulation- When Mikey feels Y/N pulling away, he suddenly becomes vulnerable and sad, making Y/N feel guilty. He’ll say things like:

"Everyone leaves me, Y/N… But not you, right?" He clings to Y/N physically, draping himself over them, holding onto their wrist just a little too tight. If Y/N tries to resist? Mikey's childlike demeanor disappears, replaced by a cold, terrifying aura.

● Would He Kidnap you? - If Y/N pushes him too far, Mikey wouldn’t hesitate to lock them away somewhere "safe."

"You don't understand, Neon. The world is cruel. Only I can keep you safe."

● His Soft Spot for Y/N- Despite his possessiveness, Mikey adores everything about Y/N—their looks, behavior, speed, strength, even rage. If Y/N ever leans into the darkness, Mikey encourages it, seeing them as two people who understand each other completely.

However, if Y/N tries to fight back against Mikey’s control, he sees it as a betrayal… and betrayal means punishment.

TSUKISHIMA

● Denial at First – Tsukishima doesn’t see himself as the obsessive type. He thinks he’s above that, but when he notices how his mood sours every time you talk to someone else, how he memorizes your schedule without meaning to, and how he gets irritated when you don’t text him first—he realizes something is off. He hates the idea of being clingy, but when it comes to you, logic takes a backseat.

● Possessive but Subtle – Unlike other yanderes who might be openly aggressive, Tsukishima is more subtle in his control. He doesn’t physically stop you from seeing others, but he makes sure you don’t want to. He’ll drop sarcastic comments about how your “so-called friends” don’t actually care about you, planting seeds of doubt. If you start isolating yourself because of it? Good. That means he doesn’t have to do much.

● Emotional Manipulation – He’s a master of guilt-tripping. If you’re about to hang out with someone else, he’ll sigh and mumble something like, “It’s not like I needed you today or anything.” It’s not a direct command, but the disappointment in his tone makes it hard for you to leave him alone. He wants you to choose him every time.

● Jealousy is Dangerous – He rarely lashes out in public, but his passive-aggressiveness skyrockets when he’s jealous. He won’t confront the person you’re close to—he’ll just make them uncomfortable enough to back off. A sharp glare, a sarcastic remark, a well-placed rumor—Tsukishima knows how to make people not want to be around you without you realizing it’s his doing.

● Silent Monitoring – He memorizes your habits, knows your usual routes, and always keeps an eye on you, even if you don’t notice. If you mention that you're going somewhere, don’t be surprised if he just “happens” to show up. And if you forget to text him about your plans? Expect a passive-aggressive text along the lines of, “Oh, so I have to hear about your whereabouts from someone else now?”

● Breaking You Down – If you ever try to push him away, he knows exactly how to hurt you emotionally. He’ll act like you’re overreacting, make you question if you’re imagining things, and even imply that no one else understands you like he does. If that doesn’t work, he’ll act cold and distant, making you crave his attention again. He wants you dependent on him.

● “It’s for Your Own Good” Mentality – If you ever catch on to his manipulative tactics, he’ll act like he’s just protecting you. “I’m the only one who actually cares about you,” he’ll say, voice dripping with feigned indifference. And when you see how much effort he puts into keeping you by his side, it’s hard to argue against it. Maybe he really is the only one who truly understands you.

● Endgame? – Tsukishima isn’t the type to kidnap you or resort to extreme violence, but he will ensure that he’s the only constant in your life. By the time you realize how deep his influence runs, it’s too late—he’s already your closest friend, your confidant, your everything. And once he has you like that, why would he ever let go?

TOMIOKA

● The Silent Possessiveness - Giyu doesn’t openly express his feelings, but he watches you closely—always aware of where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. He rarely initiates conversation, but his eyes are always following you, like a silent shadow. If anyone gets too close, his presence becomes even more unnerving.

● Isolation Through Subtle Manipulation- Giyu subtly ensures that you spend most of your time with him. He doesn’t outright tell you to avoid others, but circumstances always seem to work out that way—a sudden mission, an injury, or a quiet request to keep him company. If another Hashira or demon slayer shows interest in you, he doesn’t threaten them outright. Instead, he stares them down, instilling an instinctive fear that makes them keep their distance.

● Overprotectiveness Disguised as Concern- He never raises his voice, but his words carry weight. “You shouldn’t be so reckless,” he murmurs after he sees you training with someone else. If you get injured, even slightly, expect him to personally tend to you—even if you protest. His hands are gentle, but his grip is firm. “Don’t move,” he says, eyes dark with something unreadable.

● Unwavering Loyalty—To an Extreme - Giyu is already devoted to those he cares about, but with you, it reaches an obsessive level. If anyone were to harm you, even by accident, his mercy disappears. A demon that barely grazed you? Dead in an instant. A fellow slayer that insulted you? They suddenly receive the coldest, most ruthless treatment from Giyu.

● Soft-Spoken Yet Terrifying - Unlike more aggressive yanderes, Giyu doesn’t resort to threats. He doesn’t need to. His calm demeanor makes it more terrifying when he tells you, “You don’t need anyone else. I can protect you.” If you try to argue, he won’t raise his voice—he’ll just look at you, eyes dark, his grip on his sword tightening ever so slightly.

● The Inescapable Bond - If you ever try to distance yourself, he won’t react violently—at least, not outwardly. Instead, he becomes even more present in your life. He’s just there—waiting outside your room, standing in the distance when you train, silently appearing whenever you think you’re alone.

● Would Giyu Kidnap You? - Giyu isn’t the type to immediately resort to abduction, but if he feels you’re in danger—or worse, trying to leave him—he won’t hesitate. It wouldn’t be violent. He’d simply take you somewhere secluded, somewhere only he knows.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly, resting his hand on yours. “The world is cruel. I won’t let it take you from me.”

“You’re safer with me,” he insists. And the worst part? He truly believes it.

MITSUYA

● "The Gentle Weaver of Obsession" - Mitsuya is not the typical violent yandere. Instead, he is a manipulative and possessive type who controls Y/N through kindness, patience, and unbreakable emotional ties. He uses his reliability and warmth as a weapon, making it nearly impossible for Y/N to leave him.

● Soft Chains of Love - Mitsuya never raises his voice or threatens Y/N directly. Instead, he makes them feel so safe and loved that the idea of leaving him becomes terrifying. He sews custom clothes for Y/N, subtly embedding tracking devices in them. Y/N never questions it because “Mitsuya just cares about me.”

● Silent Domination - Whenever Y/N shows interest in someone else, Mitsuya never lashes out openly. Instead, he subtly ruins their chances—spreading small lies, "accidentally" isolating Y/N, or giving death glares so chilling that even the strongest delinquents back off. He never makes you feel trapped, but somehow, you always find yourself running back to Mitsuya when things go wrong.

● Hidden Ruthlessness - When Y/N gets into fights, Mitsuya doesn’t stop them—he even stitches them up afterward. But if someone hurts them badly, they disappear. Quietly. Permanently. No one suspects Mitsuya because he’s "too kind", but if anyone dares to break Y/N's heart, he ensures they suffer in ways no one can trace back to them.

● The Warmest Cage - Mitsuya ensures Y/N never needs anyone else. Whenever Y/N are at their lowest, Mitsuya is always there, comforting them, reminding that no one understands them better. He never forbids Y/N from doing anything but makes sure that when Y/N does something dangerous (or with someone Mitsuya dislikes), things just seem to go… wrong.

● Possessiveness Hidden Behind Smiles- "Y/N, you're free to do whatever you want. Just remember, I'll always be the one waiting for you." He’s never aggressive about keeping you close, but there’s something in his steady lavender gaze that makes it clear: You're his. Always. If you ever tried to leave, Mitsuya wouldn’t force you to stay—he’d just make sure you had nowhere else to go but back to him.

● Mitsuya doesn’t forcefully trap you—he makes it so that you never even think about leaving. He controls you through care, through devotion so deep it's terrifying.

● If you ever tried to break free, Mitsuya would smile, let you go… and quietly erase every safe place you had, until you realize the only real home you have is in Mitsuya's arms.

[swanincrisis]

Midnight Waltz - Pinocchio x f!Reader

Noticing that your puppet companion isn't at his best, you try to lift his spirits, offering a brief escape from his troubles. - warnings: none - word count: 1.1k

It was a night like any other at Hotel Krat, shrouded in an air of melancholic elegance. The dimly lit corridors whispered with the weight of unspoken fears, their inhabitants tucked away in isolation, whether from the unrelenting horrors of the Puppet Frenzy or the silent doom of the Petrification Disease. Yet, within the vast loneliness of the grand hotel, something stirred—a longing, a quiet ache in the cold air.

Sleep eluded you. The absence of your dear puppet companion gnawed at your heart. Geppetto had sent him out again, as he always did, heedless of the strain on his delicate yet unyielding frame. You often wondered. Did his gears ever get stuck? Did his joints grow weary? Did he even understand what it meant to rest?

With a sigh, you abandoned your bed, wrapping yourself in the hush of the midnight halls. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting silver ribbons upon the polished floors. You had intended to make your way to the library, to lose yourself in the stories you and Pinocchio so often shared. But then, a sound. Low grunts, the unmistakable whisper of a blade slicing through resistance.

Your head turned toward the hotel’s garden doors. Closed, when they were usually left open. Your chest tightened. There was only one person—one puppet—who could be behind them.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward and pushed open the door.

The cold night air curled around you, kissing your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. And there he was.

Pinocchio.

But something was wrong.

He moved with a ferocity you had never seen, slashing at the training dummies with a silent fury. His body, usually so graceful, was taut with unspoken rage, his strikes relentless, desperate. He wasn’t training. He was fighting something unseen, something that clung to him like a shadow.

Your heart ached at the sight. Slowly, cautiously, you approached. His movements stilled, his head tilting slightly as if he had always known you were there. Of course, he had.

“Pino?” Your voice was as soft as the night breeze. “Are you alright?”

He turned to you fully, his expression unreadable. But the way his hand gripped his weapon, as if it were the last thing tethering him to this world, spoke volumes.

Without a word, he nodded, then turned away, sinking onto one of the garden benches. You followed without hesitation.

“As much as I admire your growth, you know your lies don’t work on me,” you murmured, almost teasing, but the concern in your voice was unmistakable. “Tell me. What’s bothering you?”

He slumped forward, though not entirely, his gaze fixed on the ground. A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally whispered,

“I…I don’t know.”

Your mind raced. Was it something you had done? Something someone else had said? Or was it the horrors of Krat weighing on him, the ever present burden of Geppetto’s expectations?

“Pino, had I—”

“No."

His voice cut through the air.

"No. Never.”

His sudden interruption shocked you. Pinocchio was always soft spoken, careful with his words. He had never cut you off so sharply before. When he turned to you, his striking blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in existence.

“You can do no wrong in my eyes.”

His voice was gentle, reverent, as if he feared the weight of his own words. And then, with exquisite care, he took your hand in his own, holding it as though you were made of glass.

You blinked, stunned. Your heart pounded, warmth blooming in your chest. No one had ever spoken to you like that before. Not with such conviction, such devotion.

And in that moment, an idea bloomed in your mind. A quiet, reckless idea.

Without a second thought, you rose, tugging his hand with you. He looked up at you, confusion softening his features, but he did not resist. He never would.

You led him to the center of the garden, where the moonlight bathed the flowers in silver.

“Dance with me.”

A beat of silence.

“…What?”

“Dance with me.”

His lips parted slightly, his gears whirring ever so faintly in hesitation. He had seen posters of elegant couples waltzing at Rosa Isabelle Street, but no one had ever asked him to dance before. And what if he did it wrong? What if he misstepped, held you too tightly?

Sensing his unease, you smiled. “Relax. It’s alright. It's just us.”

That seemed to do something to him. Slowly, hesitantly, he let you guide his hands—one to your waist, the other resting in your palm. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, setting the stance of a waltz.

There was no music, just the rustling of the leaves and the rhythmic hum of his core. He was stiff at first, uncertain, but he followed your lead. With each step, something in him softened, unwound. And then, it hit him.

He needed this.

No. He needed you.

“…Why?” His voice was a whisper against the night. “Why would you do this with me?”

You hesitated before resting your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “Because I wanted to. I wanted you to do anything but fight for once. I…wanted to make you feel better.”

You pulled back slightly, still wrapped in his arms. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something deeper, something raw.

“I care about you.”

The words settled between you, gentle yet earth-shattering. And for the first time in his existence, Pinocchio felt something break inside him, something old and hollow, something he no longer needed.

Before you could react, his hands shifted—one sliding to the back of your neck, the other anchoring you against him. And then, with a desperate, quiet reverence, he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. It was not cautious. It was a confession, a plea, an unspoken promise.

His lips were cold, but his touch burned. He kissed you as if he would unravel without you, as if you were the only tether keeping him from falling apart. And in that moment, you knew—you were his, as much as he was yours.

When he pulled away, your breath was stolen, your lips tingling from the intensity. He studied you, as if memorizing the way you looked. Dazed, flushed, lips slightly swollen from his kiss.

Then, without a word, you lifted his Legion hand, pressing a kiss to its palm before resting it against your cheek.

“You don��t have to say anything,” you whispered.

He didn’t. He only kissed you again.

And again.

And again.

The night stretched on, endless and quiet, as he lost himself in you, in the feeling of finally—finally—being something more than a mere puppet.

Being yours.

heyyy i'm alivee ahaha... i lowkey hate this i wrote it at like 3 am yesterday i definitely didn't buy bloodborne the other day because of this game no what who me-

also i was listening to hearing damage while writing this so that explains that one line

[badboydevotee]

His Heart, Once Frozen

Summary: Jin Kamurai, the once formidable ruler of Frostheim, finds himself tormented by feelings he can no longer ignore—you. As he isolates himself in his chambers, he struggles with his emotions, longing for the warmth you bring into his cold world. Unable to resist any longer, he ventures into the night, determined to see you. Finding you at the Academy, exhausted from work, he awkwardly offers his presence, unable to admit the true depth of his feelings. Despite his aloofness, one thing becomes clear—no matter how much he denies it, he will always return to you.

The frost-laced halls of Frostheim were as eerily quiet as ever, the chill in the air settling deep into the bones of those who dared linger. 

Jin reclined on his bed, cigarette balanced between his fingers, the tendrils of smoke curling up towards the ceiling in lazy spirals. His icy blue eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, held an unusual softness as he gazed at the ornate portrait hanging on the wall across from him. 

A sigh left his lips as he flicked open his lighter, the flame momentarily illuminating the solemnity in his gaze. The soft flicker of light cast shadows over the contours of his face, highlighting the conflict that warred within him.

He had tried, so desperately, to shove down the emotions that had been clawing their way to the surface. To ignore the way his thoughts drifted to you more often than not. To dismiss the warmth that spread through his chest at the mere mention of your name. But it was futile. He had fallen, and there was no climbing back up from the abyss that was you.

He had always been confident, sure of himself, unwavering in his decisions. But this—this feeling—rendered him utterly helpless. You had become an enigma he couldn’t decipher, a mystery he was drawn to unravel. And yet, the mere thought of baring himself to you, of showing you the depths of his affections, left him feeling exposed in a way he had never known.

“Damn it…” Jin muttered, dragging a hand through his silver-blue hair, frustration evident in his tone. He was the heir to the Kamurai family, once the formidable ruler of Frostheim, and yet here he was, lying in bed like some lovesick fool, unable to focus on anything but you.

What were you doing now? Probably busying yourself at the Academy, drowning in endless paperwork after years staying in the Academy. The image of you, brows furrowed in concentration, lips slightly pursed as you worked, flashed through his mind, and Jin felt his chest tighten.

He wanted to see you. To hear your voice. To feel the warmth that only you could bring into the cold world he had shut himself in. But he knew better than to act on impulse. He wasn’t the kind of man to simply admit his feelings outright—not when he wasn’t even sure how to deal with them himself.

With a heavy exhale, he let his gaze drift back to the portrait he imagined. You were unlike anyone he had ever met. The way you carried yourself, the way you never let his sharp words push you away, the way you saw him—not as the heir to a powerful family, not as the ruler of Frostheim, but simply as Jin. It terrified him. And yet, he craved it. Craved you.

His fingers absentmindedly traced the cool surface of the lighter as phrases played in his mind, unspoken confessions hidden within them:

Mona Lisa, a sight to see her…

Immersed in endless flattery…

A bitter chuckle escaped him. You weren’t like the countless admirers who fawned over him for his status, his power, his name. No, you saw through the icy exterior, past the carefully constructed facade. You saw him, and somehow, that was both the most terrifying and most exhilarating thing in the world.

The room suddenly felt too suffocating. He couldn’t stay locked away in here any longer, not when his thoughts were consuming him whole.

With a resolute sigh, Jin pushed himself off the bed, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray before grabbing his coat. He didn’t know what he would say when he saw you. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was ready to say anything at all.

But one thing was certain—he needed to see you. To remind himself that you were real, that this wasn’t just some fever dream he had conjured in his loneliness.

And maybe, just maybe, he would find the courage to tell you the truth.

That you had become the warmth in his cold world.

That you had melted the ice around his heart.

That he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

Jin didn’t waste time. Before he could second-guess himself, he stepped out into his room. His breath came out in pale wisps, but the chill did nothing to cool the fire that burned inside him.

He reached the Academy faster than expected, his mind too preoccupied to register the journey. The halls were dimly lit, most students having retired for the night, but he knew exactly where to find you.

Papers were scattered across your desk, your brows furrowed in concentration as you worked beneath the warm glow of a lamp. You looked exhausted, but still, you persisted, biting your lip as you read over another report.

Jin hesitated at the doorway, suddenly feeling ridiculous. What was he even doing here? Barging in like some desperate fool in the middle of the night. But before he could turn back, you looked up—and your eyes met his.

Surprise flickered across your face, followed by curiosity. “Jin?”

His throat felt tight, but he forced himself forward, stepping into the room. “You should take a break,” he said, voice softer than usual, betraying the turmoil inside him.

You blinked, tilting your head. “Are you worried about me?”

He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But there was no bite to his words, no sharpness in his tone.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you stood, stretching your arms. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you keep me company for a while?”

Jin exhaled through his nose, pretending to consider it. “Tch. Fine. But don’t get used to it.”

But even as he said it, he knew the truth.

He would always come back to you.

Song Inspo:

Ao3 vers.

[ekjohnston]

The Book Club Conundrum

One thing really love about reading fanfic for videogames (Veilguard in particular), is seeing all the other in-game mini-story options that wouldn't have occurred to me in a million years. In Veilguard, for example, there is a large component of the fandom that writes Rook as isolated within the team, someone who is always helping but never gets helped in return. It's fascinating because you can do a lot with it, and also because it never would have crossed my mind otherwise.

I have started to call it The Book Club Conundrum, because you twice find book club notes in the Lighthouse where everyone gives their thoughts on a book they've read together. Rook does not give them, which I assumed meant we were supposed to fill that part in ourself (since Rook is the self-insert character, the game writers try to leave as many of their opinions open as possible), but it's very common in fic to read that Rook wasn't invited, and holds at least a bit of resentment for that, and for the way the team bonds around them in general.

As I said: a lot of mileage, which is great for fanfic, because conflict has to come from somewhere.

HOWEVER

Since I imagined Rook at the book club meetings and adding their thoughts, I did it with other examples of team bonding as well. This is particularly important to the "always helping, never helped" component of the argument, because: the team does try. They try so hard.

Most of them take you to a funeral/memorial at some point (Lucanis does it in a Blighted Treviso; if Minrathous is Bighted, you get it twice: once from Neve and once from The Viper. Davrin takes you out to play with a griffon, over and over, which is just as therapeutic). They take you through their grieving process, for new pains and old. They share their traditions. Their grief. Their anger. They wait for Rook to break.

And they never do.

Solas does a lot of heinous things, on all manner of scale, but something I find EXTREMELY fascinating is that he almost fucked up Rook's relationship with their entire team. Rook's seeming denial of their grief is the one thing that no one can break through. It makes them seem cold and a bit uncaring, like they're willing to push through almost everything to get the job done. And of course they are! Willing, I mean. It's a very Dread Wolf sort of lie: just enough truth to destroy everything.

(If you save "Words of Fire" as long as possible, Taash finally just yelling at you is SUPER affecting, lmty.)

In fanfic, I've seen everything from "it's weird that Rook is talking to an empty room again" to "Rook is grieving in their own way" to "Rook hears a weird humming noise every time they think too much about Varric, but can't do anything about it". Sometimes Rook yells at the team for not noticing (Neve notices IMMEDIATELY, fwiw, the same as Solas tells you immediately what he's done. You just keep going anyway), and sometimes the resolution is more quiet.

It's fascinating to me, both as a writer and a reader/player, that the same common start point (Solas being a manipulative jackass "for the greater good"), can have so many divergent paths. It's not just "Rook ignores the team and they all die" or "Rook moves heaven and earth for her team and they all live". There's a lot of space in that second one, and fanfic lets us wallow in what the game sets up.

Veilguard is a game of mirrors, obviously, but it's also a game where all of your companions could have been the protagonist, except all of the good guys are DESPERATELY trying not to be the main character. The villains are all like that too (especially Johanna, who is barely aware the risen gods are there), only they WANT to be the main characters. And that's usually what leads to their downfall.

Varric wrote pulp fiction. The kind reviews denigrate as trashy while millions of people have fun reading them. He wants a main character, a hero he can pin a tragedy on. He made one, and propped up another. Rook was going to be his third, and Solas (accidentally) almost made sure it happened. But Rook gets free of that, wins themself out by sheer friendship and the willingness to move forwards.

And no matter what kind of angst you want to put into your fanfic (and please, continue to do so; I am having fun!) that is pretty great.

[chirrups]

I feel like I have nothing to ask, I simply would love to hear more about them fucked up mermaid and murderer

And I would absolutely love to tell you about them, Tin.

This AU takes place somewhere vaguely in the Pacific Northwest (circa. 1970s-80s) in an isolated fishing town along a storm-wracked coast.

Fisheries in and around the bay have collapsed due to extreme winter weather patterns + overfishing + an oil spill from a tanker run aground down the coast, leaving most of the bay's inhabitants to live pretty much hand-to-mouth off contaminated fish in recent years.

get ready for LORE (and more drawings but mostly the LORE)

general warning: this is pretty long

The "story" as it were, kicks off when Gem finally gets fed up with another fisherman in the area, Grian, over continued conflict about ownership of fishing grounds in the mouth of the bay.

She orchestrates his death (with the eager assistance of Scott and Impulse) out at sea and passes it off as a tragic accident in the winter swells with her being the unfortunate finder of his remains.

And it works.

See the thing is: Gem has a history of causing disappearances. It started with some accidents with out-of-town poachers. She would chase these people off and one or two would just slip overboard and happen to drown. It wasn’t her fault and besides they deserve it. But things start to escalate from there. Poachers become outsiders become fellow townspeople. Grian is someone Gem’s known for years, whose friends are tangentially her friends or acquaintances. His death is a cold-blooded murder driven by hatred and frustration. This time something is different about what she's done and Gem knows it.

But Gem is a reputable and well-known person. Her prices are fair, she drives poachers out of the bay and maintains order around the pragmatic fishing ground policy that undoubtedly helps everyone to survive.

She is the type of person to look to for guidance when things get difficult because she can make those hard choices. So how on earth could it be her fault?

No one is wiser until Grian's funeral brings an old friend into town who is more than a little suspicious about the circumstances of his death.

Scar was one of Grian's crewmates when they did trawling much further south. They split when Scar took up (illegal) whaling and Grian moved into the bay.

As an outsider, Scar isn't so swayed by the goodwill the town has around Gem's name. He's no detective but for the sake of an old friend, he might as well try.

In this AU, mermaids are social mammals part of the Hominidae family that went back into the ocean similar to Cetaceans. They live in matrilineal family groups or in any other female-led organization of pods and have a very "survival-oriented" global culture (with regional variation).

Pearl is a lone mermaid whose pod lived in the bay until they were starved out by the collapsing fisheries. PNW mermaids are more territorial than other ecotypes and value strength over anything else. Pearl's inability (read: unwillingness) to oust other pods for better fishing grounds and the loss of one of her pod members summarily lead the other two to abandon her.

Without a pod to help her, hunting enough in her dwindling territory has been difficult and lonely, leading her to slowly starve just as the humans in the bay have begun to.

She took to trailing fishing boats to steal from their catch, which is how she met Gem who was mid-throwing some unfortunate soul overboard.

They have an interesting relationship.

Gem is enamored with Pearl at the halfway point between a person and a large apex predator. She loves the way Pearl needs her to live and the way Pearl, as a social creature with no pod, craves her attention. It's thrilling to have a predator at her beck and call like this and, in turn, to be so desperately needed. She also loves the way Pearl doesn't look at her like she's dangerous (the way Scott and Impulse have begun to when they think she doesn't see them). Her interest in Pearl seems to be leaching into something more than just wildlife admiration. She's begun to learn the mermaid language just to talk to her. For what? Who really knows. Meanwhile, Pearl is hungry enough to eat just about anything Gem throws her (including human bodies) and desperate enough that she lets Gem get much closer than many humans in this area have ever been to a mermaid. (They even touch, scandalous for mermaids.)

It's skewed for sure. From Gem's perspective, they've got something special going on. From Pearl's... not so much.

This being Secret-Life based, you can imagine how this story ends...

Bonus piece: Pearl and her old pod.

IN GENERAL, Biological females are generally larger with a set of rotated tusks protruding from their lower jaw for dominance displays. Biological males are commonly smaller and more agile, with more dexterous hands due to decreased adipose tissue distribution over their bodies. (They actually have 3 biological sexes and tons of social gender variation but that's a talk for another time). Pre-cultural awakening, these pods would form around a biological female and their harem for reproductive purposes. That female would then protect the harem from other females looking to "steal them" or their territories (like horses but reverse-style). In modern times, these pods are often composed of groups of friends/related family members as sort of "platonic life partners" and stealing other pod members is seen as a very archaic sort of thing. Territory stealing, however, is still up for grabs.