#ob x

[iamasimperyk]

Professor's Pet

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Taboo topic, English is not my first language

Summary: You have a crush on your professor

Pairing: Professor!Rafe x Student!Reader

You knew it was wrong, however, you couldn't help but fall for your professor.

Rafe Cameron. The hot professor every girl on campus had a crush on. You promised yourself you would not be one of those girls, save to say you failed miserably.

Another thing you promised yourself was to never fall for a married man. Fuck. He even had a child.

All the time you reminded yourself that it was nothing but a silly little crush. He had a family, and you were barely twenty.

Still, every lecture got harder and harder for you. He just looked so fine and the way he had with words—it was just too much for you.

"Alright, students, see you next Monday." Rafe smiled, finishing his lesson.

People slowly started leaving, leaving, and you took a big breath before you approached your professor.

"Mr. Cameron? Could I talk to you for a minute?" You asked, feeling how your knees had already gotten weaker.

His smile fell a little, but he nodded regardless, "Of course, Ms. Y/l/n."

"The essay from a week ago, I think you made a mistake with my mark." You said in the friendliest way possible.

"No, I don't think so. The grammar of your essay was rather weak, and I didn't really appreciate the way you chose to write about the topic. The task was to write nothing but information and nothing about your personal opinion." He told you, packing his stuff in the meantime.

"All my other professors never had something against my grammar or my use of words?" You said in confusion.

"Well, Ms. Y/l/n, I suggest you focus on your writing. I am not quite interested in hearing your little excuses." He said with a strict voice before he walked out of the room

You stood there stunned. He never had something against your writing, and he never acted so annoyed and cold toward his students.

Tears swelled up in your eyes, and you quickly left the room, wanting nothing more than to cry in your bed.

You felt like shit. Rafe Cameron couldn't know about the crush you had on him since you never told anyone, and you also tried your best not to make it too obvious—not like the other girls. Maybe he had just a bad day, or maybe, he was really not fond of your essay.

------

A few weeks later, nothing had changed. You saw how friendly your professor acted toward other students, but when you tried to ask a question, he just acted differently. Fuck, he even ignored you every time you raised your hand in one of his lectures.

At this point, you should have accepted the fact that he hated you. But you couldn't.

You stood in front of his office and knocked on the black wooden door.

After a few seconds, it opened, " Oh, you must be one of my husband's students."

There she was, Rafe Cameron's wife. She was beautiful, and she seemed to be nice.

"Y-yeah, I just wanted to ask something about the lecture today, but I will just send him an e-mail." You mumbled with a small smile before you turned around to leave.

After you heard how the door closed, there was screaming.

------

The next day, after everybody left the room, Rafe Cameron asked to talk to you for a moment.

"Ms. Y/l/n, I am sure you had a good reason for coming to my office yesterday, but I would appreciate it if you don't bother me in my free time." He said in a cold tone.

You couldn't take it anymore. It was not a crime to ask a professor a question outside of lectures.

"Mr. Cameron, I tried my best not to say anything, but I can't take it anymore. I was polite to you and handed in every assignment you gave. And you? You gave me bad marks, and everything I do is bad in your opinion," You raised your voice, but he just stared at you coldly.

"What have I done wrong? Just tell me so I can change-" You went on, before he interrupted you," You are the problem. Everything about you is the problem."

You looked at him confused, "What do you mean, Mr. Cameron?"

"Fuck, I mean look at you. The way you look, the way you dress, the way you swing your hips when you walk out of the room, the way you bite down your lip when you're thinking. I can't think about you this way. I am your professor, and you are my student." He told you, pacing around the room.

Your professor, who was also your secret crush, liked you. He liked you in the same way you liked him. But what now?

"I- I don't know what to say now." You muttered and looked away, biting down your lip.

Rafe looked at you, taking a big step forward, and put his hands on your cheeks, "Just one, please."

You looked at him innocently and gave him a small nod. That was all it took before he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

You kissed him back, your tongues dancing around in each other's mouths.

"Please," You let out a desperate moan, and Rafe quickly picked you up before he placed you on his desk.

He took one of his hands away from your butt and brought it down to lift the hem of your black skirt. Slipping it inside your panties and pushing a finger inside your tight, now wet folds.

One of his hands still squeezed your ass as you moaned into his mouth. He broke the kiss, his eyes staring into yours, full of lust, "Who would have thought that you are such a slut for your professor?"

He started to work a second finger inside your tight cunt. Your clit grinding against his palm.

"So desperate, my little whore." He picked up the pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your aching pussy.

All you could do was moan and whimper. You were about to cum before you felt him retract his fingers.

You let out a sound of disappointment, which he returned with one of his famous smirks. He unbuckled his belt and pulled out his cock. He rubbed it against your dripping wet slit before he buried it inside your little cunt.

"Mr. Cameron," You let out a moan that was muffled by another hard kiss.

He started to thrust his hips. Your little pussy clamping around his hard thick cock as he fucked you on his desk.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as your bodies rocked together.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, and all you could do was cry out a small 'Yes, sir'.

He kissed you hungrily, and you could feel yourself nearly at the edge. "Cum with me. Show me what a little slut like you looks like when she cums hard all over her professor's cock." He moaned into your mouth.

You threw your head back as your pussy spasmed. Your hips bucked against him as his orgasm washed over him as well, riding out your orgasms together.

He looked into your eyes again, "You did so good for me, princess. Come on, let's clean you up."

[anbaisai]

bad idea to try this joke on jamiru 💔(redraw of this tweet)

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hi,

I got this fun idea for a twst request and I was hoping you could fulfill it (You don't have to if you don't want to)

Idk how many characters your limit is, but i was wondering if you could write for the overblot boys with a reader who knew the great seven? (Whether it be, the reader is immortal and helped them with their schemes or if you decide something else)

And if it's not too complicated, could they all be platonic except for Idia? (If that's too much, you can make it just Idia or make them all platonic, I don't wanna seem too demanding)

OB with a reader who knows the great seven

Synopsis: You have lived through centuries, once an ally, confidant, and accomplice to the Great Seven in their rise to power. Time has left you a relic of an era long past,until you awaken in Night Raven College, where the shadows of history stir once more.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts had always admired the Queen of Hearts. Her laws, her discipline, her unwavering authority,all things he strove to embody. He had read every record available, memorized every rule, and dedicated himself to upholding her legacy. But you? You had known her.

It was something that left him utterly speechless when he first learned the truth.

You were an enigma wrapped in the guise of an ordinary student at Night Raven College, but in reality, you had walked through history, stood beside the Great Seven, and witnessed their reigns firsthand. To someone like Riddle, who built his entire life around the teachings of one of them, your very existence was nothing short of astonishing.

His first instinct was skepticism. Surely, you were exaggerating or simply playing a joke on him. But then, you spoke.

"The Queen of Hearts had a habit of twirling her scepter when she was deep in thought," you mused one day, as the two of you studied in the Heartslabyul garden. "She used to hum a certain melody under her breath when she was pleased with something, though I doubt any record of that survived."

Riddle nearly knocked over his teacup. "That… that can't be,how could you possibly know that?"

You gave him a knowing smile, one that sent a shiver down his spine. "Because I was there."

The weight of that realization crashed down on him like a tidal wave. You weren’t lying. You weren’t mistaken. You had seen the Queen of Hearts with your own eyes, heard her voice, stood in her court.

For the first time in his life, Riddle was at a loss for words.

From that moment on, his fascination with you only grew. He wanted to know everything,what the Queen was like beyond the strict laws and formal depictions, what kind of ruler she had been when she wasn't delivering orders.

"Did she ever smile?" he asked hesitantly one evening, his voice quieter than usual.

You chuckled. "Of course she did. She wasn’t just a ruler,she was a person, Riddle. No one is defined solely by their laws."

That sentiment struck something deep within him. He had spent so long striving for perfection, for absolute adherence to the rules, that he had never stopped to consider the person behind them. But you… you had seen the Queen as a living being, not just a figure in history.

It changed something in him.

Your bond deepened over time, shifting from awe to companionship. Riddle found himself more at ease in your presence than he was with most people. He still respected you immensely, of course,how could he not? But there was something else, something softer.

He valued your opinions, sought your guidance. When he struggled with doubt, he turned to you.

And one day, as you walked together beneath the rose-covered arches of Heartslabyul, he hesitated before speaking.

"Would you say that… you were proud of her?" he asked carefully. "The Queen of Hearts?"

You considered his words for a long moment. "She had her faults, just like anyone else. But she was strong, determined, and she left behind a legacy that shaped the world. Yes, I think I was proud of her."

Riddle exhaled, something in his chest loosening at your words.

"And you?" you asked, tilting your head curiously. "Do you think she'd be proud of you?"

His breath caught in his throat. He had spent years chasing an ideal, trying to be the perfect Heartslabyul student, the perfect rule enforcer. But would the Queen of Hearts herself have approved of him?

He looked at you, and for once, he didn’t feel the pressure to be perfect.

"I… I hope so," he admitted.

You smiled, and it was warm, reassuring. "I think she would be."

And for the first time in a long while, Riddle allowed himself to believe it.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona had always admired the King of Beasts. It was a well-known fact. The stories of his strength, his cunning, his ability to take what he wanted with no hesitation,all of it resonated with him. He knew them by heart, had grown up with them as a source of inspiration and, in some ways, justification. After all, if the greatest ruler in history had operated by his own rules, why shouldn’t he?

So when he first heard about you,the acolyte of the Great Seven, the one who had actually stood beside the legends themselves,he had his doubts. He wasn’t the type to fawn over old figures, no matter how influential they were. But there was no denying that you carried a presence, a confidence that made it clear you hadn’t just studied history,you had lived it.

And the fact that you had worked alongside the King of Beasts himself? Well. That was something worth paying attention to.

He never asked you about it outright, at least not at first. If you wanted to talk about it, you would. Leona wasn’t one to pry, and he wasn’t about to beg for details like some starry-eyed cub. But when you did speak about it,offhanded comments, casual recollections,he listened. More than that, he committed every word to memory.

“You sound just like him sometimes,” you mused one evening, after Leona had dismissed someone’s attempt to bother him with a single, sharp look.

Leona snorted. “What, ‘cause I don’t have time for nonsense?”

“That, and because you think ahead,” you replied. “Most people assume he was all brawn, but he knew how to plan, how to manipulate the battlefield before the fight even started. He saw the bigger picture.”

Leona’s ears twitched. That wasn’t something most people focused on. The stories always talked about the raw power, the victories, the intimidation. But strategy? That was something only someone who had been there would know to appreciate.

“You’re kinda good at it you know?”

Leona didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drift across the savanna-like fields outside, the golden light of the setting sun making the world look like something out of an old memory.

“…You think he’d respect me?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

You tilted your head. “The King of Beasts?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled through his nose. “Or would he think I was just some lazy second-born?”

A slow smile spread across your lips. “He’d recognize you, Leona.”

Leona’s tail flicked. “Hah. Bold assumption.”

“He respected strength,” you said simply. “And he knew that strength wasn’t just about brute force. He’d see the way you think, the way you analyze people, the way you play the long game even when you pretend you don’t care. He’d see himself in you.”

Leona turned his head slightly, just enough to look at you out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but there was something different in his expression,something thoughtful, something… lighter.

“…Heh. Guess that means you see it too, huh?”

You chuckled. “I’ve always seen it.”

Leona huffed, shaking his head. “You and your big words.”

But he didn’t argue. And later, as he lay stretched out beneath the stars, he found himself thinking about your words more than he cared to admit.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto had spent years studying the legends of the Great Seven, drawing inspiration from their cunning, their power, and their undeniable influence. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would one day meet someone who had actually known them.

You.

The acolyte of the Great Seven, a living relic of history, standing right before him. And not just some distant figure lost in the annals of time,you were real, tangible, and, to his absolute shock, quite fond of him.

Azul prided himself on keeping his composure in negotiations, but even he had to admit that this revelation nearly made him drop his pen.

“You… were close to the Sea Witch?” he asked, voice carefully controlled, though his fingers twitched slightly where they rested atop his contract book.

“Close?” You hummed, tilting your head in thought. “I suppose you could say that. I learned from her, advised her at times. She was a remarkable woman.”

Azul’s grip tightened. “Remarkable indeed.”

To say that Azul revered the Sea Witch would be an understatement. He had spent years modeling his business strategies after her, refining his persuasive tactics to mirror her legendary deals. And here you were, someone who had witnessed her genius firsthand.

“What was she like?” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. He was usually so calculated in his speech, but the opportunity to learn more about his idol was too tempting to ignore.

You chuckled, the sound warm, nostalgic. “Clever, naturally. A force to be reckoned with. But she was also pragmatic. She knew how to get what she wanted without wasting time. And despite what the stories say, she valued loyalty.”

Azul’s eyes gleamed. “Loyalty…?”

You nodded. “She never gave something for nothing, but those who proved their worth? She took care of them. Not out of kindness, but because she knew the value of strong allies.”

Azul absorbed every word, committing them to memory. He had spent years honing his skills, but hearing confirmation from someone who had been there? It made everything feel… validated.

Then you leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “But between you and me? You’re already quite the businessman yourself.”

Azul froze, his mind stuttering over itself.

The praise shouldn’t have affected him so much. He had received compliments before, flattery from clients and students alike. But this was different. This was coming from someone who had seen the rise of the Great Seven, who had stood beside the Sea Witch herself.

And you thought he was impressive?

A slow, self-satisfied smile curled his lips. “Well,” he murmured, adjusting his glasses, “I do try.”

You laughed, and Azul felt a strange warmth settle in his chest. He had always sought validation, always yearned to prove himself. And now, hearing it from you, it felt… right.

Maybe, just maybe, he was on the right path after all.

Azul's reaction to meeting you is absolutely priceless. You’re someone who actually knew the Sea Witch, the very legend he admires most, and your praise holds more weight than anything he's ever heard before. The way you validate his ambitions and skills?

It’s the ultimate boost to his confidence.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had always lived under the shadow of another,always serving, always being overlooked. But you? You had once stood at the side of the Sorcerer of the Sands himself. If anyone understood the burden of duty, the weight of loyalty, it was you.

The moment Jamil found out who you were, his mind reeled. The legends, the history,the Sorcerer of the Sands was a figure he both admired and resented. And you? You had actually known him. Not just as a distant, untouchable icon, but as a real person.

"So, was he as powerful as they say?" Jamil asked one evening, voice measured, carefully neutral. "Or is it all exaggerated?"

You hummed, leaning back. "He was powerful, yes. But more than that, he was clever. He knew how to manipulate, how to turn the tides in his favor."

Jamil's fingers twitched. "And you? You helped him?"

You smiled knowingly. "Of course. I was his acolyte, after all. But power isn't everything, Jamil. Even the greatest sorcerers can fall."

That hit closer to home than he cared to admit.

Yet, despite the enormity of your past, you never looked down on him. You saw him. The real him. Not just as Kalim's servant, not just as someone who had overblotted, but as Jamil Viper,someone with potential, someone worthy of his own ambitions.

He found himself drawn to you, not just because of your history, but because you understood. You had lived through more than he could fathom, yet you still walked forward, unbound by the weight of the past. It was a future he wanted for himself.

One night, as the desert wind howled outside Scarabia’s halls, Jamil found himself speaking words he never thought he would.

"Do you think...someone like me could ever be free?"

You looked at him, gaze steady. "Of course. It’s just a matter of making the right moves."

Jamil exhaled, something unspoken passing between you.

For the first time in a long time, he believed it might actually be possible.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit had always held the Beautiful Queen in the highest regard. She was the pinnacle of elegance, refinement, and ambition an emblem of the perfection he constantly strove for. He had studied every detail of her legend, every calculated move that led her to power, every stroke of her infamous beauty. But he never expected to meet someone who had actually known her.

And yet, there you were, standing before him, ageless and composed, your presence both regal and effortless. You, who had walked beside the Beautiful Queen herself. You, who had been her acolyte, had seen her rise and fall with your own eyes.

At first, he was skeptical. Many admired the Great Seven, but few could claim to have known them personally. But as you spoke,of courtly intrigue, of the Queen’s dedication to her craft, of the sharp mind behind her legendary beauty,he knew you weren’t lying. Every detail you provided matched what he had read, and then some. You spoke of nuances only someone who had been there could know. It was astonishing.

“You knew her,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Truly knew her.”

You smiled softly. “I did. And I see a piece of her in you.”

Vil felt a shiver run down his spine. It was a compliment of the highest order. He had spent his life striving to be as captivating, as powerful, as poised as the Beautiful Queen. To hear it from someone who had been by her side… it felt surreal.

He was full of questions. What perfumes did she favor? What was her personal beauty regimen? Did she ever feel insecure, even at the peak of her rule? Was there ever a moment where she faltered? He wanted to know everything, every secret, every unspoken detail.

But what truly fascinated him was your perspective. “You must have been close to her,” he mused, watching you carefully. “Did you ever fear her?”

You considered the question, tilting your head slightly. “Fear? No. I respected her. She was cunning, but she was not cruel without cause. She understood the weight of power and the cost of beauty. She taught me that to be admired, one must be feared just enough.”

Vil’s lips curled into a slow smile. “And do you follow that lesson still?”

“I do,” you admitted. “But I’ve learned that admiration without understanding is shallow. The Queen was feared for her beauty, but few understood the burden of it. You, however, understand that weight. That’s why you are not just beautiful,you are formidable.”

His breath caught. Flattery was nothing new to him, but your words held the weight of history, of someone who had seen legends rise and fall. To be acknowledged by you was no small thing.

From that moment on, Vil held you in the highest regard. He valued your opinion on everything,his performances, his fashion choices, his approach to leadership. You weren’t just another admirer, you were someone who had witnessed true greatness and found him worthy of the same heights.

And in return, he ensured that you were treated with the dignity you deserved. If anyone dared to question your wisdom, they faced his scathing tongue. If anyone disrespected you, he reminded them, with icy precision, that you were not just anyone.

You were legacy. You were history.

And in his eyes, you were nothing short of magnificent.

Idia Shroud

For someone who spent most of his time locked away in his room, Idia knew a surprising amount about the Great Seven. Not just the basic history everyone learned in school,he knew the strategies they used, the choices that led to their victories, the little details that only the most obsessive researchers could piece together.

So when he found out that you, his s/o, had actually known them? Had worked alongside them? Had been there for everything?

Yeah. That was a full system crash moment.

"You're—you’re serious? You're not messing with me? You actually met them?" Idia’s voice was higher-pitched than usual, his hair sparking wildly.

You nodded, amused by his reaction. "I didn’t just meet them, Idia. I was their acolyte. I worked beside them. I saw them rise to power."

Idia made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a strangled squeak. He scrambled to grab his tablet, typing furiously. "Okay, okay, hold up,I need details. All of them. What were they actually like? Did they really do all those things the history books say? "

You told him about the Queen of Hearts’ unwavering sense of order, the King of Beasts’ cunning, the Sea Witch’s unmatched charisma. You spoke of the Sorcerer of the Sands' intellect, the Fairest Queen’s beauty and ambition, the king of the under wicked humor, and the thorn fairy unmatched power.

Idia hung onto every word like he was absorbing the lore of his favorite RPG. "Wait, wait,so the Lord of the underworld was actually as sarcastic as the stories say? And the Sea Witch? A total manipulator, right?"

You grinned. "You have no idea."

Idia let out an excited wheeze, nearly vibrating. "This is insane. My partner is literally the ultimate lore drop. This is like finding a hidden character in a game that suddenly reveals the entire backstory of the world!"

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Glad to know I’m just a walking DLC to you."

"No, no, you’re, like, the main storyline! The secret boss fight with a tragic yet incredible backstory! The one that players theorize about for years!"

You shook your head, but you couldn’t help the fond smile on your lips.

Later, as he finally calmed down, he looked at you, quieter now, more thoughtful. "You know… that must’ve been lonely. Living through all that, watching history play out firsthand."

You hesitated. "…Sometimes. But I had them. And now, I have you."

His hair turned pink. "Ugh, you can’t just say things like that. It’s super effective, okay? My HP is dropping."

You chuckled, leaning closer. "Then I guess I’ll have to revive you."

Idia sputtered, turning bright red. "G-great, now I’m dealing with status effects. I didn’t sign up for a romance route!"

You only laughed, watching as he melted into a flustered mess.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had lived for centuries, his lifespan stretching far beyond that of most beings. Yet, for all his years, he had never encountered someone quite like you,someone who had not only witnessed history but had actively shaped it. You weren’t just a bystander to the stories of the Great Seven; you had stood beside them, walked through the rise and fall of their reigns, seen their triumphs and their downfalls with your own eyes.

It fascinated him.

Dragons hoarded treasures, and Malleus had spent his long life collecting knowledge, legends, and history. But you,your memories were worth more than any artifact. You weren’t just a piece of history; you were history.

“I have read countless accounts of the Great Seven,” he mused one evening, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim candlelight of the Diasomnia dorm. “Yet none compare to hearing the truth from you.”

You laughed softly. “You say that now, but if I start rambling about how the Queen of Hearts once lost a game of croquet to a commoner, you might change your mind.”

Malleus’ lips curled into a rare smile. “On the contrary, I find such tales far more valuable than the embellished versions written in books.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. “Tell me more. What were they truly like?”

So you told him,of the Queen of Hearts' temper, the King of Beasts' boundless charisma, the Sea Witch’s cunning. You painted them as they truly were, not just as rulers but as people with flaws and ambitions, regrets and victories. Malleus listened, utterly captivated, hanging onto your every word.

Yet, even with all his fascination, there was something deeper beneath it,something warm, something fond.

“I envy you,” he admitted one night, voice low and contemplative. “To have known such figures personally, to have stood beside them in their prime… It must have been extraordinary.”

You tilted your head. “It was. But it was also lonely.”

His expression shifted, as if he understood all too well. “Ah.”

A quiet stretched between you, comfortable yet laced with unspoken words. Malleus had spent much of his life set apart from others, and though he was feared and respected, few truly knew him. You, however, did. And you, more than anyone, knew what it was like to outlive those around you.

“You are not alone,” Malleus said at last, his voice carrying a quiet promise. “You need not carry their stories by yourself. If you wish, I will remember them with you.”

Something in your chest tightened at that,at the sincerity in his voice, at the way his glowing gaze held yours as if offering you something precious.

You smiled. “I’d like that, Malleus.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly understood.

English is not my first language

[the-bi-fangirl-biatch]

casey being a hardened criminal and possibly kleptomaniac after being so wholesome was HILARIOUS, no notes, amazing

B 15 being a doctor?? and her being so soft and kind to that kid?? I love her, she's the best, 10/10 expected but happy

O.B. being a failed writer but also an intelliget physicist working in Caltech is AMAZING, ties in greatly with his character

MOBIUS BEING A SINGLE DAD AAAAAHHHHH HE'S SO SWEET AND KIND AND SOFT WITH HIS BOYS, LOVES HIS DEAD WIFE DESPITE HAVING MOVED ON, KIND TO LITERALLY EVERYONE ONCE AGAIN, EVEN TO LOKI WHO HE JUST MET. I'M SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP FALLING TO THE GROUND ROLLING ON THE FLOOR

Sylvie back working in McDonald's and being a regular at both the bar and a records store, yeah that's definitely so her

[yuri-is-online]

Ok but ace's hair in the new card... He's a side sleeper... If Yuu and ace share a bed he'll literally be a cuddle bug but deny it till the day he dies

-Grim OB Anon

Ace dreams of holding Yuu sometimes.

He doesn't talk about it, but if he did he'd say it's not a dream he has often, and that's sort of true. Normally when he dreams of you, it's in the context of things he'd like to do. Ferris wheels and roller coasters, shopping trips somewhere far off and expensive that he can brag about having gone, and trips to the beach where you build sand castles and just relax. You deserve a chance and have fun, he wants to be there to see how bright you would be capable of smiling if you didn't have a disaster around the corner waiting for you.

He'd be able to hold you at the end of the day, you would be safe and warm right next to the place where you are more important than anything else. His heart hammers right out of his chest at the thought, but he can't stop dreaming of it. More than anything he wants the privilege to deny how close he holds you until his dying breath, when he will wait to hold you in the grave because no way in hell is he letting you go first.

[rafecameronsversion]

baby, no attachment || j.m

summary - jj tells you that you're belong right next to , but denies what you have the next day. was it all casual?

warning - f!reader, angsty, the pain that comes with casual relationships.

should i make a part 2? ☺️☺️ comment if so! y'all idk how to make my stuff longer, i hate how short my works r

the night before was beautiful, jj had seen a part of your soul. sat on the docks by kildare, with your legs hitting the water. jj was right next to you, the night unfolded with soft whispers and lingering touches.

you were talking about the suffocations of being from a kook family, the expectations, the standards, and how they control you. it got too much sometimes, and you can't help but feel like you don't belong.

jj looked at you fondly, a confused expression on his face. "i don't get it..." he started, running his hand through his hair.

"you've got it all, don't you?" he asked, eyeing you up and down. you smiled at him lightly, nudging him in the side.

"do i?" you challenged, looking into his blue eyes as you leaned forward slightly. he chuckled lightly at your jab, as you continued to speak. "because it doesn't feel like it. not when i have these expectations on who i should be, held above my head, told what to want."

jj's jaw tightened, he knew it all too well. the feeling of wanting freedom, albeit his prison was a different kind. he shook his head no, wrapping his arm over your shoulder. "then, you don't belong there."

you looked at him for a moment, a soft smile lingering on your face. "hm... and where do i belong?"

the question hung heavy in the air, an unspoken tension that lies between the two of you. he had a smile on his face, pulling you closer with his arm on your shoulder. he kissed your forehead before looking into your eyes.

"here. with me."

the night before had panned out so perfectly, so beautifully. you can't help but feel anger, anger that curled in your chest like smoke from the dying bonfire. you didn't know where you stood with him— and maybe that was the problem.

the boneyard was alive, a blur of kooks and pogues dancing and laughing like there wasn't a barrier between them. your friends surrounded you, their sharp, mocking voices cutting through the night

"loser" you're best friend called you with a laugh, as she noticed you looking around for a certain blond. "hanging around him? he's a lowlife!"

you ignored her, pretending her words didn't sting. jj made you feel real—like you weren't just another strung up kook with a curated life. what you had with him was real... or so you thought.

quickly excusing yourself to find a drink, you slipped through the bustling crowd, rubbing your hands over your arms for some comfort. you scanned around, looking for familiar faces, hoping to find his. and then you did. jj stood by the keg, his blond hair messy and his easy grin lighting up the night.

his friends, john b and pope, laughed loudly as their voices carried over the music. jj leaned casually against the keg, a beer in hand. he looked like he belonged—a slap in your face that this was his world, and you were an intruder.

"yo, what's the deal with you and that kook...y/n?" he asked, teasing. you stood there frozen, with your heart pounding.

jj didn't answer right away, taking a sip of his beer instead and looking away.

pope chimed in, agreeing. "yea, isn't she like, out of your league?"

jj rolled his eyes at that, his smirk faltering. "we're not together." he said casually, his voice cool. "jus' talk to her sometimes."

the laughter around them died slowly, his friends looked at him with disbelief in their faces.

"what?" jj groaned, shifting uncomfortably under his friends weird faces. "m'serious! there's nothing between us."

you stood there appalled, frozen as you watched the scene. you felt your heart drop, at how easy he could brush you off like everything was nothing. you turned away before you could hear anything more, before any of them could see you from afar.

the lump in your throat grew as you walked away, you could hear them talking behind you but you didn't look back.

what you didn't know was john b slapping jj on the head, because he spotted you right as you walked away. "shit, man! she heard everything!"

[wlwgif]

ORPHAN BLACK The Few Who Dare

[the-oblivious-writer]

Oh the Guilt

Sam Carpenter x Reader

One-shot

Summary: no

Warning(s): major character death and mourning/grief

Notes: Based off of this request: hey! i saw your requests are open (i am indeed busting). i was wondering if you’d do some angst with either sam or tara? maybe sam/tara spending the holidays alone because they falsely accused reader of being gf and pushed them away/broke up w them. but it only ended up putting r in danger and leading to their death? love me some good ol angst if you’re up for it! have a great holiday season :)

The Christmas lights blur through her tears as Sam clutches your photo to her chest, fingers trembling against the worn edges. Her apartment feels too quiet, too empty, the silence broken only by the distant sound of people celebrating that makes everything worse. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Sam stares at your sweater draped over her couch - the soft blue one you always wore when it got cold, the one that still holds traces of your perfume. She doesn't deserve its comfort, but she pulls it on anyway, drowning in fabric and guilt and memory.

"We’re specimens to you, aren’t we?" Sam's voice had cracked like breaking glass, fear masquerading as anger. "I’m not letting Tara get hurt again!"

You'd reached for her, confusion and hurt painting your features. "Sam, please. You know me. I would never-"

"I thought I knew Richie too," she'd snarled, backing away from your touch. "Get out. Get out!”

The door had slammed with such finality. She'd thought she was protecting herself, protecting everyone. Instead, she'd handed you to them gift-wrapped - alone, vulnerable, perfect prey.

By the time Sam realized her mistake, she was cradling your broken body in the rain, red seeping into puddles around you both. Your fingers had weakly brushed her cheek, still trying to comfort her even then.

"Not your fault," you'd whispered, but those words haunt her worse than any ghostface ever could.

Now Tara brings food she doesn't eat, Kirby tries to coax her out, but Sam remains suspended in amber, preserved in the moment she lost you. Your clothes hang in her closet like ghosts. She wears your sweaters to sleep, buries her face in the fabric and pretends she can still feel your warmth.

The Christmas tree in the corner - the one you'd insisted on buying together - stands half-decorated, just as you'd left it. Tinsel dangles like broken promises. The star you'd picked out remains in its box, because finishing it without you feels like accepting you're gone.

Sam traces the words of your last text message: "I love you. We'll talk soon." Her phone screen has cracked from how many times she's dropped it, hands shaking too hard to hold on.

She knows she should let others in. Knows you'd want her to live, to heal, to forgive herself. But every time Tara hugs her or Kirby offers support, it feels like betraying your memory. Like she doesn't deserve comfort after what she did to you.

Sometimes, in the depths of night when the walls feel like they're closing in, Sam swears she can feel you. A whisper of movement in her peripheral vision, the ghost of your touch against her shoulder, the way the air shifts as if accommodating your presence.

"I see you everywhere," she whispers into the darkness, clutching your sweater like a lifeline. "The coffee mug you chipped is still in the cabinet. Your stupid action movies are still in my queue. I can't… I can't delete them."

The apartment creaks, settling into winter's grip, and Sam lets out a broken laugh. "Remember how you used to say these old buildings had character? God, you'd make up stories about the noises - ghosts having dance parties, you said." Her voice catches. "Is that what you're doing now? Dancing without me?"

Sam reaches out, fingers trembling in the empty air where she imagines you might be. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I was so scared of losing everyone that I pushed away the one person who…" She chokes on the words. "The one person who never gave me a reason to doubt them."

The Christmas lights flicker, and for a moment, Sam's heart stops. She's learned to find meaning in these small disturbances, these tiny rebellions against reality. "I know what you'd say. That I need to forgive myself. That I need to let people in." Tears track down her cheeks. "But how can I? How can I when every time I close my eyes, I see you bleeding out in my arms?"

Something shifts in the room - maybe the heating kicking in, maybe something more. The tinsel on the half-decorated tree sways gently. Sam watches it, transfixed. "If you're here… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I should have trusted you. Should have protected you. Should have been there when…"

The star for the tree - your star - sits in its box on the coffee table. As Sam watches through tears, a draft from somewhere catches the lid, lifting it slightly. Her breath hitches.

"You want me to finish it, don't you? The tree?" Her laugh is wet, broken. "Always so stubborn about traditions." She reaches for the star with shaking hands. "I don't know if I can. It feels like accepting you're really…"

The room grows impossibly still, as if the very air is holding its breath. Sam could swear she feels the phantom pressure of your hand over hers, guiding her toward the tree. The sensation is so vivid she gasps.

"Okay," she whispers, standing on unsteady legs. "Okay, baby. For you." She clutches the star to her chest, your sweater hanging loose on her frame. "But I'm not ready to let you go. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

As she reaches up to place the star, the Christmas lights seem to glow a little brighter, and for just a moment, Sam swears she can feel your arms around her waist, your chin on her shoulder, just like before. Just like always.

"Stay with me?" she asks the empty room, knowing the answer, dreading the silence. "Even if I don't deserve it?"

The lights flicker once, twice - like a heartbeat, like a promise - and Sam breaks down sobbing, sliding to the floor beneath your half-finished tree, beneath your star, beneath the weight of a love that even death couldn't quite end.

———

A/N: first request filled, ob-la-di (sorry if this sucks, I’m half-asleep)

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

I just want OB to be okay, Sylvie to live a peaceful life, Casey to get his nerd boyfriend, Bea to find purpose beyond the TVA, and Loki to finally fuck that old man

[speadrunner]

Ive gone mad

[deserthusbands]

quinlan: why're you on the ground? :/

obi-wan, sighing: i'm depressed.

obi-wan: also, i've been stabbed, can you go get cody please?

[strawberry-bubblef]

Twst those you got overblot what should the reaction be if they hurt y/n pretty badly

Like example ( malleus but then to sleep for a very long time not wanted them to leave or like that Leon accidentally made so they lost an arm in his overblot?)

Ob student unintentionally hurting their s/o

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle had always believed in control. He lived by rules, by discipline, by order. But during his overblot, there had been nothing but rage,wild, unrestrained, and merciless.

And you had been caught in it.

The moment he woke up, his breath was uneven, his chest tight. The weight of his own magic’s backlash was suffocating, but none of it compared to the way his heart stopped when he turned his head.

And saw you.

Your body lay still, surrounded by students tending to you, but his eyes could only focus on one thing.

Your arm.

Or rather, the empty space where your arm should have been.

His stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing up his throat.

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn’t be real. This had to be some kind of nightmare, a cruel illusion brought on by his exhaustion.

But the blood staining the ground was real. The pain in your eyes was real. And the devastating loss was very, very real.

Something inside Riddle shattered.

Tears welled up instantly, spilling down his face before he could even think to stop them. His breaths came in short, broken gasps as he scrambled forward on shaky limbs, his hands reaching out before stopping abruptly.

He had no right to touch you.

His magic,his own hands,had done this to you.

"Y/N—" His voice cracked, his throat tightening as the words became stuck. "I—I didn’t—"

Your eyes fluttered open at his voice, and even in agony, you managed to give him a tired smile. "Riddle…"

But that only made it worse.

You should be furious. You should hate him. You should scream at him, tell him to stay away, curse him for what he had taken from you.

Instead, you still looked at him like he was the same Riddle you had always known.

The same Riddle who had just ruined your future in a fit of unhinged wrath.

A raw, gut-wrenching sob tore from his throat as he collapsed beside you, his body trembling violently. His tears fell freely now, staining his uniform as he gripped his head, gasping between hiccupped cries.

"I’m sorry,I’m so sorry," he choked out. "I—how could I—? You—your arm—I—!"

The words wouldn't form. Nothing could possibly express the horror, the unbearable weight of what he had done.

"I didn’t mean to—I never wanted—!" He sobbed like a child, gasping for air, voice breaking over and over. "Please—please forgive me—!"

He was spiraling. He knew he was spiraling, but there was no stopping it. His magic had never failed him before, but now, it had cost you something irreplaceable.

And all he could do was weep.

Even after you were taken away for treatment, Riddle remained on the ground, curled in on himself as the tears continued to fall, his body wracked with uncontrollable grief.

For days, he could barely function. He would bring you everything you needed, yet he never had the courage to truly face you. He couldn’t look at the place where your arm had once been without feeling like the air was being sucked out of his lungs.

Even as you reassured him, even as you smiled and told him that you would find a way to move forward, Riddle couldn’t forgive himself.

And he never would.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona had never been one to sugarcoat things. Life was unfair, people were weak, and the strong took what they wanted. That was how the world worked.

But nothing had prepared him for this.

He could still remember the sheer force of his magic, the way the sandstorm had swallowed everything, the deafening roar of destruction.

And you

You had been caught in it.

He hadn’t seen it happen. He didn’t remember the exact moment when his magic had reached you. But the scent of blood in the air was unmistakable.

And the moment he opened his eyes, his world stopped.

You were on the ground, injured, battered and missing an arm.

Your dominant arm, the one you always used to pull him along when he was too lazy to move, the one that had rested so casually on his shoulder as you teased him, the one that had traced gentle patterns into his skin during quiet moments together.

Gone.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else.

His fingers dug into his palms, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. His body trembled not from exhaustion, not from magic drain, but from the sheer force of the emotions crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

This couldn’t be real.

There was no way.

But the scent of blood told him otherwise.

And then, you opened your eyes.

“…Leona?”

Your voice was weak, but still there, still reaching for him like you always did.

His breath hitched. His hands clenched tighter, his nails drawing blood from his own skin.

You should be yelling at him. You should be cursing him, demanding to know why he let this happen, why he wasn’t strong enough to protect you from himself.

But instead, you were looking at him with tired eyes, like you were more worried about him than yourself.

That broke something inside him.

His knees hit the ground beside you, his tail low, ears flattened. His hands hovered over you, but he didn’t dare touch. He didn’t deserve to.

“…Dammit,” he muttered, voice hoarse. He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying,failing to keep his emotions in check.

He had never cared about rules or expectations. But this? This was something that should never have happened.

He had hurt you.

He had taken something from you.

And there was no way to fix it.

“Stupid…” His voice wavered. His throat felt tight, dry. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling shakily. “Why’d you get in the way, huh? What were you thinkin’?”

You let out a tired chuckle. “Didn’t really… have time to think.”

His ears twitched at your response, but there was no amusement in his expression. His hands curled into fists. His chest ached in a way he couldn’t describe.

He had always been a realist. The world was cruel, life was unfair.

But for the first time, he wanted to deny reality.

To pretend that none of this had happened.

To believe that when he woke up tomorrow, you’d still have both arms, that this was all just some horrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

And he knew that no matter what he did from this point forward, he would never,never,be able to undo this mistake.

Even after you were taken for treatment, he didn’t leave your side. He didn’t sleep, barely ate. He just sat there, staring at your unconscious form, ears low, tail still, expression unreadable.He did even participated to to the spelldrive tournament.

But deep down, he knew.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how much you forgave him.

Leona Kingscholar would never forgive himself.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had spent years perfecting his image,charming, intelligent, always in control. No one could touch him, no one could hurt him, and most importantly, no one could ever see him as weak again.

But now?

Now, he was staring at you, his beloved, as you lay unconscious in the infirmary.

And he had never felt weaker in his entire life.

His hands trembled, gripping his arms so tightly his nails nearly broke skin. His breath came in uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling far too quickly, like he was on the verge of drowning all over again.

Because you were hurt.

Because of him.

He had lost control during his overblot. The memories of it were a blur of suffocating ink, the crushing weight of his own insecurities manifesting in monstrous form. He had wanted power,more power, enough to make sure no one could ever trample him underfoot again.

And in that desperate grasp for control, he had lost the most precious thing in his life.

Your leg was gone.

You had saved him. He didn’t know how,didn’t know when you had gotten close enough to reach him, to try and pull him back from the brink.

But his ink had swallowed you whole.

And when the storm cleared, when his world came crashing back into sharp, unbearable clarity, he had seen you unconscious and bleeding.

Less than whole.

A choked, bitter laugh bubbled up in his throat, but it never made it past his lips.

This was what he had always feared, wasn’t it? Losing control, being seen as the monster he truly was.

And now you knew.

Now, there was no illusion left to protect him.

He reached for you hesitantly, his fingers barely brushing against your arm before he pulled back. He had no right to touch you.

“…You should hate me.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper.

He expected you to wake up and recoil from him. To push him away, to yell, to curse him for what he had taken from you.

And you would be right to do so.

But when your eyelids fluttered open, the first thing you did

Was smile at him.

“…Hey, Azul.” Your voice was hoarse, weak. “You look terrible.”

His breath hitched.

You should be screaming at him, demanding to know why, demanding answers he couldn’t give.

Instead, you were worried about him.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palm as his head bowed.

“…You’re a fool.” His voice wavered. “An absolute fool. Why did you—”

You lifted a trembling hand and placed it over his.

Azul flinched, his entire body tensing. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve your warmth, your touch, your kindness.

But you still gave it to him anyway.

“Because you needed someone,” you murmured, your fingers weak against his. “And I… I needed you too.”

He bit his lip hard, swallowing down the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over.

He wanted to say he was sorry, but words would never be enough.

He wanted to promise he’d fix this, but no matter how powerful he was, no contract in the world could return what was lost.

So instead, all he could do was hold your hand, press his forehead against it, and try not to let the tears slip past his lashes.

And when you squeezed his fingers ever so gently, offering him comfort when it should be the other way around.

He broke.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had spent his entire life perfecting the art of control.

Control over his emotions. Control over his actions. Control over every single aspect of himself so that no one,not Kalim, not his family, not the world could ever dictate his fate.

But now?

Now, he was staring at the consequence of his failure.

And it was unbearable.

You lay on the infirmary bed, unconscious, your breathing shallow. Bandages wrapped tightly around your leg, but no amount of magic could change the fact that below the knee—

There was nothing left.

His grip tightened around the chair he sat on, fingers trembling.

How had it come to this?

He knew exactly how.

The moment he had lost himself to his overblot, the moment years of frustration and anger had finally erupted into something monstrous,he had wanted power. No, he had craved it, needed it more than anything.

And in his desperate grasp for freedom, he had taken yours away.

He could still remember it. The image was burned into his mind like a cursed brand.

He hadn’t even realized what had happened until the rage left his body, until the darkness cleared, and he saw you lying there.

He thought he had known pain.

But nothing, nothing in his life had ever hurt like this.

Jamil clenched his jaw, forcing his hands to remain still as he sat beside you, watching your every breath, as if afraid you would disappear entirely if he looked away.

What could he even say to you when you woke up?

“Sorry” wasn’t enough.

Nothing would ever be enough.

A deep, suffocating silence filled the air, broken only by the faint rustling of the sheets as you stirred.

His breath caught.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your face scrunching slightly before your eyes slowly opened.

The moment your gaze met his, something in him nearly shattered.

“…Jamil?” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

He swallowed hard.

He should leave.

He should stand up and walk out of this room before you had the chance to say anything,before he saw the realization dawn in your eyes, before you understood exactly what he had done to you.

But he couldn’t move.

“…You should hate me.” The words felt heavy, choked, forced through gritted teeth.

You blinked at him, still groggy from exhaustion.

Then, your gaze shifted downward, toward your foot.Well towards your bandaged ankle, since you technically no longer had a left foot.

Jamil felt himself go rigid, every muscle in his body locking up as he watched the understanding dawn in your expression.

Your lips parted, your breathing uneven.

And then, you laughed.

It was small, weak, almost bitter, but it wasn’t the reaction he had expected.

“…You always did run me ragged,” you murmured, voice tinged with dry amusement.

Jamil stiffened. “Don’t joke about this.”

You turned your head to look at him fully, your expression soft despite the exhaustion weighing down your body. “Are you going to keep blaming yourself forever?”

His fists clenched in his lap.

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait until you forgive yourself.”

His breath hitched.

How could you say that? How could you be so calm, so accepting, after what he had done?

He dropped his head into his hands, his body shaking.

“I don’t deserve that,” he muttered.

He felt a weak, warm touch brush against his wrist.

“…Then earn it,” you whispered.

Jamil inhaled sharply, eyes stinging, throat burning.

Earn it.

Even after everything, you still believed in him.

His fingers curled around your hand, gripping it tightly.

He didn’t deserve you.

But he would spend every day proving that he did.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always prided himself on his control. His grace. His ability to shape perfection with his own hands.

And yet

This was something he could never fix.

He sat frozen beside your hospital bed, the soft glow of the infirmary lights casting eerie shadows across your bandaged face.

The damage had been irreversible.

The overblot had been blinding,literally. In his descent into madness, in his obsession with beauty, in his desperate need to correct every single flaw,his magic had surged. The explosion had shattered mirrors, the shards cutting through everything in their path.

Including you.

When he had finally awakened from the nightmare, the first thing he saw was you, lying motionless on the debris of the stage of the SDC surrounded by some NRC students.Bblood streaking down your face.

And when you opened your eyes, one of them was..

Gone.

A horrible, cruel irony.

He, who had always been so fixated on appearances, had taken something irreplaceable from the person he loved most.

His hands trembled where they rested on his lap, clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

Vil Schoenheit did not cry.

He did not break.

But now, with you lying there,his hands tainted with something that could never be undone.

He felt as if he had shattered completely.

The sound of shifting sheets made him tense.

Slowly, hesitantly, your good eye fluttered open.

Vil held his breath.

“…Vil?”

It was soft, weak, but unmistakably you.

He exhaled shakily, willing himself to keep his composure.

“You’re awake.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, and for a brief moment, he could see the confusion in your face as you adjusted to the dim light.

Then, your expression changed.

Your fingers ghosted over the bandages on your face.

A pause.

“…I can’t see,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Vil’s chest tightened, the weight of his guilt pressing down so heavily he could barely breathe.

“I know.”

Silence.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t cry, didn’t scream like he had expected. Instead, you simply let out a breath,a tired, resigned thing and turned your head slightly toward him.

“Are you okay?”

His lips parted, eyes widening in stunned disbelief.

“…Am I—” His voice caught in his throat, emotions threatening to spill over. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed, unable to see, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

You gave a small, weary smile. “Yeah.”

Something in him cracked.

For the first time in years, Vil let himself break.

His hands reached for yours, gripping them tightly, as if trying to ground himself,to prove to himself that you were still here. That despite everything, you hadn’t disappeared from his life completely.

“…I am not okay.” His voice was hoarse, raw, filled with something too deep to name. “I will never be okay.”

Not after this.

Not after knowing that he was the one who did this to you.

You squeezed his hand, and his breath hitched.

“…Then we’ll work on it together,” you said softly.

Vil lowered his head, pressing his forehead against your fingers.

There were no words that could ever make this right.

But if you were willing to stay,if you were willing to give him even the smallest chance.

He would spend the rest of his life making sure you never regretted it.

Idia Shroud

Idia always thought of himself as a coward.

He avoided conflict. He hid behind screens and firewalls, behind the cold comfort of technology where nothing could touch him.

But in the end, he had still managed to hurt you.

No,he had ruined you.

The reality of it didn’t set in until he saw your hand.

Your dominant hand.

Four fingers,gone.

He stood in the medical ward of Styx, his stomach churning violently as he stared at the bandages wrapped tightly around what remained of your hand.

It was his fault.

His overblot had been a nightmare of control, desperation, and raw, unchecked power.And in the chaos,when you had reached out for him, trying to pull him back one of the .

One of his spells had unfortunately touched you

A single, merciless strike.

It had been fast. Too fast.

The worst part?

He hadn’t even realized it happened until after he woke up.

Until he saw the blood.

Idia wanted to run.

He wanted to log out of reality and bury himself in the deepest depths of cyberspace, where he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he,he had caused this.

But he didn’t.

Because this wasn’t a game.

He had no save points. No reset button. No way to undo what he had done.

So instead, he stood there, his hands shaking, his throat dry, and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

“…You don’t have to stay,” your voice was quiet, strained. It was the first thing you had said to him since you woke up. “If it’s too much.”

Idia flinched as if burned.

Too much?

Was this your way of letting him off the hook? Giving him an easy way out?

He felt sick.

How could you even think that he would leave you after this?

His feet moved before his mind could catch up, closing the distance between you in seconds. He dropped to his knees beside your bed, his blue hair shadowing his face as he reached out,hesitated then finally, gently, took your injured hand in his.

His fingers barely ghosted over the bandages, as if afraid he would hurt you even more.

“…I don’t want to go.” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I can’t go.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, slowly, you turned your palm upward, allowing his trembling hands to hold yours completely.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured.

He let out a weak, breathy laugh, his throat tightening.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “I’m freaking terrified.”

Terrified that you’d hate him.

Terrified that you’d never forgive him.

Terrified that he had taken something from you that could never, ever be replaced.

“…It’s going to be okay, Idia.”

How could you say that?

How could you still be so calm? So steady?

Tears welled up in his yellow eyes, slipping down his pale cheeks as he gripped your hand tighter.

“I don’t deserve that,” he whispered brokenly.

You smiled faintly. “Too bad.”

Idia let out a soft, shaky laugh, his head lowering as he pressed his forehead to your hand.

No.

He didn’t deserve you.

But he would spend the rest of his life making sure you never regretted keeping him by your side.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had never meant to hurt you.

His overblot had consumed him,his fear of being left alone, his desperation to keep you by his side. And in his moment of madness, his magic had surged beyond his control.

A sleeping curse.

A slumber so deep that no force in the world could break it, except time itself.

At first, he had raged against it, pouring through ancient texts, consulting the wisest fae and scholars. But the truth was cruel,this was his own magic, raw and instinctual, fueled by his deepest desires. There was no counterspell.

Only patience.

And so, Malleus waited.

Centuries passed.

But he never left you.

In a quiet, secluded castle untouched by time, he watched over you, speaking to you as if you would wake any moment. He never let dust settle upon your resting place, never let the warmth of his love fade.

And then, one day

Your fingers twitched.

It was so small, so fragile, but Malleus had been watching for so long that he noticed it immediately.

His breath hitched.

Then,your eyelashes fluttered.

And finally,

Your eyes opened.

The world was blurry, but the first thing you saw was him, hovering over you, golden eyes wide with something indescribable.

“…Malleus?” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

His hands trembled as he reached out, almost afraid to touch you, as if you would disappear like a dream.

“Beloved…” His voice broke. “You are awake.”

You blinked, disoriented, trying to understand why his expression was so pained, why he looked as if he had been crying for years.

And then it came back to you

The storm. The darkness. The raw magic that had swept you away.

Realization dawned, and Malleus flinched at the way your lips parted in shock.

“…How long?” You asked, already knowing the answer wouldn’t be kind.

Malleus closed his eyes, exhaling a breath as if it carried centuries of grief.

“Too long,” he whispered. “But I am here. I have always been here.”

Your heart ached not just for yourself, but for him. For the time he had lost, for the weight he had carried.

Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand over his. He stiffened at the warmth,real and present, not a memory or a wish.

“…Then let’s not waste another moment,” you murmured.

Malleus let out a shaky laugh, something between relief and disbelief, before pulling you into his embrace.

For the first time in centuries, his world felt whole again.

And this time, he would never let you go.

English is not my first language !

[rafesfavgirl]

little old me — r. cameron

soooooo my deepest, darkest, most impulsive thoughts may have won over with this one. hopefully you like it or at the very least, understand why i wrote it :)

❝ who’s afraid of little old me? you should be. ❞

pairing: bf!rafe x dark!reader

context: rafe comes to realize you’re more like him than he thought.

words: 3k+

warnings: definitely +18. mdni. murder, dark!rafe, psycho!rafe, psycho!reader, jealousy, possessive behavior, p in v sex, unprotected sex, sub!rafe (kind of, but not really), choking, praise kink, cutting, stabbing, blood, violence, blood play (idek if it counts tbh), dark fluff (is that even a thing?), SMUT with fucked up plot… rafe and reader being crazy, basically

you stood by the bar beside your best friend, engaged in conversation about some guy who'd pissed her off today by standing her up on a date, your eyes focused on the scene behind her head, where your boyfriend sat on the couch in the living room, a girl with short brown hair beside him, trying to cling onto his arm.

you feel your grip around your glass tighten, as the girl's hand gets closer and closer to wrapping around rafe's bicep.

"do you know who that girl is?" you cut your best friend off in the middle of her sentence and she snaps her head to what or who you're looking at.

"oh, that's sofia," she tells you, taking a sip of her drink. "she works as a bartender at the club. always flirting with top, kelce, and rafe. why? you jealous?"

heat rises in your chest at the mention of the girl constantly flirting with rafe, but you play it off. "please," a scoff leaves your mouth. "you know he knows better."

you take sip of your drink, and pull out your phone to text rafe.

you: if that sofia girl touches you one more time, i stg i'm dragging her ass across the floor

rafe: chill baby

rafe: you won't

you click your tongue and type away, your best friend watching your every move.

"you good?" she asks.

"mhm," you hum, sending the message.

you: you think i'm kidding?

you: try me, bitch.

you look up to find rafe snickering at your text, which only pisses you off more as he texts you back.

rafe: shut the fuck up, and get over here.

you: fuck no. tell her my drink's empty.

rafe watches as you down the rest of your drink and set the glass down on the bar, before waltzing away and heading outside, throwing him a glare as you do. he rolls his eyes at your antics, but gets up to follow you anyway.

“where the fuck are you going?” he calls after you, trailing closely behind as you cross the front lawn. “you came here with me.”

“i’ll call an uber,” you reply, continuing to walk towards the road. “go back inside and let sofia touch you some more.”

“oh my god,” he groans and catches up to you, grabbing onto your wrist to make you stop and look at him. “will you quit being a brat?”

you tilt your head up at him, fire in your eyes as they lock with his. “and what are you gonna do if i don’t?”

—

a moan slips out of your mouth as your back hits rafe's bedroom door, making it slam shut—thank god, his family had gone to the bahamas—as he kissed you like a man starved.

"still got more to say about sofia?" he says against you, lips trailing down to your neck, and hands trailing up your thighs to hook them around his waist. "jump."

you do as you're told, your legs locking around him and your fingers tangling into his hair, as your lips connected again and rafe's hands trailed up your back—one pressing you against him and one sliding up your hair.

he turns and lets you fall onto the bed with him above you, your legs still locked around him, as he began untying the knot in your shirt. he pushes it off of you, revealing your lacy white bra.

"fuckkk y/n," he groans, hand reaching up to grab at one of your tits.

"you like it baby?" you ask, as he trails wet kisses down your neck and collar bone. "it's new."

"i love it," he says, fingers unclasping it from the front, and lips moving to wrap around your now exposed nipple.

his other hand massages your other boob, finger flicking at your sensitive nub.

you pull him up to attach his lips back to yours. "i want you, rafe. now."

he chuckles against your lips, the vibration turning you on more, the spot between your legs getting wetter. you flip the both of you over so you're straddling him. 

"i like this side of you, doll," he looks up at you with a smirk as you rid yourself of your bra, and he reaches up to grab both your tits. "should make you jealous more often."

"shut up," you say, leaning back down to kiss him, hands entwining into his hair as your hips press down into his.

a groan falls from his mouth as his hands roam over your body, your hard nipples pressing against him.

"need you, pretty girl," he said, hips lifting into yours.

"more than sofia?" you ask, pulling your lips away from his.

"more than anyone," he replies, hands snaking around the front of your waist to unbutton your shorts.

you move to the side so he can tug them off your legs, along with your lacy white thong, while you reach to pull his shirt off his head and he takes off his shorts.

you swing your leg back over him once you're both naked, hovering and grinding your hips above him, slickness coating his dick just enough to tease him.

"doll, come on," he whines, attempting to press you down onto his length.

you place both your hands on his chest and lean down towards his ear. "this'll teach you not to make me jealous."

"y/n…" his voice is much serious now, and you smirk.

"what?" you look at him with innocent eyes, hand trailing down to grab his dick and align it with your center.

you slowly sink down onto him, your body relaxing as he groans.

"so so good," you mewl, hips rocking against his.

he watches you closely, hands moving to grip your hips. he lifts you up slightly and slams you back down, eliciting a moan from your mouth.

"move, pretty girl," he demands, eyes locked on yours as you sit up. "let me see you ride me."

you give in to his words and begin bouncing your ass on him, hands trailing down to his abs to steady yourself. up. down. up. down. up. down.

"just like that, doll," rafe says, hand trailing up your body to wrap around your neck. "you look so pretty riding my cock."

that only makes you pick up the pace, hands moving to rest on his thighs behind you, as your pussy clenches around his length, your orgasm quickly building up in your core. rafe's hands move to grab your tits as you continue, his eyes watching himself slip in and out of you.

"you gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked when you threw your head back in pleasure.

"cum with me, rafe," you moan, your high inching closer and closer.

his fingers pinch at your nipples and that sends you over the edge, your hips slowing down as your high washes over you. rafe follows soon after, thrusts getting sloppier as he comes down.

 you slowly move off to lay beside him, and he reaches out to open the drawer of his nightstand and pull out a small towel. he uses it to clean the spot between your legs before cleaning off himself.

you position yourself under his comforter as he tosses the towel on the ground and joins you.

"remember how good my pussy feels around you next time you let sofia touch you," you say, snuggling into him.

a small chuckles falls from his lips as he wraps an arm around you and places a soft kiss on your forehead. "good night, crazy girl."

—

your eyes shoot open at the sound of rafe’s phone incessantly buzzing on the nightstand, as the sunshine peeked through his bedroom curtains.

making sure not to wake him, you reach over to grab his phone, rage boiling through your veins when you read the notifications on the screen.

3 missed calls from sofia.

sofia: hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday lol. lmk if you need to blow off some steam ;) xx

“oh, this bitch needs to be put down,” you mutter to yourself, immediately unlocking rafe’s phone—he gave you his passcode months ago without you even asking—and typing away to reply to sofia's message.

rafe: hey sof :) yeah, she's a lot. how 'bout you meet me at tannyhill around 2 today?

you hit send, and the three bubbles appear almost immediately.

god, this bitch was desperate.

sofia: perf, i'll see you then!!

rafe: just knock when you get here, i'll be home alone

sofia: you got it, see u later xx

you roll your eyes and proceed to delete the conversation, before moving to rafe's phone app to remove her 3 missed calls from his log. 

three. who calls a guy with a girlfriend three times? crazy bitch.

just as you're about to place his phone back on the nightstand, rafe groans and shifts, arm slinging over your waist, as a call from ward vibrates his phone.

"baby," you nudge rafe, but he just groans again, arm around your waist tightening. "rafe," you shake him this time and his eyes flutter open.

"morning, pretty girl," he smiles, hand scratching your lower back. "you ok?"

"mhm," you nod, pretending you had just woken up. "woke up from your dad calling, though."

you hold the phone out to him, which was now vibrating for the second time with ward's name.

"sorry 'bout that, doll," he takes the phone from you and sits up, answering the call and pressing the phone up against his ear.

"i'm gonna go pee," you mouth to him, and he nods, as you get out from under the covers and slip on rafe's shirt before walking towards his bathroom.

you close the door behind you and take a quick piss before washing your hands and deciding to brush your teeth.

hopefully rafe wasn't gonna be around the house at 2 today, you thought. you knew he went out golfing with the boys and hit the gym afterwards every saturday afternoon, usually returning around 5 or 6, so it shouldn't be a problem. unless ward had him do something today that required him to stick around the house—now that would really put a damper on your plans.

the door opens and rafe joins you, only wearing a pair of boxers. "mmm," he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder. "i'll never get sick of seeing you in my shirt."

his eyes meets yours through the mirror, and you lean down to spit and rinse your mouth.

"what's my baby doing today?" he asked, as you wiped your mouth dry.

"probably just hang around here," you shrug, hands trailing along his arms, as you leaned your head against his. "maybe lay out by the pool for a bit and make some lunch."

"for me too?"

you look down at him, and his eyes meet yours. "you're not going golfing with kelce and top?"

"oh, i am," he nods. "and i gotta take care of some stuff for dad too, so i'll probably be home a little later." perfect. "how 'bout we do dinner? you can dress up all cute and sexy, and i'll take you out on the town?"

"sounds perfect, baby," you smile, connecting your lips with his.

this was gonna be the best day ever.

—

after rafe left around eleven, you occupied yourself by taking a quick swim in the pool, before settling on a floatie and closing your eyes, as the sun beat down on your skin.

ring! ring! ring!

your alarm clock goes off at 1:50 pm, and you open your eyes to take your phone from the cup holder and silence it, happily slipping off the floatie when you realize it's almost time.

you grab your towel from one of the pool chairs and dry off before wrapping it around you, slipping on your crochet shorts, and waltzing inside with more of a pep in your step than usual.

you whistle as you walk through the house and stop in the living room to hang your towel off the back of the armchair and sit down, just in time for a knock to come at the door.

it's followed by another, before the front door creaks open and closes, as the sound of someone's footsteps get closer and closer.

"rafe?" the sound of sofia's voice fills your ears and you smile when she reaches the living room.

"hey, sof," you say, causing her to completely stop in her tracks, a few feet away.

"oh, y/n," she was clearly caught off guard. "i didn't know you'd be here."

"of course you didn't," you shrug, sitting up. "because you came here to see my rafe, isn't that right, sof?"

"uhh…"

"no need to lie, sweetheart," you drawl. "i've been expecting you." you pull out the pocket knife that you had stashed in the armchair earlier  to prepare and spin it around in your fingers.

the color instantly drains from sofia's face, as you flip the knife open, the blade catching the sun's light.

"here's the thing, sof," you stand up and slowly approach her, the growing crazy look in your eyes making her uneasy. "i'm a very possessive person, and i don't like sharing what's mine." you shake your head, eyes focused on hers.

"and rafe… tall and handsome as he is… is mine," you glide the edge of your knife across her collarbone as you round her, making sure not to cut her just yet. "and personally, i didn't take it very well when you called and texted him this morning."

"i- i don't know what you're talking about," her voice shakes, clearly afraid of what you might do if she admits to it. 

"hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday. let me know if you want to blow off some steam," you recite the text message she sent rafe from memory, making her breath hitch.

"that— that wasn't an accident," sofia shakes her head. "i didn't mean-"

"oh, baby," you whisper against her ear, making her head turn towards you. "don't you know i hate liars?"

"please," sofia begs, eyes closing shut as tears stream down her face. "y/n… you don't have to do this."

"and you didn't have to text my man," you tut, trailing the knife down her back. "but you did, so i'll make it quick."

"no!" she shouts, pushing you away from her, and beelining for the door.

"you really shouldn't have done that," you chuckle, a smirk coming across your lips, as you follow to tackle her before she reaches the door.

you turn her around, so you're straddling her, both your knees pinning her arms down. "i tried to be nice…" you say, gripping a handful of her brown hair as you lean down to cut across her collar bone.

she screams in agony. "stop, stop, stop!"

"consider this a lesson, sof…" you trail off, knife moving down to dig into the side of her stomach. "rafe," stab. "is," stab. "mine." 

you pull the knife out from her side, blood splattering on your stomach, as you drag it up her body, towards her chest.

"and," stab. "you," stab. "don't," stab. "take," stab. "what's," stab. "mine."

the color drowns from her face as her eyes turn lifeless, and she stops squirming underneath you.

at this point, your chest, face, legs, and arms are covered with blood splatters, your hand holding the knife bloodier than any other part of you.

you stand up and hover over her, a smirk coming across your lips at the sight of her dead body.

"look, dad, i took care of it, a'ight?" the familiar sound of your boyfriend's voice booms through the house, as you hear the backyard door slide close.

shit. shit. shit.

he wasn't suppose to be home until later. what the fuck was he doing here?

panic begins to build up inside you, as rafe's footsteps approach you, and you round sofia's body to pick up one of her hands to begin dragging her towards the front door. maybe it was a good thing she tried to run.

"yeah, i got it," you hear rafe's voice again. "i think y/n's taking a nap right now, so i'll take the druthers out and-" he suddenly stops in the entryway connecting the living room to the kitchen, eyes on you. "i'll call you back later."

he ends the call with ward, phone coming down to his side.

"i told you i'd drag her across the floor?" you joke, shrugging a shoulder.

"holy shit, y/n!" rafe rushes over and crouches down to feel sofia's pulse.

nothing.

he looks up at you. "did you do this?!"

"no…" you give him your innocent eyes, and drop her hand, pocket knife hiding behind your back.

"what the fuck, babe?"

"hey, don't act like this is all on me!" you argue, pointing down at sofia's body and pacing around the room. "she was the one who was texting and calling you nonstop this morning! she should've known better! no one takes what's mine. especially not you!"

"you— you did this… because of me?" rafe slowly stands, eyes refocusing on your crazed out state.

"of course i did," your shoulders falling limp. "i— i love you, rafe!" you shake your head. "i— i can't lose you. not-"

before you could get another word out, he was pushing you up against the wall, lips hungrily kissing yours.

the knife clatters onto the ground, as your bloodied hands tangle into his hair, and he hooks a hand around your thigh to bring it up beside his waist.

"you— you're not mad?" you ask between kisses.

"are you kidding?" he mutters against you. "fuck no. just a little more work for me."

"wait, wait, wait—" you place a hand on his chest, and push him away just enough to look at him. "what does that mean?"

"there may or may not be a dead body in the cargo bed of my truck…"

"you killed someone?"

"it was necessary?" he shrugs, a cute little smile on his lips.

a laugh falls from your mouth before you can stop it.

"what?" rafe asks, chuckling at the sound of your adorable laugh.

you shake your head, hand trailing down his hair. "we're so fucked up."

"and that's just how i like it."

i hope y'all don't think i'm absolutely insane now lolz. i swearrrrr i just wanted to try something new.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[anbaisai]

So when mayu first saw Jamil overblort what was her reaction????? Was she just thinking that ‘oh my god bros even more majestic’ or ‘my god I’m gonna die by some good looking dude’ which i wouldn’t doubt that mayu thinks he’s good looking either way since she’s the biggest Jamil simp I ever saw

WELL I've briefly mentioned this in an older post, but Mayu and Jamil actually barely interact before the events of Book 4 - all she thought of him before then was "he's pretty but I don't think we'll ever talk," and then the whole winter break thing happens and he certainly... ends up leaving an impression.

While the circumstances surrounding his OB end up making her more intrigued by him and it starts her attempts at getting to know him better, his OB look itself is, well... let's just say there's a running joke between me and my friends that Mayu stocks up on makeup wipes in case he ever OBs again 😭 (I'm sorry that ink/tattoo goatee is just NOT it) HOWEVER I think she also had thoughts of his snake hair looking really cute and wondering what would happen if she tried to feed them. For science, y'know.

[avadaniels]

ORPHAN BLACK: ECHOES Episode 5 | Episode 1

[thund3randrain]

Come watch Loki season 2 we have:

Divorced middle aged dad and his god husband

girlboss gaslight gatekeep (in that order)

Autism polycule

Horny clock

Brad Pitt at home