#laughable in a really depressing way

[rosebriding]

this implies she got lip filler in that stupid cursed forest

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

cannot wait until i can afford to just be healthy and take care of myself which has many more steps outside of just needing money like i really gotta build up from the absolute bottom and re-learn how to be a human person it's actually insane. i've been making so many plans but nothing will ever get me there besides just starting to do it ughhhhhhhh

[cleo-fox]

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[harryspet]

well kept [5] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: even longer chapter :)

word count: 5.3k

In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.

well kept masterlist

You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.

The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafe’s hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger. 

It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadn’t picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didn’t own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.

You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it. 

What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly weren’t a couple like everyone in Rafe’s close circle assumed you were. You didn’t know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for. 

The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the night’s chaos.

You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. 

Two images of you. Outfits you’d sent him. Along with a message. 

For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C. 

Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs. 

“He’s really texting you? It’s Saturday.”

“Sunday now,” You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.

“Like that makes a difference,” You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, “No wonder you’re going crazy.”

“Crazy?” You laughed but it came out hollow, “Y-You guys thought I was sad and now I’m going crazy?”

“Yes,” She spoke matter-of-factly, “And it’s strange that you won’t tell us anything about him.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” You said, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it.  You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.

“I’m really worried, Y/N,” She said, “You don’t have to tell us everything but at least … let us help. We can help, I promise.”

Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, “Yeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-” 

“I promise it’s not that serious, Angel,” you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafe’s wealth and influence. “I told you g-g-g-guys, he’s just a demanding asshole.”

“If it’s not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If you’re not sleeping together or not dating?”

“It’s complicated,” You spoke robotically. 

“We want to be there for you,” Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, you’d have to explain why you hadn’t walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were. 

“You guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. I’ve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because I’m actually taking care of myself.”

It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadn’t walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.

“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to have your body,” The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you. 

“She’s right, you know,” Angel said softly. 

How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.

Pity. 

Your best friends pitied you, “Oh, y-you’re not serious,” You smiled crazily, “He’s not …I’m nnn-n-not …you both have it so so wrong.”

They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldn’t pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them. 

“I’m drunk,” You rested your head back, “I’m so drunk.”

As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, “Y/N, we didn’t mean to upset you,” You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car. 

“I’m okay. So okay.”

You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, “Y/N,” Imani stopped you. 

You whipped your head around, panicked, “I’m fine. I sss-said I’m fine.”

“You boss’s car is parked over there.”

You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it was—Rafe’s sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. “Wha—” you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, “Oh.”

“Why the fuck is he here?” Imani cursed. 

“I’ll meet you guys inside–”

“Go talk to him but we’re standing right here until you’re done,” Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look. 

“Angel,” You looked at you other friend, pleading. 

She shook her head, “We’re standing here, Y/N.”

“Fine,” You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle. 

They didn’t trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer. 

“Y/N,” His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge. 

Tonight, Rafe’s blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen before.

“Rafe, wh-what are you doing out here?” You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning. 

He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you weren’t breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, “You shouldn’t touch me.”

Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadn’t seen before, “Why not?”

You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, “My roommates are waiting for me.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, “Right,” He nodded before he laughed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?”

Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, “What are you doing out here?” You asked again, “It’s two in the mmm-morning.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you weren’t here and I … I started spiraling, you know? You’ve been out all night. I don’t like …I just felt fucking nervous.”

“Nervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?” Your words were cautious but you couldn’t help that your eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“I needed to see you.”

“You see me now,” You said, “What … what is it?”

Rafe took a breath, “I made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, you’ve been distant.”

You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actions—a defense mechanism you’d put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.

“Rafe, honestly, this isn’t h-h-helping … I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this right now. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be,” You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldn’t take a step towards you. He wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness. 

Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, “Okay, uhm …they say something to you?” His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.

“They’re my friends,” you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him. 

“Okay,” Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. “I just … I’m here because I want to fix things.”

“C-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?” You asked, “I’ve been-”

“You’ve been drinking,” He filled in your words, more unamused than before, “It’s not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you … there’s lots of bad, bad people in this city.” 

The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.

“I can take care of myself,” you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.

“Can you?” he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. “Alright, I’ll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight,” You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didn’t look back. 

Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.

“Fuck, that dude is crazy,” Imani said, “You have to quit. I’ll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. We’ll make it work.”

You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didn’t have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly. 

Tuesday morning, your alarm didn’t wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, “What the-”

“Look!” Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE. 

Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, “It’s probably a-a prank, Imani.”

“What is going on?” Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste. 

You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, “As per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of eviction–”

“Fuck,” Imani cursed. 

“This decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer …”

“Someones buying our entire apartment building?” Angel asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is fucked,” Imani added. 

You continued reading, “The termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date …”

You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, “They can’t do this. It’s illegal! Where are we supposed to go?”

“Sixty days from now is right before the holidays start,” Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t go back home.”

Imani shook her head, “This apartment is my home.”

Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. “I’m going into the office,” you said resolutely. “I w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They can’t just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.”

The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. “We don’t need his help,” Imani said firmly.

“I don’t think I want it,” Angel added quietly.

You stared at them, incredulous. “He c-can help. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Y/N, is this really smart?” Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“I can’t believe you guys. Get out, I’m getting ready,” you snapped, frustration rising. “Get out, now!”

As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.

Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection.  You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than you’d ever put in before.

You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.

It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but you’d never seen him look so … desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.

You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didn’t have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news you’d learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didn’t have the strength to correct.

“I’m not sure what the problem is. Don’t I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?”

“My friends …” you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life. 

“Right, your friends. What would you have me do?” His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, “Offer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?”

“No, that’s nnn-not what I mean,” It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didn’t expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, “I just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something that’s in our control as tenants.”

“You don’t have much power at all, as tenants. You’re subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,” Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, “You could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. That’s where I would start, sweetheart.”

Rafe’s hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, “Okay,” You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, “What should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?”

“Anything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.”

“Huh,” you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, “O-Okay, thank you. Yeah, I’ll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.”

“If it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You can’t really help your friends if you’re out on the street with them.” 

His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didn’t dwell on them, “Thanks for the advice, sir.” 

For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasn’t fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated. 

You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.

Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. You’d texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You weren’t quite sure why that idea hadn’t crossed your mind. 

“Hey, I still haven’t found anything–”

“Cameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.”

Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroom’s leather couch with a heavy sigh, “Shit,” You whispered. 

“Shit is an understatement,” She replied, “Y/N, I’m starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.”

He’d lied to your face, unabashedly. 

"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.

It was much too late for careful. You should’ve ran after your first conversation with him but now … you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didn’t want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since you’d even felt like yourself. 

You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didn’t move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after you’d gone missing, “Y/N, Rafe’s been looking for you. What are you doing?”

“Did you know?” You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken. 

She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, “Topper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. ”

“Wh-What should I do?” You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, “I-I’ve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.”

“What should you do?” She repeated, “I think he loves you.”

“L-Love?” You seemed to choke on the words. 

From what you could tell, it didn’t seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, “What does your gut tell you?”

This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, “T-To run?”

Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, “Makes sense, he’s suffocating you.”

You sat up in your spot, “Should I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.”

“I don’t think this is the time,” She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, “If you run, he’ll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. He’s desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, you’re not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.” 

“Y-You think he can change?”

“I didn’t think so before,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. “But now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe he’ll do anything to keep you.”

You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafe’s bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations. 

There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanor’s words having finally forced you to. If you ran, he’d come after you. If you ran, you’d have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of. 

“I hope you’re not handling your personal business during workhours,” Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office. 

Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office. 

“I’m not the one who made it personal,” You spoke easily, smoothly. 

You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didn’t glance at him long enough to take in his reaction. 

“And how did I make it personal?” You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafe’s scheduled social events. 

“It’s not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.”

“Oh?” That single word was dripping with venom.

“Just makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"

“B-Because I drive you crazy. Because I’m the one person y-you want to control completely.”

“Maybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that you’ll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?”

“Y-You don’t like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.”

“You’re wrong,” He shot back.

“You’ve done a good job b-because now I can’t leave without losing everything,” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.

“Maybe I’ve been selfish.”

You scoffed at that, “You’ve mmm-made it clear that you don’t care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.”

“I know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,” Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, “Tell me what needs I haven’t tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?”

His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, weren’t you? 

“You really want to fix things?”

“Yeah,” He said like the crimes he’d committed against you were something that could remedied, “I can’t change what I don’t know.”

“It’s not just about what you’ve done wrong. It’s a-about how you handle things from now on,” You started, choosing your words carefully, “It’s about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.”

“Boundaries?” His head twisted to the side like he wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, “There’s multiple?”

“First, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I don’t want you to ever bring my friends into this again.”

“Fine, I’ll get them another apartment. I’ll even throw in free rent.”

“No,” You shook your head, “You own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.”

“I made an investment. I have to make a profit–”

“I’m serious,” You countered, “Y-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.”

Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, “Okay, they stay but you come to live with me.”

“What? Why?” It was another layer of control, not a solution. 

“Your friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they won’t want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and they’ll come to their senses about our relationship.”

The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off.  You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.

“I won’t say yes right now,” You decided, “Sss-sss-since we’re talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.”

“That won’t work.”

What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was? 

“Y-You’re asking me to move across the state with you. I-It’s t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.”

“Hmm, I won’t say yes right now,” he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.

“You just sss-said you wanted to fix things.”

“My intentions … my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. I’m getting to a certain age and I’ve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,” The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that you’d be filling that role, “It’s a beautiful area. I wouldn’t expect you to continue your role there. You’d fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course you’d have access to even more money than I’ve been paying you.”

Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.

“What if I d-d-don’t want that life? W-What if I want my own career?”

He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “What career do you want? I’ll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, I’m not expecting kids right away.”

You hadn’t realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe seemed to talk to himself, “Hey, hey, calm down.” 

Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafe’s proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, “Eleanor, I need you here,” You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanor’s face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind. 

Though your thoughts still raced, the room’s spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, “It’ll help you feel better.”

He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, “Thank you,” You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafe’s arms, “Rafe–”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Rest,” Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.

This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst (I guess, I'm not sure lol) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide A/N: Soo I was going to make a fluffy/smutty story but my PMDD hit me hard af and then BOOM, this. This was super hard yet easy to write at the same time probably because it's a self insert lol like this is literally me. Sylus' "perfect" persona does intimidate me and I grappled with the thoughts of "what if Sylus was real, could he actually handle this?" I hope everyone enjoys and please please please remember to take care of yourselves! 💗

When was the last time you crawled out of bed today? Your stomach twisting, hunger pangs turn into nausea. But the thought of forcing your limbs to carry you into the kitchen for food feels insufferable. So, you stay buried in the tangle of unmade, unwashed sheets. A hint of fabric softener desperately clinging to the fibers, the stale scent of sweat and skin already taking over. Earlier, you pressed your nose into your shoulder, checking. The sweet floral deodorant from days ago (you think) has spoiled into something sour.  

Each day and sleepless night blend together. They become hard to tell apart, except when the phone rings. Work is calling again—probably to ask when you’ll be back in or to terminate you. You know you should care—you do care! Well, you used to. You liked your job; you were good at it. But does it bring you joy? Right now, does anything?

Everything feels like a chore that you can’t be bothered to attempt. Showering? The thought alone is exhausting. But thinking about the steps that come before the shower is enough to make you sit in your own filth. You reach up absently. Your fingers get lost in the greasy roots and tangle in the mess below. Dandruff flakes dust your pillow. You picked at your scalp while scrolling for hours. Anything to pull you out of this pit you’ve fallen into, for a moment of relief. Your stomach churns each time your tongue touches the slimy coating that has built up on your teeth. Panic spikes at the thought of cavities—the decay, a reminder of neglect. Yet, there you lie, paralyzed by your own anxieties. God, you want to move. You really do. But then you tell yourself, I’ll brush them after I eat, for sure. You know it’s a lie. But it makes the guilt easier to swallow.  

These bouts come and go, pulled in by a force you can’t escape—because you are the force. Like the moon dragging in the tides, summoning waves too strong to withstand. When you’re up, you trick yourself into thinking that you have it all together, like you’ve cracked some secret code. You throw yourself into work, into people, an endless loop on performance mode. Blissfully numb. Until the crash. The tide swells too high, knocking you under and swallowing you whole. Then you’re here, again. Bedridden. Isolated. Time slips through your fingers. Days, weeks—who knows how long. Until someone notices your absence. Usually, him. Then you have to explain why you vanished and begin to collect the pieces of you that have washed back ashore.

“You should trust Sylus more," your therapist had said, voice gentle but firm. “Let him in during these episodes. He wants to help you.”  

You nodded, pretending to consider it, not missing the way they emphasized the "want to help you" part. But the idea was absurd, laughable. Let Sylus see you like this? No, it’s better this way. You can keep your dignity and him, a win-win situation.

This episode—as your therapist calls it—came at the perfect time. Sylus is away on a business trip, conveniently absent when you’ve sunk to your lowest. He gives you roughly three days of no contact before the constant calls start rolling in. This time, luck was on your side, a twisted kind of luck, but still one that was to your advantage. You can’t even begin to imagine the horror that he’d feel if he saw you like this.

Undeserving. That’s the only word that comes to mind when you think of Sylus, especially in moments like these.

Sylus, the man who has everything—and if he doesn’t, he simply acquires it. Always composed, always in control. He’s the kind of person who seems to glide through life, untouchable. You can’t imagine him unraveling, not like this. No, if he ever stumbled, he’d just power through it. There are no obstacles he can’t overcome.  

Until you.

You are the only thing he can’t fix. A threat to the pristine world he’s built. Thankfully, he hasn’t seen you like this, and he never will. He can’t.

Your therapist says your way of thinking is the problem. You don’t let him in. You don’t give him a chance to understand. Your therapist doesn’t know Sylus like you do. What if he does understand—but secretly believes you’re too much? And knowing Sylus, what if he doesn’t leave, but worse—stays out of obligation? Out of pity?

Your chest begins to tighten at the thought, your heartbeat picking up. You’d rather disappear completely than let him see you like this.

But before you can spiral any further, the doorbell rings.

[wholemeallbread]

THE FIVE STAGES OF DATING HINATA SHOYO

a case study on how first year hinata acts when you first get into a relationship with him.

i | DENIAL

♡ if anybody tries talking to him, they should've even bother. hinata senses are pretty much switched off.

♡ instead of catching up on sleep during class, he's daydreaming about you. instead of the usual snack after practice, he's thinking about saving it for you. cheesy (and maybe creepy), he knows, but he can't help it. he wonders how you're doing, or if you're feeling okay, or just as shook up as he is. aren't you just perfect? and you're dating him! how is that possible?

♡ his entire body is buzzing even days after the confession, electric shocks and twitches, scoring all over his arms and legs. gosh, even when he tries to practice later on in the day, the amount of times he has tripped or froze up was laughable. no matter who yells at him, he just can't get you out of his mind.

♡ if anybody asks if you're dating, his immediate response is "it's not like that!" and then refuses to elaborate. it is like that, but he just can't believe it. he's embarrassed to properly say that he's officially your boyfriend. he's embarrassed that you're dating a guy like him.

ii | ANGER

♡ he's more than ready to fight anyone that even mentions your name. it's a reflex – a concerning one – but he can't help it. if any guy, especially someone who's conventionally attractive or in an older year, even utters something about you, it would be game over for them – if hinata wasn't being held back. he's really not making a great reputation for himself... people will point and stare saying: "isn't that [name]'s boyfriend...?" while he's in the middle of hissing and shooing someone away when they're already six feet away from you. talk about insecure...

♡ this is when jealousy starts to seep into his mind. all of a sudden, he's so much more aware of the people around you, who talks to you, how you react. now, he doesn't laugh along in a group setting. instead, he's glaring at whoever is making the jokes, whoever is making you laugh. that's supposed to be his job.

♡ it's confusing. he's happy one second, then annoyed and cold another. you know he's not the kind of guy to purposely act difficult or ghost you, but his mood has been so weird. luckily, it only takes one confrontation for things to return back to normal, talking him through how you'll always be one of his top priorities and he shouldn't be shy to ask for attention.

iii | BARGAINING

♡ this is the point where he wonders if he could've got into a relationship sooner. yes, he's happy that you're dating now, but how much time had he wasted? how much closer could the two of you have been if he made even the smallest difference in how he behaved around you?

♡ it's always questions of "what if he was smarter so he could he in your class?" or "what if you had tutored him instead when you offered?" or "maybe he should've skipped practice that one day when you asked him to hang out..."

♡ his go-to is "if only he hadn't yelled at you that one time..." it was an accident, and you were the unfortunate victim. the ball was well away from the court, and it wasn't like it was actually going to stay in if he hit it, but he still gave you his piece of mind for "being in the way".

♡ however, you saw the situation as something completely different. you saw that look in his eyes when you were face to face with him. it was captivating, unlike anything you've seen before. pure, passion. it was impossible to be annoyed or angry at him; if anything, you were extremely impressed and intrigued.

iv | DEPRESSION

♡ oh no... looks like your boyfriend has been feeling under the weather lately. what's worse is that he's not telling anyone why. his expression always seems to be gloomy no matter the time or occasion, and his usual energy has disappeared.

♡ the small, harmless jokes about your relationship are starting to get to him. he knows they're just jokes, and you even laugh along sometimes, but it's really been breaking down his self esteem. every time he gets teased, he does smile, but it's obvious that he's forcing it.

♡ he's also thinking back to all of the times he's messed up, despite being so early into the relationship. he's supposed to be making it perfect for you, but he's been doing nothing but messing things up. maybe you'd be better off without him? there's always taller, stronger, more talented guys out there. hell, even on his own team.

♡ in the end, everything just circles back to him feeling inferior to you. it truly broke your heart when he finally opened up about it and – seriously, how could he ever think of himself like that? he's got an amazing personality, amazing talents that are always getting better, he's the full package! minus height... but that doesn't matter to you.

v | ACCEPTANCE

♡ it's been a long, long few weeks. it's taken a lot of communication and trust, but now he's at a point where he's comfortable in the relationship, much like you. pretty soon, he's got a solid routine of his day that seems to benefit you more than him; walking you to your classes and sprinting back to his, sacrificing his bentos when you have nothing to eat or if he knows you'll enjoy it more than your own, trying to have a go at your hobbies so you can both enjoy them together... plus volleyball on top of that? you're just wondering how he hasn't dropped from exhaustion yet.

♡ he's an absolute bundle of joy. every day is filled with nothing but positivity. even if you're having a bad day, he knows exactly how to make it better. he'd drop everything to make sure that you're okay, and you'll always be his top priority.

♡ nowadays, he can proudly say that he is your boyfriend. no hesitation, no shame, no embarrassment. if he could write those words on his sleeve for everyone to see, then you sure as hell know that he would.

[jaeyunluvbot]

i love you, i'm sorry

this is part one to my series emails i can’t send

note .ᐟ ermmmm so this one is actually based on my kind-of-situationship with my ex bsf and it actually hurt so bad to write so i hope yall enjoy :p

Subject: (no subject) To: (unsent)

Dear Heeseung,

This is so stupid. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I know I can’t say it out loud, not to you. I like this. Whatever this is. It’s fun, it’s easy, and I don’t have to overthink it when I’m with you. But sometimes, I catch myself wishing it were more. And then I remind myself that it’s not. I know we made rules and we both agreed, but I can’t help wanting more. I can’t be the only one feeling this. When you look at me like that, when you stay just a little longer than you should, when you text me first for no reason at all, I wonder if you ever think about it too.

Anyways, I’ll probably never send this, but it feels good to get my feelings out.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 2:13 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: It’s fine

To: (unsent)

Heeseung,

You didn’t even hesitate. I know we’re not actually together but how could you be so sure in your words? That girl, that gorgeous girl who’s probably a way better fit for you than me, asked if you were seeing anyone and you said no so quickly. Right in front of me too, you didn’t even hesitate. You even laughed, I know it wasn’t personal, but is the idea of us being together so laughable to you? I guess it’s true that you’re not seeing anyone, that you’re not mine. Maybe you never were, but for some reason, I convinced myself we had something real. Maybe you were just afraid to acknowledge it, or maybe you just weren’t ready for something like that. I know now that I was wrong, so why does it feel like I lost something? Anyways, I don’t know what else to say, my feelings are immeasurable and somehow simple at the same time. I know I’m foolish but I’ll always be yours, even if you don’t want me.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 11:48 PM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I don’t know what I was expecting To: (unsent)

Today I asked you if this meant anything to you. You looked at me like I had just said something awful, and I knew at that moment, I had ruined everything. You said it wasn’t supposed to be serious and that we both agreed there would be no feelings involved, but I still fell for you. I suppose it couldn’t be helped. For a moment there, a perfect moment, I thought maybe you’d smile, and tell me you loved me too, that it was ok that I’d fallen for you because you’d fallen for me too. That was stupid of me, I know that now, but at that moment I really thought that all our late night conversations meant something to you. I wish I could hate you, or put you out of my mind, I wish I regretted it. But the worst part is, I don’t. I love you, and I think I’ll always love you, even if you never speak to me again. This is getting really depressing so I’ll leave it here, I just wish I could say this to your face.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 3:27 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: (no subject) To: (unsent)

It’s been weeks since we’ve talked. I don’t even know why I still write these. Maybe because if I don’t, I’ll say it out loud. And if I say it out loud, it’ll be real. It’ll ruin everything more than I already have. I miss you. I don’t miss the way we ended, or the way you left. But the way you laughed at your own jokes before even finishing them. The way you always sent me songs in the middle of the night. The way you lingered, even when you didn’t have to. I know you don’t miss me, I saw you with that girl yesterday. I know you’ve moved on. But a small part of me hopes you’ll hear a song that reminds you of me and remember that I exist, and that I love you. I would’ve given you all of me, and I like to think, with some time, you could’ve done the same for me. I won’t send this because I know you won’t reply. But I hope, somewhere deep down, you miss me too.

Yours,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 1:04 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I should stop writing these To: (unsent)

It’s been six months. Not that I’m counting or anything. I moved into a new apartment last week. It’s small, but it has these huge windows that let in so much sunlight. You would’ve liked it. Or maybe you wouldn’t have. I don’t really know anymore. I feel like maybe I never knew you. I got a job too. It’s nothing special, but it keeps me busy. That helps. I don’t think about you every day now. Only sometimes. Like when I pass by that convenience store we always went to at 2 AM. Or when someone laughs the way you used to. Or when I hear that one stupid song you kept putting on repeat. It’s funny, we weren’t even together and yet I still feel like maybe I once had a part of you like you had a part of me. I should move on, I think I’m moving on, but sometimes it still hurts. It hurts like it did when you were still here, when we’d spend all night talking and you’d leave in the morning. It’s weird though, the pain is comforting in a way, like a reminder that it was real, that you actually existed in my life. But it’s better now. I’m better now.

Love,

Y/N

(Draft saved at 10:22 PM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: No, but seriously, I should stop To: (unsent)

I ran into Sunghoon today. He asked me how I was doing, and I lied. I told him I was great, just busy and tired from work. He gave me this look, like he knew. We didn’t talk about you. But I could feel it there, hanging between us. You must’ve told them what happened. Or maybe you didn’t say anything at all, and that’s why it feels so much worse. I hate that I’m a stranger to you, someone you kept secret, when all I wanted to do was be with you, to show you that we could work, even if you were scared. I wish I never met you. I wish I didn’t give you the power to hurt me like this. It’s even worse because I know you aren’t doing it on purpose, I know you’re a good person, and that we just weren’t meant to be, but still, I wish I’d never let you in. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I should stop writing these.

(Draft saved at 12:37 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I think I’m finally okay. 

To: Heeseung.

I don’t know why I’m still writing these. I think it’s just a habit now. It’s weird, when I think about us, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. It’s like looking at an old photograph, you remember the moment, but it doesn’t feel like you’re living in it anymore. Like some kind of fucked up coping mechanism. The fact that you’ll never see these also helps, I can be honest and say everything I’m feeling, everything I could never tell you, or anyone, for that matter. Anyways, I finally started dating again, and I don’t compare everyone to you. I think that means I’m okay. Or at least, I’m getting there. This will probably be my last time writing one of these, since my therapist told me they weren’t doing me any good, and that I should try to completely stop thinking about you. So I guess this is goodbye, even though you won’t see this, I hope you’re doing well.

Love,

Y/N

(Sent at 1:58 AM)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Subject: I don’t know what to say From: Heeseung

Y/N,

I don’t know if you meant to send that. But thank you. I think I’ve read it a hundred times already. I keep wondering if you wrote it in a moment of weakness or if you’ve been holding onto those words for a while. Either way, I don’t think I deserve them. I don’t think I deserve to know how you’re doing. But I’ve wanted to ask for so long. I wish I could say I’ve been okay too. That I’ve moved on the way you have. But the truth is, I still find you in the smallest things. The songs I skip on my playlist because they don’t sound the same without you humming along. The space in my bed that’s too big now, even though you were never supposed to stay the night. The way I feel when I catch a glimpse of a girl who looks like you in public. I’ve told myself a thousand times that we weren’t meant to last. That what we had was temporary, built on borrowed time, that we were never serious, never real. But it never felt temporary to me. Not really. I guess I was scared, scared to let you in, and scared to get hurt. I thought that if I never let you get too close, it wouldn’t hurt as much when we inevitably fell apart. I was wrong. I should’ve let you in, I should’ve shared myself with you like you did with me. I regret it everyday. I should’ve reached out and said something, or I should’ve just been honest from the start. But it’s too late now, you’ve moved on, and I guess I have to as well. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Maybe I just miss you. Maybe I always have. Take care of yourself, okay? I hope you find happiness in someone who’s not afraid to love you openly.

Yours,

Heeseung

(Sent at 8:21 AM)

[engstlersbueckers]

Caitlin Clark NSFW HC’s

WARNING⚠️: THIS IS PURE SMUT. MEN AND MINORS FUCK OFF. (but everyone else enjoy😘)

A/N: yall knew this was coming..lets have some fun 🙃

Lets get one thing straight right off the bat…CC is 100% a switch…but she can’t help it.

She gets so into what she’s doing sometimes she ends up begging for you,but then catches herself.

“Fuck please…please baby come on be my good girl…god dammit I’m doing it again.”

Her slip-ups are always so cute to you,the thought of you topping her sometimes is something you bring up to her pretty often,but she just refuses.

“No..I keep telling you thats my job.”

Her insistence on it is laughable sometimes.

She’s just so pussywhipped by you…you drive her crazier than she likes to admit.

When she’s about to put the strap in you she runs the tip of it over your slit,looking at the wetness that drips onto it.

“God..look at that..so fucking wet for me…I did that to you,baby?”

Don’t even get me started on post-game sex…If she won,she’s on top of the world,kissing you all over,making you fuel her ego by telling her how good she did..

“yeah baby..tell me what I wanna hear..thats a good girl.”

If she lost…oh you’re in trouble.

Face down ass up,has your face in the pillow,screaming and gripping the sheets taking all her pent up anger out on you

Depending on how many points she lost by thats how many times you get spanked. And you better count every single one or she starts over and doubles it.

She’s obsessed with your tits (i just see her really liking titties idk)

She keeps them in her hands…or in her mouth. You like how it feels too. Her warm tongue on that sensitive skin,her fingers pinching your nipples,it drives you both crazy.

I see her being a girl that likes to make you cum with her fingers a lot too. The way she curls them up perfectly to hit your spot,watching you gush around them.

When you finally cum,she takes her fingers out and lets you have a quick taste of yourself before quickly pulling them back and putting them in her own mouth,sucking your essence right off them.

“Theres that sweet taste I love…”

A/N: y’all the fever beat my team the other day (very depressed phx mercury fan🥲) but I hadddd to write something for caitlin. I hope yall like it and lmk who else you’d like to see.

Love you guyss

-S💋

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

comfort | kmg

i am feeling icky (physically and mentally and basically in all the ways, send help lol) and as always mingyu is my comfort human so i guess i was just feeling it. reader is mentioned to be an introvert. also reader is in a bad place mentally, lowkey is implied to be a depressive episode (self-insert? hi). kinda sorta from mingyu's pov. pet names used (honey, baby, my love). kinda sorta based on this song (How to Love You Today by Son of Cloud).

mingyu understands the difference between being introverted and being quiet -- after all, he's friends with hoshi, an introvert, who can blow his eardrums at a moment's notice. he's also dating you, and while you're no hoshi, you're definitely not a wonwoo, either.

more than understanding the difference between quiet and introverted, though, he knows you. so he knows that look you have in your eyes -- the hollow, dull look that steals over your features, sometimes for weeks at a time, while you struggle to feel anything at all. he sees it in you now as you stare out the window at the gloomy clouds gathering over the hills.

it's getting bad again. he knows it. you're usually so still when you sleep, and so splendidly expressive while you're awake, but recently that has switched -- your dreams are restless and your sleep-talking more vocal, and you spend more time sitting and staring than you do normally, your face blank and empty, your hands cold whenever he reaches for them. these are the kinds of days that sap you of your saturation, leaving you feeling listless and drained -- times when mingyu has to remind you in gentle tones to eat, to come to bed, to join him in the shower. your mind is not always kind to you, so mingyu has made it his personal mission to be so.

the worst part is, you've stopped singing. when you'd been "just friends", sometimes your constant humming and vocalizing would peeve mingyu when he was trying to concentrate, but after living with you for almost two years, he barely notices it anymore. in fact, he only really notices when you stop, and it's one of his first indicators that something is off about you.

he's been waiting for you to tell him what's going on. usually he can tell you're in a bad state before you can, but mingyu also knows that if he tells you he's noticed, you'll start trying to hide it from him. because you don't want to be a burden. (the thought of you ever being too much for him is laughable to mingyu. he loves you like it's breathing -- just an instinct, something he never even needs to think about, because it's just that easy. every person is heavy sometimes, so why was it so unreasonable for you, his most beloved and treasured person, to believe that he'd willingly carry you, no matter how heavy you got?)

so he waits, staying aware of you always, noting how the dark circles under your hollow eyes get more pronounced. and he worries, of course he does. but he also knows that one day, soon, you'll --

"mingyu?"

he's in the kitchen shredding lettuce for a sandwich for you when he hears it: that tiny voice you use when you're sort of kind of hoping he doesn't turn around to look at you. because you're on the verge of tears, or you look like hell, or a million other reasons that he couldn't care less about. so he turns around. "hey baby. what's up?"

"i...i don't feel good."

that's really all he needs. that's really all it takes, if he's being honest with himself. he goes to you where you hover in the doorway, afraid to take up space, and pulls you into his arms. "i know, honey. i've got you."

there's nothing like the feeling of having your tense muscles relax into him, the way your body releases all that angst as he runs a warm hand up and down your back. you lean your head against his shoulder and repeat, "you got me?" softly, almost embarrassed.

but even as mingyu's heart aches for you -- even as the tears prick the back of his eyes as he thinks of how you must've been suffering -- he feels so grateful. grateful that you trust him. grateful that you feel safe enough to do what he knows is so scary for you. grateful that you choose to do it despite everyone in the past who has made you feel inadequate for needing a hand.

he presses one, two, three kisses to your temple. "i've got you, my love. i've always got you."

[archivedblog16]

The way Viv treats her shows reminds me a lot of when I was like 13 and made my first fanfic that got so popular the fame went to my head and the following happened that I also see with Viv:

Keeps introducing more OCs, doesn’t kill the darlings, tortures and puts the least favorites or ones based off people that author hates into unfortunate situations

Ships. Ships everywhere. Even if theyre incompatible, theyre now a thing

Plotholes everywhere

Randomly inserts shit that author thinks is cool or is heavily into at the time even if it makes no sense

Author treats themself as god and anyone who has a problem with the work is just a hater

Author keeps posting trivia in side blogs or qnas and doesnt actually answer stuff in the actual media

All these are pretty accurate and have already happened with Vivziepop multiple times. I remember when I watched a YouTube short interview that featured Vivziepop stating “I’m not afraid to kill a character off 😈” It’s pretty laughable because it’s either a side character nobody will remember or someone who is important to the main cast that isn’t completely dead.

Yeah, a ship has taken over the fandom and by extension the show like Helluva Boss. Yup, Lots of plot holes in Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss.

Number 4 is interesting because it has happened many times except Vivziepop just steals from fans and employees especially if she likes your idea (even if it dumb and doesn’t fit the story). The trivia is painfully accurate, it’s not just Vivziepop who does it. Ayy lmao and other content similar to him does that. Even Prime Video did that in livestream that had trivia when Hazbin Hotel was debuting.

“Did you know that Vivziepop’s favorite characters are the red, edgy, super hot, Bambi middle school OC, Alastor and the neglectful father figure who really needs be called out more, super depressed onceler: Lucifer who literally looks more like Charlie’s little twin brother. The playbill had trivia too.

[twstfanblog]

*~Toddler Chronicles-3rd Years PT.1~*

A/N: I have no excuses. I've just been hoarding my writing and trying to stack finished stories and post them out when I have depressive episodes—just to make sure I have something for you all! So anyhow, I hope you guys enjoy this part. The series is going to be so full of cute baby shenanigans that you'll have a toothache. Thank you again to @bun-lapin for letting me use their wonderful OCs! They are so fun to chew on... Word Count: 6.3K Pairings: Alluded Ruggie/Leona Warnings: Needles, Children, Me typing out a country accent, Google translate french

Starter, Pt 1

Ruggie had only felt fear so strongly he could taste it twice in his life. The first was when he was five and awoke in his hut with his grandma nowhere in sight. The second was when he was twelve and a drunk man had gripped at his arm to the point it bruised him for days.

And now he can say he's tasted fear three times. The third being he realized the second prince of the Savanna had been turned into a four-year-old and was missing. Anyone left in Savanaclaw that weekend morning was out and searching, using every nose and ear in the dorm to hunt down their missing leader.

Ruggie had to stop after an hour, his panicked breathing pulling in the scent of his search party more than the sandy flora he was looking for. He stood to the side, his head in his hands while his thoughts raced on what could have befallen the defenseless toddler that a pack couldn't find him.

“Ruggie!”

He looks up, not even trying to hide the tears pooling in his eyes. A rhino beastman, a third-year who heard Leona was missing and the pure distress in Ruggie’s voice quickly helped mobilize the dorm, stood before him. He shook his head, “We've searched the gardens side to side, we've got teams combing the woods. The school and coliseum are next for the beta teams, but we haven’t found anything.”

Ruggie’s sigh was ragged, dropping his head back down to grip at his hair in frustration. Dropping to the ground in a squat as he started to rock in a self-soothing motion. 

The third-year sighed along with him, folding his arms as he looked out to the campus, “The ‘Emergency Protocol’ for a lost member is normally Rook…but you said he was four, too, right?”

“Yeah…”

“...” He tilted his head, a questioning sneer showing his teeth, “Why are they four?”

“If I fucking knew, do you think I would be five steps away from a heart attack?”

“Okay…geeze…” The third-year turns around hearing someone call his name. With a nod to them, he turns back to Ruggie, “Cool your head. You know Leona best and you're in charge when he's not available. If anyone could figure out where he went it'll be you.”

As the other beastman left, Ruggie was left to calm himself. Once he could breathe without the laborious tug of his own nerves, he really thought. Leona had very key areas he went to, all secluded away from others as he was always more comfortable alone. But those areas were also easily accessible, a factor that the possibly scared four-year-old no doubt didn't care for.

Away from others, carefully hidden, familiar…

Ruggie’s eyes snapped open, jumping from his position and bolting back to the empty dorm. His hands braced against one of the open-air window sills, hopping through it with ease as he sprinted into the faux savanna their dorm resided in.

In his first year, before they had started their situationship deal, Ruggie remembers waking up in the middle of the night. Nothing serious, just thirsty, so he left his room. But on his way to the kitchen, he saw Leona outside of the dorm's walls and walking into the fields of scattered vegetation and rocks. Ruggie never asked where he was going, but that memory was enough to tell him Leona had more places to hide than he thought.

Tracking Leona became almost laughably easy once he was far enough from the dorm, after a while the only smell was Leona in the magically sterile lands. A scent he followed to a small cave, the opening semi-hidden from view by a large rock resting in front of the opening and the amount of weeds growing from the top. Brushing the strands of grass aside he bit his tongue to hold in the urge to bark out laughs at the scene before him.

It was a pretty sweet setup, by Ruggie’s standards. A large rug had been laid out on the ground, softening the area while also keeping the dirt trapped underneath it. There was a low table at the center of space, the remnants of a quick meal by way of multiple snack wrappers and an empty juice bottle. But the best thing was the ‘bed’. A pile of old blankets and pillows all pressed into the corner, a tiny mass with reddish brown hair swimming in a daishiki resting on it. As always, Leona slept with his back to the entrance, laying in a curled up ball with his tail laid out behind him.

Ruggie stepped into the area as slowly as he could. Yeah, Leona was four, but he was still Leona. And Ruggie did not want to see what the potentially scared toddler could do to him in an enclosed space. He couldn't stop the swear he mutters, seeing a single tiny ear suddenly flick around and point toward him. He sunk to his knees, hands held up in a motion of surrender as Leona slowly woke up, “Hey…hey there, bud. You ok?”

The kid turned, a big green eye full of distrust peering at Ruggie as if daring him to move. Before long Leona had moved to fully face Ruggie, sniffing the air a few times before narrowing his eyes and wrinkling his nose, “You smell like the sheets in that room…”

Nodding, Ruggie tries to walk on his knees, one step for every few seconds to not startle the toddler, “Yeah. I do your laundry, it smells like me sometimes. I'm Ruggie, I…I take care of you here.”

Leona did not look pleased in the slightest that Ruggie was getting closer, but made no move past the adorable sneer, “Where's here? If you're trying to get money you picked the wrong kid.”

Ruggie didn't know if that was the inkling of something terribly sad or if Leona was actively threatening him and he didn't care to find out. He chuckles, one-half hobble of a step makeing Leona tense up, his poker face pinching together as he struggles to hold it together. Ruggie takes two knee steps back.

“I'm not dangerous. Hell, I think you'd wipe the floor with me anyway. I haven't had breakfast yet.”

Leona eased, his face slowly morphing into a pout and placing his tiny hands onto his stomach as he looked to the side, “I haven't either…”

Ruggie chuckles, eyes looking to the table and the empty wrappers, “You haven't?” He snorts at the little growl of a huff Leona lets out. He turns back to the kid, his smile turning soft as he held a hand out, “How about we get out of here and I make you some food? You can call Kipaji and we can go from there…”

“Kifaji…?”

Name dropping the aid was the right move, Leona's eyes lighting up at the familiar name before he schools his expression again. He wrings the edge of the now oversized sleep shirt in a show of nervousness. Sniffing the air, Leona wasn't able to smell anything pointing toward malice from the hyena. If anything it calmed him in a sense, the scent of something sweet with the earthy smell of dandelions, the same smell clinging to the fibers of the room he woke up in. 

Ruggie kept his hand outstretched, breathing in relief when Leona finally walked closer and grabbed at his fingers with both of his hands. the sophomore stands, his scrawny hand wrapping securely around one of Leona's, “Let's get you a good meal then. You're so tiny; I gotta make sure you're well-fed!”

Leona pouts, following as the older boy guides them out of the little sanctuary, “I'm not that small for my age…”

Epel sighed, placing two plates down in front of the toddlers, “Here. Some nice and filling breakfast. Y'all want somethin’ to drink?”

Vil looked up, the long sleeves of his button-up pajamas neatly cuffed to allow his hands to be free of the fabric. He tilted his head, purple eyes curious, “You talk weird…Can I have peach juice?” he looked to his plate, smiling as he took notice of the gold swirls along the rim.

“...” Epel sighed, quirking his lip as he rolled his eyes. He couldn't smack the little bugger across the back of his head, he was four, he was going to say whatever was on his mind. 

While Vil started to eat his breakfast, buttered toast and cut-up fruit just as he had requested, Rook was pouting, poking at his food in mild confusion.

“Rook?” The child snaps up, looking to Epel at the sound of his name, “Ya okay bud? Do ya not like ya food?”

“...” Rook pouted, eyebrows pinching together before he turned to Vil. He patted Vil on his shoulder, calling him to lean closer to whisper into his ear.

Vil hummed, nodding and swallowing his food before looking at Epel, “You got his food wrong.”

“Ah…how!?” Epel gestured to the bell pepper omelet on Rook's plate, “You said he wanted eggs and bell pepper! Did he want them raw!?”

“Don't yell at me!” Vil huffed, his tiny nose scrunched up as he slapped his hand to the table, “He told me you made it weird. You're the big kid, you should know what little kids need.”

Epel rolled his eyes so hard he nearly fell. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself down before speaking to Rook, “What's wrong with it? What'd ah get wrong?”

Rook only looked at him confused, blinking a few times before mumbling a few words to Vil. The other blonde perked up again, swallowing his food before he responded in stilted Florian. Epel watched the back and forth, eyes following and wondering why…they were speaking in the other other language…

Vil nodded after a while, turning to Epel, “You made it wrong.”

“What did ah make wrong?” How could such a cute kid be so annoying in this small amount of time?

Sighing, Vil gestured to the omelet on Rook's plate, the other child finally picking at the food to eat it in tiny bites, “His food! You made it wrong!”

Epel gestured to the plate almost in a hysterical fashion, “Ya said he wanted eggs and peppers!?”

The pout Vil pulls is cute, Epel can't lie. But the glare he gave him was all too familiar to the disapproving stare of his 18-year-old self, “That's what he said he wanted! That…Rook, qu'est-ce que tu voulais?” *

“Shakshuka! Mon papa le fait pour moi, mon frère et ma sœur. Il n'y a pas des tomates…”

Nodding, Vil passed over a few chunks of his fruit medley to Rook, turning to glare at Epel, “You forgot the tomatoes.”

Sighing once again, Epel braced against the table and leaned closer to Rook, “Lil guy, ‘ou're gonna need to communicate with me. What is Shakshuka?”

Rook blinked his two big green eyes, tilting his to side as he gave Epel a look of pure confusion.

Vil leaned past Rook, cupping his mouth with both hands to loudly whisper, “I don't think he knows Common yet…”

“...”

Oh, that…that was bad. Epel forgot that Rook was one of the younger third-years; most kids didn't start learning the worldly language of Common until they were around four or prepping to enter the school system. He could make the assumption that the other third-years had at least started their introductory lessons, allowing the school's translation charm to be properly activated for them still.

Epel looked to Vil, trying to keep himself from looking concerned, “Wait, why? He should at least know a few words by now?”

Another brief conversation in Florian between the toddlers, Vil turning to Epel, “He said his mommy said he wasn't getting lessons until he was five.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Epel breathed out. A new annoyance to this pile of nonsense that has become his school life.

Crewel sighed, leaned over his desk as though it was the only thing keeping him up. brushing his hair from his eyes he looked at the group of students and toddlers gathered in his homeroom. The toddlers all dressed in makeshift clothing of oversized shirts, socks, and magically resized shoes.

Riddle stood behind his two turned juniors, eyes watching them like a hawk. His gray pupils moving back and forth to make sure neither child was acting out. A helicopter guardian move that proved unnecessary since both children were sharing a chair and crowded against each other, looking with wide eyes at whatever was on Cater’s phone.

Ruggie stood still with a blank expression, for a second Crewel had feared that the Savanaclaw students hadn't managed to find Leona. Only to see tiny hands creep from behind Ruggie’s head to tug at the corners of his mouth. An equally tiny face peeking from Ruggie’s shoulder and demanding to know when he was going to be fed again.

Epel sat in a chair, eyes glaring straight ahead in purely concealed annoyance. In his lap was Vil, the toddler quietly whispering in a harsh tone as he held and picked at Epel's nails. Clearly scolding him for having dirt under his nails and the small nicks on his fingers. In contrast, Rook was comfortably seated on Epel's shoulders. The other child smiling and having fun messing with the freshman’s hair by running his hands through it and trying to pull it into pigtails.

Ortho was the calmest, Idia practically swimming in his standard hoodie from Ortho's arms. The junior's long hair had shortened dramatically, now a fluffy halo of blue flames compared to the tail it was before. He sat curled into Ortho's arms, his mouth covered by his hoodie sleeve as he nervously glanced around the room and chewed on the fabric.

The most contrasted pair were Malleus and Lilia. While Mallues stood on the ground, holding onto a folded over Sebek's hand and calm, Lilia…

Silver held the still hissing and yowling child by the arms and as far away from his body as possible. The long-haired bat fae was kicking and squirming, nearly fighting for his life to escape Silver's hold. Though from how he kept angling his head and biting into the fabric of the shirt, Crewel could only think it was also a demand to be freed from the prison called clothing.

Crewel groans, covering his face with both his hands. Soon Hui-Yan enters the room, looking annoyed as she tips her head toward Crewel in greeting, “I’ve alerted the other teachers, no one else seems to be affected so I believe it was just this group affected…”

“Uh…” Ruggie reached up, Finally pulling Leona's hands off of his face and moving to hold the toddler to his front, “So…I know they have these meetings every now and again. I help Leona make stuff for them sometimes. That's most likely where they got spelled or dosed…”

Riddle hummed, eyes still locked on his unbothered charges, “A potion makes the most sense…it would explain the delayed reaction more than a spell-Cater, don’t you dare open that message!” He reaches down, pulling the phone away from Cater’s little hands and ignoring his and Trey’s whining.

��...” Crewel sighed again, reminding himself that he had a bottle of scotch calling his name once this whole event was settled, “What potion even does this…? Bucchi, do you have any idea how they could have dosed?”

“Leona was making a big fuss last night on Malleus fuc-” He nearly bit his tongue, closing his mouth as nearly everyone’s eyes snapped to him, basically daring him to finish his sentence, “...He said Malleus messed up the drink mix he brought and it tasted bad…”

Silver sighed, trying his best to rework his hold on Lilia as the child managed to wiggle one of his arms free from his hand, “I remember…Kalim came over a day or so ago with various syrups and sodas…Malleus just said they were mixing things for fun but it must have been for this meeting- Ow.” He groaned frowning at the growling child digging his fangs into his hand, “Please, stop biting me…”

“I don’t think Kalim al Asim would bring anything that contained magical properties. So that leaves the Scarabia and the Diasomnia dorm as the prime location for a third-party to slip something into the beverage.” Ortho nodded at his reasoning, giving his brother a worried glance, “My most present concern is what could have done this. It was strong enough to effect full-blooded fae but weak enough to humans to ‘deage’ them  both to the same age.”

“...No?” Sebek spoke quietly, eyes glancing between Malleus in his arms and Lilia wrapped around Silver's arm and biting into his wrist, “They're…they're not. Waka-sama! Do you know how old you are?”

Malleus had only jumped a bit at the sudden volume increase that was Sebek’s voice before calming back down, “I'm forty…”

“...”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose, counting back in his head to calm his rising blood pressure. He grabbed his phone with one hand, texting Oster as he searched in his other coat pocket, “I’ll need to do some tests to determine what’s in their systems. Not to mention just making sure it’s not actively hurting them…”

Epel spoke up, Vil moving from his hands to poking and pulling at his face claiming he was going to get wrinkles if he kept glaring, “How are you gonna test it?”

“Blood sample.” Crewel then pulled what they could only conceive as the biggest-looking syringe any of them had ever seen. Silver and Sebek both only seeing one of such style in the valley since it seemed more modern needles weren’t so…comically terrifying.

…

Every child once in a relative calm had started to sob the second the syringe was brought out, each wailing and struggling to escape the room or their guardians' hold once they realized they were going to be stuck with the insanely scary needle.

Silver was fighting to keep Lilia from kicking him in the throat in his efforts to break free of his hold. Sebek wasn’t any better as Malleus whimpered and whined, the lights flickering the more distressed he became as the clouds darkened outside. Ruggie had Leona on his head, the child hissing and trying to tug Ruggie by the ears to demand he turn around to leave the room. Epel and Riddle had it the worst. Both of the smaller boys tried to strong-arm two wailing toddlers from flinging themselves to the ground.

Riddle yells, face red both from overexertion and rage, “Why do you have a sterile syringe in your coat pocket!?”

“Don’t you bark at me, Rosehearts! I’ll keep what I need to deal with you lot of rowdy puppies!” The teacher groaned, the sound of wailing children something he had no desire to ever hear. 

Hui-Yan was no better as the woman stood almost frozen beside him with her eyes jumping from one crying kid to the other. She leaned over, eyes glancing to Crewel’s phone to see what he had texted the other science teacher, “Is Oster bringing more syringes or are you going to draw from each of them?”

“... I'm not using the same needle on all of them Hui-Yan.”

“Okay.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I just assumed that’s what you’d do.”

“Why-”

“Um!”

Crewel and Hui-Yan look in surprise. The voice was squeakier but Idia was clearly the child to speak out. He was making direct eye contact, pulling his face from his sleeve and nodding his head.

“I can go first! To show them it’s not scary.”

“O-oh…Thank you, Idia…?” Both teachers glanced at each other, almost asking if they had heard the same thing. Idia as an 18-year-old was not brave, loud, nor as considerate as his toddler counterpart. While very helpful, it was simply jarring…

Crewel pulled out his crop, starting to cast a few spells on the syringe in hand, “Another teacher is coming with more supplies so I can safely get a sample from each of you. You’ll get one of those needles since I have this one for Malleus or Lilia. Modern syringes are made from steel which, if you puppies have been doing your science homework, is a mixture of iron and carbon.” He held up the syringe again, eye twitching at the increased wailing of the children, “I have a few vintage syringes that are still functional that were made with silver. A few cleaning spells and they’ll be safe to use for the fae…”

Oster bursts in, a bag slung over her shoulder as she huffed and puffed, “I’ve come with the items!”

“Perfect timing. Please prep the baby Shroud to draw blood and prep yourself to potentially fight several children…” Crewel pulled out the single-use bags of syringes, looking each over before he started to prep the second vintage syringe.

Rook peaked from under Epel's arm, watching as Idia let Ortho and Oster maneuver his jacket around to show his arm. He whimpered louder, watching the teacher wipe at the other boy's arm with a cotton ball that stained his skin orange, “Vous ne savez pas ce qu'est un tir? Ils font mal et font peur!” **

Idia looked down, eyebrows creased together in confusion, “Wha…?”

Ortho hums, gaining Idia’s attention, “He’s speaking Florian.”

“Oh…” Idia turned back to Rook, shaking his head at the terrified child, “I don’t speak Florian…”

“Scary! He’s saying shots are scary!” Vil wailed, struggling and twisting his arm in Epel’s hold while Rook started to do the same with his other side.

“Oh…Well. I get shots a lot, so I’m used to them.” Idia gains a fearful expression seeing both Oster and Crewel give the needles a final check over, “Yeah, it feels like a pinch but then you get a sucker!”

Malleus stopped his whimpering, shyly peaking from a fretting Sebek’s shoulder. He sniffled, looking over to Idia, “What…what is a sucker?”

“...A sucker?” Idia responded, looking just as confused. How did anyone not know what a sucker was…?

Sebek spoke up, patting Malleus on the back in an effort to calm him more, “It’s a confection; like the honey drops given out at the spring festival! Once you have the test done, you will receive a sucker as your payment for your bravery!”

“...” Malleus looked over to Crewel, the man realizing he was being watched and stiffly held the syringe up. Turning back to Sebek, Malleus nodded his head in a determined manner, “...I want a honey drop…”

“I will ensure you have as many honeydrops as you can stomach, Waka-sama!”

Two of the eight children pacified by the promise of candy, Riddle and Epel took notice and decided it was their best bet.

Riddle managed to kneel down, almost being pulled over by the two struggling toddlers, “Trey, Cater, you can have sweets if you both allow the nice teacher to get a blood test-”

Trey all but wept, the fight slowly leaving him after nearly two minutes of tugging against Riddle’s grip, “I want my moooooooom…!”

Vil cried out, much angrier and still fighting to be released from under Epel’s arm, “I want my lawyer!”

It took another five or so minutes for every child to be calmed and pricked. Trey demanded to call his mother and father once he had his blood drawn and his sucker firm in hand. Cater completely rejected the idea of candy, pitching an even bigger fit at the idea he would be force-fed the sucker after he had his blood taken. Riddle had to promise not only on his life but his favorite color that Cater would be the one allowed to pick what they all had for lunch that day.

Vil had nearly screamed himself hoarse when Crewel approached him with the needle, completely falling into tears on the ground and forcing Epel to fully console the child. It took a promise of as much frozen yogurt as he wanted for dessert and to swear he hadn't been kidnapped by crazy fans of his father. The other blonde toddler had helped Epel explain to Rook that they needed to take a bit of blood to make sure he was healthy. Though he didn't look happy about it, he gained his sucker by holding Vil's hand and closing both of his eyes tight.

Malleus had allowed Oster to stick him with the needle, hiding in Sebek's shoulder and whimpering. The first-year nearly making the woman break the needle off under the toddler's skin, yelling at her that she had taken enough blood when the sample had barely reached the first measurement mark. Lilia fought tooth and nail, never having seen a syringe and thinking it to be a weapon of sorts. It took both Silver and Hui-Yan distracting the child with the promised bright green sucker, allowing Crewel to gather his sample the moment Lilia had let his guard down, barely moving away to avoid razor-sharp baby teeth.

Leona refused and no promise of candy nor food nor any activity Ruggie could think up was accepted. In the end it took Ruggie holding the little prince in a body lock with both his legs and an arm. His last appendage helping Oster by holding Leona's arm still as he hissed and yowled. Once released the first thing the prince did was turn around and lunge at Ruggie, biting down hard on the hyena’s ear and had yet to let go.

Idia had watched it all, comfortable and snug in Ortho's arms with his star-covered bandaid and already blue sucker-stained mouth, “Bunch of babies…”

A botched potion was the answer. From the trace of ingredients found, Crewel and Oster were able to conclude the original potion was a magic reduction syrup. A rare concoction, but commonly prescribed for younger children with high levels of magic and no proper training. A potion that Oster had started to make once she and Crewel realized the children would possibly need it, Malleus mostly…

The main deviation was the substitution of moon crystals for moon petals. An ingredient commonly found in high-quality beauty creams for rejuvenating purposes. Both Crewel and Oster recognizing it from their own beauty night creams. Not harmful, but, it did manage to turn the recipients four. Luckily the potion would only last for a week or so, two tops.

Crewel had tasked Hui-Yan to do what she did best, hunting down students. Someone had planned to potentially poison multiple students and it was an act that would not slide, even by Night Raven standards. But, until the culprits were caught, there wasn't much any of them could do but make sure their new tiny charges were comfortable.

With promise of properly sized clothing and other necessities to be delivered, everyone took their respective toddlers back to their dorms.

Riddle sighed, a pouting Cater holding onto two of his fingers and a still sniffling Trey clutched in his free arm. Walking back to Heartslabyul was a chore and his workload would only grow as the days went on. While aid would be coming in the form physical items, Cater and Trey were pillars of the dorm, emotional support for many a student and Riddle's closest aids. He was aware he'd lose them once they went off to their internships, but to have it happen only a few weeks into this repeat year was cruel. Even if it was only for at most two weeks, Ace and Deuce were not ready for the task of filling their juniors roles yet…

As he entered the dorm's lounge area, he made eye contact with Ace. The redhead freshman sitting on a couch opposite Deuce while the other muttered quietly.

“Wow…they're still four, huh? I would have thought Crewel-Sensei would give them something to make them older again…” Ace stood from his seat, walking closer and raising an eyebrow. Both at Trey whining into Riddle's shoulder and the foul little pout Cater was giving him, “What's their deals?”

“Shots. Suffice to say, neither were too happy about it…” While he was able to guide Cater toward Ace, the smaller redhand's pout lessening when he was picked up, Trey had simply refused to detach from Riddle.

Deuce smiled soft, poking at Trey's back, “Hey, lil guy. Nothing to be afraid of, we're all pretty familiar with each other when you're older.”

Trey merely shook his head, not moving from Riddle's shoulder.

Sighing, Riddle did his best to shuffle Trey in hopes of moving his weight in his quickly tiring arms, “It was a very emotional morning for everyone. Maybe a nap is in order for them, at least until lunch…”

Ace takes notice of Cater in his arms. At the mention of lunch, the toddler seemed to be on the verge of tears the longer Riddle spoke on sleeping arrangements instead of the actual meal time.He bounced the toddler lightly in his arms, gaining his attention before doing a stage whisper to gain everyone's attention, “Hey. Why are you so mad?”

Cater puffed his cheeks out, sending a glare over to Riddle before whispering back to Ace in a harsh tone, “He lied about letting me pick lunch. He didn't say I could pick…”

Ace gasped, looking toward a confused Riddle scandalized, “Housewarden! Shame on you! Did you promise Cater could pick lunch? And you go back on your word? Shame! Jail! Jail for one thousand years!”

Deuce turned to Riddle, frowning himself at the slight, “Rosehearts-senpai…”

“I-! Cater is still allowed to pick lunch!? I didn't say he wasn't? I only gave the opinion that they should have a nap beforehand. It was a very busy morning.”

Cater’s demeanor changed, his eyes widen in amazement and moving away from curling against Ace, “You mean it? I can still pick what's for lunch?”

Riddle softened, smiling at the clearly excited toddler, “Of course you can, Cater-CATER, DON'T JUMP!”

Calm had fled quickly, Cater managing to slip out of Ace's relaxed hold and hit the ground running. His little legs zooming him out of the room before any of them realized he was running.

Deuce was the first to sprint after the child, “Diamond-Senpai! Where are you going!?”

“To pick lunch!”

Ace and Riddle rushed after them both, Riddle still carrying Trey in his tired arms, “Cater, lunch isn't for hours!”

Cater demanded to pick lunch, only then would he even entertain the idea of a nap. So Riddle, Ace, and Deuce all walked along the kitchen. Following behind a far too excited toddler as he looked around the curvy space looking for something to eat.

Trey had finally calmed down, pulling himself from Riddle's shoulder to look around the kitchen himself. Luckily he was distracted enough for Riddle to hand him off to Deuce, finally giving his arms a break.

Riddle watched from a stool, Deuce carrying and holding Trey up to cabinets and various items of the kitchen for closer looks. Ace was following behind Cater, laughing whenever the child opened a cabinet below only to be greeted with pots and pans instead of the food he was expecting.

But soon, Cater found actual food in the cabinets he could reach. The redheaded toddler proudly presenting an unopened jar of tomato sauce to Riddle, “This! I want this for lunch!”

Riddle looked at the jar, knowing the sauce was healthy enough but…, “Just the sauce?”

“Yes.”

“No. You're not just eating sauce for lunch.”

“...” Cater’s face started to flush, tears welling up in his eyes before he started to stomp his feet, “No! You said! You said I could pick! You promised!”

“I did promise, but sauce isn't lunch. You need to pick something else.”

“Nooooooo!” Cater had fallen back onto his bottom, shaking his head and nearly throwing the glass jar to the ground in fury before Ace kneeled down. The now older redhead trying to both calm and reason with the child.

“H-hey. It's ok. We can find something other than sauce for lunch-”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Deuce had appeared, still holding Trey at an arms length while the toddler held out a box of dry spaghetti  pasta. Trey shook the box, gaining Cater’s focus before he shook it again.

“We can have sauce and noodles! Then you can have a lot of sauce with them.”

“...” Cater seemed to weigh his options, casting a pout at Riddle who remained seated in his chair but was unable to look at the upset toddler for long, “I want a lot of sauce on my noodles…”

“...” Riddle knew they had some chicken in the fridge, Trey had wanted to try to teach a few dorm members proper breading techniques, “Yes. A pasta is a wonderful idea for lunch. You're both very smart boys. Cater’s sauce will help make the perfect food for lunch.”

The praise was more than enough to dry Cater’s tears, the toddler holding the jar tight in his hands as he smiled.

Ace, Deuce and Cater walked around the kitchen, both of the freshmen taking turns lifting the toddler to see into the upper cabinets. Riddle sighed, a weight settling into his chest. Children were…so emotionally fragile. A part of him feared this was another avenue of his life that his upbringing failed to prepare him for. Feeling a tug on the top of his boots, the housewarden looked down to Trey, the once content toddler now looking unsure and back on the verge of tears,

“Can I call my mom now? You promised…”

“...” Brief panic gripped his heart, a bead of sweat forming at his temple before he smiled at Trey, “S-sure. Just one moment…”

Riddle pulled out his phone, looking at the personal content number of Mrs. Clover, a number that was routinely deleted and re-added before and after every school break. He gulped, clicking on the icon for a video call and waiting.

The line had rung only a few moments before a middle-aged woman with cropped black hair appeared on screen, she blinked at the camera with warm honey eyes before a wide smile took over her face, “Oh! Riddle, hello, lovely. How are you? You don’t normally call. Oh! While I have you on the line, can you tell Trey I tried to call him this morning but his phone kept going to voicemail?”

“...About that…” Riddle smiled nervously, making brief eye contact with a very excited looking Trey at the sound of his mother’s voice, “Something happened today and…Well…” Riddle turned his phone around, doing his best to keep Trey in frame of the camera.

The sound of pans falling from over the phone was loud and as disastrous as Riddle feared it to be. Instead, Trey beamed, waving with both his arms and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Hi, mommy! I got shots today and was really brave!” Trey moved closer to the screen, holding up his unopened sucker for his mom to view, “I got a sucker. I think it’s strawberry. I can tell because it’s pink but still red. So it’s not cherry. I can tell!”

Riddle could hear how frazzled Mrs.Clover was, the woman stuttering over her words, “Oh, how amazing, Trey! You’ve gotten so good at telling flavors, haven’t you? Um…B-be a good boy for mommy and be nice to Riddle okay? He’s gonna look after you for a bit, okay?”

“Okay, mommy! I’ll be good!”

“Trey!”

Riddle and Trey looked over, Cater now on Deuce’s shoulders and looking into a cabinet with an expression of wonder, “There’s more pasta shapes in here!”

“I wanna see!” Trey had dashed over, only to stop and double back to wave to the camera one more time, “Bye, mommy!”

“Bye, sweetie~...” Once Trey had ran off, being picked up by Ace to look into the cabinet, Mrs.Clover whispered, “Riddle, what happened to my son?”

Riddle turned the camera back to himself, whispering low as to not gain anyone’s attention, “There was a situation involving a misbrewed potion being slipped to a group of juniors and Trey was unfortunately a part of it. Bloodwork was taken and there’s no harm being done from the potion. They’re simply…four for the next few weeks.”

Mrs.Clover stood with her mouth lightly agape, giving Riddle a hard stare that lasted so long her husband had called out to her in mild confusion and concern. She shook her head, blinking herself back before turning around. She said a few words that Riddle couldn’t make out before facing him again, “We’ll get our ducks in a row over here. By…By Sunday we should have everything all set to close down for the week to come help you boys out.”

“Mrs.Clover, I couldn’t possibly ask-”

“Well, you aren’t, I’m offering, Riddle. You said a group got turned right? You boys over there are still just kids. My husband and I will be there to take the load off of you from watching them. Plus, it’ll be nice you know? We missed so much of Trey’s childhood…It’s not permanent but it’d be nice to have more pictures of him from when he was small…”

“...” Riddle huffed, looking to the side, “That would be helpful…I will have plenty of paperwork to handle now that Trey and Cater are indisposed…”

“I’ll call you later tonight! I can help you get Trey settled into bed. You should think of calling Cater’s parents, too. Bye, Riddle. Talk more later, okay?”

“Understand. Farewell and a good afternoon to you Mrs.Clover.”

Once the call had ended, Riddle thought over her words. It may be helpful for the others dealing with toddlers to have a week break from tending to them. Humming under his breath, he sends a message to Ortho, wondering what the android though of the idea of alerting the turned junior’s families…

Translations!

*V: Rook, what did you want? R: My papa does it for me, my brother and my sister. There are no tomatoes

**R: Don't know what a shot is? They hurt and are scary!

[plutowon]

[out of your league]

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst, vent, comfort post

warnings: insecurity, body dysmorphia, depression, feelings of worthlessness, wanting to disappear, very graphic depictions of eating disorders (ednos) please do not read this if you are recovering from an eating disorder, internalized fatphobia, questioning reality to a certain extent

synopsis: your perfect boyfriend couldn’t possibly think you’re even slightly attractive, could he ?

2.2k words

꒪ □ ◌⠀۰ ⠀۰ ⏜⃞☁️⠀⊹⠀ ָ࣪ ⠀• ❒

you assume everybody views you the same way.

ugly, to put it very bluntly.

you assume when people see you on the street they feel a wave of sympathy wash over them. when people meet you, they don’t meet you, they meet pity to a new extent. suddenly, they meet pity on a very very personal level.

such a shame, your face, your body as well.

you’re not even given the comfort and contentment of being average. for you, you are very much below average. not even something to settle for you are simply unwanted, another’s worse nightmare.

you assume everyone sees you like this because thats how you see you.

you feel like a pig. you can feel every inch of space you take up in the world, space you’re very much undeserving of. you can feel the fat on your thigh bounce as it absorbs the shock of your movements, you can feel it in your stomach as well. you hate the way it feels when you wear jeans. the denim squeezes against your fat and your legs are itching to burst out, as if they’re saying “you know we’re too big for this, let us out or lose the weight!”. and even when you are so sure you’re eating in a deficit, the fact that you’re eating at all means you’re not trying enough.

you’ve spent countless months crying. you’ve been stagnant for about a year. you lose and gain the same five to ten pounds. it seems to cling to you like a toxic friend, like a parasite feeding off of you, it’s making you sick. you can’t seem to lose weight, which is laughable, really. that’s the one thing you should be good at, isn’t that what an eating disorder is ? perhaps you’re not trying hard enough. perhaps you’re not sick.

and no one seems to notice your struggles. your friends haven’t even noticed. and you can tell, the way they say nothing when you eat nothing around them, when you constantly deny their offers for food because you mostly give in and eat a couple of fries anyways, despite attempting a thirty-six hour fast. you give up like you always do. even when you’re too obvious, when you mention the calories in a product, when you make a small joke about losing weight, they simply laugh it off, even telling you that losing a couple of pounds couldn’t hurt. you can’t expect them to notice you’re sick when you’re basically not. you feel lost, you feel stuck, you feel like you’re running out of time but you don’t try any harder.

at this rate, you’ll never be able to fix yourself. you’ll be stuck in this never-ending purgatory for the rest of your pathetic life as people look at you wondering how something like you could’ve crawled out of the ground and have the gall to pass yourself off as human.

your family is struggling because of your weight. because you’re eating everything in site like a raccoon trying to survive. your boyfriend is probably gonna start pulling away from you because how could he be seen with you ? i mean, you’re bigger than him and he’s one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters tall—are you not embarrassed ? you feel bad for him because he has to lug around his big girlfriend that all his skinny friends probably make fun of when you’re not around. you’re sure your friends feel bad for you—everybody does. you’re sure that they comment on your selfies to make you feel better. that they call you pretty because they know if they don’t, nobody else will. they’re just being nice. that’s the only reason you’re worth talking to,

out of pity.

how could anyone ever love you ?

how could anyone truly enjoy your company ? and your lack of eye candy isn’t even made up for in personality. you’re annoying, you’re loud, and your jokes fall flat on their face like a four year old learning to bike without training wheels for the first time. you’re nothing of value, nothing people seek out or look forward to.

this is just the way things are.

until you get your act together, you’ll simply be stuck like this. pathetic, and gross, and subhuman.

you assume eveyone sees you this way.

and when you’re with your boyfriend sunghoon, laying down in his bed while he changed his top to a simple hoodie to cuddle you in, you don’t think twice about what you say.

“sometimes i don’t understand why you’re my boyfriend. like, you’re so pretty and out of my league you could get any girl you want but you settled for me”

you laugh because it’s funny. your situation is a bit silly, is it not ? and you expect sunghoon to laugh along, tell you you’re an amazing girlfriend and you dont need to be pretty, but he looks at you in shock, almost angry. he doesn’t even know how to formulate words because he simply can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, and what’s even more unbelievable is how calmly you’ve said them, this egregious belief of yours. it makes his blood run cold. it’s appalling how you think what you’ve said is okay, and what’s most terrifying is you expect him to agree with you.

“…what?” you ask when you realize your laughter isn’t kissing his. you don’t understand how he doesn’t find it all as humorous as you do.

“what the hell are you talking about?” he looks at you mortified. he runs up beside you on the bed and you sit up and look at him confused.

“how could you say that…?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper and his eyes are tearing up and you don’t know how, but you can sense you’ve fucked up.

“…well, i mean, everybody thinks it, so-”

“what? who told you that…nobody thinks this- who told you this? was it a friend? was it that dickhead at work? i swear i’ll fuck him up-”

“nobody had to tell me, sunghoon, it’s just common knowledge…i’m not exactly pretty”

sunghoon feels like crying.

how could you say something like this? how could you say you’re not pretty? objectively, you’re a very attractive person. you’re very very beautiful. so beautiful, sunghoon was almost convinced you were a long lost princess. he even made up a storyline where perhaps you had run away from your home somewhere in a european kingdom to get away from the hustle and bustle of the royal life that you had decided wasn’t made for you and ended up here in his.

he feels like crying so he does.

“what- i don’t-” he says it in between his tears as he tries to gather his bearings.

“is this why you don’t wanna go out for dates anymore…and why you’ve been eating less…?”

you’re shocked, to say the least. you had been avoiding been seen in public in general, but especially with your perfect boyfriend knowing people would be embarrassed for him. you didn’t think he would notice though, and you especially didn’t think he would notice you eating less.

“…what are you talking about?”

“i’m not dumb, y/n. you started eating less and all of a sudden you loss like twenty pounds in a month i noticed it last year, but jungwon told me not to say anything because that could make it worse. he told me to just watch you”

you don’t know how to feel.

a myriad of emotions falls over you, but one shows it’s face in the crowd more clearly than the others.

embarrassment.

how embarrassing this is, for your boyfriend to have noticed your eating disorder meant he also noticed you not losing any more weight. he noticed your failure before anyone else.

you want to deny him. you want to tell him he’s wrong, but the look in his eye is not one of question. he’s not looking at you for confirmation, he’s looking at you because he’s pieced everything together and he knows you know that.

you begin to cry. how dare you? inconvenience him like this. not only are you his ugly pigglet girlfriend, you’ve made your failure of an eating disorder his problem? how dare you?

“i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would notice”

sunghoon is even more shocked now. your words have stricken his core in such a bone-chilling way, worse than anything hes ever felt before.

“why the hell are you apologizing to me?”

“because it’s bothering you-”

“NO no, don’t even think like that”

he sniffles and wipes his tears before holding your hand tightly and pulling it towards himself

“you are never an inconvenience to me, okay? i love you so much. and i love you because you are you. not because you were available, and not because no one else was. i don’t love you because it’s convenient or because i have to, i love you because i want to. because my heart aches and pounds for you on it’s own. you’re my beautiful little angel—how could you ever even think i would find you anything less than gorgeous and heavensent?”

you want to believe him, you do. and you almost believe him cause his eyes are boring into yours with such a bold intensity, laced with devotion and desperation, but it doesn’t make sense.

because how could he see you like this? you’re jaw dropping heartthrob boyfriend that’s out of your league? the most average of people would never see you like this, so why would he?

“i wish you could see yourself through everyone else’s eyes, because my love, you are amazing”

what is he even saying? everyone’s eyes? last you checked,

“everyone would think i’m hideous”

he looks at you with aching pain, like you’ve taken the sharpest spear to his chest and you’re killing him, slowly and painfully.

“no baby, that’s not true. why would you say that? you’re genuinely so beautiful everyone thinks that i don’t understand why you see yourself so negatively. nobody thinks you’re ugly”

had it truly all been in your head? of course not. no, this is how it’s always been you’ve always been below average.

“you know when we first started talking, my friends laughed and said i was too much of a loser to pull someone like you” sunghoon laughs at the fond memory of his drop dead gorgeous crush smiling at him and his asshole friends punching him, telling him to lower his bar a little bit.

“if anything, you’re out of my league” you’re aggressively wiping your eyes as an excuse to not listen to these fabricated fibs he’s telling you.

“listen, we’re gonna go at your pace and i won’t push you or force anything on you, but we’re gonna start slow, okay? you’re so much more than just how much you eat or how much you don’t eat. no matter what, i’ll still be head over heels for you. you’ll always be my princess”

kissing the back of your hand and holding it to him like he’s scared you’ll wither away. scared you’ll leave him here all alone with nothing but the stardust that once danced around that pretty head of yours that just coats the floor now that you’re gone.

“you’re amazing. i know it’s not easy, and it’s so hard for you to see yourself for all that you are, but i’m here, baby. i’ll always be here”

as you sob into the sleeves of your hoodie, sunghoon pulls your hands away from your face and pulls you to fall into his arms, his warm embrace and his hipnotizing kisses.

you’re not sure if you believe him, that you really are beautiful to him and to everyone else, but you know that you want to.

and you know that you’re tired.

you’ve been chasing this perfection that doesn’t even exist for so so so long and your legs are tired. they’re aching and so is your heart. you’ve tried so hard to please yourself because you’re so certain you’re not enough for the world when you have always been more than enough. you realize that you’re wasting your life away. wasting time away just for beauty. for control. for something to hold on to when everything falls. when you’re insecure about everything, there’s always one thing that can be “fixed”.

you are running away from yourself. you’re trying so hard to be somebody different. you’ve tried everything to be happy except turn to yourself, take your hand and embrace yourself. come to terms with yourself. you’ve ran all your life but you’ve never thought to turn around and face yourself,

and you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

and sunghoon knows that. that it’s comforting to keep running. but now that the seed’s been planted in your brain and he can see the cogs turning and stopping on a cycle, he’s certain that one day, you will be able to stop running and turn around and holding yourself and welcome yourself with open arms.

but for now, sunghoon will run with his hand in yours to make sure you dont trip and fall.

“it’s okay to not be ready. we’ll take our time”

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

I should be doing homework but I'm too busy being obsessed about Rift Nocturna's entire thing. She drives me crazy I swear to god.

She works in children's entertainment but she can't remember anything about her youth. And even if she COULD remember anything about her youth, it would be so far removed from what modern day children like that it probably wouldn't help anyway. She's very clearly out of her element- clearly self conscious about her ability to provide a thorough service.

But not only is she doing a good job- as demonstrated by the fact that she is very much rising through the ranks of the corporation- but she also WANTS to do a good job. She wants to provide this service. She wants to keep these kids happy.

This immortal vampire who tears into the throats of forest animals and drinks their blood with her hands, who tried and failed to cheat death, who left everyone she knew as a human behind, and then everyone she knew as a vampire behind in a fruitless quest that probably only sunk her deeper into the denial and depression she was already in, wants- more than anything in this strange new universe- to keep children happy. That drives me crazy. She drives me crazy.

It's kind of difficult to judge how the modern natives have been reacting to... the everything that the rifts have done. And Matron isn't really a 'native' per say, just disguising herself as one. But I find it really interesting that she's the only real character who weaponizes the identity of someone who isn't human against them.

Matron belittles Nocturna specifically for her species. Calls her a bloodsucker, a menace to society. Finds the thought that Cadence- or anyone- could consider her a friend to be laughable.

And now I have to wonder if Nocturna's had to deal with those sorts of things before, or if that was just the perfect way to get under her skin. Because either way, clearly it was what wound up tainting her.

[brujahinaskirt]

You know, when it really comes down to it, the main thing that tears me to pieces about Arthur & John is encapsulated so nicely in the trope of the Lonesome Cowboy.

RDR2's storytelling is particularly masterful as it shows us that everyone is the mythic Lonesome Cowboy... but at the same time, I believe it manages to quietly suggest there is one true Lonesome Cowboy of the series.

And it ain't Arthur Morgan.

DEEPLY overwritten explanation below!

On the surface, Arthur is clearly set up by RDR2 to be our Lonesome Cowboy. He even sings the song. But is he really? Really, truly? Or is Arthur's brand of lonesomeness a clever model to help us, through comparison and contrast, begin to notice and understand another, deeper type of loneliness?

Arthur thinks he's unlovable and alone because he lacks one specific type of love, romantic domesticity, which he has dreamed throughout his life and consistently been denied. But though his pain is genuine, the idea that Arthur is alone and unloved is almost laughable. R* shows us every single game day that Arthur is surrounded by people who love him, live with him, and depend upon him.

But that's the great irony of the RDR Lonesome Cowboy, right? Arthur feels lonely and believes he is alone because he is a "bad man" and nonbeliever whom "no one will have" (not even God, and he remains true to his atheism through the bitter end [and thank god for that honestly because the last thing I needed was a Come to Jesus cowboy game...]).

But the inverse is true, and his depression is lying to him; Arthur is almost never alone and pretty much everyone in his family unit actively enjoys his company and wants him around. And yes, many of these people are damaged and have trouble communicating that (though fewer than you'd think). And no, it isn't the same as getting married to one person and raising a family with them for the rest of your life. But lonesome? As in, emotionally and/or physically alone?

Nah! Come on, man! Not even close.

Arthur is more than just loved and needed: he's actually understood by those he chooses to let in, because Arthur is definitely capable of telling his closest confidants how he feels and what is lurking in his heart. We see him do this many times. Sometimes with surprising ease and honesty.

When Arthur is physically alone in RDR2, he's wandering at the player's command, and if he wanders for too long, he's eventually retrieved & lambasted by the people at camp who quite openly/forcefully tell him they missed him and worried about him. Even Low Honor Arthur is a popular man at camp, in his own way, the support beam of his strange family (though LH Arthur is more likely to selectively deny that support, or to provide that support with the caveat of verbal cruelty).

A messy run-down of some obvious examples to illustrate my point:

Despite Dutch's deterioration and manipulations, Dutch and Hosea openly dote on him and relish telling embarrassing family stories about their Big Man Old Guard son to each other. Hosea especially frets about and tries to care for Arthur, mostly physically but sometimes emotionally as well. Susan can be abrasive at best, but she also clearly favors Arthur, thinks often about his well-being, and is one of the primary worriers when he's away from camp for too long.

Abigail and Jack completely rely on Arthur for a significant period of their lives, and though Abigail struggles greatly with showing affection & vulnerability, I would argue her primary and most extraordinary mode of care and affection for Arthur is allowing him to help her raise her son. Sure, she needs the help... but Arthur needs the nuclear family experience of being heavily relied on, too, and Abigail makes it clear she understands that about him better than anybody else. (I'd go on to argue that being relied on in a family way is essential for Arthur's self-esteem and is how he can continue to function despite the massive clash between his true nature and his violent lifestyle, for which he constantly berates himself. But that's neither here nor there...)

The Girls (Tilly, Mary-Beth, Karen) actively worry about his mental health and invite him to share his burdens with them, comfort him (each in their own unique way), play games, dance, etc. They do this for Arthur we don't see them do for anyone else in camp (apart from each other, which leads me to believe Arthur is sort of an honorary member of The Girls, though I won't get too much into that here).

Sadie: "Aside from my [BELOVED HUSBAND AND SOUL MATE] Jake, you're the best man I've known."

Though Arthur seems more likely to trust & befriend women/non-masc men, he has masc men friends & confidants too, and most of the men at camp seem to rank Arthur as somehow more reliable than other members. Charles very obviously loves Arthur & vice versa to the point where I tried to pick one demonstrative example and couldn't figure out where to begin. Uncle is a pain in Arthur's ass, but when shit hits the fan, he knows (and tells him) that Arthur is the best man of them all. Lenny, while young, enjoys Arthur's company (though I would argue Arthur feels more strongly about Lenny than the inverse due to Arthur's tendency to protectively fuss over young people). Hell, Sean constantly tells Arthur, word for word, "I love ya, Arthur Morgan!!! I really do!!! I love ya!!!!" He's being goofy, but he's not joking! He said that!

And that's just a surface-level sampling of gang members. These threads run much, much deeper and we could spend essays analyzing each one, but my god this has gone on too long already.

One could argue that Arthur's story aloneness is at the moment of his death, but I can't quite agree. With Save John + High Honor Arthur path especially, I would argue Arthur has never been less emotionally (even spiritually) alone than when he chose to change the very nature of his death from a random consequence of his hard life to an act of love that gives his surviving core family (John, Abigail, Jack) a chance at happiness. In less peaceful endgame scenarios, Arthur might not actually die alone, or even have time to linger on his approaching departure from the world.

So I posit that Arthur is not, was never the Lonesome Cowboy. Arthur is loved as much as he loves others.

I posit that the true Lonesome Cowboy of RDR is John.

John Marston, who on the surface has everything Arthur ever wanted... but who, due to the nature of his heart and what he's seen, cannot bring himself to fully open up in a way that enables him to be truly understood and embraced by anyone, not even the person he comes to love most in the world (Abigail). There's a reason the epilogue feels so shocking and lonely, and while I do think Rockstar could have done a better job on the transitional cinematics from playing as Arthur to playing as John, that crushing loneliness and sense of discomfort and incompleteness is vital.

It feels awful. It feels like we just lost a limb and were thrown back into everyday life with no fanfare, no true honorable sendoff, no closure, no greater understanding of the world, no peace or contentment. And it feels that way because that discordant, jarring dis-allowance of grief is the ONLY mechanism that helps us feel how John must feel now. Because unlike Arthur, John cannot express or unfold or understand his own pain and loneliness. Not to us, the player, and not even to himself. He never grieves.

Of course, when Sadie and Micah drift back into his life, John snaps. He's never grieved! He's been emotionally alone through all of that, even when he has his family and friends, because he can't open up and let them in! He risks destroying his family in a way that would have undoubtedly caused Arthur extreme horror and anger because John's family is not and has never been a cure for John's loneliness, even though John truly loves them more than anything at the end.

John can't express it, so it's these lyrics themselves that serve as the fount of his grief: I ain't got no brother. No wonder Abigail has her own quiet epilogue rendition of this song (and she, too, is a profoundly Lonesome Cowboy in her way, just like Karen, Hosea, Javier, Jack, etc....). Once Arthur is gone from the world, so too is the only person who knew this deeply damaged kid well enough from his wild childhood to really even hope to see into John's heart.

tl;dr: Arthur thinks he's the legendary Lonesome Cowboy, but he's not. He's just lonely, not alone. In reality, the character who is fundamentally alone, truly lonesome, has always been John.

[suspiciousmammal]

Several dozen people discovered my horse coat color masterpost from back when I was a bored and sad teenager during quarantine, so now I remembered that this blog exists, and thus here's a wee life update.

I don't ride anymore (yay, my back is fucked) but that's ok, I need to switch jobs again because this one is giving me some wild health issues from chronic exposure to absurd quantities of paint thinner vapors, and I'll be moving for the fifth time in two years. My flats roof is leaking, too. But it's fine, really. I found some new friends, I'll be moving in with the drag king I met last year until I've found a new flat, I've started testosterone and I'm making horrible backyard music with some fantastic people. Some queers, some artists and a few czechs

I used to have grand plans of studying vetmed or biology or psychology or virtually anything that sounds like it'd finally get people to shut up about me reaching some sort of potential they saw in me. It almost felt like a defeat to go back into the workshop, and even more of a defeat to once again just fail to navigate the shite working conditions and laughable pay. But even though I'm probably on my way to become some unemployed artist, or self-employed trade worker, whatever's worse really, I feel like I'm on the right path? I'm stressed, and burning alive, but I'm not as depressed anymore. My old friends from my graduating class are inheriting their parents' properties and I'm inheriting my mum's debt and an untrained hunting dog, but my friends don't seem much happier than me either so I reckon I'll be fine

[trashogram]

What is the possibility that Charlie develops a mommy issue?

Queen!Reader is powerful, beautiful, regal, and importantly has a backbone, with this appearance. How would Charlie feel, would she be insecure if she can't find herself to be atleast a fraction of her mother? Or would she overwork herself into becoming her mother, unintentionally losing little bits of herself in the process?

(little rant but how TF did HH Charlie developed a daddy issue?)

Charlie does grow up to have mommy issues in HCY 😔 They don’t usually manifest in anger and they’re not debilitating, but Charlie fears not being good enough to fill the Queen’s shoes and does overexert herself in a lot of ways to make her mother proud. Charlie buries the feeling that she’s not as important to her mother as ruling Hell is, but it won’t stay buried forever.

Fortunately with proper communication and probably some therapy, mother and daughter would be able to have a healthier bond over time.

It’s also not as bad as I was originally going to make it, which was Charlie practically never seeing her mom. Like ever. The end of HCY was gonna have little Charlie interacting with Queen!Reader the way that Bambi does when he first interacts with the Great Prince of the forest. I nixed that because it was bumming me out 😅

(HH Charlie’s daddy issues aren’t well established. It made sense in the pilot when it was implied that her father didn’t believe in her cause — not out of depression but bc everybody in Hell thought redemption was a laughable idea. Now it’s super vague bc Lilith would keep Charlie away from her dad? I think?? So Charlie didn’t know him very well while growing up, but also why would Lilith do that? Because Lucifer was busy? But he didn’t seem that involved with ruling Hell even before the 7 year split so I really don’t know!)