#Their fear of hostile strokes

[thestupidhelmet]

lol I hope you and Einstein are happy together, considering no one else in this fandom will touch you with a ten foot pole

Hi, my dear Anon! 😊

I don’t know who hurt you or how, but I’m sorry for your pain. 😕 I hope you can find a healthy way to heal. Lashing out anonymously at people you don’t know on the internet is not the way.

I’m happy with all the friends I’ve made through this fandom the last fifteen years. We treat each other with compassion and respect, have fun and supportive private conversations, and they’re wonderful people. I feel gratitude and gratified that they continue to enjoy my That ‘70s Show fanworks after all this time and look forward to more.

I extend that compassion and respect to you. May you find peace within yourself, and may people treat you kinder than you have me with this ask. 🤗❤️

[lycheebloom]

mania : short whippet of yan. shadow milk cookie (pre. corruption & post corruption)

tw : yandere shadow milk cookie, light/heavy psychological & physical manipulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, violence, potentially ooc

"Put your trust in me, for none will deceive you as long as I am here."

♡ You first meet him in a period where he was yet to be touched by greed and trickery. A humble cookie you were, innocently strolling amidst the streets of your home kingdom until you stumbled across him.

♡ He was nothing short of humble and truthful as the rumors had entailed—polite with a well-mannered tone and gracious in his deeds of honesty for all. As if woven by fate itself, your coincidental encounters with him grew more and more common, until a bond began to flourish. Little promises and giggles were shared, fondness bloomed between stories and tales.

♡ The man was often teased by his peers for his fondness towards you, yet he didn't mind. Unbeknownst to them, a darker truth was veiled beneath the surface. Keeping his hands clasped together with yours for just a second longer than normal, neglecting his duties at times just for another moment to bask in your presence—Ah, the list could really go on and on.. But it was alright. It was just a small, little secret. A white lie that couldn't hurt anybody. He'd shoulder the truth of this minuscule act.

♡ "(Name) Cookie, over here! I have to share with you this interesting moment that happened in the court.."

♡ And so, it would continue this way, until something changed.

♡ He began to grow less benevolent. Fatigue was evident through the eyebags his form now carried, his caring tone strained. The everlasting truth in his words withered, falsehoods spilling out from his mouth that caused chaos and harm to break out within kingdoms. Especially the one you dwelled in.

♡ As his behavior towards common cookiekind warped, so did his towards you. His actions grew obsessive, arms clinging onto you at every instance as though you would dissolve if he were to let go. Even you weren't safe from the deceit that had tore through his heart, the cookie whispering sweet lies into your ears.

♡ The well being of the other cookies didn't matter to him anymore, why should he bother? Their foolishness bound them to a terrible fate from the very start, he should've given up on them sooner. Too long had he and the other heroes tolerated their exploitation! But oh, dear you..

♡ You were an exception from his all-consuming resentment towards those that had taken advantage of him and his comrades. Poor, poor you. Having to associate with these wicked folk, such a kind soul you had...! Of course, he couldn't stand by idly and let your torment continue.

♡ "Ah—(Name) Cookie, don't struggle.. This is for the greater good, I promise you." He coaxed softly, one hand gently stroking the back of your head as the other restrained you. He would bring you salvation, away from those filthy brethren that you called your 'friends'.

♡ Yet you continued to struggle, restlessly moving as you tried to free yourself of the binds. Your resistance only complicated and extended the process of renewal, but he didn't blame you; no, he could never! The other cookies have merely brainwashed you. That must be it. You would never gaze at him with such fear in your eyes, you wouldn't tremble at his touch.

♡ Your hostility only solidified his view on the others. They were irredeemable!—Not only had they used him and the other heroes, but they even turned you against him! Outrageous!

♡ Your coldness wounded his heart, yet he didn't falter. He was sure he could break through such a silly perspective they had influenced you into.

♡ "(Name)~ Don't fight me.." He sighed, fingers benignly clasping your face when you tried to turn your head away. The cold sensation sent tremors down your spine. "I know they've conditioned you into this, but I assure you, I only want the best for you.." He cooed, pulling you in closer. An arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, as he traced small circles onto your back with his free hand.

♡ How much longer would it take until you finally gave into his advances? He pouted at the thought, opting to bury his head into your shoulder. The sweet scent of you drove him insane. Yes, everything would be just fine.. As long he had you with him.

♡ Yet his whole world crashed down on him one day. Pinned down by the fork those witches had dared to cast down on him; his vision tuned out the other forms of his friends being restrained, all he could focus on was your figure.

♡ Your disappointed frown with somber eyes. Why were you staring at him with that expression? Where are you going? Wait! No, don't go! His expression twisted into one of desperation, arms sprawling out towards your retreating figure. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. You.. You can't leave him here!

♡ "(Name), (Name) Cookie, wait! No, no no COME BACK! Please, please, please.. Don't go, you can't go, you're not supposed to—I need you..!"

♡ As you stopped in your steps and turned around, a glimmer of hope shone within his heart. Yet it crumbled just as fast as you looked away, continuing to walk away. Away from him. To leave him. Why? Why had you discarded him? Had he not done so much to prove his love and adoration to you..? He cast his head down, thoughts swarming his head in a frenzy.

♡ "(Name).."

♡ You were all he wanted. Why couldn't he have you?

♡ His vision went black.

.

.

♡ How long had it been? He was unsure.

♡ You continued to linger in his thoughts even after he had been trapped in the Silver Tree, becoming the only source of solace in his seemingly-endless solitude. He was uninterested in talking to his 'friends', their bond growing more strained as each day passed. He couldn't understand how he got along with them back then. Corruption seeped and curled within his being, infecting his mind and very essence. It fed on his despair and longing, clouding the last traces of lucidity and truth.

♡ He just wanted you back. He made a vow to himself.

♡ Once he has you again, he'll never let you go.

.

.

.

"Seriously, who can say no to a pinch of good old Deceit?"

♡ "Oh, finally some fresh air!" Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed with a sigh, stretching his arms. Being in that cramped tree didn't help his joints at all, hopefully he didn't catch a case of arthritis! A wide grin was on his face as he peered down on the cookies that had been so, so stupid that they thought they could delay his arrival! He scrutinized their forms, yet his eyes lit up at a familiar sight.

♡ You.

♡ "Ah, (Name) Cookie!~♡" Shadow Milk Cookie was quick to pick you up, ignoring the screams of horror that the other pesky little cookies let out—who he presumed were your friends. Two fingers were clasped around your form, as he dangled you in the air. If he wasn't giddy before, he definitely was now.

♡ Shadow Milk Cookie smiled ear to ear, admiring your form in his clutch for a few moments further before he glanced back at your noisy friends, his smile dropping as the light in his eyes faded.

♡ He turned his gaze back towards you, his frown changing into a smile once more.

♡ "Truly, you couldn't begin to comprehend how much I've missed you!.." Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, leaning his face closer towards your tiny figure. "We have soooo much to catch up on..~" He gave an half-lidded smile.

♡ "But first.." He eyed your peers. "Let's go somewhere where these little.. 'friends' of yours won't disturb us." With a snap of his fingers, your surroundings changed.

.

♡ What.. was this place? Everywhere you looked, only strained your vision. It felt unreal, as though you were in another dimension entirely. Eyes of all azure shades stared back at you, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

♡ "Tada!~ My special little world, what do you think of it?" Shadow Milk Cookie smiled happily, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shuddered at the touch, hurriedly stepping away from the madman that you were trapped with.

♡ "Hm? Don't you know it's rude to stareeee..?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, bending it at an unnatural angle. He stepped closer towards you with every step you took back, quickly closing the distance. He latched his hand out, gently tilting your chin up.

♡ "Still resisting now are we? Oh, silly, silly (Name)..!" He broke out into giggles, then chuckles, before it warped into full-blown laughter. "Ah, your shenanigans never fail to amuse me!~" He wiped a stray tear, grinning as one of his hands pulled you into his embrace.

♡ His lips grazed over the exposed surface of your neck, biting down into soft flesh as jam spilled out from the wound—to which he quickly lapped it up, leaving a soft kiss as an apology. He only pulled back when he deemed there were sufficient marks, a smile on his face as he took in your shaky breath and unfocused gaze. You really were just the cutest..! "You see.. Time works differently in this little place I created."

♡ "Hmm.. For example, I could make it so that.. the equivalent of merely a second in the outside world could amount to a year in here! Or a decade! Or even a century, the possibilities are ENDLESS!" The pitch of his tone raised, delighting in your unnerved expression.

♡ "Anywho, what I'm trying to get across is that we have alllll the time in the world, my sweet (Name)~.." His tone dropped to a mere whisper, his smile fading as though the deceit within him was unraveling before you. Deep in his eyes swirled a whirlpool of something far darker than you could ever understand.

♡ "So let's see how long this little charade of yours will last. ♡"

♡ After all, he's waited eons for you in that damned tree. He can wait a little longer for you to break.

[zyafics]

GIRL VERSUS CAT | Rafe Cameron

LOOKBOOK | MAIN MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — When you come back to Tannyhill and find a cat.

Word Count — 0.8K

Content — fluff, protective!Rafe, Wheezie has a little attitude, and you are clingy (literally).

Coming back to Tannyhill should be smooth. Gone for a couple of days, it shouldn’t have changed much, especially given that your absence was almost obsolete in the grand scheme of things.

You hadn’t expected the cat.

An additional member of the family, Wheezie decided she wanted to adopt a cat a couple of days prior. It was going relatively well—well-trained, ultimately welcoming, and somewhat needy at times, but that’s normal. In fact, it adores every single member of the household.

Except you.

Upon entry, following behind Rafe, the cat immediately tracks you. Its ears raise at the sound of your footsteps, the smell of your scent, as if it knows—it knows what you truly are—and instantly meows. A few steps in, it jumps off the cushioned seat and races towards you with charged vigor.

Your eyes widen at the fast-approaching predator, and without a second thought, leap onto Rafe's back, climbing him like a tree.

“What is that? What is that?” You ask breathlessly, fear trembling in your voice as your legs wrap around Rafe’s torso, raising you off the ground. It came in a blink of an eye as the devious creature arrived at the foot of Rafe’s feet, blinking up at you while hissing viciously.

Rafe finds amusement in this situation. He hadn’t expected this reaction from Wheezie’s cat—which has been so docile and sedentary—but he remembers, to be fair, you are his favorite meal.

“It’s a cat,” Rafe explains with a low voice. “You haven’t seen one before?”

It hisses again, so loud, it makes you jump, letting out a little yelp as you climb higher on Rafe’s taunt body, shaking your head to his question.

“It’s not going to hurt you,”

“It’s trying to eat me,” you whimper in his ears, locking your arms around his chest to keep your body off the ground. But truly, gravity is a persistent enemy, and you’re slipping, slipping further and further down until the cat sees you in view and leaps upwards, trying to claw its way toward you.

Another shriek escapes you, and you climb further. Rafe realizes that while you—surprisingly—managed the ability of a natural climber, his hand slips under one of your thighs, anchoring you to him.

“Get it away, get it away, get it away,” you beg Rafe, soft and frantic voice swimming in his ear as labored breaths fan against the crook of his neck. Wheezie’s cat continues to claw towards you—subtly scratching at Rafe’s calves—but not enough to reach.

You still don’t trust it.

“Say please,” Rafe teases, stretching out the moment longer than necessary, enjoying the way you’re dependent on him.

“Please,” you beg, your bottom lip juts out in a natural pout, in a way that Rafe can no longer deny you.

With a sigh, Rafe turns to his little sister who's watching the scene unfold with mild suspicion.

“Can you take your cat somewhere else?” Rafe asks, his tone gentler in comparison to the way he speaks to Sarah.

“We were here first,” Wheezie frowns.

You let out another squeal; the cat had managed to jump and swing its paw, nearly missing your toes. You squeeze your arms tighter around Rafe’s neck, to the point of choking him.

Rafe grits his teeth, subduing the instinctual panic, before glaring at his younger sister. “Wheezie,” he warns.

The youngest Cameron sighs, slipping off the cushioned couch, and approaches the pair before scooping the cat in her arms, subduing her pet with gentle pats and head rubs. It doesn’t, however, subdue its hisses, and now almost to your level, it meets your eyes with a hostile glare.

You shrink, hiding yourself behind Rafe’s broad shoulders.

“They say pets are the best judge in character,” Wheezie comments, her hands stroking her pet who’s in a stare-off with you. She bumps her elbow against Rafe’s arm, lowering her voice a few octaves. “She might have a secret.”

Once she's out of earshot, Rafe mutters. “Yeah, she’s half fuckin’ fish."

Now, with the threat of the demon gone, you should release and find the ground. But you remain, clambered around his body, skin meeting skin, arms around his neck, and chin brushing the broad of his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whisper gently, breathing leveling out, as he feels the gratitude submerge beneath his skin.

Rafe turns his head slightly, enough to meet your appreciative gaze. But he can’t help but notice the sparkle in your eyes; the way you look at him, as if he’s your protector, savior, and purpose all wrapped up in one.

His heart thumps a little louder.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. “You plannin’ on staying like this?”

Smiling demurely, you ask, “Can I?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but truthfully, he’ll do nearly anything you ask of him with that smile. With a motion of his arm, he grabs your waist and pulls you into a bridal carry. A lithe laugh escapes you at the swift change in position, but once secured in his arms, Rafe cast one last look at your carefree expression and resumes the walk back to his bedroom.

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[anantaru]

cw. reader is a virgin, big cock haithie yaay, fem! reader

"you need to tell me if it hurts," alhaitham lifts you towards him, his cock pressing between— and he says it so easily, taking all the fear off your mind as you twitch when you feel him repeatedly connecting with you.

"we don't f-fuck— have to, have to," he breathes and slides two more inches in, "you can just keep me warm like that, yeah?" as he kisses your neck, "that's good?" there's no hint of impatience, no hostility, only heats of flesh rubbing against flesh and his desire to make this feel good for his darling.

such a precious thing you were to him, you don't even realise how fucking mad you make him, don't you? compressing around him with wet, tight little squeezes of your cunt getting used to his length, forming around him, memorising his size, your mind getting used to this new feeling as your legs shake and twist around his muscular body.

it feels like tiny fireworks going off deep in your gut and conquering more of your veins, your limbs and bodily reactions the more he fucks into you— the more he makes love to you. for a moment, alhaitham strokes over your hip and kneads at your ass before settling on your stomach, pressing the heel of his palm down, rubbing your belly, going lower, rubbing your clit, pinching it, wanting to stimulate all of you, pull one finger through the little hood protecting your weeping pearl and grinding his digit into it as your pussy bucks up and sends shocks to your hole.

his erection was half way in and already had you weeping, begging for mercy but at the same time, more of his cock and his length bulging into your walls. "it'll be fine, j-just stay like this," the scribe filthily covers your mouth with his own, although more tongue as he kitty licks at your bottom lip,

"just keep me warm."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[xjulixred45x]

I could't contain myself guys sorry--

Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?

just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.

Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.

He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.

Like:

Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-

Darling: it was me sir.

Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?

He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.

and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.

Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.

I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.

Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.

Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.

Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)

If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?

(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)

When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.

When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst

[gay-dorito-dust]

Types of kisses that I’d -loosely- think these boys would suit…

Dick - playful, teasing kisses that made you feel light off your feet and your stomach feel as though it was harbouring a million restless butterflies. Kisses that made you feel giddy as a child in a candy store while also making you feel as though you could sprout wing and fly into the cotton clouds above. However the taunting rapid fire pecks often finished as soon as they start, causing for frustration to rise on the odd occasion, as you were forced to hold his face still between your hands as you gifted him with a proper kiss.

Meanwhile he smiles against your lips in victory knowing how easily you’ve taken the bait he shamelessly had laid out.

Jason - tender, slow, gentle kisses where time was no longer a thing. From the tender weaving of his lips, to the languid strokes of his tongue that had you forgetting about your bodily need for air as you indulged in the fantasy of your own making, up until your were abruptly pulled back into reality as your lungs were burning for rest and recovery. Then there’s also the tenderness in how you held onto each other so closely, almost as though you were afraid to loose each other within your accumulated love and affection for one another.

Time was no longer existent the moment your lips touched, and it didn’t exist when you were taking your sweet time rediscovering each others bodies with featherlight caresses, possessive grasping of the waist to pull the other in closer and firm squeezes of strong calloused hands.

Damian - kisses that were planted on the back of your hands in appreciation and made you feel respected, honoured and above all looked upon as though you were a priceless piece of artistry that was one of a kind; Blessed with being one of a kind, forever being replicated and imitated but never perfected and worshiped as a deity in your own right with devote followers kneeling at your shrine, your beloved being the most devote of them all. He would gladly forfeit his life for yours should the occasion arise but would never tell you.

Bruce - passionate kisses that only increases the more you were made aware of the fact that any day could be your last, a reality that was no more true when living in an extremely hostile city such as Gotham, and so you show your relief in seeing him come home with little less then a few scrapes and bruises is by pushing up his cowl and kissing him with everything you had. Every kiss pressed into each others lips acted like a wordless conversation between the two of you, confessions of happiness for the others return home and the fear that festered in your mind during his absence; to his attempts of reassuring your frantic mind into a state of calm and grounding you with his skilful touch.

John- rough, fast paced kisses that finishes with both of you walking away with bruised, puffy lips and severely out of breath. His kisses alone were another to set every never within your body aflame with a multitude of emotions such as desire, lust and restlessness; all of which would pile up on top of each other the longer this continued to the point where you were pushed to the brink of utter insanity. And of course the delicious prickling sensation of his stubble against you didn’t help make things any better, and the smug bastard knew this as he chuckled at how easily you feel apart in his arms, something he’ll tease you about later, but for now he’ll allow himself to indulge in the needy pull of your hands on the collar of his shirt.

[kasagia]

His mortal saviour

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x otkazat’sya!fem! reader Summary: You saved him. You took him from under the fold and healed him when he was in his most vulnerable state. He doesn't know you; he's hostile and distrustful of you, so he naturally runs away at the first possible opportunity. But somehow, he can't just walk away from you. Word Count: around 6k Anonymous requested this a looong time ago (in January). So sorry honey!!!! Hope you will enjoy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

He woke up feeling numb.

He had never felt so... paralysed in his entire life. It was as if the use of all his limbs had been taken away from him. And he didn't like that at all.

He expected him to be in the centre of the fold, with the volcra circling around him. However, as consciousness returned to him, he became more aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he felt was warmth. The warmth, which wasn't at all in the fold. He shuddered and remembered how the cold had penetrated his body even more the moment the volcra's claws had dug into his face.

Then he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back instead of the hardness of the sandy, packed soil. Further evidence proving that he was entirely somewhere else was the sound of soft footsteps and humming a few feet away from him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly and hissed, unaccustomed to the light after being unconscious for so long.

He freezes as he feels a hand on his eyes, keeping the sunlight from reaching them. Little. Soft. Alina... a thought comes to him, and he quickly laughs it off. His little sun summoner would probably rather blind him completely with her sun than protect him from more pain.

"Take it easy. You've been badly harmed." A soft female voice breaks the silence and pulls him from his thoughts about the woman who betrayed him and their kind.

He feels a strange rush of fear as he hears a female voice. Aleksander unwillingly recalls the memory of the time when he and his mother were captured by the Drüskelle. He felt like he did now. Helpless.

He was unable to move even a small distance on his own. The only difference was that no one was hanging over him with scalpels and other blades or hurling insults. But he suspected that could change very quickly...

He had to do something. He needed to get out of here somehow, but every slight movement of his muscles was accompanied by a huge wave of searing pain throughout his whole body. And for a brief moment, it occurred to him that maybe destroying the fold wasn't such a bad idea.

"Don't worry. I am not a psychopath, mad, serial killer, or anything. I'm a nurse. I saw you near the fold and took you to my house to heal you. It's a miracle you survived your encounter with the volcra. Usually, no one gets out of the fold. Certainly not on their own." The woman says, slowly removing her hand from his eyes.

He's too dazed by the light, busy taking in his surroundings and seeing her face for the first time, to notice that she's adjusting the bandages on his face and checking his wounds.

But he hisses, feeling the burning pain on his forehead as she rubs some thick, gooey liquid onto him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to. It's an ointment against infection. This should also numb you enough so that you don't feel any pain in your face. How's your back?"

He is too shocked to respond. As he takes a breath, he has a sudden coughing fit. She moves away from him. He hears her quick footsteps as she returns a moment later with a cup of water and a tissue. He spits something black out of his mouth, desperately trying to get some air. She strokes his back gently and leans him more forward, making him spit out all the black goo mixed with his saliva from his throat.

He frowns, staring at the tissue soaked in black liquid.

"Don't worry, it's absolutely normal. Every time they bring a survivor from the fold to the infirmary, something like this happens. The air is different there, and volcra tend to infect their victims. Let's just say it's some kind of poison that comes out of you. That's a good sign. As well as the fact that you woke up. Here." The woman says, taking the tissue from him and throwing it into a nearby trash can. He glances there, seeing that it is half full of black dressings and bandages. He looks back at her as she hands him a glass of water.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse from disuse (or screaming in the fold), not taking a sip from the cup you gave him. It could be poisoned or worse.

"I... I don't understand." You say, confused by his hostile attitude.

"What do you want from me?" He repeats it again, and the commanding, demanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. I'm just helping." You reply with a shrug, which annoys him even more. He laughs mockingly, making you frown.

"Selflessly? To a stranger? Don't make me look like a naive idiot. Tell me right now who you are, what you want, and where we are, and you won't get hurt."

"With all due respect, I doubt you'd be able to raise your hand right now, let alone hold a gun or sword, or hit me, even if you were a soldier of the First Army." He stares at you in surprise, realising that you have no idea who he is, and maybe you really just helped him.

Could a normal person dare to speak back to the Darkling with such courage and anger in her eyes? He didn't think so. But one name comes to his mind... even though he's too hurt to think about her.

"What?" You ask him as he stares at you for a little too long.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and stares warily at the offered water. "Not many people surprise me." He explains, still not believing in your good intentions. You couldn't be so altruistic as to help a strange man who got spat out by the fold. People weren't kind or helpful to the weak, at least never towards him. That's why he always had to be stronger than others. To never become prey again.

"I see that you don't trust many either. If I pour for myself and you water from one jug and drink it first, will you consider doing the same? You need to rehydrate." You say it calmly, completely unfazed by his distrust.

For some reason, this makes him more surly towards you. Maybe this whole act on your part was just to keep his guard down until someone came for him, for example, Shu, Drüskelle, or even Alina's group of heroes. He had to get away from here. As soon as he regained full control over his aching body.

“Try to deceive me, and I will make sure to wipe out your family lineage to the last living generation.” He growls hoarsely, trying to regain at least some semblance of control in this situation.

"It's good that I'm an orphan then." You say, pouring him and yourself a glass of water and showing him that both are empty.

Another orphan... he thinks as you reach both glasses so he can choose which one he wants.

"Who are you? Where are we?" He asks as he holds a glass in his hand.

You drink your water and set the glass on the nightstand near the bed. Aleksander decides to wait a while before taking a sip himself, to see if the water won't have a strange effect on you and if you haven't poisoned it after all. Although you could have practiced mithradism and been immune to whatever poison you wanted to give him. His head began to hurt more as he considered all the possibilities.

"Y/N Y/L/N. A nurse, as I mentioned earlier. We are in Eastern Ravka, on the border with the fold. More south of Tsemna and closer to the border with Shu Han. And you?"

He hesitates for a moment and doesn't know why, whether it's the headache or the fact that he doesn't want you to catch him in a lie, but he tells you his real name.

"Aleksander." He says, finally deciding to take a sip from his cup. He would always be able to use the cut if there was something wrong with the drink you gave him. You try your best not to smile at that.

"And what are you doing for life, if that's not a secret?" You ask jokingly, but he doesn't seem too eager to lighten his attitude.

He is still tense and looks around carefully, as if waiting for someone to attack him. Your heart hurts at the sight. Something must have happened in his past for him to be on guard all the time. And those scars from the fold... you suspect it wasn't just the volcra that were responsible for them.

"I... create things." He tells half the truth. After all, the fold, the volcra, and his shadows are some kind of... things he created.

"Are you a carpenter? Do you have your own workshop?"

Little Palace. He thinks, but he knows that after what happened in the fold, the tsar probably took this away from him as well.

He shudders to think about how he could have hurt his people. He had to get out of here. And fast. Before more, Grisha got hurt. Because if he knows something, he knows that Alina won't be able to protect them. He tried to walk the path of peace with Lantsov's dynasty, but it never ended well.

All he provided for Grisha—a safe place at the Little Palace, home, food, illusions of freedom thanks to the cessation of Grisha hunting, and much more—was bought with the blood of others. And if he had to be a monster to make sure his people wouldn't suffer like he did and many others have in the past, then so be it.

He would be the worst of them all.

"I have people who create for me and follow my orders and requests." He replies brusquely when you look at him carefully. You sigh, seeing that you won't be able to get through to him until he's sure you really don't have any bad intentions towards him.

"Okay… do you have any family I should write to? Or someone else?" You ask instead, apparently hitting another sore spot as his injured hand grips the cup so hard that the bandages you wrapped around it dig into his skin.

"No... there is no need for that." He says it coldly.

An image of his mother quickly comes to mind, as does the image of Alina, at which he shakes his head. The only two women with whom he allowed himself to be vulnerable and who could hurt him actually did. Without blinking an eye or a moment of hesitation. You probably were the same, and despite your quite tender care, he still wasn't sure if it was true or just an action.

Although if you were meant to capture him, you would at least tie him up so he couldn't summon his shadows. Maybe you really had no idea about his identity...

"I shall leave you to rest then. I have to go to my work." You say as you start to put on your coat.

"You will leave me alone?" He ask. He can't believe that you would really leave him—a strange man you didn't know at all—in your house all alone.

"Do you need a company?" You ask mockingly, using the exact same cold tone of voice he used before. Aleksander decides he liked you much more when you were soft towards him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll rob you and run away?"

"There are only herbs, medicines, and a few books here. I have nothing so valuable that I couldn't get it on the market if you decided to take it. You can look around if you want. Although I wouldn't advise you to get up, your wounds are still fresh and barely sealed, so they don't bleed."

"Are you insane?" He can't help but ask, as you really are going out. His words and utter shock make you giggle, which doesn't make his opinion of you any better.

"All the best people are. Try not to die. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages." You say this and smile amusedly as you close the door behind you.

Aleksander blinks, surprised, as he lays in your bed. He tries to understand what has happened here, but he still has a headache and needs to get out of here.

He didn't trust you at all.

So before anyone could come and get him from you, he stood up. His legs are shaky at the beginning, but as he walks around your (tiny) cottage, he regains the ability to walk… maybe not as well as he did, but enough to move.

He looks around, just as you suggested, but he didn't find any proff that would confirm his suspicion about your bad intentions towards him.. But it doesn't stop him from taking some pills and herbs before he leaves your house. He makes sure to take only a little—enough to get to the village or somewhere where he could find his people.

He decided that you were too kind to be robbed.

The healer who was trying to heal his wounds was surprised at how good their condition was. Virtually cured. However, black scars remained on him, marring his face. Just like the piece of amplifier in his hand.

But Aleksander didn't care at all. His scars were a good reminder that anyone can be made a fool of. And he didn't want to be fooled by the woman's beautiful eyes once again—even ones as beautiful as yours.

David offered to take it out for him, but he wasn't ready for it yet. The amplifier was his only connection to Alina, and he needed every means to locate her. At least, that's how he explained to himself his reluctance to remove the festering amplifier from his hand.

He did the same with you. He also told himself that the creation of a secret shelter for his Grishas in an abandoned manor in the forest a few miles from your little cabin was pure coincidence. Just like the way he had a habit of wandering around your neighbourhood and watching you from afar when he needed to think alone about his further plans.

The problem was that he couldn't plan anything. Nothing significant. Of course, he still freed his Grisha and kept them safe, but when it came to Ravka's fate... he was in a bind. He didn't know what to do.

And so one day, when he went for a walk away from Ivan, Fruzsi, and the rest who were bothering him, he 'accidentally' came across you.

It's happened quite often. At first, he sent Ivan to look at you; sometimes he followed you around himself, waiting in suspense to find out that you weren't an innocent nurse after all. That it was not by accident that you took him from under the fold and cured him. But he found nothing. You have no conspiracy against him, no cult that was killing Grisha, or even any connection to Alina's group. Nothing.

He didn't know what to think about that either. He would rather discover that you weren't so selfless and sensitive to others' harm. This way, you would save him some sleepless nights when he thought about you and the way you took care of him. No one has done this for a long time... or ever. To be honest, Aleksander didn't remember the last time that someone just... he looked after him out of pure kindness and concern FOR HIM.

Neither his mother nor Alina. One was too cold to even think about caring for the other, and the second was too afraid of him to even consider him as something more than just a monster craving power and the throne. He didn't think he'd had anyone since Luda who would simply take care of him out of the goodness of their hearts.

That's why he started to be fascinated and curious about you. A mere mortal. Otkazat’sya. You tended to avoid people despite your willingness to help (at which he was very surprised). In the village where you worked in the infirmary, everyone treated you warmly and kindly, just as you treated them. Even your worst patients. To which Aleksander would lose his tamper more than once.

Over time, he realised that what drew him to you was your warmth. He was starting to get jealous of the attention you gave others, even if you then went back to your cabin alone. He didn't know what caused this need to be near you. Maybe it was because he was tired of being alone in his icy darkness. Alina once was his sunlight. For a brief moment, he felt... normal. In peace. After everything went to hell. And then, he felt like this for a while under your tender touch.

He should have learned from his mistakes and forgotten about you, but... something wouldn't let him.

He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was just getting too old for all this.

"All alone in the forest? Do you know what monsters might be lurking here?" He asks, encountering you on one of his excursions to help him think. It was a pure impulse. He snuck up on you on the spur of the moment (or maybe because Alina tried to snatch the amplifier out of his hand a few hours ago and he needed someone to talk to as... just Aleksander. Not the Darkling.)

"For example?" You ask, turning to him and stopping picking herbs. You look pretty. Strands of hair fall into your eyes, and he almost reaches out to brush them off himself, but you do it before he can raise his hand.

He takes a look at you. Your coat is too thin for his taste. The snow had barely melted, and what you were wearing certainly didn't adequately protect you from the cold wind that was still blowing. He had to ask David to make you something similar to a kefta when he would be back.

"The Darkling." He says, feeling your burning, careful gaze on his face. You don't look at him with disgust or fear. No. He sees in your eyes a professional assessment of his health and a slight hint of curiosity... he wonders if maybe he's not the only one here who feels drawn to the other.

"I doubt he has enough free time to wander around the forest." He smiles at your words, amused that you have no idea that you are now talking with him.

He had never been happier that the news in these parts of Ravka... usually didn't reach here. People here identified more with Shu since they started mixing with each other a long time ago. Of course not Grisha. They could only count on themselves. Mostly...

"Oh, you'd be surprised what can happen, little saviour."

"Saviour?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. He sees the spark of amusement shining in your eyes, and he just can't help himself. He steps closer to you and reaches for the basket of herbs. He follows you as you select herbs and plants that you apparently find useful. Aleksander feels... normal and ordinary. And for a moment, he begins to understand why Alina would choose a simple life with her tracker rather than a privileged one as a Sun Summoner.

"I believe I owe a part of my life to you."

"Almost no one gets out of the fold. Thank the saints for your life, not me." You shrug off his feeble attempt at thanking you and turn to him. You study his face carefully, assessing the appearance of his scars. He feels himself starting to blush under your gaze.

"I don't believe in saints." He finally says, glad that he managed to drag your gaze away from his face as you look into his eyes this time, frowning in surprise.

"Why?"

"They were ordinary people. Most of them had no idea what they were doing. People hailed them as saints mainly because of rumours—stories whose confirmation could only be sought from the insane."

"So not only a carpenter, but also an expert in saints. You are a true mystery, Aleksander." You laugh at him and he smiles, thinking that you don't even know what an enigma he is.

"I'm just saying that most of them didn't do anything significant. Not for Grisha. And they were killed because they tried to show people that they shouldn't hunt us and that we are useful in some way. If anything, they tightened the chains of slavery on us."

"So you are a Grisha." He blushes slightly, embarrassed at how easily he let his secret be revealed. Yes. He was definitely too old for all this. "What kind of are you? Inferni? Durast?"

"Heartrender." He answers quickly and without thinking. "But it doesn't matter. Forgive me. I should go." He says, almost panicking as he turns away from you and rushes in the opposite direction. He wants to get away from you as quickly as possible before he unknowingly reveals his true identity to you.

"Wait a second. Aleksander!" However, you don't give up and chase after him, grabbing his hand—exactly the one that is rotting from the remains of the amplifier left in it. Aleksander hisses, wincing in pain. He pulls his hand out of your grip and tries to look anywhere but at you. "Your hand." You whisper hurriedly as you walk towards him. He takes a step back, trying as always to keep some distance from you when you made him feel... vulnerable.

"Not your concern." He growls at you, hoping you'll drop the idea of ​​examining his wound. Because how was he supposed to explain to you the stag bone stuck in his hand?

"Volcra poison can infect your blood. You should get it cured by your healers. And do it as quickly as possible; otherwise, it will lead you to a slow death; you will lose your senses; you will start hearing whispers, calls from the fold, and volcra."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't make me laugh; even the Darkling wouldn't be able to deal with that all alone. The Volcra may be the product of his ancestors, but this... this is a wild kind of little science. Unpredictable. I have seen hundreds who may have managed to get out of the crease but have gone mad because of their venom. These are not ordinary shadows. They are living creatures that attack just like any other animal. So please, if you don't trust me with this, go and show it to some talented healer, because you can't leave it like that."

"How do you know so much about this?" He asks curiously, putting his injured hand into the pocket of his kefta.

"Anyone who lives near the fold and is involved in healing knows this." You answer evasively, trying to avoid his further questions. This time you turn your back to him, pretending that you are interested in some plant.

"No, they not." He continues insistently, wanting at all costs to know the real reason you were here, why you had so much knowledge about the fold. He grabs your arm and turns you around so he can look at your face, as he is waiting for your answer.

"My sister was a healer. A Grisha." You blurt out in one breath and look away from him as painful memories come flooding back to you. Aleksander feels a pang in his heart when he sees the obvious pain in your eyes. A pain he himself had carried with him for centuries.

"Was?" He notes, swallowing.

"She is dead."

"The fold?" You nod at his question. He feels his throat dry, and he lets go of your arm as his hands tremble slightly. And Aleksander thinks that of all the lives that the fold has taken, your sister's life will be the one that will remain permanently in his memory. Especially that look filled with pain, bitterness, and grieving. "Then why did you stay here?"

"I moved here... to help to this who could somehow managed to get out of it." You reply as you calm down. Your tone of voice and posture may confuse Aleksander at first glance, but your eyes, your eyes tell him everything that you try to hide.

"It's... very nobel."

"Just please, don't leave it like that. You will certainly die if you will."

"You care about the stranger?" He asks in surprise, raising an eyebrow at you. You reach for your basket and take it from him before giving him your answer and looking him in the eyes again.

"I've already told you. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages if you die." You reply mischievously with a smile, and he chuckles. He can't help but reach up to your cheek and caress your cheek with his thumb as he gets lost in your eyes. No one had ever cared for him, so... simply. Without any major reasons. It was... extraordinary. You were extraordinary.

"It's... more complcated... but I shall listen to you." He assures you, noticing the way you nuzzle your cheek into his hand, not pulling away from him at all, not flinching at his sudden touch. His gaze involuntarily flits from your eyes to your mouth for a brief moment, and he imagines what it would be like to kiss you—to feel the softness of your lips against his. And Aleksander really wants to do it.

"I hope so... and that you won't get in trouble because of that grumpy old general of yours for being here." Alexander chuckles at your joke, amused by the absurdity of the situation. If you only knew...would you still let him stand so close to you? His mood suddenly worsens as he thinks about it. What would you do if you found out he was the Darkling? That he created the fold?

"Believe me, little savior, he can't do anything to me for coming to you." He replies and lowers his hand, breaking any contact with your soft, silky skin. Oh, how he wanted to know more of you—to touch more than your hands, cheeks, hair, or neck. But he couldn't. Not after so much disappointment, not after Alina, not after Luda. He should have known better.

So he freezes, completely shocked, when you grab his wrist and cup his cheek in your hand. Your basket of herbs is abandoned on the forest path as you brush your nose against his. Alexander holds his breath, waiting to see what you will do.

"May I?" You ask, whispering, trembling as you're unsure of his reaction to what you want to do.

All Aleksander can do is cross the last inches between you and capture your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Aleksander wraps his arms around you tightly and takes two steps back, pressing you against the tree. You moan into his mouth as his beard tickles you into the kiss, which he uses to his advantage and slides his tongue into your mouth.

Aleksander allows himself to lose himself in the feeling of you, your taste, your smell, and the way your body feels under his wandering hands. And if he had previously suspected that he might be obsessed with you, now he has proved to himself how deep you have gotten under his skin. He was a fool for allowing you to have such power over him. But how sweet it was to be a fool, with your lips and hands pressed against him.

And the next day, when he comes to visit you, his hand is completely healed, without any amplifier. And his mind is completely free of Alina Starkov.

"That's nice." You whisper in the crook of his neck as you lie cuddled in the meadow under the full moon.

“Mhm…” Aleksander mumbles, burying his nose in your hair. He hugs you tighter, as if afraid that you might escape from his arms at any moment. "Although I'm beginning to wonder if you've brought me here to perform some witchy tricks. Maybe some sacrifice?"

"Your ass is too beautiful to sacrifice it." You reply teasingly, biting his neck. He gasps and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He leans down, moving your head away from his neck by pulling your hair so he can steal a kiss from your lips.

"Is it?" He whispers against your lips as he pulls away to let you catch your breath.

"Apparently." You reply, reaching up to caress the scars on his face with your fingertip. Aleksander closes his eyes and sighs, surrendering to your gentle touch. "I like your face too. The way you frown when you're irritated by something. The way you twist your ridiculously tempting lips into a smirk when you're right, even though it irritates me sometimes. The way your eyes sparkle when you talk about how you help Grisha. The way you look at me, as if I were your whole world. The way you wrap your hands around me or take my hand in yours to make sure I'm close to you, that I'm under your protection, and that I'm not going anywhere. The way you are grumpy when you are sleepy and how you don't want to admit that you are tired. I... I think I fell in love with you, Aleksander."

Aleksander smiles, caressing your cheek tenderly. He leans down and captures your lips in a tender kiss, trying to shake away the guilt that has been haunting him for several months now.

Ever since your relationship... became more serious, Aleksander has been trying to find the perfect way to tell you about his true identity. But every time he thought the moment was good, he lost his courage. He didn't even want to think about what your reaction might be to him being the Darkling who created the fold. He was absolutely convinced that you would hate him as soon as the truth came to light and that you would blame him for your sister's death. And honestly? Aleksander would not even try to defend himself. He knew damn well that he didn't deserve your affection and love. However, he couldn't help but come back to you, basking in the feeling that he had been denied for a very long time.

You end the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Aleksander shivers as he feels you exhale warm air onto his cold skin. He tightens his grip on you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you too, milaya." He mumbles, running a hand through your hair. He plays with the strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

He feels unexpectedly pleasant around you. Homely. Ordinary. These were feelings that Aleksander had rarely, if ever, experienced over the course of hundreds of years. He found himself longing for moments where he could slip away to your little cottage and sink into the warmth of your arms, listen to your gentle heartbeat, and bask in your scent. This was a huge hindrance to his plans to get another amplifier and guarantee a better future for his Grisha.

"They say they've seen a Darkling in these parts. That he's gathering an army to start a civil war." Aleksander frowns, feeling his heart speed up slightly in panic.

"That's what they say?"

"Yhm... What do you think about it? Will you join him? Or will you try to escape and join Sankta Alina?" He unconsciously tightens his grip on you as you ask him this question and mention Alina. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to calm himself down before answering your question.

"I will stay. I think he wants a better future for us than Alina plans to guarantee."

"Maybe for Grisha. But still, I don't like wars."

"Me too, lapushka. But sometimes there is no other solution to change something than to start a war and take the power." He admits with a sigh and traces patterns on your arm, calming down as he feels the softness of your skin under the pads of his hard fingers.

Aleksander suddenly becomes more alert, subconsciously sensing the approaching threat. He doesn't want to outgrow you, thinking that maybe it's his paranoia kicking in, so he sits down, still holding you in his arms, as he looks around at his surroundings. He holds his breath as he sees movement in the bushes across from you.

Before he can do anything, a group of Shu surrounds you. One of them has a shotgun aimed at you. Aleksander acts instinctively. He wraps one arm around you, summoning his shadows. Before anyone can hurt you, he uses a cut and sends his shadows to remove the threat. The metallic smell of blood fills the clearing. Aleksander breathes quickly, his veins pumping with adrenaline as he looks around carefully. He feels blood seeping from where the bullet hit him, piercing his plain coat. He hisses, turning his attention to you. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees no signs of hurt on you, but freezes in fear as soon as he sees your terrified look.

"Y/N... I can explain."

"You are hurt. Let's go back to my cottage, I'll stitch you up." You interrupt him, examining his wound.

You take his hand and lead him through the forest towards your house. Aleksander stares at the back of your head in shock, tightening his grip on your hand, wanting to make sure you don't suddenly run away from him and that you don't decide to abandon him in the middle of the forest to save yourself from him.

You open the door and wordlessly point to the bed. He takes your hint and sits down, taking off his coat and shirt. Involuntarily, he remembers the first time he came here and woke up in your bed. He swallows hard, hoping this won't be the last time you treat his wounds. Or when you're close to him.

"This may sting." You tell him, sitting down next to him. You squirt a cotton ball with antiseptic into his wound. He hissed, biting his lip, completely unprepared for this as he was still lost in his thoughts.

"Y/N… I… I wanted to tell you. I swear. I just… I didn't want to ruin… you know what I mean, right?" He asks, staring intently at you. You make no move to look him in the eyes, pretending to devote all your attention to his wound. Aleksander cups both of your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look at him as he gives you a pleading look. "Please. Say something. Anything."

"I… I didn't expect this. Because why would the Darkling be hurt by something he created and why would he return to my cottage?"

"Because you fascinated me. Deeply. You... you were the first person to see me as something other than a Darkling. Alexander. The real me, not the version of myself I had to create for my Grishas. I... besides, I didn't hide my thought from you. You... you were one of the truly few people I let under my mask who could see my heart. And I swear I was going to tell you, I... I was just afraid that I would lose you the moment you found out who I really was. What can I do."

"Oh, Aleksander. You stupid man. Am I running away screaming? Am I calling you a monster? Am I treating you differently?" You ask, placing your hand on his bearded cheek and using your thumb to stroke it tenderly, making sure you give his scars the tender care they deserve.

"No." He responds, carefully analyzing and comparing your behavior before today's fatal accident.

"Because I don't see you any other way. Yes, at first I was shocked and a little scared, but that was because I didn't expect it at all. You… volcra it's not your fault. Even if you created it. You didn't know what would happen." Aleksander feels a lump in his throat.

How can he tell you that he planned to make it bigger? That before he met you he would have done it without blinking an eye, but now he has such serious doubts that he is actually considering deviating from his original plan for you?

"I'm not as good a person as you think."

"Then show me." You answer casually, as if it were that simple. You finish patching up his wound and press a kiss on it.

Aleksander smiles at you tenderly and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His heart is racing as he realises that he hasn't actually lost you, that you're still here and want to be here, judging by the way you moan into his mouth.

He holds you tightly and lays down on your bed with you straddling him as you place small kisses along his neck and across the width of his muscled chest. He smiles, realising how far he's come with you. He never would have guessed when he woke up in this bed that he would let you get this close to him. But with each little kiss you gave, the gentle, tender way your hands moved over his body, and the way you caressed each of his wounds and scars, Aleksander thanked the saints for putting you in his path. And unknowingly to him, you truly were his little saviour, saving him from a much worse fate than he could ever imagine.

[newobsessionweekly]

A heartbeat away

Crossover 911 x The Rookie

Evan “Buck” Buckley x paramedic!Bradford!reader Tim Bradford x paramedic!sister!reader

Fandom: 911, The Rookie Summary: The tense relationship between your brother, Tim, and your boyfriend, Buck, comes to a head when a catastrophic car accident leaves you critically injured. Forced to confront their differences and work together to save you, both men come to terms with their shared fears and love for you. Angst Warnings: ANGST, Descriptions of injuries, blood, trauma, strong language, emotional conflict, intense arguments, vehicle accident, and hospital scenes, fluff at the end cuz my heart was breaking for my babies, not proofread yet?

Requested: No

Words: 3k

You finish restocking the medication kit, methodically checking each item against the inventory list. The firehouse is alive with its usual buzz, the sounds of laughter and banter mixing with the occasional clang of metal or hum of machinery. You adjust the last of the syringes in their slot and close the kit with a satisfying snap. This place, with its organized chaos, has become your second home.

Just as you’re about to put the kit back in its place, you glance up and see Tim and Lucy entering the fire station. Tim’s tall frame is rigid, his posture tense, while Lucy walks beside him, her hand intertwined with his in a gentle but firm grip. Her presence is calming, a subtle yet powerful reminder of why he’s here. Lucy’s eyes scan the firehouse with curiosity, taking in the new environment with an open mind. Without a second thought, you drop what you’re doing and rush over to them.

“Hey!” you call out, your voice filled with excitement and relief.

Tim’s stern expression softens slightly when he sees you, and Lucy’s face lights up with a warm smile. You reach them and wrap your arms around both of them in a tight hug, feeling the tension in Tim’s body as he slowly relaxes into your embrace.

“Thank you for coming,” you whisper, before you pull back, looking into Tim’s eyes, then turn to give Lucy a quick, grateful squeeze.

Tim grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “You owe me for this,” he mutters, his tone a mix of reluctance and protectiveness.

Buck strides over behind one of the firetrucks and his face lighting up when he sees you standing next to your brother. His blue eyes twinkle with warmth, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close for a quick kiss on the cheek. His touch is comforting, grounding you amidst the tension.

“Hey, Tim. Good to see you,” he says, extending a hand towards your brother.

Tim nods curtly, his posture stiffening even more. “Buckley,” he acknowledges, ignoring Buck’s outstretched hand.

You lean in and whisper, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Give him a chance, please. Buck’s really changed,” you plead, your eyes searching his for any sign of softening.

Tim’s jaw tightens, his gaze remaining hard. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters.

You motion to the table where lunch is set up, inviting the officers to join you. As everyone sits down, Bobby walks over, wiping his hands on a towel. His authoritative presence is softened by a friendly smile spreading across his face.

“Sergeant Bradford. Good to see you here. How’s the force treating you?” Bobby asks, extending his hand to your brother.

Tim shakes it, his grip firm and unyielding. “Busy, as always. How’s it going here?” he replies, his tone polite but distant.

“Same old, same old. Always something to keep us on our toes,” Bobby replies with a chuckle, glancing around at his team bustling about.

“See? We're all just doing our best out here,” you add, hoping to bridge the gap. You reach for Buck’s hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezes back, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

Tim softens a bit, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. Still don’t trust Buck though,” he says, his voice gruff but slightly less hostile.

The firefighter, taking mock offense, raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m right here!” he exclaims, a playful grin on his face.

You laugh and playfully nudge your brother's shoulder. “Tim, give him a break. He's not so bad,” you say, leaning your head against Buck’s shoulder for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Tim looks at you seriously, his eyes softening as he meets your gaze. “I'm here because I love you, and I want you to be happy,” he says, his voice sincere.

“And Buck makes me happy. Can't you at least try to see that?” you plead.

The Sergeant sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I'll try. But it's going to take more than a lunch break to convince me,” he admits, his tone grudging but slightly more open.

Buck, with a sincere expression, leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting Tim’s. “Fair enough. Just know that I'm not the same guy who stole that firetruck."

Lucy, nodding in agreement, adds, “Yeah, Buck's grown up a lot. We all have.”

Your brother smirks, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “We'll see. Just don’t give me any reason to pull out the cuffs,” he says, a slight teasing edge to his voice.

Buck grins, reaching across the table to shake Tim’s hand. “Deal. I'll be on my best behavior,” he promises, his grip firm and sincere.

You smile gratefully at your, squeezing his hand over the table. “Thanks, Tim. It means a lot to me."

Tim’s expression softens as he looks at you, his eyes filled with brotherly concern. “Yeah, well, anything for you. Just don’t make me regret it."

As you stepped out of the ambulance onto the freeway, the first thing that hit you wasn't the rain, but the sheer chaos unfolding before you. Cars were strewn across the asphalt like toys in a child's playroom, their twisted metal frames bearing witness to the violent collision that had brought them to this sorry state.

The rain pelted down relentlessly, transforming the freeway into a shimmering river of asphalt and water. Puddles had formed in the potholes, turning them into miniature lakes that reflected the flashing lights of emergency vehicles like twisted mirrors.

And there, in the center of it all, was Tim, a lone figure amidst the chaos. His uniform was soaked through, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead as he barked orders at his officers, directing traffic with the precision of a seasoned officer.

But despite the controlled chaos Tim was orchestrating, there was an air of urgency that hung heavy in the air. It was as if the storm itself was a living, breathing entity, threatening to swallow everything whole if you didn't act fast.

Buck, your fearless firefighter, was already in the thick of it, his focus unwavering as he followed Bobby's orders in extracting victims from the mangled wreckage. You followed his lead, weaving through the sea of twisted metal and flashing lights with the ease of someone who had seen it all before.

But just as you thought you had the situation under control, your eyes fell upon a lone blue sedan at the far end of the pileup. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious and vulnerable. Without hesitation, you rushed towards the car, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat of impending doom.

"I'm gonna check that car!" you shouted over the din of the storm, your voice barely audible above the roar of the rain.

"Be careful, okay?" Buck's words were a whispered plea, lost in the chaos of the moment.

With a nod of determination, you wrenched open the door and slid inside, the rain-soaked interior a surreal sanctuary amidst the wreckage outside. The driver lay motionless, a ghost in the machine, and you wasted no time in assessing his condition.

Just as you began to work your magic, the sound of screeching tires and blaring horns shattered the relative calm. Before you could react, another car, blinded by the rain, crashed into the sedan with terrifying force.

The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, followed by a deafening explosion that seemed to swallow everything in its path. Pain exploded through your body as you were thrown forward, your head colliding with something hard and unforgiving.

Darkness enveloped you quickly, swallowing you whole as consciousness slipped away.

In that moment, as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you couldn't help but wonder if this was how it all ended. Alone, in the pouring rain, surrounded by chaos and uncertainty.

Buck and Tim both turned at the explosion, horror etched on their faces. The sight of the blue sedan engulfed in flames, with you inside, was a nightmare come to life. Buck’s heart seized, a cold dread gripping him.

“Y/N!” Tim’s voice was raw, a mix of fear and rage, as he started to sprint towards the blazing car.

Buck grabbed his arm, yanking him back with a force fueled by desperation.

“Bradford, stay where you are and do your job. I’ve got her.”

Tim’s eyes were wild, burning with fury. “The hell I’m gonna stay behind. That’s my sister!”

“And she’s my everything! I won't lose her because of you!” Buck’s voice cracked, matching Tim’s intensity as he locked eyes with him. “If you want to help, you need to trust me and listen to me! This is my job and I know how to do it!”

Tim hesitated, torn between his instincts and his training. His heart pounded in his chest, the image of you trapped in the car searing into his mind. With a reluctant nod, he followed Buck, and they moved as one, sprinting toward the flames.

The heat was almost unbearable, a suffocating blanket that seared their skin, but they didn’t hesitate. Buck grabbed a crowbar, his muscles straining as he pried at the door. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl of fear and determination. He couldn’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Tim smashed the remaining glass with his bare fists, ignoring the shards that tore into his skin. His mind was a turbulent sea of rage and helplessness. This couldn’t be happening. Not to you.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” Buck muttered, his voice a desperate prayer as he wrenched the door open.

Tim reached in, his hands trembling slightly as he carefully but swiftly pulled you from the wreckage. “She’s breathing.”

“We need to move her, now!” Buck’s tone was urgent, his eyes scanning the flames that threatened to consume the car.

Together, they carried you away from the burning wreck, laying you on a stretcher that Hen had ready. Your breathing was shallow, your skin pallid against the backdrop of rain and fire. Hen immediately went to work, her hands steady despite the chaos.

“I've lost her pulse.” Hen said urgently. “We need to get her to the hospital now. There might be an internal bleeding and something more serious than a concussion.”

As the other paramedics loaded you into the ambulance and Hen began performing CPR, the adrenaline and fear between Buck and Tim transformed into anger.

“This is your fault!” Tim shouted, his face inches from Buck’s, rain mixing with tears of frustration and fear.

“My fault? You’re the one who—”

“I told you to watch her!”

“And I did! Until you—”

“Hey, hey! Stop it!” Lucy’s voice cut through their argument as she and Eddie rushed over. She grabbed Tim’s arm, her grip firm, while Eddie stepped between your boyfriend and your brother, a calm but authoritative presence.

“Calm down,” Lucy ordered, her tone brooking no argument. “This isn’t helping.”

“She’s my sister! I can't just stand by!” Tim’s voice cracked, his usual composed expression shattered.

“And she’s also one of ours,” Eddie interjected, his voice steady and firm. “This isn’t going to help her right now. She needs you.

But their attempts to calm the two men seemed futile. They continued to argue, the stress and fear bubbling over until Bobby intervened.

“Enough!” Bobby’s voice cut through the chaos. “Both of you, to the hospital. Now. You can fight all you want later, but right now, she needs you both to be there for her.”

The weight of his words sank in, and finally, the two men nodded, albeit reluctantly. As the ambulance sped away with you inside, Buck and Tim followed closely, their hearts heavy but united in their concern for you.

The hospital waiting room was a stark contrast to the chaos of the freeway, yet it felt equally suffocating. Sterile white walls seemed to close in on Buck and Tim as they sat in opposite corners, their bodies tense with worry and guilt. Neither dared to meet the other's gaze as if the mere sight of one another would ignite another fiery argument.

Tim's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear for his sister's life, anger at Buck for not protecting her, guilt for not doing more to protect you, his little sister, from harm. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to contain the storm raging within him.

Buck's heart felt heavy in his chest, his eyes were red-rimmed from tears he refused to shed. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at him, the overwhelming sense of failure. He was supposed to protect you, to keep you safe, and he had failed miserably.

He replayed the events of the accident over and over in his mind, each moment etched with painful clarity. He should have been faster, stronger, better. But now all he could do was wait, his hands trembling with the desperate need for redemption.

Hours crawled by like an eternity, each passing minute stretching into infinity as they waited for news about your condition. They both knew the longer they waited, the slimmer the chances of a positive outcome became. But still, they clung to hope like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

Finally, your doctor entered the waiting room, and both men shot to their feet, their hearts pounding in their chests. The doctor's expression was grave as she scanned the room, her eyes finally settling on Tim and Buck.

"Are you family?" she asked.

Both men nodded eagerly, a flicker of hope igniting in their hearts.

"How is she?" Tim's voice cracked with emotion, his hands trembling with anticipation.

The doctor hesitated, her eyes flickering with sympathy. "She's stable, but her condition is still critical," she began, her words hanging heavy in the air. "We're not sure when she'll wake up, or what the extent of her injuries might be."

The words hit Buck and Tim like a punch to the gut, leaving them reeling with a fresh wave of despair. They exchanged a wordless glance, their eyes filled with a shared anguish that transcended their grudges.

"We've moved her to a private room," the doctor continued, her voice softening with empathy. "You can visit her, one at a time."

Buck and Tim nodded numbly, their minds a blur of conflicting emotions.

"I'll go first. I'm her brother," Tim insisted, his voice a low growl.

"And I'm her boyfriend. I have every right to be with her too," Buck shot back, his eyes blazing.

"Look, I'm not—"

Their voices started to rise, tension thickening the air once more. Before things could escalate further, Lucy stepped in, her tone authoritative. "Enough. Stop it, both of you."

She turned her attention back to the doctor, silently apologizing for their behavior "I think it would be best if they both went in together. For everyone's sake."

The doctor sighed, clearly exhausted from dealing with more than just medical emergencies today. "Fine. But if you disturb the other patients or cause any more scenes, I will kick you both out. Understand?"

They both nodded, subdued for now, and followed the doctor to your room. Inside, the sight of you lying so still in the hospital bed was like a punch to the gut. Tubes and wires connected to machines that beeped rhythmically, a stark reminder of your fragile state. Tim and Buck rushed to opposite sides of the bed, each grabbing one of your hands.

Buck leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Tim held your hand gently, his tough exterior cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. "You better wake up, sis," he murmured, his voice a choked whisper. "I need you to be okay."

Both men took seats next to your bed, their eyes never leaving your face. Tim's usual grumpiness returned, masking the deep fear and guilt that gnawed at him. Buck wiped at his tears, trying to stay strong for you.

After a moment of heavy silence, Tim spoke, his voice gruff but sincere. "Look, Buckley... I'm sorry for what I said. For the fight. For everything else I said since you started... dating. I am scared for her every shift and I took it out on you."

Buck nodded, tears still glistening in his eyes. "I'm sorry too. Look... I know I'm not a saint, I've done a lot of things that I regret. But I've changed, she changed me. I want and I will be a better man for Y/N."

Tim sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know, I saw that. I was just... terrified. I’ve seen a lot, but nothing scared me more than seeing her like this."

"She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her because of me."

Tim's expression softened, a rare look of vulnerability crossing his features. "She’s always been the strong one, you know? Always looking out for me. She was 9 when I left home and she was always looking out for me, even if she didn't understand what war was. Ever since I joined LAPD, she thought I was this superhero and even then Y/N was taking care of me like she was the one 15 years older. And now... I couldn't take care of her."

"And now we look out for her," Buck corrected Tim, his voice steady with conviction.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The room was filled with a shared sense of purpose, the bitterness between them dissolving in the face of their mutual love for you.

"Let's make a deal," your brother said quietly. "No more fighting. We focus on Y/N and getting her through this."

Buck nodded, a faint smile breaking through the sadness. "Deal. For her."

[thestupidhelmet]

gaslighting

1 : psychological manipulation of a person usually over an extended period of time that causes the victim to question the validity of their own thoughts, perception of reality, or memories and typically leads to confusion, loss of confidence and self-esteem, uncertainty of one's emotional or mental stability, and a dependency on the perpetrator.

compassion

: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it

Both definitions from Merriam-Webster.com

---

Unfortunately, we can control only what we say or do, not how another person interprets our words and actions. It will be the same with this post, which I'm very sorry I have to make.

For the first time in my fourteen years in the T7S fandom, someone blocked me. I understand why. No one should feel unsafe in a fandom space. Despite my best efforts at reconciliation, including patience, compassion, and asking how I could better support this person, I received back personal attacks and accusations. Even then, I responded only with support and compassion.

Yeah, I have the conversation still in my messages. I've read it over many times to see where I might have misstepped. But what's there is my openness to the other person's grievances, my willingness to learn and grow from my mistakes, my apologies for the inciting incident that angered the person.

The responses I received were ever-growing anger and personal attacks. Nothing I could say could allay what the person felt. Reconciliation takes both parties working toward it.

My mistake, I realize, is the inciting incident. The person made a public post about a ship. I might have misread which ship it was. I replied, not a reblog, about how I wish the ship (Leia/Gwen) were romantically canon in T9S, but like Fez/Kelso on T7S, they have a canonically intimate but platonic relationship. That's the totality of what I wrote.

Then the private messaging began, by me, because I saw the person's unhappiness with my reply. I had wanted, in that same post, to write a reconciliatory response. I was blocked from doing so.

I know from previous private conversations with this person that they don't want anyone with differing opinions commenting on their posts. I've only ever offered this person advice when asked, an ear to listen, and obliged when requested to send them public asks about characters and ships. I should have refrained from commenting on their public post. That was my mistake. I'd hoped to have a fun fandom conversation.

Those of you here who know me, know me. This post isn't written for you but to address the public accusations the other person made about me. I'm a very private person, and I prefer to keep private interactions private. Our fandom has had enough drama the last few months, and I'm sad that the decayed dynamic between the other person and me has added to it.

I operate from a place of compassion. I'm also human and make mistakes in judgement. As I said to the other person privately, I'll say it publicly (as I believe this post will be read by that person through whatever means): I'm sincerely sorry that my comment on your public post angered you.

I try my best never to hurt anyone, especially not intentionally. I hate causing other people pain, and I hope that blocking me will help you feel safer and better. Sadly, my attempts to do so myself failed spectacularly and only upset you further. 😕

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ YOUR PERFECT KISSES, HOLD ME SOFTLY — early morning cuddles with your boyfriends!

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish

warnings. sfw, fem!reader, polyamory, kissing, non-sexual touching, soapghost, pre-established relationship

The morning sun filters in through the pale curtains of the window, brushing the three of you in strokes of soft oranges and yellows.

Ghost's arm is heavy around your waist, his chest pressed tightly to your back where you lay. He acts like a heated, comfortable anchor for your usually restless sleeps.

The smell of warm vanilla and musk is a familiar and safe one, Soap's head resting where your neck meets your shoulder. His leg is hooked over your hip, over Ghost's, too. He was always a koala when he slept, needing your touch, desperate for the feel of your bodies draped over his own.

"Go back to sleep," Ghost's gravelly voice murmurs next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His normal voice was a punch to the gut, but the tone, the depth of it when he had just woken up?

It makes your heart skip a beat, your breath come out just the slightest bit harsher.

You turn, just slightly, gently opening one of your eyes to look at Ghost. His deep brown eyes are half-closed with sleep, just the slightest bit glassy.

"Morning," you whisper, brushing your lips against the morning scruff of his chin, then moving up to plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His arm tightens around your torso, pulling you just the slightest bit closer, like a possessive cat with its milk. "Mornin' Princess," he responds with the slightest quirk to his lips.

Soap murmurs in his sleep, eyebrows scrunching the lightest bit as he presses closer into you, head burrowing even further into your neck.

When your gaze drifts back to Ghost, you find his adoring gaze focused on the man in your arms, before it returns to you. The emotion in them doesn't change. Not in the slightest.

"Pretty," he says, like it's an admonishment. The word settles in your mind, the way he says it, the weight of the syllables on his tongue, all kept as a memory to look back on in years to come. "My pretty girl."

You nod, gently, as not to stir Soap still asleep in your arms. "Yours, Simon. All yours."

He presses the kindest of kisses to your forehead, so delicate in comparison to the harm you know that the man can cause. The deaths on his hands, the thrill of it in his bones.

And yet.

Here, Ghost is, cradling his lovers like they're the most precious of cargos. Ghost. Legend of the military. The man with the mask that sparks recognition and fear in the soldiers unlucky enough to cross his path.

The Ghost.

And he was yours. Just as much as he was Soap's -- Johnny's --but yours, nonetheless.

"Thinkin' so loud," that memorable scottish lilt huffs, but there's no hostility in the words. With a soft bite at your neck, Soap leans back with a soft groan, looking at the both of you. "Good fuckin' mornin' to me, aye?"

You huff out a breath of a laugh, and Soap's mouth twists into an easy smirk, movements lethargic and slow.

Grabbing your chin with large, roughened hands, he tilts your face to slot against his own, deepening the kiss almost immediately. His tongue slides against your own, lazy in its strokes.

"Gross," Ghost mutters, with a half-assed roll of his eyes. "Mornin' breath. Brush your teeth."

You giggle against Soap's lips, and when you pull away, he bites at your bottom lip and plants a couple quick presses against your mouth before pulling away. His smirk only deepens, the light in his blue eyes dancing with half-awake joy.

"Jealous, Lt?" Soap taunts, without the usual teasing bite. You supposed that even he had to awake before the real energy began.

"Told you to stop callin' me that after hours," Ghost grumbles with a furrow of his brows. "'Nd no, 'm not. Just mindful of my hygiene."

You hum, melting between the two large men, fully ready for them to converse while you didn't have to think for a single moment. Ready to just live in the space between the two who held your deepest adorations.

The dream is short lived, however.

"C'mon, gorgeous," Soap goads, "Let's make sure we're all perfect for our boy."

[lilacxquartz]

out of time; oc!incubus x human f!reader

plot: while laying in bed, midnight is reminded of a horrible truth — a/n: revisiting my oc with this challenge a bit, i feel like angst is a good way to explore a character, this story isn’t yandere but he’s a yandere character so the tags are such — cw: death anxiety, dread, psychological angst, hurt/no comfort — w.c: 1.8k

for june of doom, day 6: (alternative theme) immortality/hopelessness • masterlist • series link • read on ao3

Nights spent with Midnight were often peaceful and so serene. It had been close to a year since you first met him, and you had long come to appreciate the company he offered. He was so warm and comforting, which struck you as a little funny considering he was a demon.

Your eyes were all glazed and blissed out following yet another pleasurable evening, and your entire body was comfortably nestled over his. His hand moved up and down in soothing, languid strokes—but then he suddenly stilled—as if he turned into stone. Within just a second, the atmosphere had gone from peaceful to hostile. Midnight jolted upright, sitting up in bed, causing you to land on your side.

All you could do was blink in confusion as you propped yourself up to rest on your elbow. “What’s up?” you softly asked, your voice low and tired.

Midnight couldn’t bring himself to face you right away. His eyes were both fixed and somehow unfocused at the same time. His fingers twitched involuntarily as they curled in and out against his thighs—his breathing ragged—a cold sheen of sweat breaking out over his entire body.

When he next spoke, his voice lacked its usual warmth. “You’re going to die.”

You blinked again. “W-what?”

Midnight turned to face you, and for a moment, his eyes softened, but then another wave of terror passed through him.

“You’re going to die one day,” he whispered that time.

You paused for a moment and gave him a slight nod, unsure how to respond. “Yes…” you acknowledged in a careful tone, trying to choose the right words, “everyone does… eventually.”

However, all he could do was shake his head. “No, no, no. You don’t understand. I won't die.”

A strangely oppressive air settled into the room from the second those words left his lips, making your already small bedroom feel more suffocating than it already was. Midnight’s eyes were wild and wide as he continued to speak, a layer of fear masking his voice, “And you—you are my bonded mate; fate itself has led me to you, and in the end, it’s still only a temporary joining. You’re going to leave me one day.”

You sat up straighter that time, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Midnight, I didn’t know…” you murmured as your mind at the same time raced to find the right words to calm him down. “You could move on after enough time has passed, surely? You don’t have to be all alone.”

Midnight simply blinked, staring at you as if you had gone mad. That definitely was the wrong thing to say. Oops. When he finally replied to you, he simply sounded hurt. “I don’t want someone else. I want you, forever and always. You’re the only one for me and there cannot—there will never be anyone else—nobody who can compare to you.”

A soft and tired breath escaped through your lips. You truly felt horrible for him, especially since you could hardly imagine the pain of having to let someone like that go. In an attempt to comfort him, you reached out with a soothing hand to meet with his shoulder, but all she did was flinch, as if your touch alone was scalding.

“No, no, no—” he began to chant, jumping to his feet and stumbling forward, crashing right into the wall. “This isn’t fair. Please. You understand what I mean, don’t you? I love you so much.”

Your hand was left hovering in the air for a moment as you were unsure how to properly respond. Had he been human—like you—then you could offer a mutual sort of reassurance, promising to cross that bridge together when it was closer to the end, but you couldn’t. You didn’t like the prospect of death either, but it made no sense to you to let it take over your life.

“Did you hear me?” he pleaded. “I said I love you.”

“...And I love you too,” you were quick to reply, “i-it’s just… I’m not too sure what I can say to make you feel better. I can’t lie and promise you that it won't happen, but at the same time, I don’t want you to hurt yourself over this.”

“I just love you so much,” he said again, turning to paw at the wall. His claws ate away at the quickly chipping paint, the flakes clinging to his fingers. “I would much rather be human so that I wouldn’t have to bear this for long…”

In an attempt to console him once more, you slipped out of bed, letting the blanket fall to the floor as you tried your best to calm him down. “Midnight, please. You’re scaring me. Please come back to bed.”

He did try to calm down for your sake, but the fear he was experiencing right at that very moment was unlike anything he had ever felt. His fingers twitched and spasmed as he was unable to keep still—haunted by the idea that you would one day become just a memory. Would he forget you in time? Would the way you look at him one day become a blur—a ghost of someone he once knew? He didn’t want to find that out.

Just as you were about to try again, he whipped around to look at you once more in a way that was so sudden that it made you flinch.

“How long do humans live for?” he asked you.

A hard lump passed through your throat as you gulped, quickly trying to think of an answer that didn’t set him off even more. “I-I’m not entirely sure,” you replied, “I mean, it depends on genetics and lifestyle factors, but I would say the standard would be between eighty and ninety years?”

Midnight went quiet. His breathing fell silent, and he turned rigid again. His voice came out as a whisper soon after, hardly able to hold the weight of what you had just told him. “That’s… that’s mere decades,” he said before erupting into a shout that was so loud that it made you jump, “you’re telling me that humans live for so little? That’s nothing! That’s the blink of an eye! That’s a heartbeat—one that you won’t even have given enough time.”

“I-I know that it sounds like a short time,” you said, trying to keep calm even as the subject was starting to eat away at you, “but it doesn’t feel that way for me. Life just feels… long. It’s so easy to forget about the inevitable and ignor—”

He didn’t let you finish, but he did catch onto a detail that seemed to calm him down a little. “You… you can just ignore it?”

“Well, yes…” you nodded that time, trying to offer a weak smile, “because if you don’t, then you’ll end up driving yourself insane.”

Midnight looked at you for a very long time before turning away again. He tried to calm himself down with a deep breath and then sighed. His hands branched over to meet your face, cupping your cheeks in both of his hands. Like before, he felt warm and comforting, despite his untamed fear that only seemed to escalate. “You’re right,” he muttered, “I can’t obsess over this, because if I do, then I’ll lose myself to it, won’t I? It’s like a curse; one that threatens to drive me over to the brink of madness. I can’t let it win, because if I do, then your life will slip through my very fingers.”

You were about to say something, but then he caught you before you could.

“You’re alive,” he stated.

You nodded carefully. “Yes.”

“…For now,” he added.

Your lips parted again. “For a long time.”

Somehow, this was once again the wrong thing to say as his reaction turned sour again. Midnight made a strange noise that sounded like a choked cry and a half-laugh, and, before you could say or do anything, he broke out into tears right before you. His grip on your face tightened, but not enough to cause you pain.

Your fingers crept over his hands, offering soft little strokes, but it didn’t seem to help as much as you would have hoped. A yawn broke out of your lips next, and your eyelids slightly drooped. As much as you wanted to talk to him through this—to calm him down—you couldn’t stay awake forever.

“I know that this is… a difficult topic,” you started, keeping your voice as gentle as you could, “but Midnight,” you tried to drive an important point home, “you said it yourself, didn’t you? Dwelling on it won’t do you any good, so let’s just go to sleep, and we can talk about this another time. Please.”

Midnight responded with a laugh when he didn’t mean to. “S-sleep?” he snorted. “You have just informed me that you’re going to live for less than a century and you’re going to be wasting your time on sleep?”

“Yes…” you tried to smile, “because life feels better when you’re well-rested. It’s no use if I’m too exhausted to live.”

Midnight nodded that time, supposing that he could understand that much. What he couldn’t quite grasp, however, was why or how you were being so calm over your life one day coming to an end. Seeing you all sleepy and wanting, though, made him settle down. He wanted to be your comfort, and so, he stopped fighting you on the matter for now. “Okay,” he allowed, “then sleep, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“It will,” you calmly confirmed, starting to walk back to bed.

“But,” he said, catching onto your wrist before you could settle back in, “I’ll be watching you the entire time.”

You tilted your head off to the side. “Watch me sleep? O-okay. If it’ll help you calm down, then by all means…”

Midnight adopted a feverish expression, his eyes glinting with just enough madness to make you worry. “I’m going to watch your every moment from now on. I’m going to cherish every second of your life.”

You tried to smile, thinking that the sentiment was at least somewhat sweet, but Midnight was often intense, so you couldn’t help but worry that this was the start of something concerning. “Okay…” you allowed for now, “but don’t go crazy with it. Please.”

Midnight kept quiet as he settled back into bed with you, tracing a clawed finger along the soft curve of your cheek. He waited for your eyes to flutter closed and for your breathing to even out before responding to you. He didn’t want to make you worry, but at the same time, he didn’t want to lie to himself.

“Too late,” he whispered out loud, “for you have already driven me to madness and beyond.”

He sighed, taking in your peaceful expression, leaning over to press his lips against your forehead.

“I love you so much.”

[celestibabs]

Feyd Rautha’s blade sings as the Na-Baron swipes the flat side of his weapon across the soft, exposed skin of your back. The sharp, serrated edge catches slightly on each ridge of your vertebrae, threatening to split the skin.

The same blade had slit the throats of many concubines to test its sharpness, and had plunged between the ribs of countless Atreides hostiles in the Harkonnen arena. Feyd didn’t enact such violence against you, however– he made the metal kiss your skin instead, tracing the threatening point across your jugular with a steady hand.

“You still fear me,” Feyd acknowledges your shaky breath, stroking a fight-calloused palm across your naked skin to feel the goosebumps that prickle your arms. He pulls your back to his solid chest, the sharp edge of his cupid's bow brushing against the shell of your ear as he muses quietly; “Good.”

Sliding his hunting knife beneath the curve of your jaw, a groan rumbles in Feyd’s chest as he begins to apply pressure. Crimson dribbles down the steel blade, and you feel the Na-Baron’s firm erection grind against the curve of your hip as he drags the flat of his blade across his tongue.

“I can taste it,” he murmurs, a sadistic smirk playing across his lips, “Your fright.”

“Na-Baron,” you whisper, your voice trembling as he tosses the blood-smeared blade aside, choosing instead to dip his hand between your drenched thighs. A whimper slips past your lips when his thumb presses harshly against your clit.

“Would I taste your fear between your thighs, Pet? Or would I taste your arousal instead?”

post that inspired this | dune masterlist

[fumiscripts]

🃁 A GOD ON THE FIELD

fic masterlist . prev chapter . next chapter

Prodigy. Genius. Talented. You've been called it all.

Ever since starting to play soccer, you quickly grew your skills at an impressive rate. That one kid everybody wanted to be on the same team as whenever you have a friendly match to pass time, that one student your coach likes to boast about. With your genius, you quickly became a known, young player within your region. Barely losing. And you were even more famous during your middle school years.

“Great work, [Last Name]!”

“If it weren't for you, our team wouldn't be playing in the finals.”

“You're exceptional. An absolute beast at this!”

Praise. Acknowledgement. Attention. You wanted it all, and you got it. Offers poured in, and you rejected them all with nothing more than a smile before disappearing.

Still, you'll find a way to take the main role, to remain in the spotlight. Afterall, nobody can play the part of the lead as well as you do.

A long whistle blew, loud and clear through the indoor field, signalling that it was half-time. You could see the opposite team already looking defeated, slowly losing their fight. To be expected, considering they're falling behind by six goals already.

The look of someone knowing they have no chance of winning is something you've seen multiple times before. The heavy atmosphere followed you, haunting each and every one of your opponents. Your shadow loomed over them, and you paid no mind to team Y’s burning stares onto your retreating back, making your way to the locker rooms.

It was clear in their eyes that they couldn't hope to defeat a beast such as you. A monarch wearing the number ten. A god on the field. Knowing that they feared and envied you just stroked your ego, of course. They could either want to be you or want to kill you, and you'll still feed off their engrossment.

“You look like you didn't even break a sweat!” heavy hands patted— or rather, slapped— you on the back. Shidou grinned, hooking his arm around your neck and pulling you in from the side. “Scorring a hat trick is that easy for you, eh?”

You shoot a simple smile, shrugging it off like it was no big deal, because it really wasn't. “Nothing new,” you remarked, entering your team's room.

The half-time was nothing exceptional, just the standard fifteen minutes to rehydrate and talk strategy. The onslaught of compliments coming from the more appreciative side of your team just had you even more smug. Of course, you didn't expect everyone to come singing your praises. A good handful was hoping to be the top scorer, and saw you as a threat more than a ticket to breeze by the first selection.

They made sense. And you knew you still had their attention— though it might be more hostile— so you didn't care. You drank from the facility-given water bottle, taking adequate care of your hydration. The small details of the Blue Lock logo on it amused you. What, are they planning to make merch?

Idle chatter took over the quarters, and you really didn't bother to join in. In fact, you've never bothered to get along with group talks in the past. You just swooped in, claimed victory, basked in the camera flashes and worship, then walked off to be by yourself.

You did find yourself talking to someone though, which was the slightest bit of progress. The blond beside you could entertain far better than whatever tactic they tried to suggest. “The way you squeezed through their defense was hella erotic,” whatever that meant. You just nodded along. Perhaps he just ate cement when he was a kid, and that's why he's going on about egg cells and explosions.

They changed their strategy, you thought. Discarding the idea of their once scattered and unorganized defense, they were now putting up the players with the highest stamina to mark you. A last effort to pull through and get at least a few more goals to tie.

“You two are really clingy, you know,” the words rolled off your tongue, bold and sassy. The two of them just kept their eyes keen on you, focused on limiting your movements and making sure you never have the chance to get the ball. If you can't have it, you can't score. It's a simple trick, one you've powered through multiple times from how often people tried to use it on you. Easy to get through with the difference of your skills, but still annoying.

The football was being passed down the midfield by your teammates, gradually moving to the opponent's half. “[Last Name]!” some NPC with the number eight called, hoping to pass to you. You gave a slight glance while trying to shake off the pair on your tail, and he could tell you're not in the position to receive it yet.

Seeing you being marked since the start of the half, Shidou had already been moving to step in. “Yo, shitty bangs!” he called, making the poor guy who was holding onto the ball do a double take. He was running down the other side of the field, near the touchline. Despite the insultive nickname, he still passed to him, Shidou receiving it a second later. He dribbled closer to the penalty box, unavoidably catching the attention of defenders.

Just a few steps away from his ideal zone, he still tried. He reeled his leg back, and when the player moved to try and block that direction, he snapped it to the other side, getting past him. A feint. A shot.

The ball flew by, hitting the back of the net. Your team cheered, and Shidou yelled some creative obscenities that should've earned him a yellow card, followed by: “Did you see that [Last Name]?!” A small twitch up came from your lips, seeing the counter go up to seven. It's 7-1. Even a toddler would be able to tell who's clearly winning.

And the two scorers didn't even look like they were having a difficult time.

“Second match for wing five goes to team V!”

In the end, you claimed victory. Ten points in total— three from Shidou, seven from you— setting a vast difference in skill between team V and Y. Or more like a vast difference in skill between everyone else and you.

Everyone was at the team bedroom, holding a ‘late-night celebratory banquet’ for winning that match. You stayed for a few minutes just to hear their compliments, before dipping when it got to the part where everyone was just chowing down their food. You decided to go to the wing’s cafeteria, planning to use the points you earned today to get your phone back.

The moment you got in the large room, it was empty. Unsurprising, since it was already after dinner. You just stepped in front of one of the screens, the one displaying the rewards for the amount of goals earned. No hesitation, you were going to get your phone back. Once you figure out how to work this thing, though. You stare at the monitor, as if it was a historical artifact and you were an expert trying to figure out what it was used for. It must be a touchscreen, right? Can't be anything other than that.

Tapping on the panel, it dinged, scanning the pentagon on your shoulder, before flashing your player icon. You just stood there, blinking, waiting for it to finish with its little effects before the slab on the wall opened up, showing your phone inside. You could hardly be surprised with the technology in the building anymore.

Opening your device, you were met with a shit ton of notifications, messages from family, club members, your team's coach, admirers, all alongside some updates on social media.

Wow, you had a lot of things to catch up on. Sitting down, you went on a replying spree— to those you seemed worthy of receiving an update from you, only— the camera in the room catching sight of you. Ego watched the multiple facilities through the computer screens, though he had his eyes on you. Blue light illuminated the darkness in his office, bouncing off his glasses.

“[Last Name] has an impressive record. Out of every official match they've played on, they have only lost twice,” Anri suddenly remarked from behind him, holding a file. “It’s a wonder how they haven't gotten scouted yet, or at least got recognized outside of the local news. They used to be more popular during their middle school days, but started laying lower after.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, spinning a pen around his finger for the sake of having something to fidget with. “I told them not to accept any foreign offers and to not display their full talent just yet,” he replied, to which Anri tilted her head.

“I’m surprised they followed, considering their personality,” she said. “And why? With a bit more effort, they could get recognition at the same level as Itoshi Sae. [Last Name] has the capabilities to singlehandedly turn around Japanese soccer at an international debut.”

“They’re my disciple, of course they'd listen,” Ego tsked, and she felt mild irritation at his behavior when all she asked was a simple question. Also, she really can't believe a guy like Ego Jinpachi would personally take in an apprentice. “The climax of [Name]’s story hasn't come along yet. But once it does, Blue Lock will be their setting stage.”

Anri furrowed her brows at that, but decided that it isn't worth arguing with someone as stubborn as him. She sighed, setting down the folder, your name bolded with a headshot profile of you next to it. Ego’s gaze turned towards the papers, and he leaned back, his signature, wide grin taking place on his face.

“When the spotlight turns on, [Last Name] [Name] will show the world how they're a god on the field.”

holy glaze what. tbh I'm hyping mc up so much I'm scared to write them in their peak bc what if I fail to display so and then they start to look like a fraud... heisjajakhdjausu

mc is secretly a loser under allat imagine not talkjng to people bro... couldn't be me

taglist:: @sunny-sailor, @shidousprincess, @lakeside-paradise, @shrii-kk, @neversam, @motchilyn, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @sabrina-senpai, @justanotherweeb666, @kaikaidenkai, @beepbopzlorp

© fumiscripts 2024-2025. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[unboundprompts]

Thank you so much for your blog! It's so neatly organized, it's lovely to read. It takes a lot of commitment to do detail every post and still constantly update, and I'm very grateful for you <3

I was wondering if you could write tips+prompts for a paranoid character?

Thank you again 😺

Thank you for the kind words!! That means a lot :)

How to Write a Paranoid Character

-> sources: mind.org , betterhealth.vic.gov

Paranoia is the irrational and persistent feeling that people are "out to get you."

Things that Make Paranoia More Likely:

Having confusing or unsettling experiences or feelings that you can't easily explain.

If you are anxious or worried a lot or have low self-esteem and expect others to criticize or reject you.

If you tend to come to conclusions quickly, believe things very strongly, and don't easily change your mind.

If you are isolated.

If you have experienced trauma in the past.

Things that may Contribute to Paranoid Thoughts:

Life experiences. You are more likely to experience paranoid thoughts when you are in vulnerable, isolated or stressful situations that could lead to you feeling negative about yourself.

Experiences in your childhood may lead you to believe that the world is unsafe or make you mistrustful and suspicious of others. These experiences may also affect your self-esteem and the way you think as an adult.

If you experience anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem, you may be more likely to experience paranoid thoughts.

Paranoia is sometimes a symptom of certain physical illnesses such as Huntington's disease, Parkinson's disease, strokes, Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia. Hearing loss can also trigger paranoid thoughts in some people.

Lack of sleep can trigger feelings of insecurity and even unsettling feelings and hallucinations. Fears and worries may develop late at night.

Recreational drugs may trigger paranoia, such as cocaine, cannabis, alcohol, ecstasy, LSD, and amphetamines. This may happen particularly if you're already feeling low, anxious or experiencing other mental health problems.

Research has suggested that genes may affect whether you are more likely to develop paranoia.

Symptoms of Paranoia:

being easily offended

finding it difficult to trust others

not coping with any type of criticism

assigning harmful meanings to other people's remarks

being always on the defensive

being hostile, aggressive, and argumentative

not being able to compromise

finding it difficult (or impossible) to "forgive and forget"

assuming that people are talking ill of them behind their back

being overly suspicious

not being able to confide in anyone

finding relationships difficult

considering the world to be a place of constant threat

feeling persecuted by the world at large

believing in unfounded conspiracy theories

Writing Prompts for a Paranoid Person

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Everyone was against him. No one liked to see him succeed and so they were doing everything in their power to stop him.

People were talking about her behind her back. They would whisper as she walked by, and their laughter would echo in her ears as she got further from them.

"You never believe me!" They wailed, pointing an accusing finger at their friend. "You wouldn't get it! You don't know what it's like to be hated by everyone!"

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and wide awake. It was a nightly routine, at this point. He could never bring himself to close his eyes. There were too many things going on his head, too many things that only made him dread when morning came.

Everything was about to go so wrong so fast, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The impending doom beat down on her shoulders, reminding her that she was not okay. She was not safe.

They couldn't stop fidgeting with their hands. It used to offer some form of comfort, but not anymore. How could it when the whole world is against you?

They were looking at him. They were watching his every move. He was being tracked. Studied. Something was going to happen. Something bad. Something he wasn't prepared for. What could he do to be prepared?

"You think I'm crazy, but I'm not! You'll see."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[dykemind]

the financial advantage that women have over males is that males are big fucknut apes who do anything to stroke their ego and feel powerful- yep. gambling addiction. So many moids just squandering their family's resources for another kick, whether that's online bidding, online poker, sports betting, or the way they approach stocks. Women have the ability to be rational, intelligent and considered, but are far too risk averse and fear punishment, feeling that the world is hostile. I have a coworker who made enough money to buy a house because he invested in Tesla before it kicked off. I would be shocked if any of my followers has ever even considered making it big by investing in a company that's about to blow up. You should.