#like...they had so much to tell each other lol

[strwberri-milk]

Could you please give headcanons on how LAD men would react if MC is non-jealous? Like they got hit on but MC isn't bothered or phased just stand there n watch the whole thing unfold (you can say Mc is amused at the attempt or smug about it cuz it shows that she had good taste in men) sry if my english is bad

im assuming that this is what youre referring too so ive put them both into one request lol

Zayne doesn't really mind it. He likes that you aren't jealous because he wants to be with someone who's secure in his relationship considering how late his hours are and how he can't be around as often as he would like to be. Knowing that you're more than fine with him focusing on work those days where he really has to focus and can't see you.

He doesn't get hit on too often because of the slightly chilly demeanor he has. People tend to leave him alone, especially with how obvious he makes it that you're dating him by the way he holds you. However, whenever people do try it he's glad that you don't mind it. He doesn't want you to think that he has eyes for anybody but you, even if a very very small part of him his curious to see what your protective side might be like when it comes to him.

When someone starts to insult you is when he starts shutting things down. He's telling them to stop saying things like that because there's no way he'd fall for their weak attempts at manipulation and will honestly start trying to walk away. If you stop minding your own business and start paying attention to him he'll try to guide you away to prevent you from hearing something nasty being said about you.

You gently shush him, smiling to yourself as you listen to the person rant at you. You know that Zayne doesn't want you to draw attention to the two of you so you let them complain before asking them if they think behaving like a child is really how you find a man that's as accomplished and sophisticated as Zayne. You don't really need to say much anyway because they can see how Zayne looks at them with a mild irritation for how they've interrupted your day before simply bidding them a goodbye. They're stuck trying to figure out how to reply to your words, forced to confront their childish actions.

If they decide to continue, following you around and shouting obscenities at you then you simply tell them that they look pathetic begging for him like this and that everybody around you is laughing at them. Public shame is a strong deterrent and they're forced to leave you alone. Zayne doesn't say anything but he does press a soft kiss to your cheek, not wanting to be too affectionate in public with how many eyes are on you but he's also very proud of how you can easily stand your ground.

Xavier likes knowing that he's yours but he also doesn't care too much for giant overt displays. He likes the subtle ways you show your his and he can show others that he's yours. It shows in the subtle way the two of you speak of how intertwined your lives are, just how casual the two of you are with each other. There's this implicit understanding that's shared between the two of you that just makes it seem like you two have been married for thirty years.

He doesn't mind that you aren't jealous over him but he also sometimes wants to see you being possessive over him. He likes seeing how your eyes flash and how you slide yourself next to him. You'll kiss his cheek and smile at him before asking who his new friend is. He typically doesn't entertain conversations with people who aren't you but he's much more subtle about it. People don't notice that he's not checked into the conversation until they suddenly realise he's quiet not because he's listening, but because he's fully just on his phone or started to leave when they looked away from him.

He doesn't get hit on often but when he does it's because people see him as an easy target. They think that he's chill and would be receptive to getting their number when it's totally the opposite. He doesn't even look at people who try to flirt with him, immediately pulling out his phone to text you to come find him faster because people are trying to get his number.

You show up quickly as soon as you hear them telling him how clearly, you don't care about him if you've just abandoned him like that. They're claiming that if you really loved him as much as he says he does then you wouldn't have left him alone like that. They start going on and on as you approach, tapping their shoulder as you gently push them aside to perch yourself on Xavier's lap. He doesn't expect it but he welcomes in anyway, happily returning the soft kiss you give him.

You totally ignore the person flirting with him, rolling your eyes as you tell them that Xavier hates it when people just prattle on and on about nothing like the way they're doing right now. You don't even let them get another word in as you tell him that you're tired and wanna go home now - your day was ruined by them and you didn't feel like staying out anymore.

He likes how you basically just totally shut them down without a second though, standing up with him and taking his hand. The two of you just fully ignore them, heading home as Xavier tells you he likes it when you do things like that.

Rafayel loves being obvious about how much he loves you. He's constantly hit on at parties and generally when he's in an okay mood he won't be as openly hostile about rejecting advances if Thomas begs him not to. He feels bad for the guy sometimes, knowing how difficult he can be to work with but not bad enough to actually be fully nice to everyone at events.

He wishes you were more openly jealous around him, recounting some stories specifically in hopes of getting a rise out of you. He doesn't want to like, actually hurt your feelings but he does want to see you pout and get a little clingy if possible. You know that that's his goal whenever he tells you about another socialite hitting on him and you entertain him by being dramatic in response, Rafayel lightly pouting at how you aren't taking him seriously but he also knows you're doing that because you love him.

When someone is genuinely trying to flirt with him and tells him that you aren't even rich or famous enough to be around him your first response is to just let him deal with it. He's very good at rejecting people but you feel bad when he meets your gaze from across the room, a pleading look on his face as he tries to convince you to come and rescue him. You decide to take pity on him and head over, trying to tell the socialite to back off. They just start to get in your face, telling you that you have no business acting the way you do, going off on you.

You just sigh and tell them that it doesn't matter how much they beg Rafayel doesn't like them and has personally told you himself how much he can't stand these parties because of people like them. You make it quite pointed that Rafayel hates these events and that if it were up to him, he wouldn't be here especially with them. Rafayel doesn't even need to say anything as he just stands behind you, arms around your waist as he just nods in agreement with your words, giving you a kiss as the other person finally gives up and fully leaves the party, embarrassed as everybody started staring at the argument that the two of you were having. The confident demeanor you have while Rafayel drapes himself off of you has everyone chuckling to themselves at how shameless the other party is, unfortunately staining their reputation as someone desperate to climb the social ladder.

Rafayel basks in the attention you showered him in and how hot he thinks it is that you made it so obvious you're his. You never left his side for the rest of the evening and he had fun introducing you to literally everyone. He'll ask you to do it more often if you can, totally obsessed with how you handled the situation so easily.

Sylus is pretty okay about the fact that you don't show any jealousy when he's flirted with. People are usually too scared of him to flirt with him anyway. Internally though, he also does want to see how you'd react when jealous. He doesn't do anything to trigger it but clearly, he doesn't really have to. Sometimes, he might make light jokes about how you don't get jealous because you know he has nothing on his mind but you. You don't have the heart to admit the fact that you know he's obsessed with you, but you also love knowing that he is. He makes it so obvious but he isn't even aware of how obvious he is about loving you, constantly spoiling you in every way.

He doesn't often attend events but he had to this one time, leading to people falling all over themselves to try and get his attention. You know that he can take care of himself but you also can't help the possessive streak that you feel at someone trying to take away something that's yours. He was having the time of his life /s avoiding everyone or making snide remarks as people try to steal his attention from you. You were trying to socialise with some people on his behalf, wanting to be friendly when you saw just how crowded he was with people trying to flirt with him.

His eyes follow you as you come to him, beginning to tell people off for acting so desperate around him. You remind them that Sylus chooses only the best and unfortunately for them, that so happens to be you. He doesn't say anything to you as you continue to tell people off, watching you with amusement in his eyes. You don't even feel his gaze as people weakly try to retaliate against your points, leading to you proving how wrapped around your finger you have him. He barely registers what's happening until he's delivering a plate of food to you, gazing at you with a soft expression that nobody's ever seen on him before. It makes it pretty clear that he won't ever see anybody that isn't you and shuts them up - if their egos aren't already decimated by how crude you were in calling out the desperate behaviour.

He'll tell you later as the two of you are getting ready for bed how flattered he was to have all of your attention on reminding people how much you love him. That overt display of affection is one he wants, obsessed with being shown in definitive ways just how much you love him.

[taelophone]

Oblivion ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝˚.⋆⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Oblivious!Reader ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ CWs: Reader is violently oblivious like so clueless . Corny Flirting . Neurodivergence in Luigi . Slight angst ? ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ I played w the fourth wall a bit lol

What is she doing to me, man?

I mean, wait wait wait—! Before you switch, just listen to me for a second, okay? I’ve been trying to get with this girl I love for the past three years, and she hasn’t even acknowledged any of my attempts!

If she weren’t into me, I'd expect her to at least bring it up later, right? Ask me to clarify, say she doesn’t see me like that, or god forbid say it makes her feel uncomfortable.

But you haven’t! Every time I make a flirty comment, you just giggle and say I’m too kind! I’ve never once thought I was bad at flirting, but are my lines just not hitting like they used to?

Even now, as I’m walking you home, you’ve got your arm wrapped around mine while I talk about a robotics competition I did when I was fifteen that ultimately changed the course of my life and sparked a permanent interest in computer science. But all that seemed to travel through Luigi’s mind was whether or not you liked him back!

You nodded, hanging onto his every word as the hard rubber soles of your pink Jordan dunks step-step-stepped on the thick and heavy slabs of concrete. He seemed to really like telling you about his interests and achievements— not that you didn’t want to hear about them— but you just wondered why he seemed to love talking about academics so much around you.

But anyway, that’s beside the point. You and Luigi have been great friends for around four years now, and things were just amazing!

He bought you little candles, cute room decor, candy, new shoes, pretty rings, necklaces with your initials, and your favorite flowers all wrapped up in pink parchment! He was the best guy friend a girl could ask for, really, but that was a part of the problem.

He was so amazing in ways that other men in your life had never even come close to being before. From remembering little things about your interests to all the many dollars he had spent on spools of plastic for his 3D printer, gifting you elaborate custom-made plastic trinkets and “forever flowers,” as he liked to call them.

He was smart, funny, witty, and left your mind melting in his wake every time he graced your mornings with a random Starbucks order for you to try. Now perfect is high praise, because everyone has their flaws, but if you had to use the word for anybody it’d be him.

There was no way in the world Luigi had his eyes set on you when there were thousands, hell, millions of women out there that could perfectly complete his complex puzzle of a mind. You weren’t dumb or dull by any means, but there were just better options for your best friend.

It’s fine, really. Not sentimental at all, no no really.

“What are you doing this weekend, by the way?” Luigi asked, his voice cutting through the amalgamation of crazed screams in your mind.

You thought, your lips pursed together in a lopsided pout as you flipped through the mental pages of your planner, each page containing some sort of mental note or red ink until you reached this weekend. Free on Saturday, but only after ten in the morning.

“I’m free this Saturday, but I have to drop a friend from college off at the airport. She’s moving to Kansas, so I should be free any time after, like, ten to ten-thirty. Why?” You asked, your attention suddenly being grabbed by a community garden just up ahead full of pretty pink peonies and daffodils.

He watched as your eyes locked onto the garden and its floral inhabitants. He smiled his usual boyish grin, letting go of your arm momentarily to jog over to the garden before you got a chance to even process what he was doing.

“Luigi—? Luigi, what are you doing!?” You called, standing up on your tip-toes and calling out to him right in the middle of Twenty-fifth Street.

You saw him duck down, his cocoa brown curls disappearing amongst the plant life and greenery. You crossed your arms, waiting for him on the sidewalk like a puppy owner would wait for their eager little Maltese or Pomeranian to return from their burst of energy.

When that familiar face emerged again, he advanced towards you with a handful of freshly plucked flowers. He placed them in your hand with a particularly girly giggle, gently brushing his fingers across the general petals like he wanted to get a feel for their genetic material.

When he was done fluffing up each bloom, he gently placed a hand at the small of your back in a silent urge for you to keep walking.

“I’m not sure if that was illegal or not, we should probably start walking,” he beamed, a light pink dusting the apples of his cheeks as he felt you lace your arm around his firm one again. “But yeah, uh…what was I saying…Oh, right, I wanted to ask if you wanted to spend the day with me at my house. We’d have to go grocery shopping but it sounds fun…in theory.”

You nodded, an amused chuckle leaving your lips as you scurried down the street with Luigi. By now you neared your humble little home, sandwiched in between two other townhouses composed of bricks of vermilion.

“Yeah, sure! Why not. I’m not paying for groceries though,” you joked, reaching in your sweater pocket for your keys.

“You don’t pay for anything, girl…” he chuckled, his brows furrowing together with amusement.

“Well, you don’t let me!” You giggled, patting yourself down from head to toe before you sighed from the depths of your lungs. You left your keys on the kitchen counter.

“I done left my damn keys in the house,” you huffed, shaking your head as if you were disappointed with your laggy mind.

“That’s fine, I have mine,” Luigi added, reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a set of keys attached to a matte-black key fob, a LittleBigPlanet charm, a little heart charm you gave him two years back, and a Ben & Jerry’s discount pendant.

He plucked the only silver key from the jingly set, gently twisting your front door open with a flick of his wrist and a click of the bottom lock.

“Lock your top lock,” he reminded with no real bite in his tone. He raised his brow slightly, a look of feigned disapproval as you giggled back up at him.

“My hero!” You chirped, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders and pretending to swoon over his large muscles. “What would I ever do without you!”

“Stop it,” he chuckled, his sharp canines glimmering in the early afternoon sunlight as your feet hit the ground again. “Get in your house, go.”

You laughed, squishing his muscles one more time before he manually removed your hand from his bicep and turned you around, giving you a playful smack on the behind that sent you yelping into giggles in the doorframe.

“Bye, Luigi,” you mused, leaning against the white archway of your home with a satisfied and impish smile. He chuckled along with you, clipping his keys on his jeans belt loop as he leaned on the opposite side of the door frame.

“Goodbye, culona,” he chuckled, gently pulling your front door closed. “Lock your top lock!”

You smiled, locking both your top and bottom locks following Luigi’s gentle reminder to make sure you’re completely safe when home alone. Once you were sure your door was properly locked, you kicked off your shoes and raced upstairs to your warm and inviting bed.

You stared at the many Polaroids on your white walls; some of them from college or high school, most of them stemming from your solo trips or memories with Luigi. From jumping off of cliffs in Thailand to stuffing each other inside ridiculously small spaces to see how far the other's bones could bend before giving clear warnings of discomfort.

He was the best friend you’ve ever had in a long long time, and you didn’t want to be stupid and jeopardize that. So rather than perusing any sort of connection with Luigi— as tantalizing and coveted as he was.

You sighed, the air rushing in through your nostrils and drying up your mouth as you exhaled. As the tasteless carbon left your lungs, the bitter flavor of unrequited love bit your tongue, the iron taste of heartbreak bringing you back to your sad little senses.

But it’s fine…he’s still around, and after a while, the feelings will gradually fade into sparkles of humor that you’ll be able to sprinkle into daily conversations. A mere powder amongst the storm of dust you would ultimately face later in life— something to laugh about later, and nothing more.

But for now, that wasn’t the main concern. Your goal of the hour was to get your outside clothes off your bed, take a shower, and catch up on some new shows you had been meaning to watch for a while now.

You slipped out of your jeans and top, unclasping the sharp and satanic teeth of your bra and flinging it somewhere around your room before donning a nice soft sweater and shorts. The gentle fleece kissed your skin, bathing you in endless amounts of comfort compared to the cheap polyester-printed textile of some SHEIN shirt you had put on earlier.

You spent the rest of your afternoon through the late evening doing house chores. Folding laundry, doing dishes, sweeping the living room, cleaning yours, and finally getting around to organizing your dresser.

When the house radiated Pine Sol and the scent of Yankee Candle’s Soft Blanket, you took a deep sigh before deciding to take a scalding everything shower that would leave your vision impaired for the next hour. Shave, exfoliate, wash, deep condition, rinse, wash, rinse.

And just like you assumed you would, you stumbled out of the shower lightheaded and dehydrated after battling the demons of self-care. Your baby hairs clung to your forehead, a hot and humid reminder of the war you had won as you wobbled out of the bathroom to slather on some warm vanilla lotion.

You lathered the silky oils across your limbs and soft stomach, sliding on a matching set of blue and white pajamas before settling down at your vanity to do your skincare. No sooner than you sat down, your phone began to ring and chime with your set ringtone for Luigi.

You propped your phone up against the mirror, answering his slightly untimely call as you dabbed gentle amounts of your Curology on your face. “Hey, Lui!”

“Hi pretty,” he sighed, drowsiness evident in his tone. 

His face was partially buried in his plush-looking pillow, a singular eye fought to stay open so he could see you on FaceTime. He watched as you slathered your skin shiny with products, serums, eye patches, and deep-moisturizing creams as you smiled at his little comment.

“I literally look like raggedy-Ann and you’re still calling me pretty. You’re too kind,” you chuckled, placing two green brightening eye patches under your eyes. “What’s up?”

“You do…not look raggedy, trust me,” he murmured, a sound that bridged between a scoff and a short chuckle from the front of his tongue. “But I didn’t want anything, I just missed you.”

“Luigi, you just saw me like…five hours ago!” you giggled, checking the time on your metallic alarm clock. “You’re literally gonna see me again in, like, twelve hours.”

“Yeah but I miss you” he frowned, sitting up so his back rested against the black wooden frame of his headboard. “You’ve been gone way too long.”

“Luigi you’re being a baby” you chuckled, placing all your cosmetics, cleansers, and containers in their respective places before grabbing your phone off the vanity and crossing the short distance to your bed.

“See, why are you being mean to me? I call you to say how much I love and miss you and you kick me to the streets?” He joked, his words enunciated by a quirk of his bushy brow.

“I’m not kicking you to the streets, I’m pointing out that you’re being a clingy little pissrat,” you teased, widening your eyes at the camera in faux shock.

“Pissrat is crazy…” he chuckled, a low sigh that drawled from the back of his throat and left his mouth a little drier than before.

You chattered back and forth on FaceTime until about four in the morning, and soon, the daunting revelation that you’d have to be up and out of bed to drive over thirty minutes to the airport and back washed over your brain like cold rainfall. You groaned, throwing your head back in near-violent regret before you exhaled from your nose.

“Are you okay? Hello?” Luigi asked, his brows furrowing together as an expression of slight fear and confusion donned his face. In an effort to placate you, he waved a single hand up and down at the camera in a little “calm down” motion.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t realize it was like…four in the morning. I have to be up in like two hours,” you whined, your eyes screwing shut as you accepted the somnolent fate that awaited you in just a few hours.

“Then get some sleep! Cuz then I have to deal with you in the morning, and you’re gonna be all cranky and irritated, then I’m gonna have to leave you outside…” he sighed, running a hand over his face to mimic genuine distress.

“So charming,” you huffed, flipping him off as your face buried itself into your pillows.

“I charm you every day, you just don’t know it,” he smiled, rolling his eyes in the most disgustingly flamboyant way his muscles could muster. It almost made you gag, both literally and metaphorically.

“Ew, sassy sergeant…” you huffed, flipping him off before blowing air kisses at the camera. “Goodnight!! I’ll see you in like…a couple of hours”

“Goodnight, pretty” he yawned, waving at the camera as his head leaned back against his headboard, the tanned column of his neck on full display.

You chuckled, taking a very obvious FaceTime photo before hanging up and giggling into your pillow. His face was so gorgeous— deep dark cosmos and stardust swam through his eyes, swirling with adoration that could kill you if you got too close.

And when your eyes fluttered shut you dreamed about him and his gentle chivalry. If gallantry was dead, then Luigi would be the very spark of electricity that rose from the ashes.

Sculpted by the clay-sodden hands of a helpless god, desperate to create one last reminder of courtliness in the dawn of decadency. Luigi, the ever-iridescent emerald buried deep in the sediment that aged and preserved his quality, birthing the emerald of Venus— a manifestation of her saintly love.

The slow pattern of your gentle breathing filled the room and slumber soothed the lingering anxiety that sneered and taunted your conscious. In the land of dreams and painless drift, there was nothing that could disturb your mind.

Except for an alarm clock.

The noise was loud, piercing, and obnoxious as your eyes just barely rose, a slow and undead hand reached out for your phone to press the big orange stop button on your phone. With a heavy and half-dead sigh, you arose from your cozy little coffin of a bed and stalked your way to your bathroom to get ready for the morning.

Hot shower, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, edge brush, and a little bit of warm vanilla perfume were all it took to jumpstart your morning. You grabbed your keys and tossed on some pretty pale blue jeans and a brown zip-up hoodie over a white crop top before you wiggled out the door and headed to your car.

In just a couple of hours, your best friend would be pushing you around a cold supermarket while your limbs dangled out of a near-filthy shopping trolley as you mindlessly knocked things off the shelf that would come crashing on top of you.

The casual intimacy of it was almost domestic— it was like shopping with your life-long partner. The few times you had shopped with him before had usually ended up with you eating ingredients with him on his couch while he word vomited about the nutritional value of the different kinds of snacks you had bought.

But you focused on the now, helping your cousin load her bags into your trunk right after you pulled into her driveway. When you finished, you dusted your hands off on your thighs and shut the trunk with a heavy thud before checking your phone after ignoring it ever since you silenced your alarm.

mario💚

‘ Good morning <3 Have fun driving your cousin. Tell her I said hi! Btw I think we’re gonna go to Whole Foods. ‘

You giggled to yourself, hearting the message before shoving your phone into your back pocket to climb in the front seat. 

“Ooh, who got you smiling like that? Is it Luigi?” She asked, poking at your shoulder with a giddy grin.

“Chill, chill…Maybe,” you chuckled, pulling back out of the driveway a little messier than you would have liked to admit.

“Aw shit…we’re gonna crash and we ain’t even make it on the road yet. Lord take us, on her soul we ready,” She teased, throwing her hands halfway up in faux prayer.

“I should’ve left you in the house, on YOUR soul,” you fired back, a half-hidden smirk clawing its way to your face as you set your GPS.

“Didn’t you go to one of those fuck ass frat parties with him a couple years ago?” She asked, pulling out her mascara wand from her purse and touching up her lashes.

“Yeah, it was lowkey trash…like there was no personal space and music was shit. But I was really drunk so it got better,” you nodded, tossing on the radio to hopefully divert her attention from your best friend to something different.

“Man, if y'all don’t get married already,” she huffed, slamming the black mascara closed like the idea of your unattached state irritated her— skin-deep.

“He’s definitely not into me, but go off,” you chuckled, shaking your head at the childish fable she just proposed.

She stared at you, sharp from the corners of her eyes before a small scoff pushed past her lips. “A’ight, girl, whatever you say…”

The rest of the ride was spent jabbering about different topics before it was time to say your goodbyes, watching her disappear behind the glassy doors of the airport. After you confirmed that she had gotten situated inside, you took some time to text Luigi back.

“good morning ! :) omw rn just dropped her off. She says hey”

- Loved by Mario💚

You spent roughly forty-five minutes in your car, driving all the way from the airport over to Luigi’s with your music at a comfortable volume. You barely even had time to pull into a parking spot before the front door slowly came open to reveal your best friend twirling his keys around his pointer finger.

He waved, his sculpted arm flailing with excitement as you pulled up next to his house. You waved back, eagerly scrambling out of the car with a huge grin.

“Lu!” You beamed, jogging over to where he stood on his front porch and giving him a rather grand hug.

“Hi, pretty,” he squeaked, his strong arms wrapping around the small of your back and squeezing you into oblivion. Your sneakers dangled above the pavement, a shocked little chuckle rushing from your lips before he sat you back down on the ground.

“Alright, let’s go to Whole Foods, you can pick out some stuff too. I’ll pay” he smiled, making his way to his car with a very jolly pep in his step.

“I’ve never seen a man so excited about groceries,” you murmured, giggling at his little wiggly walk.

“No, I’m just really excited to see the most beautiful woman in the world,” he smiled, opening the passenger door for you with a boyish glint in his eye.

“Oh stop, I’m not paying for your groceries, Luigi,” you chuckled, giving him a shy smile before climbing into the passenger seat.

“No, that’s not what— oh you’re so…” he chuckled before closing your door oh so gently.

I mean, it wasn’t like his flirting was any type of concealed. He was trying everything! Italian nicknames, food, chivalry, casual compliments, everything!

But you just…didn’t notice. Sigh.

The ride to the grocery store was full of giggles, friendly flirting, and little side remarks about Luigi’s shitty driving skills— those for which he blamed your presence.

“I can’t help it! You keep laughing, and it’s making the car swerve. Siren song…all your fault,” he tutted, shaking his head in faux disapproval.

“I don’t know man…I think you just can’t drive. Might be because you’re Italian,” you joked.

“Okay racism, go off girl!” He beamed, snapping a very homosexual finger with a little face you could only categorize as flamboyant ferocity.

“Mamma Mia!” You sighed, shaking your head in feigned resignation.

“I will crash this car, don’t play with me,” he teased. 

“Shocked you haven’t already,” you sighed.

When you reached Whole Foods, you practically bolted out of the car as you charged to find a big shopping trolley that you’d make Luigi push you around in. You hopped over the thin metal bars, the cart clattering underneath you as you boarded it with near-lethal aggression.

“See, look. Crashing carts and all you did was sit down. Lord, take her, she’s ready,” he joked, his hands wrapping around the handle and pushing you into the store as you shifted your limbs to accommodate for the tiny space.

He pushed you through each aisle, letting you lean over and sweep things into the trolley with little regard for what you were even picking. Mango ice cream, tortilla chips, some fancy goat's cheese, pocky, and a bunch of cherry turnovers with golden brown puff pastry. 

The various snacks and ingredients began to pile on top of you, your midriff and bust while Luigi read off his little grocery list on his phone. He paused, looking down at you before giggling quietly, bonking your head with a blue box of fettuccine.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he giggled, pinching the bridge of your nose with his middle knuckles on his pointer and middle finger. “I think we got everything…I see you got yourself some snacks…” he mused, his eyes widening slightly.

“I had a moment,” you said, clutching a brown bag of lime tortilla chips that crinkled and crunched under the pressure from your arms.

“I see” he chuckled, pushing you over to check out and ringing everything up— freeing you from your crunchy cage of various kinds of sustenance.

He paid for your things, positioning the four reusable tote bags next to you in the cart as close as he could without squishing you to death. It was more of a task than it would seem, considering the cart was barely big enough to fit all of your being.

But for you, he made it work.

“Alright, let’s go do stupid shit at the house. I think we can try and make like…a vegan cake,” he murmured, rolling you out of the supermarket with an unserious smile.

“Vegan cake? Nah, you were right earlier. Lord, it’s my time, I’m ready,” you sighed, throwing your arms out in feigned disappointment.

“Stop it, vegan food is good for the body and brain,” he murmured, raising a brow at your innocent hatred for his idea of vegan baked goods.

“The only thing that goes into a cake that’s vegan is the flour…yeah nah. We can make vegan parfaits though. Or just eat carrots. Or just not eat?” You smiled.

“Actually, what did you eat today?” He asked, stopping the trolley in front of the car And unloading the bags into the trunk.

“Actually I didn’t eat anything yet,” you hummed, the realization just now setting in as you dangled your calves out of the little cart.

He paused, staring at you with a raised brow like you had just spewed a line of blasphemy. He closed the trunk with a heavy thunk and shook his head before scooping you out of the trolley.

“Yeah, no, that’s not an option…” he chuckled, placing you in front of the passenger seat and pulling open the door for you once again.

You giggled, getting as cozy as you wanted, even propping your heels up on the dashboard. When Luigi found his way to the driver's seat after shutting your door, he tossed a bag containing a cherry turnover at your head with one command.

“Eat. You’re hurting my goddess. You know what that’s called? Blasphemy. Shame on you, depriving a god like that…” he smirked, the engine of his lovely white Toyota Corolla. “How’s your cousin by the way?”

“Oh she’s doing great,” you said in between bites, being extra careful to not get crumbs in Luigi’s car— as eating was something he barely allowed inside of his precious vehicular baby.

“She was a little annoying today though. She said we should get married, but I thought that was weird because we obviously aren’t like that,” you chuckled. “I think she thinks you’re like…in love with me.”

He sighed, long and heavy from the depths of his lungs, his forehead resting on the black and slightly worn leather of the steering wheel as his hands gripped its top. You expected him to be annoyed for you, to pop his head back up and say something that would refute the claim with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Alright, come on,” he groaned, his head now gently hitting against the steering wheel before he turned to look at you again with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.

“Am I not your type? Am I too clingy? What is it, love,” he sighed. Wait what? Is he acting…? What is he talking about right now?

“Wait what…Luigi, what are you talking about?” You asked, slowly wrapping up your cherry-tasting pastry back in its plastic.

“Hi! Hello! Look at me, please,” he said, putting the car back in park and cupping your face in his hands. He looked like he was at his breaking point, the blows and slams you had taken to his fragile little heart unknowingly beginning to show on the map of his Sicilian features.

“I love you. So so much. Like, I’ve been trying to throw hints since like twenty-nineteen. I am VERY in love with you, stay with me, now,” he enunciated slowly, letting you mirror his body language as you nodded slowly.

“As we speak I’m letting you eat in my car, knowing it makes my skin crawl! I have a key to your house! You have a key to mine! My call log is literally just you…What is it, please just tell me. Are you not into me? Are you genuinely unaware…?” He whispered, his eyes dangerously close to crossing like he was in physical pain from saying this out loud.

“Oh my god, I had no idea…” You gasped, wrapping both of your hands over Luigi’s wrists, your thumbs flitting over his carpal bones with the gentleness of a newborn swan with their eyes freshly open to perceive the colors around them.

He sighed, a self-pitying chuckle tumbling from his lips before he began squishing and pinching your cheeks. You weren’t sure if it was to self-soothe, or if this was his alternative for shaking you senseless.

“Okay…This is me formally asking. May I have the honor of being your boyfriend?” He asked, a tired smile on his face as he gave you a half-nod.

“Of course, Lu,” you laughed, kissing the tip of his nose with a bright smile.

“Oh thank fuck, I was gonna cry,” he sighed, kissing your squished-up cheeks before settling back in the driver's seat.

And after he pulled out of the driveway of Whole Foods, his cheeks tinted cherry with a fine dusting at the tip of his nose, he could rest easy knowing that he was finally out of the friendzone.

Ignorance is bliss, and you were one blissful woman.

Taglist is coming <3

[vershautece]

i just know lu would make sooo many dirty jokes while ur supposed to be having a sweet moment cuddling or something lol

you’d be leaning against his chest on the sofa watching TV, talking about anything. ‘what do you want for dinner tonight, do you want me to make it?’ he asks you. ‘we can just get Thai takeout if you want, get a bunch of stuff and share it between us?’ ‘yeah, we’ll do that, pull up the menu on your phone’ and then he whispers in your ear ‘your tits look so good in this top baby’ as he grips them in his big hands and u fall back further into his chest at the feeling and giggle: ‘luigi, mm’ and then his hands are softly caressing your torso up and down, continuing to talk like normal as if he didn’t just grab your tits out of nowhere and make ur panties damp

or you’ll be eating a banana or something that shape lolll and he’s sat there smirking at u, he’d say something that would nearly make u choke on your food: ‘not as good as my cock, no?’ - ‘luigi, shut up just let me eat this’

imagine lu with an academic gf who’s doing her phd and he’d make soooo many jokes - he keeps saying ‘u already have a phd, u get it for free inside you every night in this bed’

in the shower too :’) you’d have so many sweet, cosy showers just washing each other bc i think he’d love to shower with u as much as possible, and i can imagine him just making little comments: ‘i can see you staring at my cock baby’ he’d tease. ‘you had it in your mouth just last night, you want it again huh?’ ‘lu, shut up i swear, i need to get to work i can’t do this right now’ u roll your eyes playfully, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist as u wrap yours around his neck, the two of you pressing soft kisses to each other’s neck and shoulders

cuddling completely entangled together and kissing each other’s faces softly during conversation - you’re discussing something about the night before. ‘lu i swear i told you about this literally last night, how do you not remember’ - ‘i don’t think you did baby there wasn’t much time you spent last night without my cock in your mouth’ - you gasp, taken aback looking at him, and you both start laughing. ‘baby, you’re ridiculous’ u giggle into his neck. ‘just telling the truth, bellissima’ he chuckles, and his deep voice dropping that word in italian on u so casually like that sends a rush of heat to your core that u have to ignore bc you’re so exhausted and just wanna lay in his arms

& imagine you’re spooning just talking about ur day and suddenly he just bucks his hips up into you and starts fake fucking you through your clothes, laughing as he does. u reach your arm back to push him back playfully: ‘luigi oh my god why do you always do that out of nowhere, stop it’ ur giggling as he pulls u tighter to him and peppers kisses along the side of your neck

i just think he’d fake fuck u so much because he’s so cocky w the phd jokes and size kink😖 even feeling him soft against u would turn u on so much bc he’s so big

and don’t get me started with how often he’d be smacking ur ass and grabbing it. he’d smack ur ass lightly out of nowhere and then knead it in his big hands >.< like while ur cleaning your room or making food he’ll come up behind u

and when ur sitting on his lap so comfy, turned to the side a lil because you’re tucked into his chest so your ass is facing upwards slightly and he has room to give it a light smack and just grab and knead it while u giggle and bury your head in his neck

also in bed if ur sleeping position is cuddling facing each other and u have one leg hooked over his thigh he’ll like hold u by your ass and gently squeeze it every so often. ‘mm, lu, you’re gonna make me horny, i need to go to sleep’ - ‘alright, baby, i just love touching on you’ he laughs softly, giving your ass another tight squeeze and a smack before moving his hand up to grip your waist. ‘love you baby, you can fuck me in the morning’ you whisper to him

[dandylovesturtles]

oh yeah so Yes pretty overwhelmingly won the poll so you guys only have yourselves to blame for seeing this nonsense I will probably not do much more with lol

anyway I've been mentally calling it the Draxum's Kids AU or Step-brothers AU because I didn't come up with anything creative

high level premise is that, due to ~mystic shenanigans~, Draxum from the OU (post-movie) gets pulled through a portal to another dimension, about a year behind the OU dimension, where he kept the turtles and accomplished a lot of his human eradication goals but was also a terrible father. Draxum sees the writing on the wall that his AU self's foolish actions have led to an impending apocalypse and finds the AU's Mikey (who is only called Boxshell) to help him get back to the original dimension. But as soon as he meets back up with Boxshell his Dad Instincts kick in and he realizes he can't just leave "his" kids here to die, so he decides to kidnap all four of them back to the original dimension.

this is complicated a bit by all of them hating each other

under the cut is about 3000 words of Draxum getting abducted

Draxum would really appreciate it if they could make it six months without a potentially world ending threat.

This one seems particularly suspicious. Giant black swirling vortexes giving off massive mystic energy signatures don’t simply <i>appear</i>, not for no reason. The fact that Michelangelo had been the first to notice it, cocking his head to the side like a bloodhound hearing a rabbit, was not putting him at ease, either.

“Soooo,” says Leonardo, swords already drawn and held loose at his sides, “what is it, Draxy?”

That is not his name, but because the situation is serious, he answers anyway. “You expect me to know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Come on, you’re our mystic guru! So get with the guruing!”

Draxum just gives him the look that the kids are coming to call his “not mad, just disappointed” face. He doesn’t have any more answers than he did two seconds ago. On the plus side, it doesn’t seem like anything is coming <i>out</i> of the dark swirly vortex, nor is anything getting sucked in. It’s just hanging there, in the sky over the Hidden City, menacingly.

“Doesn’t it feel familiar?” asks Michelangelo. Unlike Leonardo, he still hasn’t drawn any weapon. He’s just watching it, curious.

“I don’t remember the Krang portal looking like that,” says Donatello. “We could see the Prison Dimension on the other side. That’s just… an indistinct vortex of doom.”

“Not like the Krang,” says Michelangelo, but he doesn’t offer any further guesses. He just watches it with big eyes.

“But we gotta do somethin’ about it, right?” asks Raphael. “We can’t just leave it up there.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone,” says Leonardo slowly.

“Just because it is not doing anything in this instant does not mean it will stay that way,” says Draxum.

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonardo slices through the air, a blue and less chaotic looking portal opening up. “Let’s check it out, Dee. Get some energy readings and all that nerd jazz. The rest of you, stay here in case it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it’s me,” says Donatello, but he steps up to the portal anyway. 

Draxum feels uneasy, because he doesn’t know what that thing is or what it will do, and because he doesn’t want the two of them going alone. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and when the kids give him a look, he quickly adds, “I may notice something that Donatello would miss.”

“I don’t <i>miss</i> things,” Donatello snaps back, but that’s factually untrue, so Draxum just grunts in response to it. 

“Sure, goatman cometh,” says Leonardo airily. “Let’s just go!”

Just to be sure nothing bad will happen, Draxum steps through first. The twins follow him.

They’re on a rooftop now, just under the vortex. Draxum had been expecting… something, but there are no threats, no signs of anything amiss. It’s a bit windy, and the vortex is making an ominous buzzing noise, but that’s all.

“Can you tell anything from here?” asks Leonardo, looking between the two of them. Donatello has his goggles down and a holoscreen up, incomprehensible numbers scrolling by at a fast pace. For his part, it seems the same to Draxum here as it did across town.

Donatello’s readings slow, and he raises the goggles again. 

“It’s… definitely massive, but I can’t tell much more than that. Though… I think Mikey was right. That it feels familiar.” He looks at his brother, something complicated in his expression. “Like we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” says Leonardo, before turning his attention to Draxum. “How easy is it to make an interdimensional portal, anyway?”

Draxum snorts at this question. “For a pocket dimension, relatively simple. For an actual, separate world… Theoretically, it could be done, but it would take a massive amount of mystic energy and decades of experience. Especially if one does not have a mystical object to channel a portal through, like the key that was used for the Krang’s prison dimension.”

“But Mikey was able to do it,” Leonardo points out.

“Yes. And need I remind you it almost killed him.”

“You needn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m just saying… <i>if</i> it can be done, it really seems like someone’s trying it right now.” He still has his swords out, watching the vortex warily. “And what’re the odds that they’re coming here for a friendly visit?”

Draxum doesn’t argue there; he’s already treating whatever this is as hostile. Better to assume wrong and apologize later than to let down his guard and let one of his kids get hurt.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind them, and the three of them turn at once, startled. “Well, there’s Mikey,” Leonardo is already saying in a resigned sort of way, like he knew Michelangelo would join them before he gave the command.

“Sorry, Leo,” says Raphael, landing with heavier tread on the rooftop just behind Michelangelo. “He gave me the slip.”

“Guys, it’s fine!” Michelangelo argues, in that tone he uses when he feels like he’s being babied. “I’m telling you, whatever’s making that portal isn’t here to hurt us.”

“And you know this based on what evidence?” asks Donatello.

“It’s a feeling!”

“Ah yes, feelings, how quantifiable.”

“Well <i>you</i> don’t have any evidence it’s evil either, Donald!” Michelangelo retorts.

Draxum is about to step into the middle of this quarrel when Leonardo stops it for him.

“Guess we’re about to find out who’s right,” he says, eyes locked on something above them, and Draxum looks up just in time to see that there’s <i>movement</i> coming from the vortex now. “Dee, take Raph; Miguel, you’re with me.”

“Wait, guys, we should just-” Michelangelo tries again, but a shimmering blue portal under his feet stops him. Leonardo and Michelangelo reappear in the sky above, Leonardo using his portals to stay airborne while Michelangelo catches himself with his mystic powers. There’s the roar of a jet, and then Donnie is after them, his shimmering mystic tech carrying himself with Raphael dangling underneath.

And of course they’ve left him on the roof. Draxum sighs. <i>Children</i>.

He pops several vines on the roof and uses them to propel himself skyward, eyes searching for what has come through the portal, if that’s what it is. It’s difficult to see against the black coloration, but the boys seem to have gathered under a figure in a dark cloak, who emerges slowly from the middle of the vortex. It seems to cling to them like dark, black ink, the mystic energy drawing out behind them in long, gooey ropes. 

Draxum knows he is still many meters away, but even still, he doesn’t think the figure is very large. It’s a surprise, given that the vortex itself is at least fifteen or more meters across, but the figure coming out is short and slight, not even as big as Michelangelo. Of course, that doesn’t mean much; plenty of yokai are small statured naturally, as are some humans. Even Lou Jitsu is small, now, but still mighty. He can’t let the size of the person put him off guard, especially when they have summoned such massive mystic energy.

“Hey!” cries out Michelangelo. “Can we talk to you!?”

The figure in the cloak seems to startle at being addressed. For a moment, they hang in the air, the ropey energy of the vortex growing thicker on their arms and legs. Almost like it’s trying to pull them back.

The figure seems to realize this, too, because they jerk forward and raise their arms in a panicked arc.

Fire comes out - dark flames with incandescent blue cores that Draxum knows are hotter than any normal flame. If the boys are struck, the damage will be severe. Thankfully, Michelangelo yelps and whirls aside before he can be burned.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking!” calls Donatello.

“That’s alright,” yells Raphael, his ninpo lighting his body red, “because <i>I’m</i> interested in smashing!”

The midair fight begins in earnest now, the boys darting around the figure with their weapons drawn, even Michelangelo. The cloaked figure fights back with the flames, dark and so hot that as Draxum’s vines carry him closer, he can feel the heat coming off of them. Yet, despite the intensity of the attacks, Draxum notices that they are unwieldy and unpracticed, like the wielder has no real experience in fighting, and certainly not midair against so many opponents. Add to that, the strange, inklike properties of the still-spinning vortex seem to be actively trying to pull the figure back; each time they make progress, the moment their attention is drawn by one of the boys, they’re yanked back another few feet.

Draxum sprouts a few more vines off his main one, so that he can move more freely. Aerial combat has never been his forte, but he can make it work. So long as none of those desperate fire attacks burn through his vines and send him tumbling to the ground (he can only hope, in that event, that one of the twins notices him). 

The cloaked figure is still attacking wildly, and the boys have to move fast to keep out of the way. It’s easier for Michelangelo and Donatello, who can stay airborne indefinitely; Leonardo, meanwhile, has to use his portals to catch himself and Raphael periodically, portalling them back to the sky or giving them a portal to ground to launch off of. This leaves them open to attack.

Draxum couldn’t have made it in time if he’d wanted to, but in the moment he isn’t thinking he has to.

One of the unfocused black flames strikes Raphael; his ninpo projection protects him from being harmed, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise as it burns rapidly through the ninpo itself, leaving him exposed. Donatello swoops in to catch him before he can fall, and all the boys hang back for a moment, stunned by this development.

“What was <i>that</i>!?” Leonardo calls out, portaling above Donatello and landing on his constructed battleshell (Donatello says, “Oof!” loudly, but doesn’t throw him off). “It just burned through Raph’s shield like it was tissue paper!”

“Augh… that felt… weird.” Raphael is rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “Raph did not like that.”

“Alright, clearly this guy is dangerous.” Leonardo is tense, eyes focused as he watches the cloaked figure yank free of the stringy ropes of magic from the vortex, coming closer. “But see how the portal’s trying to pull them back in? We just gotta get them close enough and send ‘em back where they came from.”

He glances over at Michelangelo. Draxum looks, too. The boy’s brow is creased, like he isn’t happy with this outcome, but his eyes are focused on Raphael.

“...Yeah,” he says finally, and gives his nunchucks a swing. They light up with his orange ninpo, the bright fire a stark contrast to their enemy’s dark flames. “Let’s send ‘em back!”

The boys spring back into action, and Draxum follows suit, his vines carrying him up, closer to the vortex. Now he can feel more of the thing’s power directly, a great gusting wind that pulls rather than pushes. He hangs back from the direct fighting and instead watches the boys closely, should he need to intervene the way he hadn’t for Raphael. If the fire can eat through their ninpo, then any of them being struck would be disastrous - especially if one of the others could not catch them in time.

The kids are succeeding in their gambit to push the figure back towards the vortex, but that means they are also increasingly putting themselves in range of its dangerous reach. The ropey strands of dark mystic energy reach out like hungry tendrils, latching onto scales before being cut or shaken off. Leonardo has all but abandoned the fight against the figure and instead puts his efforts into slicing the strands apart any time they touch one of his brothers, either directly with his katana or with a well placed portal. He leaves the strands that attach themselves to the mysterious person, and they wrap more firmly around the legs, arms, and neck of the one in the cloak.

And that’s when they finally speak.

“No!” they cry out, in a voice unmistakably juvenile. “No, please! I just want to escape - don’t make me go back!”

Michelangelo stops short, bobbing uncertainly only a few meters from the screaming figure (a boy, Draxum thinks, but cannot be sure). “Guys,” he says hesitantly, lowering his weapons. “I really think we should-”

Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a burst of flames from the cloaked boy’s hands, spiraling directly towards him.

“MIKEY!” shout several voices at once; Draxum only realizes a beat later that one of them is his. He’s the closest, and he moves fast, putting himself and a wall of vines between the flames and his son.

The flames make such short work of the vines, it’s almost comical. Draxum watches as the fire races down the towering stalk he’s made, eating them away and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. The vine Draxum was standing on is, of course, completely obliterated, and he feels the swoop in his stomach as gravity starts its relentless pull.

“Dad!” he hears Michelangelo call out. The boy reaches a hand toward them, and in his panic Draxum reaches back. They are only a few meters from each other, and then less and then less, fingers almost touching-

But it is something else that grabs him first.

The vortex’s dark energy feels disgusting and slimy where it touches Draxum’s fur, like a leech pulled from some noxious bog. Its tug is ferociously strong, and he realizes that if Leonardo had not been quick, if the magic had wrapped around any of his brothers’ limbs the way it’s wrapped around Draxum’s arm, disentangling them would have taken massive effort. As it’s going to take to free him now.

There’s a yank, and he’s ripped away from Michelangelo and towards the vortex.

“No!” screeches the cloaked boy, and sputtering flames spill out around him, forcing the turtles back before they can move in to rescue him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!”

“Gladly!” Draxum shouts back, ripping and yanking to try and free his arm. “Just close this foolish portal and go back where you came from!”

“I <i>can’t</i>!” the boy screams, and he sounds so wretched, Draxum almost feels some sympathy for him. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“You must!” Draxum argues, because he can tell. The energy has wrapped too securely around the cloaked boy now; there will be no freeing him. The portal he made is impressive, <i>especially</i> as young as he sounds, but it is not complete. He could not be severed from it, even if they tried to help. In fact, if they fully pulled him from the vortex, it would likely kill the child.

No; he must go back. But… is there still time for Draxum?

“Barry!” he hears the boys call out. They try to get close, but another burst of searing heat from the panicked boy in the vortex keeps them from advancing. More of the stringy ropes of magic are wrapping around Draxum now, on his arms, his torso, his legs. His neck. They yank him back, hard, and he gasps as the air leaves his lungs. The mystic energy slithers over him like a living creature, wrapping him up more and more securely in its snare.

It seems… there is not.

“<i>NO</i>!” screams the cloaked boy, one last panicked, desperate cry, but then his voice is abruptly silenced. There’s a roaring noise, incomprehensibly loud, and Draxum faintly wonders if this is how it sounds when a star collapses in on itself.

The last thing he sees as the portal closes around him is Michelangelo’s face, eyes wide and afraid, mouth open in a shout, hand outstretched as far as it can go.

And then all is dark.

…

When Draxum wakes, he’s laying on the ground in an alley in the Hidden City.

He feels a flash of <i>something</i> markedly unpleasant when he realizes he’s alone: sadness, betrayal, perhaps even, Titan forbid, <i>loneliness</i>. It seems the boys have left him to his fate and gone home.

Then he remembers the portal, and Donatello and Michelangelo’s guess that it was interdimensional. It’s likely the boys don’t know where he is. It’s possible he’s not even in the same time.

Or the same world at all.

Disturbing as that thought is, the part of the Hidden City he can see from his vantage point seems familiar enough. He recognizes this as a part of the old downtown, not far from where he and the kids had been fighting the cloaked boy. Even if this isn’t his time, at least he should still be able to navigate - that makes things easier.

He gets to his feet, shaking the soreness out of his limbs. He hears something pop, and is suddenly immensely glad the boys aren’t here after all. He’d rather not endure another round of teasing for being “old”.

The Hidden City he travels through seems largely the same as the one he left, to a degree that he starts to wonder if it wasn’t an interdimensional portal after all. If it was, the dimension he’s in now seems to have only slight variations.

Or that’s what he thinks, until he makes it to the nearest portal back to New York City.

There’s a checkpoint set up in front of it, one that didn’t exist here before. There are guards standing sentinel, ushering through a line of yokai and occasionally asking questions. They don’t seem hostile to the yokai, but it does seem like precautions need to be taken for… some reason.

More startling to Draxum are the crests that adorn banners hung around the checkpoint, matching emblems blazed on the uniforms of the officers.

His family’s crest.

It seems this dimension is quite different after all.

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

“ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔶𝔢𝔱, ℑ’𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢”

Squid game season 2

In-ho x f!reader

Warnings: in ho is obsessive, stalking, poverty, cannon violence, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, loss of sanity, reader is an absurdist, childhood abuse, obsession, sad stuff.

NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED. This will also be a THREE PART SERIES bc quite honestly I can’t write much at one time smh. Also do not take reader too seriously she crazy as hell.

Also sorry reader and in-ho barely interact this chapter bc I needed to set the scene so you know what I’m talking abt. Pls read still tho bc I think it’s cool :3 you’ll need it for part two and part three.

TLDR: this is gonna be long af. So basically the reader is previous winner like gi hun only she went kinda crazy after her first game. So she gets like mentally locked in the games so to speak and so after she wins she doesn’t pay any of her debts and actually tried to accumulate more so she can be recruited again. She gets her card and when she talks to in ho he is like “why would u do this” and she’s like “bro bc i think I understand you and shi” and he’s like “if you can win again we can talk lol” and she is like bet. Only he tries to rig it against her. But she is dead set on winning.

A/N: am I projecting? Maybe. Also this shit is LONG sorry it took so long

————

Sometimes, when you find yourself winding through random back alleys or when you lie your head to rest at night, you can still hear the screams..

You can still feel the reverberation of each gunshot fired into the innocent flesh of desperate people. The wetness of the blood that splatters your face as others die before your eyes and you can’t quite tell if the screaming your were hearing was theirs or yours.

And sometimes you can still make out all the promises that were made in the dormitory. The faint memories of the voices of friends you made. The exact sound of their voices lost to time, but the faces of their lifeless bodies remained unchanged in your mind. Some of them were at the hands of players and some of pink soldiers.

And one at your hands.

Life had been cruel to you long before being convinced to risk it all. To say your early life was messy would be an understatement. Years of falling to sleep bloody and bruised, countless hours of begging for basic needs, and endless attempts to run away and make it better. Trying anything to make you feel whole. Like nothing ever happened at all. Once you got a job your parents kicked you out and left you to fend for yourself. At first it was great, you didn’t feel like you were being suffocated anymore. Until you got fired.

The place you worked at was shut down due to the owner embezzling the money and getting caught. The business soon went down at for lack of funds. And the reality of life became clear to you once again. Over time the hope you had to escape your parents and live the life you dreamed of as a young girl was drained from your soul. Ever since then you’ve been doing this. Wandering the streets aimlessly, almost as if you had never been in your home city a day in your life. You can’t even see the faces of those around you. Every face is replaced by one of four faces… ever since then that is.

The first face is younger you, battered and bruised to all hell. You see her face on usually younger people. No matter what they’re saying or doing the expression she gives is always the same. Glosses over eyes and facial features set in a way that screams both “why would this happen to me” and “what the hell became of us”. You cant even begin to answer those questions.

The second is the face of your father. Almost every man looks like him now. Though you haven’t seen him in years, since the game he’s come back to haunt you. To remind you there’s more wrong with you than what happened in those couple days. That there’s more broken about you. His expression stays angry. Tense like he’s going to hit you. For this you almost never interact with men and if you do it always end poorly.

The third is the one drives you insane most.

There was this beautiful, kind girl you once knew. Growing up she was the only thing that made living worth it. You were picked on quite a bit at school, be it because you never really spoke or because you had to be such a goodie two shoes to stay out of trouble at home. But she always stepped in at just the right time to save you. Even though her own home situation was much less than desirable she still found time to comfort you when you were in shambles or got into trouble to defend you. You both told each other everything, both pillars in the other’s lives. But after being kicked out you were forced to lose contact, solely because you couldn’t contact her or get to her part of town. That was until you joined the games at your lowest possible time to try and get some money to keep your loaners from finding you and gutting you for profit. Guess who you saw.

The girl that meant everything to you was suddenly standing before you. Deep You both scolded each other for getting into so much debt you had to meet here. Giving each other shit, like you used to. Looking back you almost chuckle at that for the nativity you both had. You watched people die together. Sprayed and stained with so much blood you didn’t now who’s it was. She kept you alive in there, with out her keeping you calm you probably would have died or quite frankly killed yourself. Against all odds you made it to the final three together against a man who needed the money for his family. She told you it was “okay “to take his life in his sleep after the final dinner because he would have done the same if either of you if you had fallen asleep. That morals in this situation would only get you both stuffed into a gift box. And so you both took his life for the sake of yours. You can still feel your stomach dropping as he pleaded for his life while you and your friend stared down at him cruelly, begging falling on deaf ears as you tore him to shreds with dirty steak knives.

Of course after that it was final two. When the last game was revealed, squid game, you remembered only one could leave. Actually, the both of you used to play squid game in school. Even if it’s typically a “boys game”, she was great defense and you were quick enough for easy offense. Genuinely, those were one of your fondest memories. Of course you’d be pinned against each other for the last time. Though you didn’t know it, the VIPs plans were to be able to watch an animalistic death match. However, you and your friend came to an agreement. No weapons, no fist fights to the death. You both knew you couldn’t kill each other, so you decided to simply play the game for the last time. The loser would take their lives themselves, with honor. And so you did. It became your last good memory. You were laughing for the last time, giggling like you were back to being school girls beating the popular boys at their favorite game. You still roughed each other up, nearing the end you both couldn’t ignore you were fighting for the death. That one of your lives hinged on this moment.

At the end, it was you who had won. You told her that you could both just back down and go home. You tried to convince her but she was set on this being the end, regardless how much you cry. You still remember what she told you before she slit her own throat clean open with her steak knife right before you, blood mixing with the mud and rain of the arena.

She said “I can’t go back there. Not without that money. I’ve had more fun here with you than I ever did my whole life. I got to be a little girl again with you. I can’t go back. This is the way I want to go, y/n.” And gave you a smile with tears turned invisible because of the rain. But you knew she was crying. “I love you”

then she was gone. As you rushed to her side, screaming her name until your throat was raw and starting to bleed you noticed her face. This look of bliss on her face, this twisted look of satisfaction graced her features as she bled from her self inflicted wound and stained your clothes and soul forever. You see that face on almost every woman. Eyes wide in ecstasy, faint smile and whole face covered in bright red blood. How badly you wished it was you instead of her, how badly you wanted to feel the contentment in life she had in those final not. That day you decided when you died it would be like her on that day.

Lastly, the fourth one you weren’t sure if it really counted as a face. It was the black geometric mask of the man who supposedly put you there. After you won you got to speak with him on the way home. Blindfold sure, but you found a tiny sliver where you were able to make out what he looked like. It was less soulless than the pink guards you had seen. It actually looked like a face, only it was made of many shapes. No one ever has his face, but you see him everywhere, more than any of the others. He’s always in the corner of your eye, you can make out his mask in the shadows of buildings, swearing you can see him watching you through your house window at night. No matter where you are you feel him watching.

For those reasons you almost never go out during the day, preferring to slink around and waste your hard earned murder money on stupid shit or alcohol. After all, why not? It goes without saying you were never the same after the games. It became all you thought about, every waking hour became ‘how was that possible? Who was really behind it? Why would they do this?’ So many questions swirled in your mind. You had theories for each of those questions already sure, but physically no way to know for certain. That not knowing sunk so deeply into your blood and poisoned your mind you came up with a new question to silence the voices that screamed at you and the faces you saw.

‘How do I get back?’

You became obsessed with many insane schemes and ploys to get yourself back in. Countless hours poured into the optimum plan to weasel a way inside the game again and truly figure this shit out. So you went back to the basics

Question: how where the games possible? Answer: clearly it was a high budget operation, meaning the money was coming from somewhere. But I mean come on-that’s too much money for just one person not even including the cash prize! So it has to be multiple people funding the whole thing. Thats theory #1

Question: who is really behind it? Answer: Ties into previous theory. If it’s multiple people, then who? Who’s setting it up and then who’s paying? Clearly that masked man is the leader or else he wouldn’t be so reclusive… but who is he throwing these games for? He said it’s just to give people a second chance but that just can’t be true but it can’t be just for him. There has to be people watching, that’s theory #2.

Question: why would they do this? Answer: clearly it’s not just for helping the poor- that much is obvious. Now here’s the theory you have that will be impossible to prove without going back. You were thinking about the games…. Kids games and team games. Like ones you would see on tv. Then you remembered how many cameras were everywhere. LITERALLY everywhere. Could just be security but it feels like more. Then the amount of cash and not everyone has that much money. What if there was a couple people paying to watch? Honestly you couldn’t tell if you were onto something or on something but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched by something bigger. Theory #3

And lastly and the most important question.

“How are you getting back?”

Why did they pick everyone? Because you had crazy amounts of debt. How did they get you there? Played games in train stations, then got picked up in a car and gassed out.

After months of speculation and planing this was what you could come up with. You had already paid off all of your debt and had so much left over money. You started spending recklessly, at one point just handing out money. People looked at you crazy but you didn’t even know it. You were in your own world let alone had the courage to look at their faces…

You began taking out extremely large loans with no intentions of paying anything. You were going out of your way to accumulate as much debt as possible. Consciously double crossing dangerous people. You kinda hoped sometimes that all these people would be able to find you and put you out of your misery but you were just too good at playing life threatening games. As the year went on you continued to pour so much money into the drain in hopes to be put back on the list for the games. Until that fated time of year came, when you remember being kidnapped.

You eventually realized no matter what you did you’d probably never run out of cash. One very late night after a particularly rough day you decided to gather all your money and dump it into your fire pit and set it all on fire. The tears running down your face contrasting with the wide smile on your face. It was a very bittersweet feeling to watch all the money you killed and almost died for burn in front of your eyes. The money 455 people fought and were slaughtered like animals for being reduced to ashes. But it also felt so good to lose it all and return to at least one about your old life. The time of recruitment was drawing near. You kept wasting money and hiding for your life until you gained even more debt than you had the first time. Honestly you were kind of impressed with yourself- think about it! You were able to accrue more debt in one year than you did your whole life up to this point.

It did briefly cross your mind that if this doesn’t work you literally burned all your money and multiple gangs and organizations wanting to harvest your organs for a quick paycheck. If you don’t get back in this year the chances of you trying again next year before one of many catch and kill you are extremely low. Oddly enough you didn’t mind living on the edge anymore, living within an inch of losing your life daily became so normal to you it almost felt fun. You started to see the world much differently the closer it came to hunt for that elusive recruiter. You think you’re starting understand the whole point of the games themselves.

The more you lived the way you did the more of humanity you saw. The lows of the human experience and the ugliness that controlled the heart of every person alive. And you noticed that the grand majority of these horrors revolved around money. Now that money had lost all value to you it became silly to see all these people just like you were so desperate for just enough money to save them to come along. To be fair it gets to a point where all you can do is pray it will work itself out.

But you watched people run themselves in circles for cash. Kill and be killed for cash. Lie, cheat, betray all for money. You see that no amount of money can take away the wrongs you did for it. All it really is is paper with no actual value. That money doesn’t really mean anything, it’s all an imaginary system people made themselves. All people do to become rich means nothing but they are greedy enough to put money before life. The money means nothing, the actions mean everything.

So then what’s the point of living? If it’s all based off a make believe value system built to extort and corrupt. If everything is rendered meaningless because people put values in the wrong things. If humanity is rotten to the core and unable to see what really matters then what the fuck is the reason to exist?

There is none. Isn’t that beautiful? All that you strive to do in life will not matter once you die. At death a successful man is as poor as a homeless man. In 100 years whatever you did in your small, insignificant life will be forgotten. There’s no point!! You could go and burn all your money, kill someone, lie and cheat and you’d STILL be on the same level as the richest person in the world. That revelation changed your whole view of the world and yourself.

Then the same day came again. The same exact day a year ago when you were suddenly approached by a man with a suitcase full of money and two pieces of paper. You went to the same train station at around the same time as you did before. Your mind was completely fogged with anticipation as your heart raced. You could barely walk straight or hear anything. You had to actually look at people to see if you could see that man, and every face was one you always tried to run from.

You breathed heavily and tears started to prick your eyes as they darted from person to person. You, your dad, your friend. You, your dad, your friend. They were everywhere. You felt as though you were going faint or throw up or both? You knew the people in the station had to be judging you even if you couldn’t quite see them. You felt like a fish In the ocean wandering without a reason. Eventually after you didn’t even know how long you chose to sit down on a bench and you just started to cry into your hands. You heard people mumble about if they should help you or not. Unsurprisingly no one did.

This wasn’t working and you were so fucked. But even as you cried you still believed this suffering was just a drop in the bucket. It didn’t really matter. Not anymore

Just as you were about to call it quits and go back home and hide until you couldn’t anymore you heard a voice so familiar it sent a shock through your whole body. Your head snapped up and a gasp was ripped from your throat

“Ms.(last name). I hoped we’d never have to meet here again”

Your eyes widened as you saw his face. It was the same man who came to you a year ago. You could actually see his face, the first real face you’ve seen on a person since you’ve gotten back since the game. All you could do is look up at him from your spot on the bench with wide delusional looking eyes.

“May I sit here?” He asks politely, to which you responded with a fast nod. He looked at you with this look of… pity? You figured you must look pretty pathetic nowadays. You have maybe 3 outfits total and you really haven’t been eating well. He smiled. before speaking again.

“Your debt has increased since the last time we met, but you knew that correct?” He asks. You nod again. You planned everything but what to say. “Why haven’t you payed it off?”

“Well I uh… kinda did? Most of it now is all new” you said with a shaky voice. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled a bit, finding it at least amusing. You knew it was an impressive feat. “I also set all my money on fire maybe a month or two ago? I’m actually not sure when…” you trailed off, trying to pinpoint the time when it dawned on you that you actually have had no true concept of time. You just know it’s been a year since you returned home. You can only really remember events but the time not so much.

“Ah, grown bored have we?” He mused. You knew that wasn’t quite it but seeing as you didn’t really know what’s made you do everything you have so far, only you knew you had to do it. You gave him another nod. He kept the same customer service type smile as he reached over and opened his case. It was set just as you remembered with the money and the ddakji. You sighed a bit before speaking “do I have to play again? I already know what happens and I don’t really want to be hit right now” you said, not really thinking. You didn’t know if you were in a place to be making requests but here you are.

You got another laugh from him, you didn’t know you were just so passively comical. “You dont have to, no. But maybe it will bring you back to your senses and you’ll live life how you were supposed to”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. ‘Live life like I was supposed to’. Is there any way someone is supposed to live? You didn’t think that way. You weren’t supposed to live any type of way, you should have died in that arena and-

“Are you sure this is what you want to do. What are you trying to gain?” His voice sounded pressed now, clearly trying to guide you into walking away. But if that was going to work you would have kept your money and moved far far away. You didn’t like being talked to like you didn’t know what’s made you were doing. You knew better than anyone you had lost your mind. You knew the things you were thinking, feeling, and thinking were most likely wrong. But you had no other option. No treatment for whatever illness is controlling your life.

“Im not trying to gain anything. I lost what I lost and I want it to stay gone…Please, just give me the card” your eyes were looking dead into his, voice wobbly with both terror and excitement. You held your hand out and you couldn’t even tell it was shaking. You couldn’t tell anything from anything. He lightly shook his head before reaching into his suits breast pocket and pulls out a brown business card. Upon seeing it you almost felt as if you were going to throw up right there. Your throat itched to scream and your legs twitched as if you were about to run away.

However when he placed the card into your hand all you did was close your fingers around it. Whole body shaking as you thanked him for the opportunity, just as you did when he gave it to you the first time. You both stood up and got ready to part ways for the second time. Right as you were about to bow your head he stopped you.

“Don’t become too full of yourself. Just because you won before means nothing the second time. I’ve seen many winners over the years, you will be no different than the other pieces of trash when you die in there. Is that really what you want?”

You opened your mouth to retaliate when he lifted his hand to stop you. “Have a great life, young miss. I hope you make the right decision” he says with his signature smirk and bow he walked in the direction opposite of the way you had to go. Presumably off to recruit more clueless individuals down on their luck. You had to hurry home now, you’d been out far too long and you knew people had people looking out for you. Waiting to catch you and make you pay. You quickly got out of the train station and started on your way back to the shitty, cheap hotel you’ve been hiding in. You’d been in that danm station for so long the sun had began to rise. The sky looked more pigmented, the air felt cleaner and you could actually think without hearing stray gunshots or phantom screams. You looked down at the small card in your clutches and flipped it over, revealing the number you had to call.

For the first time you hesitated in your plan. You were really about to go back to the place that ruined you. You missed the old version of you, when your real personality existed and you had a life. All you do all day is cry and shake and bang your head until you can form a thought. You were nothing like you remember being.

Maybe that’s what pulled you back there. The old you bringing you back to the last place she existed. A part of you actually did die in there, the part that still believed in people. She died right there with your friend, you left your soul in that dirt plot. And maybe you could find her again.

Once you got to the door of your room and got yourself inside you dialed up the number on your card and hit call. It rung a few times and when it picked up the automated voice command the same statement as before.

“If you wish to participate please state your full name and date of birth”

The words got stuck in your throat as you held the phone up to your mouth. This was your last chance to find something within you to back away.

“Y/n, D/O/B” you barely got it out fully as your stomach sank. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for. Nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing-

“Player 444.” That’s him. That man with the black mask, that’s his voice. Hearing your number made you hold your breath and lose your balance. It’s been so long since you’ve been called that name. You knew it was him because his voice changer was a slightly different pitch than the other workers. “What is the point of this?” He asked with a serious voice, bordering threatening. You had an answer for this. “There is none. Get it? If there’s no reason to do it there’s no reason not to.”

He only hummed in response. Seemingly understanding at least a bit of what you said. “I have questions for you” you continued. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This was the point. You just needed to know

“questions?” He repeated. You guess he’s never been pressed by someone before. Small amounts of amusement was in his voice as if shocked anyone would speak to him like that

“Yes questions that’s what I said. Who are you and how are you able to get our information. Where did you take me. What is the point of-“

“I’ll tell you what” he cut you off in the middle of your frantic questioning. It’s probably for the best of you would never had stopped talking for him to even answer. You waited on bated breath, hanging on his words as you kept the phone pressed flush against your skin. Compartmentalizing his voice and how he talks into a file in your mind. “You want to play again because you want to know if your right, is that correct”

what he said caught you so off guard you didn’t even reply when he gave you a chance to respond. Every word got stuck in your throat to the point all that came out was strangled starts of a sentence. “You must have many theories in that little mind of yours. You’re coming because you think you’re smart enough to figure everything out, don’t you?”

Well… like kinda yeah that is what you think. You didn’t really know what to say, he hit it right on the head. You did think you could figure it out, actually you think you already have most of it. Not even his taunting could pull you out of that.

“Let’s play a game. If you can win again we can have a talk and I’ll tell you all you need to know. Only if you’re the last one standing.”

You knew it could never be that easy. With an operation of this scale and price you knew you would never get an offer so open. ‘If you can win again I’ll tell you anything’ they must believe you lost your brains when you lost your mind. Suddenly you did feel like you really didn’t know what you were getting into. It feels like a trap has already been set for you, it feels like they knew you were going to return all along. You struggled to breathe until you manged to force out a “okay”.

There was a muffled chuckle you could barely hear. There was something different now. You weren’t so sure about your plan anymore. He hadn’t said anything out right threatening or scary yet you knew he had something in store for you or else he never would put so much on the line. You just made a deal with the devil.

The original phone opera voice came back to tell you where to be picked up and that it would be this night. The phone hung up after that. All that remained was a deafening silence. It was done. You got what you had so badly wanted. But why doesn’t it feel as good as you wanted. Why don’t you feel fixed? Why hasn’t the old you come back to fix everything? That sinking feeling started bubbling over as you stood there with your phone in your hand. Beginning to hyperventilate you make your way to the crumby hotel bathroom and splash water in your face. You keep from looking in the mirror because you know what you’ll see. It will either be your friend or younger you. It used to be a huge problem when you first got out. Every time you’d forget and see them staring back at you you’d have another break down. Now it just puts you on edge, but it would be best if you just refrained from looking. You keep telling yourself that you can figure it out, you keep telling yourself it doesn’t matter if you live or die in there, you keep believing there’s no point in running from what would free you of your pain. Something deep inside tells you that you are close to seeing what the people who run this game do. That the epiphany they had to come up with this would make it all worth it. All you wanted was to see the bigger picture.

You could die happy and content dying just like your dear friend if it meant you could understand what it was all for. It’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to said and recognized.

You spend hours mulling over thoughts similar to these ones while you counted down the time before being relocated to what might as well be hell. You knew at this point you were walking into a death trap made just for you. You were going to either be granted the privilege of seeing the greater purpose of your suffering. You believed there had to be a reason, someone had to have figured out something huge to make them come to this.

Finally the fateful time reared its ugly head and you tugged on your coat. You looked at your room for the last time. You stood in the door way as your eyes brushed over all you had been. Papers scattered about, bottles of alcohol strewn about and random belongings resting in odd spots. It was time to say good bye once again. You are willing to leave it all behind and relive everything if it meant finding a purpose.

Eventually you arrived to you meet spot, an extremely expensive looking limousine was parked and waiting for you exactly where the phone operator said it would be. It was shiny and black with completely tinted windows. The anxiety you felt caused you to raggedly pant as you approached the car with unsteady steps. You gently opened the car door and stepped inside. The interior was white and luxurious and in front of your seat laid a golden pig. You sighed and closed your eyes waiting for the gas to kick in and claim your consciousness. Tears rolled slowly down your face as every even that happened in the games flash before your eyes. The blood, the screaming, the bits of brains and guts dried onto your clothes, and most of all the severed neck of the only friend you ever had. And to even your surprise you began to smile and giggle as you saw what happened to you play out like a movie in your minds eye. The gas started to be deployed into your enclosed car as your giggles became louder and more deranged. Sobs and laughter being mixed together as everything became hazy and burred.

Right before you black out you hear the masked man’s voice come from the little pigs speaker, loud and clear

“Welcome back, player 444. I hope you are happy with your decision”

_______

Sorry the friend is gonna remain nameless so you can imagine whoever. But next chapter when you get in the games there will be named characters. Again sorry you and in ho barely talked I just needed to get the exposition out before writing the main bits. Thank you sm gang and the next part will be out soon.

Also sorry end is kinda rushed I’m tired

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

"Join me!!!" I'm DEAD- if I wasn't already back on the Eomer/Karl Urban rekindled addiction train, the first gif of of Eomer kidnapped me 😂

omg you're the best, thank you!! 😭😭 I'm so glad you liked the premise! Yeah I want to adapt more of the OFC outline into different one-shots in this same "arranged marriage"-verse lol. At least some parts of that story will get realized. 💓💓

YES! I'm so ready for the rest of their relationship to develop 😊

Everyone talks about Aragorn, but Eomer is a Good Man too! 🥹 I just feel like we didn't get to see enough of how he would be courteous with a woman/his spouse. Maybe not as "gentle" as how we think of Aragorn, but I feel like as a hardened warrior, he'd take pains to be gentle with his (new) wife. 💕

Also this 👆🏻 is so true! Everyone simps over Aragorn- lets be real he IS also very attractive- but Eomer is amazing too! Oh yeah, definetly, Eomer would be gentle in a different way. He's a little bit like Soldier Boy/Ben in that way, that Eomer might be a bit rough around the edges and trained to be a hardened warrior, but he does care deeply about people and you cannot tell me that Eomer wouldn't simp over his wife 🤣

And I'm glad you liked that detail of her not being totally comfortable being that exposed with him yet, despite the fact that he's already "seen it all" lol. I feel like the morning after has a bit more vulnerability to it.

It did have "more vulnerability" and it came across very well 💗! It makes sense because yes they are "married" but they don't know each other very well. They're exploring what's there between the two of them just as much as we are when we read about them!

She's making an impossible feat, amirite? 🤣 (I'd ALSO say thank you for the "snapping" lmao.)

LMAO 🤣

I'm glad that you had fun writing it! It was a lot of fun to read and literally after I had to watch Two Towers to see the man in action lol 👀❤️‍🔥

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader 

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” 

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

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[strawhatmay]

Just a little drabble I managed to write, but it IS my first ever piece of Zosan fanfiction 😭 (althought it is not about them lol) As always, constructive critiscism is more than welcomed.

A friend in the house

[Zoro runs into someone on the way to the bathroom in the Vinsmoke house]

It was late, very late, but Zoro really had to go take a piss, so he got up, grabbed Sanji’s robe and got out of the bedroom as quietly as possible.

 

This big ass house and no private bathroom, just the logic of Judge Vinsmoke, "let's make a gigantic one, practically a mansion, oh toilets? I don't give a fuck, put them wherever." Zoro never met him really, he died when Sanji was 6, good fucking riddance.

Even after the Vinsmoke siblings all turned 21, they still share a house. Sora insisted, she wanted them all in one place as long as they were happy here, and well, none of them had the heart to say no to their mom.

 

So that's why Zoro has to go through a maze to find a bathroom in the middle of the night, instead of just finding one a few steps away from the bed in a hypothetical apartment they would own. Or, Sanji would own, he means. Zoro would love to move in with him, but Sanji might like to have his own place for a bit before that.

 

 

Ah, Sanji. He needs to hurry up so he can go back to bed. They had a little argument a week ago and now they were back, he was back in his arms. It was silly, so silly, they just needed to talk it out, and last night Sanji called him saying he missed him, so Zoro was throwing tiny rocks at his window 5 minutes later.

 

"Yeah that's definitely the bathroom," Zoro thinks when he recognizes the door. Just when he's aproaching it, another figure in a bright pink robe appears in the dark and goes to the door as well. Both in robes so clearly from their respective partners, they stop and stare at each other.

 

 

"Roronoa" she aknowledges, a bit irritated.

 

"Tash" says Zoro, trying to sound friendly.

 

…awkward.

 

"Made up with Blondie?" Tashigi asks with a teasing smile.

 

"Back together with Pinkie?" Zoro answers.

 

She smiles. "Why else would I be here?"

 

"I don't know, maybe you were seeing one of her brothers."

 

"Ew."

 

"Or maybe you sneaked in," Zoro shrugs.

 

"Yeah right, cause I'M the one who climed through Sanji's balcony like three hours ago." Look at that, now she was teasing in a friendly way. Zoro can never tell if Tashigi is a friend or an enemy.

 

"How do you even know about that?" Zoro asks, suddendly worried the rest of the house heard him too.

 

"Sanji's room is right on top of the library, we literally saw you the whole time. You know you can just use the door, right?" she asks him like he's dumb.

 

"It's more fun this way" he says, trying to look nonchalant.

 

She pauses and then asks: "You’re scared of Zeff?"

Caught.

 

"...maybe, so what? He's intimidating" Zoro admits, because really, would anyone blame him?

 

"He's an old chef with one leg," she says, leaning on the wall and crossing her arms. "Besides, he likes you more than he likes me and I'm allowed to use the door."

 

"Yeah well, I've never broken up with *my* Vinsmoke," Zoro says, but then he feels that maybe it was a bit cold, so he adds "no offense."

 

"It's fine, it is what it is" Tashigi says, now seeming a little sad.

 

Zoro knows why Tashigi broke up with Reiju a couple times in the past. Reiju and Sanji are pretty close, and naturally, Sanji tells him everything. He doesn't wanna get too involved in other people's bussiness, but at least he can offer some advice.

 

"Hey, so...I don't know much about your relationship but...I often think I don't deserve him either, you know?"

 

Zoro tells her, carefully.

 

Tashigi looks at him, she seems to be paying real attention now.

 

He continues "and that's ok, it's ok to feel unworthy sometimes, but just...try to trust that she thinks you actually are, that you do deserve her and trust her judgement. It's her decision to be with you, to choose you, you know?"

 

A few seconds pass, Zoro starts fidgeting with the fabric of his yellow robe.

 

"Huh...and here I thought Blondie chose you only because of your boobs" Tashigi says, now fully on her feet, with her hands on her hips. She smiles. Zoro mirrors the smile.

 

"Thank you, Zoro" she says and bumps his shoulder softly with her fist.

 

"You're welcome" he says and does the same to her.

 

Just when they finish talking, the door to the bathroom opens.

A VERY tall guy with purple hair comes out wearing a red robe. He stands in the middle of Zoro and Tashigi, looks between them and says “all yours” as he walks away.

The other two stare at each other surprised.

“…was that Charlotte Katakuri?” Tashigi whispers as she looks at the red robe dissappear in the hallway.

“I can’t believe it” Zoro says, finally closing his mouth. “Did he not completely hate Ichiji?” he adds, whispering as well.

“Right, cause two people can’t hate each other but also want to fuck” says Tashigi and gives Zoro a pointed look.

“…ok, I get it” he answers and looks around a bit embarrassed.

“They are way more controversial than you two though, both captains of rival teams” she half whispers as she gets a bit closer.

“The Charlottes are gonna hate us even more” says Zoro.

“Us?”

“Well, yeah, we’re part of the Vinsmoke clan, aren’t we?” Zoro asks with a frown.

“I guess, yeah, I never thought about it before”

A moment passes.

“Hey, look at us gossiping” Zoro laughs. “Guess now I have a friend in this house” he adds as he opens the bathroom door.

“Hey ‘friend’, why do YOU get to go-“ but the door is closed to her face.

The end.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

You want a request I’ll give you a request lol

I’m too tired and burned out to write myself but I’ll try to get back to the rps as well. No promises but I’ll try ma best

Anyway, you know that joke comic Riu did a while back? Where Lucifer mixed the TV remote and the other remote that’s connected to… Something down in Adam?

Yeah I was wondering if you could write something for that if you haven’t already, and perhaps also with a continuation? 👀

I see you 😉 And take your time! @rius-cave Based on her art

-

Adam sat on the couch waiting patiently for Lucifer, they were supposed to be watching movies together as their date night but the King of Hell hasn't come back yet. Sins meeting probably running longer than normal.

Adam would put money on it that it was Mammon running his fat Christmas tree jester lips.

Lucifer poofed into the living and started removing his hat and coat as he sat down beside Adam.

Lucifer: Hey! Sorry I'm late, the meeting was running too long.

Adam: Mammon?

Lucifer sighed: Yes, that dumb bitch never shuts up. But! I'm here now and it's movie night like I promised.

Adam smiled, they had to really plan out their date nights since Lucifer started taking his King role more seriously. Maybe one day he'll tell him how much it means to him.

Lucifer relaxed on the couch and noticed the remote was next to him, he picked it up and started clicking it pointing at the TV.

Only nothing happened.

So he clicked it more and more.

Lucifer: The hell is wrong with this thing?

Adam gasped and doubled over, the vibrations getting stronger with each click of the remote. He honestly forgot it was in there he got comfortable with it in but now that it was on, vibrating violently against his prostate it was becoming too much and he couldn't even speak.

Adam: Ahhh!! Fffffucccckkk!!~

Lucifer looked at the coffee table where the black tv remote was, he looked at the one in his hand and at Adam.

Oh.

Oopsy.

Lucifer: Hehe, Oopsy my bad Addie.

Adam moaned, his pants tight now. Lucifer needs to fucking pay attention!

Lucifer got closer and sat on his knees, he threaded his fingers into Adams hair and pulled his head back, not rough just enough to make him look at him.

Lucifer: Would you like a little help?~

Adam moaned: Y-yes.....

Lucifer: Yes?

Adam: P-please.

Lucifer kissed him and rubbed the front of his sweat pants. It was a teasing touch and Adam was going insane he needs the release so badly.

The vibration was turned up to max and Adam whined, the vibrations were going up his spine. He gasped when Lucifer put his hand in his hand in his pants and stroked him firmly a few times having him cum.

Adam: Ahhh!!~

Lucifer switched the vibrator off when Adam slumped into the couch and removed his hand.

Lucifer: You did so good baby.~

He placed a gentle kiss on his lips and ran his fingers through Adams hair until he came back to him.

Lucifer: You still wanna watch a movie?

Adam, breathlessly: Yeah......

This time Lucifer grabbed the right remote and turned on a movie with his boyfriend tucked into his side.

[araybiaaa]

hi! can you write a story where rafe and sofia had a daughter when they were very young, but then they broke up because of how difficult their relationship has become, but still had to remain in each other’s lives because of their child. then after years they’re both all grown up and mature, so when their daughter asks rafe to spend new years with her and sofia, he can’t say no to his little girl, and sofia can’t reject her wish either. so they have to spend the night together, maybe leading rafe and sofia to get a little tipsy, get into an argument as they always did but then end up like sleeping together? they both realize that they still love each other deep down.

i don’t know if this is stupid you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to🫶 i just had a dream about this😭😭😭

❝ reconciliations, r. cameron. ❞

ooo. 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈… rafe cameron & sofia

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… mild sexual content, angst, marriage separation, mutual pining, denial of feelings.

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… request!where their daughter inadvertently helps them reconcile after she asks for rafe to stay over.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… i think this is my first official fic of rafia as parents?? this was so much fun to write. i kinda deviated from the ask a bit (not too much though so it’s fine lol.) also this was not a stupid request anon. i think this is probably one of my favorites asks that i’ve gotten.

she seems him before he sees her.

(which is astounding considering the fact that his towering height usually gave him the advantage of overseeing nearly everything in his path.)

he’s barely walked through the room that’s filled with rambunctious toddlers who were all running around and squealing loudly in mirth as they chased each other — probably at the precipice of a sugar high from the chocolate milk they had during snack time, he considers — when he hears iliana’s familiar clamor of “daddy!” that has him averting his eyes away from her teacher whom he greets with a haste wave and genial smile, before shifting his attention on her.

she scoots out of the chair that she was previously seated in, absentmindedly abandoning the uncapped markers and crayons she was using while coloring, and snagged the piece of paper off of the table before making her way towards him.

he smiles, that soft adoring smile that’s always on his face whenever he looks at her and met her halfway, stepping around the clutter of legos that a little boy was playing with on the mat and crouched down with extended arms. he catches her as she runs into his arms, hefting her in the air and adjusting her so that she’s hoisted high against his chest.

“hey, baby.” he greets, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against her cheek.

iliana shuffled the paper that she was carrying around, switching it to her other hand. she extends the now crumbled up paper towards him, smiling widely as she avers, “look what i did!”

with his curiosity piqued, rafe retrieved the paper from her grasp and looked at it. skewed messily across the middle written in a heavy dark pink marker was iliana valdez-cameron; the words were shakily written, contrary to the dexterous feat of a toddler but still tangible enough for him to decipher to make out the gist of it. he could tell she’d worked hard on it as there was still residue of the pink smudge from the marker on the side of her hand.

he gasps, “you did so good baby.”

iliana reveled in her father’s praises, her gapped smile widening. “i did a painting too!” she accents, pointing across the room where the kids’ artwork was still drying on the easels. he followed her directions; maneuvering through the room until he reached hers.

it was a picture of their family; her penchant for details captured his slender physique as he wore his signature suit with the blue tie with red fishes that she gifted him for father’s day, sofia was standing on the other side of him with her widened smile and big eyes, that shone brightly and made his heart flutter even through a child’s painting. and at the end, iliana painted herself, her hands intertwined with her mother’s as they all stood in front of their house, smiling.

he smiles despondently at the sight.

“it’s dry, you guys can take it home with you if you want.” rafe turns his head at the sound of ms. goodwin’s voice approaching. she smiled at iliana before shifting her gaze over to rafe, gesturing towards the painting. “she worked hard on it. she said she wanted you to hang it up somewhere in your office.”

rafe nodded, chuckling softly. “my whole office is decorated with her artwork so that’s not surprising.”

there were drawings, pictures, gifts handmade by her, all around his office. he liked the memorabilia’s she’s made for him as every little piece held a special place in his heart. it was like that at home too — the refrigerator served as a makeshift exhibit, displaying all of the pieces she’s made for him throughout the years.

“hey, baby, can you go run over there and grab your bag and jacket so we can go?” he asks iliana who nods avidly, wriggling herself free from his grasp as he sets her down and allowed her to go over towards the cubby area.

“she’s such a sweet girl and she’s so smart for her age.” ms. goodwin compliments as they both stood there watching iliana multitask in grabbing her bag while also talking to one of her classmates.

“she definitely got that from her mother,” rafe says with a chuckle, “i barely made it through school.”

it truly was astounding how iliana’s nearly a prodigy, so naturally good at school when he was barely able to make it through school himself. if it weren’t all those tutors that his father paid for growing up, he probably would’ve had to repeat a few grades.

“she tells me that you read to her every night. that helps a lot,” she says but rafe doesn’t mention the fact that his reciting bedtime stories for her was usually done over the phone. after the separation, he moved out of the house which unfortunately split the time he got to spend with his daughter. “you’re both doing great with her,”

he hates that his and sofia’s decision affected iliana to where she’s now reduced to spending time with one parent one day and the other the next. he never envisioned co-parenting with sofia; he’d always hoped that when they finally started a family, that it would be all of them together as one but instead he was in a house all alone with nothing but torturous thoughts of regret that haunted him every night.

he was still active in his daughter’s life, but it was nowhere near the same as actually being there, and he felt the repercussions of their decision every time he comes home to a vacant house instead of returning to the one he previously shared with his wife and daughter.

rafe nodded as he looked over at her, a soft smile of adoration tugged at his lips. “thank you,” it was validation that he needed to hear because sometimes he questioned it himself.

he wasn’t always there to tuck her in at night, to kiss and hug her good morning, to comfort her whenever she had nightmares and needed someone to lay in bed with her until she fell asleep again. sure, he was present in her life, but he also felt solemnly absent and withdrawn from his family.

when she’s finally got her arms shoved through the straps of her little mermaid book bag, she hobbles back over to where he’s standing, proffering her arms up in the air in an unmistakable gesture that indicated she wanted to be held. rafe, never being able to deny her of anything she asks, reaches down and tucks his hand beneath her armpits before hefting her in the air.

she entangles her arms around his neck, nestling herself against the comfort of his chest. ms. goodwin observes the two in awe, unable to constrain the adoring smile that stretches across her features.

“tell ms. goodwin, bye.” he says, brushing a hand over her back as she peeks her head up from where it was hidden comfortably against him. suddenly feeling timid, iliana raises her hand in the air and wriggles her fingers, gesturing a small wave. she murmurs a soft and haste bye before turning her head to bury her face back in its respective perch. ms. goodwin fawns over her adorableness, resting a hand over her chest.

“bye sweetheart, i’ll see you next week!” she bids her farewell, before diverting her attention back to the remainder of her students. rafe walks over and snags her now dry painting off of the easel, bringing it along so he could hang it up at home.

…

she’s at home, stood over the stove prepping for tonight’s dinner when she hears the front door opening and iliana’s clamor of “mommy!” that has her smiling as she turned around to see her daughter running towards her in approach. sofia picks her up, wrapping her arms around her small body as she pressed a kiss against her cheek.

“hi, mi amor! did you have fun at school?”

iliana nods, “mhm. i made drawings for you and daddy today!”

“really? well, i can’t wait to see them and hang them up.” she smiles, pressing one last kiss against her cheek before steadying her to her feet. “i’m almost finished with dinner. but why don’t you can go play in your room while you wait, okay?”

“okay, mommy.” she concurs before she skips off down the hallway towards her bedroom. sofia turns around and gauges a look over at rafe who stood tentatively by the doorway with his hands slacked in his front pockets.

“thanks again for picking her up,” she says, tucking her arms across her chest as she leaned her body against the counter.

he shakes his head, dismissing her good naturedly. “you know that i don’t mind, sof. i love any extra time that i get to spend with her.”

she nods, “yeah, i know but still thanks.”

she watches as his face furrows in an indescribable expression; he looks briefly at her before hurriedly averting his gaze. the sudden shift has her curiosity piqued. she was with him long enough to be able to detect all of his tells and idiosyncrasies — she knows rafe better than she knows anyone; which is why she knows with the way he’s pursing his lips and writhing his hands inside of his pockets that something was bothering him.

and almost as if he’d read her mind, he begins to vocalize his thoughts. “so, uh, iliana told me about the trip you guys took to the aquarium last weekend...” sofia nods, albeit blanking confusedly on why he was mentioning it until the realization suddenly dawned upon her. “with uh, what’s his name again?” rafe questions, though she knows it’s rhetorical because with how detail oriented iliana is, she doubts there was anything her daughter forgot to mention while reciting the story of their outage to her father.

she sighs in deep exasperation, already knowing the direction of where this conversation was headed towards. “it wasn’t a big deal, rafe. we were already there and we happened to run into him while he was there with his son.” she clarifies, though she’s not entirely sure on why he felt like she was obligated to explain herself to him any way.

he nods, though still looking visibly abhorred. “i just find it funny how he was around while we were together and he’s still around even now that were separated,” and this time it’s sofia whose eyes narrow in offense because she did not appreciate what he was insinuating in the least.

he was deflecting, trying to blame and fault her to attempt to absolve himself from his own residual feelings of guilt that he still carried.

“what exactly are you trying to suggest? because scott is my friend! i’m allowed to have friends, rafe.”

he scoffs disbelievingly, “your friend? sofia he’s in love with you! i’ve seen how he looks at you! but you’re just too blind to see it.”

sofia’s eyes rolls at the absurdity of rafe’s accusations. but she doesn’t even have the opportunity to rebuttal against them, because their conversation is interrupted by iliana who skips into the room again. she pauses, looking between her parents with curious eyes.

“is dinner ready yet?” she asks and sofia exhales a soft sigh of relief; thankful that she didn’t inadvertently overhear their loud bickering.

the last thing she wanted was for their daughter to hear or witness their disagreement. prior to the separation, they’ve had countless whispered arguments in their bedroom, wary of iliana possibly overhearing them. though they know she doesn’t fully comprehend all of the complications behind the separation, it was still imperative for both of them to remain united in front of her. because even though they were no longer together, it was important for her to know that they were all still family regardless of her and rafe’s relationship (or lack thereof.)

sofia smiles softly as she averts her attention on her daughter. “not yet, baby. it’s just a few more minutes until everything’s done.”

“okay.”

sofia’s eyes wander waywardly towards rafe who sighs softly as he rubbed a hand over his clenched jaw. he placates a halfhearted smile on his face, masquerading his anger and softening his voice before he addresses her. “alright, baby. i have to go.” he says, walking from where he was previously posted by the doorway to now sauntering in the kitchen where they stood.

rafe crouches down in front of her so that their heights are leveled. he reaches for her hands, brushing his thumbs over her knuckles. “i’ll see you next weekend, okay?”

iliana’s eyes look at him pleadingly, her lips jut out in a petulant pout as she stumbles forward and throws her arms around his neck. “can you stay daddy? i don’t want you to go! i miss you.” she murmurs, though the sentiment is loud enough for sofia’s heart to break as she stood there listening to her daughter’s plead.

though it’s been two and a half years since their separation, they know iliana still hasn’t fully adjusted and it’s becoming more evident in how clingy she’s gotten recently. she’s always been a daddy’s girl but this past week she’s been more insistent than ever in wanting to be cemented by her father’s side. the other night, she made rafe read her three bedtime stories — trying to prolong the conversation so she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him.

he holds her against his chest, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “i know. i miss you too, baby,” he says as he tries to assuage the conversation. though through the weariness lilting in his tone she could tell that his feelings were reciprocal of iliana’s. “but remember you and mommy live here together and i live somewhere else?”

she nods curtly against his shoulder, but doesn’t relent in her persistence. “i know, but i want you here again.” she avers, her words had yet to cease in their onslaught of breaking sofia’s heart.

sofia bites on her lower lip, contemplating. it’s after a brief moment of consideration that she concedes to her daughter’s ask. “hey, how about daddy stays over for the night?”

both iliana and rafe’s attention piques at this; their expressions aghast. iliana vocalizes her excitement with a squeal and an affectionate squeeze that she gives rafe, while he looked over her shoulder, staring at sofia with his face marred in a confused but appreciative look.

…

it’s after their bellies are full of food and iliana’s freshly bathed and tucked in that rafe and sofia find themselves alone again.

throughout the night; they remained cordial for iliana’s sake — laughing and engaging in conversation as she talked animatedly about her day. her excitement about rafe staying the night was apparent especially with how she preferred him to be the one to bathe and tuck her in bed tonight instead of sofia.

“you always tuck me in mommy! it’s daddy’s turn this time.” iliana said when sofia teasingly feigned offense over it.

she stood in the doorway, watching with a soft smile as rafe tucked her in and pressed his lips against her forehead. sofia’s smile turned despondent as she reminisced on the times where this was a nightly routine for iliana instead of a seldom one. their separation disrupted the familiarity that she’d gotten so accustomed to and it’s now that sofia realized the extent of how their decision affected her.

“okay, now it’s your turn,” iliana beseeched, retracting sofia away from her thoughts. she blinks, giving her daughter a small smile of adoration as she treks across the room until she’s stood just at her bedside.

sofia leans down and kisses her cheek, her smile widens at the sounds of iliana’s hearty giggles. “sweet dreams, mi amor.” she whispered, before leaning over to turn off the lamp that’s perched on the nightstand. her nightlight turns on; substituting for the loss of light.

rafe and sofia make their stealth departures as iliana suddenly begins to succumb to her exhaustion. she leaves the door ajar, giving her one last brief look over before eventually retreating down the hallway to the living room with rafe following in tow behind her.

“it might not be the most comfortable but these should help,” she says as she extends a pillow and blanket towards him.

he nods, “thanks and thanks letting me stay over. it really means a lot,” he says, his voice soft as he looks over at her.

after their unresolved conversation earlier and seeing him tucking iliana into bed, there was so much that sofia wanted to say to him about everything that happened between them.

things were easier when they first started dating, then somewhere done the line it got so complicated that sometimes rafe wouldn’t even come home and if he did he would sleep on the couch rather than in their bed with her.

they tried so hard to make it work, but it eventually got to the point of no return despite their efforts. of course there were times where she wondered if they gave up too easily on their relationship; but it’s been two years since it’s ended and he hasn’t made one indication of wanting to reconcile. so she conceded, pushing her feelings away until they were buried and dormant, choosing to focus solely on coparenting instead of rekindling their relationship.

it wasn’t until tonight that those feelings decided to resurface again.

“yeah, no problem. iliana really wanted you here so,” she shrugs, watching as his expression weened slightly at her insouciance. “i’m gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

rafe nods somberly as she brushes past him “yeah. night.”

…

he can’t sleep.

he’s laid wide awake, staring vacantly at the ceiling with his mind wandering on sofia. being with her and iliana tonight felt reminiscent of how it used to be when they were together as a family. despite their constant reassurances to iliana that they would always be a family regardless if he and sofia were together or not; it didn’t feel the same as actually being with them like he is tonight.

being here and being able to eat dinner with them as a family only made rafe mourn what he lost when he and sofia separated. he knows that he should’ve fought harder for her and their marriage. she was the best thing that ever happened to him and he let her slip away from him all because of his own insecurities. and now he’s carrying the brunt of his regrets.

he sighs deeply, running a hand wearily over his face. he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think with sofia being in such close proximity to him. he sits up, rubbing a hand over his neck that had began to ache from tension. “fuck,” he murmurs before clambering to his feet.

he retreats into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. as he’s standing there chugging down the drink, he’s taken aback when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. at first, he thinks that it’s iliana — she used to sneak into their bed to sleep with them all of the time when he used to live here, but he’s pleasantly surprised when he looks up and sees that it’s sofia rounding the corner instead.

“hi,”

she jumps, startled, resting a hand over her heart. “ay dios mios you scared me!”

“sorry.” rafe says, swallowing down the remnants of his drink before turning around to set the dirtied glass into the sink. he averts his attention back on sofia. “can’t sleep either?” he questions and when she shakes her head, his mind curiously wondered if the reason for her insomnia was the same as his.

“it really was nice being here with you guys tonight. it felt like old times,”

she nods, turning away from him as she tugged the refrigerator door open. “yeah, she was really happy to see you here again.”

rafe scoffed a bit ruefully as he shook his head. “why do you keep doing that?” he wasn’t trying to get upset, but any attempts at he made at trying to hold a conversation with her, she dismissed.

he’s aware that it was iliana’s doing that allowed him to stay over for the night but part of him foolishly hoped that maybe tonight would be the start of them reconciling. that seemed improbable now especially when she could barely look or talk to him without the subject regarding iliana.

she furrowed a confused look at him. “why do i keep doing what?”

“any time i try to talk to you, you dismiss the topic by bringing up iliana. i thank you for letting me stay, your response is that iliana wanted me here. i tell you that it felt like old times being with you guys again, you say iliana enjoyed seeing me again.”

“well what do you expect me to say?” sofia rebuttals, closing the door as she finally turns around to look at him again. she raised an expectant brow and shrugged, “last time i checked any and all conversations that we have are about her and her only. there’s not anything else that we need to talk about.”

there’s a sullenness that weighs down heavily on his chest at sofia’s disregarding behavior towards him. sure, they weren’t together any more and haven’t been for a while now, but did her feelings for him completely disappear after the separation?

“wow,” rafe surmises in disbelief. “so, that’s it?”

“what did you expect, rafe?! to come back and suddenly we’re one big happy family again? if that’s what you wanted then you shouldn’t have given up so easily!” she abhors, tears line in her pupils and despite her efforts at a callous demeanor her expression wavers the moment her lip trembles. “you gave up first. you pulled away and shut me out. then you moved out and left us,” she says and rafe feels his heart break at her accusations.

his own emotions begin to unfurl.

“i-” he shakes his head, blinking through the tears that fell from his eyes as he sputtered through an explanation. “i left because i thought that’s what you wanted. you weren’t happy anymore, sof. i saw how miserable you were being with me.” he laments, reminiscing on the trajectory of their marriage and how it started off so good but then transgressed into days with them not speaking or touching each other.

sofia nods, “i was miserable, rafe. because you were pulling away. suddenly the job seemed more important than us—”

“don’t say that! you know that’s not true.” he interjects, feeling offended that she would ever insinuate such an absurd statement. “there’s nothing in this world that’s more important than you guys. you two mean everything to me. it fucking kills me knowing that i didn’t fight hard enough to keep our family together. it’s the biggest regret that i carry with me. i love you, sof. i never stopped loving you. all i want is to come home to you guys, not just for one night but for every night for the rest of our lives. i’m sorry that i was distance and withdrawn and didn’t pay you the attention you deserved but i promise i’ll be better, baby. please just give me another chance to prove it to you,” he begs, pleadingly in his spiel.

he’s desperate for her forgiveness.

all he wanted was his family again and he was willing to do anything to ensure that happened. he knows saying i’m sorry wouldn’t even begin to absolve for everything that he’s done, but he hoped it was enough for the moment.

“sof, please. i’ll do anything, baby. please.” he whispers, his desperation is getting more palpable with each passing second that she stands there looking at him with an indiscernible expression on her face. he hoped his pleading apology was enough for her to believe in him again.

it’s after a moment’s contemplation that she’s nodding her head, murmuring a soft, “okay.” that has him releasing a sigh of relief.

he reached forward and cradled her face within his hands and leaned down, brushing his mouth tentatively against hers. “mmfh!” she murmurs against his lips, slightly aghast by the abruptness of it but slowly succumbing to the feeling of familiarity that washes over her as she indulges into the kiss.

his hands slide down her sides and grabs her by the waist, gently pressing their bodies together, before he’s leaning up and slotting his mouth over hers, swallowing away any lingering questions or trepidations.

it’s slow and suave, with rafe’s lips moving delicately against hers. he parts his lips and seeks after her tongue, sucking on the sensitive flesh. sofia moans softly, leaning into the kiss as she slowly loses herself in the feeling of him.

…

his forehead’s hot against her skin as he tucked his face in her neck. sweat’s slick all over his body, causing his hair to dampen and for the salty body fluid to stick against her body. pleasure spreads from the tip of her ears down to her toes that curl when he shifts his hips and thrusted into her without preamble.

sofia writhes beneath him. her hand glides over his ass, tugging his boxers down even further so she could feel more of him against her. she hikes her night gown over her thighs, pulling it up so that the vision of his cock thrusting inside of her cunt is in her view. he revels at the sight; seeing himself filling her with every thrust that he gives.

“fuck, sof.” he murmurs, sliding his hand underneath her thigh and lifting it up to where she’s bracketing it around his waist. this allowed for a change in pace; allowing him deeper, sharper strokes that has her back bowing as pleasure engulfs her.

she whimpers, her fingernails carve into the skin on his back as she feels his pelvis chafing against hers as he rolled his hips into her, swiftly, fluidly, unhurriedly, with such vehemence and vigor that it’s impossible to replicate.

she could feel him twitching inside of her with every pull her cunt gives. she keens and tosses her head back in pleasure.

“sofia-” he grunts again, his body trembling atop of hers. he’s already so close and isn’t positive that he can last any longer with the way she’s clenching around him.

she cums when he presses his thumb against her cunt and massaged at the swollen flesh.

she cries in pleasure, feeling her chest contract as she lulled down from her orgasm. rafe’s seconds behind her, body stuttering and spasming as he fills her with his warm.

“i love you,” he murmurs against her skin, squeezing his eyes shut.

she turns her head and smiles softly at him, leaning forward to meet his lips in another soft kiss. “i love you too,” she says, so naturally, like it’s the easiest thing in the world for her. her smile sages a bit as she sighs. “rafe?”

“yeah, baby?” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses against her skin.

she chews on her lip, shaking her head as she looked over at him. “what’s going to be different this time?” she heard his promises and reassurances earlier, but she needed to know how they were going to make this relationship work better this time.

she didn’t want them making the same past mistakes just to end up separated again.

rafe looks at her in deep consideration. “well, firstly, we’re going to communicate with each other better. i want to know everything you’re feeling and i’ll do the same. if you’re feeling like i’m not giving you or our family enough attention tell me and i’ll do better. you guys have always been my first priority and i’ll do better at showing you that.” he avows, brushing his hand over her back as he leaned down and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“secondly, we’re not going to give up on each other again. no matter how hard shit gets, we’re not separating again. it’s been hell being without you and iliana and i don’t want to experience that kind of loneliness ever again. i’m going to prove that i’m worth being your husband again, sof.” she smiles at the vehemence behind his words, there’s a sincerity in them that has her clinging onto belief. it’s everything that she wanted to hear all those years ago and now that he’s saying them, there’s not a doubt in her mind that he won’t fulfill his promises.

she leans forward to peck a kiss against his lips, whispering a soft i love you, that has rafe’s stomach fluttering and heart swooning. she cuddles against his chest, tucking her face in the comfort of his neck as he holds her against him with his arms barred around her body like he was afraid of letting her go.

[halitis]

look, too many people are calling hugh funny. hes not (baruch hashem). and im not being mean! it is a genuinely accepted fact anongst out friend group, i swear we don't bully him i love hugh he's great but jesus fucking christ man.

i need to explain the type of person hugh is.

hugh is like, the manliest cishet man you know. he wanted to be a tradie, buzzcuts his hair once a year, loves guns and typically Not games like baldurs gate, more helldivers and lol. he plays in valorant tournaments.

however, this is also contrasted with rhe fact that this man is so incredibly autistic, hangs out pretty much exclusively with incredibly gay people, and is like a grumpy old man in a 19 year olds body. he will not ever accept hes wrong, even if everyone is telling him otherwise (we had an hour long conversation in which he just refused to admit or accept that foxes were canines).

hugh, cannot for the life of him, lie at all. he is so incredibly horrible at it. and it has become a fun little game to him to just try and gaslight and lie to his friends, i think this is the only occasion it has ever actually worked which is shocking considering he tries it at least once every conversation.

i still to this day, like 2 years on have no idea why i trusted him. i think it's because our new year's resolutions was to be nice to each other for once and i assume that lying fell under "not nice". clearly i was wrong.

anyway i told hugh abt this post and this is all he had to say

the first time i played bg3 i was screensharing to someone who was further in then me, and immediately upon seeing astarion i was like.... is that a vampire? because i saw the bite scar on his neck and a flash of fangs

and this motherfucker, had the audacity to go, "no look it says his race is elf :) it's probably just an aesthetic thing" anD FOR THE NEXT HOUR. I WAS JUST LIKE... "why is there a bloodless boar here. why is he like that. this man is vampire i swear on god." and he was just like "noooo ur insane dw abt it :) hes just being a little silly :)"

SO WHEN WE GOT TO THE SCENE WHERE ASTARION TRIES TO DRINK FROM MY NECK, I WAS SCREECHING IN VINDICATION. and this MOTHERFUCKER is like "yeah i have no idea why you were believing me, it was pretty obvious."

[ressjeon]

Movie date(s): Kim Taehyung

Genre(s) Eros, Pragma

Row&Seat: Row 4, Seat 3

Menu orders: Fries

I want a PG13 one! Thank you so much! Stay safee.

pairing: ceo!taehyung x wife!reader

summary: your workaholic husband's been out of reach and you're hoping that cooking his favourite food will finally bring him out from his lair.

genre/au: fluff, light angst, suggestive, ceo!au, est. relationship

warnings/content: nothing really? they're just cute and in love ig lol

a/n: i do apologize for this being years late but i hope you've been well! thank you again for requesting back then, i hope you like it :)

☞ part of @btsgoldnetwork’s two hearts, one love valentine’s day event in 2022 🎞💓

🍿 bangtan theatre presents: enough 🍿 purchases for movie tickets and snacks are now closed!

The scene before you is already expected; your husband being holed up in your home office for who knows how many hours now. Being a CEO has never been an easy job and you've accepted long ago that this would be the typical lifestyle you'll have once you marry Kim Taehyung.

However, that doesn't mean that you both never tried to change things up. Making time for each other is the number one thing and changing habits would be the next, in which your husband has yet to come in terms with.

You've just entered Taehyung's study when you notice how he serious he's been working on his current project, his thick brows furrowing in concentration as you approach his form. Your hands slowly land on both his shoulders while you're standing, taking a peak at his monitor from behind him.

"dinner time, tae" you state after a minute of silence.

Your husband tends to get lost in his focus when he has a goal so you waited for a few seconds. His eyes are still fixated on the screen although his shoulders release their tension when you squeezed them, a sign that he knows why you're here.

"i made japchae" you try again, enticing him with his favourite.

Taehyung did smell the delicious scent of savory aroma with hints of sesame oil and sweet vegetables from the kitchen earlier but he just had to get this done. You finish work before him, cooking dinner as soon as you arrive so you both can eat at the same time.

It's one of the changes that you both compromised and he chose not to respond to you when you called him down to eat to maintain his focus.

"hmm"

"love?"

"tae, that's enough, you can continue after eating"

"sorry baby but i really need to finish this for the video conference tomorrow morning. it's for our Singapore branch." he sighs in frustration, not at you but this proposal that he has to submit before midnight.

Taehyung's been feeling awful since he feels like he's taking out his frustrations on you sometimes. He knows you're just concerned because he's been staying up too late just to finish this.

You don't even see your husband every morning but at least he takes the lunch that you prepare for him each night before. Taehyung's known for being hardworking, like how he was in college when you first met. Even so, he's never neglected you in any way so you eventually got used to it.

It doesn't mean that you never cared nor that you're tolerating his unhealthy habit. You just understand him, like how he does understand you. You both have been very open to one another so it didn't get in between you.

People have been telling him that this trait doesn't really matter since he'll inherit their family business anyways. It used to affect Taehyung a lot and it drove him further since he has something to prove.

You both got married after university, right when Taehyung had to take over their family business. Regret never came into your mind when you married him this early because you've been dating for years.

So that means you knew that there's no changing his mind. You take a deep sigh and leaves without a word, sending Taehyung in a little panic that he's upset you. He was about to stand up and follow you downstairs when the doors of his office room opened.

Taehyung wanted to turn around and gauge if you're mad or what. But instead, he continues staring on his laptop; the itch to continue where he left off stopping him from asking you.

Your footsteps near him but you still haven't said a word, just placing the plate beside his computer.

The previous method didn't obviously work on your husband so maybe this one will do.

You approach his form again, planting both your hands on his shoulder and hugged him after.

"want me to give you a massage?" you ask, sounding normal with your lovely tone each time you ask him so Taehyung's a bit suspicious.

He didn't answer right away so you're assuming it's a no. Before you could retreat your arms though, he holds them to stop you from pulling away.

"i'd love to baby, thank you" he smiles even though you can only tell with his bread cheeks.

Taehyung relented because you do seem upset earlier when he didn't want to eat. His tense muscles gradually loosen as your fingers work on his knots, closing his eyes eventually as he scrunches his face. He's beginning to relax fully when you lean in and kiss the side of his bare neck, instantly causing shivers through him.

"japchae's on the table, with your cherry coke" you whisper and Taehyung doesn't want to think that you're teasing him. All he can focus is your breath fanning against his skin, turning his swivel chair around to face you.

Without a word, your husband grabs you towards his lap, his arms hugging around your waist. He looks up at you with pleading eyes, "eat with me?"

"but i already did, earlier when i called you" you reply with no traces of you being upset or accusatory in your tone.

However, it dawns on Taehyung that you ate alone because he ignored you so now he feels bad. You sensed it though, cupping his face right away and kisses him. A form of reassurance that you're not mad at all so he has nothing to worry about.

Taehyung surprised you when he deepens the kiss and you let him, truly missing your husband these days.

"i'm hungry for something else" he rasps but you pretend to be unaffected with how his voice went several levels lower.

"what? you don't want my japchae anymore?"

"of course i do, but you're enough" he smiles, pecking your lips once before he descends to your jaw. You're chuckling in relief as Taehyung continues to leave lingering kisses along your neck, the dinner you prepared for him now long forgotten.

His lips leave your skin for a bit to turn off his monitor while you undo his necktie. Your husband's focus is finally on you, giving you his boxy smile after with genuine admiration in his eyes.

"i love you tae" you sighed before kissing his lips, not letting him respond with how excited you are for what's to come.

[into-fiction]

I don't have a tumblr so, re: "trying to decide what’s more tragic").

I will say that Ariana has had a lot to say about how she feels Glinda was never meant to be a renegade and that her power was knowing when to stay. Basically that she and Elphaba were never meant to be anything other than star-crossed loves. If you believe that, then the first option IS more tragic, bc Glinda never really thought she and Elphaba could live intersecting lives anyway.

BUT

I really think the 2nd one is the ONLY option. There's simply no way that Glinda reasonably thought that Elphaba was actually vulnerable to water, they were up each other's asses for at least weeks but likely months. She clearly tells the people of Oz that her death was "the direct result of a bucket of water", but we also know that she tells plenty of fibs to the people of Oz for the sake of diplomacy. If we ignore Ariana's assertion about Glinda (bc we love gelphie more than she does lol), it's far more tragic.

Of course there is pain in the loss of someone through death, but the knowledge that Elphaba left her behind, this person she loved more than anything, this person that promised to never leave her, is like the loss in death and the loss of love all intertwined. It's like your lover dying and then finding out they never loved you to boot.

tbh I could see arianas point working for option two as well tho. bc I think glinda does believe they were doomed hence why she wouldn’t try and find elphie no matter how much she wanted to.

I think the more tragic part of 2, imo at least, is that there is a level of acceptance and maybe even peace glinda could probably reach with the first.

with the second, she’s sort of stuck in limbo. she’s burdened by the knowledge of what could be or what may be. additionally, the realization that elphie did not melt is not a guarantee that she is currently safe and unharmed, meaning a part of glinda will always wonder. a part of her will always be going back and forth over whether she made the right decision. a part of her will also always be thinking what can I do to make her come back? and her heart breaks a little more with each day that it doesn’t happen

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Just realized Amy looks like Anya Forger lol cool 😂 jk but hey, do you think they'll change her design for Sonic 4 a little bit or not? You know like how Tails and Shadow had a little change (improvment) in design after their post-credit appearances at the end of movie 1 and 2? Her head design looks perfect enough to me, I alreasy love her so much! 😍 And I'm sure they'll come up with an overall nice movie outfit. 😌 Alhough I'm guessing if they do change anything about her face/head, it could be, adding two bigger strands of eyelashes to stand out like the game design, or making her eyes rounder to look more like Sonic's (than Blaze's or Shadow's). 🤔 What do you think?

Hi Hon❤️✨

You know, I don’t think that Amy Rose would go through serious changes. Other than the cloak that she’s wearing, I could see it being tweaked just a bit. Maybe round her eyes a bit more, as suggested. The eyelashes look adorable. I don’t think that minimizing it to two strands would appeal to the aesthetic that SCU has to offer. The fluffy eyelashes work.

I do, however, see them addressing Amy Rose’s lack of quills. Compared to Sonic, Shadow, and Knuckles, she doesn’t have any on her head. It looks extremely fluffy—she’s got a bob cut! It’s cute! But where are her quills? Now, if this were me, if I were a crew member of the SCU team, I’d use this to my advantage. Use it as part of the lore for telling Metal Sonic’s story. The landing that he makes from the sky sparks blue energy, even the charge in his arm canon is pink. That particular Metal Sonic might have a blue and pink quill powering him. This would be a great opportunity in telling that Metal Sonic copies each other their biodata from their quills.

Essentially what I’m saying is that all of the Metal Sonics that are there have Amy Rose’s quill and she’s getting them all back before they take Sonic, Shadow, and Knuckles. (More than likely they fell from her head due to stressful situations, not plucked. Like how Sonic’s fell in the first movie). Her design alone is great and might be used for storytelling in Sonic 4!

[twola]

I’m sorry for asking but I don’t know where else to turn but— do you or anyone else who might see this question have any tips for writing Mary Linton? Especially in a fic where Arthur falls in love with a female oc or a reader. I find it hard to write without either demonizing her or making Arthur look completely uncharacteristically over her. That being said, I have no problem with the fics that dive into their dare I say toxicity of a relationship but I just don’t want to be extreme lol

So I don’t claim to be any kind of expert on this, but I’ll tell you my way of approaching it. There is no right answer on how to approach this; it is all about how you want to approach. That is the joy of fandom. I’m not sure if this will even qualify as tips, but I’ll just extrapolate on my approach.

In my writing canon, Arthur certainly still cares for Mary. Pines for her. After all, she was his first true love. Mary also pines for him, she loves him deeply, but cannot condone his lifestyle, and cannot live within his existence. Frankly, he’s a murderer. A killer, a thief, an outlaw. An overall bad person, even he says so.

That’s why she begs him to run away. If only he can give up being an outlaw, it will work!

But that gets into the toxicity. Is that asking too much because it is that is who Arthur is? Is that asking too much to change? We as the players mostly think so. But we also play AS Arthur. For Mary, someone who was never forced to scrape by, Arthur’s behavior is abhorrent. From her perspective, it shouldn’t be that much to ask of Arthur to stop being a bad person.

Mary has the luxury to ask that of him. She has never had to scrape by for existence. She has never had to resort to criminality to live.

In my writing canon, I think that is the difference. If a female OC is running with the gang because they are an orphan, an outlaw, a widow, an outsider with nothing, that OC doesn’t have the luxury to ask Arthur to change.

Arthur sees and knows that he can never give Mary what she’s asking for. He’s not going to change his ways (in the canon, he is not going to leave the gang, which he loves also).

But over time, there is that OC… she may be there. They may bond. There may be tension. There may be attraction. She doesn’t ask Arthur to change.

Mary’s love, tragically, is conditional. Which I can’t blame her for!

I love you, but you need to change. For you, for me, for us.

Maybe that female OC isn’t asking Arthur to change.

I love you, in just the flawed way that you are.

I actually like Mary Linton. As soon as I finished the game I actually started writing an A/M fic. Their love story is incredibly tragic. They both obviously love each other, but are unwilling to meet on either side of the chasm between them.

So writing Mary, I try not to make her mean, or out of touch, or overly manipulative. I write her as a woman deeply in love with a man who won’t make that final commitment to her. And the asking for help that she does? Very much part of it is to see Arthur again, because again, she is in love. And he loves her too. And always will.

But he has room in his heart to grow. Maybe part of it will belong to his first love. But maybe he will grow to love a woman that does not or cannot ask him to fundamentally change.

I hope that answers your question…? Maybe? Or maybe that is just me rambling.

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 13 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

We end up in a completely different place in the midde of...nowhere?

This floating rock is just chilling in the middle of the ocean, okay. Yeah that's fine. Just don't let any fishermen or adventurers notice you at all.

Oh! Maybe the reason why it's got nothing to worry about is because it's surrounded by a magic invisible barrier that doesn't let people outside notice it. Kinda like how Grougaloragran used the same method for Oma Island and how Phaerys used it at Yugo and Adamai's birthday party in the manga between season 2 and the ovas.

Uuuuhhh....

Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh......!!!

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

IS THAT DARDONDAKAL!?!?!?!

I thought seeing Grougalorasalar was going to be enough for the Great Wave, but apparently, we're having another primordial dragon here! Nice ✨️✨️

For those who don't know, this new guy is Dardondakal, one of the six primordial dragons of the World of Twelve, which means he's also Grougalorasalar's brother.

In case we might see the other primordial dragons, here's a helpful reminder that shows you each of their names, dragon forms, and which dofus they originated from.

(You have no idea how helpful this image helped me through the years whenever I had to remember one of their names for an explanation. Only Aguabrial's name was the easiest to remember, and now Grougalorasalar's name became just as easy too. I feel like when we get a proper introduction for each dragon, it tends to become a lot easier to remember their names.)

Dardondakal actually looks nice in his human form, but I don't know who the dragon he's worryingly looking at is. But it's definitely another one of Dardondakal and Grougalorasalar's primordial brothers though (man so many dragon names are tiring my tongue out why are they so complicated to write and say??) so I'm betting my money on Terrakourial for being that possibility.

Awww???

Dardondakal has beef with Julith lol

You'd think it'd be awkward to face the wife of your deceased guardian who had also gotten falsely accused of killing said guardian 🥰🥰 but nope Dardondakal at least knows the truth but he's still mad that she's here and almost beat his ass.

Yeah, Jahash (a bontarian huppermage and the past leader of Bonta's army) is Dardondakal's guardian. You gotta watch the Dofus movie for that.

Bro's just standing there not even looking 😭😭 Also what is up with everyone choking people in this manga?? First it's Amalia getting choked in a dream, then It's Aurora choking Amalia, and now it's Julith getting choked by Dardondakal.

Like damn, twelvian people really love necks.

Back in the last chapter, I was unsure if Julith was wearing clothes underneath her cloak but now that she's moving more, I can safely say that she won't catch hypothermia any soon. But it is weird that she's still isn't seen talking...Like what is up with that?

Also even though I never expected Dardondakal to have been much softer than I realized, it makes some sense. The Dofus movie depicted Dardondakal and Grougalorasalar as opposites in every way. Even their colors are the opposite of each other. So I guess acting like the opposite of your brother was planned ever since the movie.

Dardondakal almost getting his ass beat by Julith seriously makes me wonder what he might've thought of her and his own guardian getting married together.

Like he obviously doesn't like her in the slightest and thinks she's way too rough and barbaric so just imagine how he might've reacted when he saw her and Jahash getting married and having Joris lol

...oh yeah uhhhh...Don't go to Brakmar rn Julith....Toross fucked it up. I wonder if we'll ever see its state in upcoming chapters or even in season 5...

But even when Dardondakal doesn't agree with Grougalorasalar's methods, he's still stubborn and doesn't change his ideas even when his brother tells him that it's kinda messed up.

Do you realize how far gone he is with his plans when even one of his brothers can't get to him??

I seriously wonder how the encounter with Yugo could've gone out if Dardondakal had been there with Grougalorasalar.

Either Yugo would only attack Grougalorasalar, or there would've been NO POISON AT ALL.

But wait...if the belladone poison never happened, then Amalia wouldn't have kicked the two useless royal osamodas out...

Okay you know what? It's actually a good thing that it was only Grougalorasalar and Julith who came. Because they unknowingly made Amalia push herself to kick the useless turds away.

And while I'm still thinking about it, I don't think Dardondakal, despite being the softer one between him and his brother, could've kept his cool better than him. He literally lunged at Julith's neck for being the reason why so many lives lost. And she wasn't even the one who initiated the sacrifice! It was Grougalorasalar! AND BRO KNEW THAT!

Everyone's a hypocrite in this family 😍

But even when I thought that Grougalorasalar would've revived Julith to assist his fights, I never would've imagined that he would have brought her back for 'non-combat' reasons. Like what is that supposed to mean??

Julith was called the butcher of Brakmar for a reason because she literally perfects in fighting. So telling Dardondakal that that's not what she's here for makes me wonder if she won't be there to manipulate a certain little blue-cloaked guy....

Oh god....

Is this why we can see Joris in a later chapter cover???

Is that why Julith is even there? To make sure that Joris meets her once more and they talk one on one??? For what reason?? To bring him to her side??? In the Dofus movie, younger Joris was with her during some of the events transpiring and he had legitimately thought that she would be good for some time but NOPE!

Joris won't get fooled twice. He was a kid back then. The thought of seeing his mother once more will obviously shock him because he knows she died back then. But there's no way he'll willingly come to her side.

It's time like these where you know no one knows what the hell they're doing 🥰🥰

I do agree on one thing with Grougalorasalar in this chapter: even if you think your ways are brutal and forceful, you'll have to apply them with the utmost confidence. You cannot be seen doubting yourself or look soft when you act. It'll just make you look like a wimp and especially someone who doesn't know what they're doing.

Also uhhh....Is something happening to their other brothers? The dragon we saw in the beginning was clearly one of them, which is why Dardondakal was seen shedding a slight tear. This entire cavernous room might as well be that very same dragon's lair, and Dardondakal just came to visit.

Grougalorasalar....Clean whatever shit your bothers are in BEFORE dealing with Yugo.

Like that is basic knowledge 101. You HAVE to deal with your own problems before messing with other people's problems.

Everyone here should go to therapy at this point.

I wonder what Joris will think about all this.