#no fear of them being lost to time or on something i can never get back or keep.

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader x Geto "Squid Game"

Warning: [This story contains Yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, graphic violence, gunshots, and blood]

Materialist

Part 3

In a deadly game where survival is the only option, Y/N, with a painful injury, relies on her two protective boyfriends, Satoru and Suguru, to navigate the perilous chaos, unaware that the true threat lies right beside her

Y/n's POV

Once again, I find myself in the room, a place where survival doesn't mean fighting for our lives at least, not yet. The air around me feels sterile, yet suffocating. It's a toxic mix of dread and denial that clings to the walls and presses on my chest as we sit to eat the tiny portion of food. My head spins as I try to process everything: the deaths, the sacrifices, the mind-numbing futility of it all. Lives lost in an instant, snuffed out like they never mattered.

And yet, the worst part? The nagging fear that my boyfriends might be next. The thought twists my stomach into knots.

God, I feel so fucking stupid for even being here.

“Hey, baby. What’s got you so lost in thought?” Suguru’s voice cuts through the haze, his arm draping around my shoulders like it can shield me from the weight of reality.

Satoru glances back, his striking blue eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint. “Just so we’re clear,” he announces, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “I’m not sharing my food.” His voice is so random, so absurd that I can’t help but chuckle despite everything.

Suguru snorts, clearly unamused. “You’re full of shit. Didn’t you just feed her your food last time?”

“I was only talking about you, babe,” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkling as he shoves a piece of bread into my mouth with far too much confidence.

They’re always like this joking, bickering, pushing each other's buttons. Even here, in the middle of a deadly game. It’s both a comfort and a curse. Because when they shift gears? When the game begins? They turn into something else entirely. Something terrifying.

“I hope we win this time,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to leave. I don’t want any more of this.”

Satoru hums, popping a bread into his mouth and eyeing me with that devil-may-care smile. "Well, let’s just pray the ones who begged to stay already met their unfortunate end..”

I frown, the bitter taste of unease crawling up my throat, but before I can say anything, Suguru adds, so casually, “We made sure at least one of them did.”

My heart drops, the food in my mouth suddenly sour. “What… what do you mean?”

Satoru smirks, leaning his chin on his hand like this is some inside joke I’m too slow to understand. “Don’t overthink it, sweetcheeks. Some people just aren’t cut out for survival.” His tone is smooth, but there’s a cold edge beneath it that sends a shiver down my spine.

Were they serious? Or were they messing with me? I can’t tell anymore, and that’s what scares me the most.

Dread

"The votings will now begin..." The announcement echoes through the room, a chill running down my spine. A heavy silence fills the air as everyone rises, some frantically whispering their last prayers, others nervously laughing, awaiting their fate. The tension is suffocating.

"How cruel," I mutter under my breath, my gaze flicking to the men beside me. I can feel the weight of their presence, their proximity pulling me in, both comforting and suffocating.

“Y/N, you’re standing too far away from us,” Suguru’s voice cuts through the murmur of voices, his hand suddenly on my arm, pulling me closer. I’m wedged between him and Satoru, the pressure of their bodies making my breath hitch. It’s protective, possessive like they’re making sure no one can get too close.

I should be grateful, right? But there's a strange gnawing unease in the pit of my stomach. What if something happens to them? What if I can’t keep them safe?

Before I can get lost in my own thoughts, it’s my turn to vote. I take a shaky breath as I step toward the platform, the chaos around me escalating people shouting, crying, pleading. The noise is overwhelming. But I don’t care. I press the red button with a trembling hand. I just want out of this place, away from the madness, the fear.

Then

A collective groan, followed by cheers and cries, fills the room as the decision is made. We’re staying. Another round. Tears sting my eyes, and before I can stop myself, they spill over. I hiccup, my sobs coming in uneven gasps, and I can't hide them anymore.

“Hey, hey, sweetie,” Suguru’s voice is soft, a contrast to the storm of emotions inside me. His hand tilts my chin up, his gaze intense as he meets my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay, shhh…” He pulls me into his arms, but no matter how tight he holds me, I can’t feel at ease. I want to scream. I want to make it stop.

“I got you both into this,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath. “You two always protect me, but… but I’m the one putting you at risk.”

Suguru and Satoru exchange a look, but their faces are unreadable, a shared understanding flickering between them. Suguru pulls back, his hands still cupping my face, his touch gentle but firm. He wipes away my tears, his gaze softening, but there's an underlying intensity I can't quite place.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low, every word wrapped in something that feels almost… dangerous. “Look at us. We’re here because we want to be. We chose to be with you, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if that means playing these games again and again.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, the softness of the gesture masking the unspoken promise in his words.

“Besides,” Satoru interjects with a smirk, his attempt at lightening the mood falling flat. There’s something darker in his eyes, something calculating. “have you seen me out there? I’m a pro at this. You’ve got the best of the best protecting you, baby.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t reach my heart. How could I not love them? They’re the only thing keeping me anchored in this nightmare.

"Sweetcheeks” Satoru adds, his voice dropping, his tone laced with something darker. “This is our decision. To be with you. To protect you. Nothing else matters. Understand?”

Before I can ask how they even got here, how they managed to bypass the system, I’m struck by the nagging thought that keeps haunting me. They’re too loaded with money to have been invited into a game meant for people desperate for cash. I can’t fathom how they managed to slip past the system, how they of all people could end up in a place like this.

The thought lingers, a sickening twist in my stomach, but before I can voice my confusion, we’re interrupted by the announcement of the next game. My heart thunders in my chest. I want to stay lost in their presence, to bury the questions and unease that are gnawing at me, but I know I can’t let my guard down not in this place.

We’re ushered into a new room, and my eyes dart around. The doors are different colors reds, blues, blacks each one more unsettling than the last. It feels… off. I turn to Suguru and Satoru, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but their faces are unreadable, their eyes sharp and calculating.

“What game is this?” My voice trembles slightly, and I can’t hide the unease in my chest.

“This one’s easy,” Satoru says, his smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The cold calculation in his gaze gives me a chill. They're already thinking ahead, plotting moves, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. I swallow hard, my stomach tightening.

Then I see them. Yuuji and Nobara. Their bright smiles stand out like beacons in the gloom, their youthful innocence a stark contrast to the twisted world we’re trapped in.

“Y/N-oneesan! Thank god you're doing okay!” Nobara calls, her voice bright and innocent, as though none of this is real.

“Yeah and we’ll get through this game, together again!” I say, trying to muster some semblance of courage. I don’t want them to see the fear that’s clawing at me from the inside.

But before I can say anything more, the voice of the game master booms, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“The next game will be ‘Mingle.’ A number will be announced, and you must quickly find your group and enter a room before the countdown ends. Failure to do so will result in elimination.”

The words echoed in my mind, and the first thought that came to me was that I had to prioritize them Suguru and Satoru. I groaned inwardly, the weight of the situation settling on me. This game… once again, I was going to be a burden because of my leg injury.

Let The Game Begin

The platform beneath us begins to shift, spinning slowly, and I’m pulled against Satoru’s side. His arm around my waist tightens, holding me steady as chaos erupts all around us.

“Four!” the announcer’s voice booms, and without hesitation, Suguru grabs my hand. Together, the three of us dash toward the nearest door, just making it through before another man squeezes in behind us.

Before I can catch my breath, Satoru pulls me into a dark corner, his body pressing close against mine. “Stay close, sweetcheeks,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with something dangerous and sweet, all at once.

The man inches forward, his eyes darting nervously between us. I glance at Suguru, who stands still, eyes locked onto the guy with an almost predatory focus.

"Two!"

The number echoes through the speakers, and my heart drops to my stomach. I gasp, spinning around to face them. “Y-you guys go with each other!” I shout, but my words feel useless. It’s like they’ve already planned it out in their heads, without even a glance at each other. Suguru doesn’t even hesitate he scoops me up into his arms, while Satoru bolts off in the opposite direction.

“NO! Please! Satoru! Suguru, just go with him!” I scream, my voice catching in panic. But they don’t listen. They’re already committed.

Suguru carries me into a nearby room, his grip firm yet oddly gentle, as if he’s trying to soothe me while everything around us falls apart. “Oh my god, Satoru…” I whisper, trembling uncontrollably, my mind racing.

“Shhh, baby, it’s Satoru. It’ll be okay,” Suguru’s voice is calm, but I can hear the edge in it he’s trying to reassure me, but even he knows there’s nothing really okay about this. I try to steady my breath, clinging to him for comfort.

“But what if—” I begin, only to be immediately cut off by Suguru’s voice, low but firm.

“You’ll hurt his ego if you think he’ll die over this. He’s not like them,” Suguru says, his words wrapping around me like a protective shield. But I can’t shake the feeling gnawing at me what if?

The sound of gunshots rings through the air, sharp and fast. My heart skips a beat, and I flinch, sinking into Suguru’s embrace as if it will somehow block out the noise. But it doesn’t. The gunfire continues, and my body trembles even harder.

Suguru holds me tighter, his arms tightening around me, though it doesn’t shield me from the fear. The only comfort is the steady beat of his heart and the knowledge that, for now, I’m alive. Safe.

Back in the platform a familiar voice cuts through the chaos, booming and undeniably confident. “I’m wounded, sweetcheeks. You think I’ll die over a game like this? Don’t lump me with them.” Satoru’s voice is loud, mocking the tension, even as the sounds of fighting continue around us.

Suguru growls in response, irritation flickering across his features. “Quiet it down, cocky bastard,” he mutters, his tone just as dangerous as Satoru’s bravado.

Despite the chaos unfolding around us, I can’t help but smile softly at Satoru’s voice, a sense of relief flooding through me. He’s alive. And that’s enough for now.

I don’t care about the judging stares or the whispers of the others. My hands find Satoru’s arms, gently caressing them, tracing the muscles I know so well. It’s my way of grounding myself in the moment. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Six!” The number rings out, but all I can hear are the panicked voices around me, the chaos intensifying. My heart races as I spot Yuuji and Nobara dashing toward us. “Yuuji! Nobara!” I shout, and they sprint over to us, barely slowing down before we all head toward the nearest door.

Suguru and Satoru are right behind us, each of them carrying an elderly woman between them. I breathe heavily in relief. Thank god they’re okay.

“Y/N oneesan, thank god you're safe!” Nobara's voice is full of worry as we hug, but my gaze drifts to the old lady in Suguru and Satoru’s arms, her frail body barely reacting to the chaos around her.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” I ask gently, but she doesn’t respond. Her face is pale, and I feel a pang of guilt. It’s like she’s completely checked out, her mind lost in some place far from this madness.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her, but then my thoughts shift back to the game. I just want my boyfriends to be safe, and honestly, that’s all that matters right now. I’m happy as long as they’re with me, but this game is getting worse with every passing minute.

When will this end? Are they planning to wipe us all out? The thought gnaws at the back of my mind, and I can’t help but feel the tension tightening around my chest.

The situation is spiraling out of control. People are fighting over doors now, desperate and vicious, as if they think that a door will be their ticket to survival. The fear is palpable, and it’s only growing.

"Three!" The number blares through the air, and before I can even react, Satoru grabs me, pulling me along with him as Suguru runs alongside us. Yuuji and Nobara split off, each taking their own path, but my mind is too clouded to follow them. All I can focus on is the one thing I can’t control.

“The doors!” I scream, panic flooding my chest as I watch them one by one slam shut.

“There!” Suguru yells, his voice sharp with frustration. His eyes dart to the door ahead of us, wide open, a moment of hope flashing across his face. We make a dash for it, only to come face-to-face with a man already inside.

“It’s taken!” I scream, my hands trembling as I turn, ready to find another exit.

But Satoru’s voice, cool and calm, interrupts me. “No, it’s not.”

I look up at him in confusion as he leads us inside. The countdown is nearing its end, and I can already hear the doors locking trapping us all inside with no way out.

“What do you mean? We’ll get killed if we’re more than three!” I say, my voice rising in panic.

Satoru chuckles, low and dangerously playful, his hands pulling me closer. “Baby, why don’t you just give me a hug?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a darkness hiding beneath the surface. I stare at him in confusion, but before I can respond, his arms wrap around me tightly, pulling my face into his chest. My heart pounds as his grip tightens, his presence overwhelming.

But then, it happens. I hear it the faint, desperate sounds of a man begging, pleading, “Pl-please, no!” My body goes numb, the blood draining from my face as I realize what’s happening. Suguru is going to kill him. I try to pull away, to stop it, but the door locks behind us. There’s nothing I can do.

The sounds of struggling of someone’s life slipping away—fill the room. I feel the urge to shout, to scream, to stop this madness, but it’s like I’m paralyzed. The door’s locked, my body frozen in place, but my mind races.

Why does this feel so... normal? Is it just survival instinct? Or is it something darker?

Satoru pulls away, his hands gently brushing through my hair, and I glance up, my heart sinking into my stomach. The man on the floor is lifeless, his eyes wide in death, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

“Y/N,” Suguru says softly, his voice almost tender as he approaches me. “It’s bound to happen.” His words should comfort me, but all I can feel is the growing weight of dread. I step back instinctively, and I don’t even realize it until I see the way Suguru’s gaze darkens.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, but there's an intensity in it that makes my chest tighten. I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him.

“I... I...” I stammer, my voice faltering as I try to process everything. My eyes flick to the blood on Suguru’s face, and my stomach turns.

Suguru's voice, smooth and dark, cuts through the silence. “Y/N, you know what I said earlier, right? We’ll protect you, even if it means I have to kill again and again,” he says, his words light, almost playful. But there's a twisted edge to them that makes my skin crawl. Satoru spoke up reaching for me “It’s inevitable, baby. He was alone. He was going to die.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with something darker. “No biggie, sweetcheeks.”

No biggie? I feel my blood run cold, and my mind goes numb. Am I hearing this right?

I finally look up at them—Suguru with blood on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable, and Satoru, his expression that sickeningly serene smile, as if this is all part of some twisted game.

I’m scared. I’m so scared. The terror claws at my chest, making my hands shake. But... they’re safe. Right? Aren’t they?

They’re mine. They’ll protect me. But at what cost? As I stare at their faces Suguru’s sharp, calculating eyes and Satoru’s playful yet chilling smile I realize something deeper is happening.

I’m caught. Trapped between fear and longing, between the twisted desire to feel safe in their arms and the horrifying truth that safety comes with a price.

But then, as my heart races and my breath catches in my throat, I realize something else:

Isn’t this what I wanted? For them to be alive, no matter the cost?

[amaya-143]

hello. part two of me ranting about the fear of memory loss in isat. is it that obvious i have autism?

part one was about the kings fear of forgetting. Go read. *clicks my fingers like a cat* go.

disclaimer not a psychiatrist blahh blahhhh u get the idea :p king rant was long, this will be longer. maybe one singular person is as normal as i am about this game and will enjoy. otherwise at least its out of my system and into words

So yeah, the king is afraid of forgetting. Siffrin, however, is afraid of being forgotten.

Siffrin, is late 20s, and just like the king lost the majority of their memories to the island.The people they loved, all that jazz i don't need to write the cinematics again. They too end up in an unfamiliar place, however they end up a rouge. They travel from city to city, never staying anywhere solid, never making any real connections for years (at least as far as we know.) To him, he is just a guy* who lost everything that they knew, and that's that. No point if it'll just happen again. In fact im not even sure if they're aware they're from that island, since I'm pretty sure he learns it ingame. He just exists. Thats it. Their life doesn't matter, doesn't impact anyone. He is forgettable

But then, they meet Mira, Odile, and Isa. Then Bonnie, and when things couldn't get more confusing, he loses an eye for them. The party loves Siffrin, even if they never say it pregame. They appreciate him. And even if Frin doesn't think it directly, they definitely subconsciously believe it pregame. Otherwise, it wouldn't be such a shock when odile says they're colleagues at best. So how can Siffrin go back to his old life? A life on the go, with no connections, nothing but the millisecond bumps into strangers and polite conversations with the clerk at the hotel desk. Nobody to come home to, no one to ask how their day was.

Its like trying chocolate after eating coco beans all your life. Maybe you can tolerate going back to coco beans for a bit, but you'll never forget the chocolate. It'll be something you think about all the time, your thought before sleep takes you, as tiktok would say your 'roman empire'.

So Siffrin cannot let them go back home. He wishes to stay with them. and thus, the loops happen.But after a bit he, quote, 'understands the king more than he'd like to'

He refuses to be forgotten, to have to go back to that life. They've lived the span of their memories being so blindingly forgettable, now someone, some people see them and its so close in his grasp. Isabeau is so close to confessing to him. Mirabelle is so close to her full potential as a housemaiden. Odile is accepting she's more than her roots. And Bonnie, the kid he lost an eye for, disabling him permentantly, HUGGED them. a massive deal for a fella whos been living off small talk and avoiding eye contact for the last 10 years. Just one more loop, if they do it all right then just maybe..

Not here to talk abt the loops. moving on.

After all these people who love him, they don't wanna be forgotten. Trauma isn't just a factor in disorders. Trauma can, and often does create its own reactions. For a real world example, Children who grow up with absent parents often react with avoiding and distancing tendencies, where as children with emotionally unstable parents tend to grow to be anxiously attached to those they love. These aren't disorders, but they are a reaction to the trauma faced and ingraned. Frin's fear of being forgotten is just as much a trauma response as it is a result of the way he lives. Who knows how many people Siffrin forgot in the island. What's stopping him from being like them? What's stopping him from being so forgettable.

Side note, act 5 is next to the Sunny vs Basil fight as my favorite two scenes in games, especially when it comes to imagining/reading about them in other characters povs other than the mains. And bigfrin is my absolute joy in the world. not sorry.

But after loops n loops of trying to prevent it, hearing off handed comments about how bonnie hates them, and how isa will say i love you to anyone except him, Sif's self worth is at an all-time low. They just don't have it in them anymore. They cant do it. we're looking at months of living the same two days over and over. Same lines. Same people. Same events. Years, if you're an insane person who does like 500+ loops. I think most people did like 70-150 though. Siffrin has been reliving this for so long he's begun to find comfort in it. It feels safe. Its boring, its insufferable, yes, but its SAFE. After suffering all those months, they're leaving anyway. They are going home. They will go home and forget Sif and it will all be for nothing. When Odile stops them from looping back, they strike. Either at themselves, or those they love. They would literally rather attack those they've gone through months of suffering just to spend more time with, or attack themselves time after time till it kills them. They'd rather it than risk them all leaving and forgetting him. I don't really have much more to say i guess i just ugh

i love act 5 i love bigfrin and if theres any writers reading this write some act 5 from other party members pov and you will get the juciest kiss.

if you read all this way, congrats!! i diagnose you with autism 💜

*guy is used as a unisex. i know the correct term for siffrin is fella. i went to gender school.

[bleuberrygliscor]

look not to be that bitch. but i spent years of my life in therapy.

i spent years doing things, reading books, trying to fucking fix my own brain due to my body's really cool way of building up tolerance to my medications. Flip flopping between drugs, between therapists, between group therapy locations, between coping mechanisms both "healthy" and "wildly fucking harmful".

i spent blood, money, and tears on CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy) because the years of talk therapy i did never helped me heal (and im sure my therapist that i lovingly refer to as Miss M got tired of watching me trigger myself trying to explain my fucked up brain). and Neither of those things worked for me. it was fucking crushing going to group, week after week, and watching people who lost spouses, lost jobs, actively threatened to kill themselves, get better and stop coming. to attend an anxiety group session only to have the therapist attempt to remodel one of the exercises in real time due to me being unable to close my eyes for more than a minute, playfully commenting about me cracking the arm of the plastic chair from gripping it so tightly. to watch a rotating cast for almost a year, and still be the only one left, passing them on the way to the pharmacy on the first floor and hearing that they've been doing better. the pure jealousy in watching people who were, by all accounts, fucking worse than me, recovering and yet here i was, getting some other ssri to try for the next six weeks and hope my manic episode doesnt freak out my friends.

but i figured out something recently.

i have been journaling for years, since 2002, very infrequently, at the behest of my second therapist. he suggested that writing things down would be best for me. He was very fucking wrong. i hated doing it. it just made me feel worse, lamenting my dull life, tired of writing that i did the same 3 things again today (went to school - did homework - slept). so i joined journaling subreddits and communities later on, and to the surprise of no one i hated it even more with the added competition from people who wrote nicer than i did, took better notes, led interesting lives, when my highlight was "i downloaded an mp3 from mp3bee today and i didnt get rickrolled :D". but this month (literally the last 3 days) ive been scrapbooking instead. and not just that, I've not even been talking about the nothing that i do, literally today was a nightvale quote, and im excited to do something tomorrow.

This is a really long fucking tangent, but my point is that i spent years trying to be everyone else, trying to do the shit that works for other people, and never doing the shit that works for me. fuck i didnt even know it worked for me until Tuesday of this fucking week.

Maybe opening a window, or changing you pjs doesnt help you, but something out there will. youre worth the time it takes to find it.

[ghostsanctity]

Simon had always known he was possessive, but this… this was something new. It all started during a rambling, half-drunk conversation with Soap, the kind they’d both forget by morning—except for one comment that had lodged itself in Simon’s mind like a splinter.

“Lass can’t forget you if she’s knocked up with your baby,” Soap had muttered with a lopsided grin, slurring just enough to make Simon dismiss it at first.

At first.

Simon knew you’d never forget him, no matter how long he was deployed. He trusted you, loved you in ways he couldn’t always put into words. But once the thought was planted, he couldn’t forget it. Maybe deep down it was the fear you’d leave or just the desire to know that you were fully his, round with his child, but whatever it was, when he got notified of an upcoming assignment, he knew he was gonna damn well try.

Which is how you ended up here now, pressed into the mattress beneath him, his broad chest blanketing your back as his lips dragged heatedly along your neck. He reaches around, pulling your body up enough for you to stabilise yourself as he roughly palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers as he continues to rut against you.

He's been at it for hours, fucking you with a relentless intensity, determined to fill you with every drop of his cum before he leaves. You’ve lost count at this point, never knowing he could go for so many repeated rounds but you certainly know it now as you feel his cum run down your thighs, the squelching noise every time he fucks back into you, a combination of your arousal and how many loads he’s given you so far tonight.

"Fuuck-" he groans, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "Gonna knock you up so good. Gonna make sure you're round with my baby by the time I get back."

He pulls out, his cock sliding from your well-fucked hole 

He stares down at your pussy, mesmerised by the sight of it dripping with his cum. He leans down, his face mere inches from it as his heated breath ghosts your folds. He watches, transfixed, as another thick spurt of his previous load oozes out of you.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. "Look at that. Look at what you do to me."

He reaches out, his fingers gently parting your swollen lips to get a better look. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before scooping up some of the cum that's leaking out and guiding it back in with his middle and ring finger.

He pushes his fingers deeper, scissoring them to work his own cum back inside you. He wants to make sure every last drop takes.

"Gonna plug you up-" he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Keep you nice and full of me.”

He withdraws them, glistening with the thick, pearly fluid before bringing them up to your mouth, pressing his fingers against your lips.

"Go on-" he purrs as he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean. You can taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the musky scent of your arousal. It's a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl for me."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to bring them back down to your pussy. He circles your clit with them, the slickness of his cum providing the perfect lubrication before he gestures for you to roll onto your back.

He straightens back up as he slides the head of his aching cock through your folds, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to satisfy the ache inside you.

"Y’not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Not after this- fuck -you’re not leaving me…You can’t–”

You could hear the subtle desperation in his words, a fear that you'd abandon him. He needed to know that you would be here, waiting for him, even when he was deployed.

He kisses desperately, trying to put every fiber of his being into this kiss, hoping to portray even a fraction of the strong love he felt for you. His hips start to move again, his cock sliding into you with a groan. He sets a slow, deep pace, each thrust deliberate and purposeful as he works himself in and out of you.

"Fuck, I love you," he grunts, the words torn from him. "Love you so fucking much…You're my everything, I swear I’ll never let you down-"

He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, fingers digging into your flesh as he impales you on his thick cock over and over again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "So fucking tight and wet for me. Always so ready for my cock, god you’re perfect-."

He adjusts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed as your nails rake down his back and you moan wantonly.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice husky with desire. "Gonna' fill you up so good. Gotta make sure it takes before I leave-

His hips piston faster, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's getting close, you can tell by the way his muscles tense, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

"Gonna cum," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Shit- fuck-”

He buries himself to the hilt, incoherent mutterings rolling off his tongue as his cock pulses, filling you with another thick load. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans as you feel it, hot and heavy, painting your insides white. He collapses on top of you, all his weight heavy upon you, though you don't mind at all, arms wrapping tightly about him.

He stays buried inside of you, his now softening cock still buried deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours as his breath comes in short pants, trying to catch his breath.

"I meant what I said, you know…gonna' make you mine in every way possible," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he lifts some of his weight off of you. "Want you to have my baby- And when I come back, I'm gonna marry you because I’m completely yours and I want you to be fully mine, officially."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

© ghostsanctity → do not copy or translate any of my works

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

[egophiliac]

Hello ! I positively adore the running joke of Idia unknowingly finding Lilia to be the coolest guy ever whenever he doesn't know it's him, like when Silver described his father, or obviously with muscle red. I can't say what'd be funnier, Idia finding out his online best friend is actually Lilia, resident spooky hyper fairy; or them both never finding out, and it'd become even more ridiculous as time goes on. How do you think it'll play out ? You're always so on point

(Also, though it makes sense, I'm still devastated bat boy didn't get a ticket for the Halloween skeleton train : ( does anyone mentions him at some point ? Like how he'd have fit right in with all those Halloween town little freaks, and how he'd have impressed them with his spooks and scared techniques; after all he's been every Briar Valley's children worst fear on Halloween for centuries. I'm on the eng server and I didn't wanna spoil myself by watching the whole thing on youtube)

Have a nice day !

you and me both, Idia and Lilia being oblivious online BFFs (+ Idia being incredibly intimidated any time Silver brings up his jock gamer dad) is my favorite running joke/subplot. 🤝 it's SO good, to the point where I also am unsure if I actually want it to ever be resolved or not...maybe, like, as a post-canon stinger or something? everyone's standing around covered in overblot ink, and Idia and Lilia's phones go off at the same time...

(legit I do think this is part of why Idia couldn't be present for Lilia's dream, because for some reason Lilia decided he was going to just. embody his past self online. he probably quotes his own battle strategies or whatever in the middle of boss fights. Idia didn't pick up on the whole "oh how weird that we both live on a super remote island" thing, but he would spend thirty seconds listening to General Lilia describing siege warfare and be like "w-wait")

all that aside, however it does end up happening, I do see Lilia being very blasé and all "oh! cool!" about it. y'know, taking it very much in stride! and Idia...very much not.

(can't tell if tumblr is going to chew this into illegibility or not, this will be a fun surprise ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

as for Lilia sadly missing out on Halloweentown shenanigans...he does get one little mention as part of an offhand reference to the light music club, but so far no one has brought up how this basically is just Lost In the Book of Liliatown (Sebek's been too busy yelling about not getting to be in the same group as Malleus). 😔 honestly though, it's probably for the best that he got left out, because he would just settle right in and refuse to ever leave. canon would shatter. we would miss out on all the delightful angst of episode 7 because Lilia is too busy eating poisonous shrubbery inbetween practicing his very best screams, and no one can pull him away from it.

(I can hope for a sequel next year though...)

[luludeluluramblings]

One thing I always wonder in Neglected! Reader scenarios that I haven’t seen anyone explore is Married/Single Mom! Reader. It’s drama and angst potential.

Like Reader having a boyfriend and getting pregnant while still living in the Wayne manor, and everyone just takes a little too long to figure out. Maybe they do find out early with the morning sickness and whatnot but the thought of Bruce looking at Reader like 6 months pregnant and being like “Wait a minute… 🤨” and Reader wasn’t even trying to hide it that much.

And same scenario except Reader moved out either while pregnant or got pregnant after, Batfam forgets all about them and when fate does bring them together (like the Bruce/Selina wedding concept) she is literally about to pop or has a whole baby with her. Cue Bruce (and later everyone else) losing his shit because omg??? 😧 that’s his first grandchild and he had no idea!!

… And then if the Reader is married in this scenario, makes it all the more complicated (she didn’t invite anyone to her wedding? what do you mean Alfred attended when we had no idea?). Everyone is straight up hostile towards her spouse (Damian, Bruce and Jason are insufferable) and safe to say he won’t be around for long. Single mom Reader though, the amount of emotional manipulation about kids needing a family and father figures and you should move back in so everyone can help with the baby… Yeah.

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x SugarBaby!Reader x Older!Husband

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N:OOOOO, I have something I was working on that I was having fun with that you might like!

A/N:Neglected!Reader with Older!Husband. (It's husband because it's based of that meme Your daughter calls me daddy, too. And, Reader is Female, because we're making a baby in here.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You, sweet thing, do the typical thing and run off from home, once you turn the legal age. Checking in with Alfred on occasion, but just living your best life. Only, in typical fashion, all those years of neglect lead to severe daddy issues. And, a minor itty bitty attraction to older men.

You get lucky though because you manage to find a fine one that loves to spoil his baby girl with vacations and spa days. All the best for his baby. He loves taking you places and showing you a good time. So, it's no wonder he plans a Babymoon for you when you're expecting your first child. Anything for you.

Unfortunately, Daddy gets called into work right before the vacation. And, despite you insisting you stay, he makes you go and promises to join you as soon as possible.

(No, the man isn't cheating. He just gotta make the money for his baby.)

You have a good time, pregnant on the beach. Getting massages and spa treatments. Video calling your husband every time the baby kicks and flutters.

Unfortunetly, even though you haven't used the Wayne name since you've been married, some drug lords recognize you and decide to ransom you. Dragging you back to Gotham in your little sundress the just so hides your baby bump.

Gotham media runs with the story. Lost Wayne heiress held hostage. No one is ignoring that.

The bat's pull off a daring rescue, but you being stubborn, try to escape on your own. Fearing for your baby's life if they just happen to chose not to come. They never came when you were little, why would they come now.

You happen to injure yourself while escaping. But, manage to make it to an on scene ambulance while the Bats take care of the thugs. You happen to faint on the way to the hospital, leaving the doctor's discover you pregnancy.

Already the media is surrounding the hospital for the most drama filled story of the year. Thankfully, the paramedics have some compassion in hide the bump when rolling you into the ER.

With the media's attention, your husband flies into Gotham and makes it to the hospital just in time to ask the nurse where you are in front of Bruce.

Bruce, of course, bristles when a man his age burst in the hospital demanding to see you, but is using the wrong last name. The nurse saying only family can see you.

"That's my daughter," Bruce will say. Assuming this man is trying to claim you as his. But, he already did.

Making Bruce, the family, the nurses, the patients, and the reporter who managed to sneak in freeze when he says, "That's my wife."

Imagine the doctor that just finished checking on you and your baby walking in right after announcing that you were both okay. The look on Bruce's face when he realizes that this man, his age, not only married you, but had the audacity to put a baby in you.

Even better, the smug way your husband looks at Bruce when he brushes past him to follow the nurse to your room because husband beats father and you demanded to see him.

The drama that follows is going to be legendary.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this idea jotted down and fluffed it up just for this. I'm not sure you wanna know who I had in mind for Reader's husband. (Dude is from another franchise.) But, the thought of him interacting with Bruce as the guy who married Bruce's daughter and knocked her up, delights me in such a visceral way.

[nixie-writes]

Alastor as a father to an adopted sinner child

After episode 5, I've been thinking about how Alastor acted with Charlie to piss off Lucifer and I couldn't help but think about him as an actual father, so here you go.

-in life he never considered having kids. He didn’t hate kids, he just wasn’t fond of them. 

-however, upon arriving in Hell he met many children, and realized they were just lost souls who were damned unjustly. He had a new conviction to adopt a child. 

-you were a sinner child, you were damned because you killed your abusive father. You stole his heart pills, dissolved them in his alcohol and let him drink it. When Alastor heard that story he knew you were the one. 

-when he brought you to the hotel you were scared of all the demons there. They all looked dangerous, and you feared new people. You trusted Alastor because he adopted you, so you clung to him and never left his side. He let you sleep in his bed with him. 

-he took his time introducing you to the staff and guests at the hotel. He started with Charlie, who was so excited to meet you. She loved kids, so she gave you a piece of chocolate and told you that she was happy to meet you. You liked how friendly she was, despite being Lucifer’s daughter. You were cautious of her for that reason, but she seemed nice. 

-the others, you kept a distance from. You were okay with Charlie and Vaggie was acceptable because she promised to protect you, but you were on the fence about everyone else. 

-as a father Alastor was strict, he gave tough love. He wasn’t scared to punish you, but he was lenient on some things. He would let you stay up late some nights listening to the radio or playing with Niffty, and he convinced Husk to let you sit at the bar and sip apple juice and talk to him about your childish life. Husk wouldn’t admit it but he loved to talk to you, it was a breath of fresh air. 

-Alastor never wanted you around Mimzy. She knew he adopted a child but he forbade her from interacting with you because she was a bad influence. You weren’t interested in meeting her. Alastor told you she only came to him when she needed her messes cleaned up, and you didn’t want to be around someone who could bring danger to you or your adoptive father.

-if you upset him by saying something Husk says about him he would one, tell you that saying bad things about people could get you killed and have you scared shitless and two, remind Husk of who owns his soul and who can erase him.

[girlgenius1111]

chosen

alexia putellas x reader after insisting on going to r's childhood home to spend christmas with her family, alexia helps r navigate a rather difficult reunion with rather difficult parents. angst -> fluff / comfort :)

—

It was almost embarrassing, bringing Alexia home to a family so devoid of love. She’d insisted, though, never having met your parents, even though you’d met her entire extended family multiple times. She’d explained it adorably, that she wanted to see where you came from and the people that raised you. You weren’t entirely sure how to tell her that none of that was worth seeing, so with several complaints, you’d agreed to return home for Christmas. Alexia could be difficult like that; when she wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. 

She wanted you to get to spend Christmas with your family, and she was making it happen. No matter what you said. 

What you absolutely couldn’t have, though, was Alexia getting to your childhood home unprepared. She had to know what she was getting herself into, and you did your best to prepare her. It started with small things, telling her how your mother was very religious, or how your father was quiet and probably wouldn’t speak much. But you couldn’t stop thinking of things to warn her about, until you were on the plane sitting next to her, a whole speech about your mother and her disapproval of your career falling from your mouth. 

“And she’ll probably say something about us getting real jobs, and I just don’t want you to–”

Alexia cut you off, grabbing the hand that was gesturing wildly as you spoke and giving it a firm squeeze. “Amor, I have been hearing that for years from people. I can take it.” 

Her smile was nothing but reassuring, and you weren’t sure how to express just how difficult your parents and your family could be. Your girlfriend knew that your relationship with your family was strained, but you’d always been very tight-lipped about the details. You were filled to the brim with anxious anticipation, and you could tell Alexia didn’t understand why you seemed to be dreading this. Christmas at home with your family should, theoretically, be an enjoyable and fun time. 

It wouldn’t be. It hadn’t been, in all the years that you’d been travelling back home for it, and you knew it’d be even worse this year, because every second your mind would be consumed with being terrified of what your girlfriend would be thinking. Of your family and the way they viewed you, the way they spoke and belittled you. The fear that she would realize just how ugly and cruel your family could be and decide she didn’t want that in her life was all consuming. 

You’d always heard that a person was the truest version of themselves with their family. This sentiment had always horrified you, your greatest fear being that it was correct. The version of you around your parents was the worst version of yourself, and Alexia was about to see all of it. 

But didn’t Alexia deserve to see what she was getting herself into with you? In the end, this was what had you convinced to let her come home with you for the holidays. She deserved to know all of the person she was with.

“Amor, hey.” Alexia called, cupping your cheek with one hand as you focused back on her, apparently having gotten lost in your thoughts. “Where did you go just now?” 

Her eyes were crinkled with concern, her fingers soft on your cheek, and you felt the sudden appearance of tears pooling in your eyes. Her brow knitted together and she leaned closer, gently kissing your cheek. 

You inhaled deeply, letting her hand in yours ground you into the present. “I’m nervous. I don’t think you get that–”

Alexia interrupted you again, covering your mouth with her hand. “I understand that your family is difficult. I understand that your relationship with them is not the best. But maybe this can be your chance to try to mend things, no? And I promise, amorcita, nothing I see from your family will make me love you any less.” 

Alexia kissed you again before pulling you into her chest as best she could with the arm of the airplane seat in between you. You let her hold you, wondering if she was telling the truth. If she’d really still love you after… what you were increasingly sure would be a disaster was over. 

—

It started as soon as you arrived. There were a few moments of peace on the drive from the airport to your parents house, with Alexia practically smooshing her face against the window to get a glimpse of your hometown.  

And then you’d arrived, and within a few minutes of your arrival, your mother had commented on your hair, your clothes, your career, and your lack of time spent at home. Alexia was quiet, as you knew she would be, because she still felt insecure about her English, and she much preferred to listen to it than to speak it. 

Your parents seemed to like Alexia, at least, commenting on how put together she seemed, and how kind it was of her to bring the bottle of wine she had with her as a gift for them. You were still tense, though, standing in the pristinely white kitchen with your parents and your siblings, discussing the plans for the day. It was the 22nd, and there were still things needed to be done before everyone arrived on Christmas Eve. Alexia stood at your side, just observing. 

“Alright, what else does everyone need to do?” Your mother asked, taking out a notepad and holding her pen at the ready over it, as if you all weren’t adults that could remember simple tasks.

“I need to get the ingredients for the Christmas cookies I’m going to make.” You stated, having done all of your shopping already and sent it ahead. 

“Really? You’re going to make those cookies?” Your mother replied, her fast twisting with disgust. You shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Yes, everyone normally likes them.” 

Your mother exchanged a look with your father, smirking as she looked back at her list. “Honey, no one eats them. I throw most of them out every year when you’re not looking.” 

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you shrunk into yourself, head bowed as you stared at the floor and willed everyone to stop looking at you. This was what you’d always done; instead of arguing back, you’d shut down. They could say what they wanted, but you didn’t have to let it hurt you. You weren’t exactly sure how to stop it from hurting, but they didn’t have to know that. 

Yet as your Mom turned to your sister to ask her what she had left to do, Alexia stepped closer towards you, grabbing your hand and taking a deep breath. 

“I like the cookies. And so does the team, they always ask you to bring them.” Her voice was soft, words accented, but the room was silent. Your mother turned to look at her, an odd expression on her face, and you sighed internally. You could feel nothing but deep gratitude for Alexia, sweet loyal Alexia who loved anything you cooked and and refused to let even you criticize yourself. 

Your Mother chuckled, a cruel sound that made you wince. 

“You don’t need to lie, Alexia, you’re already way out of her league. You shouldn’t have to eat her awful baking too.” Your Mother joked, a glint in her eye that told you she wasn’t really joking.

Still, Alexia seemed offended at your mother’s words, and you should have known she would be. Her grip on your hand tightened, and she stepped in closer. 

“No, she is a good baker, and I–”

Your father cut Alexia off, speaking for the first time since you’d arrived. “Well, the Spanish do have weird tastes. Excessively affectionate, too.” His eyes flickered down to where your hand was intertwined with Alexia’s, his meaning clear in his tone. 

You felt Alexia’s hand slip from yours, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that she had turned red. This was a step too far. Making Alexia feel embarrassed for showing affection towards you… you could take everything they had to throw at you, but they were not allowed to mess with the best person you’d ever known. 

You stepped forward, despite the light tug on the back of your shirt from Alexia, clearly telling you to let it go. You couldn’t let it go; you could handle the disrespect from your parents, but you wouldn’t let them do the same to Alexia. 

“That was rude, Dad.” Your voice shook pathetically, the big stand you were taking seemed pitiful as soon as you tried to speak. 

Again, your parents just exchanged amused glances, and you could see out of the corner of your eye your siblings rolling their eyes. It seemed as if no one was on your side, and you weren’t sure why you were surprised. That’s how it always went. 

Without another word in your direction, your Mother turned to your siblings, asking them what they had left to do. Of course, there was no criticism of the cake your sister intended to bake, even though it always came out dry. No one told your brother that the amount of alcohol he was planning on getting was absurd. It seemed the humiliation was only reserved for you. 

The old feeling was back, the one of deep loneliness. You’d spent almost 18 years in this house, feeling like an outsider. Whenever you returned, it was like you reverted back to the 18 year old that had left, no matter how much time had passed. You always felt like an irrationally angry kid in the face of how your parents treated you, and you hated it. Always second guessing yourself, always half sure that you were the one in the wrong. Your parents, your brother and your sister, they all agreed that you were the problem. You were alone, here, like you always were. 

Another tug on your hand, though, reminded you that you weren’t actually alone. 

“Come on, show me your room.” Alexia whispered, her hands gentle as she guided you out of the room. She was shocked, to say the least, at your family’s treatment of you. She’d known you had a difficult relationship but she didn’t imagine it was like this. You’d been home for 10 minutes, seeing your parents for the first time in almost a year, and they’d wasted no time trying to embarrass you in front of her. She was hoping this was a one off, though, perhaps an inside joke she had misunderstood. So, she let you lead the way to your room, taking in the small space more critically than she normally would have. 

Her room at her mothers house was left practically untouched from when she’d moved out. It was filled with posters of footballers and old memories. Your room here, though, was devoid of any sentiment. No pictures, no decorations, nothing that made it feel like it had been yours. Alexia wasn’t sure if your parents had cleared away any trace of you from the room, or if it had never really been decorated in the first place. She wasn’t sure which she preferred, honestly. 

But as you leaned into her wordlessly for a hug as soon as the bedroom door shut behind you, Alexia began to worry. Making you bring her here was starting to feel like a mistake. She didn’t have the whole picture, or even most of it. All she knew was that she hated the blank expression on your face, and she hated the way you seemed to shrink into yourself around your parents. Like you’d rather disappear than be noticed by them. 

—

It wasn’t a one off, the awkward moment upon your immediate arrival home. It had barely been 24 hours, but Alexia had witnessed at least 5 different instances of your parents treating you like an inconvenient annoyance instead of the daughter they hadn’t seen in almost a year. 

First, it was your mother asking about your plans for when football ended. 

“All I’m saying, honey, is that you are not going to be able to find a good job with your school records.” She tutted, before turning to Alexia. “I swear, she didn’t finish a math or science class with more than a C her entire time in school.”  

Your mother smiled, as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Alexia’s face was one of both shock and horror. Her mami would never have said something even remotely close to what your mother had just said, even if Alexia had failed every class she’d ever taken. It was so unnecessary, and your girlfriend could see the weight your mother’s words had over you. 

It was more of the same from the day before; instead of saying anything in response, you just sank back into the couch, gaze fixed on the floor. This only seemed to mollify your mom, and as she kept talking, rehashing every test you’d failed, Alexia could see tears beginning to well in your eyes. 

“Her marks were so bad before she left for football, I don’t think she would have even graduated.” Your mother chuckled. It was untrue; your grades weren’t that bad. Not the best, sure, but you weren’t in any danger of failing or getting kicked out. Still, it was like your mouth was sealed shut, and saying anything in response wasn’t possible. You couldn’t defend yourself, you couldn’t even look up from the ground. It was pathetic. 

“Amor, can you help me choose what to wear tonight? I brought two sweaters, and I cannot decide.” 

Alexia didn’t wait for a response from you, standing and reaching for your hand, well past caring that your parents seemed to think of Alexia’s affection as something of an entertaining joke. You followed her down the hall and into your bedroom, her hand warm and soft in yours, only making the sob caught in your throat more difficult to keep in. 

As soon as you were safely in your sadly bare bedroom, though, she was wrapping you up tight in her arms. 

You tried to defend yourself, mortified at everything your mother had said, words mumbled into Alexia’s sweatshirt. “I’m not dumb. She made it sound like I’m dumb, but–”

Alexia cut you off, holding you even tighter. “You are not dumb, I know this. Do not listen to her, do not even think about it. You are so intelligent, mi amor, I promise you.” 

Your body began to shake in her arms, a quiet thank you breaking the brief silence. You were crying, and it was all Alexia could do to keep holding you until the tears stopped. What else could she say? 

But for every conversation that followed in which your mother attempted to belittle you or make you feel bad, Alexia would find an excuse to pull you away. 

When your mother expressed her distaste for your haircut, Alexia practically wrote you a poem in the garage about how much she loved your hair. 

When your father made a thinly veiled comment about how you were most definitely not invited to church the following day, as the other families would be judgemental about your lifestyle, Alexia was right beside you, trying to hold back her absolute fury. She forced a smile, telling your father it was better you both stay home, because ignorance and stupidity were not worth engaging with. 

When your mother suggested you eat a salad instead of the pasta you were going to order for dinner, Alexia very pointedly informed your mother that you were among the fittest on the team. And later, laying in bed, when she could tell you were still thinking about the comment, she… reminded you how much she loved your body. Twice. 

Alexia had an answer for everything, a way to make your chest stop squeezing whenever your mother opened her mouth. You weren’t sure how she was doing it, weren’t sure why she was possibly still here. After all of your flaws were explicitly laid out in front of her, she seemed only more determined to make it clear how much she loved you. 

It was easier, one you decided to just focus on Alexia and not what your parents had to say. With her there with you, it felt like this was a trip you could maybe get through. 

But then Alexia offered to take the family dog for a long walk while you caught up with your sister, by far your favorite member of the family. She thought it was important that you have time together, and she didn’t mind a bit of time away from the loud chaos that had taken over the house.  

She left with the dog, returning only 45 minutes later, with no idea what her absence had given the opportunity for. 

Alexia came back into the house, unhooking the dog from his leash, the smile falling from her face when she sensed the tension in the room. You were nowhere to be seen, and your parents looked beyond furious, clattering around angrily in the kitchen as they cooked. Your sister sat on the couch, guilt written across her face. 

“She’s in her room, go,” your sister whispered, catching Alexia’s eye and giving her a meaningful nod. It didn’t take a mind reader to understand what had happened. Things had been on the brink with your parents the short time you’d been home. It seemed everything had finally boiled over. Alexia moved towards your room as fast as was socially acceptable, knocking softly on the door before opening it. You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, face wet with tears. 

“Oh, mí bebe,” Alexia whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her and lowering herself onto the ground next to you. Her strong arms pulled you into a tight hug, and you burrowed into her, not minding the chill of her skin from the cold outside. No hug had ever felt warmer. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, feeling guilt upon guilt at the fact that you’d brought your girlfriend into this environment, even if she’d insisted on it. How embarrassed she must be, to see you so easily humiliated by your parents. She must be rethinking everything, your whole relationship. 

But, as Alexia was often inclined to do, she surprised you, tenderly wiping away your tears and giving you a reassuring smile. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, nothing.” She assured you, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

“Then let’s go. We can get flights back to Spain. Be home before Christmas, spend it ourselves. Just us.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“Of course I would, amor.”

“You wanted to come here, though, I don’t want to ruin everything,”

Alexia cut you off. “I don’t want to be anywhere that makes you unhappy.” She said softly. You looked up at her finally, and the adoring expression on her face as she gazed down at you was almost overwhelming. 

“Okay.” You murmured, pressing your face into her shoulder. She held you close, pulling out her phone to buy tickets on the next flight out. Once that was done, she guided you away from the safety of her sweatshirt, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Get packing. I am going to speak to your parents.” 

“Ale,”

“No. I am. Stay here, pack. I will be back in a moment.” 

—

You couldn’t be sure what Alexia said to your parents. They didn’t speak as you left the house, and neither did either of your siblings. They all just watched you go, a somewhat impressed look on your sister’s face. Alexia wouldn’t tell you, either, saying she’d just told them what they needed to hear. 

The next half a day or so went by in a blur. You were emotionally exhausted from being home, and Alexia practically had to drag you through the airport once you’d landed in Barcelona. Before you knew it, you were at Alexia’s mother’s house for Christmas Eve. Eli had been delighted to have the both of you home, not saying a single word about how you were supposed to be at your family’s home. 

You could relax, finally, at Eli’s house with people you felt comfortable around. You loved Alexia’s family, loved how they all seemed excited to see you, asked you enthusiastic questions about your life. It was nice, spending the holidays with them. With Alexia’s arms around your shoulders, making sure you were always tucked into her side, and her family so happily chatting around you, it was so nice to be around a happy, loving family. 

Happy, though, wasn’t all you felt. You watched Alexia with her Mami, her cousins and her aunts and uncles. She fit so easily, smiling widely as she joked around with them. Alexia was loved by her family, but you were not. You never had been and you didn’t understand why.  

There had to be over 50 people in the house, and you were confident that no one would notice if you slipped off, just for a minute. Someone had noticed. Alba noticed the tears in your eyes, too, the ones you hadn’t even been aware of. So, while you darted off to the bathroom, the brunette went in search of her sister. 

She found her in a crowd of her uncles, in a heated argument about some football tactic. Alba didn’t have the patience to wait until the conversation had ended, and knew that if Alexia had seen you just a few moments before, she wouldn’t either. 

“Ale.” Alba said quietly, pulling on her sister’s arm. The blonde shook her off, barely turning her head to look at her as she did so. “Alexia, now.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Alexia exited the conversation. “Ay dios mio, what, Alba?” she huffed, dragging her feet as Alba yanked her in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Your girlfriend snuck away, and it looked like she was crying. Just thought you’d want to know.” Alba snapped with a frown, turning on her heel and stomping away. Alexia would fix that later, she thought. 

“Amor?” Alexia called, knocking quietly. “Are you in there?” 

She heard a deep inhale, and then your shaky voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.” 

Alexia tried the handle again. “Let me in, please.” 

A moment passed before the lock clicked open and Alexia practically threw herself through the door and into the bathroom. 

Your makeup was running, and you were desperately trying to mop up the tears still streaming down your face. 

“Come here.” Alexia said simply, opening her arms for you to collapse into. It was a good thing she was wearing a black sweater, or there’d have been mascara visible all over it. You sniffled against her for a few moments, and she didn’t push you to talk. She ran her hand through your hair, leaving a light kiss on the top of your head. 

You pulled away after a moment, reaching for a tissue, but Alexia grabbed one before you could, gently wiping away the tears and running makeup off your face. She had a frown set on her face, and you misunderstood the cause. 

“I’m sorry. I’m okay, you can go back to your family.” 

Her frown deepened. “Do not say sorry. What upset you? Did someone say something?” 

You shook your head, feeling more tears well up in your eyes though you knew you really shouldn’t be crying anymore about this.  “No, no one said anything.” You were wilting under Alexia’s stern gaze, so she made a conscious effort to soften, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. 

“Tell me what has you so upset.” She encouraged, pulling your body closer into hers. 

You exhaled shakily, not quite sure how to explain it without sounding like an awful, pathetic person. “I… it’s just…” 

Alexia sighed, resting her hand on your cheek and encouraging you to look up at her. “You can tell me, bebé. Whatever it is, you can always tell me.” 

“It’s hard.” You mumbled eventually, studying the floor under your feet very closely.  

“What is hard?” 

“Being here.” You admitted. “With your family who all adore you, and they should, it’s just that my family… they don’t… and I just want…” Your voice broke and you slammed your mouth shut, unwilling to allow yourself to break down again. 

“Amor,” Alexia breathed, engulfing you once more in a tight hug. “I know. It is not fair the way they treat you, I am so sorry. It makes sense that this is hard, I understand.” 

You held tight to your girlfriend, letting the smell of her perfume wash over you. Alexia always knew what to say. Always knew how to make you feel better. You didn’t deserve someone as good as her, you were sure of that. As if reading your thoughts, Alexia leaned away from the hug and cradled your face in her hands. 

“Let’s go home. I have a surprise for you there.” Her face was so earnest and hopeful, you felt your heart melt. 

“But your family–”

“They will understand, and I am pretty sure they will not even notice us leave anyway, it is so loud in here, everyone loves to hear the sound of their own voice.” With a fond roll of her eyes and a half smile, Alexia had you convinced. She made sure the makeup that had run while you cried was wiped off your face, before expertly leading you out of the house. As she said, most of her family was too busy chatting to notice Alexia pulling you through the crowd, though she did stop to say goodbye to her mother. Eli gave you a tight hug, sending the two of you on your way with a large shopping bag full of wrapped gifts. 

It didn’t seem to bother Alexia, leaving early. In fact, she seemed so excited about whatever surprise she had for you at home that she was practically bouncing in the driver’s seat. Her excitement remained all the way home, until you were sitting on the sofa in your shared apartment, hands dutifully covering your eyes. 

There was some rustling in the front hall closet, what sounded like a box falling from a shelf and Alexia’s voice quietly swearing. You smiled to yourself, hearing her footsteps approach, before something was placed in your lap. 

“Okay! Open!” Alexia sang, sitting on the edge of the coffee table just in front of you. Opening your eyes, you found a gift bag resting in your lap, puffy as though it was a bit too small for whatever was inside, tissue paper haphazardly covering the opening of the bag. “Come on! Open!” 

You chuckled, pulling the tissue paper out of the reindeer covered bag, and reaching in. Before you had even processed the fabric in your hands, Alexia was leaning in to kiss you, bursting with eagerness. 

“It is matching Christmas pajamas!” She burst out, grinning from ear to ear as you unfolded the red and white plaid pajama pants, white long sleeve shirts with a well decorated christmas tree adorning the front. 

You couldn’t help but match her energy, smiling back at her as she explained herself. 

“I looked up Christmas traditions we could start, just ourselves. I have a whole list, and this is the first thing on the list. New matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. A new… our family tradition.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised you, that Alexia thought of you as her family, but maybe you just weren’t expecting anyone to choose you when your family wouldn’t even do that. You dropped the pajamas into your lap, pulling her in for a soft kiss. “You’re the sweetest. I love it. And I love you.” 

“I love you more.” Alexia whispered, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. “Let’s put them on and watch a Christmas movie!” 

It didn’t matter that Alexia didn’t particularly care for Christmas movies. Not when she was waiting for you on the bed, her set of pajamas looking adorable on her. Her fading blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her face broke into a massive smile when she saw you in your set of pajamas. 

And as you laid in Alexia’s arms, plaid pajama covered legs tangled together as a Christmas movie played on the TV, it didn’t matter so much that you didn’t have your family to celebrate with. You had Alexia, and that was more than enough. 

—

have not proofread this so pls tell me if you find a typo

i hope you enjoy! i know the holidays aren't always enjoyable for everyone, and honestly it's gonna be a weird one for me, but i hope everyone feels loved and appreciated this year.

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

includes caitlyn jayce victor vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : decided to pair these guys up because there was sooooo many requests for them! ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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[astrow1zar6]

Astrology observations-33

I notice a lot of Taurus moon/mars people tend to hoard a lot. I’ve seen ppl with this placement go thru periods in their life where they lost a lot of valuable things whether it be because of money issues of moving away or they may have had a period in their lives where material possessions were very scarce.

Venus in retrograde people tend to come off very cold in social situations. I’ve only seen a handful of ppl with this placement bc it’s quiet rare to find but I notice they tend to lack social graces so people assume they are rude☹️ but deep down these ppl are so shy and sweet. I also notice this is lowkey a beauty aspect like ppl with this placement be sooo FINE but they never see it themselves (similar to Venus square Ascendant)

Saturn square Venus synastry is SOOOO annoying to have for both parties. You both wanna connect badly but everytime you interact there’s this overly formal way you guys about things especially on Saturns end. These people are so attracted to eachother too but there’s always something that keeps you from really getting to know this person whether it be distance, vulnerability problems, communication barriers ect. It usually takes these people a long ass time to connect but when they do it’s so long lasting just takes a lot of trust.

Aries sun/venus tend to try to over dominate their partners and friends a lot. I notice these people always try to compete with others to prove their superiority. This can cause them to have a bully reputation.

Mars in Taurus’s tend to work best when they are working with their hands ESPECIALLY in nature. They are usually amazing farmers/gardeners.

Mars in 3rd house people tend to have a very intense relationship with their siblings. They usually grew up arguing with them a lot or not getting along. Could also indicate having aggressive siblings. Could have a lot of resentment towards them.

Dating a Sag Venus & Aqua Venus just feels like you’re being friendzoned😭

Scorpio moons tend to get really embarrassed when they act out of emotion (Scorpio suns too but Scorpio moons definitely take the cake) they can lose control of their emotions for a second then start ghosting you for like a year lmao.

Aquarius risings are all soo hottt but when you get to know them deeper your just kinda like “????” Uk

Aquarius suns tend to be the least ambitious. They aren’t as attached to money like most I notice. (Unless they got a lot of Taurus and Capricorn)

Virgo moons are such clean girls 🧼

Venus in the 7th house people (especially with libra in the big three) usually can’t be alone for too long. Needs a lot of romantic attention to function. I notice if they don’t get that they tend to lowkey self destruct and go back to toxic exes.

Venus in the 2nd house people have the best self esteem. People usually only associate this placement with finances but people forget 2nd house also rules self worth. When positively aspected these people have such a deep love for themselves which turns them into a magnet. However If underdeveloped they can be very pessimistic & greedy & attract a lot of narcissists that use them for their $$.

Aries sun Cap moon people tend to be bullies.

Lilith in Pisces people tend to victimize themselves in every situation where they may be viewed negatively. They hate being held accountable for their faults.

Aries placements love provoking people and pushing their buttons. They find it stimulating.

Do not argue with someone with a Virgo moon and Scorpio Mars unless you’re ready to cry your eyes out for months

Taurus moons are usually very shy especially with a water/earth mercury it can be harder for these people to make friends due to their fear of getting out their comfort zone. You usually have to be very patient with these people they scope you out for awhile before they decide they want to be friends. Be lucky if they pick you too cuz they are PICKY.

When a Scorpio rising is attracted to you they will STAREEE INTO YOUR EYES. They are the masters at silent seduction. They won’t be overly flirtatious but the minutes they look at you it’s like they’re looking into your soul. And while it can make your heart stop it is very intimidating at times. You see so much obsession in their eyes when they like you. But when they hate you it’s like you’re invisible to them they won’t even acknowledge your presence most of the time.

[harrysfolklore]

driving lessons - op81

summary: oscar piastri teaches his girlfriend how to drive for the first time

MASTERLIST | JOIN MY PATREON

Life is full or ironies, and the fact that your boyfriend is an F1 driver and you don't even know how to drive is definitely one of them.

You always found it funny how someone who could navigate the most challenging race circuits with ease was dating someone who couldn't even navigate a parking lot, and was utterly terrified of being behind the wheel.

"I just can't believe you don't know how to drive," Oscar said while you were having dinner at his place one night.

"Excuse me, mister. Not all of us dreamed of driving cars for a living since we were kids," you teased, making him chuckle.

"Well, I guess I'll have to teach you how to drive, since that's what I do for a living."

You laughed at his enthusiasm, shaking your head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm a lost cause when it comes to driving. I get anxious just thinking about it."

"Oh come on," he threw his head back, "I'll be a great teacher. We'll start slow, maybe in an empty parking lot. If it doesn't work out, we can stop anytime."

You thought about it for a second, you were at an age that it was downright embarrassing to not know how to drive, and maybe Oscar could actually help you face your fear of being behind the wheel.

"Okay," you agreed, "But you have to promise not to laugh at me, and we're not using a one of your McLaren luxury cars."

Oscar's eyes lit up with excitement. "Deal! We'll use something more… beginner-friendly."

"Beginner-friendly?" you raised an eyebrow, "Like what? A go-kart?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it," he laughed, "But no, I was thinking more along the lines of a nice, safe, regular car."

"Fine, but you have to be patient with me," you warned, pointing a finger at him, "I mean it, Oscar. One hint of frustration and I’m out."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise. Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Minor detail," he waved off your accusation, making you laugh, "Seriously though, I think you'll surprise yourself. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you retorted, but you couldn't help but smile.

"Maybe not, but it might get me dessert," he shrugged, leaning closer, "And maybe a makeout session before we head to bed."

You threw your head back in laughter, grabbing his cheeks playfully and pecking his lips a couple of times.

"You're a teenager," you said, shaking your head. "But fine, you get dessert, and you snogging session. Just remember, no racing techniques, I don't need to learn how to drift around corners."

"Drifting? In your first lesson?" he placed a hand on his chest in mock offense, "I'm hurt you think so little of me."

"When are we doing this again?" you said, moving to place your empty plates in the dishwasher.

"How about this weekend?" Oscar hoped off his stool, helping you clean around the kitchen, "I'll find us a nice, empty parking lot, and we can take it from there."

"Oscar Piastri, F1 driver with podiums to his name will teach his girlfriend how to drive in a parking lot," you said as you shook your head, "How ironic."

Saturday morning arrived and it was time for your first driving lesson. After breakfast, you and Oscar headed to the empty parking lot in a small, compact car for the lesson. It was far less intimidating than one of his sleek, luxurious cars.

"Alright, let's get started," he said, opening the driver's side door for you. You took a deep breath and slid into the seat, adjusting it to fit your height, Oscar got in the passenger seat and handed you the keys.

"First things first," he began, his voice calm and steady, "Let's go over the basics. Adjust your mirrors so you can see clearly, and get comfortable with the controls."

You nodded, following his instructions. Once you were settled, he guided you through starting the car and putting it into gear.

"Wait," you said before starting the car, "You're teaching your dummy of a girlfriend how to drive a regular car, okay? Don't expect some professional Formula 1 driver stuff from me."

"I promise, just the basics," Oscar chuckled, shaking his head, "We won't be racing anyone today."

"Okay, here goes nothing," you took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition, the engine coming to life with a low hum.

"Great job," Oscar said with a small smile, "Now, put the car in drive and slowly take your foot off the brake."

You hesitated, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. "What if I mess up?"

"You won't," he said confidently, "And even if you do, it's all part of the learning process. Just take it slow."

You took a deep breath and lifted your foot off the brake. The car began to roll forward and for a moment, everything seemed fine until you pressed the gas pedal a bit too hard. The car jerked forward, causing you to panic and slam on the brakes.

"Whoa, easy there," Oscar said, "You're not at Silverstone, remember?"

"This is so much harder than it looks," you huffed, feeling your frustration bubble up, "How do you make it seem so effortless?"

"Years of practice and maybe a little natural talent," he winked, "But seriously, you're doing fine. It's all about getting a feel for the car, let's try it again."

Taking a deep breath, you eased off the brake and gently pressed the gas pedal. This time, the car moved forward smoothly, and you couldn't help but smile at the small victory.

"See? You're getting it!" Oscar encouraged. "Now, let's try a gentle turn. Just steer to the right."

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning it slowly to the right. The car responded, and you managed to navigate the turn without any major issues. But as you straightened out, you accidentally hit the windshield wiper lever, causing them to whip back and forth at full speed.

Oscar burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but join in, despite your embarrassment.

"Well, at least we know the wipers work!" he joked.

"Ugh, I feel stupid," you groaned, fumbling to turn off the wipers.

"It's okay, baby," he leaned in to peck your cheek quickly.

"Stop kissing me, I'll get distracted," you teased.

"Okay, okay," he said, composing himself, "Let's try another lap around the parking lot. This time, no wiper incidents."

You nodded, determined to get the hang of it. You practiced driving around the empty lot, getting more comfortable with each turn and stop.

As the lesson continued, you found yourself improving bit by bit, though there were still moments of frustration.

"Ugh, why won't this stupid thing go where I want it to?" you groaned, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"Hey, it's okay," Oscar said soothingly. "You're doing great. Just remember to relax your grip a bit. The car will respond better if you're not strangling the wheel."

You did as he said, and you found yourself driving more comfortably around the parking lot, improving with your turns and stops.

"You know," he said at one point, "If you keep this up, you'll be ready to join the grid next season."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. I'll leave the racing to you, thank you very much."

"Fair enough," he said, grinning, "It would be really hard to fight with my girlfriend for the championship."

"Is your girlfriend Max Verstappen and I'm just finding out?" you teased, making him laugh.

"That's a secret I'll never tell," he joked, causing you both to burst into laughter.

After a few more laps around the parking lot, you were feeling more confident behind the wheel. Until the final challenge of the day approached: parking the car.

"Let’s try parking," he suggested after a while, "Find a spot and take it slow."

You spotted an empty space and carefully guided the car into it, but misjudged the angle and ended up crooked. You groaned in frustration. "Why is parking so hard?"

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. "Well, parking an F1 car in the garage is definitely easier, no tight spaces to worry about."

"Ha-ha, very funny," you retorted, but couldn't help but laugh along with him, "Alright, let me try again."

You pulled out and tried parking again, failing to get the car neatly within the lines. "How was that?"

"Okay, so maybe parking isn't your strong suit yet," he teases, "Good thing you're not in a pit stop competition."

"Fine, I had enough for today," you said, unbuckling your seat belt, "I'm ready to go back to being your passenger princess."

Oscar laughed, getting out of the passenger seat and switching positions with you.

"You did great, really," Oscar said once he settled in the drivers seat, leaning over to kiss you, "I'm proud of you, you know. You really pushed through your fear today."

"And we're both still alive so that's a good thing," you joked, making him laugh, "Thank you for being a great teacher, baby."

"All I did was sit here and provide moral support, it's not like I know anything about driving or cars," he teased, "You did all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes with affection, leaning in to kiss him again.

"Maybe next time we'll try an actual road," he suggested.

"Or maybe you can teach me how to do a proper donut," you said, making him throw his head back in laughter.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team."

[enhaeil]

BLOOM! ☆ 엔하이픈

"everything you do, how you call my name sunday afternoon, come and make it rain. let the flowers bloom, ease my pain. always tell the truth, can you answer me?"

bloom - aqyila

lovesick boyfriend! enhypen ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

c/w: suggestive parts in everyone's but niki's. otherwise fluff

heeseung

boyfriend heeseung, who loves that he can be boring and nerdy with you. you guys can just sit there in silence or cuddle while he plays video games and not say anything. he doesn't always have to try to tell a joke or be interesting. he can be his full, authentic self. + you let him talk about his buzz lightyear toys, so he wins.

boyfriend heeseung who is actually obsessed with you, and everything about you. your smile, your laugh, your scent, your body, you name it. he never misses a day of telling you how in love he is with you.

boyfriend heeseung, who is shameless when you turn him on. his hands will be everywhere but where they're supposed to be. he has no problem pressing up against you or whispering filth in your ear. you know what hell yea

jay

boyfriend jay, who is the biggest gentleman. he always walks closest to the sidewalk. he always holds the door and pulls out your chair. he buckles your heels for you every time y'all go out. and even after so long together, he still asks for permission to kiss you.

boyfriend jay, who loves taking you to his hometown, seattle. y'all know that video of him taking a late night walk there 💔 im sick he takes walks with you at night all the time he just loves you so much and wants to show you where he grew up.

boyfriend jay, who's gentle even in bed. he won't ever hurt or degrade you unless you REALLY enjoy it. he might be slightly rougher on more stressed or pent-up days, but other than that, he literally makes love.

jake

boyfriend jake, who feels like he doesn't always have to think around you. he's so comfortable with you that he knows it's okay to say something that doesn't make sense or something that might not be correct because you won't judge him and you probably get exactly what he means.

boyfriend jake, who is literally your shadow. he gives you your space, of course, but he loves you and loves being around you. he's literally like a lost puppy just following you around the house.

boyfriend jake, who's obsessed with your butt. don't get me wrong, he loves your boobs too, constantly face planting into them— but that ass though. his pillow. his bongos. his dinner, i fear.

sunghoon

boyfriend sunghoon, who's literally your best friend. like you got a boyfriend and bestie in one. you guys will just sit there and talk to each other for hours about nonsense. sometimes when you get bored, you'll help him with his english too.

boyfriend sunghoon, who thinks you're the funniest person on earth. if they asked who makes him the laugh the most he'd say you. sometimes you're not even telling a joke, and he's in the corner giggling like a school girl.

boyfriend sunghoon, who's the best kisser. i mean he a DEEP kisser, like sometimes you'll withold from even a quick smooch cuz you know freakhoon gon jump out, and you'll end up naked.

sunoo

boyfriend sunoo who's your best friend, pt2. but not only that; he's your best friend, boyfriend, therapist, makeup artist, pillow, chef. he will be whatever you need him to be that day. he'd genuinely would do anything for you, he ADORES you.

boyfriend sunoo, who will always take your side even if you might be wrong. coworker getting on your nerves ? she should leave you alone. you cussed out some man at the club? he had it coming! a mosquito bit you? wtf is it's problem? NOT ON SUNOO'S WATCH.

boyfriend sunoo who is versatile when it comes to the bedroom. whatever you're feeling that day he will do. if you want him on top that night, he'll joyfully do it. you in a rough mood? give him 2 minutes, and he'll get into mode. as long as you feel good, he feels great.

jungwon

boyfriend jungwon, who is literally your other half. y'all are the goofiest duo on the planet, i swear. the type of couple to make up their own language while everybody else looks at you like you're insane. you guys have so many inside jokes, too.

boyfriend jungwon, who's always given you the first bite or last bite of his food. even when you say 'no' or tell him you're not hungry, he will stilk feed you. he loves you so much and wants to make sure you're never hungry and always content.

boyfriend jungwon, who touches your boobs and butt a lot but somehow makes it in the most innocent way possible... like he's not even being a freak he's just holding your boobs as if this is normal. hands reaching out to give your ass a jiggle or make a beat on it like it's a drumset.

niki

boyfriend niki, who tries so hard to be nonchalant around you, but somebody tell him he is NOT that guy 🙏🏽. you're too funny and too pretty for him to be nonchalant, he be smiling like a big ol' goofy around you. he still tries to act like he doesn't care in front of his members, though. can't let them know !

boyfriend niki, who won't let anybody else touch his stuff except for you. whatever's his is yours once you guys are together. he even lets you play on his game console if you're bored while he's away. he especially loves when you steal his clothes, but he won't let you know that.

boyfriend niki who always tries to impress you. performing extra hard on stage, being really good at a game, walking around in a tanktop and sweats to show off his muscles; anything to get you to compliment him. Please compliment him, or he'll sulk and say you hate him and think he's ugly.

a/n: hi ill answer the asks in my box soon

[gojosatorubrainrot]

Scars don't define you💫

Summary: Gojo starts to feel insecure about your love for him because of his scars

Feat: Gojo Satoru x reader

Content: fluff, mentions of Gojo vs Sukuna fight, reassuring, body insecurities, husband!Gojo x Wife!Reader. Ch 261 doesn't exist lol

Wc: 1121

Author's note: Hi!! I've never thought I will ever be doing this but here we are! Encouraged by my gojo friends in discord to continue this drabble🥰 Sorry in advanced for my poor grammar, English is not my first language 🫡

The Shinjuku incident meant a reborn for the the strongest sorcerer, and you, his wife as well. You almost lost the love of your life by the hands of the King of Curses. At first, you thought everything was over when you saw him laying down on the floor, his lifeless body starting to be covered by the heavy snow storm that had began to fall minutes earlier.

You felt useless, after all, you were a non sorcerer, so,as a civilian, you didn't to have another choice than staying where Shoko and the others were watching the battle being broadcasted.

But its been a long time since that jumpscare and you thanked every existent God and also Shoko for bringing your reason of living back to your arms.

Satoru and you both were laying in bed together, you are running your fingers along his scarred face; each fingertips of yours feeling every single injury of his skin.

As you continue with your doing,he closes his eyes at the softness of your sweet touch, at first, he enjoys it a lot, he always loved the way you did it, always being careful as if he was a glass meant to break, but fear set up on his mind;he thought you hated his scars, that you despise them and  those marks ruined his pretty face, that you wouldn't love him anymore and, eventually, you would leave him alone as everyone did during his life, but this time, he wouldn't have a reason of living because you are his everything.

He doesn't even want to think how a life without in it would be, how alone he would feel again just like he did after Suguru's departure.

When that event occurred, when he was ordered to kill his best friend, he has never felt so useless as a sorcerer, but most of all, as a human being, so that was the reason he chose to stay alone for the rest of his days, to prevent someone from getting hurt by the mere fact of being involved with him. That was his idea until he met you at his favorite kikufuku store. He didn't believe in love at the first sight until he met you nor how does it feel to be in love until you.

you, his everything

He was afraid of losing you again, but now it was because of his appearance, he hated those scars because that meant you won't call him pretty angel or pretty face ever again. On the other hand, they were his reminder of a second opportunity, an opportunity he would take advantage of. His second chance to make things right and spend as much time as he could with you: not spending nights working or on mission trips, only with you, his home.

Now he is debating if telling you or not about his insecurity with his scarred skin, because he thinks you would laugh at this and ignore him, but call him silly for thinking that.

As he thinks about that, he sits up, preparing to get his shirt on. You can see how the mood changed, how an intimate moment filled with love and adoration became one filled with insecurities and non spoken words. He is looking for his shirt to put it on and leave the bedroom towards the balcony, so he can spare his mind off a little bit.

You wonder why he was feeling troubled and why he decided to ignore you and not talking with you as he has always done before. You are hesitant about ask him or not, you always wanted to give Satoru his space, you always respected that because after some time, he will come to you and tell you everything between thousands and thousands sorry for not telling you before.

All you can see now is his scarred back, and your intuition is screaming at you to do something so he could open himself up to you. After few seconds, an idea popped up in your mind; while satoru has his head between his hands, you approached to him slowly trying to not get noticed.

Satoru, who was lost in thoughts, suddenly felt your plump and soft lips along his scared back, giving it small pecs and smooches, replacing your lips with your small fingers tracing every single scar. He didn't understand what you were doing so he let you do so. Suddenly,he feels something he has only felt with you and you only: loved, adored, cherished, he was seen as a human, not a pretty face as he has been called few times, the strongest weapon for the jujutsu society, he was Satoru Gojo for you, your Toru.

He turned his head to where you were tracing your fingers and stared at you: you were focused and determined to make him feel alive again.

His small chuckle made you look up and meet those blue eyes you fell in love with many years ago;

"Hi sweets" he whispered without looking away" What are you doing?"

"Hi Toru" you giggled at that nickname he gave you only when you both were in an intimate moment "Nothing, just admiring your beauty" you responded never looking away from his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Nothing about me is beautiful, princess" he said defeated. "Look at me" he pointed at his scarred skin, despising it, hating it.

"I'm looking at you, Toru. I'm always looking at you and all I see it's the prettiest, the most caring, loving man that I've ever met" you said putting his face in between your hands "I love you,Toru. If you ever think those scars will stop me from loving you, I must tell you don't me well. These scars are telling me that you are here" you give him a kiss in the tip of his pinky nose "alive, with me in our home"

After yours words, Satoru’s eyes immediately fill with tears, but before you notice, he closes his eyes to stop them and leans his head to your warm and reassuring touch, a warm feeling inside his chest arises.

He feels so grateful with you, you are his everything.You stopped caressing him at the moment he opens his eyes, blue like the ocean itself "I love you, angel" he says at the same time you started caressing the scar across his cheek.

"I love you too, Satoru and remember that you can tell me any trouble or inconvenience you are living through, okay? I'll always love you until my last breath" you said finishing the sentence with a quick kiss, which is immediately reciprocated 

With this Satoru knew that he would never feel alone again.

[countlessimagines]

Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

-

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

-

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.