#like. you are a person and one day you WILL need to be weak.

[starmocha]

I've got this doubt that I can't shake off: if MC's pregnancy, for some reason, is a very tough and risky one (both might die or something), which one of the guys would have the saddest breakdown at some point (just ugly crying into MC's arms after months of keeping it together for her sake) and which would have the angriest (trashing entire offices, taking their anger out on their enemies or both)?

(I had intended to respond earlier, but man…that trailer…) Gosh, you guys know how to prod at that special part of my brain with these asks lately… 🥺 I may or may not have...started writing...little...snippets, really... 😔

Zayne would go into “doctor-mode.” He is going to utilize his medical knowledge and resources to give you the best care possible for both you and the baby, and while it seems you have nothing to worry about, you will feel the emotional-withdrawal from him as everything will feel so methodical and clinical and he forgets completely his role as a husband until you break down crying.

You had tried to keep your emotions in check these last few months, rationalizing that Zayne was never an expressive person, but his feelings and actions were always sincere. He was pacing across the bedroom reviewing with you about your recent prenatal checkup and what it meant for both you and this baby. It had been like this for several months now, and with your weak heart and the risk it posed for both you and the baby, Zayne had been extra attentive about your prenatal care.

As you sat on your bed, heavy with his child and close to your due date, listening to him rattle off different medical terms and speaking to you less as a wife but more as if you were his patient, you could feel your emotions peaking. You couldn’t remember the last time he was affectionate with you or actually asked how you were personally feeling throughout this whole pregnancy. He was by your side more, but you had never felt as lonesome as now, needing him back as your husband and not a doctor. You could feel the tears brimming, but it was getting harder each day to suppress your feelings.

Everything Zayne was saying sounded like muffled gibberish to you. You could barely focus on the present, barely acknowledging even the faint movements of the baby you were carrying, feeling more lost in your loneliness. You finally let your emotions and hormones collide and broke down crying in front of him, startling him immediately. Within seconds, he was on his knees before you, grasping your arms as he asked worriedly, “What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?”

It took you a minute to gather yourself before you felt calm enough to speak, finally revealing to him how you hated who he had become during this time. At first, Zayne looked shocked, not quite comprehending what you had just said to him, but the more he pondered your hurt words, the more he realized there was a lot of truth in what you had said.

He kissed your belly, surprising you. Then, he got up and sat down next to you on the bed, pulling you into his embrace as he kissed your forehead, his apologies immediate and sincere.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, holding you a little tighter, “I just…don’t want anything to happen to you. Either of you.”

You leaned into his embrace, and sighed softly, “I know…I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

Zayne looked down, noticing how your words gradually stopped and you were withdrawing again. He lifted your chin, making you look at him as he coaxed you gently, “Just what?”

“I just miss you,” you said, voice breaking again and fresh tears brimmed your eyes. As he brushed your tears away, you cried harder, “And I’m scared…and I can’t stop thinking about all of the things that could go wrong…and then I realize stressing over this is also hurting the baby and…and…”

Zayne looked guilty as he realized that while he was too focused on your physical health, he had neglected your mental and emotional state, realizing how you had been suppressing your feelings for his sake.

He sat back against the headboard and pulled you back to rest against him. He apologized again for his neglect, and for the rest of that night, he listened and comforted you through your anxieties. There was that familiar warmth in his embrace that you missed, and the softness in his eyes returned as he listened to you earnestly. While your anxieties were still there, they seemed more manageable now that you realized the man by your side in this moment was not Doctor Zayne but your Zaynie, your beloved husband.

Rafayel is angry and emotional and will lash out and say things he doesn’t mean, such as he would rather lose the baby than you.

It had been like walking on eggshells these past few months. You had tried to keep your spirits up in spite of the situation, but eventually everything that had been quieted was going to surface, reaching an ugly peak.

You just had never expected him to say such words to you.

“You…don’t want…the baby?” You felt like you were choking as you uttered those words back to Rafayel.

He looked conflicted, his face twisted in pain and frustration. “I…I didn’t mean it,” he finally said, seeming to struggling with not just his words, but also his feelings.

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. “You said it! What could you have possibly meant to say if not that!”

“I don’t want to lose you!” he finally yelled back, frustrated that his words were being used against him by you of all people.

A strained silence filled the space, creating a rift between the two of you as you stared at one another in shock. In the distant, there was the cries of seagulls flying outside the studio, the sound of waves crashing on the shore a peculiar reminder that time was still moving forward even as you two stood frozen, locked in this seemingly unbreakable tension.

After several beats, Rafayel dropped to his knees, his head buried into his hands as he apologized, though it seemed more like he was apologizing for hurting you and not because of what he had said.

You walked closer to him, surprised when his arms wrapped around your waist, and his face pressed against your rounded stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. He didn’t look up at you, but his words were heard clear: “I just can’t lose you again.”

You stared down at his head of hair, unsure of what you could say in this moment. He looked so broken and helpless, and while you understood his sentiments, it still did nothing to alleviate the hurt you felt at his earlier words. Shakily, you let your hand rest on the back of his head, as you said softly, “My fishie…I won’t leave you…”

You said that to comfort him, but even you had doubts about whether you could hold true to your words. It was so bright and sunny outside in Linkon today, so why did your future look so gray and uncertain? This was to be a joyous time in both of your lives, but even as you both felt the baby kicked and moved, that cloud of doubt remained.

Xavier is stunned and feels helpless.

It had been an awkward couple of weeks. Xavier was quieter than usual, but he still answered you whenever you spoke. You didn’t think he was upset at you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sudden distance between the two of you.

“Captain Jenna had put me on desk duty for the remainder of my pregnancy,” you told him over dinner one night.

He didn’t answer you, appearing distracted as he was grilling some beef slices on an electric griddle.

“Xavier?”

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “Oh, sorry, I had something on my mind. What did you say?”

“I…I said Captain Jenna is putting me on desk duty,” you repeated hesitantly.

“That’s good,” he answered and picked a slice of beef off the griddle to place in your bowl. “You should have some more meat for protein.”

“…thank you,” you said, noticing the way his eyes kept averting with yours. You placed your bowl on the table, upset now. “Xavier, did I do something wrong?”

He looked taken aback by the sudden question. He immediately shook his head. “Wrong? Why would you even think that?”

You frowned. “You’ve barely spoken with me lately,” you said, “It’s been nothing but ‘yeah,’ ‘okay,’ ‘alright’ from you lately.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked at you with remorse etched on his face. He sighed as he turned the griddle off before he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I…I just have something on my mind.”

“You keep saying that,” you retorted, mildly irked now, “What could be on your mind that is more important than being here with me?”

“You.”

Your irritation disappeared in that moment, his solemn gaze resting on you. Slowly, you found your voice, your words stuttering a little in confusion, “Wha…what do…you mean?”

“You and the baby,” he clarified. “Ever since the doctor said this was a high-risk pregnancy, I just…can’t stop thinking about…everything that could go wrong.”

“Xavier…”

“I don’t know how to make this easier for you,” he continued, suddenly unable to hide his anxiety any longer, “And even if we do everything right, what if things go wrong at the last minute? What if—no, just…no…”

You gasped when he suddenly came to you, his arms wrapped around you immediately in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of your head and apologized again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Xavier…it will be alright,” you reassured him.

He was silent.

“We’ll both be alright,” you continued.

“Right…” he answered, but you noticed he still didn’t want to let you go. You also didn’t want him to part, so you both remained in this moment a while longer.

Sylus has all of the money and connections in the world. He is going to ensure that both you and the baby will be alright throughout the pregnancy until birth. On the surface, he seems calm and confident, but to keener eyes, such as yours, you will pick up on his anxiety through little tics or behavioral changes.

The moment you had told Sylus you were pregnant with his baby, he lavished you with even more luxuries than before. You received the best care possible, especially when it came to light that this pregnancy was not going to be easy for you and there was concern about the health of the baby. Sylus made sure the most qualified doctors were monitoring you and he had ordered the personal chefs to prepare only nutritional dishes for you and the baby.

He was adamant that you received only the best of the best, and to strangers, Sylus appeared to be so level-headed and grounded, not a trace of worry could be seen on his face.

You, however, noticed how he seemed to drum his fingers on hard surfaces more often. He would also pull out his coin to flip at the most peculiar time, and his visits to the boxing ring also seemed to have increased. There were so many odd tics that you couldn’t ignore, but you suspected you knew the reason why.

One evening, you slipped into bed earlier while Sylus was still sleeping. It would almost be time for him to wake up from his slumber, so you waited. When you noticed the fluttering of his eyes, you leaned in closer, smiling as your face was the first thing he saw once he awoken.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a mischievous smile, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Mm…morning,” he answered back in amusement, still a little groggy and bleary-eyed. He yawned. “What did I do to deserve seeing such a sweet sight first thing after waking up?”

“I wanted to talk.”

His mirth disappeared in that instance upon hearing your stern tone. He shifted in bed, sitting up with his back to the headboard. “Is something the matter?”

“You tell me.”

Sylus shook his head in confusion. “Sweetie, you are going to have to elaborate more,” he responded with a frown. “What are we talking about?”

“Are you…worried?”

“Worry?”

You rested a hand over your belly, his gaze instantly following your movement. “About the pregnancy,” you clarified.

“Of course I worry,” he answered back in that same even tone.

“You…seemed so assured, but lately, I’ve noticed these little…tics,” you explained, elaborating to him more in details as he listened patiently. When you finished, Sylus gently pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his. His arm wrapped around you, his hand resting on your belly to rub gentle little circles.

“I will always worry about you,” he said, “but panicking over things will not achieve anything, so I just redirected my worries elsewhere. Is that a problem?”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, I was just…wondering if you wanted to talk about them with me.”

He laughed and bent down to peck your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What if I want to?”

He smiled in amusement and kissed you again. “Then who am I to argue with my pregnant wife?”

“What would you do?”

“Do what?”

“If…I don’t ma—”

“You will be fine,” he immediately cut you off, his demeanor shifting entirely. “You will both be fine.”

“But—”

He lay back down in bed, pulling you closer to him in a tighter embrace. “Lull me to sleep,” he said instead.

“But isn’t it time for you to wake—” You clammed up when he shot you a pointed look. You could sense his unease, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh a little more. He was upset, deeply troubled, and you hated how he carried that burden alone on his shoulders.

“Alright,” you answered, snuggling into his embrace. You sang a song, a lullaby you had learned recently that you hoped to sing to your baby in a few months. As you sang, Sylus quietly hummed along, and it wasn’t long before you both fell asleep together, your worries left behind as you dreamed of the upcoming months when a new bundle of joy would arrive at Onychinus’ base.

Caleb is nervous, but he pours himself into taking care of you, because that is all he has ever known. He’s never liked seeing you ill or hurt, so he is going to do everything possible to make sure you receive the best care ever. He will do a lot of research and ask as many questions as he could to gain insight on what can be done to minimize the risk so both you and the baby will make through the pregnancy as safely as possible. He does not even want to consider the possibility of losing you.

You didn’t have any autonomy over yourself anymore. Whatever you wanted to do, Caleb did it for you first. Whatever you were craving, he would negate it half the time, citing it was better for you to eat a healthier alternative.

Even though you wanted to be mad at him, you knew he was doing this out of worry after the reveal that there were some concerns about this pregnancy. The moment that you had heard the word “risky,” everything afterwards suddenly sounded muffled as you were frozen in shock, a sudden anxiety creeping in as you stared down at your belly. Meanwhile, Caleb was already proactive, asking what needed to be done, what you both needed to be aware of, and so on and so forth. As if he could sense your worries, his hands immediately rested on your shoulders as he stood behind you while he continued to converse with the doctor.

He was your pillar and your protector. He always was, and he always will be.

Even if sometimes you found him to be overbearing.

You had missed many of his more indulgent dishes ever since he had put you on a clean-diet, and each time, you made a point of letting him know just how upset you were as you sulked when he finished setting the table with steamed fish and green veggies with bamboo shoots.

“It’s only temporary,” he reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you picked at the fish half-heartedly.

“Most women get to enjoy their cravings while pregnant,” you said sullenly, taking a small bite of the fish.

He nodded in agreement as he sat down opposite of you. “If this was a normal pregnancy, then of course you should be able to indulge on your cravings—”

You looked at him hopefully.

“But your cholesterol level is higher than normal, and we also need to be cautious about the risk of developing gestational diabetes—”

You sulked again. “You are killing my appetite again.”

Caleb laughed softly as he set his chopsticks down. He cocked his head to the side, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned forward on the table. “What are you craving, pipsqueak?”

“What does it matter? You won’t let me have anything…” You bit into your bamboo shoot, not making eye contact with him.

“Pretend I will,” he answered in the same tone.

You shrugged. “…Pasta.”

“Pasta? Okay,” he answered thoughtfully, “What else?”

“Hmm…pizza…cheesecake…dumplings…”

Caleb covered his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched you list each food longingly, practically lost in your own world and not even paying attention to him anymore. When it seemed you had finished listing, he questioned you again, “That’s all?”

You sighed and shook your head.

“What else is there? You’ve practically listed all of the food available on takeout menus,” he teased.

“…Braised chicken wings…”

Caleb looked surprised. “What?”

“Your braised chicken wings,” you clarified and looked up to meet his surprised gaze.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll make some braised chicken wings tomorrow for dinner.”

You perked up. “R-really?” You eyed him suspiciously. “What about my clean diet?”

“In moderation would be fine,” he answered, smiling, “Besides, having the mother of my child miserable the whole time is also not good for the baby.”

You huffed at him, annoyed. “I’m miserable because of you.”

He blinked, not expecting you to suddenly be mad at him again. “I’m only—”

“I can’t enjoy the food I like, I’m tired all of the time, I can’t even see my feet anymore, my back hurts, my feet are swollen—how am I fat when I’m not even eating anything yummy?!”

“…are you having a mood swing?”

“Yes!” you cried out hysterically, nearly sobbing, “It’s your fault, too, I can’t control my hormones right now!”

Caleb laughed helplessly as he stood from his seat and crossed over to your side. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried against his stomach as you continued to cry and list your grievances with him.

“Alright, alright, it is my fault I gotten you pregnant,” he agreed. He peered down at the top of your head, smiling when you sniffled against his shirt while he rubbed the back of your head soothingly.

“…dummy…”

“Yes, yes, I’m a dummy,” he continued in a very pacifying tone.

“…A big dummy…”

“Mmhmm…”

“The biggest…”

“Right, right…”

You looked up, suspicious again when he continued to be very agreeable. You yelped in surprise when he immediately grabbed your face and leaned down to steal your lips with his. It took you a few seconds to register that he was kissing you before you gave in, feeling a warmth in your chest at his sudden display of affections.

“What else?” he asked softly when he pulled back a few centimeters, still close enough that his breath brushed against your trembling lips while his eyes locked with yours. You could feel his thumb brushing away the tears that were still on your cheeks.

“…you…”

“Me?”

“Uh huh…”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just you…”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he said, “You have me. I am all yours. Forever.”

You guided his hand down to your pregnant belly, smiling when that same look of surprise crossed his face again when he felt the baby kicked. Your smile widened as you answered him, “You’re ours.”

He knelt down on one knee, his large hand still resting over your belly as he smiled back before his eyes drifted down to your stomach. “Yeah,” he said, sighing almost as if in disbelief by this current life he was living, “Both of yours. Forever.”

[heliosunny]

I've read a manhwa with the plot of MC being in a marriage of convenience with the ML in their first life and they work hard to make it work/feel like an actual marriage but the guy didn't give it much thought so they died and in their second life, the MC just decided to not focus on the guy but that somehow attracted the guy's attention

So that premise with Mydei (or Phainon, I just thought it suited Mydei more) where in reader's first life they had loved him and dedicated their whole being to him but they end up dying so in their second life they were more confrontational and willing to potentially piss off Mydei but that just had the opposite effect on him.

Bonus I guess if he remembers what reader did after a certain time and makes him fall harder (or go full on yan route idm)

Yandere!Mydei x Reader

[Artist]

You had loved him once.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind built on careful devotion rather than reckless passion. A love that manifested in the way you always reached for his hand in public, in the way you made him pomegranate juice exactly as he liked it, in the way you handled every social obligation so he wouldn’t have to. A love that, despite being arranged, had been genuine on your part.

Mydei, however, had never given you much thought.

Your marriage had been one of convenience, a political arrangement that benefited both parties, nothing more. You knew that. You had known it from the start. But knowing didn’t stop you from hoping, didn’t stop you from trying to be someone he could come to love.

Yet you had tried.

You learned his preferences. You shielded him from trivial nuisances. You defended him against enemies in court. You ensured his home was warm when he returned, even if he never cared whether you were there waiting or not. You gave him everything you had to offer, even as your own needs went unnoticed, unfulfilled.

And then, one day, you died.

It was an illness, slow but inevitable. The kind that ate away at you little by little until there was nothing left to give. You had fought to stay by his side, to live long enough for him to notice you, to care. But as you lay on your deathbed, your body weak, your breath shallow, Mydei had stood beside you with the same unreadable expression he always wore.

“It’s unfortunate” he had said, his voice calm. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

He hadn’t held your hand. Hadn’t begged you to stay. Hadn’t even asked if you were afraid. And so you died, alone in a marriage that had never truly been shared.

But then, against all reason, you awoke again.

A second life. A second chance.

And this time, you wouldn’t waste it on him.

----

The first time you met Mydei again in your new life, he had the same detached expression, but this time, you weren’t the same.

“Oh. It’s you.” he said, mildly surprised.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

He blinked at you, clearly taken aback. In your past life, you would have smiled softly, eager to please. Now, you met his gaze with all the warmth of an ice sculpture.

“You seem different.” he noted, as though observing the weather.

“Yes, well, dying does that to a person.” You crossed your arms. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to cater to your every whim anymore. I have better things to do.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a reaction so subtle you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well. It was funny. For the first time, Mydei found himself unsure of how to proceed.

Days turned to weeks, and you continued to avoid him as much as possible. When you couldn’t, you treated him with polite indifference.

“Here, I brought you tea.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Tea?”

“I just grabbed the first thing I saw.” You sipped your own drink with a smirk, watching as he hesitated before taking a sip. No more pomegranate juice, but you made no move to correct it. Let him suffer.

He gave you a long, unreadable look, then quietly finished the tea anyway.

You weren’t sure when it started, but Mydei began seeking you out more often. Not for anything important, just small, meaningless interactions that, in your first life, he would have ignored entirely.

“You’re busy” he observed one day, watching you pour over books in the library.

“You’re perceptive” you deadpanned, not looking up.

“I can help.”

You finally met his gaze, incredulous. “You? Help? With something that doesn’t benefit you?”

“I’m capable of generosity” he replied smoothly.

You scoffed. “Sure. And I’m the Empress of the Universe.”

To your growing unease, Mydei only chuckled, as if thoroughly enjoying the challenge you presented. If he had ignored your love in your past life, he now seemed intent on prying into your every thought in this one.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

What made it all the more complicated was that Mydei had no idea you had already lived and died once before. To him, this was just the first time you had ever looked at him with anything less than quiet admiration. And while he couldn’t understand what had changed, he was undeniably intrigued.

-----

The third prince’s birthday celebration was an unavoidable event. No matter how much you wanted to stay far away from Mydei, you were both expected to attend.

Dressed in formal attire, you entered the grand hall, carefully ignoring Mydei’s presence beside you.

As expected, the noble ladies flocked to him almost immediately, their voices sickly sweet.

“Mydei, you look as composed as ever” one simpered, lightly touching his sleeve. “Surely you must save a dance for me?”

“And me as well” another chimed in. “It’s not often we get to see you at these gatherings.”

You sipped your drink and turned away, uninterested.

Mydei, however, seemed less inclined to entertain them. His gaze flickered to you, watching your utter lack of reaction.

“You’re ignoring me” he murmured, stepping closer.

You didn’t even glance at him. “Congratulations, you’re learning.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if amused. “Are you jealous?”

You turned to him at last, offering the driest look you could muster. “If I had a single grain of salt for every second I cared, I wouldn’t even be able to season a meal.”

He chuckled. And you had the distinct feeling Mydei wasn’t going to let you ignore him forever.

Sensing your chance to leave, you excused yourself quietly and slipped away. You navigated through the bustling crowd until you reached the gardens, where the young third prince stood alone, watching the lanterns flicker above. You wished him a happy birthday, exchanged brief pleasantries before excusing yourself, intent on leaving before anyone noticed. Unbeknownst to you, Mydei had followed—watching from the shadows as you spoke to the young prince with a warmth you had never once given him in this lifetime.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click as you stepped into your quarters, letting out a sigh of relief. The evening had been long. You had done your part, made an appearance, and now you could finally shed the pretense of civility and rest.

You barely had time to unfasten the heavy jewelry weighing on your ears before there was a knock at the door. Your brows furrowed. It was late. Too late for someone to be calling on you unless it was urgent.

Still, you already had a sinking feeling about who it was.

“Enter” you called, bracing yourself.

The door opened, and sure enough, Mydei stepped inside. His usually pristine attire was slightly disheveled, his coat unbuttoned at the collar. But what truly caught your attention was the way he moved, slower, more deliberate, as if something was weighing on him.

He had never been one to drink, and yet, something about him seemed... off.

You sighed. “It’s late, Mydei.”

“You left early” he countered, shutting the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something quiet and simmering beneath the surface. “Without informing me.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to retire for the night” you replied dryly, turning away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“I saw you” Mydei interrupted.

You stilled. “Saw me?”

“With the third prince�� he clarified, stepping closer. “In the gardens. You seemed… close.”

You exhaled through your nose. “He’s a child, Mydei. I was wishing him a happy birthday.”

“And yet, you looked at him with more warmth than you’ve ever spared me.”

You turned to face him then, brows arching. “Are you jealous?”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied you. He took another step forward, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Would it matter if I was?” he asked at last.

You scoffed, stepping back. “No. Because it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mydei was a man of control. To be thrown off balance, to be met with resistance where he once found compliance, was undoubtedly foreign to him.

Good. Let him feel what you had felt all those years.

You turned away, signaling the conversation was over. “Go sleep, Mydei. We have nothing more to discuss.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “You truly are different now.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t look back.

Because if you did, you might have noticed the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides. And you might have realized that Mydei was far from willing to let things be.

-----

Over the next few days, Mydei seemed to have an unusual amount of free time. His duties, which once kept him busy, were now seemingly cast aside. Wherever you went, he was there.

It started subtly: walking in step with you through the halls, his presence a quiet shadow. Then it grew bolder. Sitting beside you at meals, his knee brushing against yours and never pulling away. Standing behind you, fingertips grazing the small of your back under the guise of guiding you forward.

You would have ignored it, written it off as coincidence—if not for the way his touch lingered. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if it were second nature.

One evening, as you sat by the window, lost in thought, you felt it again, his hand, warm and steady, against your shoulder. A familiar presence, yet wholly unfamiliar in its intent.

“You’ve been avoiding me” Mydei murmured.

“I’ve been living my life” you corrected, not looking up.

His fingers curled slightly, almost as if to pull you closer, but he hesitated. “And yet, somehow, I find myself a part of it more than before.”

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze directly. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why that is.”

A smirk ghosted his lips, though his eyes held something heavier. “Oh, I have.”

You had tolerated it long enough. Mydei’s constant presence, his lingering touches, the way he hovered around you as if he had never been indifferent.

The final straw came when he followed you into the private study, an intimate space he had never once stepped foot in before. You slammed the book you were holding onto the table and turned to face him, irritation burning in your chest.

"Enough!" Your voice was firm, unwavering. "What exactly do you want from me, Mydei?"

He arched a brow, unfazed. "I would think that’s obvious."

You scoffed. "Obvious? You ignored me for years, treated our marriage as a mere obligation, and now—now you cling to my side like a shadow. Why?" Your breath hitched slightly, but you pushed forward. "Is it because I no longer chase after you? Because I finally see this marriage for what it is?"

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—something unreadable. He took a step closer, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No" you said sharply. "No more. This ends now. I want a divorce."

For the first time since his sudden shift in behavior, Mydei’s expression darkened. "You don’t mean that."

"I do." You met his gaze head-on. "I refuse to stay shackled in a marriage that was never real."

He exhaled slowly, as if reining himself in. "And what makes you think I'll allow it?"

Your fingers clenched into fists. "Because it’s not your decision to make."

"You truly have changed."

You didn’t back down. "And I intend to keep it that way."

His eyes lingered on you, calculating, something darker stirring beneath the surface. Then, as if making a silent decision, he took another step forward.

"Then let's see how far you’re willing to go" he murmured.

-----

Determined to push him into agreeing, you invited Duke Laurent, a respected noble and someone with a clear interest in you, to visit. If Mydei would not agree to divorce out of reason, perhaps jealousy would make him let go.

Just as you began conversing with the duke, Mydei’s arm suddenly snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stiffened at the public display of intimacy, something he had never once shown before. The duke’s expression remained polite, though there was clear tension in the air.

Mydei leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You think bringing another man here will make me release you?"

He turned his gaze to the duke, his expression composed but lethal. "You see, we are still very much married."

Before you could shove him away, he tilted your chin up and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your lips, just enough to make the moment scandalous.

"Mydei—" You hissed, shoving at his chest, but his grip remained firm.

Then came his final blow, spoken with a smirk against your skin. "If you truly wish to fulfill the divorce, then surely, as tradition dictates, our marriage must bear an heir first. Otherwise, it would be incomplete."

The audacity of it, the sheer arrogance—

Fury surged through you. Without thinking, you leaned in and bit his shoulder, hard enough to make him tense, hard enough to leave a mark through his fine fabric. Just hoping it'll make him let you go. He inhaled sharply, but instead of anger, something else flickered in his gaze. Interest.

His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your waist. "How intriguing" he murmured, almost amused. "You’re becoming more and more fascinating."

You could only glare, breathless with anger, as he leaned in even closer. "I’ve decided—I shall never let you alone."

That night, Mydei made his final decision.

You found yourself restless, pacing in your chambers, feeling trapped in a game you never agreed to play. The door creaked open, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

"Leave!" you ordered without looking up.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You asked for a divorce. I gave you my terms," he said smoothly. "But I have a better idea."

You turned, narrowing your eyes. "I don't care for your ideas, Mydei. I want my freedom."

"And I want you," he countered effortlessly, closing the distance between you. "So, it seems we are at an impasse."

He reached out, tracing a hand over your wrist. "You see, I’ve realized something," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you will have to learn."

"No" he whispered, leaning in "I will simply ensure that you never wish to leave."

This was no longer a battle of marriage or freedom.

This was war.

Then, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If you try to run, I will find you. If you seek another, I will ruin them. And if you deny me..." His fingers trailed over your throat, "I will make sure you have nowhere to go but back to me."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Wouldn’t I?" The smirk on his face only triggered you more. "You forget, my dear, I am not a man who lets go of what is his. And you? You belong to me."

A slow, measured pause before he added, "So fight me if you must. Hate me, struggle, scream. But in the end, you will always return to me. I will make sure of it."

---

Another day passed. Nothing happened. Until-

You were sitting stiffly in your chambers, the weight of Mydei’s last words still pressing against your mind.

Mydei entered, once again without your consent.

A goblet sat before you, filled with deep crimson liquid—the rich, unmistakable hue of pomegranate juice. It was his favorite, something he drank often, something he had tried countless times to get you to enjoy.

“I had the servants prepare this just for you” Mydei said smoothly, swirling the liquid in his own goblet. “It would be such a shame if you ignored my gift.”

You hesitated, glancing at the drink. Something about his tone made you wary, but refusing would only stretch this moment further. You reached for the goblet, only for Mydei to intercept, his fingers ghosting over yours as he picked it up himself.

“Let me.”

His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head slightly. Before you could react, the cool rim of the goblet pressed against your lips, the sweet aroma of pomegranate thick in the air. The moment the liquid touched your tongue, warmth flooded through your body. A strange, numbing sensation curled through your veins, heavy and inescapable. Your limbs felt sluggish, the world turning soft around the edges.

Your breath hitched as your body betrayed you, sinking against the silk sheets.

Through your hazy vision, you saw Mydei standing by the door, watching. His expression was unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Rest well, my dear”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he moved closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek before he slid into the bed beside you. His arms wrapped around you, firm yet deceptively gentle, caging you against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and in your hazy state, resistance felt… unnecessary.

“You’ll understand soon” he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. “You don’t need to fight anymore. Just listen to me.”

Your thoughts wavered, slipping further into a fog. Your body felt too heavy to move, your mind too sluggish to argue. His presence, once suffocating, now felt… inevitable.

Through the night, he held you close, his grip never loosening. Each time your thoughts stirred, his voice was there, murmuring soft reassurances, reinforcing his presence, reminding you he was always there.

By the time morning light crept through the curtains, your mind was no longer as sharp as before. The idea of pulling away seemed distant, unnecessary.

He was still here.

His arms remained locked around you, as if this was how it had always been. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against the side of your neck, warm yet oppressive.

“Awake already?” His voice was low, thick with the drowsiness of someone who had slept well.

You swallowed, trying to shift, only to realize just how intimately entangled the two of you were. One of his legs had hooked over yours, anchoring you beneath the weight of him. His fingers, idly tracing over the fabric of your nightclothes, stopped just at your wrist, where his hold subtly tightened.

You were trapped.

“I need to get up” you muttered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Mydei didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his arms curled around you more securely, pressing you deeper against his chest. “You don’t, actually,” he murmured. “Stay.”

Something in his voice made your stomach twist. There was no plea, no request, just the quiet certainty of a man who had already decided what would happen.

“I have things to do” you tried again, frustration slipping into your tone. “You can’t just—”

“Can’t I?” Mydei interrupted lazily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you properly. His hair was slightly tousled, falling over sharp eyes that gleamed with something unreadable. “You haven’t been well. I think it’s best if you rest today.”

“I feel fine” you lied, pushing against his chest.

He caught your wrist easily, his thumb pressing against the rapid beat of your pulse. “Do you?” His smile was slow, knowing. “You still look dazed. You’re warm. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were falling ill.”

Mydei had always been perceptive, dangerously so. And in this moment, with your thoughts still sluggish, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

“Mydei,” you tried to keep your voice steady, “what did you do?”

His grip on your wrist didn’t waver, but his expression softened into something almost… fond.

“I’ve merely helped you see things clearly.” His fingers traced over your knuckles before he lifted your hand, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm. His lips curved against your skin. “You always try to run. You make things so difficult for yourself.”

“You drugged me.”

Mydei sighed, tilting his head as if mildly disappointed. “It was just a little something to help you relax. To stop you from making rash decisions.” He leaned in closer, his nose grazing against your cheek before his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You wouldn’t want to make any rash decisions, would you?”

A surge of unease coursed through you, your body screaming to move—to fight. But your limbs still felt leaden, and Mydei knew it. He had planned for it.

“I thought we had an agreement” you gritted out. “You can’t keep me here like this.”

“What do you mean by 'keep you'? You’re mine, my dear. You always have been.”

Your breath hitched as he finally released your wrist—only to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him properly.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

[fangdokja]

Your most devoted fan writes smut better than published authors.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 882

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who, for all intents and purposes, is a perfectly respectable and terrifying CEO. A man whose mere presence turns lesser businessmen into stammering fools, whose icy logic and ruthless decision-making have built an empire that rivals your own. A man whose word is law.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who, unbeknownst to the world, has been your fan since before he even had money. Who spent his young adult years on obscure forums dissecting your every role with an autistic level of scrutiny. Who still, to this day, maintains multiple burner accounts solely to defend your acting prowess against braindead takes on social media.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who, in a moment of uncharacteristic impulse, wrote a fanfiction about you. A smut fanfiction. Not just any smut fanfiction. The single most well-written, emotionally devastating, and graphically detailed piece of literary pornography to ever grace the internet.

And now they’re reading it.

♡ Yandere! Producer who is too old, too tired, and too responsible for this shit. Who has spent years molding you into the perfect actor, watching you cycle through persona after persona while maintaining the same dead-inside look when the cameras are off. Who knows you better than anyone else.

♡ Yandere! Producer who was handed a link to the fic during a shareholder meeting by some snickering assistant who clearly didn’t expect him to open it immediately.

♡ Yandere! Producer who has now read five paragraphs of shockingly poetic filth detailing the slow, agonizing corruption of your character in disturbingly accurate prose.

Who sits there. Still. Silent. Unblinking. Processing.

♡ Yandere! Producer who takes exactly 30 seconds to close the tab before slamming his laptop shut with enough force to rattle the table.

“I need everyone in this room to shut the fuck up.”

The boardroom, previously murmuring, falls into an immediate and terrified silence.

♡ Yandere! Producer who turns his head ever so slightly toward his assistant.

“Where the fuck did you get that.”

♡ Yandere! Rival who was only supposed to be doomscrolling when he found it.

Who clicks on the link out of pure curiosity, fully expecting some unhinged nonsense about you. He’s read fanfiction before—usually the type that makes him laugh. But this? This is a masterpiece.

♡ Yandere! Rival who starts skimming at first, but then actually starts reading, and then suddenly he’s two chapters deep and gripping his phone like it personally insulted his mother.

Who realizes with slow, dawning horror that whoever wrote this knows you.

Knows how you move. How you breathe. How you hesitate and second-guess, how you arch into phantom touches like it’s instinct, how your voice might catch when someone whispers filth into your ear.

♡ Yandere! Rival who knows you but suddenly realizes—maybe not as well as he thought.

Who slams his phone down, stares at the wall for a full minute, then picks his phone back up because he’s already at the good part and at this point, he’s committed.

♡ Yandere! Hater who absolutely did not read it on purpose.

Who got sent the link by some dipshit in his DMs and thought it was going to be another one of those hilariously bad fics where you’re written like a brainless twink with the emotional range of a spoon.

♡ Yandere! Hater who clicked the link expecting garbage but instead got hit with the most well-written, visceral, and disgusting smut he has ever had the displeasure of reading.

Who hates that it’s good.

Who hates that every detail is so painstakingly accurate that he’s actually rereading sentences just to process how well the author captured the way your hands shake when you’re suppressing emotion, the way your eyes flicker in that split-second of weakness before you lock it all down.

Who hates that he has to stop halfway through to get a drink because he’s actually heated over the fact that some random nobody on the internet understands you this well.

Who is sitting on his bed, beer in one hand, phone in the other, furious as he keeps reading because, at this point, he’s in too deep.

Who, upon finishing, just throws his phone across the room.

“What the fuck.”

Meanwhile, somewhere in his high-rise office, ♡ Yandere! Fanboy is sipping his morning coffee, watching the AO3 comment section flood with new messages.

He sees the new kudos, the bookmarks, the whispers of awe in the tags.

And he smiles.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[heechwe]

FREAK FEB — day 4 | 𝐥𝐡𝐬

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader || ୨୧ word count: 0.3k || ୨୧ genre: smut || ୨୧ tags: royalty!au, maid!reader, prince!heeseung || ୨୧ synopsis: “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” Read the rest of FREAK FEBRUARY here!

It's the job of a prince to be everything the next ruler of the kingdom is supposed to embody. Strong but empathetic, kind with just the right amount of conviction. Like the many men in his family before him, he cannot be weak in any form or under any circumstance.

With you, he feels the weakest he's ever felt in his life, yet you strengthen him for reasons that are unfathomable.

How can he be both when it comes to you, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen? He'll never know.

The pale blue and beige maid's outfit could only hide so much of the desire you elicit in others, not just Heeseung. He sees the way the stableboys and kitchen hands look over at you as you pass by with your sweet voice and enticing curves.

They can look all they like, he thinks to himself. Only he knows the inner workings of you, what makes you fall apart in pleasure and how to stitch you back up.

He has you nestled on his lap and in between his legs on his bed, the sheets barely covering your naked bodies as he thrusts himself up to meet every part inside of you. You keen, clutching onto his shoulders for stability. Your nails dig deeply into his skin.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Heeseung says into the column of your throat, kissing the skin as his cock hits your walls harder and deeper. "Sometimes I think you're better off with someone else. Someone who can give you everything you want," he confesses.

You shake your head immediately, your lust-blown eyes looking down at him with fierce determination. "I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do. Prince or not, I'm yours."

Heeseung moans and captures your lips with his own. He digs his heels into the bed to slam into you faster, chasing his release to quell the doubts in his head.

He may not be able to give you everything, or be everything his kingdom needs, but he can at the very least do this, be this, for you, the one person who can always give you the pleasure you desire.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @yvnempire @addictedtohobi

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[princessrazzledazzle]

My Random Twisted Wonderland Headcanons

Riddle: Doesn’t only love strawberries because of the taste, but also because they’re sorta shaped like little red hearts and it reminds him of love. The love his parents never gave him, but he dreams of all the time, the love of his close friends, and romantic love. He’s secretly a hopeless romantic.

Trey: The reason he has glasses is because he used to stare into the light thing they have above you on the dentist chair on purpose.

Cater: Was into animation memes and musicals at one point. Still watches them from time to time, especially if ones trending.

Ace: Loves car racing games, whether it be a random free mobile game, arcade game, even on roblox. Used to want to be a race car driver when grew up.

Deuce: Would eat autozone seafood boil, then get collared by Riddle for one, being stupid enough to consume food from autozone of all places, and two, stinking up the entire dorm for 3 hours straight.

Leona: Likes being scratched behind the ears when he’s feeling sad or sleepy, only Ruggie knows about this though as one time he did it just to tease him when they were younger, and REFUSES to let Leona live it down. Leona lets Ruggie scratch his ears in exchange for never telling another soul about it.

Ruggie: Once stole and drank an entire can of whip cream in one sitting and got really sick to the point he was throwing up for days. He vows to do it again someday.

Jack: Secretly loves plushies and would openly collect them if wasn’t so invested in being a “tough guy”. He has a few as gifts from his family members and he cherishes them, he even sleeps with them sometimes.

Azul: Had a itty bitty crush on Ariel when he was little, he used to read picture books of the benevolent Sea Witch just to look at the illustrations of Ariel.

Jade: Likes to debone animals for fun, whether it’s a land animal, sea animal, big, or small, he’s gonna catch it and he WILL debone it. He’s slightly ashamed of this hobby however.

Floyd: Slightly jealous of Jade because he’s seen as the “sane” twin, and even though most people avoid both of them like the plague, he can tell they feel more at ease with Jade and it makes him sad. He tries to control himself and act “normal” every once in a while, but he can’t help but to be a weirdo, he doesn’t know how to mask himself like his twin does.

Kalim: Had a pet viper that he found in his back yard one day and decided to keep because it reminded him of Jamil. He would even dress it up to look like Jamil and everything and swore it could talk, claiming it sounded just like Jamil. The snake ran away btw.

Jamil: Hates most cartoons because Kalim used to and still does force him to binge watch them with him. When they were little, Kalim used to cry if he didn’t, so now he has slight ptsd.

Vil: Accidentally gave himself a weak stomach due to his strict diet of only healthy stuff, and can barely eat a ice cream cone or a cheeseburger without getting bad stomach aches.

Rook: Was one of those people that had two costumes for halloween so they could go around the neighborhood twice and get more candy. He went as Neige first then Vil every year till he got enrolled in Night Raven.

Epel: Collects horse figures, not mlp just regular horses, He keeps them in a box where no one can find them because they’re “unmanly”. He doesn’t really play with the horses, but he does have names and personalities for them.

Idia: Likes magical girl animes, but too afraid to admit it to anyone, even online. He knows that if he does he’ll get called a gooner, he kinda is and he doesn’t need even more people thinking that about him as half of NRC already does. He genuinely likes those animes and loves all the cool weapons and transformation scenes, though he finds them a little repetitive.

Ortho: Is really into pokémon because he wanted to watch anime just like his big brother as something to bond over. Occasionally he’ll beg Idia to somehow install pokémon go into his programming, Idia always says no.

Malleus: Likes having his horns petted and wishes he could have them pet more often. The only people who would were his mother, grandmother, Silver when he was little, and Lilia. Lilia is the only one who still pets him from time to time, mostly when he’s had a bad day or falling asleep.

Lilia: Really into those mlg memes, the doritos and mountain dew shit, and will randomly yell “OOH BABY A TRIPLE” or “MOM GET THE CAMERA” to spook people. He thinks it’s hilarious.

Silver: A really good singer, but only Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek know because they caught him a few times on accident. Silver is incredibly embarrassed of it and made them swear to never tell anyone else.

Sebek: Has a secret passion for art, he’s not very good at it and most of his drawings look pretty goofy as if a first grader drew them, but he’s proud of them, Despite that, he never let anyone go near his sketchbook, especially his liege, claiming it’s just a book about how great Malleus is.

[baphometsss]

I'm also going kind of insane over the romance description for Solas in the customise Inquisitor section of the CC. Like what do you mean 'even the Dread Wolf did not know what it would mean to fall in love'?? I'm frothing at the mouth!!!!

I mean, now it's had a few months to stew, it actually makes perfect sense. Solas doesn't seem to forge relationships in the same way as an elf as he did as a spirit. We know he loved Mythal and Felassan, but his relationships with both had rather different dynamics. Mythal had known him for the longest, and understood his spirit nature better than anyone. They spent a long time reflecting each others' spirits back and forth. Felassan we can assume was another Wisdom spirit (going by his eye colour), which once again tracks because Solas seems to connect with other Wisdom spirits very intensely. Nonetheless, there's a distance between them; they need each other and they share a common cause, and although Solas loved Felassan dearly, he was still able to kill him in The Masked Empire.

However, the thing that these two relationships have in common is that they both relate to Solas's spirit-self. All the dynamics are some kind of echo of how he behaved and related as a spirit. The person he is at the beginning of DAI is who he has been for a very long time. He is, despite everything, a little stagnant.

With the Inquisitor, he literally doesn't have a choice but to change, to connect not just as a spirit but as a man. Prior to that though... remember how spirits are asexual, like Cole is if you don't make him more human? Yeah. I don't doubt that Solas had physical relations with others after manifesting, but I think the feelings would've been absent as he doesn't connect romantically with them; a legacy from his spirit self, which he clings to dearly.

Weirdly enough, I think that this lack of romantic or relationship experience is what the romance in Inquisition actually hinges on. He's only able to take that chance specifically because he doesn't know what romantic love feels like. He may be a manifested Wisdom spirit, but this is something that must be experienced to be understood. He takes the chance in the end because he doesn't know how deeply it will affect him. Also as Wisdom, he can't help but be curious anyway. Clearly he underestimated how much of an impact it would have on him. He didn't expect to be known and loved so fully for who he was, after a life of being forced away from his purpose, who he truly wanted to be. To be given the space to exist as Wisdom is one thing, and certainly it would've been enough for him to maintain his love for his friends in the Inquisition alone, but to be loved for it? To be able to express these new, very earthly and yet somehow still spiritual feelings of love? Everything lining up, singing the same? Things he could never have experienced as a spirit? It's a union of the spirit and body that he likely never felt before. That has to have been overwhelming, a beautiful gift he never expected to receive. 'In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade'--quite literally, 'I never thought I would want such an earthly thing'. I'm not surprised he almost threw away his plans for it. It's like a whole new world opening up.

It also makes his 'I would not have you see what I become' line more poignant. He doesn't want this beautiful, unique thing he's found to be marred by the actions he will take. He doesn't want his heart to see the wounds in his soul. So when the Inquisitor says they want to join him, it literally stuns him. When he warns them that he's got a lot of terrible things waiting for him in the Fade, it's his last, weak attempt to make them reconsider before they see the wounds on his soul laid bare. By responding that it won't be so bad if they're with him, the Inquisitor is also saying that being together will heal him, that those wounds will not be so terrible when shared.

That line from the elven poem Trick wrote from Solas to Lavellan: 'do not be sad, my heart, our love's endurance is a blessing, our love will be our joy' everything is so new to him brb crying :'<

[aonemanarmy]

For several long moments Sephiroth stared at the two people before him, his gaze cold and unwavering in silent judgment. Truthfully, the madman did not expect much from the woman after he'd made his request. No one had ever taken his desires into consideration before, as they had always been brushed aside if not outright dismissed.

Weapons didn't have desires or feelings.

The thought was an old familiar mantra he'd repeated to himself throughout the course of the years. It helped to ground him, to make him push down the emotions he wasn't supposed to have, to bury them down deep where they'd remained until that fateful day five years ago.

Which was why the madman now felt an increased level of unease at the way those feelings threatened to bubble up again. Had it only been anger then he could've managed without much real thought, but the confusion along with another feeling he couldn't quite place left him growing increasingly irritable. None of that was helped by Jenova's consistent psychic assault that had her seek out any sign of weakness to seize upon in order to regain control of him.

In the midst of that mental struggle Sephiroth had little patience remaining to spare for the woman who claimed that she was his mother. He didn't know how she expected him to believe her based purely on her word alone, but he had to give the woman credit for her persistence. For whatever reason she was quite invested in the lie, although a small voice in the back of his mind questioned this line of thinking and while before he would've swiftly crushed it now he found it difficult to do so.

Why was that?

Mentally chiding himself Sephiroth returned his attention to the matter at hand and watched warily as the woman in white spoke once more and held out her arms to him. The gesture was unexpected, but ultimately it rang hollow to him just like all human behavior did.

“You offer me something that you yourself admitted to be impossible, or have you forgotten? Or is the immortality you lay claim to a lie?”

If Lucrecia did possess the immortality she claimed then as soon as Sephiroth would cut her down then the wound would heal and leave no lasting physical damage. Such was the gift of Jenova's cells that any being with a high enough concentration of them were neigh on indestructible with only the most extreme and catastrophic damage able to 'kill' them. He knew that fact from personal experience, which was something he was certain that the woman had no clue about or else she wouldn't have made such a proposal in the first place.

Perhaps if Lucrecia had been aware of his true state of being then she would've avoided touching him altogether. However, it wasn't as if Sephiroth understood the woman's need to touch him in the first place, but the fact the flesh he now donned was not truly his own and was merely Jenova's proxy would've no doubt been a bitter pill for the woman to swallow.

“And why would you care to begin with?” He asked, honestly unable to understand why Lucrecia did what she did other than seeing it as some sort of ploy. It was another sad sign that he was so far removed from human kindness that he couldn't understand it, much less accept it at face value. “It is meaningless.”

Before Vincent could prevent Lucrecia from touching Sephiroth, the silver-headed male deflected as though he had been touched by a burning torch. It was painful to behold, yet it wasn’t surprising to the gunslinger. Lucrecia flinched painfully when Sephiroth pulled away from her, simultaneously shocked by Jenova’s invasive thoughts. This caused Lucrecia to cry out and drop to her knees, gripping her head, the tears resuming their stream. Vincent immediately joined her side and held her close to his chest.

It was no use… “Sephiroth…” Lucrecia’s trembling voice was hardly anything more than a whisper as she buried her face against Vincent’s cloak, her tears staining the red velvet garment. Any hope she might have had to rejoin with her son had faded, and Vincent could feel it in her voice. “Lucrecia,” The gunslinger whispered, an equal amount of despondency in his own voice. “I shouldn’t have… perhaps I was wrong to…” The mournful mother trembled, but she managed to lift her head and look up at Vincent. She shook her head and seemed to realize how she had pushed Vincent away the entire time ever since Sephiroth had appeared. He chilled trembling fingers lifted and caressed Vincent’s face, aiding him to look at her. “N-no… no. Don’t be. You’ve done more for me than anyone. This…” She slowly turned to look towards Sephiroth, the painful knot in her throat swelling up, but she swallowed it back with much effort. To hear her own son tell to not touch him, and to treat her like some sort of disease… she understood. “…This was all my doing,” Lucrecia finished, her eyes directed at Sephiroth as she spoke to Vincent. “I’m the one who…” The words of Jenova once again rang in her head. Your every move… only damages him further. Tears poured down silently down both her cheeks. It was all true. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened. She knew he had been bred and raised to own a mighty power. At the time, she had thought Jenova to be an ancient, but as her time at Shinra came to a close, she realized who the alien was and what her son would become. And there stood the product of her choice—a weapon who would be wielded against the planet. Vincent had been kept in the dark. He had tried to stop her, but she had not only closed her ears to his pleas, but also chose to disregard the well-being of her child for the sake of science. This was her reward for her crimes. Bereft of a child she didn’t deserve… and one who would never see her anything but a monster. Lucrecia’s thoughts were once again diverted towards her son; her ears ever keen to his movements and his voice. His request made her fall silent. Though Vincent knew her asking Sephiroth was an invitation for issues, he was surprised to see her face looking as though she were weighing Sephiroth’s wish. The gunslinger searched Lucrecia’s face and gripped her shoulders as if to gently bring her back to reality. But he was once again ignored, and Lucrecia slowly stood up, Vincent following her movement as he too stood up, eyes locked upon the back of her head as she faced Sephiroth. “Sephiroth,” Lucrecia’s voice softened, this time keeping a respectful distance from him, letting him know she wouldn’t attempt to get close again. “…I understand. The people have wronged you. And this world sees you as a monster.” She lowered her head, her hands clasped over her chest as she continued softly. “You want closure… an end for those responsible for your suffering.” A tightness seemed to take hold of Vincent’s chest when he sensed what she was doing. “…I may not be able to fulfill all of your wish, and I know I cannot mend your heart. But…” She stood up straight, slowly holding her hands up towards him as if she were gifting him something in her hand. She then slowly opened her arms wide, the cold breeze flowing through her silk dress and soft tresses. “But if it will give you any sort of peace… I’m here for you.” Vincent’s eyes widened in horror. “Lucrecia?!”

[luwritesstuff]

home safe

spencer reid x reader

notes: fighting, minor mentions of guns and explosions, happy ending, no use of y/n, gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

It was just after 1 AM when Spencer finally used his key to your shared apartment and dropped his bag by the door. You were sat on the couch with your arms crossed and neither of you said a word while he placed his shoes on the rack and shrugged out of his jacket. Spencer chewed on his lower lip as he took in the anger on your face, “I'm sorry, I-”

“No,” you said calmly and stood up, grabbing your mug and preparing to go to bed, “I don't want to hear it. I stayed up to make sure you got here alive, now I'm going to bed.”

“Wait, no, but,” Spencer sighed and stopped himself from reaching out to grab your arm, “we need to talk about this, honey. I'm really sorry and you're right to be mad, but please don't go to bed angry.” In another argument on another day you might've agreed, but you hadn't slept properly all week and you weren't ready to be reasonable with him.

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You turned back around to face him and dropped your mug back onto the coffee table. Your arms found their place crossed back over your chest and suddenly everything you've been feeling came spilling out, “I've been trying to talk to you all week and now you want to talk? That's not how this works, Spencer! You ignored me and lied to me and you made our friends lie to me. I didn't know if you were dead or alive and you couldn't be bothered to pick up your damn phone for a week. I sat here feeling useless and scared and you just, what? Didn't care?”

Spencer shook his head and you could tell you got to him because his eyes were turning red and he was blinking away tears. “No, that's not it. Of course I cared, I do care. I just, I didn't want to worry you. It was a small injury and then I was just so focused on finishing the paperwork so I could get home to you. I'm fine, okay? It's just a few stitches, but I know you would've sat here by yourself worrying all week if I told you.”

You scoffed and turned to go back into your room, hearing him follow after you. You dug through the closet to find one of your overnight bags and began shoving clothes into it. “What do you think I did instead?” Your phone charger and laptop followed a few changes of clothes, “Do you think that I didn't go through every single scenario and think of every single way you were hurt? I thought, maybe he's dead, maybe he's relapsed and overdosed somewhere, maybe the entire fucking team blew up on the jet because not a single one of you told me what was going on!”

“You would've known something was wrong if I called,” Spencer’s argument was weak and he knew it. His heart dropped when you began packing and he frantically started taking out everything you'd put into the duffel, “No, hey, what are you doing? Baby, I'm sorry. I should've had someone call you, I know that. But I ignored an order from Hotch and I got hurt and I knew you'd be angry with me and worried and I just thought it'd be better to explain everything in person.”

“Cut it out, Spencer,” you mumbled and began repacking everything he took out. “I hate your job. You guys do amazing work and you help people and I admire it so much, but I hate how often it takes you away from me and I hate how dangerous it is and I hate how it follows you home. But none of that matters to me when I'm with you. I have learned to cope with those things because you always come home and you always communicate and you're always so good at reassuring me, but this? This was the worst week of my life and I never want to feel like this again. I will not go through this again and especially not when you could have prevented it. I'm staying at my sisters,” you zipped up your bag and carried it out to the living room.

Spencer stood on the other side of the living room, watching you slide your shoes and coat on. “Was that, I mean, are you breaking up with me?” His voice was weak and he couldn't wipe the tears from his face faster than they were falling.

You sighed and let your shoulders sag before turning back around to look at him. “I need some space, Spencer. There was a second where I really thought you were dead and I felt like part of me had died too. That's not… It isn't okay. I can't keep going like this,” your voice was softer now, no longer spitting out anger but hurt.

Spencer didn't say anything else, he knew nothing he said was going to help and arguing more was only going to make things worse. So he let you leave and tried to stop his heart from following you out the door.

The stay at your sister’s ended up lasting two weeks before you were ready to face Spencer again. He'd texted you a few times, asking how you were, when you'd be home, telling you he loved you. You had answered a couple of the texts, and eventually when he asked if you could talk in person, you couldn't find it in yourself to keep staying away.

“Hi, uh. How have you been?” Spencer was stiff and awkward as he sat in front of you at your favorite cafe with your two favorite coffee’s between you. In the back of your mind, you thought that Spencer reminded you of how he acted on your first date and you let the thought warm your heart just a little bit.

You shrugged and picked at the almond croissant in front of you, “I'm okay. Work has been keeping me busy and my sister got a new puppy. How's your arm?” You asked and nodded to his left bicep where a bullet wound was beginning to heal.

“It's fine, it's good. Doctor says it's healing like it's supposed to,” Spencer said and reached up to feel his shoulder absentmindedly. “Thank you for meeting me. I miss you and I know I have a lot to make up for, I just. I really wanted to see your face.”

You stopped a smile from showing but reached across the table to hold his free hand. “I missed you, too. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch more, but I needed some space to think and clear my head, you know?”

Spencer nodded and gave your hand a small squeeze, “Of course, it's okay. I did something really awful to you and… and I just feel terrible. I should have communicated with you and told you what was going on. I know if the roles were reversed, I'd be so freaked out not hearing from you for that long. I don't know what I was thinking, I'm sorry.”

“I know,” you sighed and leaned back in your chair, “I understand that you were trying to protect me and everything, but I want to know these things, Spencer. I want to know if you're hurt or struggling, that's what being in a relationship is. We need to be able to rely on each other and be honest with each other. And I need to be able to trust you. Every time you leave for a case, there's a little worry that sits in my chest and tells me that it might be the last time I see you. The only way that feeling goes away is if you tell me what's going on and keep me in the loop.”

“You're right. Completely. That's why I got this,” Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of pagers, “You're the only person that will have the number to this. I'm gonna have it with me at all times, so if I'm on a case or my phone is dead or broken, I'll still have this with me. And if you page me, I'll answer. No matter what. If I'm in the field and I can't answer, I'll page you back and you'll know that I got it and I'll call you as soon as I can.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at besides being a genius, it was romantic gestures. The thought of using a pager made you want to laugh, but you looked at them sitting in his hands and it made your heart clench. Spencer really only answered work calls on his phone while he was on a case, and you'd grown used to only hearing from him once every day or two. You were used to sitting and waiting anxiously at the end of the day to make sure that he made it back to whatever hotel the BAU was at.

“Are you sure?” You asked softly and reached out to take one of the matching pagers and flip it over in your hands, “I know that you get busy at work. I don't want you to think that I'm being clingy or that I don't understand. I'm fine just hearing from you at the end of the day.”

Spencer shook his head and leaned across the table to kiss your cheek, “I don't think that at all. I don't want you to sit anxiously and feel like you can't call me or that I won't answer. I don't ever want you to feel like you did that week again. I never want to make you feel that way again, honey.”

You nodded slightly and slipped the pager into your purse. “I love you. And I forgive you, yeah? We’re okay,” you promised and after you threw your empty cups away, you pulled Spencer into a tight hug. He held you back just as tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You were back in your apartment the next day and Spencer kept his promise, he only ever made you feel secure and every time he left for a case, he made it back home to you.

[sai-int]

LOW COUNTRY | HIGH NOON

johnny mactavish x reader

[PREV] [NEXT] [AO3] [MLIST]

yearning—they're both so dumb.

Two weeks fly by and Johnny proves himself in ways you weren’t prepared for.

The first two days after he arrived, you’d spent hours showing him the ropes, expecting some level of difficulty, some struggle once he got down to actually doing the dirty work. Sure, he could listen and memorize to his heart's content, but if he couldn’t do the work, he wasn’t useful to you. 

But goddamn, could he do the work. 

The day after he arrived, you had him shadow you as you worked. You narrated everything you did for the livestock and important things to remember. Shimmer was on a diet and needed a little less hay in her stall. The water in every barn had to stay cool to keep the animals from overheating. The sheep’s bedding came from cornstalks harvested straight from the fields, and the barn doors had to stay open during the day for ventilation. Dixie had to be fed alongside the sheep—otherwise, she'd get jealous. The cows ate soybeans, and their barn fans had to run non-stop to keep the heat at bay.

On the second day, you let him take the reins. He remembered everything, every miniscule detail, down to a T. You were there if he needed help, but he never did. He fed the animals—hell, he did it all like he's been doing it his whole life, like he could do it blindfolded. 

It was almost jealousy-inducing how easy it comes to him. You’ve spent years building up the strength needed to handle farm work. You’ve got muscle, no doubt about that. Every long day under the sun has carved power into your body, earned through a lot of sweat and double the tears.

It’s unfair. It’s painfully distracting. He’s painfully distracting.

Regardless, you shove your pride to the side. This is what he’s here for, after all.

The division of labor falls into place easier than you expect.  He takes over livestock care and you handle the crops and the house. But together, everyday, you both fix the fences, riding out in the afternoons with supplies in tow, patching up the weak spots before they become real problems.

You don’t speak to Johnny much during the day—mainly during meal times. He spends most of his day to the left of the house at the livestock pastures and barns. The main pastures are all sprawled out, home to about fifteen cows and sheep, respectively. You spend most of your time at the crop fields, which stretch to the right of the house, along with the old barn your family stopped using years ago. Too much upkeep for what it was worth. The cornfields are there too, easy to reach on horseback. 

The stables sit in between both, a ways behind the house. The whole farm isn’t a big operation, not by most standards, but it definitely needs more than one person to run it. With Johnny proving himself capable, you both fell into an easy routine rather quickly.

Johnny's up at 7 a.m., like clockwork. He takes the biggest horse, Scout, and makes his rounds, feeding the animals breakfast, checking the water troughs and filling them up when needed. He lets the livestock graze before the sun gets too high. 

By 9, Johnny finally gets a moment to breathe while you’re awake and already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. You found that if you time it right, you can get an eyeful of Johnny from the kitchen window. You’ve unintentionally made it part of your morning, standing by the window, mug of coffee in hand, watching him. You repeatedly tell yourself it's to make sure he’s getting the job done, but the more you watch, the more you find yourself thinking about him in ways that grow exceedingly inappropriate for a boss-employer relationship. 

You should stop watching. If he were to ever catch you, he’d probably think you were some kind of freak. Maybe you should focus on the eggs in the pan, the bread in the toaster, but it’s hard to follow your better judgement with Johnny around. Pa’s been on your ass for how much toast you’re burning these days. 

Breakfast is never fancy, but it’s solid. Eggs, grits, fried potatoes, sausage, bacon. Sometimes fresh fruit if you’ve got it, a pitcher of orange juice on the table alongside the coffee. Variations of the same spread every morning, something hearty and filling to start the day.

Johnny’s damn near worshipful over your cooking. It brings a flush to your cheeks each time he comments on it, considering Pa’s never had too much to say about it. The way Johnny reacts, closing his eyes when he takes the first bite, letting out a quiet “Christ, that’s good”- or he groans under his breath, making it hard not to feel at least a little smug.

You’re used to running the cooking and cleaning on your own: the dishes, wiping down the counters, making sure everything’s in order. Pa never offered much help in that regard. He’s traditional in the sense that ‘it’s a woman’s job’ to take care of the home, with all of its chores and domesticities. He’s stuck in his ways but he’s got a kind soul.

But Johnny does it all with you. Doesn’t even ask.

He waits till everyone’s finished eating, then rolls up his sleeves and helps clear the table like it’s second nature, like it’s part of the job description. He stands beside you at the sink, drying dishes as you wash, putting them away without needing to be told where anything goes. He just remembers.

Most times, you both wash in silence. The only sounds are the clink of dishes, the rush of water, the occasional scrape of a sponge against a pan. But you can feel his eyes on you, watching as you scrub a pot or rinse off a pan. He never says anything—just waits for you patiently.

But it does something to you. Makes you feel small in a way you can’t quite explain. Not insignificant, but exposed. Like he sees too much, like he notices things you don’t even realize you’re giving away. It sets your nerves on edge, tightens something low in your stomach, makes your hands move a little quicker even though you don’t want to give yourself away. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just dishes. Just a quiet kitchen. But under the weight of his gaze, it feels like something else entirely.

His arm brushes yours sometimes—subtle and fleeting but often enough that it doesn’t feel like an accident. Like maybe he’s finding excuses to touch you, even if it’s barely there. And it’s nothing, really. Just the briefest press of skin, the softest graze. But it burns and it lingers. It sinks into your skin like a brand, like something your body wants more of, wants to memorize. You keep your face neutral in the moment, your hands steady. Inside? Your pulse stutters, your breath feels too shallow, and your mind won’t stop spinning in circles. It’s ridiculous, how something so small can unravel you like this. But god help you, it does.

You try to brush it off. He’s just being kind, just paying attention. That’s all. Nothing more.

You remind yourself to be grateful for the extra set of hands, for the way his quiet presence makes the work easier. It’s a small thing, really—his help. But somehow, it takes the edge off the mornings, makes them feel a little lighter.

Johnny’s makes everything feel lighter, now that you really think about it.

Mornings used to be a race against the rising temperatures outside—shoveling down breakfast just to sprint outside and make sure the livestock were moved to the shaded pastures before the sun got too brutal. But with Johnny around, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s got it covered. 

After breakfast, usually around 11, Johnny heads back out to do just that, while you get ready for your day’s work. You throw on something you don’t mind getting dirty—some overalls and a tank top, old boots, maybe one of Pa’s loose flannels if there’s a breeze.

You head to the stables and grab Shimmer, heading out to the crop fields. You pass the time, watering, weeding, checking for pests, making sure everything is growing the way it should. It’s tedious work, but at least now, you can actually focus on it. In a way, it’s calmer than dealing with the animals. 

By 3 p.m., you've made your final rounds around the fields, harvesting some cucumbers and tomatoes if they’re ready, checking on the other plants to make sure everything’s in place. The heat nears oppressive, and you’re already looking forward to heading inside.

As you ride back toward the stalls to put Shimmer away, your eyes find Johnny by the sheep pen. He’s herding them inside, guiding them with an easy patience, keeping them out of the harsh afternoon sun. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s got a good handle on them.

Your gaze drifts past him to Scout, tied to a fence post nearby. Shimmer must notice him too, judging by the way she whinnies, ears pricking forward with interest. They’ve been sticking close lately, choosing to graze together in the mornings and evenings, grooming each other like they’ve suddenly decided they’re inseparable. It’s odd, considering they’ve never paid each other much mind before—at least, not until two weeks ago.

It’s still August. Scout’s still in heat. You make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

Your gaze flickers back to Johnny—jeans slung low on his hips, a plain wife-beater stretched across his broad chest—and as always, you try not to stare.

But Johnny has a habit and it’s downright cruel. When the sun reaches its peak and the heat settles thick over the land, he peels off his shirt without a second thought. Like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just trying to keep cool. But sometimes—when he catches you looking, when the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly—it feels like he’s doing it on purpose. Like he enjoys watching you struggle not to let your eyes linger on him too long, not to let your thoughts wander somewhere they shouldn’t.

You’ve never been so thankful for the relentless southern sun.

It clings to him, highlighting every sharp line and defined edge. His skin glistens with sweat, the golden light catching on the broad curve of his shoulders, the sinew of his arms as they flex with every movement. Thick and strong. 

The first time you saw him shirtless, you stared. You couldn’t help it.

And of course, Johnny caught you.

His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and amused, and in that split second of distraction, you didn’t even realize you were sliding right off Shimmer’s back—not until you hit the ground with a graceless thud, landing in a fresh patch of mud.

His laugh had boomed across the fields, full and unrestrained, carrying all the way to your burning ears. You barely had time to process the sheer humiliation of it before you wordlessly climbed right back onto Shimmer like nothing happened, like you weren’t covered in mud, like you hadn’t just been caught drooling over him.

Played it cool. At least, you had tried to.

You shake your head, forcing your thoughts away from Johnny, and focus on putting Shimmer away. It’s easier said than done, but you manage, leading her into her stall and giving her a quick brush-down before heading back toward the house.

Lunch won’t make itself, and you figure you might as well get a head start—assuming you’re not completely covered in dirt from standing around, too busy staring at him to notice the dust clinging to your clothes. Which, if you’re being honest, happens more often than you’d like to admit these days.

At least he has the decency to put a shirt on before stepping inside. Small mercies.

You always whip up something light—sandwiches and a salad, maybe. You’re never in the mood to make anything too heavy. Pa skips out on lunch as usual, though. He always does, opting to head out to visit your Ma. She’s buried alongside a 200-year-old willow tree at the far edge of the property, the place that was always her favorite. Lunch used to be between you and a farm catalogue. Now, it’s between you and Johnny.

He never comments on how Pa slips away; he’s gotten used to the routine of it by now. It didn’t take long for him to piece it all together—Ma’s absence, the way Pa goes to kneel by the tree each day. He notices something in your eyes, too. He’s seen it in his own—loss. Grief.

When the aching sound of silence settles over the house—when the scrape of forks against plates is the only thing filling the empty space, when Pa’s vacant seat feels heavier than it should, Johnny’s hand inches toward yours.

It’s subtle, barely there. His fingertips just skim against your own, light and careful, like he’s offering something without asking. Like he’s reminding you, in the quietest way possible, that he’s here.

The first time he does it, you flinch and pull away before the warmth can settle, before the weight of it can mean something. But the next day, and the one after that, he does it again. Always the same way, always patient.

Day after day, you stop avoiding it.

It’s unspoken, something steady. A silent offering. He never asks for more, never demands, just open to  let you take what you need.

Today, your hand creeps to meet his. Your fingers slide to hold his own so easily—so naturally. Your fingertips graze over his knuckles before slipping between his fingers, not gripping, just resting. His other hand stills mid-stab of a piece of fruit, the fork hovering in place before a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips—soft, easy, like he’s careful not to startle you. He doesn't tighten his hold, doesn't rush, just lets his thumb brush along your skin, as if memorizing the feel of it. His consistency is comforting. 

And day after day, without meaning to, you realize just how much you’ve come to rely on it.

Today, Johnny checks on the livestock one last time after lunch, but not before pitching in to help clean up. He’s quick about it, helping you get everything in order before heading out to make his rounds. He moves through the pastures, checking the water troughs, topping them off, and making sure the animals get their feed. It’s a rhythm by now—one that’s almost as natural to him as breathing.

You, on the other hand, head upstairs. The heat of the day still lingers in the air as you peel off your dirt-smeared clothes and step into the shower. The water hits your skin, hot and soothing, washing away the sweat, the dust, the weight of everything. For a few minutes, it’s just you and the steam, curling around you like a fog that keeps the world at bay. Thanks to Johnny, you can take more time for yourself, allowing for a few moments of peace.

Once you're clean, you retreat to your room for a bit, letting the quiet settle around you. The heat from the shower still clings to your skin, steam curling lazily in the air, and for a little while, you allow yourself the luxury of doing nothing. Just breathing. Just being.

But duty calls, as it always does. 

With a sigh, you pull on something comfortable—old jeans, soft and faded in all the right places, a loose tank top that drapes over your shoulders, and a pair of boots worn supple from years of hard use. You leave your hair down, still damp, cool against the nape of your neck as you step into the hallway. The air meets you in a soft contrast, brushing against your skin as you shake off the last remnants of stillness and head downstairs.

Pa’s sitting in his armchair, the low hum of the 5 o’clock news filling the first floor. His eyes are glued to the screen, but you don’t disturb him, slipping into the kitchen to prep dinner. The knives feel familiar in your hands as you chop the vegetables you harvested earlier, the scent of fresh tomatoes, onions, and herbs filling the air. You sprinkle salt over the meat, massaging it in gently, knowing it’ll make the roast tender for tonight.

The clock ticks past 5:30, and at 6, the last task of the day is waiting. Fence checks.

You and Johnny do it together every day. At first, it was purely for convenience—two hands are always better than one. But now, you look forward to it—to seeing him again.

You grab your jacket from the hook by the door, the familiar weight of it settling over your shoulders, and step outside. The evening air is cool against your skin, the sky beginning to soften into a wash of purples, pinks, and golds, the colors mixing together like paint on a canvas. The breeze picks up, gentle at first, but carrying with it the earthy scent of grass and soil. 

You make your way toward the stables, the gravel crunching under your boots in a steady rhythm. The evening air is cooler now, carrying the scent of hay and earth.

As you near the stables, you spot Johnny already there. He’s inside, leaning against Scout’s stall door, his back to you, speaking in a low murmur meant only for the horse. His fingers move through Scout’s mane with an absentminded gentleness.

There’s something different about him in moments like these—when he thinks no one’s watching. He softens. It’s endearing in a way you don’t quite have words for. And for a moment, you hesitate, just watching, before finally stepping forward.

You hum a soft, "Hey," and Johnny turns from Scout, a small smile tugging at his lips like he can’t help it, and he steps toward you with his hands tucked into his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, caught in some strange pause, like you’re both waiting for something. His head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face with quiet curiosity, and the longer the silence stretches, the more unbearable it gets.

“You talk to the sheep like that too, or just Scout?” you ask, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

He stills, processing your outburst before he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Only th’ ones that listen.”

Before he can say anything else, you turn away—too quickly, probably—and busy yourself with Shimmer, running a hand through her mane like she suddenly requires all of your attention. Anything to ignore the way your chest feels too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

Johnny doesn’t move right away. You can feel him still standing there, watching, like he knows exactly why you turned so fast but isn’t going to call you on it. 

“She givin’ ye trouble?”  he finally asks, nodding toward Shimmer as you stroke her mane.

“Always,”  you mutter, scratching behind her ears and she whinnies. “She thinks she owns the place.”

“Cannae blame ‘er. She’s got ye wrapped ‘round her hoof.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch despite yourself. He’s not wrong. Shimmer huffs softly, nudging at your shoulder like she knows you’re talking about her. You softly push her nose away, shaking your head.

Johnny steps next to you, leaning his arms over the stall door, softly scratching the base of her neck. “That why ye bolted over here, hmm? Needed an excuse tae hide?" His voice is light, teasing—but there’s something underneath it. Something careful.

Your hand stills for just a second before you scoff, shaking your head. “Please.”  You turn, meeting his blue eyes with a practiced ease you’re not sure you actually feel. “If I wanted to hide from you, I’d pick a better spot.” You’re almost teasing when you say it, but you do know the property better than him, afterall.

“Dinnae have tae hide from me, hen,” he hums, the corner of his mouth quirks..

You hate that it makes your stomach flip. Hate that you have to force yourself to look away, to pretend the warmth crawling up your neck is from the evening heat and not from him.

Johnny lets the silence stretch, like he’s giving you a chance to say something—anything. His gaze lingers, drifting over you. Taking in the curve of your shoulders, the way your hair catches the fading light, the way you hold yourself like you’re thinking too much but refusing to say why.

When you don’t speak, he exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head before pushing off the stall door. Letting it go, for now.

 He nods toward the fields, “C’mon. Fence line’s no’ gonna check itself.”

You follow without a word, slipping out of the stables with him. Long shadows stretch across the fields, swaying with the wind-blown grass, and somewhere in the distance, a few cattle call out, their distant sounds blending with the steady hum of crickets.

Neither of you rush. There’s no need. The fence line is long, stretching across acres of land, and it’s a quiet sort of work—just walking, looking, making note of any broken slats or weak posts that’ll need fixing. He walks alongside you, the toolbox rattles lightly in his grip as he carries it at his side, the sound punctuating the steady crunch of boots against dry earth.

For a while, neither of you speak.

It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it isn’t easy either. You’re aware of him in a way that feels impossible to ignore—the way his steps fall in rhythm with yours, the occasional brush of his arm when the path narrows, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Ye always this quiet?” Johnny asks, his voice low, barely disturbing the quiet, as if it’s a part of the gentle breeze.

You snort softly, eyes fixed on the fence as you mindlessly trail your fingers along the wooden slats. “Only when there’s nothing to say.”

“That so?” His voice carries easily with a sprinkle of amusement.

“Mhm.”

You keep walking. So does he.

Every so often, you test the fence with a firm press of your palm, checking for weak spots. He does the same. Occasionally, he stops to inspect a loose post, tapping it with the toe of his boot before moving on. It’s a simple rhythm—walk, check, walk again—but the silence between you is anything but simple.

It’s thick, growing heavier as the minutes tick by.

You can feel his presence beside you like a current, something you could fall into and get swept under if you weren’t careful. And maybe he feels it too, because every now and then, his hands twitch at his side, like he wants to reach for something, but can’t. Won’t.

“Ye ever get tired o’ all this?” His voice is quieter this time, almost like he’s asking himself more than you.

Your brows pull together slightly. “Of what?”

He gestures vaguely around you with the hand that isn’t carrying the toolbox. “Th’ same land, same routine. Mornings start early, work’s never really done. That ever get to ye?”

You consider that for a moment, kicking at a stray rock with the toe of your boot. “Maybe. Some days.” You glance at him. “You?”

His mouth tugs into something like a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah. Never.”

You don’t know what to make of that.

The two of you keep walking, keep checking the fence. The breeze picks up, stirring loose strands of your hair. Johnny exhales a slow breath, his shoulders shifting as he rolls them back, working out a stiffness from the long day. The movement draws your attention, and for a brief second, you let yourself look. Really look.

The sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light catches on his cheekbones, the way his shirt clings to the broad stretch of his shoulders, still slightly damp from the sweat of the day. The gold cross dangling from his neck and the dark, miniscule birthmark that sits just below his ear. His hair has grown a bit since he first came. Maybe you could cut it for him, like you do for Pa.

You swallow hard and snap your gaze forward before you get caught. Again.

Another long stretch of silence. Another step. Another brush of his arm against yours—so light it could be accidental.

Could be.

Johnny stops when he catches sight of a sagging section of barbed wire, his steps slowing before he finally comes to a halt. Without a word, he sets down the toolbox and crouches, running a hand over the worn wood of the post before reaching for the wire. Testing its give. Seeing how bad it really is.

You watch as he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly before grabbing the wire stretcher and a handful of staples. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even complain about the extra work—just gets right to it, like it’s second nature.

Rather than hover over him, you hoist yourself up onto a sturdier section of the fence beside him, perching on the top rail with ease. The wood is solid beneath you, not like the weakened stretch he’s working on now.

The sun is nearly gone, but there’s still enough light to bathe the fields in a golden glow, the last remnants of warmth brushing against your face. You tilt your head toward it, letting the heat sink into your skin, letting the evening breeze lift strands of your hair. It’s the kind of peace that settles deep in your bones, the kind you don’t appreciate until it’s gone.

Johnny breaks the silence first.

“If I’d’ve grown up somewhere like this…” He pauses, twisting the wire tight before driving a staple into the post. “I think things would’ve turned ou’ different for me.”

The way he says it—flat, almost absentminded—makes you hesitate. You’re not sure if he’s inviting the conversation or just thinking out loud. You don’t want to pry, but something about the way his voice lingers in the air makes you ask anyway.

“Different how?”

Johnny keeps his eyes on his work as he answers, pulling the wire taut. “Would’ve been normal, I guess. Wouldn’t have joined up. Would no’ have spent years runnin’ toward shit other people run from.” He exhales softly, a ghost of a chuckle. “Think I’d have been calmer. More settled.”

You watch him work for a moment, the way his hands move with ease, deft yet steady. He doesn’t look unsettled, per se. If anything, he seems at ease out here, like he belongs in the quiet.

“You don’t seem unsettled,” you say finally, tilting your head to him.

Johnny huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he pulls the wire one last time, before giving it a final staple to secure it. “Then ’m doin’ a great job at pretending.” His voice is light, but there’s something underneath it, something that makes you press your lips together.

You watch as he finishes up, hammering in the last staple before brushing the dirt off his hands. “If you aren’t happy here, you can always leave, y’know,” The words slip out before you can really think them through. “There’s plenty of families that need help.” It’s not a challenge, just a simple fact.

That stops him.

He straightens up, turning to you with something between bewilderment and confusion, like the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. Like he can’t quite believe you’d think that, let alone say that. 

“Ye think I’m no’ happy here?”

You shrug, glancing out toward the fields. “I mean…” you pause, exhaling as you look toward your boots, drawing shapes in the dirt with the pointed toe. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s isolating.”

Johnny sets the tools down in the grass beside him, his jaw tightening as he mulls over what you just said. It sticks in his head, gnaws at something deep in his chest. He hadn’t considered that you might think that—hadn’t realized he might’ve spoken in a way that’d made you assume he wanted out.

But when he looks at you now, perched on the fence, swathed in the gold, pink, and purple swirls of  light from the sun, he understands why you would.

You’ve been here your whole life. You know the weight of isolation, watching things in your life pass by and disappear before your eyes. You probably expect people to leave.

And maybe that should be the case. Maybe he should leave—move on to bigger and better things. But when he looks at you—really looks at you—it doesn’t feel that simple. It can’t be. It’s not. 

Your very presence buzzes with life, from your hair to the ever-present flush in your cheeks—from the heat or him, he doesn’t know. You’re sat on the fence like you belong here, like the land itself was carved around you. And maybe it was. Maybe that’s why he’s so goddamn unsettled. You’re everywhere; you’re in every breeze that brushes his skin, in each rooster crow that signals the wake of a new day. 

He’s spent his whole life moving, chasing something—war, adrenaline, a sense of purpose that’s always been just out of reach. He knows the weight of isolation just as well as you do. 

His throat feels tight as he finally speaks, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “I’m no’ unsettled because o’ the job. Or the farm.”

His gaze is locked onto you, unrelenting. Waiting. Willing you to understand—like he’s been holding this in for too long, and if you don’t get it now, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

And then it all clicks.

It’s not about the farm. Not about the work, the isolation, the long days under the southern sun.

“Oh.”

The word breathes out of you before you can censor it, before you can even feel it. 

You’re the reason he carries tension in his shoulders, the reason he looks at you like he’s already lost whatever battle he’s been fighting with himself. 

All at once you can feel the sharp pull in the air between you, the way his jaw tics, his breath slows, his fingers flex like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you.

And the worst part?

You wish he wouldn’t.

[vandme12]

KC!Ronin x reader with ABNORMALLY sharp canines???

Like basically fangs that tend to cut their tongue or bottom lip!!! Picture me this (batman) they kiss him and accidentally cut his bottom lip and he's just like "🧍"

Kiss of the Devil

You don’t mean to cut him.

Really.

It’s just that your teeth have always been sharp, sharper than they should be, and sometimes you bite the inside of your own cheek for no reason other than existing. But this? This is new.

Ronin had been egging you on all night—his usual brand of taunting, circling you like a wolf who already knew where the weak points were but enjoyed playing with his food. And you, in your infinite wisdom, had decided to shut him up the most effective way possible.

By kissing him.

It was a short kiss, messy, heated, but nothing compared to the immediate shift in his expression the second you pulled away.

He blinks once. Twice. Lifts a gloved hand to his bottom lip.

It’s bleeding.

A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face, tongue darting out to taste the copper warmth. His eyes flicker with something dangerous, something amused, something… impressed?

And then he laughs.

It’s sharp, wicked, delighted.

“Ohhh, sweetheart,” he drawls, licking the cut again, as if savoring the sting. “Did you just—” His grin widens, showing off his teeth, flashing them like a challenge. “Did you just bite me?”

You cross your arms. “Not on purpose.”

His laugh tapers into a low chuckle, head tilting as he steps closer. “You got fangs, baby? That’s adorable. Here I was, thinkin’ you were just playin’ hard to get, but no—” He taps a finger against your chin, tilting your face up like he’s examining you. “Turns out you’re actually a little bloodthirsty, huh?”

“I am not bloodthirsty,” you huff, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrays you. “It was an accident.”

“Mm.” He makes a skeptical sound, but his smirk only deepens. “Sure. That’s what they all say. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up in a coffin with a stake in my heart, wonderin’ where it all went wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And there it is—his usual game, taunting and playful, but now laced with something new.

Interest.

You shove at his chest, but he catches your wrist with ease, his grip light but unyielding. His thumb brushes over your pulse, and his eyes flick down to your lips, like he’s waiting for you to do it again.

Tempting.

Instead, you sigh dramatically. “Are you gonna keep teasing me, or do you actually have a point?”

“Oh, I always have a point, sweetheart.” He steps in even closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His voice dips lower, conspiratorial. “And mine is… I think you owe me.”

You blink. “Owe you?”

Ronin taps his bottom lip—the one you cut—mocking. “You drew first blood. Which means I get to bite back.”

Your stomach flips.

It’s not that you weren’t expecting some kind of retaliation—it’s Ronin, after all—but the casual way he says it, like it’s a simple fact, has your pulse jumping.

You school your expression into something unimpressed. “You’re insane.”

He grins, all teeth. “And you are one bad day away from a vampire arc, babe. Just embrace it.”

“I am not a vampire.”

“Oh, sure, sure. That’s what a vampire would say.” He flicks your teeth with a gloved finger, dodging your swat with ease. “Damn, those are sharp. You ever just… wake up in the middle of the night with an urge?”

You groan. “I’m not a vampire.”

“Coulda fooled me.” He presses a finger to his still-bleeding lip, smearing the red slightly before tilting his head. “Betcha wouldn’t even need to sharpen ‘em, huh? Natural-born predator. That’s kinda hot.”

Your face burns. “Ronin.”

“What?” He grins, completely shameless. “I’m just sayin’—I like a person who can bite back.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you yank your wrist free, step back, and rub your face with both hands, trying to cool the heat creeping up your neck.

Ronin, as always, looks far too pleased with himself.

He watches you for a moment, then finally—finally—decides to show some mercy. He stretches, rolling his shoulders like a cat settling after a particularly amusing chase. “Alright, fine, I’ll let it slide this time.”

You give him a flat look. “Oh, will you?”

“Yep.” He pops the “p” and winks. “But don’t think I won’t be keepin’ an eye on you, sweetheart. Can’t have you runnin’ around, turnin’ unsuspecting folks into creatures of the night.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “I hate you.”

“Aww.” He clutches his chest in mock offense, but the smile never fades. “Hate’s just love with more commitment.”

You groan again, and Ronin laughs, taking that as his victory.

But still—

When you walk away, you catch him rubbing at his lip again, tongue darting out like he’s still savoring the sting.

And the next time he leans in close, his words ghosting against your throat, you swear he does it just to see if you’ll bite him again.

[rottenpumpkin13]

What's AGSZC idea of romance? ❤️

Sephiroth: Poor man's idea of romance is so endearingly mundane it's almost painful to watch. When his person of interest remembers his coffee order, he practically short-circuits. They send him a "good morning" text, he'll analyze it for hours with a small smile he thinks no one notices. He melts when his someone asks if he's eaten today, because apparently basic human concern is the height of romance when you've spent your life as Hojo's science project. Brushing his hair? He's already planning the wedding in his head. The man gets emotional whiplash when his person remembers small details about him, like his secret love for cats or how he actually enjoys sweet things but is embarrassed to admit it. The mighty Sephiroth, brought to his knees by his special person simply asking "are you taking care of yourself?"

Angeal: This man's love language screams domestic bliss so loud it's deafening. His idea of a perfect date is cooking together, trading stories while chopping vegetables. Gets absolutely weak when his partner shows interest in his plant collection or asks about his family recipes. Dreams of Sunday morning farmers' market trips and waking up in bed together. The way to this man's heart is through showing responsibility and stability; pay your bills on time and he'll swoon. Nothing says "I love you" to him like discussing retirement plans or showing genuine interest in his opinions. He's definitely thought about what herbs he'd grow in his future shared garden.

Genesis: A dramatic romantic to the bone. Needs affection like others need air—to both give and receive. His person can expect constant cuddles, random sappy poetry, dramatic declarations of love. Will absolutely spoil his partner rotten with gifts, attention, and affection, but expects the same energy in return. Physical touch is essential; he's always finding excuses to hold hands, fix his person's collar, or simply lean against them while reading. Gets ridiculously happy when they quote poetry back at him. Loves being pampered but equally loves doing the pampering; will run his person a bath complete with rose petals and the most expensive salts available. Probably has a dedicated drawer just for love letters he's written.

Zack: Unconditional love and enthusiasm. His entire concept of romance is "how can I make their life better today?" Will remember the most obscure detail they mentioned once in passing and turn it into a thoughtful gesture months later. Gets excited about doing mundane tasks together—grocery shopping becomes an adventure when he's involved. Would literally run across continents if his person said they missed him. The kind of person who leaves little notes in their lunch box and sends random "thinking of you" texts throughout the day. His idea of romance is being completely, unabashedly devoted. Has definitely injured himself trying to recreate romantic scenes from movies.

Cloud: His idea of romance is sweet, but his actions are so subtle his person might miss them if they're not paying attention. His romance is all about the little things—making sure his person's car is maintained, standing slightly closer to them than necessary, accidentally-on-purpose brushing hands. Gets flustered at direct affection but will fight Bahamut bare-handed if it threatens them. Physical closeness is his secret weakness— melts internally when his person leans against him but tries to play it cool. His love language is practical care wrapped in shy affection. He'll spend hours upgrading his person's equipment but gets tongue-tied trying to say "I love you." Has probably memorized his person's schedule just to make sure they're safe, but will claim it's "just coincidence" that he's always around when they need help.

[noneatnonedotcom]

one more random character.

i'm having a lot of fun with these, this one will be in Avatar the last airbender.

Blade Beyond Steel: (400 cp) Your connection to your blade goes beyond physical skill. You have honed your swordsmanship to such a degree that your weapon becomes an extension of your very soul. No matter the material, you can wield your sword with such finesse that it can cut through objects far stronger than steel—be it reinforced armor, magical barriers, or even energy-based attacks. Your blade can sever through nearly anything, and no defense is safe from the sharpness of your strikes.

Master Swordsman: (200 CP) You possess the incredible skill of a seasoned swordsman. Your reflexes, precision, and technique are at a level that only the most dedicated of swordfighters can reach. Whether you're armed with a katana or any other blade, you can easily slice through enemies with devastating accuracy. With every swing of your sword, you can precisely cut through opponents or deflect incoming attacks, leaving your enemies in awe of your skill. This is the foundation of Atomic Samurai’s incredible swordsmanship.

Steel Trap Clarity: (300 CP) It's a sad fact, but traitors and spies are lurking everywhere. Their hands forced by blackmail, willingly becoming a double agent from bribery or falling to good old fashioned brain washing. Not you though, absolutely not. Upon purchase, you become excessively resistant to traditional forms of corruption, mystical forms of brain washing and everything in between. Something with mind boggling power may still be able to put you under its control. Most of the threats to your morals or sanity in this world are just out of luck. Additionally, you will always be able to keep a clear idea of your personal principles, meaning you won't stray off of your path on accident.

Perfectly Trained: (100 CP) They say someone who loves what they do will never work a day in their life. What you love is training. You love the sweat, the aching, the exhaustion. To that end, you’ve gotten good at seamlessly working your training into daily life, whether it be shadowboxing to kill time or practicing footwork when going out for a walk.

Infernal Governance: (free) You would hardly be a noble if you couldn’t look and act the part. Luckily this is something you have internalized completely, able to project a sense of dignity, grace, and nobility through your body language. And you don't just look like it, you also have experience with politics and governance, to the point that you would be able to walk into near any court in Creation and be accepted, while you would actually be able to be a good ruler. Of course to live the lifestyle of the nobility, you'll need a certain amount of wealth. It is a good thing then, that you're just as skilled in selling whatever you wish, finding the appropriate buyers, and setting up a shop to do so. Lastly this makes you skilled at coming up with convoluted plots to accomplish your goals, which somehow seem to work better than simpler schemes.

free roll: Anti Deception: (200 CP) At the outset of your journey, a significant portion of the Saints have been swayed to align themselves with Mars, lured by convincing falsehoods painting Athena as weak and the Martians as allies in the protection of humanity. Fortunately, you possess the invaluable ability to see through both lies and half-truths, allowing you to discern the deceptive nature of these claims. Furthermore, armed with a keen sense of logic, you meticulously dissect the inconsistencies and illogicalities present in the narrative, presenting compelling arguments to your allies to expose the deception and sway them from serving Mars.

this character is a nobel who is not a bender, instead he's a swordsman who's family has been stubbornly independent in the face of both the firenation and the earth kingdom. you might think it's their skill at arms that has saved the lands but in reality it's their minds, their skills at seeing through deception and half truths and their will to stick to their morals. these things are what makes them truly dangerous that and their skill at governance and strategy. still while the character starts off with the skills to fight, they lack the body nessicary for it. luckily perfectly trained helps to ensure that even if they're forced to play the noble administrator they do improve on their abilities as they go. tldr: really good swordsmen who are extremely politically savvy. ideas I had, 1 arranged marriage with the bei-fong family. leading to him eventually meeting toph and neither one really sure what to do because they were both expecting to hate the other making breaking up the arranged marriage even harder. maybe they don't break it off leading to them joking that their friends are all living in sin. 2 there are some religious buildings with people who look suspiciously like air nomads tending the place but he assures the firenation that it's just people who teach air nomad theology and they're simply priests and priestesses

3 no he has no idea who those pirates raiding both the earth kingdom and Firenation ships were but he hopes they find whatever handsome dashing rouge is doing it.

4 uses a willow leaf saber or liuyedao as his weapon of choice. with something very simular to European saber as his style.

5 those are totally normal bison and not flying sky bison, they use them for their wool and they can't fly. that's rediculous.

while his dad still rules over his lands he ends up traveling with the avatar on his trip up north to learn water bending and just never leaves.

this makes him a target for both earth and fire nation bounty hunters and he has a competition with soka over who can get the higher bounty. soka complains that he's cheating by having the earth kingdom mad at him too.

@howlingday @heliosthegriffin @weatherman667 @thatorigamiguy

any ideas for this character? also i should take advantage of the free powers more often. not all of them are great but a lot of them are OP for being free powers. secondary idea just for Weatherman he's actually the son of a roman senator in the avatar version of rome. they're still actively opposing both earth and fire nation but they're doing so less through pirates and clever lies and more through the unified effort of the roman legions the only majority non bender nation to remain in the face of both the earth kingdom expansion and the newer firenation.

ROMA INVICTA!

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Love and Deepspace Headcanons: Denial

A/N: My bestie is forcing me to try this game again... So I might as well make some stuff for it!

There's a surprising lack of gifs I can find on here, so I went ahead and made my own headers :3

Warnings: 18+

Ask Box: Open

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | VGen | Patreon

Xavier:

I personally think he isn't the type to be too into denial

Sure, I think he gets angry or annoyed

But it clears pretty quickly

And once he sees how much its affecting you… immediately stops

Apologizes instantly

Puppy dog eyes 

Your hand is pressed firmly against Xavier's abs. You bit your lip, trying to keep in your cool. It's not easy. You had already worked yourself up by kissing him senseless and pulling back when he tried to go further. But he had taken control quickly, taking off his clothes and going for your weak spot: your neck. 

No matter how much you apologized or told him to keep going, he just gave you a soft glare to shut you up. But you had enough. Your hips moved against his bulge. You frowned and tried to push him back against the bed.

"Xavier, I can't take it."

He blinked, his head raising to meet your gaze. "Huh?"

"I want it."

"O-Oh." His face flushed as if he realized what he was doing. His eyes softened. "S-Sorry."

"Come here."

Rafayel:

Him and his teasing

Fleeting kisses, barely touching you

That fucking smirk

He loves seeing you get frustrated

But it backfires 

And suddenly, he regrets denying you

Rafayel let out a huff as you pushed him down onto the couch. One moment, he was touching you in all the spots that were so close to where you needed that heat. The next, you had his hands pinned above his head as you straddled his hips. He stared up at you. He wasn't expecting this.

"Woah, there. Getting feisty?"

You smirked. "I don't think you're in the position to judge."

"No. But I like this position."

"Really?" You leaned down, nipping at his neck. "You won't like it for too long."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's your turn to get frustrated."

Zayne:

I also feel like he isn't super into it?

The type to do it accidentally

Long nights working, barely paying attention to you

The occasional text or two

Not even sending a suggestive photo gets a big reaction

So imagine his surprise when he finally gives you the time of day

And you're waiting there like a feast waiting to be devoured

"You're finally back."

"Sorry. Work has been-" Zayne paused. He gaped at you. "What are you-"

"This? Just got comfortable. Is there a problem?"

There was a problem. Zayne had suddenly realised how much he craved you. It had been too long since he last touched you. He was denying you and himself of a pleasure that needed to be filled. 

He dropped his bag to the floor. His shoes and coat soon followed. His eyes were glued on your scantily clad form as he slowly walked over to you. You hid a smile as you watched him loosen his tie. This was the exact reaction you wanted. To make him so hungry for you, he wouldn't be able to resist.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" His husky voice sent a shiver down your spine.

"No." You shook your head.

"Good."

"Do you?"

"I'm calling off."

"Good."

Sylus:

Oh my god, nothing brings him more joy than denying you of what you want

He loves seeing you squirm 

The sweat dripping down the side of your face as he hits in just the right spot

You're teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy

But he just keeps pulling you back

Wants to see you beg

Sylus knew how to make you writhe in pure pleasure. He knew where to touch, kiss, bite. He knew he had you wrapped around his finger. And right now, you were so tightly wound, you were about to break. He drank in the sight of you arching your back, on your hands and knees for him. HIs thrusts were languid and relaxed. The two of you had been at this for hours.

He reached out, his large hand moving over the expanse of your bare back. "Look at you. A complete wreck."

"Please, Sylus." Your voice was hoarse. "I can't take it anymore."

"What did I say? You have to be clear when you beg."

You whimpered and gripped the sheets tightly in your hands. "Please make me cum, Sylus. Please…""Since you begged so nicely…" HIs hand wrapped around your head and tugged sharply. "I'll give you what you want."

Caleb:

He does it for one reason only

To see if you still need him

And boy, do you need him

Constantly asks you to tell him how you need this

Tell him that you need him

That you'll never stop

He'll keep denying you of it until you're almost in tears

And then he gives you what you want

"Tell me…"

Caleb's voice is soft against your ear. Your back arched as his fingers moved inside of you painfully slowly. Your face was flushed, lips parted as you hung onto him. Your body quivered in pleasure at just the sound of his voice. You wanted to be pushed past that peak.

"I need it."

"And?"

"I need you."

"You do?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "Please. I need you so badly, Caleb."

"I need you too."

Caleb kissed you deeply, his fingers plunging into you once again. The speed was faster this time. He curled his hand and sent you over the edge with just that one movement. You let out a cry that was swallowed by Caleb. He pressed against you. His heart was hammering in his chest. He never wanted to leave this moment. He wanted you to need him forever.

[shigarakisstalker]

hii ! i’m the one who asked for dabi x fem!reader with family issues and YOU ATE 🥹💓 comfort fics are my fave!!

i was now thinking of maybe hcs of dabi & shoto todoroki (separately) of how they would be like if they had a crush on fem!reader? considering their lack of affection at home and how maybe dabi would see it as weakness while shoto would probably not understand his feelings, so i wondered how they would process and act on it ?? if that makes sense 😭

but thank you again for writing my ask! it really made my day :)

hello my love! i’m so glad it made your day that means so much to me 😭💞 and i’m so glad you enjoyed it :) i love your asks so much so here you go!

when the todorokis have a crush on a !fem reader…

dabi refused to acknowledge it at all. a cold hearted villain like him falling for someone? unheard of. he couldn’t do it. but god your smile. he loved everything about you, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. despite being a villain you were so kind and gentle to him. it was unbearable for him. he even found himself resenting you for a little bit because of the new found feelings. it’s only when you finally confront him about his harsh attitude towards you that he finds himself spilling his guts. you can’t help but be astonished. never had you expected it from someone like him. but nonetheless you welcomed him with open arms.

but don’t be fooled, a relationship with him is complicated as fuck. he lacks any sense of communication skills and is so back and forth. he can’t choose between being harsh and shutting you out or being affectionate in his own ways. he’s more of a “i’ll do things for you to prove my love but i wont show affection” type of guy, contrary to popular believe. it takes forever for you to be able to touch him without him flinching or being repulsed.

shoto is more open about it all. he absolutely loves your attention and finds it comforting. being that he lacked it so much in his child hood, he is soooo clingy and demanding. it takes awhile for this side to introduce itself to you, but it’s so worth it in the end. he’s not really a pda type of person so it’s all i’m private. but he does do little things in public when he’s feeling extra needy or jealous. little things like resting his chin on your shoulder, holding pinkies with you, and subtly wrapping an arm around your waist.

but like i said, it takes awhile for this side of him to warm up to you. at first he doesn’t like the attention, thinking it’s too much and uncomfortable. but once he gets used to it he’s demanding for it constantly. he needs you to make up for it after all these years loll.

[luckymousey]

Thoughts about Trey's dream (parts 257-268) (mostly things I liked)

Hey! I’m back!

Today I managed to start and finish Trey’s dream, let’s start!

Man, they even uploaded Riddle’s dream by now, I need to watch it, I don’t have enough time, help

⚠️English is not my first language and there will be spoilers for those who still haven't seen Trey's dream⚠️

Warnings?: possible swearing and grammatical mistakes

They arrive at Trey’s dream and I fucking hope they deepen up in Trey and Cater’s relationship (I write at the same time as I watch because it’s easier this way for me (I have short term memory) so I still don’t know what’s going to happen next, just to let you know)

Ace posing for the camera mid-travelling? What the hell? How!? Like, Cater filming the whole fly is easy to understand, but weren’t they flying way too fast to pose? My man here is unaffected by wind or what? 🤨 Or are they going as fast as a roller coaster?

Deuce is definitely getting his magic wheel’s driver license before the car’s one, I can feel it, he even wanted to make a magic wheel club before.

I can’t believe I was right, almost no one in Heartslabyul gets dizzy because of this type of travelling (though Cater gave another explanation, maybe i didn’t hit right in the spot)

Yo, if the Mirror of Darkness judges the dizziness resistance (I don’t know what it’s called, but you get me, right) does Heartslabyul have a big gap in number of students compared to the rest of the dorms? (I know it’s more of the sound thing, but just a question I had)

Ace being offended by the fact that we didn’t go to Deuce and he first, like, I WOULD’VE loved to go to you first, but I just couldn’t choose what dream I wanted to go first, ok? You understand? (And his dream broke my heart too many times)

AND NOW ITS POSSIBLE TO FLIGHT WITH 10 PEOPLE, MAN, SILVER IS DRAINING HIMSELF, ISN’T HE?, AFTER EVERYTHING IS OVER, HE’S GOING TO BE LIKE: “yeah, yeah, I’m happy everything is solved, I love you all, gn” HE’S GOING TO SLEEP FOR 100 YEARS FOR REAL AFTER THIS

Sebek being proud of and thankful for Lilia and his grandpa is so cute 🥰

AND MY KNIGHT, THE MIGHTY SILVER, COMES AND TALKS ABOUT GRIM TOO, YEAH, THIS IS ONE OF THE PARTS I LIKED THE MOST Grim defending us is just so cute, you guys know those headcanon some people have that Grim gives Yuu a present for Mother’s/Father’s Day because he sees them as his paternal figure because he never had someone who took care of him so much 🥺? It reminded me of those

Everyone complimenting a very embarrassed Grim gives me years of life

I can’t believe Grim said that if he was to leave Yuu behind he wouldn’t be able to study just AFTER what happened in Ace’s dream

And now the one Braincell trio talk together and tease Grim like siblings would, it’s so heartwarming 🥰

AND LEONA APPEARS WITH A FLOWN ON HIS FACE TO REMIND THEM THEIR MISSION, HE’S STILL TRAPPED WITH THEM WHEN I'M SURE HE WANTS TO FINALLY GET A NAP

The way the characters start naming sweets and everything they can smell impresses me, I can’t get a single name right when guessing what food is only by its smell 😭

My man Cater stopping everyone from suddenly entering the kitchen and showing his intelligence, he knows how to act and what to prevent

But his line?: “all I’ve to do is to drag the NPC outside, beat them and return” that sounded so sadist for me

CATER LITERALLY PUTTING HIMSELF WITH LEONA AND IDIA IS SO FUNNY, ONE IS A COMPLETE INTROVERT WHO HATES SOCIALIZING AND THE OTHER ONE FINDS CATER’S ENERGETIC PERSONALITY ANNOYING

Cater calling himself weak and that he chose Leona for said reason as unsettling, I had the same exact reaction as Leona: “don’t lie” he’s not weak! Why are you sayin that Cater? It makes me laugh a little

And then, of course, Cater drags them as Idia starts pleading for mercy: “no, don’t! Stop!”

Idia is the one who’s in most danger because he’s controlling everything, directly helping them and also communicating with STYX (who still didn’t fall asleep), running the danger that because of that, Malleus could catch him (let’s remember he caught Ortho, it wouldn’t be surprising if he suspected Idia) and he worries about having to accompany a Heartslabyul student

OMG, Ace wishing good luck to the three of them was so pleasing to my ear, I dunno, it felt…✨amazing✨ (it probably was the cheerful and sneaky way he said it

We enter the kitchen and it’s so fucking amazing, so beautiful, so perfect, AAAAAH, I LOVE IT (Alice in Wonderland is literally my fav Disney movie, I just love anything related to it) (but I ain’t forgiving them for what they did to my heart with Ace’s dream)

Something I don’t see in the kitchen is a teapot with three spouts, I demand my three-spouts-teapot

But I do see some Cheshire Cat’s cookies, they look so damn cool, I’m definitely making them when I have time

I just had a random thought, if anyone wants to make their birthday party (or anything else)

Heartslabyul themed they could make ‘sweets-garlands’, something that looks just like the food that’s flying in the new kitchen, it would be sick

Riddle would be terrorized by the new kitchen, but I bet that goth Riddle would be happily running like a kid to get more and more food (basing this off the spoilers I read about how he became a little spoiled in his dream)

AND CHENYA MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, HELLO CHENYA, I MISSED YOU 😭😭😭

Trey with his new uniform makes something inside me, I don’t know how to explain, it’s just kjhskjhgahjksjhsjk

If you look at the new clothes of Cater, Trey and Riddle, you’ll see they’re all matching, they’re wearing matching outfits and you’re not going to change my mind.

Ugh, I wish they made a new uniform for Chenya instead of just giving him a crown (but also, considering Chenya’s personality, it might be that he just doesn’t want to wear his uniform OR that his clothes can be considered uniform both in NRC and RSA)

Deuce not being able to remember Chenya’s full name reminds me of when he tried to say “Diasomnia” in the Heartslabyul Arc (I know Chenya’s name is long asf and is literally like a tongue twister, but it reminded me of that moment)

And then Ortho finally gets Chenya’s personal information…is this even legal? I mean, I know Ortho wouldn’t use their personal information abasing them (or maybe yes), but this can’t be legal (but considering what Rollo tried to do and the situation with Fellow and Gidel, I think I can say that laws there don’t work)

I swear that while the third years were reading Chenya’s information, the cat was definitely playing Dress to Impress, he was hitting all the poses he could

Idia and Leona are still talking about the theory that both Trey and Cater didn’t like Riddle as dorm leader and yada yadaaa, I feel Cater was more like he wanted to be able to live without having so many strict rules (but he wasn’t dissatisfied with Riddle) while Trey’s definitely more like he just wants Riddle to relax a little (I think. Like, I’m sure Chenya doesn’t mind being dorm leader, he’s cool and relaxed)

Idia being scolded by Ortho is *chef kiss*, I love their dynamic

Ortho is going to be a great uncle (if he really gets a nephew/niece), he’s like that friend who's like the cutest one in the group but in reality he’s the most intelligent and mature

Grim telling Ace to lower his head is so cuteeee, I need to see a fanart of all of them trying to look what’s happening in the kitchen

And now everyone is fighting with everyone while Deuce just sighs at the sight of the friends he got (even Ortho is glaring 😂)

Returning to the kitchen, Cater approaches Trey…and he tells Cater he’s not the real one…TREY, THAT’S NOT HOW YOU SAID HI TO SOMEONE; RUN, CATER, RUN AWAY

Man, the fact that Chenya is not more powerful than Riddle but still manages to keep his position as dorm leader makes sense, I think it’s like a reflection of what happens in the film: the Cheshire Cat constantly mocks the Queen of Hearts.

My dumb ass doesn’t understand Leona’s scientific explanation about Chenya’s UM, so I’ll simply say that it makes his body disappear

And the fact that Chenya pulled Riddle’s belt is just like when the Cheshire Cat used the Queen’s flamingo to lift her skirt

I swear to God that Chenya’s references to the original film are so *another chef kiss 💋*

The language Chenya uses (the ‘Pokandue’ word) would be something like Riddlish, from EAH, right?

“Whether I go or not depends on my mood”, translation: “I’ll only go if something perks my interest, if not, fuck off”, Chenya is so sassy, something like Floyd, I love him (I’m starting to thing he’s my favorite character, yes, a secondary character is my favorite character)

AND HIS HUMMING COULDN’T GO MISSING

“It’s not like there’s a huge difference between the reality and his dream”, Idia, dear…just wait

Oh, fuck, I just realized Trey was talking that he looked thinner than dream!Cater, not that he knew he didn’t belong to his dream, fuck, it makes sense, I almost forgot the meatballs existed

And while they’re talking about how they could wake him up Trey appears with his ‘Grandma “you’re too skinny, darling” mode’ activated and asks them if they’re hungry.

Trey still remembering Cater’s hatred for sweet things is so sweet of him (yes, I made another pun on it, hehe)

When I talked about Trey having a Grandma mode, I wasn’t lying man, in this part, he just fucking told them to eat 5 or 10 slices of the food, Trey, my man, my chef, calm down, you already have too many meatballs, you don’t need more

…and now Leona eats an entire pie…it’s understandable, he likes to eat…but man, in two bites?

Leona hating vegetables is so funny and then he demands for more food with meat, he approves, he approves

And Cater saying 200 tarts are too much even if there a lot of students in Heartslabyul…if you knew, Cater, if you knew

*puts voice of documentary filmmaker* And while the humans (and a robot and a cat who denies being a cat) are discussing which Riddle is weirder, the one in Ace’s dream or the one in Trey’s, something huge is slowly approaching them, it easily exceeds the average human size and weight, what will it be? An elephant? A walking building? An even weirder Riddle?…

Ehhhh, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

And nooooow, *drum roll* CONTESTANT NUMBER-

Ah, wait, they dropped some Trey Clover lore.

Oh, and I also wanted to say that it’s so amazing that the dorm also changes on its own and also have mushroom and cookies that can make you bigger, they really put a lot of detail in Heartslabyul (maybe because this was the first dorm)

When Idia said: “eh, etto…”, it sounded so cute ahjjksjakj

And I also find so cute that he was the one who started talking, and not just talking, but starting a conversation, he’s slowly opening to others (just a little, tiny bit, but I’m sure it’s a big step for him)

Idia and Trey have something in common! They both started doing what they like to do now just because that was just what they were used to (programming and baking respectively)

He was excited by the kitchen in Heartslabyul! Now I headcanon that he loves going to Ikea

and look at the furniture

I said it in my post defending Trey and I will say it again, Trey didn’t know what was going to happen to Riddle if he snuck out, even Idia and Leona are so fucking surprised by the 5 hours Mrs. Rosehearts took to yell at his family, and not only Trey wasn't the culprit of anything, but yelling at a married couple over a piece of tart, A FUCKING PIECE OF TART, is ridiculous.

And now we’re re-telling Riddle’s childhood, whyyyyyyyyyy 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

And Chenya and Trey see him as their baby brother!!! THAT’S WHAT I NEEDED TO HEAR, RIDDLE, SEND YOUR MAMA TO HELL AND GO AND LIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, YOU CAN BE EITHER RIDDLE CLOVER OR RIDDLE ALCHEMIVICH PINKA

And only now you’re telling me Trey was forced to be vice-leader 🥺? RELEASE MY BOY, YANA, RELEASE HIM (only if he wants to, of course, we don’t know if he’s now happy with the situation)

Damn, seeing Trey in his normal dorm uniform feels after this long weird

Oh, WAIT, IT’S THE HAT, HE’S NOT WEARING THE HAT IN THE FLASHBACK, I know we can see him without his hat in his school uniform, but it’s weird seeing him using the dorm uniform without the hat

Wait, wait, wait, wait, THE FACT THAT CATER, WHO IS NOT USED TO HAVE LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIPS, IS THE ONE TALKING AND ANALYZING TREY’S DESIRE FOR CHENYA TO BE THERE WITH HIM IS SO HEARTBREAKING

Leona is so sadist: “let’s just turn into sand everything Trey created for his dream. Let’s start with that silly, striped cat” maybe it’s because I’m a stupid, sensitive person, but I wouldn’t be able to even think about destroying something that makes another person happy 🥹

OUR SPECIAL GUESTS ARE FINALLY HEREEEE

*drum roll* CONTESTANT NUMBER 1: ACE TRAPPOROLLA

CONTESTANT NUMBER 2: DEUCE SPADEROLL

CONTESTANT NUMBER 3: KEITO DIABETO

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, CONTESTANT NUMBER 4: RIDDLE ROLLINGBALL

Who will our bachelor, Yuu Yuusurname, choose?

(Omg, the voiceeeees, they’re hilarious)

(The way both Deuce and Cater both though they were hedgehogs who turned into giants just shows us how crazy the dorm is and how used they’re to it)

Going tbh, when I saw the meatballs and Trey’s SSR card I thought: “oh, so…Hansel and Gretel, right?”

Bro, when they put the character besides their meatball-self is like looking an ‘before vs after’ meme

“There are two Ace and Deuce!” “It’s true!” “I didn’t notice because they were so small!” OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T NOTICE, YOU EVEN CAME ROLLING INSTEAD OF WALKING

“Aren’t you all…perfectly round?” NO, TREY, HUMANS CAN'T BE ESPHERES, PLEASE, WAKE UP

Bro, imagine a student who wears glasses and only wears glasses because contact lenses make him uncomfortable, but here’s the plot twist: he’s a Heartslabyul student, round like a ball, big like an elephant, how is he going to wear his glasses??

Haha, Sebek and Silver were more worried about Riddle not being able to ride his horse Vorpal than anything else

Yk something curious? First, I know Trey’s desire is more about his peers being able to live freely as they want, but the result was way too far away from his motto: “I’m just a normal guy”, and second, this would actually make sense as he’s the based off the Mad Hater isn’t it? We kind of had to expect something crazy

The way the meatballs just start rolling to attack them, even Silver was taken down by them, god gracious, they’re going to be flattened up into a rug…WHO WANTS THE SPECIAL EDITION “THE GREAT GRIM” RUG FOR THEIR HOUSE? LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE HAVE ONLY ONE PRODUCT LEFT, BUY IT BEFORE SOMEONE DOES SO BEFORE YOU

Ok, but the fact that Tre’s first flashbacks were literally Riddle being a tyrant…lowkey makes

me want to cry a little

”I don’t like sweets at all, but it’s so delicious I can’t help myself!” *wrong answer noise* EEEEEEEEEE, Cater would NEVER say that, he already has his little trauma with sweets, leave my boy alone

Trey’s little laugh before pointing out what his real friends do and then saying he feels sick by watching them eat his food, ✨perfect✨

MY CHEF TREY CLOVER IS BACK MY PEOPLE, HE WOKE UP, YESSSSS

Aye, Ace’s coughing was nice to hear too, I dunno, when characters make small little noises is always fun for me to hear

UMMMM, Leona telling Trey owes him and Trey simply laughing, I’m also stealing this for my 3rd years headcanon

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you”…I mean, if you want to 😆

“Will a normal mage like me be useful in this situation?” TREY, WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS AFTER WE BEAT MALLEUS and probably Grim’s ASS

“Don’t make fun of me, Leona.” That’s another thing that’s going to my 3rd years headcanon 💅🏻

Everyone telling Trey he was their wildcard but I remember Idia calling him “Riddle’s pacifier” and I’m not letting you forget about that >:3

Ace taking a guess about Riddle’s dream by saying he’ll probably dream about rules and almost everyone agreeing…you’re all so bad at the guessing game, guys really, you shouldn’t play it anymore

Silver and Trey watching their first year students in disappointment and slight embarrassment is so mom coded for them, idc if Silver doesn’t really have mom vibes, this is my opinion

AND IDIA CALLED THEM PARENTS OF KINDERGARTEN CHILDREN, I LOVE HIM, TWINNNS

So we’ve reached the end of my post, I hope you enjoyed it!

[lunaandco]

her boy

pairing: gavi x ofc

summary: gavi lost a bet with someone he despises

warnings: suggestive content, implied retraining, sub!gavi, olympique de lyon player!ofc

taglist: @htpssgavi ; @joaosnovia

masterlist // I do not take requests

Gavi hated lots of things: shrimps, pickles, Real Madrid, parking the bus... but there was one person he hated even more: Noa Paredes.

If someone told his fifteen year old self that he would have such feelings for her, he would have laughed in their face. Noa and him had been friends since they started sharing clsses in La Masia, when they were twelve year olds.

It had been a match made in heaven. Noa required competiton to keep herself entertained, Gavi, as shy as he was, needed someone to force him out of his shell. Which meant that the two midfielders would spend most of their joint training trying to outshine each other.

Their competition was not as tough as it was with the other kids of their own gender. They knew, deep down, that they could not take each other's spots in their respective teams, which meant that their arguments would always end amicably.

But the issue was, they were both too emotional to handle certain aspects of their relationship. Like for exmaple, the fact that everyone thought they were a couple. Or the fact that they actually weren't.

Moving up to the first team meant Gavi won, he had made it first.

But it also meant he lost.

Noa had completely different schedules, and little by little, they started seeing each other less and less. Until they were almost strangers.

The thing about Barça Femení was, their midfield was stacked, and Noa would not find a spot so easily. Which meant that when the offer came through, she had no real reason to stay. As much as she loved the club, her caeer was more important, and she would have more minutes in Lyon. So she packed her bags.

Maybe if Gavi had had the guts to talk about his feelings, none of it would have happened.

But he chickened out, and she started to play for the one and only Olympique de Lyon.

It wasn't a decison that sat well with the club. Many board directors were pissed, that such talent had slipped through the cracks of their farmhouse. Others criticised how easily Noa shrugged the blaugrana jersey.

But Gavi? Gavi hated that she was now, in a way, truly his enemy.

He texted, months after she left. It was a challenge.

"I bet I can score more goals than you this season."

And jsut like that, their banter started again.

💙❤️

Having that secret dynamic, was fun. Gavi felt like he was having a secret affair, something none of the stupid journalists could even imagine, but based in hate and not love.

But sometimes, their competitiveness meant their bets got out of hand.

Gavi had inisited in making a a very risky bet: if Noa lost her next wucl match, she would have to do everything she said for a day. But if she won... then it would be him doing everything she said.

Noa had smirked at that, and he was now scared of what she could ask of him. Because of course, Lyon beat Real Madrid with ease.

The bet had been set weeks earlier, and Noa still hadn't claimed her reward. Until she suddenly attended his game without warning him.

Gavi spotted her by chance, when he was trying to find where the injured players had been seated. She was next to Jana Fernández, a girl he remebered her having a decent realtionship back in the day, which he imagined had gone cold after her move.

Gavi blushed, his knees going weak. He was more nervous that he had ever been in years.

Suprisingly, the match went well for him. He assissted Lamine's winning goal in the 73rd minute and won all of his aerial duels against a dude a head taller than him.

His teammates wanted to celebrate, but Gavi scurried away as soon as he could. Once he was safe at home, he texted Noa.

"What do you want?"

"You know what." She replied. "It's time to pay."

"Come home."

💙❤️

Noa was wearing the same outfit as in the match. Gray sweatpants, a white tank top and an oversized bomber jacket. She also didn't take long, as if she had been waiting for him to give her permission to come.

Gavi didn't say anyhting and neither did Noa. it was as if the weight of the situation had frozen thier rivalry. It was the first time they saw each other in the flesh since she had left La Masia, two years earlier.

"You know we don't have to do anything, right?" Noa's words took him by surprise. Gavi had not expected her to pull back in a situation she clearly had the upper hand.

"Are you scared?" he questioned, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"You should be," was her retort. Gavi hummed.

"You keep saying that. What could be so bad?"

"I could ask you to post a selfie to your official account wearing Vinicius' jersey." Noa replied without missing a beat.

"Nah. That would be boring."

He was right and he knew it. Noa took a step forward.

"What if I told you to take your clothes off. Would you do it?" She arched an eyebrow, as if daring him. Gavi's breath caught on his throat. Suddenly his clothes felt itchy, like he actually needed to take them off.

"Maybe." His voice was strained.

"Then go on." Noa's suggestion was barely a whipser, but Gavi obeyed anyway. Her lips parted, as her gaze fell on his chest. "You know you can back out any time, right?"

"You've said that before," he muttered, hands falling to the waist of his pants. "Starting to believe you want to back out."

Noa's hands joined his by the zipper.

"Just making sure."

Gavi kissed her. It was an impulsive act, grabbing her jaw and pushing her into a fiery kiss. She seemed taken by surprise, but it took her an instant to react. Her hand shot up to his neck, and it squeezed, warning. Gavi gasped, and as their lips parted, she pushed him to the bed.

"Do I need to restrain you?"

He did not know how to answer that question. His mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound.

"Maybe?"

Noa smirked, coming to sit on his lap, hands on his shoulders.

"Don't make me do it." She advised, biting his ear. "You won't like the outcome."

Gavi gasped, profoundly doubting that statement, but he nodded.