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hotgeniusreid · 4 months ago

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Have you ever tried… This position?

Aaron Hotchner x F! Reader

Mentions of: Sex, P in V (wrap it b4 you tap it), riding (SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY YEEHAW), oral (M! Receiving), not proofread we die like men

!!!NSFW/MINORSS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

One thing you had come to realize since your relationship with the BAUs Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner was that without a doubt, he was a very dominant man. He’d soften up when he’d come home from work and see Jack, but in bed? The dominance continued, not that you were complaining but you had spent many lonely nights wondering what it would be like to be on top just once, would he lose his composure? What noises would he make?

You sighed, once again losing focus on the book you were reading, letting out a groan of frustration and tossing the book on the couch, you were losing your mind over something so trivial, you loved being under him, but the thought of being the one on top had you spiraling, you had to experience it at least once and then you’d stop obsessing over it. Standing up from the couch, you had made a decision, thankfully Jack was away at his aunts house for the night, and Aaron was coming tonight from a rather difficult case, you had made up your mind, your were going to ride this man like if your life depended on it.

You had it all planned out, hopping out of the shower, you blow dried and styled your hair, and slipped on your favorite lingerie, a baby blue lace babydoll nightgown with matching lace panties, one night during a girls night with the BAU girls, you had confessed that you had a thing for buying pretty lingerie, you never really had the chance to wear them though, because Aaron always cut right to the chase, always taking you to the room and commanding you to strip with that dominant tone. You did your makeup subtly, and dolled yourself up with some jewelry, spraying his favorite perfume you own, and slipping a short silk white robe on top. Looking at the time, you realized you still had more than enough time to cook dinner and set up the table.

The sound of the door opening and keys being dropped into the bowl by the door signalled that Aaron was finally home, you slipped out of the kitchen and met him at the door, “Hi honey, how was the case?” You murmured as you wrapped your arms around him, standing on your tiptoes to press your lips to his, his arm wrapped around your back as he returned the kiss, “A bit tiring, but we managed to catch the unsub, how are you? Where’s Jack?” He asked, looking around, waiting for Jack to come out and welcome him home. “Jack is having a sleepover with Jessica tonight, said something about a movie night.” You smiled softly, “Come to the table, I just finished making dinner, it’s your favorite.” Turning around, you walked off to the kitchen, his eyes finally raked over your body, breath hitching at the fact that you were wearing the smallest silk robe that looked so nice against your body, he could feel himself growing hard, if only he knew what was under.

He walked into the kitchen, the smell of a home cooked meal making him smile, he loved you more than you could ever know, and seeing you do something so domestic such as serving him food truly made him appreciate just how much you did for him and Jack. He wrapped his arms around you as you began serving the food onto plates, “All right, what’s the big idea hm? Cooking my favorite meal, and looking so pretty, what did I do to deserve this?” You let out a giggle, throwing your head back against him, taking in the fact he was home, “nothing, just wanted to show you how much I missed you, I also happened to have a lot of free time today.” A chuckle escaped him as he shook his head, “Honey you spoil me, takeout and a movie would have been just fine, unless, there’s an ulterior motive for this?” He said, his hand stopping at the tie on your waist. Setting the plate down on the counter, you froze, had he really found you out? Turning around and looking at him with a pout, “Me? Ulterior motive? You wound me Aaron. But maybe I suppose you might be right.” You murmured sensually, turning around and pressing a kiss to his neck, he let out a low hum as he gripped your waist. “I think dinner can wait a little longer, I think I’m hungry for something else.” He said, his voice deep and wanting.

In an instant, his hands were at the tie of your robe, loosening it, a groan fought its way out of his throat at the sight of your lingerie that he was not expecting, his eyes raking down your body, he took in how well the lingerie hugged your curves, he licked his lips, “God you look so fucking pretty baby, this all for me?” You nodded your head, “Why don’t we go to the room?” You said turning around and walking to your shared room, swaying your hips, his pupils dilated, taking in the sight of your ass, he palmed his now achingly hard cock, ridding himself of his shoes and following you to the room. He closed the door behind himself and the moment the door closed he was on you, bringing your body against his, his erection pressed against your ass as you let out a mewl, you wanted to submit to him right then and there, but you remembered the task at hand.

You turned him around so that his back was facing the bed, you pressed your lips to his and walked him backward til his legs hit the end of the bed. Aaron sat down, you dropped down, knees on the floor, looking up at him through your lashes, you began to palm his hard cock through his slacks, a low rumble sounding in his throat, you smiled at him, “Aaron your so handsome.” You murmured, “Especially like this.” You breathed, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, bringing them down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth always watered at the sight of Aaron’s cock, long and girthy, the tip red and angry, with a pearl of precum adorning it, you licked a long strip from base to tip, before taking his tip in your mouth, a sigh escaping from him as he tangled his hands in your mouth. “You always look so pretty, but your so gorgeous when you have my cock in your mouth.” You moaned around his cock at his praise, taking more of him in your mouth, you bobbed your head up and down, groans and sighs escaping his mouth at the feeling of you giving him head.

You loved riling him up by sucking his cock, the weight of his cock in your mouth never failed to get you wet, the heady taste never failing to make you so needy, you took a deep breath, before swallowing his cock to the base, a moan escaped his throat as his hand tightened in your hair. You pulled off of him, a string of saliva and precum the only thing connecting you to his cock, the string snapped and you wiped it as you stood up, straddling Aaron, bringing your lips to his desperately, your tongues clashing and spit slipping from the corners of your mouths, you grinded yourself against his hard cock, a gasp escaping you at the feeling of cock pressing against your clothed pussy, “Fuck Aaron, wanna ride you so bad.” You whined, circling your hips, he let out a breathy chuckle, “Is that what this is about baby? Wanna ride my cock?” You nodded, a whimper falling from your mouth as he grabbed your ass roughly. “Yea, wanna fuck myself on your cock baby.” You pulled your panties to the side, too desperate to completely pull them off, you moaned at the feeling of your bare pussy against his cock, you bucked your hips at the feeling, your head finding a place on his shoulder.

You heard a dark chuckle before you felt a hand tangling in your hair and pulling you upright, forcing you to stare at Aaron, “If your gonna ride my cock, your gonna fucking look at me while you do it, you can be a good girl and do that right?” You nodded vigorously, whimpering at the feeling of your hair being pulled, you lifted yourself, lining his cock up with your entrance, and dropping yourself down on his cock in one movement, a gasp fought its way out of your throat, you knew Aaron was big, and usually when he’s on top he fucks you so good, but the feeling of being on top and the fullness you felt was something you could have never imagined, you threw your head back, trying to regain your composure, Aaron littered kisses against your neck, “Breathe baby, eyes on me.” He murmured, encircling his arm around your waist, you took a deep breath, and looked at him, the sight of him under you was exactly what you wanted, heavy panting and lidded eyes, you clenched around his cock at just the sight of him looking so fucking sexy. He let out a growl, his thumb digging into your side at the feeling of you clenching around him.

You pressed your forehead to his, staring into his eyes as you lifted yourself up and dropped back down, moans coming from both of you as you began bouncing on his cock, “F-Fuck you look so pretty like this, all ruined over my cock.” He was panting, his hand on the small of your back guiding you to rock your hips back and forth, the action causing friction on your clit, you clenched around him once more, a wanton mewl slipping from you, you placed your hand on his chest, pushing him back til his back was on the bed, you continued rocking your hips against him, “Mmm, Aaron feels s’good, fuck your so big.” You were a mess on top of him, you had spent so much time thinking about how it would feel to be on top, and now that you had it, it was indescribable, you were in your own little world, relishing in the feeling of how deep Aaron was, Aaron planted his feet on the bed, thrusting up into you, a scream tore from your throat, instantly losing your balance and tumbling into his chest as he continued pounding into you from below, moans and cries of ecstasy falling from your lips.

“A-Ah Aaron, gonna cum!” Tears were trickling down from the pleasure he was giving you, you met his thrusts, bouncing up and down, chasing your high, your hand on his abdomen, feeling the coil in your stomach threatening to snap, “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me hm? That’s what you wanted right? To cum while you were riding me? Go ahead baby” He murmured, holding off his release so you could let go first. A choked sob came from you when he brought his hand down to your clit, your orgasm washed over you, waves and waves of pleasure, your thighs trembled and you clenched tightly around him, the feeling of you clenching around him so tightly triggered his own orgasm, hot ropes of white cum staining your insides, you wrapped your arms around his neck as you both came down from your highs, Aaron let out a chuckle, “So this is what you got all pretty for? You wanted to ride me?” You hid your face in his neck, “It’s been on my mind since you left for the case, and it was frustrating me. Had to do something about it.” You mumbled.

He rubbed your back lovingly, “Cmon, let’s go shower and go eat dinner.” You laughed softly, “Oh now you care about dinner?” You smiled up at him, “I cared about dinner from the moment I got home, you just distracted me honey.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, he pulled out of you, you whined at the loss and grimaced at the feeling of his cum leaking out, he stood up, picking you up bridal style and taking you to shower, but to no surprise, he fucked you in the shower, saying something along the lines of ‘having to thank you for riding him’. Lying down in bed, thoroughly satisfied, you looked at him, a smile gracing his features, “I love you.” He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before leaning down and kissing you softly, “I love you too.” You said as you snuggled into him, basking in the post sex haze.

When Aaron went into the office the next morning looking well-rested and in a good mood, Morgan patted him on the back, “Had a good night last huh?” Morgan teased, smirk on his face, Aaron smirked back “A very good night indeed.”

#criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader smut

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lordprettyflackotara · 1 year ago

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Till Dawn || Eyeless Jack || part two

SMUT 18+, tw: unrealistic demon sex (sorry not sorry, MASSIVE breeding kink, mentions of eating organs (duh, it’s ej), some blood but nothing too crazy, size kink, all the things you’d expect from a fic with ej tbh

part three is here

EJ avoided you like you had the black plague.

It’s not because he wanted to, not by any means.

In a perfect world he would be tangled in your bed sheets right now, not standing in his bedroom at the mansion.

One hand was keeping him steady from falling over, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. His breathing was jagged, from trying to ignore what he knew to be happening.

He tried to avoid the overwhelming feeling, the craving.

Because EJ knew without a shade of a doubt, he was in heat.

EJ’s heats came once a year, right around the beginning of summer. The first time it happened he thought he might explode, his urges almost landing him with a knife in his hand.

(Note to self: don’t try to fuck Jane).

The second summer he as more adjusted, the third even more so. He had grown accustomed of what was going to happen, to the extent where the members of mansion set up precautions for him.

Typically he would stock up on food, then lock himself into his medical lab as if he were a rabid dog.

The slightest movement or sound could make him go feral, the demon unable to control himself.

Every year this had worked, his heat dying down after about maybe a month.

But this year, was different. All because of you.

In previous years he had never had a mate, nor had he truly considered getting one. He thought humans to be too fragile. Not to mention the fact he didn’t know if it was scientifically possible to procreate with one. Which was exactly what his body was screaming at him to do.

You invaded every inch of his mind, his heat refusing to subside for even five minutes to allow him some peace.

EJ knew that if he were to allow himself to enter your town, it would be game over.

That he would be buried inside of you in mere minutes, not caring where you were. If everyone had to see him mate with you, so fucking be it. Logically, however, EJ knew these thoughts were absurd and insane. If he was going to ever see you again, he could not allow himself to see you during his heat.

Yet, he knew where you lived. He knew your schedule like the back of his hand. When you’d be at work, when you’d be at the gym, when you’d be home. In bed. Curled up into an adorable, fuckable ball. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

A knock on the laboratory door snapped him out of his thoughts, the demon trudging towards the door. He unlocked it, staring down at his fellow resident, Jeff the killer. “Hey fuckface, Ben told me you were running low on food. Consider this a favor,” He said dryly. He held up a brown paper bag, oozing with blood and other unidentified bodily liquids. With one sniff EJ knew that inside of the bag was a heart. Not his favorite, but it’d do.

EJ lifted his arm slowly to grab it from him, muttering a thank you. He acted as if he were afraid to hurt Jeff, unsure of what he would do if the two interacted any way out of the ordinary. “Fuck dude, you don’t look good,” Jeff commented. Jacks hand flew to his face, realizing his mask had been discarded during one of his meltdowns. Out of instinct Jack bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His pale roommate raised his hands, signaling he didn’t mean harm.

“Not trying to get your panties in a wad, you just look worse for some reason this year,” Jeff explained. Truthfully his dark gray skin did look paler, his hair ruffled and sticking to his forehead from sweat. The last person on the face of this planet Jack wanted to admitted this to stood right in front of him. “There’s a girl,” Jack managed to huff out, his voice several octaves deeper then normal.

Jeff’s permanent smile curled even further upwards, producing a genuine one. “Well i’ll be damned, my Jacky boy has finally found a woman. Did you lose your v card yet?” Jeff asked. EJ would’ve rolled his eyes if he had them.

“Jeff.”

“Okay okay alright, well you’re in heat right? Why don’t you go see her?” The pale killer questioned. Millions of scenarios ran through EJ’s head, almost all of them ending with your organs in his hands. It wasn’t just breaking you that he was afraid of, but it was the unavoidable hunger that washed over him after fulfilling his filthy desires. “Human,” EJ managed to choke out, his mouth running dry. The word was something that his fellow residents cringed at, Jeff’s eyes going wide.

“Demon boy is entangled with a human? I must be in the twilight zone,” Jeff muttered. Out of all of the residents in the mansion, Jack was the most likely to break a humans bone by mistake. His strength was incomprehensible, EJ unaware of how harsh his touch could be. Jeff eyed his roommate carefully, evaluating his condition. He usually didn’t care to get involved in Jacks life, the demon preferring to live solo.

Yet, it was disheartening even for him to see EJ like this.

“Look there’s no point in wallowing in misery. There’s no guarantee you’d kill her,” Jeff said. His attempt to comfort EJ was poor, one that made Jack furrow his eyebrows. “Your heat is going to be fucking miserable if you don’t at least try dude, don’t be a pussy,” He stated bluntly. EJ furrowed his eyebrows, before nodding. He had to know. Could he control himself? Would you have him?

He could do it. He could find the will to focus on the lust and not the hunger. He could do it. For you.

EJ huffed in response, grabbing his shirt from a nearby dresser. Jeff put a hand up, stopping the demon in his tracks.

“Dude, take a shower.”

Jack couldn’t get to you fast enough. He took several shortcuts to your house, even venturing as far as to run across several popular roads. He had to see you, to feel you. His body was engulfed in open flames, yours being the only way tame the fire. By the time he got to your house he was out of breath, unsure of how to approach you.

Faintly he could hear your heartbeat, the noise alone making him swallow. He had eaten the gift Jeff had given him before he left, ensuring to scrub every last bit of his mouth with a toothbrush once he was done. But the hunger that haunted EJ needed more than just an organ to be satisfied. Questions circled his mind, unsure of how to approach you. Should he knock on the door? Break in?

His gaze landed on the tree he had previously climbed, the large branch still conveniently in front of your window. Jack decided on the old fashioned way, climbing up the old oak tree. He got an odd sense of deja vu, warmth spreading through out his body at the sight of you. You were in bed, reading a book beside your nightstand lamp. You looked so peaceful, your attention completely engulfed.

EJ considered leaving, letting you continue your peaceful human life. That was, until he realized you were wearing his hoodie. Your legs were curled to the side, your chest concealed by the familiar cotton EJ wore everyday. Maybe it was for comfort? No, you missed him. You needed him. Maybe as badly as he needed you. It was in that moment he decided to be selfish, knocking on the glass.

Your eyes darted up, brightening at the sight of the demon crouching in front of your window. You tossed your book aside, running over to let him in. Your legs were bare, your soft skin exposed to him. There you stood, completely exposed to a six foot demon. And you dared to smile.

“Jack?”

EJ struggled to form any words, slipping into your room. He knew his presence alone was incredibly selfish. You were so small, his body towering over you without even trying. Your eyebrows furrowed, your head tilting to the side. “Jack? Are you okay?” You asked, your voice sounding so small. So soft. EJ couldn’t barely find it in himself to look at you, afraid of the urges that soared through his body.

“I’m in heat,” He managed to say, his voice sounding strained. You hesitantly grabbed his hand, guiding him to the bed. EJ sat down on the edge, purposefully holding his gaze to the floor. You sat down beside him, studying his intense posture. He was breathing deeply, veins poking out of his arms. “You’re… In heat? Like an animal?” You asked, seeking clarification. EJ nodded nervously, ashamed of the lewd confession.

It was as if he had never fucked you, with how embarrassed he felt.

“Okay so, what does that mean, um, exactly?”

Your words were so innocent.

He had to see your face.

He had to admire you.

From the moment he lifted his head, he was on you. In a swift motion he had pinned you to the bed, hovering over you. You smelled so fucking good, it was practically intoxicating. “I can’t control myself, I, I mean, I need-” EJ panted, struggling to find the words to explain his situation. He hadn’t needed to explain his heats to anyone in years, nevertheless a human girl. “You need to fuck something, right? And to cum?” You questioned.

Jack swallowed hard, your legs on either side of his waist. He could practically feel your core throbbing for him, his shaft growing harder in his pants. The sensation made him let out a low growl, before trying to swallow the sounds back down his throat. You had the gist of it, but he didn’t think you truly understood the danger you were in.

“I need to breed,” Jack stated, emphasizing the last word. Your small fingers curled under his mask, lifting it and tossing it aside. Your fingertips traced his jawline, the simple affection making his heart begin to race.

“So breed me then.”

Your words had sealed your fate.

His mouth was on your lips before you could process it, the tension growing hot and heavy within seconds. Jacks large hands trailed up your body, shoving your hoodie over your head. Your bare chest was exposed to him, your nipples hardening exposed to the cool night air. “No bra? You filthy bitch,” EJ grumbled. His lips strayed from yours, his body desperate for release. He tried to remember to be careful with you, to take the time to stretch you out.

He barely fit the first time, nevertheless if he didn’t take the time to do some foreplay. EJ didn’t want to hurt you, even if it meant putting himself through agony. His lips strayed to your neck, sucking harshly at the skin. He had to make a conscious effort to not bite, his teeth grazing your skin ever so slightly. He ensured to avoid any crucial arteries, just in case he cut skin. You whined under him, the smell of your arousal filling his nostrils. But as Jack inhaled, he smelled something else familiar.

“J-Jack?” You whispered, the warm feeling of blood trickling down your neck alerting you. Jack leaned back, taking in the damage. It was a thin line of blood, the crimson red paint staining your soft skin. He swallowed as he leaned back, panting. “No we can’t do this, i’m going to lose control,” He said, speaking a full sentence for the first time in weeks. Jack backed away from you, panting as his boner continued to rage on.

The smell of your arousal, fear, and blood, was enough to make EJ hump a pillow to get off. He put his hand over his face, covering his nose. “What? Jack i’m fine,” You argued. The demon shook his head no, trying to restrain himself. The blood dripped down your neck onto your collarbone, the sight alone mouthwatering. He pressed his back flat against the wall, shaking his head no. You didn’t have any idea how badly he wanted you. The fact that you didn’t only made the situation more dangerous. You placed your hand over your small cut, the wound evident that EJ wasn’t careful enough with you.

“I can handle it, just-” You began. You struggled to find the right words, to convince him to take you. To breed you right there and then. “Just clean it,” You say, unsure if you even said the right thing. EJ’s eyebrows raised curiously, his prey asking him to clean her wound. “Are you sure?” Jack said, his words almost entirely muffled by his hand. You yanked away his wrist, forcing him to fully inhale the overwhelming scent of your blood.

“What did you say?”

Jack licked his lips, tilting his head to the side.

“I said, are you sure?”

You removed your blood stained hand from your wound, nodding.

“I can take it, whatever you give me.”

Fuck.

In the blink of an eye EJ flipped positions, your back being shoved against the wall behind you. His three tongues emerging from his lips. They assaulted your neck, lapping at the wound. He refused to let any drop of your precious blood go to waste. Once he was done cleaning your neck his focus shifted to your hand, licking your palm clean.

“I forgot you had three tongues,” You admitted. Your words reminded EJ of what was happening. That you weren’t a meal, but his mate. Jack allowed himself to smile, chuckling. “Yeah? Do you remember what they feel like?” He asked curiously. Playing along, you shrugged. “I don’t think so, maybe you’ll just have to remind me,” You replied.

Jack had never sank to his knees quicker.

He ripped your panties in half, discarding the fabric across the room. He nudged your knees apart, forcing you to lean against the wall for support. You were practically dripping, the sight only fueling Jacks heat even more. “It’s taking everything in me to take my time with you, little human,” Jack panted. He brought himself to your cunt, his three tongues finally making a grand appearance. Two of them decided to enter you, your walls spasming under the odd sensation. The third stayed focused on your clit, flicking your sensitive bud as if his life depended on it.

EJ’s hand held your legs harshly. As your legs began to tremble, you slowly began to lose your balance. He took this opportunity to pick you up, holding your legs in his arms as his tongues abused your cunt. Your hands tugged at his hair as he held you in mid air, your thighs trembling in his hands. Each tug you pulled only made him fuck into you rougher, his tongues almost seemingly having a mind of their own. “Fuck- right there, please, right fucking there,” You pleaded, your sinful pleas bouncing throughout the hollow house.

With one final flick of your cunt you came on his tongues, each of them lapping up your juices with pride. Jack needed more, he needed something, anything, to prevent him from fucking you on the floor. “On your knees, now,” He growled as he set you down. With how wobbly your legs were you nearly fell anyways, landing on your knees on the hard wooden floor. EJ felt as hot as a heater, his skin radiating unnatural warmth. You stuck out your tongue, maintaining his gaze as he unbuckled his pants.

“You filthy filthy girl,” EJ muttered. He mockingly traced your jawline, shoving his pants and boxers down to his ankles. You had almost forgotten how large his cock was, his length alone enough to break you. “Awe, what’s wrong? Am I bigger than the human boys you play with?” Jack asked teasingly. He tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, shuddering at the warmth of your mouth.

You took his tip in stride, swirling your tongue around it as the demon before you groaned. EJ began shoving his cock into your mouth further, his tip scraping the back of your throat.

He wasn’t even in half way yet.

“You may want to loosen your jaw,” EJ recommended. How far could the human jaw physically extend? You forced your jaw to go slack, struggling to accommodate to Jacks girth as he pushed himself in further. Jack gritted his teeth out of frustration, fuck, this wasn’t fucking working.

Fuck it.

Fuck this.

His large hand snaked down to your hair, yanking you off of him. He dragged you onto your feet with ease, as if you were as light as a feather. “I changed my mind, I want you now,” Jack mumbled. He roughly brought his lips to yours, dragging you back over to the bed. The only thing he needed in the world right now were your ankles dangling over his shoulders. You were struggling to keep up, your heartbeat racing faster and faster.

The sound made Jack’s ears twitch, his desire to fuck you the only thing that kept him from tearing you apart.

“Jack?”

You stared up at him curiously, EJ realizing he was staring at you blankly.

The demon swallowed, trying to hold himself back. His body was practically vibrating, every fiber in him screaming to breed your pretty little cunt, then to swallow your organs whole. Starting with your precious heart. You didn’t know what he ate, right? Or did you? EJ began to rack his brain, his mind spinning. Were you afraid? You didn’t smell afraid. But to be fair though, all Jack could smell was your arousal.

“Jack?”

Your concern made him snap out of his haze, the realization that he was oddly panting above you hitting him like a brick. He licked his dry lips, trying to form coherent sentences. “You don’t want this, you don’t want to be my mate. You-” Jack began. He knew what it would be mean if he did what he wanted, what every fiber in his being was screaming at him to do. “Deserve a nice human life, with a human man,” He rambled.

Your next action caught him off guard, it being something he hadn’t even fantasized about. It was so shocking to Jack, that he hadn’t even theorized it to be possible. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you dragged him down to you, planting your lips onto his. As you kissed him, your small hand reached down to his throbbing cock, running the tip up and down your folds. EJ growled as he pushed you down against the mattress.

“You’ve done it now,” He snarled. EJ swatted your hand away, pumping his length. Teasingly he brushed the head of his cock against your clit, the overstimulation making you squirm. Jack tried his hardest to be slow once he entered you. Honest. But your walls sucked him in your body screaming that you were almost as desperate as he was. This. This was what he had imaged all of those sleepless nights as he pumped his cock, daydreaming of the disgusting things he’d do to you.

And here you were, withering under him as he shoved his cock inside of your cunt. “Such a good whore for me, such a good hole for me to use,” EJ grunted. He could feel his mind going numb, his ability to maintain composure fading away as he bottomed out. He could feel your walls squeezing him, begging him to let you adjust. His cock was visible through your stomach, the outline only fueling the fire further.

“So sorry, I can’t hold back any longer- Have to- Need to breed you,” Jack panted, moving his hips. You bit your bottom lip as he began to fuck you, the pain almost too much. You had taken him before, sure, but he wasn’t this rough with you. He let out low growls as he fucked you, the pain slowly subsiding into pleasure. Jack couldn’t help but nuzzle himself into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent.

Your hands had grabbed his hair, tugging at it as he mercilessly pounded into you. Your moans were mixtures of pleas and incoherent babbles, his name mixed in there somewhere. You couldn’t think straight, Jacks hips having a mind of their own. “Fuck, i’m gonna breed you, you’re going to be mine,” Jack huffed. He licked the side of your neck, the sweat coating your skin flooding his tastebuds.

He could hear your heartbeat speed up even faster, your body struggling to keep up with Jack as he fucked you. “You’re gonna be my mate, you understand? My personal cumdump,” He snarled. The degrading words were the most he had spoken in weeks, his mind screaming at him to cum inside of you. He needed it like he needed air. He needed to see your cunt red and puffy, leaking his cum.

EJ managed to leave the comfort of your neck, watching the outline of his cock slide in and out of you as he abused your cervix. “You’re gonna be such a good mother, gonna take you back to the mansion,” Jack groaned, his words slipping out mindlessly. He grabbed your legs, forcing them to spread wider. You whined as he grabbed your tender flesh, pounding into you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re mine, my mate to breed, you’re gonna carry my kids, over and over and over,” EJ growled. You could feel yourself getting close, your eyes practically seeing stars. “J-Jack, i’m getting close-” You warned. Jack grinned, his thrust not letting up for a second. “Go on mate, cum for me so I can mark you as mine,” EJ ordered, his words almost muffled by his animalistic growls. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, your orgasm only making Jack fuck you harder.

He grabbed your limp body, pounding into you through your orgasm until he found his own high. Loud moans exited his throat as he came inside of you, your cunt now full of the demons sperm. He panted as his heart rate began to settle, his stomach beginning to growl. His eye sockets widened as he realized he could still hear your heartbeat, the sound coming back into focus. He swallowed, your smell making his desire shift to raw hunger.

Jack pulled out of you quickly, relieved to see that you were relatively dazed. Your eyes were closed, your focus on slowing your body back down to normal. As calmly as he could he slid off of the bed, redressing himself. He knew if he alerted you he would owe you an explanation. It would put him at a dangerous crossroad. He would either have to tell the brutal truth, or a painful lie that would no doubt put your relationship in jeopardy.

EJ grabbed his mask, sliding back onto his face as he pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie. He watched his cum ooze out of your cunt and onto the sheets, the sight almost enough to overrule his painful hunger.

Almost.

Jack slipped out of your window quickly, running to the next heartbeat he could hear.

An odd satisfaction washed over him as he ran into the night, knowing you were now his.

#eyeless jack x y/n #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack x reader #jeff the killer x eyeless jack #eyeless jack x jeff the killer #eyeless jack #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta lemon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta

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shybluebirdninja · 7 months ago

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For Keeps

Summary : Old Logan proposes to the love of his life. Note : fluff

Logan’s POV

It’s late when I finally get in. The house is dim, a warm glow spilling from the kitchen and the faint smell of rosemary and garlic filling the air. I close the door softly, hoping not to disturb her, but she’s already there, peeking her head around the corner with that smile that makes my chest ache.

“Long shift, old man?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, but she’s smirking like she already knows the answer.

I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “More like a long week. Bunch’a rookies out there can’t drive to save their lives.” I slip off my coat, hanging it on the chair as I try to ease the knots in my shoulders. The box in my pocket feels like it’s burning a hole, waiting to be pulled out.

“C’mon, go sit. I got dinner just about ready,” she says, already turning back to the stove. I catch a glimpse of her, standing there in that old apron she insists on wearing even though it’s stained and frayed at the edges. The sight of her there, in our kitchen, making dinner after my long day, hits me harder than any fight I’ve ever been in.

I settle into my chair, watching her move around, her hands quick and sure as she spoons the pasta onto plates. There’s a glass of wine by my plate, and she’s even got my favorite sauce. The woman thinks of everything, and it makes me feel like a damn fool for waiting this long.

Finally, she sits across from me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up with that soft smile she saves just for me. We dig in, talking about nothing and everything, and for a few minutes, it’s like the world’s drifted away, and it’s just us. Her laugh, her voice, the warmth in her eyes—it’s all I need.

After a while, I realize I’ve hardly touched my food, just staring at her, trying to get my nerve up. She notices, of course, tilting her head, a little crease forming between her brows.

“Babe? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just… somethin’ I’ve been wantin’ to, uh, talk to ya about,” I mutter, reaching into my pocket for the little velvet box. My heart’s pounding like I’m some teenager. Almost makes me laugh, the way she can do that to me.

When I finally pull it out and set it on the table, her hand flies to her mouth, eyes widening. I can barely bring myself to look at her, staring down at my rough, scarred hands instead. “Look, I know it ain’t much. Had to work a few extra shifts, do a few odds and ends—”

She cuts me off with a choked laugh, and I finally meet her gaze. Tears are already pooling in her eyes, and that smile, that damn smile that’s always been my undoing, is breaking through.

“Logan…” she whispers, voice thick with emotion.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling every one of my years. “Guess what I’m tryin’ to say, darlin’... is, if you’d have me, I’d be the luckiest man in the world.”

She looks down at the ring, then back up at me, and there’s a look in her eyes that makes me feel like I might just be worth something. “Yes,” she says, her voice shaking. “Yes, Logan.”

She reaches across the table, sliding her hand over mine, and I pull her close, pressing my forehead against hers as the weight of it all sinks in.

“You’re really sayin’ yes, huh?” I murmur, my voice catching.

“Yes, you old fool,” she laughs, wiping her eyes. “There’s no one else. Just you.”

My breath stutters, and for a moment, all the doubts and insecurities melt away. I press my lips to hers, softly, slowly, feeling the warmth and truth in that kiss. She’s here, right here with me, and for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this old heart’s got one last chance at happiness.

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velvetydream · 1 year ago

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꒰ :🥀 [ Hells greatest Demon ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : You've had quite a rough day, so Alastor tries his best to cheer you up with some food and a broadcast.

Pairing : Alastor x Reader

Word count : 1305

Genre : Sweet Fluff

Warnings ➵ Hinting of cannibalism (Alastor)

a/n : Very self-indulged bcs Alastor is my comfort chara rn and I'm currently having a rather hard time.. Also I'm very very new to Hazbin Hotel, so I'm so sorry if smth doesn't match up or seems out of character! Decided to write this simply for comfort!♡

┌───────────────────────── · · · · ♡

It was another hellish day, like always work was keeping you on your toes, Charlie had yet another plan and of course activity everyone at the hotel had to join in. Niffty was keeping you busy more than any other day, it was slowly getting to you. On top of that, your ex had to show up at your workplace today.

So with all this happening, you decided to get a bit of peace with a tea in the kitchen, but your mind was running a race, ending in simply resting your head on the kitchen table and closing your eyes for a second, trying to tune out Angels and Husks banter at the bar.

"Greetings my dear!" A cheerful, yet accompanied by a radio static sound, voice sounded behind you, you wanted to groan but swallowed it down again. It's not like you despised Alastor, quite the opposite, he was rather lovely and nice to you, shocking. But he sometimes loves to play into someone's despair and you're no exception. "Oh darling, you look rather doomed, haha, why don't you smile, you know you're never fully dressed without one!" Alastor walked past you, shrugging off his coat and laying it onto the back of one of the chairs, his sleeves being pushed up by his hands now. "I'm not really in the mood for smiling right now.." He took a quick glance at you, which you didn't notice of course, before he turned around again to the stove. His staff was now leaning against the kitchen cupboard, soft jazz music was now playing, which was calming you down a bit more.

"Mind sharing your thoughts darling? You look rather lost in them." It was weird for Alastor to care for others problems, yet he asked you, still his back turned to you, your eyes open yet again, following his movements. Getting ready to cook, probably his favorite, Jambalaya. "It's just been a really hard day, Niffty almost got me killed, my boss just dumped a week's extra load onto me which I shall finish in three days, and then on top of this all my stupid fucker of an ex decided to show up at my work." At the last words, just slightly, barely noticeable, the red-haired demon tensed up a bit. "That does seem like a rough day my dear, how about I make you some nice new tea and when I finish cooking you'll get the first plate." Turning to you now, his signature smile was planted on his face, you doubt you ever saw him without one, it can be unsettling at times, but mostly it was fine. Alastor grabbed your teacup, and set up a cattle with fresh water, as he scooped some tea into your cup, all the while starting to prepare to cook. It was calming, he was calming. Despite hearing the others all around the hotel, the jazz music, and the soft sounds of Alastor cooking, you could swear you also heard him hum softly to the music but you didn't dare mention it to him, were drowning everything out.

A hot steaming cup was swiftly set in front of you, the tea a different one now than you had before, but it still gave of a soothing and calming smell. With a thank you, you took a sip of the porcelain cup.

It was quiet in the kitchen for the time being, only the soft music and Alastors cooking, you two were merely enjoying the presence of the other, it was calming your mind and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. Soon a plate was placed in front of you, it was Jambalaya, which you already ate countless times since staying at the hotel, Alastor loved to make it often. He himself now sitting down beside you at the table with a plate of his own, coat still on the chair, sleeves still pushed to his elbows.

"Thanks!" Thanking him for the plate, you immediately dig in, the taste was amazing like always, Alastor truly is a master at cooking. Soon the others joined in the kitchen, the kitchen was now booming with voices and laughter, but this time it didn't bother you, it was nice to eat all together. Laughing at some joke Angel just made, before talking with Charlie about some idea how to get new guests for the hotel. All the while the eyes of a certain demon were on you.

After the good meal, everyone together started cleaning their dishes, Nifty almost threw her fork at an insect on the floor, but Husker took the fork away before she could accidentally harm someone. In the end, it was just you and Alastor left, as you put away all the clean plates now, Alastor putting his coat back on, as he took his microphone staff.

"So how are you feeling dear? Better now?" Jumping a little bit at how close his voice suddenly was, turning your head just slightly, noticing how Alastor was now standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder. "Y-Yes! Thanks a lot again!" Stepping away from him, he simply watched you with his usual smile. "Splendid! How about you join me for my broadcast?" Eyes going wide now at his offer, he never allowed anyone to join him when he goes on air, hell, if someone were to disturb him they shall never be seen again. So to say you were stunned was an understatement.

"I would love to but.. are you sure?" You often listened to his broadcast when you had time, or sometimes put it on when you go to sleep, but to listen to him live? That would be amazing. "Well of course my dear, if I wasn't sure I wouldn't have offered! Well then! Let's get going!" A big smile was now stretched on his face, as he was leaving the kitchen in tow with you.

Arriving at his radio tower, which you never saw from the inside before, so you're actually a bit hyped to join him. Holding the door open for you like the gentleman he is, you enter and immediately start looking around. Walking over to the big windows, you could see the city below, from up here it looked so small, it was amazing. "Well my dear, do take a seat wherever you like, we're soon going on air." Looking back at Alastor with a smile now as you nod, taking a seat on the couch on the wall. Overall the room wasn't that big, his room, which you saw before a few times, was definitely bigger than this. Leaning against the wall a bit, you wait for Alastor to start his broadcast.

"Salutation hell, good to be back on the air today..." You were listening closely, he was playing some soft music in the background while talking. Slowly the exhaustion from today was creeping on you more with every minute that passed. And before you knew it, your consciousness slipped away intdreamlandnd.

Alastor kept the broadcast going, ending it after a good one or two hours, looking over at you, his dear darling. A smile wide on his face, as he puts everything he used away to his original place. Slow steps were made over to you, as he was shrugging his coat off and laying it over your body carefully. "Sleep well darling, hope you liked my broadcast." A strand was pushed behind your ear, that fell in front of your face.

Turning to the door now, the soft smile he wore for you, slowly turned into a sinister smile. "Now to that ex of yours.." Leaving the room, he closes the door behind him, and let's just say, he had a nice midnight snack this time and your ex to your surprise never showed up at your workplace again.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #x you #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine

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tropicalcryptid · 2 years ago

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Ok so She-Ra pulled such a great hat trick with Hordak's characterization, and I LOVE it

One of my favorite things about 2018 She-Ra is Hordak's story and development (and Entrapdak cough but that's not the point of this particular post), and the cleverest thing is that so much of it is actually being set up and told to us in seasons 1 and 2 before we even realize that that's what's happening.

When we first see Hordak in the show, he's giving "generic evil overlord" vibes. Garden-variety baddie. Maybe a little more reasonable than some and clearly capable of long-term thinking, but that just serves to make him intimidating. Everything about him--the way he runs his empire, his armor, his color scheme, his minion, his Villainous Eye Makeup(TM), even his name--are all projecting to the audience "yup, Acme Bad Guy here. Move right along."

But then, backstory. And everything snaps into focus. Not only is it one of the first big oh SHIT moments of the show, where we suddenly zoom out and realize that there is SO much more going on than we realized--it's also the start of the audience seeing Hordak as a character rather than an archetype. Suddenly we realize that he's not conquering Etheria because he wants power, or hates happiness and sparkles, or whatever--he's doing it out of a desperate attempt to prove his worth to his brother/creator/god. This moment where Hordak lets Entrapta in is also the moment the show lets us in on what makes our favorite spacebat tick.

On top of that, we've also seen him bonding with Entrapta and opening up to this person that he respects and trusts...probably the only person he's ever respected or trusted apart from Prime. And she's Etherian--someone of a lower species, someone he's supposed to subjugate, someone who he has been raised and trained and programmed and mind-controlled into believing is below him in every way.

But instead she's brilliant and creative and mesmerizing. She's not afraid of him, and she's fascinated with his work. For the first time since being abandoned by Prime, Hordak finally has someone that he can talk to, who is on his level and both understands and cares about the science! (because he is a giant nerd). She's kind to him, a mere defect. And it just sends his whole worldview into a spin, and that's all before--

Bam, mans is a goner. Entrapta's "Imperfections are beautiful" comment punches right through all the toxic bs that Hordak has been steeped in his entire life. You can see on his face here--I think it's the moment Hordak fell in love with Entrapta, but this is also the face of a spacebat reevaluating his entire worldview. If Entrapta, who is amazing, believes something different from Prime...what does that mean? If Entrapta, who is brilliant, believes that he is worth something, and that she herself is a failure...

Well. We know what happens after that, and how Hordak begins to doubt, and eventually fights back against Prime (and remembers his love for Entrapta after TWO mind wipes help my heart ack). But we also get to see what life in the Galactic Horde looks like: the only life Hordak ever knew before coming to Etheria.

It's not nice.

It's really not nice.

Prime operates in a very specific way, and we learn a lot about it in season 5. Prime expects complete obedience, devotion and worship from his clones. He allows no individuality from his subjects, not even a name. Failure or deviations are punished, mind-wiped, or destroyed. We even learn from Wrong Hordak that facial expressions are considered a privilege reserved for Prime (apart from, presumably, expressions of rapture caused by being around Prime).

And once we learn all of this, suddenly thinking about season 1 Hordak becomes very interesting indeed. The time we spend with the Galactic Horde and Prime throws absolutely everything that we know about Hordak into a whole new context. Now all those traits that made him a generic villain are actually hugely effective characterization! And what that characterization is telling us is that Hordak had already moved much farther away from Prime than we (or, probably, he) had realized, even long before he met Entrapta.

Horde Prime does not allow his underlings to have names, personalities, or any differences of appearance. Not only does Hordak allow this among his own troops, he chose a name for himself as well! Season 5 tells us that his very name is an act of blasphemy against his god. And yet Hordak took one for himself, and that name is part of the core identity he is able to hold on to when rebelling against Prime.

Horde Prime cast Hordak out when he showed signs of physical imperfections. Hordak not only keeps Imp (who is by all appearances a failed clone or similar experiment) around, he treats Imp more gently than we see him treat anybody or anything before Entrapta. Imp is not simply "generic evil guy's minion," he is proof of Hordak's capacity for compassion, and evidence that Hordak cannot bring himself to cast aside "defects" as easily as Prime. Considering where Hordak came from, Imp's existence is a huge, flashing neon sign telling the audience this guy here is better than the hell that molded him, and we don't even realize it until 4 seasons after it's been shown to us!

Very cool, ND.

There's more, though. Hordak's red and black color scheme? His dark eye makeup and lipstick? Very Evil Overlord chic. But nope! Actually these are actually expressions of individuality on a level that Hordak knows would be abhorrent to Prime!

Reading between the lines, I see this as Hordak desperately trying to reconcile two diametrically opposed beliefs in his head: (1) devotion to Prime, whose approval he desperately craves, and (2) maintaining some degree of unique personhood, of Hordak, from which to draw strength. Because a failed, defective clone cannot survive on a hostile world, cut off from the hivemind and from Prime's light. A failed clone cannot create an empire to offer Prime as tribute, nor build a spacetime portal from scraps and memory to call Prime back. A failed clone cannot create cybernetic armor to keep his hurting, weakened body alive; to force himself to keep going no matter what, to fight through the pain and the doubt by sheer force of will.

But maybe Hordak can.

And so there it is. Hordak had plenty of time to gain and explore his individuality while separated from Prime, but I think the reason he did it so effectively (while still deluding himself that Prime would forgive him for these little sins, if only Hordak could prove his value) is because he had to.

Wrong Hordak gained his individuality surrounded by kind, quirky people who took care of him; Hordak was ripped from the hivemind by Prime himself and had to fight for his survival against all odds. And that produced a dangerous and damaging foe for Etheria. But it also produced the one clone with the strength of will to defy Prime himself.

This is long and rambling, but ultimately my point is that 1) I love Hordak, and 2) I love love love love that the show was so clever about his characterization. We learn so much about him and how much progress he's already made in breaking from his psycho abusive cult upbringing, and we don't even recognize it until the show wants us to. Hordak had come so far, all on his own, before he met Entrapta. She just helped push him over the edge and finally realize (at least consciously) that Prime's worldview might not be the correct one.

Idk, I just don't know if I've ever seen all the trappings of Basic 80's Villain(TM) so successfully subverted, where looking back 4 seasons later is actually a smack in the face with the "effective character building" stick. Amazing.

#spop #she ra #she ra and the princesses of power #hordak #entrapdak #entrapta #horde prime #Spacebat #Deep character analysis #Gotta love clever writing #Seriously I could go on about this show for ages #I just love the characterization for everyone but especially Hordak #Best spacebat #I mean I love Wrong Hordak too but you know

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hederasgarden · 4 months ago

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Do you have any darker thoughts about your fav ATJ characters?

Bestie, I have so many thoughts, and I’m totally blaming @otaku-girl-ao3 for this. A few weeks ago, we spent an afternoon on Discord brainstorming what the ATJ characters would be like as dark versions of themselves and how that would manifest in distinct and interesting ways.

Just a quick note—this is quite a departure from the usual content on my blog and the type of things I typically write about. Recently, I’ve been gathering the courage to explore some darker themes in my writing (I blame BookTok for introducing me to a lot of questionable tropes). Please be kind and let me know if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing from me!

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter), Friedrich Harding (Nosferatu), Tangerine (Bullet Train), and Ives (Tenet) Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Dead dove, do not eat. VERY dark, depraved, and horny thoughts direct from me to you. Not all themes are tagged. Read at your own risk. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

Sergei is a meticulous planner, taking his time to observe you and learn your habits. He likely comes across you by chance—perhaps while on the job or visiting his brother. It’s your scent that first grabs his attention, but it’s not what draws him back. It’s the softness and sweetness in your demeanor, the vulnerability you exude, completely unaware of the dangers around you. You’re the easiest prey he’s ever tracked, unaware even of the most basic threats. You’re always buried in a book or your phone, headphones on at full blast. If it weren’t for his quiet intervention, you would have been robbed or worse on your way home at least twice.

He takes you because he believes you're not meant to be on your own. You need someone to care for you, to protect you from the world that you don’t fully understand. Really, it’s lucky your paths crossed. He’s certain you’ll come to see things his way in time. Until then, he’s turned his home into a beautiful little cage for you to live in, complete with an entire library filled with your favorite books, cozy blankets to keep you warm, and all the ingredients for the meals you love to cook and enjoy. He’s done his research on what you like and he’ll bring you anything you ask for. Afterall, he’s a provider at heart.

There’s no concern of you running away. You've seen the large snow leopard that prowls around outside, and the one time you made a foolish attempt to escape, Sergei was quick to show you that he wouldn't always be so gentle or understanding. As @writercole suggested, once he has you back, he’ll also end up keeping you tethered by the ankle for a while, a lesson that if you try to run, he’ll leash you.

After you recover from that experience Sergei finds you’re a much better pet, settling into your new life and role. You start cooking for him when he's home, and willingly crawl into bed beside him, seeking out his warmth on those cold winter nights. Soon, Sergei knows you’ll be ready for the next step: starting a family of your own.

Friedrich (in a modern AU) strikes me as the type who would quietly manipulate situations to his advantage, working behind the scenes to ensure things unfold just how he wants. He’d spot you working at a cafe or store he frequently visits and, from that moment, start working on a plan to make you his.

Rather than using overt force, he’d rely on subtle pressure and gaslighting, making you doubt yourself and your choices. He’d skillfully set up circumstances to undermine you—ensuring you miss out on a job you desperately need, getting you fired, or putting you in a position where you have no choice but to turn to him. When you're at your lowest, he’ll swoop in as the savior, the one who appears to protect you. His goal is to make you dependent on him alone, carefully ensuring that when the time comes for him to make his move, you're in no position to resist. Consent would be questionable, but he'd remind you every time you hesitated that you said yes, that you asked for his help, and that you invited him in.

I can also see him isolating you from friends and family, slowly pulling you away from the support system you once had. He’d definitely be the type to love-bomb you, showering you with overwhelming attention and affection, using his money and influence to manipulate you further.

He strikes me as a baby trapper, sabotaging your birth control or tampering with his condoms to ensure you get pregnant. He believes you'd be the perfect wife and mother—you just need his help to realize that. Once he has you, he’d be the most loving and attentive husband, always caring, but beneath that sweetness lies an unshakable belief that he knows what’s best. He’s the one who makes the decisions, subtly guiding everything with quiet confidence until, over time, the balance shifts in his favor and you start looking to him for help with even the easiest things. Despite all of this, Friedrich would likely still view himself as a good person, firmly rejecting any notion that he is abusive or in the wrong.

Tangerine is on the opposite end of the spectrum, much more inclined to use brute force and physical violence to make you understand your place. He has a short temper and struggles with impulse control, especially when you don't follow his demands. There’s no slow build-up with him—he has no time or patience for romance. The moment he sees you on the street, he decides you’re coming home with him, and that’s final. Or maybe Tangerine and Lemon are sent to kill your husband but when Tangerine sees just how sweet you are, completely unaware of who and what your husband really is, he decides to keep you for himself. After all, no one's going to miss you. They’ll assume you died in the house fire with your husband.

Once he had you he would try and spoil you with a beautiful place to live, fine clothes and decadent food. He’d want you to look and dress a certain way for him. A darker version of him would fit the profile of a classic abuser—lashing out at you in anger, only to later show up with flowers and a hollow apology, turning the blame onto you as if you were the one who provoked it.

“Why do you have to make things so fuckin’ hard, huh?” Tangerine questions, caressing your bruised skin. “I hate when you make me do this to ya luv. You need to listen better.”

He’d definitely be the most terrifying of all the dark versions of the ATJ characters because of his unpredictability. (I do not know why but I have such a strong sense he’d pop you in the mouth/back hand you with those rings on and just….yeah.)

If Ives were to go dark, he’d likely abuse his power and authority in the workplace, targeting someone beneath him—someone who wasn’t military and who he could easily manipulate using his strength and knowledge. Maybe you’re his admin, someone he works closely with, and no one questions the fact that you’re often in his office with the door closed or staying late to finish tasks together. He’d be blunt about his intentions with you, setting clear expectations for how things would unfold. His actions would be predictable—if you were a good girl, you’d be rewarded; if you misbehaved, there would be consequences. Ives would be a steady, unyielding force, confident that, with time, you’d fall into line.

#sergei kravinoff x reader #friedrich harding x reader #ives x reader #tangerine x reader #tangerine x you #aaron taylor johnson #friedrich harding x you #sergei kravinoff x you #kraven x reader #kraven x you #kraven the hunter #bullet train #tenet #nosferatu #is

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erosiism · 1 year ago

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OBLIVION | YANDERE CROWN PRINCE X M!READER

prompt: very lazy (oblivious) reader x yandere crown prince who basically does everything for him. reader is clueless about his friends disappearing around him, historical setting where MC is a pampered son of a noble family

character(s): yandere crown prince, lazy!reader

warnings(s): mild violence, yandere themes. still considered rather fluffy and sfw

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, as far as this goes this guy is too green to be really called a yandere lol. his possessive and violence tendencies are not to be glorified regardless, loose use of magic, not beta read

Your biggest enemy is hard work, and your favorite hobby is sleeping. You can’t help it—you are spoiled, no doubt about that, and because you got lucky enough to be born into a prestigious family who dotes on you. Your social life is almost non-existent, but ever since you were young, your friend has stuck next to you.

Your friend, who happens to be a crown prince.

People say he’s scary. You doubt that highly—is His Highness Cassian not the one who has brought you sweet treats from young? Is he not the one who littered your skin with tiny kisses because he likes showing affection? Is he not the one who allows you to laze around or nap? Rumors tend to be untrue, and you feel almost sorry towards the prince for having to deal with that.

(“I heard that if you mess with him, His Highness has the ability to kill! Haven’t you heard the disappearances lately?”)

You asked the crown prince questions regarding the rumors. All you got was a surprised, flippant reply: kill? That’s ridiculous, [Name]. I haven’t even mastered my mana skills yet.

So you don’t trust the rumors. It makes sense for people to be jealous, after all: he’s the crown prince. He has objectively good looks, and he’s an amalgamation of everything someone would covet: wealth, prestige, brilliance, and skill.

“You slept in class again?” A voice tears you out of your thoughts. You’re lounging on the bench in the school garden, and your legs are propped up on the sides. Your bag is thrown loosely to the ground. Inwardly you wish you had the physical capability to be agile enough to scale up a tree—because god, the place up there looked amazing—but unfortunately, you didn’t.

You face him. Cassia raises an eyebrow, and his fingers reach out gingerly to touch your cheek gently. You don’t recoil. It’s become normal.

“I can see words imprinted on your face. How long did you sleep? Or rather, how long was your class?”

It takes a few moments for you to process the prince’s words, before you squint your eyes. There’s a red smear on his cheek that seems hastily wiped off. It’s not too obvious, not to others, anyways, but you’re so used to Cassian's face looking normal that you immediately notice it.

“What’s that red thing on your face?” You ignore the question. You know that he can guess the answer.

“…Red thing?” Cassian immediately narrows his eyes, pausing. His fingers leave your face and go to his own. It looks like blood; which is odd, and definitely not possible.

“Is that…” you mull it over for a second. It can’t be blood. Or lipstick.

Cassian, though having received multiple marriage proposals, didn’t seem to be settling down any time soon.

Strange, it doesn’t even seem like he likes women. So the only plausible thing is—

“—were you drinking tomato soup earlier?”

Cassian blinks his eyes, before a look of realization dawns on his face. And if you see correctly, there’s almost the tiniest hint of relief. Cassian’s lips tug up into a smile—he laughs, the prince laughs, the sound bright and mirthful and irrevocably fond. Your parents have teased you once about the prince nursing a crush on you. But this is how he has treated you for as long as you can remember.

“Tomato?”

“Looks like a tomato,” You furrow your eyebrows. “Hey, do they serve tomato soup in the academy? I really want tomato soup. It’s easy to drink, and…”

“I’ll get you some later,” Cassian says affectionately. He ruffles your hair, and you relax. “Don’t worry too much, alright?”

You shrug loosely. “Alright.”

[ before ]

He stares at the dead body on the ground. There aren’t a lot of rumors of you, but your laziness is well known. Some see it fondly, almost endearingly, but there are the rare few who view you with disdain because of your apparent lack of diligence.

Caspian doesn’t like that. He’s fine with rumors of his own—but of you? But of sweet, innocent, lovely you? He loathes it.

“Stop talking,” he smiles. “…You can do that, can’t you? After all, you’re already dead.”

A head lolls about and blood drips off a blade.

What, Cassian thinks with that sweet softness he has reserved for you, smiling gently, should I get for [Name] today?

shitpost since i had this lying around. lowkey cringe

#male reader #yanderexmale #yandere x male reader #yandere x male darling #possessive #yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #tw yandere #eroswrites

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dez78 · 5 months ago

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Astarion, darling. That's Illegal

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x You

Summary: You get a cuteness overload with our favorite vampire bf. ;)

(Not my gif)

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Astarion's face card was no doubt, the best you'd ever laid your eyes upon, but this particular day. He was just so fucking cute, and you couldn't contain yourself. It was the same reaction you'd have looking a small kitten or an adorable puppy.

You tried, so hard. You really did. You caught yourself staring multiple times already, four times in the last few seconds.

Astarion wasn't doing anything spectacular, he was literally just sitting at the entrance of his tent on his bed of pillows, reading a book. That's it.

It was the way his jaw flexed when he smiled at something he read, the way his hair curled around his ears, the soft way he tapped his foot, the way his eyes followed the pages of the book he was currently engrossed in. The way his face looked so innocent, so boyish in this particular moment.

His face was completely relaxed, he looked comfortable. You'd only been together for a week, but you instantly knew, no doubt about it that you would kill for this man. You would protect him at all costs.

He was your baby, your lover, yours to protect. You had an ache suddenly when you watched him, realizing that someone had hurt him. That bastard, hurt that precious being. You grimaced and shook those vile thoughts away.

Astarion looked up at you, he had felt your intense stare. He smiled that genuine smile, the only one he wore for you. Your breath hitched and your heart raced in your chest. He set his book aside.

"Come here." You called to him, he obeyed and stood, he walked over to you. Then he did the cutest thing you'd ever seen. He put his hands behind his back and swayed from side to side innocently.

"Yes, my treasure?" He said, his voice was affectionate and so pure, it made your heart burst. You wanted to sob right there. You grabbed his face, and he looked at you, his face was terribly confused.

"Astarion, darling. That's illegal!" You cried, you squished his face together, adding to his confusion.

"What?" He asked, the question was so innocent, and his voice was muffled. You cursed the gods; he was your undoing, and he didn't even know it.

You pulled him into a tight hug, he reciprocated, but he still didn't know what he had done.

"You're too fucking cute, stop it. It's going to kill me. It's maddening!" You hissed, though your voice had no bite to it. You pulled him away and grabbed his face again, peppering his face with a dozen kisses. He chuckled.

"Darling..." He said, his voice was especially affectionate now. You pulled away,

"You're too adorable for your own good, mister." You told him before attacking him with kisses once more, he laughed now as he held your waist. He didn't protest, free kisses were never a horrible thing, especially if they came from you.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #astarion romance #baldurs gate tav #my fanfiction #why is he so cute #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion and tav #astarion x you #astarion x y/n #astarion x reader

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justliketoreadsowhat · 11 months ago

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Favorite Color ❤︎︎

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫❤︎︎

_________________________________

“𝐒𝐨, 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐈’𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐭 𝐀 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧“ 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐱𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝟓 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬.

"The hostility coming from you right now is crazyy, just hold on a second" Paige huffed, the sound of rustling grew louder in the background, as your suspicions heightened.

The day started off pretty normal, you went to work for a couple hours while Paige was out and about doing her side quests for the summer. Spending a few days apart wasn't the easiest thing to do, but the daily Facetime calls always made it a little better.

Except for today, Your phone buzzed promptly at 2pm during your break as always, since she had memorized your break schedule like the back of her hand, a day was never missed.

You were met with a black screen and a very ecstatic Paige on the other hand, for reasons you were unaware of.

"I just wanna see your face and we have less than an hour left before I have to go" A frown planted on your face, there was no use in trying to hide it. Hearing her voice was one vice, but seeing her face healed something inside of you, she was just so perfect. In your eyes, she could do no wrong, except for right now.

"Baby don't look at me like that" she pleaded "There's no need to be sad when I'm wearing your favorite color"

The screen lit up nearly on cue, her face filled your screen brightly as she cheesed from ear to ear. You wanted to laugh but your eyes soon halted your movements as you realized there was something daringly different.

She did not.

Did She?

"Paige! you- your hair!!" you yelped in shock, fighting the urge to fall out of your seat. "It's PINK!"

PInk

The color of sunsets flowers, and love.

The shade was perfect against her skin tone, her eyes became more of an ocean blue in contrast with the color.

"Mhmm, you like it?" she asked getting dangerously close to the camera, rubbing her chin slightly while her eyes squint dramatically. "I did it jus for you pretty girl"

"Yeah right, what advertisement is this for?" you questioned trying to find any clues from her background.

"Don't! Worry about that" her hand flying up to screen in defense "You're always doubting me like I wouldn't dye my hair for you"

You couldn't help but laugh, she didn't even like the color pink but, when she met you she had learned to gain a small liking for it through other aspects, such as shoes, decor, and candy of course.

"I would never doubt you P, you look beautiful with pink hair"

"Thank you" her tone softer than before, the tint in her cheeks now matched her hair. "but don't worry the blonde will be back soon" she stated confidently.

"I think both colors fit you really well, not a lot of people can pull off the things that you do y'know.."

"Yeah well, you're not one of those people sooo" she asked taking in all your features "Wanna dye your hair purple next?"

"Abosutely not"

"Why not?! You can be the purple care bear and I'll be the pink one"

"You're terrible at flirting, did anybody ever tell you that?" Ice's voice echoed from afar. "You can't even name the care bears!'

A groan fell from Paige's lips "Here you go again, minding my business instead of yours"

"My bad Shortcake, I'm just telling you the truth"

Before you could intervene, the timer you had set went off, signaling that you had to go back to work.

Unfortunately

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #paige x reader #fanfic #blurb

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novaursa · 6 months ago

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Legacy (contingency)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dragonfire

- Next part: dragonstone

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

Rich banners of crimson and gold draped from the high vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall, the sigil of House Lannister roaring above the gathering. The long tables overflowed with food: roasted boar glazed in honey, fragrant spiced wine, golden loaves of bread, and sweetcakes decorated with little sugar lions. Music filled the air—a lively tune played by minstrels whose strings and pipes accompanied the hum of conversation and laughter.

At the center of it all sat King Tommen Baratheon, his crown polished to perfection, seated proudly at the head of the royal table. Beside him, Queen Margaery looked radiant in a gown of green silk embroidered with golden roses, her bright smile lifting the mood of the hall. To Tommen's left sat Cersei Lannister, though her face was a mask of cold disinterest as she stared pointedly at her cup of wine, refusing to so much as glance toward her twin brother Jaime, who stood behind the king as his sworn protector.

Farther down the hall, the laughter of ladies mingled with the squeals of a happy child.

You stood near the far end of the hall, where a small play area had been set up for your son. Damon, now a year old, was surrounded by noblewomen who cooed and fussed over him as if he were the very center of the world. He sat on a plush blanket, his chubby hands reaching for the wooden lion and dragon toys set before him. His silver-gold hair shone under the light of the great chandeliers, and his bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked from one lady to the next.

“My, but he’s a handsome little boy,” cooed Lady Tanda Stokeworth, bending down slightly to smile at Damon. “And clever, too, I’m sure.”

“Very clever,” agreed Lady Falyse, her hands clasped before her. “He has his mother’s eyes, but I daresay the strength of his father will be in him as well.”

“And the fire of a dragon,” added Lady Taena of Pentos, her dark curls spilling elegantly over her shoulders as she smiled warmly. “The realm will speak of him for generations to come.”

“Enough fluttering about,” came the sharp voice of Lady Olenna Tyrell, who sat nearby, cane resting against her chair. “You’ll have him thinking he’s a lord before he can even string a full sentence together.”

The ladies fell silent momentarily, though some tittered softly behind their hands as they moved away. You sat down beside Damon, brushing a hand gently over his soft hair as he giggled, delighting in the attention he’d received. “It seems you’re already a favorite,” you murmured with amusement.

Olenna sniffed, though there was a faint, approving smile on her lips. “That’s the way of things with babes and dragons. Give them a pretty face and a silver mane, and everyone flocks to them like flies to honey.” Her gaze softened faintly as she looked at Damon. “But he is a fine boy, I’ll grant you that.”

Damon responded by dropping his wooden lion and reaching for his dragon toy, gnawing happily on its tail. You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers over his chubby cheeks. “He’s my heart,” you said softly.

“Let’s hope he has a good head on his shoulders, then,” Olenna remarked, though her tone was lighter. “He’ll need it, surrounded by spiders and vipers alike.”

You looked across the hall, your gaze landing on Tywin Lannister, who stood tall near the royal table. The Lord of Casterly Rock looked as proud and imperious as ever, his crimson and gold doublet immaculate, his presence commanding the respect—or fear—of every lord who circled him. They spoke in hushed tones, each vying for his attention, trying to curry favor with the lion who now had a dragon under his roof. Tywin listened with polite indifference, his face betraying none of the irritation he no doubt felt at the incessant politicking.

You caught his eye across the hall, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at you and Damon. He inclined his head a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of the family he had built—a momentary respite from the endless droning of opportunistic lords.

Nearby, Varys, the ever-watchful Spider, lingered in the shadows. His gaze flicked toward the small gathering where you sat with Damon, his expression unreadable. It was no secret that Varys knew more than most, and the way his eyes lingered on your son made your stomach tighten with unease. You had no doubt the whispers of Damon’s first nameday would soon travel across the Narrow Sea and beyond.

At the royal table, Tommen’s young laughter rang out as he watched one of the performers juggle apples. Margaery leaned close to him, smiling warmly as she spoke softly, no doubt ensuring the boy king enjoyed the celebrations.

Cersei, however, sat rigid, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet. Her face was pale with irritation, her lips pursed as she stared at nothing. When she finally spoke, it was low and bitter, though loud enough for those nearest to hear.

“A feast for a babe,” she sneered. “One would think we were crowning him king.”

Margaery smiled sweetly, not missing a beat. “Perhaps we celebrate because it is a moment of joy, Your Grace. Something rare and precious in these times.”

Cersei turned a cold glare on Margaery, though she said nothing more, her expression souring further when her gaze landed briefly on Jaime, who stood silently behind Tommen, his golden hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He offered her no support, no comfort, his eyes fixed instead on the room at large, detached and quiet.

“Your Grace,” said Varys softly, suddenly at Cersei’s side, his voice as silken as ever. “The realm rejoices at unity, no matter how small the occasion.”

Cersei looked at him sharply. “And what unity do you see, Spider? The kind bought with dragons?”

Varys offered his smooth, enigmatic smile and said nothing, his gaze drifting briefly to where Damon sat.

Across the hall, Tywin watched the exchange with the faintest flicker of disdain in his eyes, though his mask of control never slipped. He turned his attention back to the lords surrounding him, his tone clipped and final. “Enough of this,” he said coldly, brushing them aside as he moved away.

He approached you and Damon, his steps measured and deliberate, cutting through the murmurs of those who watched him move. When he stopped before you, Damon immediately looked up, his bright eyes wide as he recognized his father. He cooed happily, waving his dragon toy as though offering it to Tywin.

The corners of Tywin’s mouth twitched ever so slightly as he regarded his son. “He grows quickly,” he said, his tone softening just enough that only you noticed.

You smiled faintly, lifting Damon into your arms. “Too quickly,” you replied, brushing a kiss against the boy’s head. “Soon he’ll be running through these halls, terrorizing everyone.”

“I expect nothing less,” Tywin replied, his gaze lingering on the boy before shifting back to you. “The feast is a success.”

“For you, perhaps,” you teased lightly. “The lords seem eager to bow before the man who holds a dragon’s leash.”

Tywin’s expression turned cold, though his words were measured. “A dragon bows to no one. But appearances must be maintained.”

You glanced toward Varys, who still watched quietly from the shadows. “And the whispers?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly. “Let them whisper. Whispers are meaningless unless we let them become something more.”

You nodded, though a flicker of unease remained in your chest. For now, though, you pushed it aside as Damon squirmed in your arms, reaching out toward Tywin with chubby hands.

Tywin hesitated for the barest moment before extending a hand, allowing Damon’s small fingers to curl around his thumb. It was a brief gesture, but one that spoke volumes. The Great Lion of Lannister stood proud, the boy in your arms his legacy, his triumph.

And as the hall rang with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets, you allowed yourself to smile. For tonight, at least, the future felt secure.

The air in the Red Keep’s halls had grown cooler as the feast carried on in the Great Hall, but here, in the shadowed passageways away from the celebration, the silence was heavy. The distant echoes of music and laughter barely carried this far, and the flickering torchlight did little to soften the cold stones of the castle walls.

Cersei Lannister walked with purpose, her gown trailing behind, though her movements were sharp, her face still drawn with irritation. Her goblet of wine, long emptied, dangled carelessly from her fingers as she turned a corner and found Jaime Lannister where she expected him: standing near an open window, his white Kingsguard cloak a stark contrast to the gloom. The faint breeze tousled his hair as he leaned one elbow against the stone ledge, staring out toward the darkening sky.

“You always find the quiet places,” Cersei remarked, her voice breaking the stillness as she approached.

Jaime turned his head slightly, though he didn’t look at her. “Perhaps I prefer them,” he said simply, his tone disinterested.

She frowned faintly, stopping a few paces away from him. “You missed half the feast.”

“And yet,” Jaime replied dryly, finally turning to face her, “you followed me here. Did the wine run out already?”

Cersei’s face tightened, though she ignored the jibe. “No. But you’ve sulked long enough tonight. Or is it that you can no longer stomach these celebrations?”

Jaime exhaled through his nose, his green eyes sharp as they met hers. “Is it sulking to prefer the quiet over the spectacle?”

Cersei’s lip curled faintly. “And yet you remain, standing guard over Tommen like a dutiful knight. Always at a distance, always watching.”

Jaime’s expression didn’t change. “I do what I must.”

“And is that why you say nothing?” Cersei shot back, her tone edged with frustration. She stepped closer, dropping the empty goblet onto the stone ledge with a hollow clink. “You stand there, silent and cold, while Dorne sends me nothing but empty words. ‘Myrcella is well.’ Those are their only replies to my ravens. No assurances. No promises.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained calm. “And you think I have the answers? You were the one who sent her there.”

“She was safer in Dorne than in King’s Landing!” Cersei snapped, though her words lacked the conviction they once carried. “Father would not listen, you wouldn’t listen—no one would listen to me.”

Jaime shifted, his gold hand resting lightly against the stone ledge. “And now you want me to do what? March to Dorne and demand Myrcella’s return? Or simply assuage your guilt?”

Cersei flinched, though she masked it quickly with anger. “I don’t need your lectures, Jaime. I need your support.”

Jaime looked at her long and hard, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. “Support for what, Cersei? Myrcella is well, or so we’re told. If something had happened to her, you would know.”

“And what if they lie?” Cersei pressed, her voice quieter now but no less fervent. “What if Doran Martell sends nothing because he’s toying with us? He despises our house—do you think he has forgotten Oberyn?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly. “What I think is that worrying aloud will not change anything.”

Cersei glared at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You sound just like Father.”

Jaime’s lips pressed into a thin line at that, but he didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he turned his gaze back out toward the night sky, his voice low. “If you have nothing to say beyond paranoia and blame, then perhaps you should return to the feast.”

Cersei stepped forward, the shadows deepening around her. “Do you remember, Jaime?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Do you remember our own namedays?”

Jaime’s brow furrowed slightly, though he didn’t turn to look at her. “Why bring that up?”

“Because Father never threw us feasts,” Cersei replied bitterly, her tone carrying the weight of old wounds. “Not after Mother died. There were no celebrations, no music. Just silence, year after year, as though we didn’t matter.”

Jaime finally looked at her then, his expression softening slightly. “You know why.”

“Because he couldn’t bear the memory,” Cersei answered, her voice sharp. “But what of us? We were children, Jaime—children who wanted to be seen. To be celebrated.”

Jaime studied her carefully now, his face unreadable. “What are you implying, Cersei?”

Cersei took a breath, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “Do you not find it curious that our father throws such a grand feast for his new son? Yet for us, there was nothing. Nothing.”

Jaime shook his head faintly, though his voice was tinged with exasperation. “You’re reaching for something that isn’t there. Damon is a babe; he means the world to his mother, and through her, to Father. That is all.”

Cersei stepped closer, her eyes blazing. “No, Jaime. It’s more than that. Can’t you see? That dragon—her dragon—flew across the Narrow Sea to her. To her. And Father—our father—stands at her side as though she were his queen, as though she has replaced us.”

Jaime stared at her for a long moment, his features hardening. “And what would you have me do about it? Challenge her? Challenge him?”

Cersei’s gaze flickered with something desperate, something unspoken. “You’re the only one who listens, Jaime.”

Jaime’s shoulders sagged slightly as he looked at her, his voice low and tired. “I don’t know what you want from me, Cersei. But whatever it is, I can’t give it to you.”

Cersei’s lips parted, as though she might say more, but the words died on her tongue. For once, her twin brother had no answer for her, no comfort to offer. Jaime turned away again, his gaze drifting back to the distant lights of the city.

“Go back to the feast,” he said softly. “Tommen needs his mother.”

Cersei stood still for a moment longer, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Then, with a sharp exhale, she snatched up the goblet she’d abandoned and turned on her heel, the silk of her gown trailing behind her as she stalked back into the shadows of the corridor.

Jaime remained where he was, alone beneath the stars, his expression etched with something far darker than silence.

The sounds of the feast began to ebb and swell like the sea, the lively music and laughter punctuating the occasional clinking of goblets and roar of cheer. Yet away from the revelry, in a quieter alcove of the Great Hall, Tywin Lannister stood tall and still, his expression as unyielding as the walls of the Red Keep. Lords and sycophants continued to circle near him like moths to flame, eager to curry favor or win a moment of his time.

But when the soft, measured footsteps of Varys approached, the subtle murmur around Tywin dissipated, as though even the air itself sensed the Spider’s presence.

Tywin’s stren green gaze flicked toward Varys, who approached with a serene smile and hands tucked neatly within the folds of his flowing lavender robes. The Master of Whisperers stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head. “My lord,” he said smoothly, his voice as silken as ever. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

Tywin’s face betrayed nothing, though there was a faint narrowing of his eyes as he studied the eunuch. “And what congratulations do you offer, Lord Varys?”

“For your son’s first nameday, of course.” Varys’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head. “Young Damon is a remarkable boy—strong and spirited, like his parents.” His gaze briefly flickered across the hall to where Damon sat on your lap, still surrounded by noblewomen and cooing servants. “The realm watches him closely, my lord. A lion born under the shadow of a dragon. It makes for an extraordinary tale.”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly, though it was more a tightening of his mouth than a smile. “The realm has a penchant for tales,” he said curtly. “I deal in truths.”

“Indeed,” Varys replied smoothly. “And it is truths that bring me to you now, my lord. Truths carried across the Narrow Sea, where the fires of another dragon burn.”

Tywin turned his full attention to the Spider then, his presence looming even more than before. “Speak plainly, Varys. I’ve little patience for riddles tonight.”

Varys inclined his head once more. “Very well. It seems your younger son, Tyrion Lannister, is alive.”

The words landed like a stone dropped into a still pond. Though Tywin’s face remained unreadable, there was a sharpness to his posture, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “Alive,” he repeated, his voice low and cold. “And where?”

“In Essos,” Varys said softly, as though revealing the answer to a carefully guarded secret. “To be more specific, he is now serving as an advisor to your wife’s younger sister, Daenerys Targaryen—the Queen of Meereen.”

Tywin was silent for a long moment, his piercing gaze fixed on Varys as though trying to unearth the depths of his machinations. “Should I believe you had nothing to do with his escape, Varys?” Tywin asked at last, his voice a blade honed to perfection. “Or with this news?”

Varys’s smile never wavered, though there was a faint flicker of amusement in his pale, watchful eyes. “I would be lying, my lord, if I claimed to be entirely blameless. I may have… facilitated certain circumstances during his escape from the capital. After all, chaos often creates opportunity.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained measured. “You’ve spent your life weaving webs, Spider. I wonder how much of this one is yours.”

“I assure you, my lord,” Varys replied calmly, “Tyrion’s path has been his own. I merely find it curious how Lannisters are so often drawn to flame. First you, with your Targaryen bride and her dragon… and now your younger son, whispering counsel to her sister.”

Tywin’s expression darkened, the weight of Varys’s words settling heavily between them. “What is your aim in telling me this?”

“My aim?” Varys echoed softly, his voice feigning innocence. “My aim is only to keep you informed, my lord. Knowledge, as you well know, is power.”

Tywin regarded him with a cold intensity, his mind already working through the implications. “A Targaryen queen rising in Essos is no secret. But Tyrion’s involvement complicates matters.”

“As it often does,” Varys replied with a faint smile. “Your son has always had a penchant for surviving where others would not. And now, it seems, he has aligned himself with a queen who bears the blood of Old Valyria and speaks of reclaiming the Iron Throne.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “Daenerys Targaryen is a child playing at power. Her sister has proven far more pragmatic.”

“Perhaps,” Varys said mildly, “but the young queen across the sea has grown formidable. Her dragons are a little bigger than Viserion, and with Tyrion at her side, her ambitions gain focus.”

Tywin’s gaze turned icy. “Then it will be dealt with—like every other threat.”

“Of course,” Varys murmured. “I have no doubt of that, my lord. Though I would suggest keeping your eye firmly on both sisters, lest fire burn unchecked.”

Tywin’s stare lingered on the Spider for a long, silent moment, unblinking and unyielding. Finally, he inclined his head ever so slightly, dismissing Varys with a flick of his fingers. “Go.”

Varys offered a smooth bow, his robes whispering against the stone floor as he turned to leave. Before disappearing fully into the shadows, he paused just long enough to add, “It is curious, isn’t it, my lord? How the lion and the dragon always seem destined to meet.”

Tywin said nothing, though his expression was carved from stone.

When Varys was gone, the Lord of Casterly Rock turned his gaze back toward the feast, where the sounds of music and laughter carried on without pause. Across the room, you cradled Damon in your arms, a faint smile on your lips as you whispered to him, oblivious to the storm now brewing in Tywin’s mind.

The Spider’s words lingered like smoke in the air, and Tywin’s jaw tightened as his thoughts raced. Tyrion. Daenerys. Dragons.

Whatever flame had drawn his family to it would soon demand reckoning—and Tywin Lannister would ensure it was met on his terms.

The hum of the feast carried on in the Great Hall, but here, on the far side of the chamber, where the air was quieter and the firelight softer, you sat with Damon cradled in your arms. The plush cushions around you provided comfort as Lady Olenna Tyrell remained seated close by, her sharp gaze scanning the room like a hawk watching prey. Damon cooed softly, his fingers grasping at the edge of your sleeve, his bright eyes filled with wonder as he looked around at the grand surroundings.

You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers through the boy’s curls. “You’ve quite the audience tonight, haven’t you?” you murmured to him softly. Damon giggled, clutching at your hand, his laughter like a balm amidst the constant thrum of the hall.

Olenna sniffed lightly, tapping her cane against the floor in idle rhythm. “They’re all waiting for the child to do something miraculous, no doubt,” she quipped dryly. “As if every noble babe doesn’t giggle and drool all the same.”

You chuckled, adjusting Damon in your lap. “Let them look. He’s a child born into a world where lions and dragons share a room. That alone makes him a marvel to them.”

“Indeed,” Olenna said with a smirk. “They’ll either worship him or fear him in time, depending on which beast roars loudest.”

Before you could reply, a shadow swept across the edge of your vision. You looked up, and there she was—Cersei Lannister, gliding toward you with a goblet of wine in hand, the golden silk of her gown flowing like liquid sunlight. Her face was composed, but there was a hardness in her gaze that was impossible to ignore.

“Lady Olenna,” Cersei greeted coolly, though her eyes barely brushed the Tyrell matriarch before settling on you. “And you, mother,” she added, the word “mother” dipped in a faint edge of mockery.

Olenna raised a brow, her expression sharp as ever. “How rare to see you so far from the royal table, Cersei. I was beginning to think you’d been fused to that chair.”

Cersei’s lip curled slightly, though she ignored the barb, her attention fixed on you and Damon. “You seem content tonight,” she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker. “The proud mother, adored by all.”

“I have every reason to be content,” you replied smoothly, glancing down at Damon, who stared curiously at Cersei with his wide, violet eyes. “He is my joy.”

Cersei’s gaze lingered on Damon for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable. “He looks like father,” she said at last, though the words carried no warmth.

You raised a brow at her. “You sound almost complimentary, Cersei.”

She tilted her head, swirling the wine in her goblet. “Perhaps I am. After all, your son is a Lannister—is he not? My father has made that abundantly clear to all of Westeros.” Her voice was calm, but there was venom beneath it.

Olenna’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “It’s rather amusing, isn’t it? How quickly the world forgets old grudges when dragons return.” She tapped her cane sharply against the stone. “But here you are, Cersei, nursing one still.”

Cersei turned her gaze on Olenna, her expression hardening. “And why should I forget?” she countered, her voice dropping slightly. “A Targaryen sits where my mother once did. Her dragon looms where my son should reign without shadow. Should I smile and clap like the rest of you?”

You shifted Damon slightly in your arms, your tone calm but firm. “I sit beside your father because he chose me, Cersei. And this dragon you so despise would burn those who would harm your family—just as I would.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp as she leaned closer. “Do not pretend that your fire is for us. You serve your own blood first and the rest of us second.”

Olenna let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, do calm down, girl. You sound like a fishwife.”

Cersei shot Olenna a glare before looking back at you. “Tell me,” she continued, her voice deceptively soft, “do you think this peace will last? That my father will dote on you forever, while the realm holds its breath over your son and your dragon?”

You met her gaze evenly, your fingers brushing gently over Damon’s hair as his small hands clutched at the edge of your gown. “I think that the realm will endure so long as we do not tear it apart out of jealousy and spite.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, her knuckles whitening around her goblet. For a moment, you saw the flicker of something deeper—loneliness, fear—but it vanished quickly, replaced by her steely veneer.

“Jealousy?” she echoed softly. “No, Y/N, you mistake me. I do not envy you. I pity you.”

Olenna laughed sharply, breaking the tension like a slap to the face. “Pity? How very charitable of you, Cersei. What next? Will you hand her alms like some poor beggar in Flea Bottom?”

Cersei turned on Olenna, her voice icy. “You should hold your tongue, old woman. You’ve meddled enough in my family’s affairs.”

Olenna merely smirked. “And yet here you are, meddling in hers.”

You shifted Damon in your arms, his small yawn breaking through the animosity. “Enough,” you said softly but firmly, your gaze steady as you looked at Cersei. “If you wish to speak of jealousy and pity, do so elsewhere. My son will not grow up hearing such poison.”

Cersei’s gaze flicked to Damon once more, lingering as though searching for something in his innocent face. Finally, she straightened, her expression smoothing back into icy composure. “Enjoy your moment, Y/N,” she said coolly, turning to leave. “Moments rarely last.”

As she walked away, Olenna muttered under her breath, “What a tiresome woman.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to Damon’s head as his small hands curled against your chest. “She is a lioness protecting what she thinks is hers,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes watching Cersei’s retreating figure. “She’s a lioness who doesn’t yet realize the cage has been locked behind her.” She paused, her voice turning thoughtful. “Watch her closely, my dear. Women like Cersei are most dangerous when they feel cornered.”

You nodded faintly, your gaze drifting back to Damon, who had finally begun to drift to sleep in your arms. His quiet breathing, soft and rhythmic, grounded you against the undercurrent of tension still lingering in the air.

For now, the feast continued, the music played, and the Great Hall hummed with life. But somewhere deep in your heart, you knew Olenna’s words were true.

Cersei Lannister was dangerous—and her resentment burned just as brightly as any dragon’s fire.

The moon hung high over the Red Keep, its silver light spilling across the stone walls and bathing the castle in a cool, ethereal glow. The festivities of the day had finally come to an end, and silence reigned where music and laughter had once filled the air. The halls were empty save for the faint footfalls of a passing guard or the soft flicker of a torch burning low.

In your chambers, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows against the walls. The room smelled of lilies and warm candle wax, a comforting presence as you stood before the tall mirror, unpinning your silver hair. Damon had long since been carried off to the nursery, fast asleep after the excitement of the day. Now, the only sounds were the pop of the fire and your quiet movements.

The door opened with the faintest creak, and you glanced up as Tywin entered, his presence as commanding as ever, even in the stillness of the night. He had already shed his formal doublet, his crimson tunic and dark trousers immaculate, though his shoulders bore the faint weight of the long day. His gaze swept the room before settling on you.

“You’re still awake,” he observed, his tone calm but expectant.

You turned slightly, offering him a faint smile. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I decided to retire here,” he said, moving toward the desk where a decanter of wine and goblets had been left for you. “The rest of the castle is far too restless for my liking.”

You nodded, returning to unpin the final strands of your hair. “The feast was a success, by all accounts. Though it seems you had little patience for the lords that circled you.”

Tywin poured himself a small measure of wine, his movements deliberate as he spoke. “They are drawn to strength, like carrion to a fresh kill. They think proximity to me will bring them power. Fools.” He turned, taking a slow sip of his wine, his sharp green eyes lingering on you.

You finished with your hair and moved toward the large bed, sitting on its edge to unlace the ribbon at your sleeve. “And yet you endure them.”

“I endure many things,” Tywin replied coolly, though something in his voice hinted at the weight of what lay beneath. He watched you for a moment longer before setting his goblet aside and approaching.

You could feel his eyes on you as he neared, the faint creak of the floorboards under his measured steps. His silence, though not unusual, felt heavier tonight. When he finally spoke, his tone carried the careful weight of deliberation.

“What do you know of your sister?”

The question caught you off guard. You paused mid-motion, turning your head to look up at him. “Daenerys?”

Tywin’s face betrayed nothing, though his gaze was unrelenting. “Yes.”

You tilted your head slightly, frowning faintly. “I know probably what you do. She was born on Dragonstone, after I had already been taken north to be a ward of the Starks. I never met her.” You paused, as though searching for fragments of memories long buried. “We exchanged letters, a handful over last year—most of which were formal, polite. There is little else I could say.”

Tywin regarded you carefully, as though dissecting your words for any trace of deceit. “And you never wondered about her? About the sister who shared your blood and hatched dragons?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, your voice calm but firm. “What is this about, Tywin?”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood before you, his towering form framed by the firelight. “Tyrion is alive.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. You blinked, the revelation settling into you like a cold weight. “Alive?” you repeated softly. “How?”

“Varys,” Tywin said curtly, the name like poison on his tongue. “The Spider facilitated his escape after the trial.” His voice dropped lower, sharper. “And now my son sits in Essos as an advisor to your sister, Daenerys Targaryen.”

You stared at him, absorbing the full weight of his words. “Daenerys,” you said slowly, realization dawning. “She means to push her claim.”

“She will,” Tywin replied with certainty, his gaze unyielding. “A Targaryen queen with dragons at her back cannot be ignored. She will come for the Iron Throne.”

You shook your head faintly, your voice steady. “And you think she’s a threat to me? To Damon?”

“Not yet,” Tywin answered, though his expression remained hard. “But she will be. Your sister carries the blood of Old Valyria, as you do. She has armies, she has dragons, and now she has Tyrion whispering in her ear.”

You frowned, searching his face. “Why tell me this now? Why tonight?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his voice deliberate. “Because one of the dragons she hatched flew to you. Not to her. That matters.”

You rose from the edge of the bed, the tension in your body unmistakable as you stepped closer to him. “Viserion came to me, yes, but not because I called for her. She came for reasons beyond my understanding—perhaps instinct, perhaps fate.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You speak as though that makes no difference. But it does. To the realm, to your sister, to me.”

“And what of my claim, then?” you asked sharply, your voice rising slightly. “Is that what this is about? You would pit me against her because the blood of kings runs in my veins?”

Tywin did not flinch, his voice calm but firm. “You are a Targaryen. Your son is a Lannister and a Targaryen. That blood gives you a claim that will be undeniable to many—more so than hers. You could unite the realm, secure its future.”

“And at what cost?” you countered, meeting his gaze without wavering. “My sister is not my enemy, Tywin. She has never been.”

“Not yet,” Tywin said coldly. “But blood has turned to fire before. It will again.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, locked in a silence that crackled with unspoken anxiety. The fire in the hearth danced wildly, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Finally, you exhaled softly, your voice quieter but no less firm. “Do you fear her?”

Tywin’s face remained impassive, though his tone betrayed a flicker of something deeper—calculated pragmatism, perhaps even unease. “I fear nothing. I prepare for everything.”

You shook your head faintly, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Dragons do not bow, Tywin. Not even to lions.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze holding yours, “Viserion flew to you. And now you bow to me.”

The words stung more than you cared to admit, though you refused to show it. Instead, you lifted your chin, holding your ground. “I chose this path—for my son, for myself.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, the flicker of the fire reflecting in his green eyes. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, though still edged with purpose. “Do not forget the world we live in, Y/N. It will not tolerate two Targaryens. When the time comes, you must decide where you stand.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy as his words sank in. Tywin Lannister, ever the pragmatist, had laid the truth bare. And though you knew the fires of your blood would burn brightly in the days to come, you could not yet see which flame would consume the other.

The winds howled around Dragonstone, whipping against the cliffs with the fury of an ancient beast. The grey skies above the island hung low and brooding, heavy with the salt of the narrow sea. Below, the waves crashed relentlessly against the jagged rocks, echoing through the labyrinthine halls of the Targaryen stronghold.

Within the belly of the island, deep in the Dragonmont, the air was heavy with heat, thick with the scent of sulfur and ancient fire. The men of House Lannister—armored in crimson cloaks and polished steel—moved with uneasy steps as they followed their lord through the dim passageways. The sound of their boots echoed ominously against the black stone, though not a single man spoke.

At their head, Tywin Lannister strode forward with his usual measured calm, a figure of unwavering authority even in the heart of this dragon’s lair. Beside him, Jaime Lannister walked in silence. Unlike the other soldiers, Jaime’s face remained composed, though there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze as he looked toward his father.

“Is this wise, Father?” Jaime finally broke the silence, his voice low but clear. “Approaching the beast without her rider? Without your wife?”

Tywin did not slow his pace, his green eyes focused ahead on the faint glow that grew brighter with every step. “My wife is attending to our son,” he replied coolly. “She is not needed for what I intend to do.”

“And what is it that you intend?” Jaime pressed, though his tone carried the weight of caution.

Tywin glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. “To remind the beast of who I am.”

Jaime’s brows furrowed as they stepped into the vast, torchlit cavern that was the Dragonmont. The air was sweltering here, filled with the heavy pulse of something ancient and alive. The black stone walls shimmered faintly with heat, their edges glowing with the faintest ember-like gleam.

And there, at the center of the chamber, lay Viserion.

The she-dragon’s cream-and-gold scales reflected the torchlight like molten metal, shimmering with every slight movement. Her massive wings lay tucked against her sides, rising and falling gently as she breathed. Viserion’s head was curled over her claws, her eyes closed, though even in sleep, the slow rumble of her breathing filled the cavern like a distant storm.

The Lannister men froze where they stood, their faces pale as they took in the sheer size and power of the dragon before them. One of the soldiers murmured a prayer under his breath, though the words were swallowed by the cavern’s silence.

Jaime hesitated. “Father—”

Tywin raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture. Without another word, he moved forward alone, his polished boots striking the stone floor with deliberate precision.

Viserion shifted. The great muscles along her flanks rippled as her wings twitched slightly, the air around her growing hotter. A low, warning growl vibrated through the chamber, deep enough to rattle the bones of every man present. The sound was primal, unmistakably a sign of her awareness.

“Father—” Jaime hissed again, his tone sharper now, though Tywin did not stop.

Tywin stepped closer still, his face a mask of calm as he approached the massive creature. Viserion’s growl deepened, and her golden eyes snapped open, locking onto the man who dared intrude upon her rest. Her pupils, slitted and sharp as blades, narrowed dangerously.

The men behind Tywin tensed, gripping their weapons instinctively though they knew they would be of no use against the beast. Jaime cursed under his breath, his hand hovering near his sword despite its futility.

Tywin stopped mere paces from Viserion, unflinching as the she-dragon lifted her massive head, her teeth bared in a display of power. Her wings unfurled slightly, casting vast, jagged shadows across the chamber walls.

“Viserion,” Tywin said, his voice steady, unwavering, as though he were addressing a courtier rather than a dragon. “I know you understand me.”

The growl from Viserion deepened into something more—half warning, half challenge. She loomed over him now, her neck arching as her throat began to glow faintly with the embers of fire. Her breath was like a furnace, a searing gust of heat that washed over Tywin as she let out a roar so loud the walls themselves seemed to tremble.

Still, Tywin did not move.

The Lannister men stumbled back in fear, one dropping his sword with a clatter. Jaime stepped forward instinctively. “Father, enough! She’ll—”

Tywin lifted a hand to silence his son once more. His sharp green gaze never left Viserion’s molten gold eyes. “You know who I am,” he said evenly, his voice cutting through the dread like steel. “And you know that I am not your enemy.”

Viserion bared her teeth again, her throat glowing brighter as smoke curled from the edges of her mouth. The heat was unbearable, the air thick and stifling. Tywin took another step forward, close enough now that he could see the faint flicker of the fire within her.

“You are fire made flesh,” Tywin said softly, his voice carrying across the cavern. “But you are also her dragon. You know that. And through her, you know me.”

Viserion’s gaze flickered, her growl hesitating for the barest of moments. Her massive claws scraped against the stone floor as she shifted slightly, her wings folding back closer to her sides. The light in her throat dimmed just enough to hint at restraint.

Tywin stepped forward one last time, his hand lifting slowly, deliberately. The men behind him murmured in shock and disbelief, but Tywin ignored them. Viserion watched him warily, her head lowering ever so slightly, her growl softening to a deep, vibrating rumble.

The moment stretched unbearably long, the firelight flickering against the metal of Tywin’s rings as his hand brushed against Viserion’s snout.

The she-dragon let out a deep, guttural sound—not quite approval, but not rejection either. Her massive body shifted again, settling against the stone floor with a huff as she allowed the touch, her eyes half-lidded and watchful.

Tywin let his hand linger for a moment longer before withdrawing. He turned on his heel, facing the men who had watched the impossible unfold before them. Jaime stood frozen, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Tywin’s voice rang out, calm and authoritative. “I want armor made for her—Valyrian-inspired, reinforced and worthy of her size.” His gaze swept over the soldiers, cold and unwavering. “She is to be well-fed and kept under watch. This dragon is not some wild beast. She is a weapon, and like all weapons, she will be sharpened and honed.”

The men exchanged stunned glances but nodded quickly, murmuring their assent.

Jaime finally found his voice, stepping forward as Tywin approached. “You mean to arm her?” he asked, incredulous. “Father, why—”

Tywin cut him off with a sharp look. “Because I will not leave the fate of this realm to chance, Jaime.” His gaze flicked back toward Viserion, who now watched them with wary stillness. “Her fire is ours to wield. And we will wield it.”

Without another word, Tywin strode past Jaime and the men, his footsteps echoing through the cavern. Jaime lingered for a moment, glancing back at the she-dragon as she settled herself, the fire in her eyes watching them all with quiet menace.

He exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath as he followed his father out of the Dragonmont.

Behind them, Viserion’s growl rumbled softly, a sound that seemed to promise that no one—not even Tywin Lannister—could ever hope to fully control the fire she carried within.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #house lannister #legacy #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #got tywin #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n

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ivysprophecy · 5 months ago

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good graces

warnings: (did i write this watching a nonsense christmas? maybe?) i dont think there is any, cursing?

word count: 1061

summary: jj thinks he needs a big gesture to apologize about the previous nights' events, but when he gets back youre just as anxious to make up for your mistakes.

prev. | next

masterlist

@bernardsbendystraws divider

jj's been gone an hour. i thought he was supposed to be back sooner than this?

ive been sitting in the chateau all day bouncing my leg nervously or pacing the house or throwing rocks into the water. anything to calm my nerves.

im drawing in the dirt when his bike finally pulls up to the house.

hes wearing a helmet? since when does he wear a helmet? ive been yelling at him to get one for months.

i watch as he swings his leg over the seat of his bike and takes off the helmet and shakes his head letting his hair fly free. he hates when it sticks to his ears.

then he finally sees me sitting on the poarch.

"what the hell are you doing out here?? go back inside!!" he runs up to me dropping his bag on the ground shooing me back into the house.

ive never been so shocked by something he's said before. literally jaw dropped.

"excuse me? jj im trying to talk to you- apologize to you! why are you acting like this??" i shove him back as he urges me through the screen door.

"mama you can apologize later im trying to set up your surprise youre gonna ruin it- get your cute ass inside-" he turns me back around and moves me through the door.

i let out a little chuckle with a hint of scoff "jj im still fucking mad at you- what the hell are you doing?"

"im fixing what i fucked up," he leans down and kisses me chastely before grinning, "now sit down on the couch and wait for my say so, pretty please."

"youre being awfully demanding for someone on thin fucking ice."

"it will be worth it mama i promise. please?"

okay im mad at him... but hes being really cute. i think that outweighs my guilt.

"fine... but im not waiting forever."

"it will only be a few minutes. i promise," he kisses me forehead after i sit on the couch and runs back out the front door leaving me dazed and confused.

what has this boy got up his sleeve?

after another ten minutes of nervously waiting in the house, scrolling through my phone, bouncing my leg, biting off my finger nails, i hear the sound of 'you are in love' by taylor swift blaring from a speaker outside.

and he KNOWS thats my favorite song from my favorite album.

THAT catches my attention, and im taking it as his clue to finally come outside.

when i finally make it onto the poarch i let out an audible gasp covering my mouth at the sight. this stupid amazing outrageous throughtful fucking idiot.

theres sea shells spelling out sorry on the lawn, and hes sitting there with my favorite flowers that grow from my secluded beach reading spot, a bag of my favorite breakfast foods, and two helmets for his bike. with both our intitals.

"im really fucking sorry mama... i didnt get a chance to explain myself- i swear id never do that to you. ever. i love you so much and i know how many doubts you had about us. and sarah said id probably need to reassure you and i dont really know how to do that so i just figured id do some kind of gesture and-"

i cut off his rambling but running up to him and wrapping my arms around him, probably suffocating him but i dont really care.

this is so fucking adorable.

"thank you... you didnt have to do all of this."

"what happened to being all pissy?" he looks down at me, doing a horrible job at hiding his smirk.

"shut up... im sorry i was being so crazy. i just saw that i freaked out, i wasnt thinking. im so sorry jay-"

he gently grabs my face, pressing a small kiss to my forehead, "i know... and i shouldve made it clearer what had happened and reassured you. im not good at this boyfriend stuff, but im trying. with sarahs help if were being honest."

"youre doing great jj... this whole gesture is so sweet and thoughtful. im sorry that im a crazy girlfriend who flies off the handle when the slightest thing goes wrong."

jj shrugs innocently, sitll having me in his arms, "i dont mind it. it was kinda hot."

"youre such a pig," i smile leaning up and pressing a gentle, loving kiss to his lips, "so... forgiven?"

"youre forgiven if i am."

"you already were."

i lean over and pick up the flowers hed set down so i could hug him, bringing them to my nose.

they have a faint salty smell of the ocean stuck on them, thats one of the reason i love them. that and wild flower bouquets are really freaking pretty.

"these are perfect... thank you jj- really. this is so perfect."

"im glad you like it mama... it was this or me begging on my knees for forgiveness."

"i wouldve loved either option," i joke. "and i promise i will do better to communicate more clearly," i press pause on the speaker so we can hear each other a little better.

jj sits me down on our hammock still holding me close to his side.

"i know you will, we both got shit to work through but were gonna be fine. im not givin up on you that easy."

"you put up with a lot from me."

"eh, its worth it all in the end. when we go to bed."

"god you are such a perv!" i bump him with my shoulder laughing. while hes laughing with me i find the back of breakfast food and stealthily take it from his side and start to snack on it. "god this is so good. youre an angel."

jj throws an arm around my shoulder pressing another kiss to my temple.

"eat up. im gonna clean this up before everyone gets back and makes fun of me. do you wanna keep the shells?"

i nod shoving a bite of hashbrowns in my mouth enthusiastically.

"alright then," he heads to the yard picking up all the shells and putting them in his backpack for me to keep. maybe ill make stuff out of them so we have them forever, to remember this.

like a picture frame or a coffee mug or something crafty.

#jj maybank need you by my side #jj maybank x gn!reader #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fics #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #mama needs her jj #obx x reader #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx #fic recs <3 #my writing <3

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absolutebl · 2 months ago

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This Week in BL - Happy Songkran!

Not sure, but a few of the Thai shows may be impacted by New Year this next week.

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

April 2025 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 24 end - Can you believe we made it through 24 episodes (like this is 2014 or something)? Anygay...

The single brain cell committee trying to put together The Proposal was kind of funny. I do think that of all the couples to get married this is the one that shouldn’t. They are the least healthy, but what can we do?

I knew from the get-go that I was going to struggle to figure out how to rate this show. Twice as long as most other BL’s and with 3 fully represented main couples, played by pairs that I have mixed feelings for. Thus I have to go straight down the middle. I would’ve given our first story a 7/10, our second one an 8/10, and our final a 9/10, which brings us in at a solid 8/10. Frankly, that feels like that’s what this show was, about 80% of a good BL.

Conclusion

This was workmanlike Thai BL in a university setting in which nothing happened to some very nice boys in fun friendship groups. The most noted thing about the show was its source, GMMTV punched down and phoned it in with this one. The kissing was good, the pairs were decent, and the directing was... well it was there. Each of the three main couples turned in solid performances to the best of their respective comedic abilities. Your enjoyment will wholly depend on which pair/story is most to your taste and how much you managed to tolerate the others (and the sides) as a result. I highly doubt this will ever be anyone's favorite BL. 8/10 is a fine rating for something this mediocre. Puts the B in BL.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 4 of 10 - Drunken shenanigans and their consequences. Especially when the boy is obsessed with you. (Meanwhile, the hair in the eyes is driving me batshit.) I'm still enjoying this. It’s sort of old-school BL in a very odd way. I like that. Especially with nothing out of Japan right now. The 21 day courting was cute. And of course I loved the linguistic negotiation. But he’s definitely gonna catch that cold.

Oh the HONEY.

I forgot this part was coming. ARGH NO too sticky!!! The carnage. The clean up. Twas sexy tho.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - Whipping boy trope is a go. But also this dentist is so gone on this broken sunshine with self worth issues. The dorky earnest friend is good too. Enjoying.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) Ep 5 of 12 - I just can't. It's too awful. I did try. DNF.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 5-6 of 10 - I love this show. Love. It. The catastrophic trip. Heesu being an utter frenetic basket case. The PINING from Seungwon and the fact that we all know he isn't ever gonna do anything (unless some one forces his hand lips). It's fantastically maddening.

Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) ep 7 of 8 - Ooo truly unhinged. Excellent. Honestly, I just feel sorry for Da-on with all these boys obsessed, even our puppy. And now the "kidnapping for love" trope. Very old-school. China used to adore this one. It's nto my favorite but it suits this show.

Business as Usual (Korea Thurs Viki) Ep 2 of 7 - Mostly back story not a whole lot happened. Looks like we are in for a meaty confrontation next week tho. Good.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 4 of 12 - I don't mind a fake dating trope, even if I'm not sure how we got here. Actually, this has gotten oddly cute. I like them more as they fall in love and flirt and drink than I do as solo characters.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - more death. Not enough of blondie. And none of my beloved sides? Bah.

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2.

Boy Next World special - only available paid, so I didn’t bother.

Your Sky of Us - Normally, I don’t really report on the specials or the extras or even the spinoffs or season twos, but I gotta say in episode 2 Lee’s claiming sendoff was one of my favorite things to happen in BL this year. That silent "back off" was so perfectly executed. Most of the rest of this special has been just fluff, but it might be worth watching the whole thing just for that 30 seconds. (Sorry couldn't find a gif of it, but TRUST ME. Chef's kiss!)

In case you missed it

Secrets Happened on the Litchi Island (China YouTube) - This one unexpectedly dropped and there are still a few follow up snippets/adverts continuing with this couple.

Summary

This was an interesting, beautifully atmospheric but plotless BL about a boy who falls in love with his older brother‘s best friend in an idyllic countryside jungle setting. The boy is quite femme and open about his identity but his lover is... not. This dynamic ads an element of queer authenticity that's often missing from all BL, let alone something from China! I don’t know what it actually wanted to be, but it felt like a BL had a love child with one of those weird Chinese relaxation farm propaganda channels. The kisses are great, the chemistry is lovely, and the setting stunning. It’s odd but charming in a very weird, very queer, way. I have to say, I quite enjoyed it.

As a BL it gets an 8/10 from me, but as a piece of queer cinema I actually think it's worth more than that. You should all watch it. Who knows how long it will be allowed to stay up on YT.

Next Week Looks Like This:

COMING IN APRIL

4/16 Something Is Not Right (Korea Weds Viki) - trailer Blueming spin off. Ba U and Hun have been friends since they were kids – but Ba U has harbored unrequited feelings for Hun for years. Eventually, Ba U tries to cut off his entire relationship with Hun, much to Hun's confusion. In a last-ditch attempt to get over his feelings, Ba U takes his friend's advice and asks Hun to date for a single week. Hun accepts.

4/19 Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks particularly awful.

4/20 Boys in Love (Thai Sun YouTube? ) 10 eps - Our only true high school BL from GMMTV this year and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. It's milk teeth Make it Right and fine with me. I like lotte milk. Also DIMPLES! Yay! I suspect they are using this one to test pairs for future shows. Like a Project 101 Thai BL. (Honestly I just invented an amazing reality TV for you GMMTV, you're welcome.) Like My School President in 2023, this could be a major sleeper hit for me.

4/20 My Stubborn (Thai Sun ????) ?? eps - trailer Mflow's next high heat office romance involving best friend's younger brother, boss meets intern, bit of a love triangle, GL crumbs, and few other tropes.

4/25 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) 12 eps - trailer Saint is back in a BL, but this is what he chose? When he gets int rouble, Yothin needs to find a safe place. Instead of sending him overseas, his father sends him to the countryside. There, he is under the watchful eye of the village headman Jomkhwan.

4/26 The BangkokBoy AKA Bangkok Boys AKA The Bangkok Boy (Thai Sat ????) ?? eps trailer - Action, crime and revenge meets gangs, mafia, and more. Oh my.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Well that bit from Your Sky of Us with Lee's nonverbal MINE of course.

Yes I liked it more than the honey, honey.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

104 notes · View notes

amethystarachnid · 7 months ago

Note

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

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