#the one I will always and endlessly cherish

[rnm-magic-space-xsd]

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part1 !

multipart story! find masterlist here

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N and Charles had been inseparable since childhood. They met on the first day of school, when Charles, a shy boy with striking green eyes, had been sitting alone during lunch. Y/N, with her boundless energy and warm smile, had plopped down beside him and declared they were going to be best friends. And they were.

Over the years, they shared countless memories. They would often sneak out of their houses at night to sit by the waterfront, talking about their dreams and fears. Charles, who loved racing, would talk endlessly about becoming a Formula 1 driver, and Y/N, who adored his passion, would listen intently, offering unwavering support.

One evening, they were at their favorite spot by the water. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over everything. Y/N watched Charles as he animatedly discussed his latest race, his eyes sparkling with excitement. She loved how passionate he was, how he never gave up, even when things got tough. It was in moments like these that she felt her heart swell with feelings she was too afraid to voice.

"Y/N, you’re the best," Charles said, grinning. "I don't know what I’d do without you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering. "I’m just glad I get to be here with you, Charles."

Another time, they were at a party. Charles, always the life of the event, was in the middle of a group of friends, telling a story. Y/N stood on the outskirts, watching him with a mixture of pride and longing. He caught her eye and gave her a wink, causing her to blush and look away. She knew she was in love with him, but she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by confessing.

Then there was the day he had his first major racing win. Y/N was there, cheering the loudest. When he crossed the finish line, she ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed, her heart pounding with pride and something deeper.

Charles laughed, lifting her off the ground. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!"

But the moment she cherished the most was when they sat by the fire at a family camping trip. The night was cold, and the fire crackled between them. Charles looked at her, his face illuminated by the flames.

"Y/N," he said softly, "you’re my rock. I couldn’t have done any of this without you."

She smiled, her heart aching with unspoken love. "And I’ll always be here for you, Charles. No matter what."

Their bond seemed unbreakable, and Y/N cherished every moment, even as her feelings for him grew stronger. She knew she would rather have him as a friend than risk losing him by revealing her heart.

But one day a few years later, everything changed.

They were sitting in Charles' living room, watching a movie. Charles turned to her, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you," he said.

Her heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Charles?"

"I’ve met someone," he said, his eyes shining with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "Her name is Camille, and she’s amazing. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now and she is so lovely. You'll love her!"

Her heart stopped. Y/N's insides felt cold as she felt her heart shatter like glass. Tears started to form and her breath got stuck in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis. She forced a smile as hard as it was, her happiness vanishing. "That’s so great, Charlie!. I’m really happy for you."

He grinned, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I knew you’d be so happy. I won't bother you every weekend for a movie anymore Y/N/N! I just want to thank you for putting up with me for so long. You’re the best."

She nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Always."

As Charles went on about Camille, Y/N's mind raced. She knew things would never be the same. She would have to make a choice: to stay close and risk her heart breaking every day and potentially damage his relationship or to distance herself out of respect for Camille and protect her own feelings. But right now, all she could do was listen and pretend to be happy for him, while her heart shattered silently.

Y/N stood up abruptly, needing an excuse to leave. "I just remembered I have to help my mom with something. I’ll see you later, Charles."

"Are you sure?," he said, looking a bit puzzled. She nodded. Charles muttered, "See you later, Y/N."

She walked out of his house, her chest tight with suppressed emotions. Once outside, she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her. She knew things would never be the same again.

And with that realization, she made her decision. She would distance herself, for both their sakes, even if it meant breaking her own heart.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvur @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff

[ahqkas]

♯ TOO SWEET ; mattheo riddle

❛ i take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at 3, you’re too sweet for me ❜

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! consummation of alcohol, lovesick mattheo, fluff, angst, a lot of my hcs for mattheo’s past (i wrote him the way i see him), lmk if i missed smth !!

NOTES! this is purely my view on mattheo’s character bc the hc i wrote suit him sm 😿😿 reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

ONCE A MAN FALLS IN LOVE, he finds himself drawn to not just the physical beauty of his muse, but for the essence of who the person truly is - their quirks, intelligence, kindness, and their unique way of seeing the world. Every interaction, every shared experience, every memory he brings, adds another layer to his adoration towards the love of his life.

His love for them is evident in the little things - the way he watches them when they aren't looking, the small gestures of thoughtfulness, the silent support during their dark moments of life. It's in the way he listens, truly listens, to the hopes and dreams, fears and frustrations, always eager to offer his thoughts and ideas. This love manifests in his desire to be their anchor in times of storm, their cheerleader in moments of triumph, and their person in all the in-betweens. It is a love that values their independence and individuality, recognizing that they are their own person with their own journey, and yet, he longs to be a part of that journey, to walk alongside them and share in their joys and sorrows of life.

Mattheo Riddle was no different.

He marvels at your kindness, your sweetness, and the light you bring into his life. You are his muse, his inspiration, a spark of the goodness that stands in stark contrast to his own perceived flaws and insecurities he feels deep inside himself. He sees you as an angel, a pure and radiant being who somehow chose to share your life with him, despite his own imperfections and inner demons.

He sees you as an angel in a human form, who chose to live among the devils, just so he could feel the heavenly touch for the first and last time in all eternity.

He often wonders how he, with all his rough edges, hidden scars, and a past life without a happy memory, could be worthy of your love. He feels like a monster, haunted by past mistakes and burdened by the weight of his own fears and failings. You, on the other hand, are everything he aspires to be - kind, compassionate, and endlessly forgiving. Your presence in his life is a constant reminder of the beauty and grace that he lacks, and yet, your love makes him strive to be better, to rise above his darkness and become someone worthy of your affection.

In his heart, he knows that your love is transforming him, helping him to heal and grow. Your existence is a light that dispels his inner darkness, a reminder for him to cherish that even monsters like him can be loved. He clings to this, that your love is making him a better man, one day at a time.

01. THE PARTY

The Slytherin common room was full of shadows and flickering lights, transformed into a wild moment of freedom for the night. The music, a thundering beat that echoed off the stone walls, could be heard from miles away, yet no professor or ghost visited the common room to cancel the party. It was as if the ancient castle itself had granted this one night of freedom to its most cunning and ambitious students. The rhythmic thrum of bass notes and the infectious melody of the latest wizarding hits filled the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses.

Bodies moved in a hypnotic dance, swaying in sync with the music. The students had discarded their usual aloof demeanors and uniforms, lost in the euphoria and joy of the moment. Green and silver decorations adorned every surface, shimmering under the enchanted lights that hung from the ceiling like glowing jewels. Laughter rang out, high and clear, mingling with the deep, resonant hum of conversation.

In one corner, a group of seventh years huddled together, their heads bent close in a whisper, before erupting into loud laughter. Nearby, a couple twirled around each other, their bodies intertwining like dark waves, eyes locked in their private world amidst the chaos around them. The fireplace, usually a place of quiet contemplation, was now surrounded by students perched on its stone ledge, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of the night and alcohol.

Long tables filled with food and drink stretched along one wall, bearing the weight of a feast other students could be jealous of. Platters of magical meals, charmed to stay warm, smelled of aromas that mingled with the scent of butterbeer and stronger beverages. Bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine were passed from hand to hand, each sip fueling the atmosphere more and more as drunken the students got. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening tongues, transforming even the shyest students into party animals of the night.

The Slytherin common room had never felt so alive. Tonight, they were not just the students of Hogwarts; they were a family, united by their house and their understanding of what it meant to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo Riddle was one of those students who were enjoying themselves tonight. His breathing features were illuminated by the green lights as he leaned casually against a stone wall, a cup of firewhisky filled to the brim in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge with each of his slowed gestures, but Mattheo seemed unconcerned, clearly lost in the haze of alcohol. His dark curls, usually styled in the way that made uncountable amount of girls fall on their knees, now fell loose around his face as you watched from a close distance.

He was engaged in a drunken conversation with Theodore Nott, whose tall, lanky frame was the opposite to Mattheo's more athletic build. Theo's typically serious demeanor had softened, his features relaxed into a rare, genuine smile as he listened to Mattheo's ramblings with a giggle threatening to spill out from his lips. The two of them, often seen together, now looked like true brothers. It was almost scary how much they resembled family when they were drunk.

Mattheo's voice, rich and slightly slurred, carried over the music as he recounted a particularly outrageous story from his recent fight. Theodore threw his head back and laughed. It was clear to anyone how close those two boys were, drunk or sober.

"Can you believe he actually thought I was serious?" Mattheo snickered with a big grin stretching across his face, taking a swig from his cup, the whiskey burning a warm path down his throat. "I mean, I barely managed to keep a straight face!"

Theodore laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're a menace, Riddle. One of these days, you're going to get expelled."

"Ah, but tonight isn't that night, mate," Mattheo replied with a slow wink, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To living dangerously and laughing in the face of consequences!"

They clinked their cups together, the sound barely audible over the throbbing beat of the music and you thought now was the best time to approach your boyfriend. 

Mattheo's brown irises scanned the crowd, catching a look of you as you pushed your way through the crowd of dancing bodies. The sight of you instantly brightened his expression and a genuine smile spread across his face. He felt a rush of emotions that the whiskey in his hand only intensified, each beat of his heart echoing with the certainty that what he held for you was pure love. The Slytherin straightened up, his posture shifting from the casual slouch of a carefree boy to the attentive stance of a man. Theodore noticed the change and a knowing smirk made its appearance on his lips as he stepped aside, giving the two of you a moment of privacy. 

"[Name]," your boyfriend called out, his voice full of warmth. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you came closer. "There you are, love."

You beamed up at him, your eyes reflecting the party's enchanted lights, making them look like twin stars. "Having fun, are we?" you teased and the tone of your voice carried a playful match that always managed to make his heart skip a beat. 

"Only now that you're here," he replied. The world around you seemed to blur as he gazed down at you, all the noise and chaos fading into the background. "You make everything better."

Drunk on both the whiskey and his overwhelming affection, the boy's usual reservations melted away. He held you close, his hands resting on your waist as if anchoring himself to your presence. When he was sober or feeling down at heart, his love for you was often hidden beneath layers of stoicism and insecurity, but now, in this moment of happy drunkenness, it shone through. 

He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips, enjoying the sweetness of the contact. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you, but I'm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of your love."

 “You have no idea what you mean to me. I look at you and . . . it’s like you’re the sun and I’m just a planet orbiting around you, soaking up your light,” he continued without a break. The boy wanted to get every one of his words out as fast as humanly possible. To show you his hidden feelings he wasn't able to tell you before. “You’re my everything, [Name]. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re so kind, so . . . good. And me? I’m just . . . I’m a mess, you know? A monster sometimes.” 

You shook your head lightly and took his hands into your own, enveloping him with your warmth. He was starting to get emotional, and you didn't need to have your boyfriend drunkenly mopping around. His mood changed like weather when alcohol got involved. “You’re not a monster, Mattheo. You’re human. We all have our demons.”

“But you,” he didn't allow you to finish your sentence before he spoke up again, his voice raw with sincerity, “you make me want to be better. For you. I see you, and I just want to be the man you deserve. I’m not always good at it, but I try. I try because you’re worth it.” 

You could see the glazed look in his eyes as he swayed slightly on the spot. He was rough around the edges, you couldn't deny the truth, but he was the sweetest boy when he managed to fall in love. Which wasn't exactly difficult, Mattheo fell in love easily. But when he did, it was worth everything. Mattheo was your sweet boy. “Love,” you said softly to him, your voice filled with gentle concern to the brim, “you’ve had a bit too much to drink. Maybe it’s time to slow down a little, okay?”

Mattheo blinked, giving you a lopsided grin, his expression a mix of boyish charm and pure happiness. “But I’m fine, [nickname]. I feel great. Better than great, actually. With you here, everything’s perfect.”

“I know you’re having a good time, but I don’t want you to feel terrible tomorrow. Let’s take a break from the firewhisky for now, alright?”

He pouted slightly, his shoulders slumping as he realized you were actually serious. “You’re probably right,” he admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “But only because you’re asking me.” You chuckled softly at his behavior, threading your fingers through his and gently leading him away from the dancing crowd. You navigated through the common room, moving towards a quieter corner of the space where a plush couch sat, inviting you both in with open arms. The room’s enchantments cast soft shadows on the walls, the flickering lights creating a soothing atmosphere.

“Here, sit down,” you instructed as you guided him to sit on the couch. Mattheo obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a contented sigh. You sat beside him, your hand never leaving his. You took the half-empty cup of whiskey from his hold, reaching for a glass of water on the table nearby instead and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Mattheo took the glass, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. He took a long sip, the cool water a welcome relief from the heat of the alcohol he consumed. “You really do take good care of me, don’t you?” he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of admiration and exhaustion.

“Someone has to,” you replied playfully, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have the job.”

As the night wore on, Mattheo felt a warmth spreading through him that was only partly due to the whiskey. It was the warmth of belonging, of being surrounded by friends who understood and accepted him, flaws and all. Despite his often rough exterior, he was deeply grateful for these moments, these stolen hours of joy in the corners of the Slytherin common room.

02 - THE MARK

The past has a profound power to shape a man, especially when that past is influenced by suffering at the hands of a father. 

For Mattheo Riddle, his family history was the darkest shadow of all the shadows that clung to him, a reminder of the pain and fear that had molded his entire life. Raised in a home devoid of warmth, where love was a foreign concept and cruelty was a daily reality, Mattheo had learned to build tall and thick walls around his heart. A shield to protect him from more hurt that would come his way. 

The orphanage was a harsh place, stripped of the luxuries the boy had unknowingly been born into. It was a world of strict discipline and a poor form of affection. The caretakers, overwhelmed and underfunded, had little patience for a child with such a notorious legacy. Mattheo grew up under the weight of whispers and sideways glances, the infamous name "Riddle" ensuring he was never just another child. The women of the orphanage knew his father, having taken care of him when he was around the same age as his son. What a wicked child Tom was. Mattheo was different because of that, marked, and this awareness shaped his formative years in ways he could barely comprehend.

As he grew older, the whispers about his family name became more pronounced. The children at the orphanage were cruel. “Monster,” they called him, creating the very fears that nested within his own heart. He began to internalize these taunts, seeing himself through the lens of his father's sins. The idea that he could be worthy of love seemed more and more distant, more of a fantasy that had no place in his reality. But the same idea of letting someone see past his defenses, of allowing someone to love him despite his flaws, seemed not only impossible but dangerous. For how could anyone love a monster, especially one crafted by his own father?

Despite this, Mattheo yearned for something more. He longed for the kind of love he had never known, a love that was gentle and kind, that saw past his scars and accepted him for who he was. But every time he felt himself getting close to someone, the fear surged up, a wave of doubt and self-loathing washed over him and forced him to retreat behind his walls again. It was a never-ending cycle.

Hogwarts had saved him. 

Mattheo Riddle’s first steps into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were met with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and apprehension. For the other students, he was a figure of whispered rumors, his infamous last name carrying with it a weight of fear and fascination. They had heard the stories of his father’s dark acts, of the legacy that haunted the halls of the castle like a ghost. But for Mattheo himself, Hogwarts represented a new beginning, a chance to escape the personal hell he called the orphanage and create his own path. The boy was no longer just another orphan. Here, he could be anything he wanted to be.

He wasn't deaf. The young boy could feel the weight of his father’s name bearing down on him like an invisible burden. And he wasn't blind either. He saw the way the other students looked at him, their eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and suspicion. They didn’t openly taunt him as the children in the orphanage had done, but he could sense the whispers and the wary glances that followed him wherever he went. For Mattheo, however, their fear was a source of power. He reveled in the attention, in the way his presence commanded respect, even if it was tinged with fear. He was finally someone. 

He excelled in his classes, his natural talent and restless ambition setting him apart from his peers. But it was on the Quidditch pitch that Mattheo truly came into his own. Flying high above the castle grounds, he felt a sense of freedom unlike anything he had ever known. With every twist and turn of his broomstick, he left behind the weight of his past and embraced the thrill of the present, making him feel like a bird. 

Six years had passed since Mattheo Riddle first walked through the grand doors of Hogwarts, a hopeful and determined young wizard with dreams of greatness he was so sure he'd achieve. But now, as he entered his sixth year at the renowned school of magic, the world around him had shifted irrevocably. The return of Lord Voldemort two years prior had plunged the wizarding world into chaos, and with it, Mattheo’s life had been destroyed once again.

Even among his fellow Slytherins, Mattheo felt like an outsider, a traitor to his own house and everything it stood for. He had once prided himself on his ambition and cunning, on his unwavering determination to succeed at any cost. But it didn't matter anymore. 

Mattheo sat alone in the quiet atmosphere of the Astronomy Tower, his gaze fixed on the night sky that sparkled with millions of stars. Each twinkling light seemed to mock him, making fun of the darkness that now stained his soul even more than before. His fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as if seeking some comfort in the fabric, but finding none.  

 On his left forearm, the Dark Mark burned like a brand upon his skin. It was a mark of shame, of betrayal, and every time he looked upon it, he felt a sickening sense of disgust and self-loathing. He had thought that by aligning himself with the Dark Lord, his father, he would finally be able to escape the shadows of his past, to prove himself worthy of the name Riddle and his father's presence. But now, he realized that he had only succeeded in plunging himself deeper into the deep hole. Even the orphanage was better than this. 

The footsteps behind him shattered the sweet silence, echoing off the stone walls of the tower. Mattheo tensed, his heart racing as he turned to face the intruder, steeling himself for whatever judgment or punishment awaited him. But as he turned, he was met not with the accusing glare of Filch or the triumphant sneer of a rival, but with the concerned gaze of a familiar face. It was you, with your eyes filled with worry as you approached him slowly, as if he'd disappear if you were a bit louder. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you alright?”

No, he wasn't alright. But he would be caught dead sooner than having you worry about him like that and more. 

He forced a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the emotions raging within him. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining the facade. “Just . . . thinking.”

You stepped closer, taking a seat on the ground beside him. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mattheo. I know something’s been troubling you lately. You can talk to me.”

You were his angel, full of that purity and light he adored about you in a world darkened by his own sins. He longed to confide in you, to unburden himself of the guilt and shame that had consumed him since he had received the Dark Mark. But the fear of your rejection, of you seeing him for the monster he believed himself to be, held him back. It would shatter his heart, to see the pained expression on your face. 

“I . . .” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the words, "there's something I need to show you." With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Mattheo finally mustered the courage to reveal the truth to you. For months, he had carried the burden of the dark secret alone, pushing you out and shutting you down in an attempt to shield and protect you from the darkness that was his father. But now, as he sat before you, his heart and his soul laid bare, he knew that he could no longer hide from the truth. The boy reached for the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers fumbling as he pushed the fabric up to reveal the twisted lines of the Dark Mark etched upon his skin. The sight of it made him recoil, a wave of shame washing over him as he exposed his deepest, darkest secret to the one person he had sworn to protect.

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in the mark, your palm flying to your mouth in disbelief. For a long moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the sound of your shallow breathing and the distant hum of the night owls. 

“I received this a few weeks ago," Mattheo confessed, his eyes avoiding yours. "When he decided I was good enough for him."

He felt your gaze on him, eyes searching his face for answers. He could see the confusion and concern written in your expression, but beneath it all, he saw something else - a flicker of understanding and acceptance that filled him with both hope and fear. How can someone be so good to someone like him? "I've been living with the Malfoys ever since," he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's not what you think, [Name]. I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a part of his plans, to be branded as one of his followers. But I had no choice. He made me do it."   

Tears welled in his eyes as he spoke, and he felt a desperate plea for forgiveness in his chest. He needed you to understand, to see past the mistakes that consumed him and into the depths of his soul where his love for you burned bright and true. The thought of losing you hurt him more than the Cruciatus curse ever could. 

“Forgive me. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I was scared, I was ashamed . . . but I can't bear to keep this secret from you any longer. You deserve to know the truth, even if it means losing you forever." 

Your heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of sorrow as you gazed upon Mattheo, your sweet boy, sitting there before you with tears in his eyes and the weight of the world upon his shoulders. In that moment, all you wanted was to wrap him in your arms and shield him from the pain and darkness that threatened to consume him. With shaky hands, you reached out to him, fingers brushing against the mark of his father's followers etched upon his skin. The sight of it filled you with a fit of fierce anger, but beneath it all, you saw the boy you so dearly loved - a boy who had been shaped by his past but who was so much more than the picture of his scars. 

"Love," you whispered into the dark, taking his face into your hands and wiping away those tears that managed to escape his control, "there's nothing to forgive. Nothing in this world could ever tear us apart, not even your father or that mark."

In that moment, Mattheo knew that he would do anything for you, that he would move heaven and earth to ensure your happiness and safety. You were his light in the darkness, his angel in a world filled with demons, and he would cherish that for the time being his heart swelled at the thought of you. You were simply too sweet for him and you knew that Mattheo’s struggles were far from over, but for tonight, that was enough.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified.

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

can i disagree with some of this fandom's perception of tom riddle? surely he won't be a sweetheart like lorenzo, but...

┊ i also don't think that he'd be so intentionally rude, so cold towards his significant other. i honestly think that if tom ever becomes infatuated with someone, he would take pride into getting this someone to belong to him. willingly! 🌷

౨ৎ i guess i'll never know the reason why you ♡ ͡

love me like you do; that's the wonder of you . . .

... tom riddle is a smart man, you see. love, romantic feelings, to act like a couple and all of those things— these might be the most confused that tom riddle will ever be, because otherwise, he's an extremely competent, capable young man.

tom riddle does get confused, a little lost on what to do; he'd torture himself by discreetly watching couples at hogwarts interacting, maybe make some research (= read novels. romantic novels. it was a discovery of a new medieval torture for tom, seriously, to waste his precious time reading some sappy crap like that.) to better understand how to handle you.

how to deal with you.

how to cherish you, so that you don't ever entertain the idea of leaving him. you see, tom is a practical man— he'd rather not commit mistakes, because to fail, means to spend extra time fixing his error and doing the same thing twice, so that this time, it's done correctly.

applying this ideology to you, it means: that 1) tom riddle prefers to always keep your heart happy, so that you don't have doubts about him; so that 2) he won't have to take twice the effort to conquer the city of your heart again.

some think that tom wouldn't like petnames. to be fair, tom would frown at many of those, at first— thinking that they were cringe, disgusting or a psychological way to acquire diabetes. however, when tom gets used to this stir on his heart, those loud heart beatings that cloud his rational thoughts...

... it's excused to say that tom's preferred petname to call you by, is 'my love'.

tom reasons that's because it isn't a lie at all. well, you're certainly his— and because of you, because of your existence, of this enchanting aura of yours; that's how tom riddle discovered love. there are few things that tom is attached to. even fewer that he shows to care about, to have affectionate feelings for; one of them is the basilisk. others are his favorite books, all of them first editions that were troublesome, but endlessly worth it, to get. nevertheless, at the peak of the pyramid, there's you.

you. oh, how your name sounds so angelic, so right, so perfect on his lips. sometimes, tom doesn't call you by any petnames, so that he can mouth each syllable of your name, tasting the acquaintance of the name of his darling on his lips.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

he might call you by other petnames, depending on the occasions:

darling; which, in his opinion, is fairly one of the best petnames to be shared between a couple. because you, reader, are endearing to his eyes— a darling, really, whose presence immediately softens (ever so slightly, because tom riddle still is tom riddle himself, and that mask of stoicism of his won't be broken without putting up a fight.) those previously icy, cold eyes of his.

dearest; if tom is trying to reason with you. unlike what many think, tom would take a deep breath, put on that handsome smile of his, and use a gentle tone to convince some words inside that pretty little head of yours. 'dearest', he calls for you— so gentle, so full of affection; as if reminding you that you are the object of all of his affections and desires. you, his dearest, the one he adores the most. the reminder of such a fact easily melts you in less than a few seconds, which tom sees as too perfect of an opportunity to lose to convince you much faster.

doll; if you look rather ravishing to his eyes, whenever you dress up even prettier than other school days, and wear such pretty clothes and many accessories to further optimize your beauty. beautiful, perfect, flawless; like a doll. a carefully made doll. a doll, that sits there quiet and all pretty, obedient, doing as she's told.

( i must warn you, though, that tom won't entertain silly nicknames from you. tom riddle will ignore you, march forward without sparing a glance at you, not even acknowledging your presence should you insist on the matter. tom won't answer you, should you refer to him by such hideous petnames. you could be about to fall from a mountain, and yet tom won't help you until you address him properly. baby? he's not a child, for salazar's sake! pookie bear? now that might make tom riddle himself throw you off from the mountain's edge— call him such a monstrosity like that, and tom will lose every drop of faith on you. you're a lost cause. )

if he had to choose; yes, tom would prefer if you were obedient. contrary to popular belief, tom riddle is quite fascinated with sweet personas. to have a sweet significant other, who's all smiles and considerate words— it's so, so much easier for tom.

between a brat that trashes around for his attention, and a sweet girl who gently tries to indulge (purely out of concern, wanting him to share his problems with her!)— tom would rather choose the latter.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

quite the darling you are. to boldly take tom's hands between your own, with that frown of yours. no, you're not being whiny; yet tom can see that there's consideration, there's time spent on that little brain of yours, that tries to find the right words to speak with him.

then, when you voice your concerns— that tom spends some time alone from time to time, seemingly hiding something from you, as if to shoulder all of those burdens all by himself...

tom takes a deep breath, swallowing his temper. trying to keep his composure, because tom hates having to justify his actions. with a smile, tom puts on a facade, with a too much convincing tone: "oh, dearest, no. i'm flattered that you noticed that i haven't been having the best days; however, your presence makes everything better. in fact, being with you now, makes all of my problems seem insignificant in comparison."

should his sweet words not be enough to keep your nose out of his business, then tom takes a step further. holding your hands, tom squeezes them between his fingers, gently at first, tightly when you're too stubborn: "my problems are mine to solve, my love. i would never put such a heavy burden on you; your smile is too precious for me to ruin."

sweet, sweet words; some that tom mentally grimaces at, but knows that are necessary and effective with you. talking as if he's doing you a favor on keeping you away from his PERSONAL thoughts and goals.

and that's how tom pushes you way. gently, smoothly— so that you'd have to rethink this moment over and over, for you to understand that once again, tom riddle has tricked you; tricked you into doing what he wants. because without a fight, without you daring to bother him further... tom riddle made you go back to your own business, and leave his alone.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

however, when tom is in a better mood and less stressed with his own goals, he'd find it funny, entertaining even, if his darling tried to be bossy. to pout, to want some sort of control. it's hilarious for him.

so, he indulges you. well, sort of— tom tricks you into thinking that he gave in to your commands. to your whims. in a sneaky way, tom makes you think that you're in control!

the one who's in charge is you. yes, darling, of course. he pats your head, gives you that charming smile of his. with such a serene expression, tom briefly raises his eyebrows, mocking you inside that devious mind of his, as he says: you are absolutely right, dearest.

tom riddle doesn't really mind that you aren't consciously aware that the one in charge is him. that's fine; no, seriously, go and brag about it!

because ultimately, tom knows that what he says, goes. that with some sweet words of his, a little touch here and there, that you'll soon see the reason and comply to whatever tom wishes you to say, to do, to behave.

he does is so smoothly, that even for the outsiders, well... it'd be hard to realize that all that tom riddle is doing to you, is nothing but manipulation. and you're oh so easy to manipulate— it was a challenge at first. now, it's more of a chore; tom barely blinks through it. he knows you so well.

however, so that you whining and getting used to think that you're having things done your way, tom throws some praises and compliments here and there.

touching you chin, gently brushing his thumb on your lower lip; tom's gaze intentionally softens, as he praises: 'you're just too good to be true, my love.', whenever you act accordingly. when you do as he says.

brushing a strand of yours away from your face, so that he can further admire the physical features of his beloved: 'i sincerely can't take my eyes of you, darling, when you are so good for me like this. pardon the way that i stare— you're too beautiful.'

and with even more sincerity, tom riddle isn't sure where his manipulation ends and his genuine care for you starts; tom isn't sure, whether his words are now a muscle memory of his, or if he truly means them.

but he never allows himself to discover the roots of this thought. to actually find out if he truly is such an emotionally shallow person, or if his weakness for his darling is deeper than he realizes. no— this is one of the few matters, in which tom would rather remain ignorant about.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

because tom is such a gentleman with you...

opening doors for you. walking two, three steps ahead of you as soon as the entrance is upon sight, tom will open the door for you; his arm keeps it open for you to enter or leave the room first, and so those grayish-green eyes of his watch you, as you pass by. then, tom will enter just behind you, following your lead, quickening his steps to go back to his rightful place by your side. he lies to himself, saying that he only does such a small gesture to effortlessly keep you by his side. tom would be telling the truth, if he doesn't interrupt the thought that he enjoys to escort you— because, deep down, tom genuinely appreciates your company. every step, every minute you spend together. 'here, love. please, continue; what did you tell your housemate, then?'

tom riddle refuses to let you carry heavy books. so, as if it was muscle memory and so smoothly that you can't do anything about it, tom will carry your books along with his, as soon as you leave the classroom. it's not that he finds you useless, incapable; rather, tom riddle perceives you as a... preciously delicate, fragile little thing. most of the times, tom does it so nonchalantly that you don't even notice; you're too distracted by your conversation, to notice how tom carries your stuff, busying his arms. however, should you notice or worry that you're being a burden to tom in any way; tom shakes his head at you, waving off this silly insecurity of yours: 'i know you can carry them, beloved. however, allow me to do it for you. i am your boyfriend, am i not?'

offering his hand for you to take, whenever there's a higher step to be climbed up, or tricky stairs on your way. tom will do it too, to give you some kind of support, should you jump off of a particular high edge. whenever you wear high heels, tom would be specially careful with you— he offers his arm or hand for you to take, walking in a much slower pace than usual, so that you won't overexert your feet. we can't have his darling getting hurt, now can we? no bruises, no pain, no redness on your skin undesired by him, nothing to interrupt the lovely time you're spending together. 'take my hand, my love; it's quite high for you. that's it, darling, good girl.'

whenever you're about to sit, tom grabs the back of your chair, pushing the seat backwards for you to take, then helps you settle closer to the table. only then, will tom take his own seat in front of you. it's something that becomes so, so common between both of you, that sometimes you find yourself taking a few more seconds to sit down, whenever you hang out with your friends; unconsciously, you'd wait for tom to gently guide you to your seat. oh, you're spoiled.

leaning down to get the material you accidentally knocked out; if he's not quick enough to notice, then tom will keep his hand on the edge of the table, so that there's no chance for you to hit your head. 'quite the klutz, aren't you, darling?' — with a lighthearted tone, so that he doesn't come by as mean, tom couldn't help but to tease you just this time, — 'next time, let me get it for you, dearest. now, careful with your head.'

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

... and because he's always so soft-spoken with you, well, how could you listen to your friends, in case they notice that maybe tom riddle isn't as a good guy as he lets on? that perhaps, he is a little controlling. that maybe, he's too overprotective of you.

→ and of course, being the fool you are, you stroll to the lion's cage (or should we call it snake?) and deliver all of this information on a silver platter for him.

SAT SIDEWAYS ON HIS LAP, tom settles your thighs to rest on top of his, while a hand is respectfully kept there; caressing the smooth skin, rubbing circles on the bare skin of your thigh, just inches underneath the hem of your skirt.

tom riddle keeps up a serene expression, sometimes humming in acknowledgement, to show you that he's listening to this ramble of yours. if it's a topic that seems to have bothered or upsets you, then tom will keep another hand on your lower back; he soothes you with small movements of his fingers.

oh, how funny. so this ravenclaw friend of yours, told you that it isn't normal for tom, your boyfriend, to comment whether you roll up your skirt during summer? that such a thing is being controlling? now that's something tom will have to deal with. perhaps, he'll only have to frame this irritating ravenclaw girl; have you ever thought that maybe, she's interested in tom? that must be why the ravenclaw is filling your pretty little brain with such absurd exaggerations of his doings. how lucky you are, to have an attentive boyfriend that easily notices when a friend of yours has bad intentions.

( for obvious reasons, tom despises amortentia. he finds it disgusting, but more than that, tom riddle perceives amortentia has a rather pathetic tool to get someone's affection. tom will never use it on you— he doesn't need to! however, he will get his hands on one, to use it on that nosy, insufferable ravenclaw friend of yours. only to prove his point. so that this nosy girl acts disgustingly flirty around tom, so that you'll come running back into his arms, crying about such an awful friend and that once again, tom was right. you apologize to him, for doubting his assumptions. you end this friendship and cut ties with the ravenclaw girl. and tom, well, tom riddle has once again rid both of you from troublesome outsiders. )

ah, now this is entertaining! so these friends of yours, housemates, have noticed that tom has been keeping an eye on you. now, dearest, that's rather silly, don't you think? so what if you seem to find the same familiar faces in the same space as you? do you really believe your friends' theories? that he sends his followers ''friends'' to follow you around the school? darling, hogwarts is quite enormous and spacious, yet all of you study together in the same castle. it's inevitable, to see familiar faces, here and there.

( however, tom will blame his followers. how difficult can it be, to follow, to stalk a girl like you? and to go unnoticed as they do that? sincerely, tom stares at them with such disgust, such disappointment, that his followers tremble under his gaze— the future dark lord even mentions the idea of getting rid of them. of throwing them away. after all, why would he need such useless, such incompetent boys like them, if they can't follow simple orders correctly? it's excused to say, that you'd never suspect being stalked again. 1) because tom reassured you that such a thought is rather silly; and 2), because these followers of tom riddle do a much better job. out of fear. )

oh, darling, what silly friends you have! sincerely, it seems like you only attract observant delusional friends, or attentive paranoid companies!

in the end, it doesn't matter if your friends tried to alert you about tom's toxic concerning flaws traits. because in the end, at night, he will have you nuzzling on his lap, holding you so tenderly; all of these warnings disappear into thin air, when tom makes you laugh at such accurate ridiculous accusations.

in conclusion: no, tom riddle would never be rude or snap at you; not if he can help it, not if he can keep his temper in check. he believes that the best way to keep you so effortlessly devoted and infatuated, to keep you willingly by his side, is to treat you with care (even if sometimes he has to manipulate his way into it). how lucky you are, to have such a obsessive caring boyfriend!

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i'm endlessly faithful to theodore nott. however. the first to kick the entrance door to my heart was tom riddle. and what a man (i can't fix him. i would let him ruin my life him tho!), ladies and gentlemen.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[austinswife]

A BITTER HARVEST — Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

REQUESTED BY @reemoony

SYNOPSIS — You are Lady Y/N of House Veturis, a highborn noblewoman whose family allied with the Harkonnens. Your relationship with Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, a man known for cruelty and ambition, has grown into something that neither of you expected—something that felt like love. You believed you were changing him, but his uncle, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, saw you as a threat. Manipulating Feyd’s insecurities, the Baron poisoned his mind against you, leading Feyd to say things so cruel and devastating that they shattered you completely. You fled Giedi Prime, heartbroken, leaving Feyd behind. When Feyd realizes his mistake, he follows you to Veturis, ready to beg for forgiveness—desperate, broken, and filled with regret. Will you be able to forgive him after everything he’s done?

WARNING(S) — Emotional manipulation, hurtful language, heavy angst and heartbreak, emotional turmoil, mention of betrayal.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

The halls of Giedi Prime seemed colder than usual. The oppressive gloom of the planet seeped into every corner, making it impossible to escape the weight of it. But somehow, in your presence, the suffocating atmosphere had less of a hold on Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You were like a reprieve from the cruelty and manipulation that surrounded him, a breath of something real in the toxic world he had grown up in.

Sitting together in one of the many dimly lit chambers of the Harkonnen estate, you had been speaking softly about your home, Veturis, recounting the beauty of its landscapes, so different from the harshness of Giedi Prime. Feyd’s sharp eyes were fixed on you, listening intently, though he rarely admitted how much he cherished these moments with you.

“You’d like it there,” you said with a soft smile. “It’s nothing like this place. The air is clean, and the sea stretches out endlessly.”

“Clean air and endless seas,” Feyd repeated with a hint of amusement. “You make it sound like a dream.”

“It could be,” you replied, leaning a little closer. “It could be for both of us.”

For a moment, there was something almost vulnerable in Feyd’s eyes, a flicker of longing for a life different from the one he’d always known. But the world you were imagining together was nothing like the one his uncle had planned for him. And as if on cue, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen stepped into the room.

His shadow fell over you both, and Feyd immediately stiffened, his body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant. The softness he showed you vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating façade he wore around his uncle.

“Ah, nephew,” the Baron purred, his voice dripping with false warmth. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself… entertained.”

Feyd stood quickly, his hand slipping away from yours. “Uncle,” he greeted, his tone clipped. He always seemed uncomfortable when the Baron was around you, though you couldn’t quite understand why.

The Baron’s eyes flicked to you, and his lip curled in disgust. He had never hidden his disdain for you. You were the thorn in his side, the one person who seemed to have some control over Feyd that he couldn’t understand or manipulate.

“I need a word with you, Feyd,” the Baron said, his voice suddenly sharp. “Alone.”

You glanced at Feyd, trying to catch his eye, but he was already moving toward the door, his jaw set tight. He didn’t look back at you as he followed his uncle out of the room, leaving you alone with a growing sense of unease.

The Baron wasted no time. As soon as they were alone, he turned on Feyd, his expression twisted with disgust.

“You’re a fool, Feyd,” the Baron spat, his voice low and venomous. “A complete fool.”

Feyd’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“That woman,” the Baron hissed, gesturing dismissively in the direction you had gone. “She’s making you weak. I’ve seen the way you’ve changed. You’ve gone soft.”

Feyd’s fists clenched at his sides, but he remained silent. The Baron took that as an invitation to continue.

“You used to be ruthless, focused. A true Harkonnen,” the Baron went on, his voice dripping with disdain. “But now? Now you sit around listening to her ridiculous stories about some paradise planet. She’s distracted you from your purpose. From what we’ve been working toward for years.”

Feyd’s jaw tightened. “I’m still focused.”

“No,” the Baron snapped. “You’re not. And do you know why? Because she’s gotten into your head. You think she cares about you, Feyd? She’s using you.”

Feyd’s stomach twisted, doubt creeping in. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” the Baron sneered. “Think about it. She’s a highborn noble from a lesser house. Do you really think she’s with you because of some romantic notion? She’s manipulating you. Her family stands to gain from your success. She’s softening you, making you weak so she can control you.”

Feyd’s thoughts spun, confusion mixing with anger. He had never doubted you before, but now, the Baron’s words wormed their way into his mind. Could it be true? Was this all a game for you, just another move in the endless power struggles of the nobility?

“You’re letting her cloud your judgment,” the Baron pressed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She’s pulling you away from your destiny. Don’t let a woman stand in your way, Feyd. You’re better than that.”

Feyd stood in silence, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard. “I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”

Later that evening, you were sitting in your chambers when the door slammed open. You jumped, startled by the sound, and looked up to see Feyd standing in the doorway. But the man standing before you now wasn’t the same Feyd who had sat with you earlier, listening to your stories of Veturis. His face was twisted with anger, his eyes cold and distant.

“Feyd?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. “What’s wrong?”

He stormed toward you, his movements sharp and aggressive. “How long have you been playing me?” he demanded, his voice harsh.

You blinked, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the room. “My uncle warned me about you. You’ve been using me this whole time, haven’t you? Pretending to care, pretending to love me, all for your own gain.”

Your heart dropped. The sudden change in him, the accusation in his voice—it cut deeper than you thought possible. “I… I don’t understand. I’ve never lied to you, Feyd. I’ve only ever cared about you.”

“Cared about me?” he spat, his face inches from yours now. “You’re just like everyone else. You’ve been making me weak. You’re trying to manipulate me for your own purposes, for your family.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Feyd, I don’t know what your uncle has told you, but it’s not true. I’ve never wanted to manipulate you. I love you.”

“Love?” He laughed bitterly, the sound filled with venom. “You think I believe that? A Harkonnen doesn’t love. We don’t feel. We take.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking with every word that came out of his mouth. The Feyd you had come to know, the Feyd who had softened around you, was gone, replaced by the cold, vicious man shaped by his uncle.

“If that’s what you think of me,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together, “then I have no reason to stay.”

Feyd’s eyes flashed with something—regret, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He didn’t say a word as you turned and walked out of the room, out of his life.

You fled Giedi Prime that very night, returning to Veturis with a shattered heart. Every word Feyd had said played over and over in your mind, cutting deeper each time. You had believed in him. You had thought he was different, that he could change. But in the end, it seemed his uncle’s influence was too strong.

On Veturis, you tried to rebuild your life, surrounding yourself with the familiar sights and sounds of home. But no matter how far you went, the ache in your chest remained. The Feyd you had loved was gone, and the emptiness he left behind was unbearable.

Meanwhile, back on Giedi Prime, Feyd was unraveling. At first, he tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing, that pushing you away was necessary. But as the days turned into weeks, that certainty began to erode. The silence in his chambers became suffocating, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized the truth.

The Baron had manipulated him, twisted his thoughts, and he had fallen for it. You hadn’t been using him. You had loved him, and he had thrown that love away. The weight of his mistake pressed down on him until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Weeks later, Feyd stood at the gates of your family’s estate on Veturis. The usually fearless man now felt a knot of dread tightening in his chest. This was different than anything he had ever faced before. This wasn’t a battle he could win through violence or cunning. This was something else entirely.

When you appeared, walking through the garden, Feyd felt his breath catch in his throat. You were still beautiful, still everything he had ever wanted. But there was a hardness in your eyes now, a barrier that hadn’t been there before.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped forward, his heart racing. “I was wrong.”

You crossed your arms, your expression unreadable. “What are you doing here, Feyd?”

“I—I came to apologize,” he said, his voice shaking. “I know I don’t deserve to be here. I know what I said to you—was unforgivable. But please, just… listen to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I let my uncle manipulate me,” Feyd said, his voice thick with regret. “He made me doubt you, made me doubt everything. And I— I was too weak to see it. I was too afraid. But I know now that he was wrong. I was wrong.”

You stood there, staring at him, and for the first time in his life, Feyd felt truly powerless. “Y/N, I can’t live without you,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I need you. Please. Please, just give me another chance.”

You shook your head, the pain in your eyes clear. “You don’t get to come here and beg for forgiveness after everything you said to me. You don’t get to just erase the damage you caused.”

“I know,” Feyd said, his voice breaking. “I know I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I’ll do anything—anything—to make it right. I’ll prove to you that I’ve changed. I’ll show you that I’m not the man I was. Just… please, don’t leave me.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let him see how much he still affected you. “Feyd, you broke me.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. I’ll beg, I’ll crawl, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t turn your back on me.”

You stared at him, your heart aching. The man standing before you now wasn’t the Feyd who had pushed you away in anger. This Feyd was vulnerable, desperate, and full of regret. But could you trust him again? Could you open yourself up to that kind of hurt?

Finally, you sighed, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your emotions. “One chance, Feyd. That’s all you get. Don’t waste it.”

Relief flooded his features as he stepped forward, gently taking your hands in his. “I won’t. I swear.”

[txmxkis]

i'm only really me when i'm here with you

pairing. boothill x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort

wc. 1.5k+

summary. you're determined to help boothill heal from his trauma by... doing his hair?

warnings. i took liberties with this, who knows what specific parts he actually has left or whether he can blush or not (in my heart he can lol), mention of boothill picking u up but i mean. he’s literally so strong he could handle anything, i made him soooo sad and it’s possibly wildly out of character, selfship coded as usual rip

a/n. continuing the tradition of using lyrics from songs on selfship playlists for fic titles lol. based on my tags on this post

they say that trauma is stored in the body, and while boothill didn't necessarily have a complete body anymore, this was still something that you thought about frequently when it came to his physical form.

regardless of just how much of his original self remained, there was still enough of him left that you were sure it had to be true in some capacity. after all, he retained his head and his heart—at least you were fairly certain—two of the most vital components of human anatomy.

it was so hard to read him. the real him. he tried so hard to always act confident and cool. actually, he didn't even really have to try or act. it seemed as if it came to him naturally and endlessly. there was a perpetual air of optimism surrounding him that was difficult to dim even on his most wearisome days.

even after experiencing whatever horrors he had to face from mission to mission, when he came home, the door to whatever room you were currently in would fling open—sometimes scaring you half to death—and he would greet you so happily that it felt as if there were no terrible things in the universe whatsoever.

you cherished his mannerisms, especially because you could be a pessimistic sort of person. rather frequently, in fact. you loved having him near you, able to draw laughter from you, however unwillingly it might be on your part at times. he was oddly skilled at making you feel assured and comfortable, in a way that nothing and no one had ever done before. you couldn’t seem to remember how you ever lived without his encouragement, and you didn’t think you could ever feel truly whole without it again.

there really was no accounting for his relentlessly positive attitude. given what he'd seen and endured, you thought it was damn near impossible to be as carefree as he seemed to be. at any rate, he did manage it. however, there were times, moments he rarely ever allowed you to witness, in which his façade would falter slightly and betray just how heavily the past weighed on him.

occasionally, you would catch him staring at his reflection, a downcast expression painting his beautiful features. every time you spoke of your family, you could detect glimpses of sadness in his eyes, albeit hidden behind a smile. once you even caught him crying as silently as he could—you assumed so as not to alert you—his shoulders sagging under an unforeseen weight, a look on his face that you could only describe as heartbroken. your own heart broke with his in that moment.

you always tried to be particularly attentive following those moments, but it was so difficult to get him to open up to you. he just wanted you to be happy. to not bother worrying about him. you had your own problems, after all, and there was no need for him to add to your burden. no need for him to ask for your pity.

he knew you cared for him deeply enough that it would cause you pain, and even if it was only a fragment of the grief that he lived with every day, he was sure that he would feel terribly and incessantly guilty about it. if he could remove every single aspect of your life that caused you suffering, he would do it in a heartbeat, and he could say that because it was one of the few original parts he had left. how could he add to that suffering by forcing you to imagine all the horrors from his own life?

it took so much time and effort on your part to convince him to open the door to himself, if even just a tiny crack. he was still extremely careful with his words and the details that he disclosed to you—he didn't want to overwhelm you, and he certainly didn't want to hurt you. in reality, these conversations, painful as they were for you to hear, actually helped you to feel as though you could comfort him more effectively.

yes, it hurt immensely to know even a small fraction of how much anguish he had experienced. yes, you despised the people who had done this to him and wanted to fight them yourself, in fact. yes, your chest felt tight with ache and sadness on his behalf. still, you could help him more by knowing than by not knowing.

eventually, you were able to make it this far, brushing through his hair as gently as your hands could manage. he had confessed to you in one of his more vulnerable moments that the white shock of hair on his head often served as a stark reminder of worse times, of the trauma and stress inflicted on his body. the admission gave you an idea, one that made boothill feel more than just a little bit exposed. he wasn’t accustomed to being looked after like this, with so much affection and love.

you began to make a routine out of it. every day you would do something with his hair—whether it was braiding it and tying it up intricately to make him feel pretty or simply combing through the strands and allowing them to cascade around his shoulders and down his back.

sometimes you would sit him in front of a mirror while you worked so that he could see exactly what you were doing in the moment. he didn’t quite understand how it all came together, but he found it fascinating to see how you twisted and weaved. at times, you were so focused on the hair in your hands that your brows would furrow, tongue poking out slightly between your lips. in the reflection, you genuinely looked like you were enjoying yourself.

even more noticeable to him was the expression you wore when you looked at him through the mirror. your gaze was so full of tenderness that his chest ached. he could swear that his heart actually skipped a beat. whenever that happened, you could see a flaring blush creep up his cheeks and into his ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh just a little bit at how endearing it was.

other times, you would settle on the couch, with him seated on the floor between your legs, adorning his hair with the cutest accessories, the two of you laughing and joking the whole time. you would delicately twist the locks back, securing them with pretty, multicolored clips that shone in the light.

when you were done, you would lead him slowly to a mirror, hands over his eyes, nearly stumbling over his legs as you walked behind him. you would pull your hands quickly from his face, revealing your handiwork, beaming with pride and grinning at how adorable he looked. he loved every minute of it—and every bit of you, he would think to himself as he turned to pick you up and spin you around, laughing in that deep voice of his. then he’d set you down gently, thanking you for your hard work with kisses sprinkled across your face.

days that were particularly trying for him would simply be spent in comfortable silence. when he didn’t feel like talking from the pain of it all, he would wordlessly lay his head on your chest as you ran your fingers through his long locks. feeling your touch—the slight pull on his scalp, the tickle of shifting hair—it all made him feel so relaxed that he could melt right into your skin until you absorbed him fully into you. often, the combination of this and the gentle, steady beat of your heart would lull him to sleep, and seeing his expression ease and soften in these moments was all the reward you ever needed.

in the beginning, it was unclear whether this dedicated time spent caring for his hair was helping or not. over time, however, you noticed a glimmer in his eyes—something that told you he would be alright, despite everything.

pain still remained; it always would, but instead of constantly gazing at his reflection with grief, every once in a while you would catch a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. it was as if he was remembering how you hummed while placing those clips, or how he had teasingly whipped you with his hair on a more playful occasion, or any number of positive memories that you had put so much effort into lovingly crafting with him.

you were determined to do your best, slowly but surely, to lighten his burden—or at least help carry it. there was no reason for him to feel alone when he had you by his side. and if creating these happy memories was what you had to do in order to help him, well, you would gladly continue forever.

reblogs & interactions are appreciated! thank you for reading! <3 — txmxkis

[missblissy]

Domestic Astarion x Reader HCs

A/N: UwU just wanted to add to the married life headcanons after the events of the game. Fluffy good stuff below. GN!Tav, no class/race. Enjoy!

Some days always started better than others. But that’s only to say because someone didn’t need as much sleep as you, and had a life time left to learn new skills. One of them being cooking. Sure Astarion can’t taste and it’s a useless skill to him. But you? He would do anything for you. And that includes learning to cook for the sheer simple act of spoiling you with a warm and home made breakfast in bed.

It’s strange to say you two never had a wedding. That’s not to say you two weren’t married. “Oh…?” Astarion isn’t sure how to explain this when someone asks, “Well, you see, my darling little love here found this-” He holds up his hand and wiggles the ring in his finger, “On a rotting old skeleton then found the matching one, get this, on another smelly corpse!” Most people wouldn’t look fondly on something like that. But no, Astarion wasn’t most people. He’d smile and swoon, “And I suppose since then we’ve been married,”

It doesn’t help that back then when you did find those rings, you quite literally told him, “We’re married now,” As a joke. It wasn’t joke….

Astarion has a habit of leaving you poems to find in the most hidden of places. Like little lost treasures. Or maybe he just knows the looting demon you are at heart with your little grabby fingers going for anything they can touch. So it always comes to a surprise to you when you open a book and a poem written years ago flutters out… but the love and truth still rings pure despite the yellowing of the pages.

Crimson sons, vermillion daughters. Quivering maroon, burgundy, cardinal. Short fainting strokes Fester a broken carotid Free from feathers Unbound By the serpent's head no more.

His way of saying thank you for everything you've ever given him. And then some. No matter the message you cherished each treasured poem you would find.

The man had a knack for spoiling you, unconditionally, and most importantly, endlessly. If you saw something out in a shop that caught you eye, but you were just to stubborn to get it for yourself. Surprise, surprise when you get home and find it there with a man beaming proud like a puppy with his bone.

But that didn’t mean affection was off the table either. Astarion spoiled you with kisses, big ones, little ones, some on the back of your hand as he opened a door for you. Others on your cheek, gently but with sorrow as he left for some few weeks for whatever reason. He had his own things to do and sometimes you couldn’t go with him. But that just meant when he got home you could throw your arms around him, breathe him in and share the long awaited kiss of his return.

Married life strangely suited you both, from the little grabbing of hands under tables, the protective placement of an arm, the look of pride when the other did something extraordinary. And Astarion would always be the more boastful in pride when it came to talking about you.

And he couldn’t help but show off, sure he’s loud and arrogant about it. Saying he was best option of course, no one else stood a chance… blah blah blah. But when no one was around he can look you in the eye and practically grovel, “I am so lucky you chose me,”

There were many other things that came with the long life of being married together. The two of you were quite dedicated to learning to… dance. Astarion hadn’t a clue wether his left foot was right, and you may have been no better. It was your idea really. You heart would swoon watching other couples and with an eager voice you pointed a finger and declared, “I want to do that too!”

And so you did, but behind the close doors of your own home. Seeing as Astarion didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of so many people. Where you both could trip and side step and laugh, giggle and make the most out of learning something new together.

It seemed the two of you had a habit of learning things together. From silly little drawings, to paintings, perhaps an instrument or two. You both always found a way to share your hobbies and passions together.

And it was the mornings, where these happened most often. Naturally Astarion couldn’t be in the sun but that didn’t stop him from enjoying what little light he could. You’d find him in the dusty dusk right before the sun actually broke the horizon.

He had been teaching himself to play the piano, so to wake up in the morning and not hear the soft echos of keys down the halls would be a bad sign. It’d be another bad sign if you didn’t sit down beside him, stroking the keys as the two of you played a song that was always in the process of being made and never done.

Surely soon he’d go off to sleep, sharing kisses and affection. You wouldn’t see him again until the evening, when the sun was starting it decent. Day-phobia was real in vampires no matter how much they loved the sun and he didn’t have a worm anymore to help him fight that. But he managed, enjoying every sun rise and sun set he got to see just as the world of night came and went.

Despite staying up all night sometimes just to be beside him, it was fairly often that Astarion would have to nag you to go to sleep. You’d barely have even one eye open, drifting back and forth between dreams and you’d still tell him, “I’m not tired, I’m just resting my eyes,” All because he was up late in kitchen and you didn’t want to leave his side.

He often compromises though, making deals and barters, “If I go upstairs with you, will you go to sleep?”

“…” Surely you aren’t going to say no? “Will you be the big spoon?”

“Of course,” How could he say no to a face like yours? And such a sleepy one too?

He didn’t mind, not really. Some nights he’d stay in bed with you until the morning. Even though nothing would get done, or things he had planned were set aside, he wouldn’t sleep either, he truly really didn’t mind. He could lay there for eternity holding you close and be at peace.

[angelsfat3]

ꮩ, 你是他的新父亲。 ⸻[the babysitter...]

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Summary: You are a 20 y/o boy looking for a job to pay for his studies. You see that they are offering a large amount of money to take care of a child... What is the worst that can happen?

C/w: Lots of tension, awkwardness? Jay looking like a hormonal teenager in love. －ㅤTw: Divorce, insecurity (fear)?, nothing more | correct me if I'm wrong anyway!

Genre: fluff, suggestive, ceo!Jay x student!reader.

A/N: Dilf Jay has been in my drafts for 2 weeks now, I finally decided to finish it. And no, I don't plan on doing a 2n part, just imagine the rest. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

the introduction is a bit long... My bad.

Previously...

Being William's nanny, the son of the illustrious CEO Park Jongseong, was far more than just a job. From day one, you realized you were stepping into a world vastly different from the one you knew. The Park mansion was an imposing place, brimming with luxury and meticulous details, yet it carried an atmosphere that made you feel as though you were constantly being watched.

Your first encounter with Jay—Park Jongseong, to be precise—was more formal than you had anticipated. They led you to his office, where he sat behind an expansive desk, engrossed in paperwork. He didn’t look up immediately, but when he finally did, his eyes met yours in a way that sparked an instant connection, though it was a connection you couldn’t quite define.

“So, you’re [...],” he said, his voice steady and controlled, yet there was an undercurrent of something more. “William is my top priority. I trust you can handle everything that comes with taking care of him.”

The first time he introduced you to William was a pivotal moment. The boy, small and inquisitive, regarded you with initial wariness, but the presence of his father beside him seemed to offer reassurance. Over time, William began to warm up to you, his smiles and laughter gradually becoming a cherished part of your daily routine.

Your relationship with Jay, however, unfolded differently. At first, you only saw him in passing as he left for or returned from work. But soon, you noticed that his visits to the living room, where you played with William, or to the kitchen, where you prepared dinner for his son, grew more frequent. It wasn’t uncommon to catch him silently watching you, his eyes tracking your every movement.

These encounters began to create a charged atmosphere, as if something unspoken was emerging between the two of you. Words were few, but the glances exchanged spoke volumes, far more than either of you were willing to admit. And though William was always at the center of these interactions, it was clear that the tension between you and Jay had nothing to do with the child.

One afternoon, as William napped in his room, you crossed paths with Jay in the hallway. The encounter was unexpected, but no less significant. Jay held your gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes searching yours.

“Is William okay?” he asked, but there was more layered beneath the surface of his words than their simple meaning suggested.

“Yes, he’s asleep,” you replied, feeling the air around you grow heavier. It was as though you both were waiting for something more to happen, yet neither dared to make the first move.

The moment that changed everything came when Jay called you to his office to pay you. As you entered, you sensed something different in his demeanor, a kind of anticipation. When he handed you the envelope, he did so almost casually, but as you reached out to take it, your fingers brushed against his. The touch was fleeting, yet it was enough to make you both pause.

For a brief moment, his fingers moved slightly, as though instinctively tracing yours. It was a subtle gesture, yet laden with meaning. You felt a warmth spread through you, a nervousness you hadn’t felt before. Jay seemed to feel it too, his eyes locked on yours as the tension in the room thickened.

Just as the moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, a distant sound broke the spell. William had woken up and was crying. The sound shattered the moment, and you quickly withdrew your hand, mumbling something about going to check on William.

You left the office with your heart pounding, knowing something had shifted, but unsure what to do about it.

From then on, every encounter with Jay in the mansion carried a new emotional weight, a kind of electricity that you both tried to ignore but that grew stronger with each passing day.

Present:

It's been a few weeks since you began working as William's personal nanny, following Jay's orders. The Park mansion, which once felt cold and distant, has gradually become familiar to you. You now know every corner, every hallway, and have grown accustomed to the soft murmur of hushed conversations among the staff, the faint echo of the piano resonating from the lounge, and the ever-present yet silent presence of Jay.

Yet, lately, something has shifted. You feel it in the way Jay looks at you whenever he finds you in the kitchen, the garden, or even in the playroom with William. There’s an intensity in his gaze that wasn’t there before, a kind of anticipation that leaves you uneasy.

One afternoon, as you're preparing William's snack, Jay unexpectedly enters the kitchen. His presence startles you; he's usually in his office or at meetings. It's unusual for him to spend this much time at home during the day.

"Need any help with that?" he asks, moving closer to the counter where you're slicing some fruit.

You glance at him sideways, surprised by his offer. "No, it's alright, thank you. I'm just preparing something light for William."

Jay remains beside you, standing too close for comfort. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours, his arm brushing against yours as he picks up an apple from the fruit bowl.

"You've done a great job with him, you know," Jay remarks, taking a bite of the apple. "William adores you. It’s like you’re a second father to him."

"He's... a good kid," you reply, avoiding his gaze. You keep your eyes fixed on the knife in your hand, trying to ignore Jay's proximity, the scent of his expensive cologne that he always wears, and the way his deep voice seems to caress your senses along with that comment... "Second father?" your mind lingered on that phrase as you expertly cut the fruit.

Jay sets the apple aside and looks at you intently, as if waiting for something. "I've noticed you've been spending more time here at the house lately. You seem more at ease."

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. "Yes, I suppose I'm getting used to the place."

"I'm glad to hear that," Jay responds, and there's a tone in his voice that makes you pause.

When you finally look at him, you find his eyes locked on yours, serious, as if searching for something in your expression. "I want you to feel at home, [...]. You're important to William... and to me."

That last sentence hangs in the air between you, laden with a meaning you’d rather not dwell on too much. You feel your breath quicken slightly, but you force yourself to stay composed.

"Thank you, Jay," you manage to say, striving to keep your tone casual. "That means a lot to me."

He smiles, but there's something else in his gaze, something you can't quite pinpoint—more so because his gaze was like knives piercing into you. And then, as if testing the limits of your self-control, Jay leans in a little closer, his lips almost brushing your ear.

"I don't just want you to be William's nanny," he whispers, his voice smooth and velvety, "I want you to stay here... for me, for both of us."

Your heart pounds wildly, and you pull back slightly, trying to maintain your composure. You know there's more behind his words, something beyond the professional relationship—one that you’re supposed to have.

Jongseong seems to notice your unease and steps back slightly, giving you the space you clearly need. "I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he says, and although his tone is kind, you can’t help but notice the disappointment in his eyes.

"No... it's alright," you respond, stealing one last glance at him. Both of you know it isn’t entirely alright. The air between you is thick, laden with something you’re both trying to ignore.

With a sigh, you finish cutting the fruit and place it on a plate. "I’m going to take this to William... he should be in the playroom."

Jay nods, his eyes following your every move as you head toward the door. Just as you’re about to leave, you hear his voice behind you.

"[...]," he calls, and his tone is more serious than you’ve ever heard before.

You pause at the door, slowly turning to face him. Jay is standing in the same spot, arms crossed over his chest, his expression grave.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable... if you ever feel like I'm crossing a line, just tell me. I don’t want you to think that I’m pressuring you or, worse, harassing you."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you feel a surge of emotions you don’t quite know how to handle. You simply nod slowly, appreciating his consideration—though both of you know things won’t go back to how they were.

"I will, Jay. Thank you."

With that, you leave, but the weight of the conversation lingers, making you question what exactly Jay wants from you... and what you feel for him.

The following days are filled with those silent moments, lingering glances that last a bit longer than necessary, the brush of hands when he hands you something or when you run into him in the hallways. These small gestures, which might seem insignificant to others, become the focal point of your world, making you question the relationship you have with Jay and what it might mean for the future.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

It was a Friday night, and the house was cloaked in near-total silence. You were in William’s room, gently rocking the child in your arms. His eyelids drooped slowly as you hummed a soft melody, preparing to lay him down to sleep.

The boy held onto the bottle you were cradling for him, his breaths growing deeper and more rhythmic.

With careful precision, you eased William onto his bed, ensuring he didn’t stir. You lingered for a few moments, a tender smile forming on your lips as you lightly brushed your fingers across his cheek.

Slowly, you slid the bottle from his mouth, keenly aware of any sudden movements that might disturb his sleep, but the child only sighed, snuggling into his pillow, peacefully lost in dreams, clutching a stuffed toy imbued with the scent of his father.

You turned with the intent to quietly exit the room, but froze when you noticed Jay leaning against the doorway.

His arms were crossed, and a gentle smile played on his lips as he watched the tender scene between you and his son. The soft light from the hallway outlined his figure, highlighting the serenity in his expression, though his eyes conveyed something deeper.

“You’re really good with him,” Jay murmured, his voice low, careful not to wake William.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, trying to ignore the sudden quickening of your heartbeat. His words, though simple, carried a warmth that left you feeling vulnerable.

Jay stepped forward, his gaze still locked on you. “I need to speak with you in my office. It’s time to give you your monthly payment.”

You nodded, attempting to mask the nervousness that crept in. As you passed him in the doorway, you took care not to brush against him, yet his nearness made you acutely aware of the shared space between you. Jay followed closely as you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you so as not to disturb William’s sleep.

The walk to Jay’s office was silent, yet the tension between you was unmistakable. Each step echoed in your ears as you tried to maintain your composure. Upon reaching the office, Jay opened the door, motioning for you to enter first.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted; the intimacy of the office, with its dark wood-paneled walls and the warm glow of the desk lamp, seemed to encapsulate everything that was unfolding between you.

Jay moved towards his desk, pulling an envelope from the top drawer. He took his time, as though the weight of the moment was more significant than the mere transaction about to take place.

You approached slowly, trying to appear calm, though the anticipation in the air made it difficult to focus.

“This is your payment,” Jay said, extending the envelope toward you. When you reached out to take it, his fingers brushed against yours. It was a fleeting touch, yet it was enough to make both of you pause, as if time itself had halted for just a moment.

Your eyes met, and though neither of you spoke, the subtle caress between your hands lingered for a few seconds longer. It was as if you were both caught in a silent dance, one in which neither you nor Jay dared to be the first to pull away.

You felt a sense of déjà vu—everything was happening just like the previous month, but this time, you didn’t want to pull away... You were savoring his warmth.

Finally, you snapped out of it, withdrawing your hand with a mix of nervousness and something you couldn’t quite define. “Thank you,” you murmured, stepping back.

Jay, however, remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on you as if he were wrestling with something in his mind. There was an intensity in his eyes, a tension that made the air in the room feel even heavier.

Though the silence between you had grown thick, a part of you yearned for him to say something more, something that might shatter the invisible barrier that seemed to keep you both ensnared in roles that no longer felt so defined.

Just as discomfort began to settle in your chest, the faint sound of a baby monitor on the desk broke the moment.

It was William.

With a sigh, you took a step back. “I need to check on William; he might have woken up,” you said, more to yourself than to Jay, before turning quickly and exiting the office, your heart racing.

You were determined to push aside whatever you were feeling, tucking the envelope of money into your back pocket as you made your way swiftly to the door. The less time you spent alone with Jay, the better...

Before you could take another step toward the door, Jay’s hand grasped yours firmly. The grip was determined, almost as if he wanted to ensure you wouldn't escape—no, not this time.

You stopped, your heart pounding in your chest as you slowly turned to face him, unwilling to hold his gaze for too long.

Jay was closer than you had expected. His dark eyes, brimming with an intensity you could barely endure, locked onto yours.

He said nothing at first but took your chin in his hand, forcing you to look directly at him; the silence in the room was dense, charged with palpable tension. The atmosphere between you was electric, as if you both knew you were on the brink of something irreversible.

Jay took a step forward, and though your instinct urged you to retreat, your body remained still, caught in the invisible force radiating from him.

You could feel the warmth of his body mere centimeters from yours, and just being so close made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

“[...]” Jay murmured, his voice low with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. “If you don’t want this, if it’s too much, tell me now.”

His words hung in the space between you, but instead of responding immediately, you found yourself trapped in his gaze, unable to look away. Part of you wanted to tell him to stop, that this was wrong, but another part—one that grew with each passing second—wanted nothing more than to give in.

“Jay...” you began, but your voice faltered as he took another step, closing the remaining distance between you.

You could feel his breath on your skin, and before you could say another word, he raised the hand holding yours to his lips.

“Stop me... push me away... or hit me, but do it before I go any further,” Jay whispered against your hand, his lips brushing your skin with a softness that made you shiver.

You wanted to do each of the things he suggested. But you didn’t. You didn’t move, didn’t speak. You just stared at him, your breath caught in your throat, as he leaned in, his free hand moving to your jaw, ensuring you couldn’t pull away.

When his lips finally met yours, the world seemed to fade away.

The kiss started gently, a delicate exploration as if he were testing your limits. But soon, it became more assured, more intense, and you found yourself responding without thinking. Your lips moved with his in perfect harmony, as if they had been destined to meet this way from the start.

Jay drew you closer, his hand on your hips, pulling you toward him until there was no space left between your bodies.

You could feel each heartbeat of his resonating through his chest, and the warmth of his touch enveloped you, making everything else fade away. His fingers glided over your jaw, moving slowly to tangle in your hair, while his lips moved with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his grip.

With every passing second, the tension between you grew, becoming almost unbearable.

Jay pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” Jay whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper you couldn’t fully grasp due to the kiss and his presence. “From the moment I saw you with William... I knew there was something about you, something I couldn’t ignore, something that made me think of you as his father.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, you felt completely exposed, as if he could see through every one of your defenses.

He tried to move closer again, but this time, you were the one who pulled back slightly, reason finally taking control over the desire bubbling inside you.

“Jay, this can’t happen...” you whispered, trying to maintain composure, though the words sounded weak even to your own ears.

Jay didn’t let go. His hold on your waist remained firm, and his eyes studied you, searching for any sign that you truly wanted to stop this.

“Why not? What are you afraid of, [...]?” His voice was a whisper, but there was an urgency in it, a need to understand why you were pulling away when it was clear that you both wanted the same thing.

Before you could respond, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the mansion, followed by footsteps rapidly approaching the office. A soft knock on the door made both of you freeze, and you felt your heart race as you recognized the butler’s voice outside.

“Mr. Jay, Miss Eunjen has arrived... she says she’s here to discuss the details of the divorce.”

The mention of his ex-wife was like a bucket of cold water, bringing reality crashing back.

Jay let out a disgusted growl, his jaw tensing as he turned his gaze toward the door, visibly irritated by the interruption. The tension in his body was palpable, and though he still hadn’t released you, you could sense that something had changed in him.

“Always the damned divorce...” Jay muttered, more to himself than to you, before finally letting you go, though not without leaving a hand on your arm, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you go completely.

“[...]” Jay whispered, looking at you with a mix of frustration and desire, “this isn’t over. I’m not going to let whatever’s happening between us end like this.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the intensity of his words, but you knew there was no time to discuss it.

The fear of being discovered, combined with the reality of the situation, was too great.

“Jay... you should go,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you tried to stay calm. “I... I need to check on William.”

Jay nodded, though clearly reluctantly, but before releasing you completely, he leaned in one last time, placing a firm, possessive kiss on your neck, right at the base of your throat.

The gesture was so intimate, so charged with repressed emotions, that it made you close your eyes for a moment, wanting to prolong that contact.

“This isn’t over, [...], not for me... and I hope not for you either,” he murmured against your skin before finally pulling away, his eyes burning with a promise as he headed for the door to face Eunjen.

As Jay walked away, you stood there, leaning against the office door, trying to regain your composure, knowing that what had just happened would change everything, but not quite knowing how.

메모 ! 📌ㅤ⸻ㅤ I was absent for a bit because of my bad internet, and I finally finished some requests and perfected the second and last writing of “everything, you are my everything” !!!!

아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

ㅤㅤ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara.

If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!! <3

[alyrasturnz]

can u do quiet!matt x yapper!reader hcs?

just the hcs tho! no need for the lil blurbs

SILENT AFFECTIONS

❐ summary » matt is a man of few words but deep emotions. he finds solace in the quiet moments, the gentle rustling of leaves, and the soft glow of morning light. his world changes when he meets you, a lively soul whose voice brings color to his serene life. together, you navigate the delicate dance of love, where matt's silent gestures speak volumes, and your animated stories breathe life into his quiet existence.

❐ pairings » quiet!matt x yapper!reader

❐ warnings » headcanons!

❐ a/n && w/c » i hate this LMAO • 467

quiet!matt who, in the midst of your endless chatter, sometimes drifts into a trance, his eyes tracing the contours of your face as if committing each feature to memory. he finds himself lost in the rhythm of your voice, the animated expressions that dance across your features, and the way your eyes light up with every story you tell.

quiet!matt who finds a profound serenity in your presence, even when your words cascade endlessly. he cherishes the way your voice weaves through the air, transforming the emptiness into a tapestry of comfort.

quiet!matt who discerns the subtle nuances of your day, those fleeting moments you might overlook. he channels this awareness into thoughtful gestures, each one a testament to his deep and abiding care.

quiet!matt who communicates his protectiveness without uttering a single word. a gentle hand on your shoulder or a slight shift closer in a crowd speaks volumes, a silent vow of his unwavering guardianship.

quiet!matt who treasures the tranquil interludes, where silence becomes a shared sanctuary. your head resting on his shoulder, both of you enveloped in a wordless communion that transcends the need for speech.

quiet!matt who quietly supports your dreams and aspirations, offering steadfast support that fortifies your belief in yourself.

quiet!matt who wakes up before you just to watch the peaceful expression on your face as you sleep, memorizing every detail as if it's a precious work of art. he loves hearing your voice first thing in the morning, filling the room with your lively chatter, which brings a smile to his face and starts his day on a bright note.

quiet!matt who writes little notes and leaves them in places you’ll find throughout your day, each one a small reminder of his love and appreciation for you. he enjoys listening to you excitedly recount every discovery, each note becoming a new point of conversation that lights up your interactions.

quiet!matt who takes the time to learn your favorite songs on the guitar, playing them softly in the background as you unwind from a long day. he smiles as you sing along, your voice adding a vibrant energy to the melody, creating a harmonious blend of his quiet support and your lively spirit.

quiet!matt who instinctively knows when you need space and when you need a hug, always attuned to your unspoken needs and emotions. he listens patiently as you talk through your thoughts and feelings, his silent presence offering a steady anchor amidst the waves of your expressive nature.

quiet!matt who keeps a journal of your shared memories, chronicling the journey of your relationship with words and sketches, a silent testament to the depth of his feelings. he loves hearing you excitedly reminisce about each moment, your animated storytelling breathing life into the pages and deepening the bond you share.

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Yeah I got a request. Cuddles with mommy characters of your choice would heal me of my ailments, like a victorian child who would be soothed by seeing the sea one final time before the affliction takes hold

(Genshin Impact/H:SR/GFL) Cuddling with Lisa, Yae, Yelan, Himeko, Natasha, Springfield, and RO635

That's...oddly specific.

Lisa cuddling with her S/O is comfortable and very lazy.

Whether it be reading a book, drinking tea, or simply enjoying each other's warmth, there will be nothing productive done that day.

But in order to achieve such heavenly bliss, they will have to work doubly hard right before, so that way they can lounge about with no risk of worrying about work.

That, or she'll find excuses. If it's raining, then oh well! Nothing to do but relax at home.

With her eyes slowly fluttering open, her head rests into the crook of S/O's neck, latching onto them with both her arms.

(Lisa) yawn "It's so early in the morning..."

S/O's eyes glance over to the wall before sighing.

(S/O) "It's ten."

(Lisa) "Hm...still too early, cutie..."

Though cuddling with Yae can lull S/O a somewhat sleepy state, somehow they feel like that's exactly what she wants.

Yae's smile seems to indicate she has something up her sleeve.

(Yae) "Oh? Why are you getting so antsy of all a sudden, S/O?"

(S/O) "I know that look, Miko..."

(Yae) "Do you now? Is it truly so mind-boggling that I too, can enjoy just some regular affection?"

...A moment of silence gives her the answer.

With a flick of their forehead, her hand playfully mimics a fox with her fingers.

(Yae) "Sorry to disappoint dear, but I just wish to spend some quality time today.~"

She of course, jumpscares them later to which she laughs endlessly about.

Yelan rolled the dice, and have dictated to her that she take a break.

And she wasn't really feeling like finishing the rest of work anyway, so this works out.

(Yelan) "Not planning on moving anywhere for a while, S/O?"

(S/O) "Guess not with you laying on me like this."

(Yelan) "Perfect, don't mind if I do.~"

Yelan rests her head on S/O's stomach and dozes off for a while.

S/O smiles as one hand brushes against her hair. Having her relax with them was a rare treat.

And though they didn't know entirely what she did, getting her to sleep with someone in the room meant she trusted them completely.

Plus, they knew Yelan would want to get dinner at some point tonight, no need to rush things, as she would say.

As the Astral Express is travelling through the stars, Himeko spends a good chunk of her time with S/O, close together on the couch.

Sometimes its drinking coffee together, sometimes its talking with the other crew members, and sometimes its even just sitting together in silence.

As much as their expeditions were ways for everyone to bond, it was the quiet moments like these that Himeko cherishes with her S/O the most.

After all, no one quite knew where their final stop could be, and-

(S/O) "Himeko?"

Himeko snaps out of her mini reverie and feels S/O grab her hand, turning to look at them.

(S/O) "You alright? You were spacing out a little there."

(Himeko) "Ah, don't worry, I'm okay."

Himeko lets S/O's head rest on her shoulder and she closes her eyes, committing this feeling to memory.

(Himeko) "I just want to stay this way for a little longer..."

Natasha lets S/O hold her after a long day, a feeling she very much welcomes.

(S/O) "Hey Nat, feeling tired?"

She hums in response, her body relaxing as their hand brushes some strands of hair out of her face.

(Natasha) "As always, my dear..."

S/O chuckled at that, and let her ramble on about her day, ranging from the state of patients or whatever shenanigans the Moles got up to.

Though she'd be right back to doing more tomorrow, for now she could at least enjoy the company of someone she loved.

It was nice to be pampered every now and then.

No objections from her when it comes to being looked after, instead of always the other way around.

Springfield's smile grows wider the moment she sees S/O come into her cafe.

(Springfield) "Welcome back, love."

(S/O) "Thanks. Mind if I get the usual?"

(Springfield) "Already in a cup."

Making S/O sit in a nearby booth, she finishes cleaning her cups before joining them, both of them snuggling into each other.

Though she was a T-Doll, the warmth she gave off was just as real as any human.

(Springfield) "Work around the base busy as always?"

(S/O) "Psh, especially when Kalina and the Commander have me running around!"

A soft giggle escapes her lips as one hand barely moves to cover it, letting S/O continue and listen intently, all while her arm wraps around theirs.

RO sighs when S/O asked to hold her.

She was still in the middle of processing some reports, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt.

At least no one was watching this time.

(RO635) "You have been working hard lately...Okay okay, come here..."

With a blush creeping onto her face, RO holds S/O tightly, and not giving them space to wiggle their way out.

Assuming they even would.

Hopefully, she wouldn't have to say out loud how much she loves them and that the blush on her would do all the talking.

(S/O) "RO, you're head is burning hot, you alright?-"

(RO635) "A-Ah! I'm fine just...j-just a little embarrassed."

(S/O) "I thought you'd be used to this by now-"

She turns to them pouting, but her hold on them has gotten tighter.

[prentissluvr]

literary parallels — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : light angst, fluff ➖⟢ cw : small injuries, few seconds of physical fighting (self-defense), no use of y/n, you have a dad and i gave him a name (rick lol), mentions of death of loved ones, sort of case fic, kinda ignores canon timeline in terms of a few minor things but canon doesn't matter much in this fic lol, poorly edited most likely ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K summary : sam is someone from your past at stanford university, and the last place you expect to see him again is on a case. that's exactly where you find him. i plan on doing a part two for this one in the future! :))

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

today is one of those days where the reality of your life feels strange, unwelcome, and somewhat foreign. it’s not as if you’re new to the hunting life; it’s just the opposite, and yet, you often feel removed from it, especially after having lived normally at college for a few years. but you were ripped back into hunting without being able to finish your degree by your father after the death of your closest cousin. 

so now you’re cooped up in a crappy motel room searching endlessly through detailed lore websites and the few books you have on you, trying to make sense of the odd patterns of killings in the small california town. that’s part of the pit in your stomach for today; the beach town, cayucos, is only three hours from stanford. 

being so close to your former university after almost a whole year brings back a whole lot of mixed feelings. mostly longing for the normalcy that you loved and lost, but also a renewed urgency to find what killed your cousin. she had been studying at a different college just an hour inland from you. when she died, you had wanted to salt and burn her body and move on. but when your father showed up with proof of odd circumstances, he pursuaded you to rejoin him in the hunting life.

the deaths in cayucos are certainly odd, but they lack the defining features that would allow you to identify the creature at fault. so, you’re searching for anything with a grudge against hot men and a killing cycle of seven years since those are about the only patterns so far. your dad is at the coroner’s office, meeting with an old hunter friend to check out the body of the latest victim.

that’s been another reminder of your brief time at a normal school with normal friends and normal hobbies. when your dad first told you he called in a friend to help, he’d asked you, “d’you remember john winchester? you met him once when you were a kid, he’s an old buddy of mine.” you shook your head and he shrugged, saying something about how it makes sense; you were young and only met him once. but the name stuck in your mind as he left, and it had nothing to do with hunting or when you were a kid on the road, stuck in motels, school if you were there long enough, or the town library if you were lucky.

that name, or the last name anyway, comes from the stanford part of your life, the one you keep cherished in the most protected corners of your heart. sam winchester was one of your few friends during your time there, and after hearing his family name spoken aloud, he’s floating through your mind all day.

he disappeared after jess, his girlfriend and one of your other few friends, died, mere weeks before your own cousin died and you left standford as well. you’ve always wondered what happened to him, the best conclusion you could come to being that he couldn’t bear her death. they were absolutely in love with each other, but you know jess would have wanted him to finish at stanford, then head to that law school he was bound to get that full-ride to. sam always had an air of strength about him, so it surprised you when you never saw him again. he wasn’t even at her funeral, and to this day, that’s your singular bone to pick with him. 

but, you can’t afford to think about him too much as you search for answers about the case. abandoning the lore websites for the meantime, you look over the police records of all the deaths that you can find, hoping to draw together any more patterns that you can use to narrow down your research. you’re jotting down a few notes, thinking you may have found something regarding accounts of a few of the men being last seen with a woman, when your train of thought is interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door.

on instinct, you draw your gun as you cross the room, looking through the peephole and silently cursing when you realize the light out front has gone out. all you can make out is the tall, broad silluete of a man thanks to the dimness of the twighlight sky.

you wait for a moment at the door, hoping he’ll just walk away after he doesn’t get an answer. but you’re unlucky, and he knocks again before calling out, “hello? rick sent me here to … help with the case, he said his kid was here. i’m john winchester’s son, sam.”

if you were in an old-timey cartoon, your jaw would’ve dropped to the floor. sam … sam winchester. it sounds just like him. trying to keep your head, you swap your gun for a nearby canteen of holy water and slip a silver knife into your pocket for accessibility. it’s too much of a coincidence for you to believe it.

you crack the door, just enough for him to hear you a bit better. “sam winchester? like stanford full-ride, lawyboy sam winchester?”

“i– how do you–” there’s a moment of silence, and you know that he’s piecing together the few clues he has; your voice and the last name you must share with your dad, the man he knows as rick. his voice is just as cautious as yours as he says your name like he can’t really believe it.

for a moment, you stop thinking when you hear his voice saying your name after so long, and you throw open the door and let him in. the light from the motel room finally illuminates his face, and it’s him, it’s really him. and the moment you think that is the moment you realize that could absolutely not be the case.

the second he turns to you from closing the door, you’re splashing holy water in his face so fast you barely catch the look he was about to give you; eyes so full of surprise and wonder and confusion and something akin to joy. you react quickly to his lack of reaction besides the normal surprise at getting splashed in the face, slashing at his arm with your silver knife to finish testing him. but he reacts just as fast as you, grabbing both of your wrists, spinning you around and pinning you to the flat surface of the door.

his hold is quite strong, but he doesn’t have the time to bear his full weight into holding you down before you react, so you’re able to manuever out of his hold with practiced ease. you lift one arm up as you yank the other down to make it so you’re able to slip down and to the side, out of his hold. then you’ve got a strong hand to his back, shoving him face-first against the door and your other arm bringing your knife to his throat.

the thought that his profile view with his pulled-taut eyebrows and the grimace on his mouth looks pretty has the audacity to float up to the forefront of your mind before you can squash it down. the whole struggle had taken mere seconds, and he resigns the minute you’ve got him pinned down.

“it’s me,” he pants, “i swear. ‘m not a shapeshifter or ghoul or anything, it was just instinct. sorry,” he explains quickly, “go ahead, test me.”

you debate saying “don’t mind if i do,” but decide that you don’t have to be teasing or snarky about it. instead, you tamp down your hesitance to hurt him, even a little bit because he still sort of feels like innocent, regular, lawboy sam to you, and you draw a thin line of blood at the spot where his neck slopes into his broad shoulder. there’s no burning, just a normal wince from his mouth, so you loosen your hold on him and step back, internally cringing at the small bit of blood beginning to slip down towards his collarbone.

“sorry,” you say, far more sincere than you would be if it’d been anybody else. this is the norm for hunters, but you haven’t quite wrapped your mind around the fact that sam is a hunter. you’d never once would have guessed, though you suppose that was the point. you had done everything you could to hide that part of your life during your time at stanford.

“it’s fine,” he gives you an awkward half-smile, just as sincere as you. “just, y’know, your turn.” you’d been so busy taking in the sight of him standing there, looking almost exactly the same, but not quite, as he had in college, that you forgot about the courtesy of testing yourself too.

“right,” you clear your throat, “of course.” without the hesitance any normal person would have, you take the knife to your forearm and splash a bit of holy water on your skin. “there we go. no demons or shapeshifters or the like. that’s good.” you feel incredibly awkward all of the sudden, still so bewildered and thrown off balance by the collision of your two words. it feels like too much of a coincidence for you to be this close to your old school, be thinking about sam winchester, a symbol of that old life, then for him to show up and flip your whole entire understanding of him. there’s just about a million things running through your mind at just about a million miles per hour and it’s starting to make your head hurt.

the movement of his hand, reaching up to hold the small cut you gave him is what brings you out of your short lived reverie.

“god, i’m sorry. let me get you something for that.” you don’t give him the time to politely tell you, “no, it’s okay,” like you know he would before you’ve turned your back and crossed the room to grab a first aid kit from your bag and some rubbing alcohol from the bathroom. “sit down,” you urge him when you turn back to him, motioning towards the table you’d been seated at when he arrived.

he complies and once again, you’re thinking about the strangeness of sharing this sort of space with him. you’re used to seeing him in libraries so big that they’re almost grand for quiet study sessions or in the dining hall with his nose buried in a book or in the lecture hall where you first met him in a gen-ed class. you’re used to seeing him on one of the grassy quads with jess by his side or him in the big, open, and fancy old university buildings. now he looks right at home in the dingy motel room, so small it feels like his tall, broad frame shouldn’t fit in here, so dim that his sometimes blue or green eyes look sort of muddy. they’re pretty, nonetheless.

you set the first aid kit on the table and pull out a large bandaid and a bit of gauze. you reasses the cut to be sure he doesn’t need any other sort of bandaging and almost sigh in relief when you see how shallow it is. sam doesn’t speak or protest that he’s fine to do it himself as you pull the collar of his t-shirt aside just a bit. you’re sure his mind’s busy with a whole load of questions for you, just like you for him. the brush of your knuckles against his skin suddenly makes his presence feel more real. whatever contact you’d had during the short-lived fight you’d had was completely surreal; you weren’t sure he was really even sam, and if he was, it would feel like a lie anyways, for his hands to be rough or so quick in a fight.

he doesn’t so much as wince when you press alcohol soaked gauze to the cut, and though the wound is small and shallow enough that you’re sure it barely stings, it still feels like a sign of his being a hunter, being used to pain. you don’t like that thought; sweet, sincere, and ever so smart sam being used to pain. as you take care of the cut, he lets his eyes wander around the room, probably taking in how familiar it is, and how weird that it’s your motel room and all of your belongings packed into a single bag and your computer screen displaying hacked into police reports and the very same lore websites he frequents to solve a tricky case.

when you’re done he thanks you with a small smile and you take the seat across from him. as your fingers had brushed over his bare skin and felt a whisper of his strong shoulders, you’d gotten the strong urge to hug him. you missed him even more than you thought. that urge doesn’t leave when you move away from him.

you make a confused face at sam when he reaches for the first aid kit and pulls out another set of bandaids and gauze. he just hands you a gauze now soaked with alcohol and nods at you.

“for your arm,” he explains, because you’ve already forgotten about that as you accept it with a questioning brow.

“right,” you chuckle softly, swiping over the cut with the gauze, then taking and applying the bandaid that sam opened for you. when you’re done you have to drag your eyes up to meet sam’s gaze. there’s tension in the room, and though it’s not bad per se, it’s begging to be addressed and you’re not sure how to even start. it seems like sam’s not sure either.

so, you choose to jump right into the fire.

“it’s so good to see you, sam,” you confess, pushing all your sincerity into your voice, “i mean, this is absolutely insane and i can’t quite wrap my mind around it, but i guess i don’t really care because it’s so good to see you. i worried about you so much after … after jess died, i mean, you just dissappeared and … and i can imagine that has something to do with the fact that you’re a hunter, which is sort of incomprehensible to me, but–,” suddenly you’re hit with a new realization. if sam’s disappearance had to do with the supernatural, you wonder if jess’s death did too. but you don’t want to ask, not right now. “oh, god, and i never got to tell you how sorry i am. i– i mean. i can’t imagine.” there’s where your voice trails off and you look to sam to be the one to say something now.

“thanks,” he answers simply, voice gentle but a little pained, rightfully so. “she was your friend, too. i mean, we were all friends. and i’m sorry i disappeared like that. i, um, well, you’re right. hunting dragged me away. it’s complicated and i’ll explain it to you later. you deserve to know what happened to jess, but– but it’s a lot.” a moment of silence allows that to sink in; so something did happen to her, something more than just faulty electrical wiring in her apartment. sam’s genuine as he goes on, “and it’s great to see you too, really. it’s so strange, i mean all of this, obviously, but it’s even stranger how close we are to stanford. i was already thinking about it, about you all on the way over, and the next thing i know, you’re the suspicious hunter throwing holy water in my face.” 

you cringe a little at that, but sam smiles a little wider than he has all night. “that’s a good thing,” he half-laughs, “i don’t care how weird this coincidence is, i’m glad for it.” his hand twitches, almost as if he’d wanted to reach over and grab your hand, but thought better of it before it could happen. “i gotta ask, did you finish your degree?” the way he asks is so hopeful, and you immediately know how much he wants the answer to be yes. he’s thinking, if i couldn’t finish, please tell me at least one of us could. that one of us poor and foolish hunter kids who thought we could escape managed to long enough to finish a degree, prove that we could make something of ourselves in the normal world. it would be so nice to see that, if it couldn’t be me, it could be somebody, it could be you.

his face falls a little when he registers the sad smile on your face. your expression is more than enough of an answer, and the fact that he wanted so badly for you to have made it makes your heart break a little, for both him and you. we deserved better, you think.

“just about the same thing happened to me,” you begin to explain, “you remember my cousin, bex?” sam nods, recalling the way the two of you acted like siblings the few times he met her, how much you liked alike when you smiled, already sad for what he suspects he might hear. “she died a few weeks after jess. she and i both grew up hunting, and we both thought we got out of it, at least for a little while. we almost lasted all four years … i didn’t think there was anything weird with her death, but … my dad showed me proof of just that at her funeral, convinced me to come back to hunting with him. she was– she was hiding something, and, honestly i’m still not sure what happened. progress on her case has been slow. real slow, so we’ve been working on others in the meantime. keeping busy, you know.”

“oh, i know,” sam sighs, and you completely believe him. you wonder for a moment what bigger things he’s digging into before deciding it’s best if the two of you stick to what’s in front of you. if you go too deep, having each other, a new kind of steady presence from better times, might start feeling too unreal again. 

you want to preserve this delicate balance, where sam is still stanford sam and you’re still stanford you, but now there’s just a deeper understanding of each other. a knowing of what it’s like to grow up with a hunter for a father, to want to get away from it all, to want a sense of normalcy, and to want to learn and become something more and say “screw you!” to all of the expections. and on top of that, knowing how it feels to get so close to the finish line, only to have it ripped out of your hands like you’re a child who’s parents think they’ve had too much candy. only it’s far worse than a half eaten lollipop in the trash because people that you love died, and it was all so much more than just chasing after a momentary sugar high. 

“i’m sorry about bex,” sam says, this time actually reaching out and placing his hand on yours for a moment. his voice is as full of empathy and sincerity as ever. “she was amazing the few times i met her. i could see how close you two were.”

“thanks, sam.” you give him a small smile because those words feel so much better coming from him than just about anyone else. with that, the air seems to settle a little, and it’s far more bearable. you’ve still got a hundred and one questions to ask and a hundred and one more things to say to each other, but to find out you have this near-exact shared experience is like having so much of the weight of loneliness lifted from your chest. and it all feels even better because you know sam. you know him already. 

sure, there’s a whole lot you missed before, but you don’t doubt for a second that the sam sitting in front of you is as kind, funny, smart, witty, sincere, adorably awkward, and good as the sam you met and came to know at stanford. in fact, knowing he grew up the way he did just reaffirms his goodness to you. it’s not easy to live like that and continue choosing to be kind and well-meaning and true to yourself. then there’s this feeling of admiration for sam, just blooming in your chest and you hold back a wide grin because the timing’s not quite right. you still can’t shake the urge to hug him.

“well,” you smile casually, if not a little rueful as you say your next words, “i think our dads will go all hunter-dad-crazy on us if we keep playing catch up. i’ll give you a run down of everything i’ve got, then we can do what dropouts from the west coast’s most prestigious school’s do best; research.”

sam’s smile matches your own, and it’s achingly familiar. “well, we can’t have those asses ruin our not-quite-stanford-alumni reuinion. let’s get to work. we can pretend it’s like the good old days, spring freshman year, all of us cramming for the way-er exam at the back of the library and getting shushed by the librarians. we can pretend john and rick are the librarians.”

for the first time in a long time, you let out a loud laugh, surprised and pulled right out of you without warning. he smiles wide at the sound and finally, without restraint, you grin back. god, you missed him.

[highdefhoetry]

jjk men when they find out you're ticklish

disclaimer: although this is mostly fluff, the author is an adult & this is their kink. minors dni, do not like, do not reblog, do not follow.

Gojo

Gojo is playfully sadistic, and you discover that the hard way. He finds out how ticklish you are very quickly; he’s handsy, and painfully observant. You try to stifle your laughter and keep your body still every time his large hands roam around your waist, but nothing gets past his Six Eyes. He sees how hard it is for you to hold back your reaction, how much your body trembles when he caresses you gently. It’s not long before he starts tickling you for real, cherishing the sound of your wild giggling.

Now that he knows you’re ticklish, it’s like he can’t keep his hands off of you. Your stomach seems to be his favorite spot, but he’ll get you anywhere if he has access to it. He uses his size and strength to his advantage, often pinning you down so tight you can barely move. When he’s got you trapped, he grins down at you with that feral smile of his, one that sends icy shivers down your spine. He loves watching you try struggling to break free, knowing it’s futile, knowing you have no way to escape what’s coming until he’s satisfied and lets you go. Then, after a few long moments of anticipation, he starts tickling every inch of your body, poking and prodding into your sensitive skin as he searches for your worst spots. And when he finds them, he teases you endlessly.

“This is where you’re weak, right?”

“You cryin’? Can’t take it? That’s too bad. I’m nowhere near finished with you.” He gets so excited, grins like a madman as he watches you giggle and squirm beneath him. And when he finds out you actually like it? It’s all over. He teases you whenever he can, just to see you get flustered and shy, then tickles you even more.

And after seeing how much fun he has tickling the shit out of you, you start to wonder if he’s got a thing for it, too!

Geto

Geto finds out you’re ticklish pretty easily. He did it one day when you were having one of your lighthearted arguments and was amused at how easily his tickles took you down. Now, he tickles you mostly just to annoy you, but also because he thinks it’s cute how sensitive you are. He seems to focus more on your sides and underarms, since those are easiest for him to grab on a whim. He’s a fan of interrogation, often tickling you until you agree to do or say what he says. 

“Give up yet? I’m not stopping until you do!”

“Beg all you want, I’m gonna keep tickling you if you don’t do what I say!”

He laughs along with you, soaking up your sweet laughter and bubbly smile. He’s usually more playful than mean, letting up when you admit defeat or agree to his demands, but sometimes he has a cruel streak. One time, he tickles you until you have tears in your eyes and can barely breathe. His big hands roam up and down your body, tickling your helpless body as you shriek and squeal. Even when you say uncle, he keeps going while laughing along with you. When he finally lets up, it takes you a few minutes to catch your breath. He feels a little guilty for tiring you out, so he gives you plenty of hugs afterward and apologizes for going too far.

But when he finds out that you actually like being tickled, he just smiles and laughs a little to himself. 

“Really? No wonder you always antagonize me. I guess I’ll just have to tickle you more, then.”

And he does! He might not be as into it as you are, but he loves doing it anyway. Especially because that means he gets to see your beautiful smile.

Choso

Choso finds out that you’re ticklish by complete accident. And when he does, he plays it cool. He acts like he didn’t notice the way your body quivered when he touched your waist, or the quiet, squeaky noises you made when his hand ran down your side. He raises a brow, smirks softly as he watches you shiver from his touch, but he doesn’t comment on it right away. He waits for the right moment to get you, and when you’re least expecting it, he takes you by complete surprise. 

He straddles your waist because that gives him access to most of your body, and he knows you’re not strong enough to fight him off. He keeps a neutral face for the most part, but you see a small smirk creep across your face as you start to laugh preemptively. He’s the type to comment on all your reactions, not realizing how much his words are flustering you until your laughter increases in pitch.

“Woah, you’re already laughing before I even touch you? You must be really ticklish."

He has a lot of experience tickling other people, being a big brother and all. He knows which spots are the worst, and exploits them as much as he can. But he also finds your secret hidden spots, like the back of your neck and that crease between your thighs and hips. It tickles so bad you almost lose your mind.

“You laugh so hard when I tickle you here, this must be a bad spot for you."

And as he explores you more, he starts making guesses as to which spots are the worst.

“I just know you’re ticklish, riiiight… here.”

Then, when he's discovered all of your sensitive areas, he'll tickle you all over, giving plenty of attention to each little spot that makes you scream.

He’s mean in his own way, but he knows when to stop and give you breaks. After you’re done playing, he makes sure you drink water and gives you lots of cuddles. But of course, he'll sneak in a few tickles too, when you're least expecting.

He's pretty nonchalant when he finds out you like being tickled. He shrugs and gives you a half-smile, responding in his typical neutral tone.

"Tickling, huh? I should've known. That's pretty cute, though. Now c'mere..."

Nanami

Nanami loves punishment tickles, much to your surprise. You didn’t think a man as serious as him would be into something most people consider childish and juvenile. You thought wrong. 

Nanami was stern and tolerated no nonsense. You couldn’t resist messing with him and were constantly trying to get him to crack a smile or show any kind of emotion. You try tickling him at one point, gently poke his sides to see how he’ll react. His expression is unfaltering; it’s like you’re jabbing a rock. You give up, but find other ways to get on his nerves.

After acting like a brat all day without consequences, you’re taken aback when he suddenly grabs your arms and holds them behind your back. Fear strikes through your heart, and you wonder what he’s planning to do. Then, he digs his fingers into your ribs, tickling you there until you scream. It comes as a complete shock, and since you didn’t see it coming, you find it impossible to control your reactions. He’s quite rough, opting for harder tickles instead of soft teasing ones, holding you firmly in place while you thrash around madly. He’s not messing around anymore; he wants to see you suffer. He keeps his expression hidden behind thick goggles and watches you writhe under his hands without a hint of a smile on his face, barely saying a word while he tickles you mercilessly.

“This is what you get. You just don't listen."

You try begging, bargaining, saying anything to get him to stop, but he keeps tickling you until you’re completely out of breath and worn out from all the struggling. 

“Are you ready to be good?” he asks as he grabs your chin, yanking it upwards after he finally stops. “Or are you gonna keep being a brat?”

Even if you say yes and promise to listen, he still tickles you more to show he means business. Then he pats your head and cups your cheek, giving you a small kiss on your forehead. He may be strict, but he does cares for you.

Tickling becomes his go-to method when he wants you to behave. You pretend to hate it, but he can tell how much you love it. You wouldn’t keep bratting him so much otherwise.

Toji

Toji is a true sadist. He usually prefers harder play, but when he finds out how ticklish you are and how much it makes you cry and beg, he bares his teeth in a wicked grin and makes a habit out of tickling you incessantly. He becomes addicted to your suffering, often tickling you to the point of tears. And when he’s in this kind of mood, he won’t stop even if you threaten to piss yourself. He’ll mock you, parroting back your pleas and futile attempts to appeal to his humanity. 

“‘Stooop, it tickles!’ It’s supposed to, sweetie. Now shut your mouth and take it.”

“Oh, you’ll do anything? Beg harder and maybe I’ll show mercy.”

He never does. His hands dig into your ribs, spider up and down your sides, attack you at random so you can’t anticipate his next move. He tickles hard, to the point where you can barely form words or sentences, and seems partial to your hips and thighs. The way he squeezes them and kneads your skin makes you shriek in a high-pitched tone that could break glass.

“Cry all you want. You can’t do anything to stop me.”

He’s right. All you can do is thrash around and pray that he’ll stop soon.

You’re a complete mess when he finally lets up. You feel your tangled hair plastered with sweat against your face and forehead as you gasp desperately for air, all while he smiles down at you like a wild dog about to chew up its toy. He looms over you, and you fear that he’ll start up again, but instead he leans forward and kisses your head.

“I like seeing you this way,” he says. “We should play again another time.”

Sukuna

Sukuna is a complete monster. A tickle monster, in fact. Having four strong arms comes in handy when you’re a ler, and when he finds out you’re one of those ticklish humans who absolutely can’t stand it, he takes advantage of you every chance he gets. 

The first time he tickles you is unintentional. He treats you like a pet, commanding you to sit next to him so he can caress and fondle your soft skin and supple body whenever he pleases. The tips of his long, sharp fingernails lightly graze your arms, shoulders, and neck, prompting a few spluttered giggles from you. He takes note of your reaction, strokes the same spots again, and smirks when you laugh and squirm around once more. He does this for a while longer, enjoying the stifled squeals that escape your lips and the way your body twitches with every touch. 

“What’s the matter, pet?” He teases as he slides a finger down your spine. “Hold still, or I’ll make you.”

At a certain point, he can’t hold back any longer. He grabs your wrists with two hands, then pins you down with your arms stretched above your head, giving him access to your entire upper body. Your heart bangs against your chest, drumming intensely as the King of Curses stares down at you with lust and hunger. With his two free hands, he starts to slowly stroke his nails up and down your sides, never relenting or changing the pace. Up and down, up and down, up and down. You can’t move a muscle, and there’s no hope of wriggling out of his grasp, so all you can do is laugh. He starts exploring you, lightly tickling your underarms until you scream and spidering your stomach with all ten fingers. Surprisingly, he seems to like giving you lighter tickles. Probably because those drive you insane more so than harder ones.

He doesn’t let you go until he’s had his fill of your laughter. Then, he leaves you to recover on your own as he tends to other matters. It’s what you’ve come to expect.

Later on, when he finds out you’re into it, he scoffs and shakes his head.

“What, you actually enjoy this?” He throws back his head to laugh. “You are an interesting human. I think I’ll keep you around.”

[writingforstraykids]

Loved the Chan Milan fic! What about a male reader version with him fucking Chan's brain out instead?

Right here with you, always - m!reader version

Pairing: Chan x male!Reader

Word Count: 2282

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, sub!chan, mirror sex (partly)

A/N: Hope you like it, lovey. Framwork is the same, smut is changed ofc🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©writingforstraykids 2024-

fem!version here

The cobblestone streets of Milan seemed to sparkle under the golden hues of the early evening sun as you and Chan made your way through the city. Milan was pulsing with life, its vibrant energy matching the excitement in your heart. Chan had invited you to join him on this glamorous outing, blending the worlds of high fashion and intimate togetherness.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, admiration blooming inside you. He was dressed in a blue shirt that highlighted the warmth of his eyes and complemented his dark hair. Chan suggested dinner at a small, elegant restaurant known for its secluded ambiance and exquisite Italian cuisine. Over plates of creamy risotto and perfectly aged wine, you shared stories and dreams, his laughter blending harmoniously with the soft notes of a violin playing somewhere in the background.

As the sky deepened into a velvety blue, Chan took your hand, leading you out into the enchanting night. Milan at night was a different kind of beautiful; the lights of the city reflected in the gentle ripple of the canals, the air filled with the subtle aroma of blooming jasmine. Walking through this cityscape with Chan, you felt as if you were part of a living canvas, every step painting a stroke of memories in your shared story.

Eventually, the night led you to his hotel, a place of refined elegance. Inside, the world quieted down to just the two of you. You guided Chan to the sofa in his suite, a soft, inviting piece that seemed to echo the plush luxury of your surroundings. As you settled into the comfort of the sofa, you pulled him gently into your lap, a smile playing on your lips.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his muscular arms, feeling the strength that lay beneath his soft shirt. “This blue shirt… it’s perfect on you. It makes your eyes look like chocolate; deep and endlessly sweet.” At first, he blushed, a shy smile curving his lips as his gaze flickered away. It wasn't often that he heard such open adoration, even from you, his partner. Yet, the honesty in your voice and the warmth in your eyes encouraged him to accept your compliments. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your own confidence growing with the realization of how much he needed you in this moment.

“I love seeing you like this,” you murmured, your voice a soft rumble against his ear. Your hands were gentle but firm on his back, making every nerve in his body sing with a pleasant tension. The room around you seemed to fade, the sounds of Milan's nightlife a distant echo to the intimacy that unfolded between the two of you. “Love how handsome you look,” you told him, hands fondling up his thighs. “Love how your body always searches mine,” you confessed, biting back a soft groan as he pressed down against you.

Your lips met his in a fierce kiss, hand shooting up into his hair. Chan kissed back eagerly, grinding down against you with soft, needy sounds. Your grip on his hair tightened, your hips chasing his with a low groan.

As the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the gentle yet insistent passion between you, the world outside seemed to vanish completely. Your hands moved with a tenderness that contrasted and complemented the growing intensity of the moment. You were skilled, knowing exactly how to make him feel cherished and desired all at once.

Chan quickly got up, getting rid of his trousers and boxers in one go. After checking in with you, his shirt joined the rest of his clothes on the floor, and he stood bare before you. You lifted your hips, shuffling your pants down enough to free your aching length. Your hands found his hips, and you pulled him back into your lap, smiling at how thrilled Chan seemed. You made quick work of preparing him, stretching him out with your fingers and kissing down his neck hungrily. Chan sunk down on you soon, moaning out loudly as you stretched his fluttering walls just right.

Chan's hands found purchase on your shoulders, steadying himself as he began to move. His head tipped back, exposing the graceful line of his neck, his eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss. You held him closely, guiding him with a gentle yet insistent rhythm. The soft sounds of his pleasure mixed with the distant hum of the city night created a symphony of intimacy.

"You feel so amazing," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. You increased the pace, each thrust meeting him with a perfect alignment that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of your bodies.

Chan's response was to grip your shoulders tighter, his nails digging in slightly as the intensity built. His moans grew louder, more urgent, and he began to meet your movements with equal fervor. The connection between you deepened, a tangible thread of desire that pulled you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

In the mirror at the closet opposite the sofa, you could see your reflections entwined in a passionate dance. Chan's body was a perfect contrast against your own. His skin was bathed in the soft light that filtered through the windows, highlighting his features in a glow that seemed almost ethereal. The sight of your dick disappearing inside him made you moan loud enough to catch his attention. "Look at us," you urged him, wanting him to see the beauty of the moment as you saw it. Reluctantly, Chan opened his eyes, and his gaze met the mirror behind the sofa, seeing the reflection from the mirror across the room. The sight of the two of you, so closely connected, so lost in each other, brought a new flush to his cheeks, but his eyes shone with an emotion that was deep and raw.

"Fuck," Chan breathed out, his voice catching as your movements brought him higher. “Need more, please,” he whined, needily moving his hips. “Go rough on me, please.”

Your heart pounded with desire at his plea, and you responded by increasing the intensity of your movements. Chan's moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of his pleasure. When his moans reached a fever pitch, you decided to change positions. Gently, you lifted him off your lap, only to flip him around, settling him back onto you so he was facing the mirror on the closet. The new angle made him gasp, his eyes widening as he saw the full reflection of his own pleasure. 

You wrapped one arm around his waist to steady him, your other hand coming up to cover his mouth, muffling his loud moans. "Shh," you whispered in his ear, your breath hot against his skin. "We don't want everyone to hear us."

The sensation of being silenced, coupled with the sight of himself in the mirror, seemed to drive Chan wild. His eyes locked onto yours in the reflection, his pupils dilated with lust. He started moving again, his hips grinding against you with a desperate urgency.

"Look at how beautiful you are," you murmured against his ear, your voice a low growl. "Look at how perfect we are together."

Chan's muffled moans vibrated against your palm, his body shivering with the intensity of the sensations. You kept your rhythm steady; each thrust hitting deeper, more precise, driving both of you closer to the edge. 

Your eyes never left the mirror, watching the way Chan's body responded to your every move. The sight of him, completely undone, his face flushed and eyes filled with raw desire, spurred you on. "You're mine, Chan," you growled, your grip on his waist tightening. "Only mine."

He nodded, his eyes rolling back slightly as another wave of pleasure crashed over him. His body trembled, his muscles tightening around you in a way that sent shivers up your spine. You could feel your own release building, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust.

You thrust harder, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. The mirror reflected the raw intimacy of the moment, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, the connection between you palpable and undeniable.

Chan's eyes were locked onto the mirror, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The sight of you behind him, your hands steady and confident, was overwhelming. His skin was flushed, his lips parted, and the tension in his body was electric. You could see every muscle in his back tense with each thrust, the sight of your reflection in the mirror making the moment even more intense.

"Fuck, Y/n," Chan managed to moan through your hand, his voice barely audible but full of raw emotion. The sight of his flushed face, the way his body moved with yours, was almost too much to handle. You could see the ecstasy building in his eyes, the need, the desire, everything laid bare in the reflection.

"You're close, aren't you?" you whispered in his ear, your voice thick with lust. "I can feel it, Chan. Show me how much you need this."

With another hard thrust, Chan's body tensed, his eyes rolling back as he almost reached the peak of his pleasure. His muffled moans were drowned out by your hand, his body shaking with every wave of ecstasy. You could feel the tightening of his walls around you, the warmth of his climax making you lose control as well.

With a final, powerful thrust, you buried yourself deep inside him, your release hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Chan's muffled cries of pleasure filled the room, his body convulsing as he followed you over the edge. 

You held him close, both of you riding out the aftershocks of your climax. Slowly, you removed your hand from his mouth, pressing soft kisses along his neck and shoulder. "You did so well," you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness. "So beautiful, so perfect."

Chan turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "You’re amazing.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for him. "With you, it’s always perfect," you replied, your hands gently caressing his sides.

The world outside the hotel room was a distant memory, the night in Milan a backdrop to the profound connection you shared with Chan. As he lay in your arms, the city lights twinkling outside the window, you knew that no matter where life took you, moments like these would always bring you back to each other.

-

Later, after you had both cleaned up and settled into the luxurious bed, the quiet intimacy continued to envelop you. Chan's gentle touches and soft murmurs of affection filled the space between you, making even the simplest moments feel special.

"Do you remember our first trip together?" Chan asked, his voice a soft rumble in the darkness.

You smiled, recalling the memory fondly. "Of course I do. How could I forget? It was magical."

"It was," he agreed, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "But this... tonight... it's even better."

You turned to face him, your eyes meeting in the dim light. "Why do you say that?"

"Because we're here together," he replied simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "Because every moment with you is better than the last."

Your heart swelled with love for him, and you leaned in to kiss him softly. "I feel the same way," you whispered against his lips. "Every moment with you is a gift."

As he drifted off to sleep in your arms, he knew that no matter what challenges or adventures lay ahead, you would face them together, your love growing stronger with each passing day.

-

The next morning, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke up to the feeling of Chan’s fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, his touch a comforting presence.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you replied, turning to face him. His eyes were warm and filled with love, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Chan leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. “How did you sleep?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Perfectly,” you said, your heart swelling with happiness. “How about you?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a long time,” he admitted, his smile widening. “Being with you always makes everything better.”

You snuggled closer to him, savoring the peaceful morning. “I feel the same way,” you confessed, feeling a deep sense of contentment.

As the morning progressed, you both took your time getting ready, enjoying the relaxed pace of the day. The streets of Milan called to you, promising new adventures and memories to be made. But no matter what the day held, you knew that the connection you shared with Chan would remain the most beautiful part of your journey together.

-

Walking through the bustling streets of Milan once more, hand in hand with Chan, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the love and happiness you had found. The city seemed to sparkle with the promise of new experiences, each moment adding to the rich tapestry of your shared life.

Chan squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting the same joy that filled your heart. “Ready for another day of adventures?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

“Absolutely,” you replied, smiling up at him. “As long as I’m with you, I’m ready for anything.”

And with that, you both stepped forward, ready to embrace whatever the day had in store, knowing that together, you could conquer the world.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

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[meowzfordayz]

when you're apart

Author’s Note: is my Sanemi favoritism showing? 🤍 Spoiler Alert: yes. 😂 Don’t mind my psychology major brain showing ~a bit too. 🤓

when you’re apart

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,300

CW: anxiety disorder, explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I was wondering if you could do how the men hashira react to a female reader with separation anxiety

I have a fear of being alone which makes me very clingy. My longtime boyfriend recently broke up with me due to me being “to much to deal with.”

Being clingy is such a bother I know I just hate being alone

~faqs~

When you’re apart…

… Gyomei doesn’t mind receiving calls from you throughout the day. He’s endlessly patient, always willing to listen, and warns you in advance if he can’t talk for long. His strategy for setting and respecting boundaries? Planning ahead and communicating his availability to make sure you feel prioritized and included in his decision making, while still fulfilling his own wants and needs.

… Obanai dislikes it as much as you do, but is ~somewhat more subtle about it. He, at least, has Kaburamura to keep him company, but kissing you is decidedly more pleasant. He’s mindful about maintaining healthy boundaries and expectations—he knows codependency shouldn’t be romanticized—but he’s also so wholly in love with you, that sometimes he gives up and surprises you anyway. “Obanai? You’re two hours early?? Are you okay???” He nods sheepishly, already pulling you into a hug, “I’m fine. Missed you.” “Is Sanemi going to complain to me the next time I see him?” you sigh, scrunched grin revealing your contentment despite the exasperation in your tone. “Probably, I don’t care. I left him enough to cover more than my share of the tab.”

… Mitsuri totally understands your anxiety, and is lovingly firm about ensuring you don’t slip into unhealthy habits. “You can text me anytime, but only call if there’s an emergency, okay?” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your earlobe. You nod slightly, resisting the urge to pout. “I’ll be home before you know it.” Even though it stings, you know it’s never personal. Her willingness to draw straightforward boundaries, as well as her willingness to cross them if you’re truly upset, are just another reason to cherish her.

… Shinobu checks in every couple of hours. Sometimes it’s just a single sentence text, other times a quick call, but she knows how important feeling connected is to you. It’s important to her too, of course, but she’s apt to lose track of time when she’s at the hospital or her lab—she enjoys her work—so she puts in conscious effort to be proactive about your anxiety. When she anticipates a busier or longer day, she’ll ask, “Is it okay if I only check in during meals today?” Generally, you’ll reassure her that, “Absolutely, I’m so proud of you,” and if you’re having a low day, then she always figures out a compromise with you before she leaves.

… Kyojuro unknowingly reassures you, because—apparently—everything reminds him of you. Whether it’s a photo of a flower shortly after he arrives at work Pretty flower, but you’re prettier 🌻, a photo of the sky during his lunch break The cloud formations remind me of you, so soft and mesmerizing ☁️, or a blurry selfie as he finally heads home for the day Cannot wait to see you! 😁, you’re kept in the loop. The one time his phone fell into a puddle (he was trying to photograph a reflection of willow branches Elegant and dreamy, like you 🌿), he immediately visited the nearest shop to borrow their landline Hi, yes, how are you today? Would it be possible for me to make a call? I am happy to purchase something. I would just like to tell my partner that I will be unavailable for the day.

… Sanemi often forgets to explicitly text, call, or otherwise contact you. He doesn’t mean to aggravate your anxiety: he just doesn’t quite ~get it, and assumes it stems from insecurity or jealousy — which also confuses him. “You have nothing to worry about. How could I fall in love with someone else when I’m already in love with you?” he snorts, lightly tapping your nose. “That’s not…” you bite at your lip, unsure how to explain yourself. “I’m not big on texting, you know that. It’s not that I specifically dislike texting you.” You smile despite yourself, eyes rolling fondly, “I know it’s not specific to me.” “So then what’s the issue?” he’s determined to understand. “I’m afraid of being alone,” you shrug, gesturing vaguely, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” Arms crossing, he leans in, forehead bumping yours, voice warm and low on your skin as you gulp, “It’s okay to be afraid of things, and being afraid isn’t nothing.” Arms uncrossing, he settles his hands on your hips, kneading gently as he pulls back slightly, fixing an even gaze on your flushed expression, “I can’t be with you all the time, but I can promise that I love you and think about you.” “All the time?” you ask quietly. It’s his turn to blush, eyes closing as he dips his face into your neck, muttering softly, “All the damn time.”

… Muichiro is a bit absentminded, and rarely thinks to check his phone, but he sets reminders—around noon, and later in the afternoon—to make up for it. If he’s occupied and misses his usual look-at-his-phone time(s), then he’s never bothered by a call from you coming through (besides your number, his phone’s always on Do Not Disturb). In the bathroom? He’ll pick up. About to bite into his lunch? He’ll put it aside. Presenting during a meeting? He’ll literally answer his phone mid sentence, and leave the room (creative liberty: thank gosh he’s the boss hah). He’s aware of his head-in-the-clouds tendencies, just as he’s aware of your anxiety, and feels that having a specific routine is perfectly fair: if he forgets to uphold his end of your expectations, then you’ve every right to remind him. Conversely, if he’s feeling overwhelmed, he’s more than capable of reasserting his own needs — an infinite practice of mutual respect and taking necessary space.

… Giyuu feels uneasy too, but his discomfort stems primarily from how most people tend to socially drain him — you’re one of few that he can feel both stimulated and rested around. Therefore, if it’s a spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-around-others situation, then he’d prefer to be with you. Spend-time-with-you versus spend-time-by-himself situations are more complicated. It takes a lot of discussion, some heavy evenings apart, and tense evenings together, but you gradually nurture a shared understanding and acceptance of your varying needs. He’s always happy to reassure you that I’m not upset with you, nor am I tired of you; I’m just tired, while you’re slowly learning to trust him and his commitment to loving you.

… Tengen could care less about how clingy you are. Super duper clingy? He loves it. Not clingy at all? He’s cool and confident — he knows you adore him as much as he adores you. His easygoingness, however, isn’t the most productive in terms of processing and reducing your overall anxiety. In fact, you eventually have to tell him that he shouldn’t answer your texts or calls immediately, every single time, without a hint of irritation, because it reinforces your self soothing behaviors. “But I’m happy to?!” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “I know, and I appreciate you,” you chuckle, tucked snugly into his side, “But I don’t want to feel afraid of being alone-” “Sooo don’t be alone!” he interrupts enthusiastically, “Again, I’m happy to keep you company!” Inhaling deeply, you gently grip his jaw, a silent request for him to focus, “And again, I appreciate you, but sometimes I have to feel afraid to stop feeling afraid. If I’m never alone, then I can’t ever feel afraid,” hesitating, voice softer now, “And I know you’ll promise to never leave me, but shit happens. Y’know?” He’s silent, maroon eyes steady and tender as he holds your gaze. Before you can nervously murmur Tengen?, he touches his nose to your forehead, still smiling. “I love you. I’ll do my best to help, even from a distance.” “Well don’t go too far away,” you quip. “Of course not,” he laughs, “I’ll just go wherever you tell me to,” declared earnest and true.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

One of the more subtle yet equally as heartbreaking moments in the ROTS novel. After Padmé is told that Anakin has fallen to the dark side. Her lingering thoughts always lead her back to that sweet 9yo kid she met on Tatooine, who was the only one kind enough to care about her struggles and actually do something to help her. The one who made her this charm with his bare hands, etched with his love and adoration of her. Padmé keeping the Japor Snippet and cherishing it so much that she gets buried with it in the end is all so reminiscent of how much Padmé, not only loves endlessly, but also believes in Anakin. It was truly precious to her and I feel we don’t talk about that enough. 🥲

[frvnkcastles]

I was wondering if you could write a fic where reader has abandonment issues and she's scared that frank will one day just get bored of her and leave?

love your work 💙

’TIL THE EARTH STARTS TO CRUMBLE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re wired to always assume everyone will leave you. Frank is determined to change that.

Warnings: Abandonment issues, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.4k

Author’s note: Thank you so much for the support anon! This was easy to write because this is something I also struggle with MAJORLY. I feel you, you’re not alone <3 It really sucks but the right people will stay and reassure you always!!

You didn’t want to be too clingy, you really didn’t. But when you’ve found someone like Frank, you’ve gotta cherish every moment with that person and make sure they won’t leave you, right? That was what you told yourself, anyway, not that you’d actually reveal what was going on inside your head to him directly. To you, it just seemed like opening up about your issues would only give him more reason to walk out on you, it would only push him away, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You had been this way for as long as you could remember. Desperate to be liked and loved, terribly scared of being left alone or rejected. It was all the same with people you dated and people you befriended, the constant checking that everything was alright and you were still doing good. You had learned the hard way it was too much for some people when your ex had done exactly what you had tried to stop him from doing — abandoning you.

So, you tried to tone it down. You tried to reason with yourself. Frank wasn’t going anywhere. He loved you and cared about you, and if anything, he had baggage, too. You appreciated him regardless, and you knew the feeling was mutual. It was just difficult to convey that message to your brain, the damn thing endlessly feeding you lies and doubt about the foundation of your relationship.

It was just a matter of time. It had to be. Just like everyone else, he’d leave you.

You managed to suffer in silence and cry about your fears in private for a while, but in a sick twist of fate, Frank began pulling away. He thoroughly explained to you his latest mission, told you everything he was going to have to do and how he wanted to keep you safe from his enemies. But it was in one ear and out the other. You smiled and nodded, promised you understood, but it didn’t take you long to start freaking out. This was how it started, the drifting apart, the building distance between you until he’d have to cut his losses and cut you off.

He left at night, which meant that most days you got to enjoy his company, only for your time together to be shadowed by the impending anxiety. And the nights you spent alone, your pillow wet with tears as you wondered when he’d stop returning home. When you woke up in his arms in the morning, you felt comforted and reassured and you swore to yourself you wouldn’t repeat the cycle that night, only to end up breaking your own promise.

A week passed with you slowly stopping eating and sleeping, an unhealthy habit that you were able to hide with Frank being gone. But he wasn’t stupid, and eventually, he picked up on it.

”Make sure you eat somethin’ tonight, aight? That sandwich I made ya was still in the fridge”, Frank commented while packing his bag for the night, shuffling around your apartment whereas you were seated on the couch, watching him bounce from one room to the next.

”I’ll try”, you spoke faintly, a yawn interrupting you, and stopping in his tracks, Frank looked over to you and frowned with his whole face.

”You didn’t sleep much last night, either”, he pointed out, hoping that his observation would be enough for you to open up, but you only gave him a half-hearted shrug in response.

”It’s fine”, you whispered, dropping your stare from Frank’s piercing eyes to your hands as you picked on your nails. You felt like you could throw up any second now, and the walls were closing down on you, inviting panic and terror into your soul. This was your least favorite part of the day and it didn’t seem to get any easier with time, but asking Frank to stay seemed so selfish and obsessive.

Figuring that it wouldn’t do any good to push, Frank nodded and finished packing his duffel bag. Once he was finished, he walked over to you for your nightly kiss on the top of your head, his routine of saying good night and goodbye to you.

But tonight, you just couldn’t help but act on your instincs. As he leaned down to kiss you, you closed your eyes and wrapped a fist around the front of his shirt to hold him close and not let him pull away. When he tried, he was stopped by your vice-like grip, and confused, he looked down at you only to find sheer fear twisted on your face.

”Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” he asked with concern, crouching down in front of you, his head tilted so he could catch your eyes. ”Talk to me, darlin’. I’m right here”, he reassured you while lifting his hand to caress your cheek, his thumb catching the stray tear that rolled down from the corner of your eye.

”I don’t want you to go. I’m so scared you won’t come back. I know, I know it’s just a matter of time before you get sick of me or bored of me and leave for good. I’m not good enough for you, I’m not interesting enough, I’m not pretty enough—”, you babbled, all the emotions you had been bottling up inside finally bursting out of you.

”Baby, baby, where’s all this comin’ from? I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Hey, look at me”, he was genuinely surprised, but his voice was firm as he took a hold of your jaw and lifted it so that your eyes could meet. Shakily, you opened your eyes, embarrassed to face him but there was not even a hint of judgment or annoyance in the brown depth of his gaze. ”You’re wrong, sweetheart. You’re more than good for me, you’re far more than my miserable ass deserves. And whaddya mean you ain’t interesting? You keep me on my toes all the time. Don’t even get me started on the pretty part, you know I fuckin’ adore you, head to toe”, he raved on, passion behind every word, and you so badly wanted to believe him.

Sniffling, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. ”I thought that admitting I was scared you’d leave me would just push you away. Or worse, you’d stay with me out of pity”, you admitted quietly, averting your gaze in shame, but Frank was having none of it, and quickly turned your head back to him.

”Oh, sweetheart”, he sighed, pulling you into his embrace, tightly folding his strong arms around you. ”I’m stayin’ with you because I love you. You’re everythin’ to me and I couldn’t do this without you. I’m not tryna belittle your feelings and fears, but I promise, it ain’t gonna come true. I’m stickin’ with you for as long as you’ll have me, I swear on my life, sweet girl”, he vowed while holding you against his chest.

”Do you mean that?” you asked with a wavering voice, ”everyone always leaves me.” Your words broke Frank’s heart, and he wished he could have made you see yourself through his eyes, wished you could have read his mind so that you’d know exactly how he felt about you. He considered himself the luckiest bastard in the world for being able to share a space with you, to kiss you and hold you, and he wasn’t going to walk away from that no matter what.

”Not me. You’ll see. I’m here to stay”, he insisted, pulling back just so he could cradle your head in his large hands and shower your face with quick but sweet kisses, from your forehead to the corner of your eye and from your nose to your jawline.

”Good, ’cause I really love you and it would break me”, you chuckled sadly, unable to fight a smile as Frank peppered your skin with kisses.

”I’m real sorry people haven’t ’preciated you before. But I’mma make sure that head of yours quiets down for a second, yeah? I ain’t gonna let you down”, he confirmed with dedication, and as he gave you a solemn look that was far from joking, you gave in and nodded.

You wanted to believe him, but you both knew it was easier said than done. But Frank wasn’t going to give up — he was going to show you again and again that he was serious about you, that he really was in love with you, and maybe, some day, you would accept that as the simple truth.