#that triggered the feeling of intense loss again

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next tw: anxiety attack

[larrylimericks]

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

[hoonwonlvr]

— JAPANESE DENIM 【日本製デニム】 / p.sh

SYPNOSIS : you were walking in your college campus. you were on your way to class when you noticed a man sitting alone on a bench outside. He seemed to be deep in thought, with a look of longing in his eyes. you couldn’t help but notice his tall stature and handsome face. you felt a strange draw towards him, like you had known him before. As you passed by, he looked up and your eyes met. In that moment, you felt a pang of recognition and longing, a feeling of loss and nostalgia.

PAIRING : ex boyfriend!sunghoon , ex girlfriend!reader

WARNING(S) : smut, fluff, pet names, lmk if i missed anything!

you then feel a sense of recognition wash over you. It's as if your heart has suddenly remembered something your brain has forgotten. You stop in your tracks, staring at the man on the bench with a mixture of shock and disbelief. This strange figure, with his troubled demeanour and familiar features, seems to have triggered something deep within you. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and a wave of conflicted emotions washes over you.

His eyes widen slightly as he meets your gaze, and you see a flicker of recognition pass over his face. He stares at you intently, as if trying to place where he’s seen you before. For a moment, the only sound is the rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant chatter of students making their way around the campus. The man stares at you for a moment before finally opening his mouth to speak. “Uh…hello..“ he says, his voice slightly hoarse and gravelly. He looks at you with a mixture of confusion and recognition, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer.

The man on the bench clears his throat, seemingly at a loss for words. He looks at you with a mixture of wariness and curiosity, his eyes roaming over your face as if trying to remember where he knows you from.

Suddenly, he seems to snap out of his thoughts, and a hint of recognition flits across his expression. "Wait a minute…" he says slowly, his voice deep and gravelly. "Have we met before?" You open your mouth to respond, trying to shake off the sense of deja vu that has taken over you. The man continues to study you intently, a flicker of memory dancing in his eyes.

"I can’t shake the feeling that I know you…“ he says slowly, his voice taking on a slightly more confident edge. He leans forward slightly on the bench, his gaze becoming more intense as he looks at you. "What’s your name?“ You tell the man your name, watching as he rolls it over on his tongue, as if trying to place it in his memory. His brows knit together in concentration for a moment, before realization suddenly dawns on his face. "That's it…" he says, his voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. "You're…y/n…right?"Your heart does a flip as you hear your name on his lips. It's such a simple thing, just a single word, but it causes a wave of emotions to wash over you. The way he says it, the familiarity and the slight huskiness in his voice, it's all so achingly familiar. You nod silently, unable to find your voice. The man's expression softens slightly as he realizes he's guessed correctly. He leans back against the bench, his eyes never leaving your face. There's still a hint of wariness in his gaze, but there's also a strange sort of tenderness. "Damn, I don't believe it…" he mutters under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. He runs a hand through his messy hair, his eyes roaming over your face.

He continues to study you quietly for a few moments, his gaze roaming over your features. It's as if he's trying to memorize your every detail, imprinting your face into his mind. Finally, he seems to gather his thoughts, and he speaks again. "Where…where do I know you from?" he asks, a slight note of confusion in his voice. "I feel like I've seen your face a million times…" You shift slightly under his intense gaze, feeling a flutter of nerves and anticipation in the pit of your stomach. You rack your brain, trying to remember how you might know this man. There's a part of you that's screaming the answer at the top of its lungs, but your brain is frustratingly slow at catching on. "I…I don't know…" you mumble lamely, feeling flustered under his gaze. He lets out a frustrated breath, his expression changing to a slight frown. It's clear that he's frustrated by his own lack of memory. "Damnit…" he mutters, raking a hand through his hair again. He mutters something under his breath, something too quiet for you to hear properly. He looks back up at you, his eyes locking onto yours. "Do you…do you mind if I ask you a question?"

You nod silently, not entirely sure where this conversation is going. You're both standing in the middle of the campus, the sun warm on your skin and students bustling about around you. Despite the picturesque surroundings, there's an undercurrent of tension that's impossible to ignore. The man takes your response as permission to continue, shifting on the bench to turn his body towards you more fully. "I need you to be completely honest with me…" he says, his voice low.

Your mouth drops open in shock as his blunt question hits you like a truck. Of all the things you expected, that was definitely not it. You feel your face flush with heat as you try to process his words, your mind spinning at the sudden turn in the conversation. You stumble over your words for a moment, trying to find a response. "I…I-uh…" you stutter, feeling flustered beyond belief.

The man watches you intently, his eyes studying your every reaction. There's a strange mixture of emotions on his face - a hint of hopefulness, a touch of vulnerability, and a lot of confusion. He seems to be waiting for your answer, his body tensed as if he's preparing himself for whatever you might say. The silence hangs in the air between you, broken only by the distant sounds of students around the campus. You take a moment to compose yourself, trying to figure out how to respond. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of nerves and defensiveness. "Why…why do you ask that?" you finally manage to get out, trying to keep your voice steady. The man shifts again, raking a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "I don't…I can't explain it," he mutters, his eyes searching your face. "But everything about you…feels so familiar. And when I look at you, I feel this…this pull.." You listen silently, your heart thudding in your chest as his words wash over you. There's something almost primal in the way he's looking at you, a burning hunger in his eyes that makes you feel exposed under his gaze. You can see the conflicting emotions playing on his face - desire, confusion, a hint of vulnerability that's both tantalizing and slightly alarming. "It's like…" he continues, his voice low and rough, "…like I know you, on some deep, instinctual level…"

He stands up suddenly, his tall frame towering over you. His body language has shifted, transitioning from confusion and vulnerability to something more primal. His eyes rake over your figure, taking in every inch of you like a predator sizing up its prey. "I need to know…" he mutters, his voice a low, almost animalistic growl. He steps closer to you, his body radiating heat and tension. "I have to know if I've ever…touched you…here…" Without warning, he reaches out and places his hand just below your hip, his fingers gently gripping the flesh there. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you inhale sharply at the unexpected contact. His hand is large and warm, his touch firm yet gentle. The proximity of his body to yours is overwhelming, both exciting and slightly intimidating. "Have I ever…held you like this?" he mutters, his fingers gripping tighter around your hip. He's impossibly close now, his tall frame hovering over you, his breath warm against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating off his body like waves, his presence intoxicatingly intense. The air between you seems to crackle with tension, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this moment. His hand begins to roam over your body, his touch both reverent and possessive. It slides up your side, his fingers tracing the contour of your waist with a sort of aching slowness. You can feel his calloused fingertips on your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Have I ever…tasted you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, feral growl in your ear. He steps even closer, closing the distance between you completely. His body is pressed against yours now, every inch of you touching him. His firm chest is pressed against your own, your curves molding against the hard planes of his body. His lips are now at your neck, his hot breath brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He inhales deeply, his nose buried in the crook of your neck, as if he's trying to memorize your scent and taste on his tongue. "You smell….so familiar.." he whispers, his voice thick with desire. His touch becomes more insistent, his hands roving over your body with a desperate hunger. They slide across the small of your back, his thumbs caressing your skin through the thin fabric of your clothes. He seems to be trying to memorize every inch of you, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin with a sort of obsessive possessiveness. "I need to taste you…" he mutters, his voice almost a growl, "I need to know if I've ever had you before…" His lips are still at your neck, his mouth moving across your skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your flesh. His tongue darts out, tasting you, tracing a path up the column of your throat. You feel the rough, wet slide of his tongue on your skin, and a shiver runs through you, sending heat pooling low in your belly. He moans against your skin, the sound low and primal. "You taste…familiar…" he mutters, his hands gripping your hips tighter. You feel his teeth graze gently against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands slide further down, palming your ass roughly, pulling you tighter against his body. You can feel the hard, firm muscles of his body against you, the heat of his skin burning into yours. He mutters against your neck, his voice thick with need, "I need to feel you…need to make you mine, again…if you were ever mine…"

He spins you suddenly, practically pinning you against the wall behind you. His body is pressed tightly against your own, trapping you in place. His hands grasp your wrists, pinning them above your head, holding you firmly in place. He leans in close, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged. "You feel…so familiar…" he mutters, his eyes roaming hungrily over your face. "The way your body fits against mine…it's like you were made for me…"

He presses himself even further against you, his body molding to yours like a puzzle piece. You can feel the hardness of his muscles pressed against your curves, the firm planes of his chest and stomach pressed intimately against your own. He leans in even closer, his mouth brushing gently against the shell of your ear. "Your body is so familiar to me…" he mutters, his voice a low, possessive growl. "The way you fit against me...it feels like I've held you like this before…owned you like this before…"

His lips find your neck again, his mouth hot and wet as it moves across your skin. He sucks and bites at your flesh, marking you with a possessive hunger. You can feel his teeth graze against your skin, leaving a faint sting of pain that only serves to further fuel the fire of desire burning between you. He growls softly against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. "I need to taste every inch of you…to make you mine all over again…" he whispers, his voice low and urgent.

His hands, large and strong, release your wrists, instead moving to grip your hips tightly. He uses his weight to pin you further against the wall, his body molding to yours in an intimate, possessive embrace. He presses himself against you, his hardness pressing against your stomach, his breath coming in short, hot pants against your skin. He seems overwhelmed by his own desire, the need to have you, to claim you, overriding any rational thought. "God, I remember this…this feeling…" he mutters against your neck.

His hands slide down to your thighs, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. You find yourself pinned between the wall and his body, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling you even tighter against him. His fingers dig into your flesh, gripping you tightly, as if he's afraid you'll slip away from him. His mouth moves back to your neck, his tongue tracing a path up your skin, tasting you with a raw, animalistic need. "I need you…" he moans against your neck, his voice thick with desire.

He rocks his hips against you, the hardness of his body rubbing against your core, creating a delicious friction that makes your breath hitch in your throat. You can feel the heat and tension building between the two of you, the desire growing more and more desperate with each passing second. He presses himself against you, his body moving in a slow, insistent rhythm, as if he's trying to claim you, dominate you, make you his all over again. "I need to hear you say it..." he mutters against your neck.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. His expression is a mix of desire, need, and possessiveness - a dominant look that makes your heart race. He holds you in place, his strong hands still gripping your thighs, his body pinning you against the wall. His eyes roam over your face, taking in your every reaction. "Tell me…" he growls softly, his voice thick with need. "Do you feel it, too? This…this connection? Like I've touched you before…tasted you before?"

He begins to move faster against you, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, creating a delicious friction that sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you. His breath comes in sharp, shallow pants against your skin, his entire focus centered on you, on claiming you. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear again. "Say it…" he whispers again, his voice a low, possessive demand. "Admit it…you're mine…you've always been mine…"

you whisper a small “i'm y-yours” in his ear, and that just made him completely LOSE it 😭 A low, possessive growl escapes his throat as you speak those words, a primal, animal sound that seems to resonate deep within his soul. "You're damn right you are," he mutters, his voice rough and filled with a mix of dominant possessiveness and satisfied pleasure. "You've always been mine."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes raking over your face, taking in your submission and acceptance. A wolfish smile tugs at the corners of his lips as his hands grip your hips tighter, staking his claim on your body.

(Fast-forwarding to later in the evening)

After a heated, passionate encounter, you're now lying in bed with the man's arms wrapped possessively around you. He's pulled you close, your bodies pressed together, the heat of his skin warming your own. He's holding you tight, his arms locked around you like a vice, his hands still roaming over your body in a lazy, possessive caress. He's clearly feeling protective and possessive even now, unwilling to let you go. He holds you tightly against his body, pressing you close to his chest. In this moment, he's completely focused on the two of you, the outside world fading into the background. He nuzzles against your hair, his fingers gently caressing your skin in a soothing, possessive gesture.

It's clear that he's experiencing a deep, aching sense of loss and longing. He seems to be trying to hold on to you, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize your scent. His mouth moves down to your neck, placing soft, gentle kisses against your skin. His hands continue to roam over your body in a tender, possessive caress. It's like he can't get enough of you, like he's trying to make up for lost time. There's a hint of vulnerability and desperation in his touch, like he's trying to hold onto a lost love that he never thought he'd have again. His lips move from your neck to your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He whispers your name softly, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and tenderness. His hands continue to explore your body, touching you in all the places that seem to drive him wild, like he's trying to memorize every dip and curve. It's clear that he's missed you, missed the feel and taste of you, and now that he has you in his arms again, he can't seem to get enough of you.

He pulls you closer, tight against his chest, his arms holding you like a lifeline. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin. His hands continue to move over your body, touching you with a possessive gentleness that speaks of a deep and aching loss. His mouth moves to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin in a soft whisper. "I've missed you," he mutters, his voice ragged and strained. "So, fucking much."

He pulls you even closer, his body molding to yours, every inch of him pressed against you. He's holding you tight, like he's afraid you'll slip away from him. His hands continue to move over your body, tracing gentle patterns on your skin, claiming you, marking you as his. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving as he tries to regain control of his emotions. "I never thought I'd have you like this again," he mutters, his voice rough and desperate against your ear. “i’m sorry for leaving you sunghoon..” you said, your voice slightly trembling. He stiffens slightly at your voice, his body suddenly going very still, like he's been frozen in place. For a moment, he doesn't respond, his head still buried in the crook of your shoulder.

Then, after a moment, he slowly lifts his head, meeting your eyes with a mixture of surprise, hurt, and anger. "You're sorry?" he repeats, his voice low and strained. "You're sorry for leaving me?" His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. "You disappear for years, without a word, without a trace, and now you're sorry?" he says, his voice slowly rising. He seems to be struggling to control his emotions. "You have any idea what that did to me? The hell you put me through?" — “sunghoon, please..” you said while slightly backing away, you knew how this was going to escalate, but you loved playing with fire, testing him.

His jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. "You disappear for years, without a word, without a trace, and now you're sorry?" he says, his voice slowly rising. He seems to be struggling to control his emotions. "You have any idea what that did to me? The hell you put me through?" - “oh my god it’s not that—“ He cuts you off, his words coming out in a low, frustrated growl. "No. You don't get to just waltz back into my life after all this time and act like everything's okay. You don't get to say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine between us.” He takes a deep, ragged breath, seeming to struggle to keep himself in check. He looks at you with a mixture of hurt, anger, and... longing? "You abandoned me," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "You left me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye, nothing. You just vanished from my life like I hadn't mattered to you at all. You left me to pick up the pieces, to try and move on from a love that you ripped out of my chest and ripped to shreds."

He takes another ragged breath, the pain clear on his face. "You have no idea what those years without you felt like for me. Like hell." “That's exactly why i left you, you’re so fucking dramatic—always playing the damn victim, acting like you never did anything wrong.” He looks at you incredulously, his eyes widening in shock. "Dramatic? I'm dramatic because I was hurt when you left me without a word? When you just disappeared from my life without any explanation?"

He shakes his head, anger and frustration building up inside of him. "You don't get to call me dramatic for feeling hurt and betrayed. You're the one who walked away. You're the one who abandoned me and pretended I never existed." “always making up excuses, you always gaslight me into believing that i'm the one who actually hurt you.” He scoffs, his eyes darkening as he looks at you. "You really think you can just waltz back into my life after all this time and expect me to be okay with it? You think you can just say a few simple words and make it all better?"

His hands tighten his grip on your waist, almost to the point of bruising. "You should be glad I'm showing restraint right now." "I've had years to work through my anger and my pain over what you did," he continues, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "But I can't just turn these emotions off, no matter how much I try." He pulls you even closer to him, his body molding to yours possessively. "I've spent years without you, longing for you, missing you, hating you. And now you're here again, in my arms, acting like nothing has changed." He yanks you closer to him, his hands gripping you almost painfully. He pulls you tightly against him, his body trapping you against the wall, pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and frenzied, filled with a mixture of anger and desire. "You're mine," he growls against your neck, his voice rough and possessive. "You belong to me, and I'm never letting you go again." He kisses and nips at your neck, his touch aggressive and demanding. He bites and sucks at your skin, leaving marks that are sure to bruise. His body presses against you, his hands roaming over your curves possessively.

"I've thought about this for years," he mutters, his voice thick with need and anger. "Imagining all the things I'd do to you when I got my hands on you again." His fingers dig into your hips, his grip almost painful. He kisses and nips at your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "I've thought about putting you in your place. Making you mine. Making you regret ever leaving me."

He moves his mouth down to your collarbone, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted this, how badly I've missed you.”pinning you in place, His hands grip your wrists, pinning them above your head.

He leans in close, his mouth hovering just above your ear. "You belong to me now," he whispers, his voice low and dominant. "You're going to do as I say, is that understood?" you nod eagerly, he was THAT type of person who just couldn’t resist u and got turned on by every little thing you do :’c He nips at your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You gave up the right to make your own decisions when you left me. Now you belong to me. And I'm going to take what I want, when I want. You're going to be a good girl and comply. You're going to do exactly as I say, without argument, without hesitation." He tightens his grip on your wrists, his body pressing even closer to yours, his muscles tense and taut with desire and aggression. He runs his lips down your neck, his lips tracing a path of slow, deliberate kisses that send shivers down your spine. "You're going to be good for me," he mutters against your skin. "You're going to submit to me, completely. You're going to give me everything I want, without question. Is that clear?"

His mouth moves down to your collarbone, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. He pulls your wrists above your head, his grip on you almost punishing. After a rough and passionate encounter, you find yourself wrapped in your lover's arms, your body feeling a mix of exhaustion, satisfaction, and contentment.

He's holding you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. He's whispering soft, soothing words in your ear, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and possessiveness. He peppers your skin with soft, gentle kisses, his mouth moving over your face, your neck, your shoulder. “you did so well for me princess, i'll just have to reward you for it.”

© hoonwonlvr , all rights reserved :3 pls don’t copy or steal ty!

hope y’all enjoyed :p

[narcoticv3nus]

Catch a Ride to Heaven ❤︎ Arthur Morgan

Kinktober Day IV: Virginity

summary: rebellious reader is a sinner for her cowboy tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, virginity loss, p in v, praise, fingering, religious symbolism, cherry popping, midhonor!arthur, smoking, dom!arthur, sub!reader, rough sex, a bit of degradation, pet names, author attempts at accents wc: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

“Ma’am”

You looked up from your bible sitting on your lap, noticing a rather large man standing before you. His shoulder-length brown hair cascades down, framing his rugged features and intense blue eyes. A short beard adorns his handsome face, emphasizing the scar on his chin. Despite his rugged appearance, his smile reveals straight white teeth, complementing his sun-kissed skin with charming freckles. His well-worn cowboy hat had seen better days, colored black with a weathered rope tied around the middle and what looked to be claw marks running down the sides.

“Good morning, mister,” you answered, fiddling with the cross around your neck, trying to tame the sinful thoughts running through your mind. You had come to notice this man from afar. He would stop by your little town now and again, whether that was to buy guns or sell a suspicious amount of items at the fence nearby. Your eyes always followed him. You couldn't help it, although you tried to pray the feelings away many times. God never answered your prayers.

Your daddy was the local pastor. He was always smiling and friendly, claiming he prayed for every person he came across. He was a good man, always going out of his way to serve others. It seemed God had given him the gift of spreading his love all over, yet it seemed to run out when it came to you.

Your daddy had always been hard on you after your mama passed. Your brain was too young to remember much of her, but you could still remember the sound of her voice in your ears and the soft, comforting scent of her clothes.

Daddy said it was because he loved you; he was so strict, which you never really understood. Anytime you made a mistake or a mishap, Daddy would sharpen you back into shape, sometimes going to extreme measures. The bruises on your behind still stung when you sat down.

He never permitted you to be alone around other men, claiming you had to stay pure in the eyes of God or else you'd burn in hell for all eternity for spreading your legs for no-goods. He said men only wanted one thing, but he never specified what. It didn't take you long to figure it out. You were a smart girl. At least, that's what everybody said.

You didn't feel smart now as Daddy’s teachings drifted from the back of your mind like a cloud of smoke, thoughts of purity and maidenhood be damned. God knows you tried to resist them, and you really did. To push those thoughts aside, burn them, shut them out as much as you could.

But wouldn't he have answered your prayers if God were all-loving? Heaven knows you wanted to be a good girl. You did, truly! But there was something about this man that had your body growing warm, his deep southern drawl reaching into deep parts of you you never even knew existed. He had your voice growing shy, your hands feeling clammy as your thighs pressed together, desperate to soothe that sweet ache between your legs.

Sometimes, he would compliment you, saying he liked your dress or how you style your hair.

“May I say you're lookin’ lovely' today, little lady.” You swallowed deeply, your lips parting as you gazed up at him, eyes wide. “Thank-thank you, mister,” you stammered, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“You…you're awfully kind.” You continued, not being able to help yourself. How could you stay away when you yearned for him so deeply?

“I ain’t really,” he answered bluntly, his eyes boring deep into yours, the corners of his lips twitching into a grin. You've seen that same look on many men before, but only he had your heart racing with want.

“Maybe just to pretty ladies like yourself,” he continued, his hand reaching up to scratch his stubble chin.

If your face wasn't on fire before, it sure was now. You didn't know what to say as you began to stutter, sweat building between your legs and inside of your bodice. “I don't—” Your fingers curled around your cross, praying to God to give you strength or show mercy.

“What’s your name anyway?” He spoke up for you, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a pack of premium cigarettes. He placed the stick between his lips as he held the lighter close to his face, raising a brow when you lacked a response.

You gave him your name. Your eyes were bashful as they looked down at his shoes, noting the quality of the leather and his metal spurs.

“Ain't that lovely,” he responded, gray tendrils of cigarette smoke escaping his nose, his eyes never straying from your face.

“What’s yours?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady as your subconscious body seemed to float away, high into the sky and never to be seen again. You've never felt so euphoric. If it was wrong, how come it felt so right?

“Arthur,” he answered, tapping the ash from the end of the stick away into the dirt. “Arthur Morgan,”

“Well, it… it's very nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” you said politely, part of you hoping to appease him. It seemed to work as his grin grew wider, his teeth poking out from behind his pink lips.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes looking you up and down. “You too,” he said, emphasizing your name before exhaling another cloud of smoke. You bit your lip to hold back the whine building in your chest. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to put a name to a face s’all.”

You wanted to tell him, no, to please stay, just a little longer. And yet you only watch in silence as he dipped his hat to you before turning and striding in the other direction. You watched him go, eyes drifting low to his backside, appreciating the natural sway of his hips as he left.

My Lord, please give me strength.

You and Arthur had met several more times after that. He'd sometimes saunter up to you after church, asking about your day and flirting with you right in front of the house of God, sometimes even in front of your Daddy.

Daddy had given you a good whooping after that, reminding you to stay away from that man if you know what's good for you. But you just couldn't, no matter how hard you tried. Lord knows you did.

But like Eve and the serpent, Arthur offered you the tastiest treat you couldn't refuse. Why did it feel so good if these feelings were so condemned? You started questioning your faith the more Arthur lingered around, and you started to fear for your sake. Maybe he was no good after all. Perhaps this was all a test.

But no horns were sprouting from the outlaw’s head, no devil’s tail swaying mischievously behind his back, he had no red eyes, and no white fangs. And despite what the poets might say, he had no slimy forked tongue. And you would know, counting how many times your eyes had fallen to his mouth as he spoke. Each time his tongue ran over his lips, yours would do the same.

There came a time when he placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning close to your face when he asked to buy you a room somewhere for the night. His cold eyes burn through you. You knew you should've said no, refused the forbidden fruit, and asked him to leave you alone for good. You were a child of God, blessed without sin, and designed for purity. But those would all be lies. No one is without sin. You thought as you nodded, your breath shaky and your cheeks stained red.

Daddy will raise hell. You reminded yourself, but it was already too late. You sealed your fate when you decided to shake hands with the devil.

As Arthur led you up the stairs, his hand entangled with yours, his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the hotel, the wooden floors creaking under his weight.

He opened the door for you to enter the small and empty room, the hair rising on the back of your neck as he followed close behind you. “Arthur, I—” you stammered when it dawned on you, realizing what you were about to do.

“Shh, don't be nervous,” he soothed as a heavy hand rested on your hip, sliding up your waist. “I’ll take good care of you,” he reassured, gently removing his hat and placing it on the night table beside the bed.

Like a predator circling its prey, he stalked around your body until he stood in front of you, both hands on your hips as he smiled down at you. He was so close. You almost let out a whine of fear, eyes glued to his teeth to ensure he didn't have fangs, just in case.

“I promise I don't bite,” he chuckled, almost like he could read your thoughts. Maybe he could. He leaned close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Unless you want me to.”

You couldn't hold back the whimper that escaped you, anxiety and desire twisting and churning in your stomach, leaving you speechless.

“I've never…” Your voice trailed off, the words getting lodged in you as Arthur hummed in response, seemingly unsurprised.

“I figured,” he chuckled, confirming your suspicions. “Sweet, innocent things like you usually are,” he grinned, flicking the cross against your chest. You weren't sure what to make of that.

“We just won't tell ‘em, ay?” he let out a huff of amusement, reaching back to unclasp the necklace around your neck.

“Wait,” you halted him, gazing at his confused expression. “I…I want to leave it on,” you murmured, eyes drifting downwards, hoping you hadn't disappointed him. You weren't sure why you wanted it to stay; it didn't make sense logically. He was right; you should put it away, considering what you were about to do—what you were about to let him do to you.

However, something about it gave you a sense of peace or reassurance: even though you were betraying everything you were ever taught, everything you've ever known, God was still there, and he still loved you. Maybe giving in to your deepest desires could reconnect you to him in some way, that finding pleasure in the most sinful of ways wasn't sinful at all. Wouldn't he want you to feel good if he really loved you? To take what you want?

He was silent momentarily before he removed his hands from your grasp. Here it comes. You thought, eyes shutting, waiting for his disapproval.

His fingers grasped your chin, tilting it upwards, his thumb rubbing softly over your bottom lip. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” his voice cutting through the silence. “You can do whatever you like, darlin’.” his low, warm voice was gentle and consoling, offering comfort instead of pain.

“Thank you,” you breathed a heavy sigh of relief, your eyes gazing up at him with adoration, yet your hands continued clutching your dress, unsure of where to put them.

He hummed again, taking your small hands in his much larger ones, gently urging them towards him. You gasped as your fingers made contact with his skin, like it was the most lewd thing you've ever done. It might as well have been.

“I should be thankin’ you,” he responded, lifting your right hand to meet his lips, kissing your knuckles with a sweet softness you've never known. “Ain’t every day I meet a pretty girl like you.” he charmed, stepping closer towards you, your body stiff with nerves.

“I thought you said you were always nice to pretty girls.” You recollected, thinking back to the time you were first properly introduced.

“Well, I might've lied. Just a bit,” Arthur smirked, chuckling at your shocked expression. “They're not always as sweet as you,” he whispered, his face inching closer to yours. As your noses brushed together, he tilted his face to the side, one hand reaching up to guide your face to do the same in the opposite direction.

“Arthur, I don't know–” “It's alright,” he hushed, his breath hot against your lips. “Just follow my lead, alright?” You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath when he requested you to. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, the thin hairs of his beard tickling your cheeks. “Now, breathe out. Slow.”

As the cool air inside your chest unfurled from your lungs, his mouth pressed against yours. You squeaked in surprise, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips moved against yours. His hands smoothed down your lower back, pushing you closer until his erection was pressing up against your stomach.

You moaned into his lips, your body set ablaze as you struggled to kiss him back, your movements stiff and uncoordinated. He pulled away, a deep chuckle leaving his chest, causing you to squirm in shame.

“Just relax, sweetheart.” he purred, the fingers undoing the top buttons of your dress. “Don't be so nervous,”

“Easy for you to say,” you huffed, watching as his hands descended to each button, opening it with practiced fingers. He laughed, kissing your forehead with a smile. “I know, but just trust me.”

Trust me.

This was the most trust you've ever put in anyone you've ever met in your entire life. Here, this man was undressing you so calmly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. It probably was, to him. How many girls has he been with? You thought almost bitterly, jealousy spiking at him cherishing any other woman like this.

Every man you've ever met has bragged about how many girls he's bedded, whether they were modest wives or working whores, it didn't matter. It didn't matter if the man was handsome or ugly, rich or poor, dirty or clean. They all had the same goal in mind. Maybe Daddy was right. You thought anxiously as your dress fell into a pool around your ankles, leaving you in your bodice. Perhaps you were just another notch under Arthur’s belt. Even Daddy would stumble home with his clothes undone and lipstick stains adorning his neck.

Maybe Arthur is different. Maybe he's a good man.

“What's goin’ on up there,” Arthur asked teasingly, yet concern still laced around the edges of his voice. “If you don't want this–”

“I do!” You interrupted quickly, hands latching onto the front of his shirt, your lips puckering in embarrassment. “Sorry, I–I'm just nervous s’all.”

“I know,” he said, his arms resting against your upper arms, rubbing his calloused hands over your soft skin. “I understand. We’ll take it slow.” He promised, leaning forward to capture your lips in another kiss. He held his lips against yours this time, letting you adjust to him as his fingers deftly coiled around the strings of your bodice, slowly unlacing them one by one.

“S’been awhile myself,” he admitted, hoping to soothe you in some way as he took his time undressing you until you were left in only your bloomers, standing still with your face hot and your lips chewed raw.

“You don't…” you hesitated, wondering if you even wanted to know the answer. “…do this often?” You finally inquired as his eyes filtered over your exposed form. “Nah…” he answered, hands running all along your body.

“Well… once upon a time, maybe.” he grinned at you wickedly, his white teeth gleaming underneath his self-satisfied smirk. He laughed, finding the expression you subconsciously made amusing.

“Don't get all jealous now. It ain't like that anymore.” He promised, unbuttoning his clothes this time, undoing his vest, and taking off his short sleeve. “I wouldn't take advantage of someone like you,” he reassured, undoing his suspenders until he was left in nothing but his pants with his gun belt still sitting heavy over his hips and gun holster attached to his side.

Your eyes roamed to a large expanse of his chest, thick, coarse hair sprouting from his skin and leaving a path down into his pants. “Now,” he started again, your eyes snapping back to his face.

“Go sit on the bed for me,” he commanded, his tone firm yet tender, a heavy hand smoothing over your head. After letting his words sink in, you did as you were told. You knocked off your shoes as you sat at the edge, trying to avoid his gaze. With a simple click, he pulled the gun belt from around his pants and set it down near his hat, his holster following suit.

“Take ‘em off,” he instructed, his eyes studying your face as he undid his belt, waiting for you to undress. You clutched the warm off-white fabric of your clothes, your breaths coming in shaky, knowing you were about to expose your body to a man; you've never felt so vulnerable.

“I won't ask you again,” he threatened, his lips tightening as his eyes narrowed. “I have no problem takin’ you back home.” Just the thought of home had fear swirling in your gut. You'd instead take this than face your daddy. You knew it was unavoidable, but you'd rather it at least be worth it.

You nodded your head swiftly, standing back up to shed yourself of your underclothes until you were left in nothing but a necklace sitting on your naked chest. The cold surface of its metal and the cool air caused your skin to rise in goosebumps, your nipples perking in response.

“Good girl,” he purred, eyes drinking in your naked form with a dark hunger you've never seen. The spurs of his boots clicked as he reached forward, carefully sliding them off before setting them aside.

As you sat back against the bed, your fingers reached up again, clasping your cross, letting its sharper ridges poke against your skin.

“Don’t be scared now,” you gasped as his pants fell to the floor, his cock finally springing free mere inches from your face. Your jaw practically dropped to the floor as you stared. You've never seen one before. Do they all look like that? Are they always this big?

“You okay?” he laughed, strutting towards you, his cock bobbing between his thighs, hanging low towards the floor. Up close, you could see every vein protruding from underneath his foreskin, a strange liquid shining at the tip.

“Um…” you were at a loss for words, unable to look away. “What if it doesn't… y’know,” Arthur tilted his head to the side as he neared, hands on your waist as he urged you back further. “…fit?” You finished with a squeak as your head hit the pillow below, and your hair splayed out behind you.

You peered up at him, curious as his cheeks dusted into a dark shade of pink. Was he embarrassed? Did I offend him? “It’ll fit,” he said, looking away almost bashfully. “Gotta prepare you first,”

Prepare me?

He leaned forward until his forearms rested against either side of your head, trapping you underneath his body. Soft brown hair strands framed his face as he leaned closer, and front pieces fell over his thick brows.

You gazed into his clear blue eyes, deep as the sea, with a warm yellow ring around his black irises, reminding you of the sun’s rays casting light across blue skies. His eyes flickered between yours, seemingly searching for something before his lips connected to yours once more, his hairy chest pressing against your breasts.

Reaching up with shaky hands, you entangled them into his hair, resting them gently in fear of maybe hurting him. “That’s it…” he encouraged, his hand finding yours, interlocking your fingers, and pressing them to the bed.

“Just breathe,” he reminded before kissing you again, his cock twitching against your thigh, subtly rutting against you. You did as you were told: in and out. You thought to yourself as you practiced slow breaths until your heartbeat slowed to a semi-normal pace. “You got it,” he smiled into the kiss before continuing down your neck, rubbing his lips over sensitive skin.

You whimpered, your hand tightening against his as he lowered even further, reaching your chest. He let out a deep groan as he pressed his face against your breast, taking a nipple into his mouth to suck.

You looked down at him in shock, unsure what to do as he began rutting harder against you. Is this what people do? You were so confused, your thoughts racing a mile a minute. He let go with a slow suck, his heavy eyes meeting yours once more.

“Have I sprouted three heads?” he chuckled, worrying his lip with his top teeth. You shook your head, one hand gripping his shoulder to balance yourself.

“I don't… am I doing this, right?” As you whispered, your face flushed with warmth, and you squeezed his hand tightly, seeking comfort.

“You don't gotta worry your pretty little head over nothin’,” he said as his fingers dipped between your bodies, tracing over your thighs before nearing your pussy. You could feel its dampness trickle between your legs and into the sheets, your little pearl throbbing with need.

“You're perfect,” he murmured, his gaze softening into an emotion you've only seen flicker in his eyes and disappear as if it was never there. But this time, it stayed; it settled for you.

You didn't know what to say, so you opted not to speak; the silence spoke for itself as you stared back. The hand in Arthur’s hair cupped his stubble cheek, urging him closer before kissing his lips. He grunted at the contact, his tongue prodding the entrance of your mouth, forcing it to open before it slid inside.

No fork. The thought popped into your mind as Arthur’s tongue slid against yours, massaging the wet muscle with flicks of his own.

The hand against your leg reached underneath your thigh, lifting it around his waist before dipping back between your legs. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb reached underneath your hood, finding your pulsing clit and pressing down, moving in slow and deliberate circles. You moaned out; never once had you felt anything so amazing in your entire life. You had never touched yourself down there before; shame always held you back, and now you regret it.

All those times you refused your aching body with release almost seem abusive looking back now.

“Oh, Arthur,” you gasped into his mouth as he continued, your hips lifting to try and chase the addicting sensation.

“It feels so…” You couldn't even find the words to describe the feeling. It would be useless to try to explain it now.

“Like that?” he groaned, picking up the pace of his movements as his other fingers teased your entrance, coating his calluses in your essence. You nodded, mouth still open as broken whines and whimpers escaped your wet lips. You arched your back, your face falling to the side as you squeezed his hand, nails biting into the flesh of his skin. Arthur didn't seem to notice; if he did, he didn't show it, fully enraptured by your sensitive flesh.

“Christ, you're so wet.” Arthur didn't mean anything by it, but the mention of a name so holy during a time like this had your thighs closing around his forearms, trapping his hand against you.

He was also right. You don't think you've ever been this wet in your entire life. “Don't stop, Arthur.” You pleaded, trying to reopen your legs to give him more room.

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart,” came his husky reply. You sighed at his words, more so the thickness of his voice.

“Wider, darlin’,” he grunted, his middle finger catching onto the rim of your hole. “Gotta stretch you nice and proper, so you can take my cock.”

“Arthur!” you whined, embarrassed by his words, throwing an arm over your eyes. He laughed breathlessly, his movements slowing down. “Thas’ what you want, ain’t it?” He urged his finger, slowly inserting itself as you bucked upwards, trying to chase the dwindling pleasure.

You whimpered in reply, opening your legs further, allowing him to slip his finger in deeper. It was so thick and so warm, your pussy welcoming him with wet pulses as he slowly moved it in and out. The pain was sharp but was slowly replaced as his finger curled deeper, reaching places you weren't aware even existed.

“There’s a girl,” he rasped, eyes glancing between your face and your slippery cunt before adding a second finger. He wasn't deterred by the small amounts of blood coating his digits, only focused on making you feel as good as possible while preparing you to take him.

“You're doing so well.” he sighed, twisting his fingers before spreading them into scissoring motions, completely enraptured as your pussy convulsed around him, spilling more and more slick as his fingers quickened their pace.

The only sound in the room was your deep moans and the sloppy sound of your wet pussy getting fucked by his hand. Arthur shifted his wrist so the edge of his palm rubbed against your sensitive button, curling his hands deep against your G-spot and smirking in triumph once he found it.

“There it is,” he chuckled as he gazed upon your expression. Your thighs slammed closed around his wrist as you arched your back deeply, feeling your spine ache in protest, but you didn't care.

“Ah! Right there!” You squeezed his hand with all your strength as a new sensation built in your stomach. Something was coming.

“Arthur!” You whimpered; your free hand reached towards his wrist, which was now twisting with more force as his fingers pumped faster, harder.

“Wait! It’s—I’m,” Arthur was quick to silence you with another deep kiss, yet you couldn't kiss him back as much as you wanted, your mouth struggling to stay closed as whorish noises forced their way out.

“Just let go, honey,” he groaned, the heel of his palm digging deeper. “It's alright, just let go.” His voice was so thick and coarse, so warm and so rich, so deep and so guttural you couldn't help but fall victim to his spell.

With one final wail, you felt something rush out of you, something liquid but didn’t quite feel like pee. All you knew was that it felt good.

I hope this is what heaven feels like.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your voice growing tight as Arthur continued his pace, helping you ride out your high before eventually slowing, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, taking in your debauched state with a proud smile. Your hair was in disarray, strands sticking to your sweaty skin as your eyes fluttered, lashes resting against your darkened cheeks, and your eyebrows drawn close. Your lips were wet and rubbed red from his kisses, drool lewdly sticking to the corners of your mouth. Your naked chest heaved, your cross still sitting in between your breasts.

“You alright?” Arthur chuckled, slowly removing his fingers from your wet heat and wiping the mixed residue on the sheets.

“I never wanted it to stop,” you whimpered at the empty feeling inside you.

“I know that's right,” he agreed with a chuckle, squeezing your hand one final time before letting it go. You gazed up at him sheepishly, your hands reaching out to grab his forearms, letting your hands feel the warmth of his skin.

He hoisted your hips upwards, wrapping your thighs around his waist before leaning forward, his palm cupping your cheek before slotting his mouth against yours. Your eyes fell closed as you lost yourself in the kiss, unaware as his hips shifted forward.

With one hand around his cock, he pumped it generously, coating his dick in precum as he guided it toward your entrance.

“Big inhale for me, darlin’,” he requested one final time. You did as you were told, breathing in a large gulp of air before you felt something catch against your rim and push inside, filling you inch by inch as the air caught in your throat.

“And out,” he grunted, pushing his cock to the hilt, forcing himself deep inside, cursing as you clamped around him. He swore he'd felt traps looser than this.

Your exhale was probably closer to a sob. You've never felt so full in your whole life. Although the stretch wasn't nearly as painful as you imagined it would be. There was just so much pressure.

“You're doing good, fuck, just keep breathing.” he panted, barely even able to pull back with how tight you were clutching him. You nodded when trying to focus on his words as his cock throbbed inside of you.

“Good?” he grunted, his face twisted into something akin to pain, his heavy brows pulled forward, his face creasing as his eyes threatened to squeeze shut despite his resistance to keep them open. He sucked on his lower lip, struggling to concentrate as your wet heat pulsed around him.

“It feels… full.”

He groaned in response, thrusting up into you until his pretty cock punched against that spongy spot, causing you to kean, your body squirming, unsure if it wanted to pull away or chase the feeling.

“It's too much,” you whimpered, your hands pushing against his abdomen before he took your wrists in one hand, forcing them above your head as he rocked against you, fucking his cock in and out in slow yet deep thrusts.

“Take it,” he practically growled, his warm gaze turning cold as he towered above you, one hand enclosing around your hip as leverage, manipulating your body up and down in time with his thrusts.

“God, fucking take it,” he accentuated each word with a powerful shove, your skin slapping loudly each time they met. You couldn't even use anything to stabilize yourself, his fist wrapped firmly around your hands, holding them down with ease.

You were forced to take the onslaught of pleasure, tears welling up in your eyes as you cried out with movement, each jamming of his cock against your sore, sensitive pussy.

“Arthur!” you sobbed, your body squirming desperately underneath him, attempting to run away from his battering hips that grew faster with each minute that passed.

“Yeah, say my name,” he moaned, his eyes falling shut as his lips parted, deep pants escaping his chest with every movement. “Go on, say it again,” he reopened his eyes, glaring down at you with a look of something fierce.

“Arthur!” You moaned, pleading with your eyes for him to slow down. He smiled wide, letting go of your wrists, urging you to wrap your arms around his shoulders as he leaned in close, chest to chest.

“Am I being too rough?” he teased, pecking your lips tenderly as he slowed to a softer grind, allowing you a bit of grace.

“It's okay,” you panted, nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, closing your eyes in bliss as his thick cock ruined you for anyone else. “You can go faster… if you want,” you gripped him by his arms, burying your face in his neck, shyly kissing the expanse of his throat.

He let out another deep groan, his hand resting behind your head, pulling you closer as his other curled into the sheets below you, fucking up into you at a steady pace. You held onto him tightly, knowing you wouldn't last much longer.

“It's coming again,” you warned, your voice high-pitched and airy as you struggled to breathe, feeling as though he was fucking into your lungs.

Arthur leaned upwards, letting you fall back onto the bed as he took hold of your waist, his unoccupied thumb pressed down against your clit, rubbing fast circles as he urged you to finish.

“You’re almost there,” he grunted, watching as his cock reappeared before disappearing back inside you, the base coated in your milky arousal.

“You got it, c’mon,”

You reached behind you, fingers curling into the sheets below as you arched in his touch, gasping for air as the sweet pleasure built quicker, coming in faster and harder. “M’so close, Arthur.”

“Yeah, I know,” he cursed, fucking himself deeper, trying to get as much of himself inside as possible.

“I can feel you squeezin’ me,” whines began to escape his lips, sounds you never thought you'd hear him make.

“Does it feel good?” you asked, barely holding on as the thread threatened to break. You watched Arthur’s shoulders shake with what looked to be laughter, his thrusts stuttering before picking back up again.

“Yes,” he dipped his head to the side with a hiss, his thumb pressing harder against your delicate pearl. “Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,”

Something about the nickname did it for you. It was said with affection and lust, smooth as silk and sweet as strawberry wine. Arthur’s voice was thick and rich, slipping into your ears and knocking around in your brain.

You came with his name on your tongue, crying to the heavens above, knowing that even if God has turned back on you now, at least you’ll suffer knowing you were loved in some way by someone. You felt his nose nuzzle into the side of your neck, his hips slowing into something almost romantic.

You felt him place a kiss on your shoulder, almost as a silent apology, before drawing back and slamming forward, fucking you so fast and so deep the frame of the headboard knocked against the wall over and over. You held onto him for dear life as he used you for his pleasure, groaning uncontrollably in your ear.

“Almost there, fuck,” he whimpered, his hold on you tightening to something almost painful before he pulled out swiftly, pumping his cock at an inhumane pace before shooting white ropes across your stomach. He came loudly, teetering near a shout. Every time you thought it was over, more and more kept coming out, eventually spilling onto his hand and running down his length.

He glanced down at the cross, rising and falling with every movement of your chest. He smirked, holding it up in his clean hand, his thumb smoothing over the protruding patterns.

At least now he can say for certain where he’s truly going.

“C’mon, darlin, let's get you cleaned up.”

main masterlist, rules

[soaringwide]

PAC: How to overcome your fears regarding relationships?

Hey :p

Here is a new love pick a card about a topic I've personally been struggling with recently, so I really wanted to dive into it.

The goal of today's reading is to look at what fears you're dealing with in matters of relationships; fears that might manifest as blockages or obstacles in your love life; and how to overcome them.

As always, this reading is meant for multiple people and there are only three piles, so take what resonates and leave out the rest. It can help focusing on your issue or a specific relationship while selecting the pile.

I offer paid readings as well, don't hesitate to reach out to me in DMs.

Ko-fi ★ book a reading ★ pinned post ★ instagram

PILE 1

Cards: 3 of Swords, 9 of Pentacles, King of Wands, Queen of Wands, Slow Down, King of Pentacles, Manic, Queen of Swords, King of Cups, Queen of Cups, 2 of Pentacles, 5 of Pentacles, the World, 7 of Wands, the Magician, the Emperor

Your fears surrounding relationship have to do with heartbreak and loss. It seems you've had your heart wounded deeply in the past. The pain was intense and it took you so long to sooth it, and you had to use all your resources to revive yourself from this state. You had to learn to be independent and flourish for your own sake, to tend to your own inner garden and make a life beautiful and enjoyable for yourself. So you not only are scared to get your heart broken again, but also to lose your individuality and the peace you built for yourself. I think you are attracted to people like you, strong individuals with ambition and passion, but you're scared it's going to get in the way of your own path and vision and lead you apart, breaking your heart once more. I believe you overthink quite a lot and expect things to go wrong before they even do.

These fears are rooted in your relentless mind, forever going full speed from one extreme to the other, in a frenetic quest for meaning and movement. It seems you have trouble feeling satisfied by anything for long because you're always looking at the next adventure, the next prize, the next achievement. It's not that you're ungrateful or anything, but rather, that you are scared you're going to be left with nothing if you stop trying to fix what's wrong in your life. You keep looking for problem to solve, perhaps due to your triggered survival instinct, and it's hard for you to stop and appreciate what you have. So the root of your fears is in your own mind, in the pathways you built years after years and that you solidified. It seems you have a hard time finding your balance, go with the flow and stay in the appreciation of the present.

These fears manifest in relationships by a hard grip on your feelings by your mind. See, your feelings are strong and run deep, and they can get overwhelming very easily. As a result, you react by dissecting them like some freaky science experiment and try to break everything down to understand them, but also to keep them under the control of your logic. It's kind of a toxic pattern, an abusive move from yourself towards yourself. Your words can be harsh and hot tempered because you feel hurt easily and can blow things out of proportions fast. You're so scared of losing your agency and getting hurt that it makes you hyper aware of every little blow at your heart and you go to war a bit too easily. I'd also say that paradoxically, you have a hard time being honest about your feelings and communicating them in a gentle and open way. You may even wait till things become unbearably painful before saying anything, instead of acting earlier when the need arose the first time. You struggle with the idea of vulnerability a lot and perhaps your way around that is to wait till it feels like it's the other person's fault for hurting you instead of your own inability to express yourself authentically.

For what external influences play a part here, I'd say first that you have a strong personal sense of what you need from life and relationships, but that you doubt yourself a lot. You keep comparing yourself to what others have, or what society expects and this is making you feel depleted and resource-less. It's like, people say one thing, and you know it's wrong, but for some reason you keep entertaining the idea even though you know it's rotten and useless for you. In addition, you also feel pressed by time, as if you felt you were following some type of transcending schedule you had to abide by, and if you are late or out of sync, then that means you are failing and it's causing your fears to intensify. This is making your fears worse because these expectations weight on your mind and make you feel broken and worsen you destructive patterns.

For how to overcome your fears, your first need to let go of the struggle mindset. No, life is not out there to get you and you aren't going to lose everything if you dare opening up to love. You are too defensive of your heart and too combative in your approach. You need to replace that mindset by bringing all elements of yourself in harmony. Your mind shouldn't fight your emotions, your passion shouldn't clash with the respect of your boundaries. What I'm trying to say is to take a look at what you're over-doing and what you're neglecting, and bring some balance within yourself. You must also bring clarity in your mind about what it is you want and hold the vision, knowing that you will find what you need when the right opportunity arises. Also, don't hesitate to advocate your your needs and wants. Not like a tyrant, but like someone who knows themselves and know what's best for them, and go after whom they desire without fear. Yes, the battles of the heart are scary and it can be hard to go for what you want due to the fear of loss and pain, but you need to make a conscious decision to not only open up, but also let the other person know where you stand. Trust in your magic, your skills and power, you have everything that you need to succeed.

PILE 2

Cards: 4 of Swords, the Magician, the Star, Inner Awareness, Let Go rx, Queen of Pentacles, the Fool, 5 of Swords, 10 of Cups, Jealousy rx, Optimism, Queen of Cups, Page of Wands, 3 of Pentacles, Death

Your fears regarding relationship come up as fearing your hopes and dreams won't manifest. You are a romantic, a dreamer who has a beautiful and idealistic idea of what love can and should be, but you're struggling to find it. You may currently be in a state of isolation and afraid of it will never end, and that you'll be missing out on the joys of love. You are highly in tune with your higher desires, have a strong faith in the vision you have for the relationship you dream of, however, you're also highly scared that this will not become a reality, because you worry you do not have what it takes to reach your dream. I'd also say you're painfully aware of you own flaws and issues, and you worry you won't be accepted as you are.

The root cause of these fears shows up as a struggle to let go of your need to control and predict when the situation would require to simply take a step forward and embark on an adventure without worrying about the future. You may have been neglecting your love life for a while before this moment, not leaving enough space for relationships to bloom, because you perceived it as a treat for your well being at the time, which might simply mean that you hadn't met the right person or at the right time, and I think it shows up here because these disappointments made you very wary and careful about love and it's holding you back presently.

These fears manifest in your relationships by placing too high of an expectation from the get go on them. This gap between reality and dream is putting pressure on the relationship and on yourself. You may see the relationship as failing and struggling to communicate because you feel so vindicated. You might know that your approach is not working, but failing to understand why, and thinking things were not meant to be as a result, circling back on this idea of fated and perfect love. You may also compare the relationship to the ideal in your mind excessively, which is creating even more tension, anger and frustration, because it doesn't match your ideal.

For the external influences, it seems your current mindset was shaped by an environment that didn't encourage honest and authentic communication of your emotions, needs and desires. Paradoxically, you were told to always remain optimistic and hopeful, that things would always work out without effort, but without giving you the keys to how to work towards that in reality. It's as if it fed into your dreamy nature without allowing you to understand how to build the bridge between dream and reality. You didn't learn the power of your actions and how to take accountability for them, which is again feeding this imbalance between your inner world and the reality of a lived relationship. Also, circling back on the fear of not being accepted I highlighted in the first paragraph, this is also linked to your lack of skills in communication, because you expect people to understand you without having to express yourself, which is unfair to them.

For how to overcome these fears, the cards point at a few things. First, we're being led back to this idea of embarking on an adventure, with passion and confidence, and stepping out of your comfort zone. You must learn that the way you are approaching things is not working and need a deep transformation. You must learn from the mistakes of your past and start anew. Look at the future with hope but take actions toward what you desire. Also, keep in mind this idea that building a relationship requires team work and constant effort, and that things will not always be perfect and dreamy. Some days will be hard, but it doesn't mean they will never be sweet. Be open minded and enthusiastic and learn not to draw hasty conclusions on the relationship or on your person.

PILE 3

Cards: 3 of Pentacles, Page of Pentacles, 10 of Wands, Joy rx, 10 of Pentacles, 10 of Swords, 7 of Pentacles, King of Wands rx, King of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, 2 of Cups, 8 of Wands, Forgive rx, Intuition rx, 4 of Pentacles, the Hermit, Knight of Cups

Okay so heads up, this file feels a bit like the results of your own doing.

Your fears regarding relationships have to do with the idea of being burdened with responsibilities and losing access to the usual ways you find joy in life. I'm getting strong fear of commitment. That a committed relationship could get in the way of your present social life, friends and party habits. I see you quite mesmerized by what looks like glitter, as in, what seems attractive and exciting in the moment, which makes you ignore everything else that is around it because you're so fixated on what's in front of you. Basically, it seems like a lot of work and sacrifices for a reward that seems unsure and unsatisfying, and you fear that.

This is all rooted in what seems to be a fear of endings, as in, you fear closing a chapter of your life, both because of the pain of closing such chapter will cause (grief for a time of your life that is gone), as well as for the loss of the pleasures that come with it. You also fear things slowing down and being out of your hands, that your happiness won't depend from your own will only anymore and that you would have to work for it with someone. However, you of course don't see that behind every ending is a new beginning, and that things might not be as clear cut and as desperate and you imagine them to be. It's a bit over dramatic I feel.

This manifest in relationship by a bit of a toxicity if I'm completely honest. The cards point at rigidity and stubbornness as well as pent up anger and passive aggressiveness towards your partner. You might get fed up of them easily, because you feel restricted in your freedom. There is an inability to look past your own trauma and you're pushing its patterns onto your partner instead of addressing them directly. You end up hurting the both of you on the process.

For the external influences, I feel like there may be a connection that is triggering all these wounds for you here. Perhaps someone you were not expecting, someone who wish to come into union with you, to communicate freely and to make you a solid romantic offer. You sense that and it's making you spiral. This connection is putting pressure on you by asking you to make amends with the way you act and to own up to your bullshit (sorry). It may also trigger your intuition that is trying to tell you something, which you are refusing to listen to.

How to overcome these challenges then? The cards point at a need for a deep, thoughtful introspective journey, which will lead you to let go of your resistance to change. You're currently holding everything in, and I'm getting the image of a dam that is about to break down, little cracks growing and growing, and you're trying to cover them with your hands, but it's a losing battle. You need to learn to come forward, be vulnerable and authentic with your feelings and move towards what calls your heart without negating your deeper feelings and intuition. Make amends to you heart and pay attention to its whispers.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd squeezes your neck until you hack. Your back arches deeper as you claw at his veinous forearm. You kick your feet and writher as he bends over and snarls. 

“I swear to Christ, the next time you speak, you’ll be screaming my name,” he bares his teeth as he keeps you pinned to the glass. “My actual name.” 

You blink and trails your arm up to his bicep. Ooh, hard.  

His fingertips tickle up your thigh, sending you into another twitch. The air cools on your wet cunt as he traces along the crease of your leg. You cough and squeak, clutching his wrist as his strength threatens to crush your esophagus. You hope he isn’t to that hold dead fish type kink. 

He feels along your folds and dips between them roughly. You spasm again as he pushes down to your entrance then flicks back up to your clit. Your puff through your nose as your eyes threaten to roll back at the flare of his touch. He rolls your bud firmly and your breath is hampered by more than his grip. 

He toys with you. It’s so much more intense when it’s someone else. You can barely handle the way your insides clench and the tingling that you can barely contain. Maybe it’s just the loss of control or maybe it’s him but his touch is electric.  

Your lashes flutter and puff through pouting lips. Oh gosh. It’s always easier the second time. Quicker. You’re at your peak already. It hits you like a bus. You shake and still as the swell of tension breaks and flows over you like tide. You wheeze within his hold, head lolling as you close your eyes. 

“Not so mouthy now,” he sneers as he pushes his finger against your entrance, “are you, sweet lips?” 

He slips a finger into you and you groan. Your back curves again and your feet slip over the edge of the desk. Your legs dangle as he sinks in to his knuckles. He presses his thumb to your clit and rocks his hand. You moan into a gurgle as he continues to strangle you. Each time his grip loosens it quickly tightens again. 

You hold your breath and turn your head. He pulls back and dips another finger into you. He spreads his fingers as he tests your limits, tilting his hand faster and faster. He bends his fingers and feels around, pressing against the top of your cunt until a new pressure forms. 

You throw your hand up to slap his shoulder. Fuck. You cum again, quaking as you puff out your throttled climax. He slows and eases his fingers out of you. Your lashes part slightly as he holds up his shimmering fingers and wiggles them. He wipes them across your mouth and snickers. 

“What’s my name, sugar tits?” He pinches your nipple for effect. 

Your head moves back and forth and your lips open and close like a fish. You couldn’t speak even if you could remember if it was Floyd or whatever. He drags his hand down your stomach and slaps your thigh. He releases your neck and smacks your other leg, pushing them wide as you grasp the edge of the desk to keep from slipping. 

He bends further and your eyes open fully as you watch him stare down your cunt. Oh, he’s going too-- 

You let out a yelp as he buries his nose in your cunt. Oh god. Is that his tongue? It feels like a slug, wait, no, it feels good. Not—oo, like that. Oh yes.  

The melding of hot and cold has you writhing once more and you drop your head back. You reach down blindly and grab onto his hair. The gel makes your fingers greasy but you don’t care. You cling to him tightly as he brings a hand up, trying to peel yours away. When he can’t, he presses his hand to your thigh and jabs his nails into your skin. The pain only heightens your mounting pleasure. 

He wiggles his head, flicking and swirling his tongue, lapping you up. You can’t help but wonder if he likes the taste. You won’t lie and say you never tried it. It was alright, better than a dick, not as salty. Hm, maybe you should experiment a bit more. That wouldn’t be hard considering this is as wild as you’ve got. 

You chuff and bring your other hand down to the back of his head. Oh, jeez. He knows what he’s doing. Or maybe you’re that easy. You can’t say which is more likely. 

You moan and whine. You must sound ridiculous but this isn’t the time to worry about that. You’re about to blow. 

As if he can sense you nearing the edge, he prods at your entrance with his finger. You squeak as he slides into you. He moves his fingers in time with his tongue, the sloppy noises a bit icky but not enough to counter the delight pinging off you like sparks. 

You clasp his head tight, rocking your hips hungrily, and he purrs. The rumble does something to you. Something irresistible. You buck and surrender entirely. It’s like an explosion inside of you, then a deluge as you feel it gushing out around his fingers. The squelching mingles with your droning voice as he thirstily drinks it up. 

“Oh, gosh, golly,” you cry out, “L-L-Lloyd!” 

As you crest your orgasm and descend, he slows and reluctantly drags his tongue from your cunt, dislodging his head from your hands. He pushes his fingers as deep as he can. You close your eyes, hiding, steeling yourself. You hope you got his name right. 

He chuckles and you hear him suck his fingers. You pop one eye open and raise your head. You look at him sheepishly as his eyes linger between your legs. You close your thighs and warily sit up. 

“Now you remember my fucking name,” he growls and wipes his mustache, wet with your cum, “don’t fucking forget it.” 

“Yes, sir,” you salute him and he hesitates, sighing as he pinches his nose.  

He shuts his eyes and turns on his heel, caught in some sort of internal battle, “every time I think you might actually be hot, you go and do something stupid.” 

You watch him. He’s right. That has historically been your downfall. You can’t help but ruin the moment. Still, for all his frustration, you can see he’s rather... excited through his pants. The colour does little to conceal it. 

“Sorry, sir,” you wiggle to the edge of the desk, “but I’m not the only one at attention so I was only taking your lead.” 

He faces you and follows your eyeline to his crotch. He shifts his feet and tugs on his belt. 

“Yeah, well, kinda happens when you’re face deep in pussy,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Right, right, I wouldn’t know, obviously. I don’t have a dick and I’ve never you know... been spelunking.” 

“Spelunking?” He narrows his eyes and tidies his mussed hair, “right, I got a meeting,” he checks his watch, “so scram.” 

“Scram... to where exactly?” 

His nostrils flair but you don’t get his agitation. What the heck are you supposed to do? Stand in the closet like a broom? 

“Follow me,” he huffs and side steps you, grumbling as he gestures with his hand, caught in a silent argument with himself. 

[ohdeerfully]

hi!! i absolutely love your writing, you write alastor so so well and i absolutely devoured everything you have posted... would you by any chance be open to writing alastor with a f!reader who has an eating disorder/anorexia? <3 it's a triggering topic so i totally understand if you'd rather not! 💖 i've just recently been stressed about feeling like i need to lose weight again despite already having lost quite a lot and it just feels. never enough, so i would much appreciate some comfort! thank you for sharing your writing with us! 💖

hi my love!! i know you requested this some time ago, and i hope youve been feeling better (,: i also struggle with this type of thing so i 100% dont mind writing about it, but just know that you are super beautiful and worth every sweet treat and meal you get!!! mwah mwah mwah i hope you like the story ^.^

Ma Moitié

Alastor x Reader (fluff/comfort)

TW: eating disorder!!! alastor is def OOC hes being a sweetie pie join my discord!

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You always had a poor relationship with your body and food, in life and in death. You went through periods of weight loss, gain, loss again—some seemingly never ending cycle that no amount of therapy has managed to halt.

Your mind was currently weighing the pros and cons of eating the slice of cake offered to you by Charlie. She was celebrating the arrival of a few new residents, the first to arrive since the last extermination. The news really helped the hotel garner some attention, that plus the fancy new renovation Lucifer himself helped with… needless to say, Charlie was thrilled. So, she threw a little party. You had been standing awkwardly near the doorway, trying to find an opportunity to slip away from the small party. But you doubted you could escape without your absence being noticed; there really weren't that many people here to begin with.

You had accepted the cake out of sheer politeness, but you now just held the plate loosely in your hands, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought. You’ve been feeling particularly… susceptible to the calories in food lately. You considered the fact that you hadn’t eaten much today—or, honestly, the whole week for that matter. It shouldn’t hurt to just have one slice of cake. Just this once.

But… still… 

You frowned down at the cake. Picking up the plastic fork, you took a tiny chunk from it and lifted it to your lips. Your lips quivered as the food touched your tongue, and you felt sick as you chewed. You managed to swallow after an unnecessarily long few seconds of chewing, and you continued to just stare down at your plate. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle another bite.

Niffty had seen the sickly expression on your face, and loudly started throwing questions at you. Were you sick? Did you hate the party? Why didn’t you like the cake she made? Her loud voice was growing in volume, and catching the attention of a few other demons in the room. You tried various ways to shush her, attempting to answer her questions politely, but you felt your heart rate pick up at the obviously growing number of eyes.

“I’m not incredibly fond of sweets myself,” You heard that radio-afflicted voice pipe up from behind. You couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected presence, but you turned your head with a light smile. Alastor was looking curiously down at Niffty and you. 

“Ah, yeah, the cake’s great, I just… don’t like dessert that much…” You lied. You actually really liked cake, but it had been a long time since you were actually able to enjoy it without feeling intensely guilty about it. The tiny demon made a fussy comment about how nobody appreciated her and all of her hard work, stomping away. Her mood didn’t last, though, immediately getting caught up in cleaning something you couldn’t even see. 

You turned your head to thank Alastor, but you saw his smile drop slightly as he looked at you. The demon bent at the waist to lean down, his mouth near your ear and his usually boisterous voice quieted to a whisper. “Is everything alright, mon coeur?”

You felt your face heat up, both at the words he spoke and the proximity. You and Alastor had been quietly ‘official’ for quite a while now, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the small gestures of affection from the Radio Demon. It felt weird if you thought about it too long.

“I’m okay, just…” You weren’t sure how open you wanted to be about how you were feeling. Alastor knew about your poor body image and eating habits, but he truthfully never really knew how to go about comforting you. Plus, you felt as if your personal struggles were trivial to a literal Overlord of Hell. You didn’t want to bother him with your own shit.

“I’m fine,” You finally decided. You could tell Alastor knew you were lying, with that furrow of his eyebrows, but he stood up straight and didn’t push. You sighed and gently placed the plate of cake down on a small entryway table by the door you had been lurking near.

“I’ll get us out of here,” He declared with a wide smile, and he strode forward to where Charlie stood talking to the group of new guests. She knew Alastor was approaching due to the look of horror that slowly crossed the new demon’s faces. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it looked like she briefly scolded Alastor for being so damn intimidating for no reason.

They chatted for a moment, and you could hear the Radio Demon’s obnoxious laughter from across the room. He gestured to himself, then to you, to which Charlie looked in your direction. You shot her a small smile. She smiled back, nodded, and turned away to continue talking to the new residents—who all had been slowly inching away from Alastor. They looked incredibly relieved when he left the group.

He gave you a grin and wordlessly threaded his arm around yours, linking you at the elbow. You lifted your hand to give his upper arm an appreciative squeeze as you left the room. Your eyes lingered on the abandoned slice of cake as you walked away, feeling guilty in more ways than one.

Alastor had led you to your room, releasing your arm and leaning his body weight on his cane as he looked down at you. You glanced up at him, then back down, pursing your lips as you stared at anything else in the room.

“I hate when demons lie to me,” He said, eyes narrowed. Of course, you knew he wasn’t truly mad at you. Maybe frustrated. “What’s wrong.” It was more like a statement than a question. A demand.

You sat heavily down on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your fingers. 

“I don’t know, Al,” You muttered. You hated this. “I just… You know how I get sometimes.” It somehow felt so silly, telling him about this. 

Alastor had sat down next to you, his arm wrapped over your shoulder and a clawed hand rubbing up and down your forearm. You could tell his touch was light, awkward, unsure—but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. While Alastor typically had no problem overstepping boundaries and shoving demons around purely to aggravate them, he obviously had no real idea how to be intimate and kind. But he tried for you.

He took his other hand and slipped it under your legs, swiftly lifting you and pulling you further up the bed. He leaned his body against the headboard, and dragged you over to lay your torso against his own.

“I don’t understand why you worry about all this, dear,” He mused, his fingers threading through your hair. His other hand graced past your stomach, which caused you to subconsciously flinch away. You felt his hand pause, but he didn’t mention it.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” You responded slowly, your cheek squished against his chest. “But I’ve dealt with this since I was alive. I feel like it’ll never get better.”

“Dearest, you have a whole eternity here,” He mused in response. He placed a finger under your chin and craned your head to meet his gaze. “You need to be strong to survive down here; to stay sane. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind.”

Of course Alastor was always thinking about strength and survival. He was an Overlord, after all. You didn’t respond to him, but you kept looking at him as he spoke. There was an odd look in his eyes as he talked.

“Plus,” He continues. His words were slow, and his mouth moved as if the words tasted unnatural on his tongue. This uncertainty that touched the Radio Demon’s voice was… rare, to say the least. “I want to see ma moitié happy. I am… incredibly devoted to you.”

Your ear pricked when you noticed the radio frequency in his voice completely dropped when he spoke the words. That look in his eyes—you finally recognized it as some odd sense of passion and endearment. An emotion that you could tell confused him, with the strain in his brow as he examined you. He meant the words he said, no matter how unnatural they felt leaving his mouth.

You rested your head back down on his chest. You knew this conversation wouldn’t “cure” you or anything, but you hoped that maybe you could think back on his words everytime your hands shook as you held a fork to your mouth. Of all demons in Hell, Alastor’s opinion was probably the most important to you, and you knew his devotion wouldn’t halt because of a few pounds; Alastor had to be deeply, deeply passionate about you to even let you lay on top of him like this.

You only hummed in response, and simply rested your head back against his chest. You hugged your arm tightly against him to try to convey that you appreciated his words, but you didn’t really know what to say.

“Would you join me for breakfast tomorrow?” Alastor asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I know this wonderful place that I frequent for coffee…” 

You thought for a moment, again weighing the pros and cons; a habit that you struggled to drop when it came to meals. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts of what kind of food might be there, and if you should ration out the meals for the rest of the day. But, you felt the thoughts melt away when Alastor’s hand rubbed a comforting circle against your cheek, and then trailing down towards your shoulder in a light squeeze.

“Okay,” you finally said. It wouldn’t hurt to have a decent meal for once. You pulled yourself up onto your elbows again to look at Alastor. “Sounds awesome.”

His smile twisted up, his teeth peeking through a small gap in his lips. His head inched forward, but then paused, and you could tell his mind was racing with various thoughts. You waited for him to decide and, after a few moments, he closed the gap and lightly pressed his lips against yours. It was brief, as most intimate contact with him was, but you enjoyed it while it lasted.

“You will always be my only weakness,” Alastor admitted tenderly. “The most captivating demon in all of Hell.”

You couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face at his words. You sputtered out some awkward response, to which he simply hummed and smiled at. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headboard, his fingers still playing with your hair gently.

You followed suit, resting your head against his chest and closing your own eyes. You didn’t even realize how tired you were, too caught up in the rare intimacy with Alastor. You let your worries of breakfast fade away, choosing to just enjoy the warmth of his body so close to yours.

[mannequinreligi0n]

Hello obscura, would you be open to writing something about the Sparda brothers quietly in love with the reader (or the reader not so interested/doesn’t feel the same way)? I’d love to read more about them…aaaarghhh 😭

OFC ! i love psychoanalyzing these two to pieces, so thank you for this <3

There are a multitude of similarities in how the twins would pine over someone. The most glaring to me is that both Dante and Vergil would only fall for someone they have a personal connection to (aka demiromantic). Both have been through insurmountable trauma, and letting someone even remotely close to them would be a huge trigger due to their multitude of losses. It would take a lot of hard work from the person of interest to even form and maintain a friendship with them, let alone a relationship.

If it came down to them developing feelings for someone and the person didn’t reciprocate, I don’t think they would take it well. Both twins are extremely self-destructive and don’t know how to regulate/control their feelings (mostly because of trauma, though perhaps we can also blame the impulsivity and intensity of their devil genes).

Specifics for each twin below. ⬇️

Dante would very much brush off the rejection - playing it cool and coughing out a self-deprecating joke to soften the blow. He would maintain the friendship with the individual and act like he never said anything, but it would eat him alive, day in and day out. Every lingering glance, every laugh from the person would chip away another part of him. Dante is also very much an avoidant attachment; he constantly keeps everyone at arms length to “protect” them and himself. The rejection would only solidify in his mind that he can’t let himself get close to anyone, that putting himself out into the world would only create more problems for him - and he has enough problems. He would still hang around the person and chop it up, but behind closed doors, I think his reliance on alcohol would see an uptick. Drinking himself dumb in order to sleep, only sober when he’s out on a job (if even that). Dante has a terrible habit of deflecting. Deny, deny, deny. He’s incredibly intelligent and can read a room like no other - he knows exactly how to act to make people believe whatever about him. The way the person of interest would figure out how badly he’s taking the rejection would be if they happened to stop by his place late enough, catching him knee deep in whiskey bottles and neglected of all his needs.

Vergil, on the other hand, would rather eat glass than confess his feelings to someone. And it would take months, if not longer, for him to truly feel safe enough to conceptualize loving someone outside of his family. His feelings would not be revealed willingly - it would probably be accidentally blurted, or exposed when/if the person of interest confronts him about it. In contrast to his brother, Vergil is an anxious attachment, through and through. He is constantly in a state of fear, worried the person will turn their back on him or forget him entirely. As a result, he unknowingly will cling to them like his life depends on it - checking in on them constantly, frequently asking their opinion of him and whatever he’s doing. It could be overbearing and anxiety-inducing, which could lead to the mentioned confrontation. Regarding rejection, Vergil would shut down entirely. Think of a small child being yelled at by a parent: they’ll run and hide, crying in a dark corner of their room until someone comes to find them (if they come at all). He would shut that person out entirely, too embarrassed and ashamed to even show his face to them again. I see him locking himself away in his room for days, only having enough energy to cry and write. If not that, he’d just disappear entirely, practically falling off the face of the earth until he’s pushed down the ugly feelings enough to return. He would behave coldly to the person there after, even if it internally killed him.

[cultofdixon]

You do what you can

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Grimes’s Sister!Reader • This group desperately needs a home, and you need help. There’s only so much the archer and leader can do • ANGST/SFW • TW: Pregnancy / Excessive Nausea & Vomiting / Malnutrition

Requested by: Anon

NEXT

Hyperemesis Gravidarum, or severe vomitting is what Hershel said. It’s excessive nausea and vomiting that results in being unable to eat and drink because you can’t keep anything down.

Of course I had it.

Finding out I was pregnant in the prison, during the good times was of course bittersweet. Daryl, my partner, was worried about losing me like Lori but reassured that everything would be fine. Then the illness came through and he thought I had it with how intense my morning sickness was.

But Hershel reassured us and well scared us about a lot of the reactions that come with not being able to keep anything down.

“Please, what can I do?”

“Some just have this, Daryl. I’ll keep an eye on her. You gotta help the others”

While Daryl helped get medicine for those suffering the prison illness, he managed to find IV bags of fluids and that helped keep me hydrated when I couldn’t even take a sip of water without my throat burning.

Then well…a lot happened after that

Days have passed and again, a lot has happened. The prison collapsed, the group splitting, Beth’s disappearance, The Claimers,…Terminus, and now the group found themselves in the forest after barley escaping that hell they claimed as a “sanctuary for all” but it wasn’t.

After the small reunion, the group started to walk to…somewhere that wasn’t there. Eventually finding the chapel and the priest that almost lost his life if they didn’t arrive.

Before she even stepped foot into the small chapel, Y/N gripped Daryl’s arm indicating she needed to throw up again and step away to do so. Least she’s trying to inform him instead of disappearing for a few minutes to vomit in the woods. Not a pretty sight or…a pleasant sound.

Rick noticed the two coming in last as Y/N pulls away from Daryl to sit in a pew before ultimately laying down in it. He frowns trying to think of what he could do, she is his sister after all.

“How she doing?” He asks the second the archer approached him after checking on her once more.

“We better have a plan soon” Daryl frowns crossing his arms. “Doubt we’ll run into another hospital but the IV shit helped. Gotta find something like it”

“Or try to get her to drink. Just. Shit, I don’t know what else to do. Lori never had this shit”

The archer was sort of lost in his own mind, trying to plan something out that could help his partner. But every end is a dead one.

“I’m gonna keep watch, holler if?”

“Yeah, go ahead” Rick frowns watching Daryl go back to the pew Y/N was currently laid in, informing her of where he’ll be before stepping out of the chapel and Carol following behind him.

A few hours passed and Y/N jolted awake from an anxious thought only to feel the jacket draped over her which belonged to her brother. She eventually brought herself to sit up and put the jacket on entirely feeling the dryness of her hands, especially after not being able to have nutrients.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Michonne brought herself to sit with Y/N as she instantly rests her head on her friend’s shoulder. “Rick is taking watch and Daryl still isn’t back yet, just thought—-“

“He’s looking for Beth”

“How do you—?”

“Gut feeling…” Y/N frowns bringing her hands onto her small bump, feeling the anxiety bubble up inside her. “Michonne?”

“Yes?”

“…I…I’m afraid of losing my baby” She did her best to keep the tears from coming even if her body fought her against it and worsened her headache by bringing on the tears. “or of them losing—-“

“We will find the help you need. To keep you both alive and well”

But the worse kept coming, and we kept losing.

Bob was the first because of a bite. Then it was Beth at the hospital because of a cop with a trigger finger. Then Tyreese from blood loss because of an amputation caused by a bite. Sasha lost a partner and her brother, Maggie lost the last of her family. The two were on edge, Daryl felt like he failed, and the group was slowly weakening the more they continued on this blind path given the real news about Eugene came out. So no more hope for a cure. It will always be survival for those living through the apocalypse.

Maggie grew extra attached to Y/N given her state and the group can’t take another loss if it happened. Every time Y/N had to throw up or take a breather while the others kept walking, besides Daryl, Maggie was always there glued to her side which included Glenn glued to hers.

“Rick” Maggie called out for him with a bit of venom in her voice as he gave her a concerned look while handing Judith to Carol. “We need a break”

“It’s barely midday, we have to keep walking”

“Y/N can’t keep walking any longer. She needs a break” Maggie frowns pulling him to look directly at Y/N who was struggling to keep herself up even with Daryl’s help.

“Alright…Alright!” Rick nods directing people into the tree line, out of the road, to set up camp for the rest of the day and night.

Abraham took care of checking their surroundings as Sasha retraced their steps making sure they weren’t followed by anything or anyone. Carol got Noah and Glenn to help her set a few trigger lines for those who want to sleep. As much as Daryl wanted to help secure their surroundings, he felt as if he’d leave Y/N, that she’d decline. She’s already doing so but he thought he’d accelerate the process the moment he leaves.

“Can yea try for me?” Daryl frowns giving the last of his water to his partner as she nods, accepting his help with drinking from his canteen. He noticed a bit of a skin reaction on her neck from scratching the dryness as it was the same on her left arm. “Try not to scratch anymore…”

“Hard not to…” Y/N frowns leaning against the tree as Daryl sets his canteen down with his stuff bringing himself to sit against the tree. Gesturing with his eyes for her to lay her head in his lap. “We’ll find something…right, Dar?”

“I promise yea, sunshine” Daryl reassures brushing the hair out of her face watching Maggie approach them draping the blanket Rosita gave her to give Y/N over her body. The poor girl had already fallen asleep after being still long enough. “We’ll find somewhere right?”

“If we have to take it from somebody, then yeah. We’ll find somewhere” Maggie reassures him with a smile but hell, he knew she was anxious about her state.

The night was rough.

While she was exhausted more than the others because of being pregnant and having to be a part of less than 3% of pregnant individuals with hyperemesis gravidarum, she couldn’t control her anxiety jerks that would wake her. Freaking out Daryl every time and him waking resulted in Rick and Maggie waking given they stuck close to the two. Then the almost every hour to vomit. It’s gotten bad that Y/N started to dry heave and that would wake the rest sleeping. But every complain resulted in either her partner glaring at them or her brother snapping.

“My head hurts…” Y/N whispers to herself as the group started walking again the next day, this time she was with Carol while Daryl searched around for anything to have a longer stay in. Away from staying outside.

“Is that it?” Carol’s worry came out of her tone as she brought her arm around Y/N’s waist when she noticed her sway slightly. “You’ve got the last of the water…not like it was enough…we need a miracle or something”

“Kids first…Jude needs it. Carl needs it—-“

“You and your baby do too” Her tone shifted to strict immediately. She remembered how Y/N sacrificed a lot of her things in the past to keep everyone else afloat and she wasn’t about to let her do it again when it comes to her health.

It felt like fate or a foreshadow given after that conversation, everyone surrounded a cluster of water bottles in the middle of the road about an hour later.

“Someone has to test it” Eugene went to grab one and it was immediately smacked out of his hands by Abraham. “What!”

“It could be a trap” Rosita scoffs at him. “You think we’d give a pregnant woman poisoned water”

“Not like I can keep it down” Y/N whispers as she stares at the cluster before flinching to the touch of water. Water?

The storm that Rick expected to come days later, decided to come sooner and thank Mother Nature for that. Few started to empty to bottles and fill it with rain water as it was the next best thing, then those who’ve lost so much took the “peaceful” moment to take it all in.

As Y/N looks up at the rainfall feeling the heat expel her body for a moment and a sudden wave of uncertainty take her. But before she could even be audible about such, her body had enough.

“Y/N!” Maggie yells the second her body hit the floor as Daryl instantly dropped to her aid checking her person for any injury.

But it was just her body shutting down and that thought triggered Daryl.

“I saw a barn a few yards inward. We gotta—-“

Rick didn’t hesitate another moment as he quickly picked up his sister in his arms while Daryl led the way to the temporary shelter he found.

After another rough night and sort of rude morning, Daryl protectively held Y/N close to his person the second she woke around the time this Aaron guy was discovered.

“Hey…hey” Daryl fought back tears watching her wake as she didn’t say anything but rest her head against his chest in a sense of reassurance. “You’re gonna be okay, okay? Please” his voice cracked trying to say more.

“Our community can protect her, your daughter.” Aaron tried to sell this unknown community as he glances to the situation happening behind Rick and directed toward that. “Can save her from dying—-“

Watch your words.

Rick instantly grabbed his collar forcing the man against the nearest wall glaring into his soul. “She ain’t dying and how do I know you wouldn’t kill her in this place?”

“B-Because we won’t! You don’t have to trust us right away b-b-but we have an infirmary. A-A surgeon that knows his stuff”

If his sister wasn’t in this condition, he wouldn’t have give in so easily. Not like he wouldn’t watch this total stranger like a hawk when checking her person.

Which led them to giving about five percent of their trust to this stranger and following him with his partner to Alexandria, the community he talked about. A few residents that helped with the infirmary tried taking Y/N on a gurney but her family was close to killing a few people for trying to touch her without warning. Soon Daryl along with Maggie followed the few that pulled Y/N away on the gurney they brought out after Aaron’s partner Erin radio’d in.

“If you keep glaring, it won’t let me work faster” Peter states, getting the IV into Y/N’s arm after he asked Maggie to help her out of her clothes and into a new change of clothes enough to show some of the skin lesions she had so he could take care of them.

“Don’t do anythin’ without informing” Daryl glares keeping close to Y/N’s bedside on the other side. Peter looks at him with a blank expression, tensing a bit every now and then.

“She’ll stay here until she’s hydrated enough, or least til your group gets placement.” He states hanging the bag after taping the IV on her arm. “Y’all said she’s pregnant?”

For an anxious reason, Daryl gave Maggie a worried expression thinking…yeah…when Peter was simply asking to confirm it or not.

“Yeah, she’s pregnant. Why?” Maggie frowns watching Peter’s every move as he stepped away to one of the storage closets for equipment they have and or get from runs.

“We don’t have an ultrasound machine. Just tests and one of these things I forgot the name of” Peter held a device that could detect the heartbeat of a fetus, as for checking the conditions they’d have to go full old school for that and he’d need to find a book in their library, if they have one on pregnancy. But for now they have this.

Right before Peter even moved the blanket to lift her shirt to put the wand on, Y/N flinched pulling herself away given she woke once more in the middle of all that. Daryl frowns, relieved though, as he brushes back her hair catching her worried expression.

“He’s gonna check on the peanut, Y/N. Just let’em. I won’t let him do anythin’ else” Daryl reassures as Y/N nods slowly letting the man work but kept her eyes on him while he turned the device on and guided the wand to the right spot.

Heartbeat

A surprisingly healthy heartbeat

“That’s good. Strong” Peter states pulling the wand away before fixing the blanket over her and putting the device away. “I’ll come back in an hour or two to give her more fluids. Want me to tell your leader you’ll be in here?” He asks Maggie given the two watched Daryl drop to his knees hugging Y/N tightly her in her laid out state.

“Please.” Maggie gave a small smile letting the man leave before bringing herself to the other side of her bed resting her hand on her leg. “We’ll make this place work. To keep you both safe”

The two held onto one another and Maggie kept an eye on them for Rick before leaving to give them a minute. She kept close to the infirmary in case either of the two needed anything as she watches Rick practically run his way over to her with a worried look.

“She’s going to be okay. They both are” Maggie smiles watching the tension leave Rick’s shoulders for a moment as he instantly went for a hug with his friend.

When they parted, before the retired sheriff went in to check on his sister himself…the remaining Greene stopped him.

“Yeah?”

“We need to make this place work, Rick”

“I know…but—-“

“You can be cautious. We all are gonna be a while…but we all need this to work. For us, your kids, for them. We need this place for us”

“You do what you can for your family, and I’ll always protect mine”

[pearlprincess02]

scorpio sun, pisces moon, sagittarius rising, scorpio mercury, sagittarius venus

scorpio sun: is a night fixed water sign. a deep and complex sign, both its symbol and its glyph represent the scorpion, its stinger suggesting the potentially stinging nature of scorpio. scorpio represents transformation, depth, emotions, intensity, passion. also represent phoenix, a symbol of rebirth. scorpio is seen as magnetic, powerful, private and sometimes intimidating to others. scorpio is a sign that wants to see through the soul of a person, wants to see and understand the dark sides of a person. scorpio will always want to see the ugly side of a person. scorpio is a sign that is quite individual and likes to focus on a single person. what is also known about scorpio is that it gives each person a different kind of love. scorpio is a sign that has difficulty trusting and has trust issues, as it often feels that people will betray it. therefore, scorpios usually have a small circle of people and only those they really trust. scorpio can also be possessive, jealous and wants to have you all to himself. when a scorpio loves, he loves with all his heart. scorpio will give you his soul and heart. scoprio will sacrifice a lot for the people he loves. but if you betray his love, he will never forgive you. scorpio is also a sign that takes a long time to let go of a person and get over them.

pisces moon: you are too giving, humanitarian, charitable, selfless or not enough. you might take care or help out every close friend, acquaintances or stranger, but NOT your own family members, loved ones or your partner. so try to put that in check. you might be undereating or eat foods that don't nourish your body. again, substance overuse can be present in subtle ways, such as drinking too much coffee in the day.

sagittarius rising: ok legsss fr tho they have stallion legs, also likes the finer things in life and will probably get them because they’re lucky in life and blessed, really funny placement and someone you want to have around all the time to do fun shit with, carefree for the most part but they have certain triggers that they’ll cause a fit over, usually hates commitment (depending on other aspects and planets) because they don’t want to be tied down or have a loss of freedom

scorpio mercury: your thinking is above all intense, deep (you always delve into things and evaluate them from all possible angles). a lot of times you think like the fbi - you investigate all possible things and you want to get to the bottom of the truth. your thinking is never without meaning or control. you are always in control of what is happening. and everything you say is very well thought out, you usually choose with what words you say something and in what way. many times your thinking is a secret, which means that people never find out what you are thinking and that they can often judge you as a person who is a secretive. you read other people very well. also u have very sharp mind.

sagittarius venus: sagittarius venus’s approach love in a playful and fun manner. this is why they prefer their partners to be witty and humorous. they’re optimistic and joyful in love. due to that 9th house energy, sagittarius venus individuals usually fall for those from different cultures and backgrounds. they’re incredibly open minded and prefer dating someone different to them in a way. however, they do get the stereotype that they’re “noncommittal”. this stems from the fact that they value their independence and can get restless if their relationship feels stagnant. they seek a partner who they can experience adventures with and grow together spiritually. above all, they value their freedom and independence so they need a partner who is willing to accommodate that.

(@chaoticlyfzz)

ᵒᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵃʳᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ

[callsigns-haze]

Back to beginning

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Y/N wakes up from the dead, overwhelmed by confusion and grief, learning about her miraculous revival and Eris' survival, breaking down in tears as the nurses comfort her. She prepares to reunite with Eris and face their new beginning. Chapter Warning: This chapter contains scenes of intense emotional distress, confusion, and descriptions of recovery from severe trauma, which may be triggering for some readers.

*Serves as a one-shot but can be read as memories fade or the sequel loves haze series

Y/N awoke slowly, her senses dulled as if she were emerging from a dense fog. The weight of her eyelids felt immense, and her body ached with a deep, unfamiliar pain. She was covered by a soft, warm blanket, its texture a slight comfort against her bare skin. The room was dimly lit, and she could hear the faint sound of voices and movement nearby.

Her vision gradually sharpened, revealing two women bustling about the room with practiced efficiency. One of them, a nurse with kind eyes and a gentle demeanour, noticed Y/N stirring and leaned closer. "You're awake," she said softly, relief evident in her voice. "I'm Sera, and this is Elara. We've been taking care of you."

Y/N's mind was a haze of fragmented memories and confusion. She remembered pain, darkness, and then... nothing. She tried to speak, her throat dry and scratchy. "What happened?" she managed to croak out, her voice barely a whisper.

Elara, the other nurse, stepped forward, her expression calm and reassuring. "You've been through a lot," she began, her voice soothing. "You were gravely. The poison... it killed you. But something extraordinary happened."

Sera continued, gently wiping Y/N's forehead with a damp cloth. "You rose from the dead, like a phoenix from the ashes. It's a miracle, really. You and Eris, both of you... you were given a second chance."

The words seemed surreal, almost impossible to grasp. Y/N's mind raced, trying to comprehend the enormity of what she was hearing. She had been dead. She remembered the searing pain, the darkness that had swallowed her whole. And now, she was here, alive.

"Where... where is Eris?" she asked, her voice trembling with confusion and desperation.

Sera offered a comforting smile. "He's alive too. He's been staying nearby, waiting for you to wake up. You're both under protection now, in a place beyond the forest. It's safe here."

The relief was so overwhelming it crashed over her like a wave, bringing with it the release of pent-up emotions. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks uncontrollably. She sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her grief and relief.

Elara quickly moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay," she soothed, her voice gentle and warm. "You're safe now. Let it out."

Y/N buried her face in her hands, her cries muffled but no less heart-wrenching. The nurses stayed by her side, their presence a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions. They didn't rush her or try to stop her tears. Instead, they let her cry, understanding that she needed this release.

Sera brushed Y/N's hair away from her face, her touch motherly. "You've been through so much, dear. It's okay to be overwhelmed."

Y/N nodded, unable to speak through her sobs. She clung to Elara, her body wracked with the pain of all she had endured. The fear, the loss, the sheer horror of what had happened to her and Eris—everything poured out in those tears.

After what felt like an eternity, her sobs began to subside, leaving her feeling drained but strangely lighter. She wiped at her eyes, looking at the nurses with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Elara smiled gently. "You're welcome. Rest now. We'll take care of you. When you're ready, you'll see Eris again. And together, you'll start anew."

As the nurses continued to clean her and tend to her wounds, Y/N closed her eyes, struggling to process everything she had heard. She didn't know what the future held, but for now, she was alive. And that was a beginning.

----

Eris sat outside the room, his heart pounding in his chest. The thought of seeing Y/N again, truly alive and not in his dreams or memories, was overwhelming. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. When Sera opened the door and gave him a nod, he felt his legs move of their own accord, carrying him inside.

As he stepped into the room, his eyes immediately found Y/N. She looked fragile, almost ethereal, lying there under the blanket. The sight of her brought a lump to his throat, and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Her eyes fluttered open, and when they locked onto his, she gave a small, weak smile. "Eris," she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and confusion.

He couldn't hold back any longer. Eris crossed the room in a few quick strides and fell to his knees beside her bed. He took her hand in his, his tears falling freely now. "I lost you," he choked out, his voice trembling. "I thought I lost you forever."

Y/N reached out with her other hand, brushing away his tears with a gentle touch. "I'm here," she whispered. "We're here."

Eris buried his face in her hand, his body shaking with sobs. The weight of the past weeks, the fear, the guilt, the helplessness, all came crashing down on him. "I'm so sorry," he cried. "I couldn't protect you. I should have been there. I'm so, so sorry."

Y/N gently pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him as best as she could. "It's not your fault," she murmured, her own tears mingling with his.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, their tears a cathartic release of all the pain and fear they had endured. Eventually, Eris pulled back slightly, looking into Y/N's eyes. "I love you," he said, his voice steadying.

"I love you too," she replied, her eyes shining with tears.

Eris nodded, a sense of peace washing over him. They had been given a second chance, and he wasn't going to waste it. They would rebuild their lives, stronger and more united than ever, they were the Phoenii.

A/n: THEY'RE BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

@swiftie-4-lifes-stuff

@minaethrym

[mochamamii]

yandere!nct: you try to unalive yourself.

▹ a/n: hello loves, I can’t remember if I’ve written something like this before but I wanted write something a little darker today but soon I will force myself to write some fluff I promise lol.

▹ pairing: yandere!nct x reader

▹ triggers: self-harm, readers attempts to unalive themselves, kidnapping, forced relationships

▹ warning!: I can’t stress enough how triggering this might be, I get descriptive at certain parts and I strongly urge you to consider whether this is something you want to read, this is dark and not my normal writing. please prioritize your own well-being and do not read this if it will influence you in anyway, I have lots of other lighter reads 💕

Taeil won’t let it get this far. Taeil loves you deeply and wants only the best for you no matter how demented it appears to others. He dotes on, and nurtures you like his life depends on it, carefully crafting your meals and your routine to keep your mind and body healthy. If something like this were about to happen, he would be able to foresee your declining mental state and hopefully prevent any attempts. Taeil would do everything in his power to keep you safe and he’d do his best to make you as comfortable as possible. He’d even consider letting you go if it meant saving your life.

“How could you do this to yourself? Don’t I take care of you well?”

Johnny is always calm and collected, even when he’s pissed off, a stranger wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, he always keeps the same mask on, never giving you any idea of what he’s thinking inside his head. Until now that is…He comes home to find you on the bathroom floor. At first he thought you must’ve slipped, hitting your head and knocking yourself out in the process, not that it had been done intentionally. Johnny is at a loss of what to do, it’s one of the few times he’s not sure what to say or do to fix this. He usually has a witty comeback to lighten the mood but he knows now isn’t the time. He helps fix you up, cleans the wound on your head, and tucks you in bed. Anytime you part your lips to speak he’ll shush you. The two of you will probably sit in silence for a while until he can figure out how to address this.

“It’s okay, shhh…Just rest, save your energy. We’ll talk about it later.”

Taeyong is an angry mix of emotions. He’s known for at least a week now that you somehow managed to obtain poison. He theorized that you must’ve used cleaning supplies to mix a cocktail of chemicals, he found you hiding your stash under the bathroom sink. He assumed your plan was to use it on him, simply out of curiousity and amusement he wanted to see if you were actually capable of trying to kill him so he didn’t address it. He wanted to see how far you’d go to leave him. He waited and waited, but he never noticed anything different. He already had cameras installed in your shared apartment to watch you while he was away, he hoped to find you tampering with his food in a botched attempt to poison him. But still, nothing ever came of it. Until suddenly, you were the one who fell sick. His worry turned to anger as he arrived home one night to find you on the floor of the bathroom, the mixture of poison lying next to you.

“Are you insane? What were you trying to do, kill yourself? Do you think that will work, because I promise you, nothing…not even life itself will keep me from you. Don’t ever do something stupid like this again.”

Yuta feels remorse. It’s one of the few and probably only times Yuta will ever feel this way. Out of everyone, Yuta is one of the most intense and dangerous yandere’s, but he still loves you in his own twisted way. He likes to push your buttons and torture you a little but he’d never kill you…probably. For Yuta, part of the fun is seeing how badly you want to live, how badly you want for him to release you and return to your old life. When he arrives home to find you on the floor, a dark crimson pool of blood surrounding you he panics, all the color draining from his face as he sees your barely conscious body. He’ll clean you up, bandaging your wounds, he’ll monitor you for a few days wondering if he should take you to a hospital. In those few days as he waits to see if your condition worsens he’ll be super gentle, much more gentle with you than he’s ever been. His hands will run over all the old scarred skin where he’s cut you in different places before, a deep pang in his chest screaming at him for doing that to you. He’ll be soft with you, but he can’t help but still poke fun at you in an attempt to get you to talk to him.

“Hey, couldn’t you wait for me? At least I know when to stop, clearly you’re still an amateur…You could’ve really hurt yourself. What would I do then, huh?”

Doyoung is angry. At you, but mostly himself. He likes to believe that he knows you better than you know yourself. To come home and find you in the middle of attempting to harm yourself he will realize just how little he truly knows about you and your condition. Initially the only emotion he can really process is anger, the thought of coming home a second too late and losing you enraged him. Even while angry, he was solid as rock, never giving you much of a clue about what he was thinking. He will carefully nurse you back to health, never leaving your side not even for a second. Once you begin to recover he will experience heartbreak and grief over what could’ve happened. Doyoung won’t address the incident much and will from then on refer to it as the ‘incident’ he wants to pretend that it never happened. He’s a stubborn man and his behavior towards you might not change much, if anything he gives you less freedom, afraid to let you leave his side.

“Never do that again. Hate me. Hate me all you want to, but never do that again. Please.”

Jungwoo is distraught after finding you in such a state. He’s in disbelief and this is a rare occasion in which he is truly afraid. Afraid of what could’ve happened to you and what might happen again in the future if he’s not careful. It flips a switch in him and forces him to realize something that he cannot shake. That he might not just need to protect you from the world but from your own self too. He becomes distrustful of you, scared and afraid that you might try to hurt yourself again. There’s no amount of convincing or promises in the world that will put his mind at ease. This fear will drive him to act irrationally, he’s not above strapping you to a bed all day while he’s gone if it means keeping you safe. In his mind you forced him to take these measures to keep you safe.

“You know why I have to keep you locked up like this don’t you baby? I can’t risk you doing something like that again, what would I do without you?”

Mark is shocked. He never expected it, he doesn’t necessarily make your mental health a priority for him. He knows you probably hate him and that you’d do nearly anything to get away from him. He just never thought unaliving yourself would be on the table for you. In fact, he probably expected you to try and kill him before you ever tried to hurt yourself. He will feel shameful and for the first time a little guilty about taking you. I don’t see him ever letting you go but he might be willing to talk and see what changes can be made to make you more ‘comfortable’ in your new life.

“Don’t punish yourself for the decision I made. If you wanted to kill someone it should’ve been me. Not you, never you.”

Haechan’s response might come off as cold and heartless. That’s only half true. Initially he might try and make himself believe that it wasn’t you who did it to yourself but that an intruder broke in and attacked you. When he realizes what you tried to do he knows that nothing he will say will comfort you or inspire you to never do it again. You hate him, so much that you’d rather die than be stuck with him another second. What could he possibly say to change your mind? His approach is a little brazen and risky but he wants to test your will to live. How badly did you truly want to be free of him? He used the only thing he knows for sure works in keeping you in check. Fear. Your fear of him and what he might do.

“What? It’s okay for you to go around taking lives but I can’t?” He asks with a quizzical expression as he holds a knife to your former friend’s throat, his icy eyes piercing into yours.

[yanderes-galore]

Can I get a Steven from Steven Universe Future yandere alphabet, please?

Sure! Here's what I came up with :)

Original Steven Concept I Did Here.

Yandere Alphabet - Steven Universe

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Fear of loss, Trauma/PTSD, Steven's a mess, Blood, Violence mention, Attachment issues, Jealousy, Anger issues, Manipulation, Stalking, Kidnapping, Dark themes, Poor mental health, Angst, Possessive behavior, General yandere themes, Delusional behavior, Unhealthy behavior, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Steven is naturally clingy due to his past. He doesn't like leaving you so he comes off as smothering. He's used to losing others and now that he's found someone new... he doesn't want to let go.

Steven comes off as intense, even when he doesn't mean to. He just wants to cover you in hugs and kisses. He just wants to feel your warmth and not be alone again.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Steven has always been a person who wants to solve problems by talking them out. However, with his new unpredictability... there may be times he gets more violent than he'd like to be.

He feels conflicted and horrible the moment he sees blood on his hands. Yet he quickly hides it. After all... you shouldn't view him as a monster just yet, right?

He wants to enjoy you for a while longer before you leave him.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Steven would not purposefully try to mock you unless you set him off or something. He's impulsive though, which may lead to him kidnapping you without thinking things through.

Abduction would be a last ditch effort for him to not lose his darling. He cares for you the best he can all while trying to self soothe himself in your embrace. In abduction you can truly see how messed up the poor young man is.

He always asks how he can help. He denies you your freedom and quickly becomes the only thing you see. He's in denial of everything... including his toxicity.

He's been struggling to find a purpose, but when he meets you... He just knows he's needed you since he met you.

He just hopes you understand him... eventually.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He probably doesn't mean to, but it ends up happening anyways. He's so caught up in what he wants or trying to "help" and "care" for you... only to forget you really need space, not him.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He may try to hide it, but in the end he's very vulnerable with you. He struggles to be open but it ends up spilling out of him anyways. When he's vulnerable... it's almost upsetting when he holds you close and sobs.

However... he's still dangerous... and you know that.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Genuinely upset and you may set off his temper. He may fight back verbally, but even with just words... his powers can get hectic by accident.

If he ever hurt you by accident, he pauses and either isolates himself or tries to make things better again.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he hates it.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Well, with this one there can be a lot of candidates due to how volatile Steven can be. As I said before, he'd never mean to hurt you but he may do it by accident.

Seeing his mental breakdowns... seeing him snap at others... at some point he'll take it too far.

In a fit of desperation, he may accidentally harm you or someone close to you. You're terrified once you see his hands and the floor covered in blood. The realization of what he's done may break both of you.

The thought is unnerving... as that blood can either belong to someone you know... or you.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

In the end, somehow, Steven wants to have you two married and happy together. Yet he's so emotionally driven and plagued with trauma, that even if you tried to help him, it only hurts the both of you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes. Steven has a fear of being left behind. So when he sees you turn your attention to other people, it affects him. He'll usually try to deal with it alone, often going into a depressive state and crying about it in his room.

Honestly, him just being sad is the better option. All you have to do is comfort him afterwards. Although... he is fully capable of lashing out, which would be dangerous for anyone around him. We've seen in Future how he gets.

Left unchecked and someone may get hurt.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Obsessive, Clingy, Affectionate, Manipulative, Controlling, Needy, Volatile, Possessive, Intimidating, Caring, Smothering.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Pulling from my older concept, you two most likely met after he left home to have a fresh start. You offer to be his friend, to help him, and he ends up feeling attached. However... soon friendship turns into more than friendship.

He wants you to be lovers, to be married, to support him.

He's moving too fast with his feelings which causes issues for both of you. He stresses out over the fact you don't feel the same and worries you'll leave him. He doesn't want to lose you...

So it seems he must prevent that somehow.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Well, he's not really trying to mask anything. He may try to hide his darker nature... but you'll find out eventually.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He doesn't like hurting you, the only times he does is by accident. So your punishment may be something like... forcing you by his side or something like that. Isolation punishes him too, so he'll do the opposite.

He'll use his powers to chain you to his side until he knows you won't leave him.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Most of them if it meant he wouldn't be left behind.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

I like to think at first he's really patient... but as he gets worse and worse... he's impatient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Honestly, if anything bad happened to you, he'd snap. Like... monster Steven snap.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

A little and maybe.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Childhood trauma. One of the main things dealt with in Future.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Steven is used to helping. He'd do whatever he can to see you happy again. Sometimes he's even unaware that he could be the one causing it due to his delusions. He'll hold you close, kiss your head, and just stay beside you. He hates it when you're upset.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Get this man the help he needs, put up boundaries, and probably get the poor man a therapist. He'll be much easier to manage. (Also he just really needs help.)

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Unintentionally, afterwards he panics and tries to fix things.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Steven may actually be a worship yandere at times. There's times he's just so grateful that you want to help him and he just wants to keep you forever. He'd do anything to have you. Just so he can keep your warmth all to himself.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Anything from months to a couple years.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not on purpose.

[blooming-violets]

Can I add on to the Suicidal Peter thing? I feel like that would cause so much stress for reader? Like her hair would be going gray and maybe she faints from exhaustion because she's staying up all night making sure Peter wouldn't try to off himself again? Would he notice that she's extra clingy because she's that nervous of him being alone with his thoughts and whatnot? Maybe she wouldn't tell him because she doesn't want him to feel any more guilt that he already has? Sorry if that was alot, just thinking about how that would be for his girlfriend

Trigger Warnings: This is all about suicidal ideation, self harm, and losing yourself to take care of someone who is suicidal. Includes panic attacks, severe weight loss from lack of eating due to anxiety, mentions of blood and cutting, attempted suicide on top of a building. It's a suicide/depression/self harm/broken lovers fic. Be careful if those topics are difficult for you<3

Reminder: This is a depiction of an extremely toxic relationship. It is not cute or healthy or something to strive for. Just, like, as an fyi. Don't do it. Stop. Not healthy. No. Not even for Peter Parker. Don't do it. Stop it right now. Never get on a ledge for a man wtf are you doing.

I think she would be in a state of constant hyper vigilance and high anxiety. He would take over all her thoughts until she can't function anymore. Never eating. Not able to work. Doesn't even want to take a shower because she's afraid of having him out of her sight. Not wanting to sleep.

God forbid she wakes up in middle of the night and he's not in bed, she'd be thrown straight into a panic attack. There's been times when he's woken up to go to the bathroom and returned back to find her hyperventilating on the floor.

Peter dried his wet hands on his boxers as he turned off the sink. His eyes were squinted closed, still half asleep, and he shuffled out of the bathroom. He had no idea what time it was and he didn't care to turn on any bright lights to find the clock. He rubbed his fingers through his shaggy hair and let out a quiet yawn, fumbling with their bedroom door handle to push himself back inside.

A dull flurry of tingles ran up his spine as his hand grasped the knob.

Spider-senses. They weren't super intense or threatening but they let him know that someone was crouched behind the door. He knew it was her and not a threat. His senses always felt dulled down when she was around. His ears perked up to listen to her quiet, muffled sobs.

Peter frowned and gently opened the door so not to accidentally hit her with it.

She was curled up against the wall. Her eyes were wild, the whites flashing back and forth as they scanned the dark room. Tears spilled silently down her face and her body racked with heavy pants. Her teeth bit down on the sleeve of her shirt to keep her cries muffled.

"Baby, what happened?" He asked, quickly kneeling down in front of her. Five minutes ago she was sound asleep beside him.

He scanned her for any external injuries but came up with nothing. He placed his hands against each of her cheeks to get her to look at him. His thumbs brushed the tears from under her eyes.

"You-" she gasped, eyes wide, like she was forcing them to focus on him. "You...you...here...you're here."

Peter nodded. A weight of guilt dropped in his stomach as he realized what she was implying.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here. I'm always here. Just went to the bathroom. 's okay. Are you hurt?"

Her chest heaved with each quickened breath but her shoulders stopped shaking the longer she took him in. Her mouthed moved like she was trying speak but no words ever came out. Only more sobs.

He flicked out his wrist to shoot a web against the light switch, tugging it on, so she could see him better.

"See?" He spoke softly, trying to soothe her the best he was able. "Look at me. I'm here."

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and spilled down over his hands. Peter sighed sadly, sliding an arm under her legs and the other behind her back to scoop her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed. She cradled into his lap and he pressed the side of her ear against his chest so she could hear his heart. He was alive. There was physical proof she could hear.

"I'm here," he continued to reassure her. "I'm not going anywhere."

They both doubted that statement but neither of them dared to challenge it.

He slipped his hand under her shirt to gently scratch her back, humming softly against the side of her head.

Slowly, her breathing regulated. He felt her body melt against him. Her eyes closed.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

She gave a soft nod, mumbling as sleep started to grip her once more, "Nightmare. Nothin' to worry 'bout."

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, feeling her drift off, and knew the nightmare she was talking about wasn't one that happened during sleep.

Some days are better than others. Some days he seems almost normal and she finds herself able to breathe a little easier. But she can never allow herself to fully relax. Relaxing means getting sloppy. Relaxing means she might miss the signs.

The dark circles overtake her eyes. Caking on makeup can only do so much. They still poke through until she eventually just gives up trying to cover them. The whites of her eyes have become a permanent state of bloodshot.

She's losing weight. At first people compliment her for it. They don't know why it's happening. All they see is a loss of weight and think it's purposeful and think they need to praise her for it like it's some great accomplishment. Soon it becomes a clear problem. Food doesn't want to stay down. Her stomach was too filled with anxiety to make room for anything else.

Her friends no longer text her. She never responded anyway. She can't go out. That would be the perfect time for Peter to lose it.

She struggles to keep working. Her job is suffering as a result of her mental state. Too many sick days taken. She's days away from being fired but she doesn't care. All she cares about is Peter. Nothing else matters. Keeping him safe becomes her obsession.

The lack of sleep makes her dizzy.

Peter stared at the television. He couldn't focus on what was playing. His mind was...elsewhere. He dug his nails against the skin of his thumb. It pissed him off that he cut them short earlier in the day. They weren't long enough to scrape against his skin with the force he wanted. He wanted blood. He wanted pain. His nails were giving him nothing but a mild annoyance.

He couldn't get up to find anything sharper when she was curled up beside him. She watched him like a hawk. If he moved, she moved.

His gaze landed on the steak knife thrown against his empty dinner plate still laying out on the coffee table in front of them. Once he caught sight of it, he couldn't see anything else.

He couldn't see that her plate was still full of food beside it, untouched. He couldn't see her eyes glazing out of focus as she stared at the television, equally unable to pay attention to what was in front of her as they "watch" their show. He couldn't see her shaking hands from lack of sleep or proper nutrition. He couldn't see the gauntness to her cheeks or the red tint in her eyes.

All he could see was that knife.

He imagined dragging it across his skin. Slicing it open. Spilling his blood. He imagined cutting it across his palm to mimic the color of Ben's blood on his hands. George's blood. Gwen's blood. He imagined stabbing it into his neck. So fast that she couldn't stop him. In and out. Real quick. Over and done just like that.

"Do you need more water?"

Peter's eyes snapped up to attention as she broke his trance.

"What?" He mumbled.

She nodded to his empty glass of water, "Want me to get you more? You looked like you were staring at it? Thirsty?"

He gave a slow nod, lost in thought. Good. Let her get up. Let her move away. He could grab the knife while she wasn't looking.

She reached for the glass and stood up. He was too focused on the blade to notice how she stopped to sway unsteadily on her feet before walking off to the kitchen.

He heard the glass crash a second before her body hit the floor.

He was up and leaping over the couch a heartbeat after, the knife immediately fading from his mind.

"Babe," he gasped, reaching her in seconds. He gently slapped a hand over her cheek. "Hey! Wake up! Baby, wake up!"

Peter fumbled for the cell phone in his pocket, ready to call an ambulance, when she groaned. He dropped it beside him to tend to her instead.

Her eyes blinked open, hazy and confused, "Wha-"

"It's okay," he breathed through the rising panic. "Try not to move. You fainted. Hit your head."

Oh god, her eyes. Had they always been that sunken in? When did her face start to look so skeletal? He couldn't remember. When had she changed? Was that...

He ran a hand over her hair.

...grey hair?

Sporadic grey strands slipped through his fingers. She looked sickly. She wasn't right.

She lifted an arm to rub her eyes with a muffled moan. A trickle of blood ran down the back of her arm where she had landed on the shattered glass. It painted a trail of red down her skin. His eyes widened at the sight, unable to look away. He tunnel visioned. His sight blackened around the edges as he stared.

Blood. Her blood.

His head twitched. He hurt her. He did this. He made her get up because he wanted that knife. He didn't even more water. He wasn't even thirsty. She was up because of him. She was...broken...fallen...Gwen fell...she broke...he broke them all...dead...all of them...blood...so much blood...always blood...

Her hands were pressed to the side of his head. She was sitting up now. He hadn't even seen her move. Was he-

Crying.

Hot tears streamed down his face. He was sobbing. Gasping. He couldn't remember starting that. Time was slipping through his fingers. He was losing bits and pieces. What year was it? How old was he?

He was sixteen, holding Ben's body.

No, no, no.

Eighteen, Gwen in his arms. Shattered. No.

Twenty...six? eight? Had he turned thirty yet?

Fuck, he couldn't remember.

"It's okay, Peter." She was soothing him. "It's okay. I'm fine. I'm okay. Breathe, Pete. Deep breaths. Stay with me."

He was supposed to be the one taking care of her. What was he doing? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop crying?

She was running her fingers through his hair, pressing her forehead against his, kissing away his tears.

He clung to the front of her shirt, tugging her closer, he couldn't get her close enough. He needed to feel her. He needed to breathe her in, touch her, fuse her through his skin until she melted straight into him forever.

She wasn't dead. It was just a cut. A cut.

She clutched onto his head, pressing his face against her breasts, holding him close. This was the wrong way around. He should be holding her. He was failing. Nothing was working right. Everything was backwards. Everything was wrong. He didn't remember who he was anymore.

"I got you, Peter. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

She cupped his jaw in her palms to lift his head to hers. She placed soft kisses against his lips. It made his head spin. He wanted her closer but he was afraid if he reached for her, she would crumble away into a fading memory like the rest of them.

As she kissed him, his hand reached out besides him instead, fingers finding a shard of glass and silently slipping into his pocket.

For later.

Just in case.

Peter's stopped being Spider-Man because she asked him to. She's afraid to have him out of her sight. Spider-Man is too dangerous for someone who's suicidal. He can't be trusted. She struggles to breathe when he's not around.

They spend most of their time on the couch "watching" tv. She makes him shower with her. She stays up to watch him sleep, now. When she does doze off, any small movement or sound will jerk her straight awake. Her eyes only ever look for him. She can't see anything else.

At what point does she become an enabler to his behavior? There's being a caregiver and then there's letting someone ruin your life. He's not getting external help because he has her. They're eating each other alive. Sucking the life out of each other. Soon, there will be nothing left to leach off of.

By continuing down this path, it's only a matter of time before she hit rock bottom beside him.

I think that might be the only thing that pushes Peter out of the hole. Because he loves her. He's broken and depressed and a neglectful boyfriend but he does love her. Either they both end up dead or they end up alive. There's only two options here with them because neither of them will ever leave the other. Drag each other down straight to death or lift each other to something brighter.

It had been about an hour since he last saw her. That was unusual. The past five months, she had been his shadow. Attached at his hip. Never out of his sight for more than a minute or two. He dragged himself off the floor where he had been laying. He had bent down to reach for the remote that had fallen off the couch and ended up on the floor without the willpower to get back up. He had just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, letting time pass.

Except too much time had passed because she wasn't here.

Peter sat up, feeling a bit dizzy from the change of pressure in his head, and called out her name. When she didn't answer, he called her again, louder this time. Still nothing.

That worried him.

He jumped to his feet and focused his hearing to listen for her. She wasn't in the apartment. He didn't have to search. He just knew.

His heart began racing. His skin was exploding in tingles. Goosebumps. Anxiety swirled in his stomach. Colors intensified. His hearing dialed up to its full extent. His senses kicked into overdrive.

Trouble.

He hadn't felt his Spider-senses in months. They overwhelmed him and caused him to stumble back against the couch. He had gone so long without feeling anything. Suddenly, there was everything.

He gave a few rapid blinked, trying to focus his eyes and gain back control of his body.

He had to find her.

Peter stumbled out their apartment door, barefoot and sweating profusely, looking wildly up and down the empty hall. He yelled out her name once more. He knew she wouldn't answer but it burst out of him with a longing desperation anyway. He hadn't been away from her for this long in months. He couldn't breathe.

When had she left? Why hadn't he heard her open the door? How far gone had he let himself get that he wouldn't notice her walking out?

He forced his breath to steady as he paused, taking a deep breath, and letting those familiar senses work like they used to.

The roof.

He had to get to the roof.

She was up there. If anyone ever tried to ask how he knew, he wouldn't be able to tell them. He just knew. That's how his senses worked. They told his body where to move and how fast to go and where to be. They told him of danger.

And they were telling him that needed to be on the roof as fast as he could move.

Peter took the stairs two at a time, leaping over railings, and throwing himself up the three flights until he burst through the roof door.

It was snowing outside. When had it become winter? How long had it been since he looked out a fucking window?

His bare feet slipped on a patch of ice but he quickly righted the fall and lunged forward.

She was here. Standing on the raised edge of the building roof. Her hair whipped around her head from the freezing wind. She was in her slippers and pajamas. He hadn't even remembered what she had been wearing until this moment. It was like she had become invisible to him. Always there, always needed, but never truly seen.

He saw her now.

She had gotten so skinny. Almost skeletal. Her body stood on unsteady legs, the wind thrashing her around like she was nothing, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Instinctively, he arm shot out to shoot a web at her back, but nothing came. He had taken off the damn web shooters forever ago. They were lost on some dust filled, cluttered dresser under a pile of clothes. Somewhere completely useless to him.

He shouted her name, pain laced heavily in his voice, running towards her. If she fell before he could catch her, he would throw himself straight off this roof after her.

She turned to look at him.

Jesus, she looked like an entirely different person. Her eyes were dead. Her body might still be hanging on but the life inside of her was gone.

"Dont!" He a broken scream ripped from his throat. "Don't you fucking dare!"

She took a step back, her slipper sliding against the ice, heels hovering over the edge.

"I can't," she whispered, voice getting lost in the howling wind.

Maybe it wasn't the wind. Maybe his own horrified cries.

"I can't do it anymore." She took another shuffled inch back and teetered dangerously on the edge. "I'm sorry."

He reached her the second she stepped off. His hand latched onto her wrist at the last possible moment before it disappeared from view. The weight of her falling body lurched him foreword and he braced himself against the ledge, sticking his feet to the frozen ground as an anchor. He reached his other hand over to scrunch up the front of her shirt, using both her arm and shirt to drag her back up to him.

She didn't fight him. Didn't move. Didn't react.

He dragged her limp body over the hump of the ledge wall and tumbled her into his arms. He fell to the ground, collecting her in his lap, clinging her protectively against him in an iron clad death grip. He chest was heaving. Tears spilled hot down his red, windswept cheeks and blurred his vision. He was struggling to breath. He couldn't catch his breath.

Everything was her. All he could feel. All he could see. He held her close, frantically running his hands over her body, over her face, feeling her, making sure she was really here. It was her. She was here. In his arms. She was alive. She was breathing.

She looked so defeated. Broken. Gone.

"Why?" His voice cracked. "How could you-how-"

Why not?

He had.

She had learned from the best.

It hit him all at once. Clarity. Realization. Everything fell into place the second she stepped off that ledge.

His entire life flashed before his eyes when she fell.

This life they were living...this life was not sustainable. It was his fault.

He had brought them here. He dug the hole and led her straight down to the bottom after him because he was afraid of being alone. He brought her down to his level because he was selfish. Needy. Weak. Afraid. She didn't belong here. He didn't either. If he had his web shooters on like he always used to, he would have reached her before she even knew he was there. He had given up everything in his life. Family, friends, Spider-Man, her.

He given up on everything and almost lost it all.

He had dug this hole for them.

Only he could help them out.

a/n: HI! Of course you can add to it! It makes me so happy that anyone gives a shit to actually contribute and join in on the story telling. I am just very slow at replying sometimes, esp during the days that I work, but I will always get there!

I dipped a toe into exploring the role of caregiver in Nicest Thing too and what it can potentially do to a person. Because I think it can really eat someone alive to be on constant high alert until there is nothing left of them except a shell of who they once were. At some point, you're going to have to chose between losing yourself or potentially losing Peter. He has to be the one to help himself. No one can force someone to get help, they have to make that choice themselves, which is the sad reality of loving someone who's going through shit. And I say that as someone who gone through a lot of shit in their life and had to have people put my ass on suicide watch. Being a caregiver of someone suicidal is a lot of thankless, hard work. If someone doesn't want help, they'll find ways to weasel around everything you to hit them with, until they're ready to do it themselves. So, keep yourself sane and healthy.

I'd like to think that after this, he helps them both. He helps her by getting better himself. Since she followed him into the hole, I think she would follow him out. Slowly. But seeing him put in the effort would give her the strength to do it herself.

Go listen to Don't Try Suicide by Queen and don't fucking kill yourself, okay? Great? Great! xoxo Katie

[transmutationisms]

i have a handful of anonymous asks in my inbox right now asking about harm reduction as applied to eating disorders that their loved ones are experiencing. i'm not answering these individually, both because it would get repetitive and because i don't know your loved ones and can't give them personal advice, but i did want to say a few general things on this topic.

the basic principles of harm reduction are the same in regards to EDs as anything else. the point here is not to force a person to stop doing something dangerous (this is impossible) or even to pressure them to stop (this also doesn't work, and will often have the effect of making you into a person they don't feel safe around and can't turn to for help, thus actually decreasing their access to support and resources). instead, the goal of harm reduction generally is to give people the knowledge and resources they need to engage in risky behaviours as safely as possible. the reasons people do things that are physically or socially harmful to them vary, obviously, but in general these behaviours are serving some purpose in the person's life, like providing emotional 'blunting' they need to deal with otherwise intolerable circumstances, or meeting a physical need for specific substances. harm reduction meets people where they are, beginning with the premise that they deserve basic respect, dignity, and self-determination, whether or not they continue to engage in behaviours that may be endangering them.

some baseline harm reduction strategies for EDs could include:

take necessary safety precautions if (over)exercise is a feature of the disorder, or if you are at risk for fainting; ideally, have someone around (or reachable by phone) who can help in case of injury

do your best to compensate for any micronutrient deficiencies resulting from food restriction; dietary supplementation may be necessary

know if any substances/pharmaceuticals you may use (recreationally or not) can affect you more strongly, faster, or more dangerously on an empty stomach; here, harm reduction for EDs will overlap with harm reduction for drug use

know the signs of electrolyte imbalance and resultant cardiac events, particularly in EDs involving purging by laxative use or self-induced vomiting; keep a stockpile of items like sports drinks/gels that can rapidly replenish electrolytes; know where to seek emergency medical treatment and how to recognise when it may be vitally necessary

monitor long-term health risks, like bone density loss, tooth enamel damage, hyperglycaemia (in cases of diabulimia), &c. note that both this step and the above require finding medical practitioners who will treat patients non-judgmentally and without threat of institutionalisation

....and so forth.

harm reduction plans are highly individualised: they depend on the person's own goals and desires. a harm reduction plan might include strategies for engaging in ED behaviours less frequently or intensely, and may even include a long-term goal of recovery. however, harm reduction has not 'failed' if the person doesn't want to, or can't, reduce frequency or severity of behaviours right now or ever. ED harm reduction that does include goals for reducing behaviours, without necessarily trying to eliminate them entirely, might include strategies like:

purge less frequently; avoid or reduce flushing and chew/spit

reduce food restriction by raising calorie limits, not counting calories at all, eating certain 'fear foods', &c

identify triggers for restriction, binging/purging, &c; try to avoid those triggers (& possibly enlist assistance doing this)

ask someone trusted to eat with you if this would help you, for example, become more comfortable with eating non-restrictively, and turn eating into a social connection rather than a stressful event

consume a sufficient amount of food regularly and consistently <- this is the bedrock of all recovery work

again, though, the particular strategies in a person's harm reduction plan will depend on what they want to implement and are capable of doing right now. a person who's not ready for any step that asks them to engage in fewer behaviours, or to engage in behaviours less frequently, can still benefit from a harm reduction approach if they're interested. this is a conversation that should always be approached non-judgmentally and with the understanding that any harm reduction plan depends on the person's own capacities and goals. harm reduction is not about telling someone else what would be 'best' for them in an 'ideal' world. it's about meeting them where they are right now.

something important to note about EDs is that efforts to restrict food and food groups and to shrink body size are considered extremely common and 'normal' in much of the contemporary popular culture, and are frequently encouraged and prescribed by medical practitioners. this means that even when you are worried about someone with a self-endangering ED, there is often a considerable risk that, in trying to help them, you might still be promoting or acceding to the same fatphobic logic that can fuel the ED. if you, for instance, think that pursuing intentional weight loss is generally benign or healthy; if you have ideas about what size a person's body 'should' be based on things like actuarial charts; if you think that some foods are universally 'bad' and need to be restricted or eliminated; if you think that food should be 'earned' or compensated for by physical activity—stop, do not pass go, and do not try to dispense any kind of advice, harm reduction or otherwise, to someone struggling with an ED. you are not capable of being a resource here unless and until you are committed to a politics of fat liberation, disability rights, mad liberation, and anti-racism. you are not reducing harm if you are contributing to further entrenching the cultural beliefs and economic mechanisms of fatphobia and body fascism that the ED itself thrives on.

(**i am not saying that all EDs start or end with the desire to be thin as articulated through white supremacist body ideals, but it is a very common feature at this moment in history, and having these ideas reinforced, including through the lens of medical fatphobia, can certainly contribute to or worsen already-present behaviours and thought patterns where EDs are concerned.)

harm reduction also means giving a person the knowledge they need to evaluate their own goals and needs. in regards to EDs specifically, lots of public health communication is confounded by industry-funded diet and 'obesity' research that prescribes food restriction, compensatory exercise, and other recognisably 'eating disordered' behaviours, especially to fat people. many people with EDs, and their loved ones, may not even realise how many misconceptions they have learned about body size, nutrition, and the health risks of EDs. some basic places to start learning about these things from a weight-neutral / fat-liberationist angle that i would suggest include: christy harrison's podcast 'food psych' (her book is also decent but treads a lot of the same ground); gwyneth olwyn's work; lindo bacon and lucy aphramor's papers on 'health at every size'; jennifer gaudiani's book 'sick enough', which is a good starter resource on the medical effects of EDs. note that none of these resources are working within an explicitly harm reductionist framework, and imo make some missteps in this arena! but they still contain insights and information that can be useful to those who are interested in harm reduction, and to those with EDs generally.

harm reduction can be a tool to recovery, or a step on that road; it can also be an alternative for people who are not ready to seek recovery, and who may never be ready. the reality is that you cannot force someone to stop engaging in behaviours they rely on to live, whether drug use, EDs, or anything else. harm reduction proceeds from this place and from a fundamental commitment to respect for people who are generally already suffering. when approaching a loved one, you may or may not be able to initiate a conversation in which you express, eg, that you are worried about them hurting themselves, and would like to offer whatever emotional or material resources you can to help. but you have to go into any such interaction understanding that they may very well already know all of the risks of what they're doing, and may have other reasons they can't or don't want to stop. if you're trying to impose your will on them---by force, pressure, or coercion---you're not doing harm reduction, and you're most likely alienating them and turning yourself into a person they don't feel safe around where these behaviours are concerned.

[listentoace]

Hey, I wanted to address a couple of things.

I have been receiving several asks regarding some of my recent posts. I admit they are darker than the usual stuff. That was a decision I consciously made, because I do tend to have darker fantasies and wanted to see how they would be received. I consider most of the criticism I received to be valid points. Here are a few of them:

The whole idea of "ruining yourself"/"ruining your body" as you're gaining weight can be found fatphobic

Connecting feederism to habitual behavior, addiction, loss of control, and even brain damage can be found scary or even disturbing

Encouraging people to embrace health issues (both physical and mental) because of feederism can be found toxic

Constantly connecting feederism and weight gain with the negative side effects (sluggishness and laziness, health issues, societal judgement, etc.) can lead to the conclusion that feederism, obesity, indulgence, etc. are generally bad things

I won't try to defend myself. In fact, I completely agree with (most) criticism I received. The only kind of "criticism" I don't recognize are attacks toward me personally, but that's just reflected in a minority of the asks I receive. To all people who have sent me asks: it's great that you're sharing your opinion and thoughts, and I encourage you to keep doing so!

I think it is necessary to mention again that I don't mean anyone any harm. I am not fatphobic, and I do not mean to force any kinks upon anyone. This is just me writing and recording some horny ideas I occasionally have for those people who are into the same stuff. It is also very important to mention that in many cases, the fantasy of something can be very hot, while the reality of it could be very stressful and traumatizing. This is especially the case with more intense fantasies and kinks, e.g., being kidnapped and fattened. Everything I write takes place in "fantasy land". Nothing I post is meant as a threat, actual encouragement for dangerous behavior or self harm, or other harmful behavior. Pleae keep this in mind!

Getting back to the criticism: Yes, I like the dark stuff. I am very intrigued by the idea of feedees getting fatter for pleasure, despite all the negative consequences that can come with weight gain and obesity. I also enjoy calling people out for it, both with mild teasing and with very direct "you're damaging yourself" claims. I know that this is not everybody's cup of tea, which is why I already tag all posts with darker topics related to self-destruction, severe health issues, permanent damage and even death with "#death feederism" and "#death feedist". This is also mentioned in my pinned info post under "My Content", encouraging people to hide these tags who are not into certain content I post. However, it is quite clear that this isn't a great solution – otherwise I would not be receiving these asks.

I am very open to solving this issue together. After all, it always has been my personal ambition to write and record content for your enjoyment and pleasure. I want to make you – the readers and listeners – feel good and excited. I don't mean to scare or disturb you with my darker fantasies and kinks that don't appeal to you. Nonetheless, I do enjoy causing "holy shit, this is really bad, but it just feels so good!" pleasure and horniness.

In the past, I occasionally made use of trigger warnings at the top of my posts. If I recall correctly, I did hide the main content behind the "Keep reading" button. This was not consistent, but I am open to generally implementing this for all future posts that include sensitive subjects, such as death feederism, consensual non-consent, heavy conditioning and brain damage, or severe degradation and objectification.

However, before I do that, I first wanted to recognize the asks I received and open the conversation by addressing these issues. I encourage you to share your thoughts on this with me in the comments, asks, or my dms. Please let me know whether you think the combination of a trigger warning and a "Keep reading" button is sufficient and reasonable. I will still be tagging my posts accordingly, like I've done in the past, so filtering through hiding certain hashtags will remain an option either way.

I'm looking forward to your feedback and ideas, thank you for the criticism! :)