#and perhaps dropping some subtle hints??
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subtle differences in the early greenwarden chapters. subtle, subtle differences.....
#mostly me getting rid of redundant information#or rewriting sentences that i think are shrimply bad#and perhaps dropping some subtle hints??#ive switched to obsidian in the hopes of streamlining the process#rather than just rawdogging it in the twine ui
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How to Write a Character with THAT *Sad Aura*
Have you ever stumbled upon a character, who, despite radiating wholesome, positive energy, also has a subtle undertone of sadness? It's kind of intriguing, isn't it? If you've ever wanted to write a perhaps more complex character or explore writing emotions, why not check this out?
What am I talking about?
Let's do a quick introduction as to what I mean. I've said this a couple times already, but to the reader, this character feels despondent even though they act nothing like it. This doesn't mean they have to act happy all the time (like my first example); they might act cold, or apathetic, but the point is they don't act visibly sad.
This faint melancholic mood provides a charming, or even nostalgic feel to the audience through ONE character! Isn't that kind of fun?
Eye Expressions
This character will not show sadness on their face--that contradicts the idea of "sad aura". But you know what they say, right? Eyes are the windows to the soul; they do not lie!
When trying to highlight some of this unhappiness, write about their eyes. Talk about how their eyes look oddly dim sometimes when they smile, or how they don't meet their friend's eyes when they laugh. These cues are simple but powerful.
Adverbs
You always have to be mindful of adverbs, but here especially, adverbs (and adjectives) unconsciously influence how your audience views the character.
For example, avoid saying too much of "smiled brightly" or "talked excitedly". If these are the adverbs you purposefully want to use to portray your character, then by all means! However, these adverbs add a happier connotation, which you must be aware of. If you want something more neutral (which I recommend for the most part), consider using lighter adverbs/adjectives, such as "smiled softly", or "offered lightly".
Reasons
A reason is normally needed for almost everything. Here, you want genuine reasons to back up why your character doesn't ask for help, thus forcing them to work through their unhappiness alone.
This could be because they think other people can't solve the problem, they don't want to bother others, they don't think their issue is a big deal, or they simply believe there's no solution.
Physical Hints
And if all this isn't enough, then drop some physical hints! Perhaps your character gets distracted often, tends to hesitate before speaking, deflects concerned comments with jokes, or has a hard time acknowledging reassurances, even when it's unrelated to their personal troubles. These habits suggest the idea your character has more than meets the eye.
Mood Changes
When people are upset, their mood tends to fluctuate. For most of us, we're typically upset for a short period, so we cycle through emotions such as anger, sadness, and even joy during these moments.
However, if your character is consistently sad, not just for a day or two, their mood might shift on different days. Maybe they're really tired one day, hardly speaking. Maybe the next, they are more frustrated, snapping at people or ignoring them. Maybe the day after that, they are overly energetic, bouncing everywhere and talking all the time, providing a bit of whiplash.
Purpose
Similar to having a reason for their reluctance of reaching out, you also want to ensure that they have a purpose for fighting. Why haven't they given up yet? This is especially crucial when considering the real world, where feeling upset leads to a lack of motivation.
So, what keeps them going, then? Do they want to fix their regrets? Do they want to change?
Backstory and Actions
To be honest, I wouldn't consider a backstory an absolute necessity, but I highly suggest creating one. Why? Because you can accurately identify the reason for your character's guilt, regret, and sorrows from the past with an actual backstory.
The events of your character's past always influence their future actions.
For example, if they were a part of a severe car accident in the past, perhaps they only feel comfortable when they are the driver in the future because that means they can control the car.
Conclusion
This character is not especially different from any other character, besides the fact that they are neither obvious nor overly secretive of their genuine feelings.
With that being said, focus on embodying their eye expressions, be careful about which adverbs and adjectives you choose to use--I recommend choosing ones with more neutral connotations for a sense of melancholy, explain why your character keeps their sadness to themselves and why they keep fighting despite it, show mood fluctuations, drop physical hints, such as actions and/or specific personality traits, and make sure to connect their past to their present!
Happy writing~
3hks ^^
#writeblr#writing#writerscommunity#creative writing#writing inspo#writing tips#writing advice#writers on tumblr#writing a sad character#character writing#writing a character#how to write a sad character#how to write a character with a sad aura
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clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.
ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.
a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.
however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.
your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.
you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.
you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.
“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.
he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.
a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.
“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.
the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.
is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.
“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.
“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.
“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.
you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”
it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order— a command. a disguised threat.
the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.
it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.
the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.
“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.
you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.
“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.
satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.
you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.
whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#jjk fluff#gojo fluff#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x y/n#jjk x female reader#gojo x female reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#is this a tease to my other clan!leader gojo fic? perhaps.... :D
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10 Ways to Ensure Your Villain's Evil Monologuing Dialogue is as Unsettling as Possible!
1.) Make sure you're mixing body language with the words themselves: You can have your villain saying the most twisted shit, but if they're just standing there like a cardboard cutout, their words probably aren't going to hit as hard. Have them touch your protag. Have them toy with a weapon as if they're going to use it. Have them pace. Have them put together the blood ritual they're ranting about. Keep them moving.
2.) Have them use personal knowledge as a tool: Does your villain have some deep dark dirt on your protag? Don't let that all go in one swoop. Let them hint at it in drops before they open the dam. Maybe they use that knowledge as a bargaining tool to get an upper hand, or use it to send the trapped protag into a frenzy because they love to watch them scream.
3.) When it comes to threats, certainty is key: A threat is a threat, but there's nothing like a threat being spoken as if the villain knows it's going to happen. Whether your villain has already caught your protag, or is in the process of doing so, everything they say they want to see happen to your protag needs to come with absolute certainty. Almost as if it's a certain warning, and not just something they’re saying to be scary.
4.) Contradictions are your friend: Nothing indicates a warped villainous mind more than some juicy contradictions. Your villain might be talking about how they're going to flay your protag's hide after catching them in their dungeon, only to throw in a subtle "but, you're probably safer here with me." Find ways to toss in twisted contradictions that also underline the crazy shit they might be saying.
5.) Mess with syntax: Unsettling dialogue calls for unsettling structure. Incomplete sentences, unforeseen pauses, longwinded explanations broken up by more unforeseen pauses. Whatever it is, keep the rhythm offbeat. Don't give your reader a chance to be able to tell what's coming.
6.) Expectations? Subvert those: Your protag and even your readers might be suspecting one thing from your villain, so throw them a curveball and hit them with the complete opposite. Perhaps you've reached a point in your story where it seems like the villain might kill your protag on sight. But no, have your villain mention exactly why they aren't going to do that, and why they want to wait it out.
7.) Mix quiet confidence and loud assertion: Some might say that the silent seether is scarier, while others might agree that the sudden explosive type takes the bigger unsettling prize. In my opinion, you can really capitalize on the eeriness of villain dialogue by tapping into both. A villain that speaks on with refined confidence before very suddenly exploding, without much warning, can really power up the dread behind their words.
8.) Sometimes, ambiguity is better than being straightforward: Whether it's obvious that your villain has a lot of tricks up their sleeves--or not--leaving things to the imaginations of your protag, and subsequently, your readers is great for building dread. You can use dialogue to make it clear that they're up to something, but never make them fully disclose what that is. They might show it instead of tell it, or it might just never happen. Either way, it'll likely have everyone looking over their shoulders.
9.) There might be times where silence says everything: You might be worried about penning the correct verbiage for your villain's big evil speech, but sometimes, silence speaks wonders. When used correctly, a long pause, or a bout of silence after your protag has said their piece can build a sense of uneasiness more than them actually speaking would have.
10.) Find ways for your villain to mirror the hero: A monologuing villain is better when they're throwing your hero's values and beliefs back in their face. A hero that believes in mercy? Well, have your villain talk about how they'll make them beg for it. A hero that believes in the greater good? Have your villain talk about their idea of a greater good.
As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3
#writer#writers#writing#creative writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writers and poets#writerscommunity#writing community#on writing#writers on writing#writing villains#villain writing#villain#writing dialogue#character dialogue#dialogue ideas#how to write#writing help#character writing help#writing advice#writing tips#writing characters#character writing#character development#original character#writing prompt#writing inspiration
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how the hp boys would react when they find out you have a crush on them
pair: Harry Potter x reader | Ron Weasley x reader | Draco Malfoy x reader | Neville Longbottom x reader | Cedric Diggory x reader | Fred Weasley x reader | George Weasley x reader | Oliver Wood x reader
masterlist | navigation
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Harry Potter
Harry's day takes an unexpected turn when Seamus casually mentions that the younger student, who's always been kind and friendly to him, might have a crush on him. At first, he laughs it off, thinking it's just a rumor, but when Ron confirms that he's heard the same thing, Harry’s heart starts racing. He can’t help but replay every interaction with you in his head, realizing there might have been subtle hints he missed. Harry isn't sure what to do; part of him is flattered, and another part is nervous. He’s always admired your kindness and intelligence, and now, knowing how you feel, he becomes more aware of his own feelings. Over the next few days, Harry starts paying closer attention to you, growing more awkward but also more interested, trying to figure out his next move.
Ron Weasley
Ron overhears some third-years gossiping about how you, the girl from his study group, have a bit of a crush on him. He immediately goes red, both from embarrassment and the unfamiliarity of the situation. He's never been great at reading signals, so the thought that someone likes him catches him off guard. At first, he brushes it off, thinking it must be a joke, but when Hermione reassures him that it’s true, he can’t stop thinking about it. The next time he sees you in the common room, he’s noticeably flustered, fumbling his words and trying to act cool, which only makes him more endearing. Despite his awkwardness, Ron can’t help but feel a little pleased, and over time, he starts to warm up to the idea, maybe even considering how to approach you about it.
Draco Malfoy
Draco is lounging in the Slytherin common room when Pansy Parkinson, with a sly grin, tells him that a younger Gryffindor girl has a crush on him. At first, he scoffs, dismissing it as irrelevant, but later, when he realizes it’s you—a girl he’s actually noticed for your sharp wit and surprising bravery—he becomes intrigued. Draco isn't one to openly show interest, but now, every time he sees you in the corridors or during meals, he’s more aware of your presence. He might tease you more, dropping subtle hints to see how you react, trying to gauge your feelings. Though he maintains his cool exterior, Draco can’t help but feel a thrill at the idea of someone like you liking him, and he starts thinking about how to use this to his advantage, or perhaps, how he might actually feel about you.
Neville Longbottom
Neville is in the library when he overhears some girls from your year talking about how you have a crush on him. His immediate reaction is disbelief; he’s never considered himself someone people would have a crush on. Nervously adjusting his collar, Neville tries to focus on his Herbology notes, but he can’t stop thinking about it. He’s always liked you—how could he not? You’re kind, and your encouragement during classes has always meant a lot to him. But now, knowing you might feel the same way, Neville starts to become more confident around you. He’ll blush whenever you’re near but will also make more of an effort to talk to you, even inviting you to study sessions in the greenhouse. Though he’s shy, Neville is secretly thrilled, and the thought of you liking him makes him smile more than usual.
Cedric Diggory
Cedric is chatting with his Hufflepuff friends when one of them mentions that you, a sweet younger student from Ravenclaw, have a bit of a crush on him. He’s flattered, of course—he’s used to a bit of attention—but the thought of you, someone he’s always admired for your intelligence and grace, having feelings for him makes him pause. Cedric is the type to handle this situation with kindness and maturity. The next time he sees you, he’ll go out of his way to be friendly, making sure you feel comfortable around him. He might even drop a few hints that he’s aware of your feelings, just to see how you react. Cedric would be careful not to lead you on if he wasn’t interested, but in this case, he finds himself considering the possibility of getting to know you better, as your crush on him sparks something within himself.
Fred Weasley
Fred is busy planning a prank with George when Lee Jordan casually drops the bomb that you have a crush on him. Fred’s reaction is immediate—he grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He’s always liked you; after all, you’re fun to be around and have a sharp sense of humor. But now, knowing that you like him back, Fred is going to make the most of it. The next time he sees you, he’s teasing you more than ever, dropping playful hints and watching with delight as you blush. Fred isn’t one to be subtle, so you might find little jokes or pranks with double meanings aimed your way. But beneath the fun and games, Fred’s genuinely pleased and interested, and he starts looking for ways to spend more time with you, always with that signature Weasley charm.
George Weasley
George finds out from Angelina that you have a crush on him, and his reaction is a mix of surprise and amusement. He’s always thought you were a cool person, but now, knowing you like him, he can’t help but feel a bit shy—though he’ll never admit it. Unlike Fred, George is more low-key in his approach. He’ll still joke around with you, but his teasing becomes a bit more affectionate, and he might try to find moments where it’s just the two of you. George is more thoughtful than his twin, so he’ll start to notice the little things about you that he hadn’t before, and he might even drop by your common room to say hi more often. Though he keeps things lighthearted, George’s actions show he’s interested, and he’s thinking about how to take things a step further.
Oliver Wood
Oliver is coming off the Quidditch pitch when a teammate mentions that you’ve been seen watching the practices more often, and that you might have a crush on him. Oliver is immediately intrigued. He’s so focused on Quidditch that he hasn’t noticed much else, but now, he’s paying attention. He remembers how you’ve always been supportive, cheering for the team, and he’s flattered. The next time he sees you, he’s extra charming, asking if you’d like to join the team for a post-practice hangout. Oliver is confident and direct, so he might just ask you outright if the rumors are true, but he does it with a playful smile to keep things light. If he finds out you do like him, Oliver’s quick to make his interest known too, inviting you to more Quidditch-related activities and finding excuses to spend time with you outside of the game.
#isaacismyhusbandeventhohedoesntknowityet#headcanon#harry x you#draco malfoy#draco malfoy fluff#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy x you#draco x reader#draco x you#harry potter#harry potter fluff#harry potter fanfiction#harry#ron weasley#ron weasly x reader#ron weasly imagine#neville longbottom#neville x reader#neville longbotton x reader#cedric diggory#cedric diggory x reader#cedric diggory x you#cedric diggory imagine#cedric diggory fluff#cedric diggory fanfiction#hp fandom#hp fanfic#fred weasley
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˖⁺。˚⋆˙feels like | PG10˖⁺。˚⋆˙
pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc!singer!reader (she/her) x kika gomes
genre: social media au, polyamory
warnings: polyamory
summary: in which you meet the loves of ur life in the form of ur brother's best friend and his girlfriend
a/n: u've all been begging for this pairing HAHAH im finally delivering 🙏
request!!!: charles little sister and she doesn't really go to his races that often because she's a singer but she finally does and she hangs with kika & gets a crush on her & meets pierre & develops feelings for him too so then they finally get together and try to drop subtle hints but everyone just thinks they r good friends
my masterlist
fc: gracie abrams

instagram ->
ynupdates

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ynupdates y/n seen today outside the airport in florence, italy !!
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user1 hi arthur in the likes lol
user2 her biggest fan
user3 is she going to imola????
user4 omg 👀
user5 Y/N AT A RACE??!!
user6 omg i hope she's finally coming to a race we barely ever see her there
user7 i miss her
user8 welcome back to f1 y/n 😻
user9 why does she never go to races omgg
user10 she goes to most big ones imo but she's busy with her own career
user11 y/n and charles content i beg
user12 nah y/n and the other drivers content plsss 🙏
yourusername posted a story

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user13 awwwwww omg
user14 so cute
charles_leclerc hanging out with my girlfriend before you even see me? okay!
yourusername get over it
user15 are u coming to imola 🙈
user16 see u at the race y/n 👀
alexandrasaintmleux my fav leclerc 😘
liked by yourusername
user17 imola imola imola
twitter ->
messages ->
instagram ->
yourusername posted a story

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user18 omggg is that kika
user19 kikayn the duo i didnt know i needed
charles_leclerc y/n please
yourusername im coming im coming
user20 this duo actually makes so much sense
user21 i love women
user22 need her to meet pierre i just know they'd get along they all got the same vibes
user23 im gay
twitter ->
instagram ->
f1wagupdates

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f1wagupdates pierre gasly and girlfriend kika gomes have been seen multiple times over the past few weeks with ‘i miss you, im sorry’ singer & sister of charles leclerc, y/n leclerc. they appear to have become good friends since their alleged first meeting in imola, but sources report some suggestive interactions including all three of them.
tagged: pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, yourusername
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user26 suggestive interactions...????
user27 omg obsessed with this trio lol
user28 the friendship we never knew we needed 😻
user29 what suggestive interactions lol it's TOO VAGUE!!! give us more
user30 i bet charles loves this 😂
user31 the first piccccc omg y/n and kika cuddling and pierre is just there
user32 y/n and kika tgthr is just so cunty
user33 someone ask charles what he thinks 😂
francisca.cgomes

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francisca.cgomes 🌷 lil dump
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user34 OMG hellooo y/n
user35 the last pic hahah so cuntyyy
user36 ugh OBSESSED with this trio
user37 i wish i was them
landonorris ugh set me up with y/n please kika
francisca.cgomes now why the hell would i do that
pierregasly not happening, sorry lando
landonorris ??? wtf why not
francisca.cgomes she's OURS
yourusername 😂😂
user38 sus
user39 ???? what is going awnnn
user40 SUSSSSSS
yourusername awww pierre in his lil suit 👔
pierregasly awww y/n with her lil lollypop 🍭
francisca.cgomes 🙄
user41 what is even happening lol
yourusername posted a story

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charles_leclerc y/n
yourusername hi charlie
charles_leclerc maman misses you
yourusername is that code for u & arthur miss me 🤨
charles_leclerc perhaps...
yourusername lol i'll come visit home soon
francisca.cgomes leak it to me
yourusername 🤫 all in good time!
pierregasly about me?
yourusername in ur dreams
pierregasly 👀
user42 OMG
user43 new music new music new music
twitter ->
instagram ->
yourusername 📍 monaco

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yourusername & i would do whatever u wanted
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user44 urmmm is that lyrics
user45 yea omg look at the notebook she's holding up
user46 this is what it feels like????
user47 drop the song
user48 love this friendship
francisca.cgomes love you gorgeous
yourusername love you sm
charles_leclerc ❤️
liked by yourusername
user49 ???
pierregasly met you at the right time
yourusername 👀
user50 ok what's going on
user51 ????
user52 wot
messages ->
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yourusername

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yourusername jus dropped my new song ‘feels like’. the girls that get it, get it... thank u for ur unwavering support always 🫶
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user53 who else here is a girl that (finally) gets it
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user54 get what😭😭😭
user55 SHE'S DATING THEM
user56 the hard hard launch i never knew i needed
charles_leclerc ❤️
yourusername love you
arthur_leclerc ❤️
yourusername ❤️ my biggest fan
arthur_leclerc always
user57 oh i love them sm
user58 i would do whatever you wanted we dont have to leave the apartment 😭
user59 MET YOU AT THE RIGHT TIME‼️
francisca.cgomes mon cœur 💓
yourusername oh i love you
francisca.cgomes 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹
user60 best girls omg
pierregasly world's sexiest leclerc!
yourusername i hold this title loudly & proudly
charles_leclerc 🙄
user61 😂 pierre is so real for this
user62 oh the song is soso beautiful
pierregasly

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pierregasly livin in a movie i've watched and...
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user63 FUNNY CAUSE I COULDNT HAVE CALLED IT!!???
user64 omggg
user65 this is a true love story frrr
user66 AHHHH I LOVE THEM SO BAD
charles_leclerc photo creds for the last pic!!
pierregasly ofc charles 😘
charles_leclerc dont flirt with me too
yourusername 😂😂 have a day off!
arthur_leclerc ily guys
francisca.cgomes oh hello fav leclerc brother
arthur_leclerc 😀
yourusername ily art
charles_leclerc 🙄
yourusername i met u both at the right time 😭
francisca.cgomes thank u imola paddock 🤩🤩🤩
pierregasly our place 🙏🙏🙏🙏
user67 omg.. OBSESSED!!!
THE END 🥹🩷
#f1 smau#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 x reader#smau#pierre gasly#pg10#f1 poly#f1 blurb#f1 x you#f1 polyamory#polyamory#poly#driver x reader x wag#pierre gasly smau#pierre gasly social media au#pierre gasly fluff#pierre gasly imagine#pierre gasly fanfic#pg10 x yn#pg10 smau#pg10 fanfic#pg10 x reader#pg10 imagine#kika gomes#francisca cerqueira gomes#maddie's smau
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hi Mera!! 😋
number 12 some thoughts about yandere android Jade..
(cw: yandere, gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, android!jade, obsession, subtle infantilization)
(monstrously yandere prompts)
The worst part of being ill is, perhaps, the vulnerability.
Lying propped in bed, your chest screaming from a previous coughing fit, you feel like a weak child who can’t do anything for themself. For all your hubris, you’re reduced to a shell of yourself in the devastating sweep of sickness. It’s times like this when you realize just how much you take your freedoms and mobility for granted. Now you’re nothing but a bedridden miserable lump of feverish flesh clinging to the warmth of soft sheets.
Thankfully, you have your android companion.
His presence is a relief because, when you’re feeble and suffering in your stifling room, you know you aren’t alone.
Jade was initially built and programmed for security, modeled (mostly in grief) after your late husband Floyd, but in the final stages of his completion you found all those sleepless, caffeine-addled nights were catching up to you; and you quickly spiraled into sickness after sickness. So you made the decision to program a care feature into your android. Not only would he serve his purpose as a bodyguard and support for your mental health, but he’d also have the knowledge to nurse one back to health if need be. It took plenty of trial and error, but eventually he could recognize the signs before you could.
So when you nearly fell over from exhaustion once, he was there to catch you. And when you woke in your bed, he was there with a bowl of soup. For a moment, it really did look like Floyd had come back to you.
But it’s been so long since then and your mourning has warped the memories of your husband. It’s why Jade doesn’t look like an exact replica of him. It’s why you can’t bear to look at any old photos.
It’s why you’re always so sick. The agonizing sorrow is eating your heart and poisoning your brain.
Jade cannot like or love things—these emotions are impossible to naturally and humanly replicate in any AI—but that doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed some of his developing preferences. He displays an innate curiosity for nature and, of all things, manhole covers. He seems to be preferable to cooking and learning new recipes, especially those that incorporate all species of edible fungi. He’s always smiling, albeit it’s unnatural and uncanny, but you can’t remember if you programmed him to do so or if he simply does it after gleaning new information from external stimuli (i.e. whatever’s on television).
You’re not entirely sure yet—and more research must be conducted to prove or disprove your hypothesis—but you think he takes a certain amount of enjoyment in looking after you when you’re sick. Perhaps that’s because it reminds him of his worth—that he’s a necessary fixture in your life.
The more you see these subtle hints, the more you begin to wonder if he truly is turning human. Or maybe he’s just an expert mimic.
Either way, you like to bask in his attention. It reminds you of the love you lost.
There’s a knock at the door. You crack an eye open just as Jade lets himself in. He’s come with a washcloth and a soft towel. It’s set on a nearby chair, which has been pulled up to your bedside.
“Forgive me for disturbing your rest, Master, but it’s time to take your temperature.”
“All right,” you rasp, leaning in to meet his palm. The scan is seamless and silent, so smooth it takes mere seconds to determine what ails your body.
“Hmm. It still hasn’t gone down.” He sees the cocoon of blankets and frowns. “Master, you shouldn’t sleep with so many. Your fever will never go down at this rate.”
With that, he dunks the cloth into the water to thoroughly soak it. You watch him wring it out. He’s so methodical that not a single drop splashes outside of the basin. Sighing, you flop back into the pillows and allow him to peel the covers off you. He works quietly, dabbing the cool cloth against your forehead. It’s only then when you realize just how hot you’d been, for the cooling sensation relieves you instantly.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, watching your face. “In an hour, you’re scheduled to take your medicine. But if you’d prefer to eat now—” He stops himself once he sees your gloomy expression. “I know, Master. It’s never enjoyable, but you must take your medicine. It will help you get better.”
“I hate those pills,” you grumble, turning your head to offer your bare neck. Jade hesitates, his fingertips ghost over your pulse, and then he slides the towel over the slope between neck and shoulder. “Mm, I could eat now. My throat feels a little better.”
“It does?” His lips quirk up. “I’m glad. What would you like?”
“I’m sick of soup. Maybe…pudding?”
“Pudding? Hm. Very well.”
“Really? You’re not going to insist I eat my fruits and veggies?”
“You’re sick, Master.” He smiles wider now. “It’s only fair you’re given adequate care in all areas, and if sugar will please your empty stomach I suppose I can oblige just this once. After all, if you’re to euthanize an animal, isn’t it human practice to give it one final treat before the end?”
You blink at him. That’s another side of Jade you weren’t anticipating when you created him. His proclivity for morbid musings. Your late husband had a wicked sense of humor from time to time, but it was always in jest. Sometimes you think Jade’s attempts at a joke are both tactless and eerie. It’s not his fault. He fails to grasp the concept of humor, so it makes sense he’d be unable to make a joke that would properly land.
“But I’m not a dog, Jade,” you say, as if to remind him you’re a human—his creator—and not some pet. “And I’m not going to die.”
“I see.” He submerges the washcloth once more. “Forgive me. I am not the best at communicating in metaphorical speech.”
“You don’t have to. Floyd never did. He was always so blunt. ‘Scathing honest,’ one of our friends used to say.”
The light in Jade’s eyes dims. But only for the moment. He finishes his cleaning of you and, to ensure you won’t boost your fever anymore, takes a few layers from your unruly bed nest. You’re already dozing by the time he’s folded them and placed them near the dirty laundry bin.
When he looks at you, he smiles. “Oh, Master,” he whispers, approaching your bedside to admire your snoozing form. “When will you understand? Even with your anguish, you wouldn’t have created me if you knew the lengths to which I obsess over you.”
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Hello! May I request Lucifer, Diavolo, and Barbatos with an MC who had a crush on Barbatos, but hides it? Not very well, like you could tell they like him but they want to stay civil just in case Barbatos doesn’t like them back, that kind of thing.
If not that’s completely fine! Thank you!
Hello! Here is your request. I hope you enjoy it.
Summary: Lucifer's, Diavolo's and Barbatos' reactions to MC having a crush on Barbatos
Contains: Fluff
GN! reader
You can find more of my work here: Masterlist
The fantastic tree Vs MC's attraction to butlers
You tried to be composed. Tried was the keyword, but your cheeks warmed whenever Barbatos looked your way, and your pulse sped up when he came close. The others noticed these tell-tale signs, though you hoped you were subtle. The situation could be… a bit embarrassing, after all. What if Barbatos didn’t feel the same way?
Lucifer:
Lucifer wasn’t blind. He had noticed how your gaze lingered a little too long on Barbatos or the way you’d fluster slightly when the butler was around. In classic Lucifer style, he remained outwardly neutral, but deep down, he found it rather amusing. In his mind, he didn’t doubt that Barbatos was aware of it, too. After all, nothing escaped Barbatos's attention.
One day, Lucifer decided to tease you a bit. “You seem a little… off today. Is there something on your mind?” His voice was even, yet there was a glint in his eyes.
Your cheeks colored instantly. “Oh, no! Just… thinking about, uh, some things,” you stammered, averting your eyes.
“Is that so?” Lucifer’s lips curved slightly as he leaned back, looking amused. “I imagine some things can be quite distracting.” He let the words linger just enough to make you glance nervously in Barbatos's direction. Lucifer’s smirk only deepened.
Diavolo:
Diavolo was nothing short of delighted by the entire situation. He’d picked up on your bashful glances early on and found it charming. For him, it was a rare source of entertainment in an otherwise regimented day of royal duties. Diavolo had a soft spot for you, and a little innocent teasing wouldn’t hurt.
One day, as you all gathered for tea, Diavolo nudged you with a knowing grin. “You always seem so polite around Barbatos,” he said warmly. “It’s sweet how you hold him in such high regard.”
Your face turned red as you tried to laugh it off, saying, “Oh, well, Barbatos is… He’s… a remarkable butler.” You fumbled with your words as Diavolo chuckled. “Indeed, he is.”
He looked to Barbatos, hoping his loyal friend might catch on, but Barbatos maintained his usual serene expression. Still, Diavolo was certain Barbatos wasn’t unaware of your little crush.
Barbatos:
Barbatos had indeed noticed. He was too perceptive not to. The subtle hints in your body language, the occasional stammer, or the way your gaze lingered before you quickly looked away—it didn’t take long for him to catch on.
Barbatos respected your desire to stay composed and civil, and he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But he couldn’t deny he was somewhat intrigued. He found your earnestness endearing, and perhaps he even felt a hint of warmth himself.
One day, as you were in the kitchen together, you almost dropped a tray when Barbatos leaned in to help you with the teapot. He gave you a gentle smile. “Do be careful. I would hate to see you hurt yourself.”
The way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat, but you tried to nod coolly. “Of course, Barbatos. Thank you.” You barely managed to get the words out.
Barbatos’s calm, kind smile lingered as he took in your flustered expression. He spoke in his soft voice, “It’s always a pleasure working with someone so… attentive.” His words were vague but held a subtle hint that made your cheeks flush even deeper.
Later that day…
Lucifer and Diavolo exchanged a knowing glance. Diavolo chuckled and leaned toward Lucifer. “I have to admit, this situation is more entertaining than I expected.”
Lucifer smirked. “Indeed. Though I suspect Barbatos will handle it with his usual grace.”
Diavolo nodded, watching your attempts to avoid Barbatos’s gaze with growing amusement. “Let’s just say, I think we’ll see some interesting developments very soon.”
---
Barbatos, meanwhile, simply observed you from across the room, an almost imperceptible smile on his face. He had all the time in the world, and he was more than willing to see where this went.
#obey me shall we date#obeymeswd#obey me#obey me!#obey me headcanons#obey me fanfic#obey me fic#obey me hcs#obey me! shall we date?#obey me fandom#obey me otome#obey me nightbringer#obmswd#obmnb#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me writing#obey me fluff#obey me barbatos#obey me barbatos x reader#obey me lucifer#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me diavolo#obey me diavolo x reader#obey me brothers#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor
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𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮



pairing: san x reader au: idol | friends to lovers genre: fluff word count: 825 words summary: san had tried confessing through subtle messages but he finally had enough. warning(s): -
You laid on San couch, wearing his t-shirt as well as some shorts as Byeol laid on your chest. San had invited you over, saying he'll meet you there after he had finish up a few verses with Hongjoong. As you laid comfortably, San was standing by a flower shop, wondering which one to get for you.
The amount of times San had tried to confess, he had lost count.
As you relaxed on the couch, Byeol curled up on your chest, her soft purring creating a soothing rhythm. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. You smiled, feeling content in this little moment of peace.
San’s playful banter echoed in your mind—how he always teased about bringing you flowers. It was sweet how much thought he put into it, even if he struggled to actually confess his feelings. You could imagine him standing there, deliberating over the vibrant blooms, his brow furrowed in concentration.
What would he pick? Maybe daisies, bright and cheerful, or perhaps roses, classic yet romantic. You chuckled softly, imagining him overthinking the choice as he always did. He’d probably think about what you might like, what would make you smile.
Your thoughts drifted, imagining what it would be like if he finally found the courage to tell you. The way he’d smile shyly, those deep brown eyes sparkling with hope. The anticipation of that moment felt thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Just then, you heard the door click open. San stepped in, a goofy grin on his face, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. “I figured you could use a little sunshine,” he said, his voice bright and teasing.
You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart racing a bit. “You know me so well,” you replied, glancing down at Byeol, who was now wide awake and curious.
As he approached, you could see the way his cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping into his demeanor. “I… uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started, his voice wavering just a bit.
Your heart skipped a beat. Here it was—the moment you both had danced around for so long. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the air, and waited for him to continue.
San took a deep breath, his fingers nervously twisting the stem of the sunflowers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “About how much I value our friendship and… how much I wish it could be more.”
The words hung in the air, a mix of hope and vulnerability. Your heart raced as you searched his expression, wanting to convey your own feelings without breaking the moment.
He stepped a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I just… I really like you. Like, a lot. And I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” His cheeks were flushed, the honesty of his confession making him even more endearing.
You felt a wave of warmth rush through you, and a smile broke across your face. “San,” you started, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside. You sat up, moving an upset Byeol as you left the couch. San looked at you nervously, but was soon at ease when you took the flowers from him.
“i knew the whole time," you said, smiling up at him.
San’s jaw dropped in surprise, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “Wait, really? You knew?”
You nodded, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah! All those little hints? I might be slow sometimes, but I wasn’t completely oblivious.”
He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought I was being so subtle!”
“You were cute about it, but not as subtle as you think,” you teased. “Like the time you kept bringing up that café with the cute flower arrangements. I saw right through you.”
San huffed, " does this mean you like me?"
As you wrapped your arms around San’s neck and pressed your lips to his, the world around you faded away. His surprise melted into warmth, and you felt him lean into the kiss, his hands gently finding your waist.
The moment was electric—sweet and tender, yet filled with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless, you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a mixture of shock and joy.
“Wow,” he breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “So that’s what you meant by ‘liking’ me.”
You chuckled softly, feeling giddy. “Yeah, I think that qualifies.”
San let out a breathe he didn't realized that he held in, making you giggle. He placed another kiss on your lips, his heart racing as he finally got the girl of his dream.
#ateez san x reader#san x reader fluff#choi san x reader#san x reader#ateez fluff#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez oneshot#ateez x y/n#choi san fluff#choi san
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Witchy Wife
NSFW!A lonely witch reader seeks out to find you elusive demonic husband, and the sight of him stirs more than just longing—it fuels a mischievous hunger for payback. Deciding that a taste of revenge is in order, you plans to make him earn you forgiveness, savoring every second as he tries to win you over while you make some mischief of your own
xxxxx
The grand doors of Phantomhive Manor parted with a quiet, ominous creak, a hushed silence settling as your figure emerged in the doorway. Each step you took echoed against the cold marble floors, the sharp click of your heels creating a rhythm that turned heads and left mouths agape. Under the shadowed chandeliers, a soft amber glow illuminated your form, highlighting each subtle curve and commanding movement, casting you in an ethereal, almost otherworldly light. Bardroy’s cigarette slipped from his lips, and Finny’s jaw dropped as they took in the vision of dark beauty and raw power that now graced their presence.
With a graceful, regal poise, you advanced, letting a low, scolding tone escape your lips as your gaze settled on the butler who had kept you waiting far too long. “You left me all alone, Sebastian, just to play butler?” you chided, a teasing scowl touching your lips, carrying with it centuries-old familiarity that only you shared with him.
Sebastian’s expression remained perfectly schooled, yet a slight arch of his brow betrayed a flicker of surprise—and perhaps, the faintest hint of guilt. He straightened, clasping his gloved hands behind his back as he met your gaze with a glimmer of amusement in his crimson eyes, one only you could truly see.
“My dear,” he murmured, his voice rich and smooth as velvet, edged with apology. “I was summoned here, and I admit… it has taken longer than I anticipated.”
Your eyes roamed over him, savouring the slight cracks in his stoic composure as you closed the distance between you, each step deliberate. “I see how it is,” you replied, voice low and laced with playful reproach. “You came up here to have all the fun yourself. I hope you haven’t been… doing anything you shouldn’t.” you purred, no doubt he had.
A faint blush dusted Sebastian’s usually impassive features—something subtle enough that others might miss it, but not you. Not the witch who had stood by his side through realms and eras, who knew every nuance of him, mortal and infernal alike.
Across the room, Ciel shifted uncomfortably, caught somewhere between curiosity and unease as he observed the unspoken bond between you and Sebastian, the tension between you like a current thickening the air. At last, he cleared his throat, his tone sharp and tinged with bewilderment. “Sebastian,” he demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took you in, “who on earth is this woman?”
Without missing a beat, Sebastian’s gaze softened, his hand coming to rest with practised intimacy on your lower back, the gesture both reverent and possessive. “This,” he said with quiet pride, his eyes only for you, “is my wife, we are… newlyweds.”
Ciel’s confusion melted into outright shock, his gaze darting between the two of you. Bardroy, still gaping, managed to find his voice, his cigarette discarded on the floor. “Hold on,” he said, incredulous. “You mean this stunner is your wife, and you left her… to work as a butler?”
The absurdity hit him, his expression shifting to one of admiration and disbelief. “Hell, I wouldn’t even leave the bed!” he muttered, earning a bright red blush to bloom from Finny, who was no less astounded.
A wicked smile played on your lips as you cast Sebastian a knowing look, a glint in your eyes as if to agree with Bardroy’s sentiment. “Oh, at least someone appreciated me” you murmured, running a finger down the line of Sebastian’s chest, feeling the slight hitch in his breath. “I am disappointed in you.”
Sebastian chuckled, his grip on your waist tightening slightly, a promise in his touch that he wouldn’t make that mistake twice. “As you can see, my lord,” he said to Ciel, though his gaze remained locked with yours, “she is… one of a kind.”
You felt the possessive slide of Sebastian’s hand along your lower back, his fingers brushing your hip in a way both reverent and undeniably possessive. “My time here has been purely professional,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying a dark, seductive undertone, as if your mere presence had begun to erode his practised restraint. Leaning closer, he dropped his voice to a whisper meant only for you. “Though… perhaps I was beginning to miss… other matters.”
You chuckled softly, savouring his nearness as a familiar fire reignited within you. “Is that so?” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “Because if I recall, the last time we were together, you were…” You leaned in, your words slipping out like a spell, “unhinged. A desperate, howling demon who could barely restrain himself.”
Sebastian’s crimson eyes glinted with a dangerous edge, his hand at your waist tightening as he dipped his head lower, voice a hushed growl. “Ah… yes, I remember that well,” he whispered, his lips ghosting so close that his breath warmed your skin. “I believe everyone does.”
“Oh?” You tilted your head, a devilish gleam in your gaze. “Then do it again,” you challenged, voice dripping with daring and invitation. “Make me fear you again, darling.”
Sebastian’s crimson eyes darkened, the careful facade slipping just enough for you to glimpse the primal energy simmering beneath. His fingers traced your jaw, his touch sending a shiver through you as he absorbed every detail, every unspoken invitation. “As you command,” he murmured, finally pressing his lips to yours in a kiss laden with possession, centuries of devotion woven into each searing touch.
A pointed cough from Ciel finally shattered the moment. Bardroy and Finny stood frozen, stunned by the intensity before them. Yet Sebastian’s gaze remained locked with yours, his dark, lingering smile hinting at all that was yet to come.
Without breaking eye contact, you slipped your hand into his, fingers lacing with his as you turned on your heel, tugging him toward a secluded hallway. The others watched in shocked silence as you guided him down the manor’s west wing, a wicked gleam in your eyes.
“Are we going somewhere, my love?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral though intrigue coloured his gaze.
“Oh, I think so,” you replied, casting a sly glance back as you pulled him deeper into the shadowed halls. “After all, you’ve left me waiting long enough.”
A flicker of a smile touched his lips as he followed your lead, letting himself be pulled into an empty sitting room, its door creaking as you closed it behind you. Alone at last, you placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back until his tall form met the wall, your eyes alight with dark passion.
“You left me to run a manor and play servant to a human boy,” you teased, leaning close, your voice a low murmur against his collar. “Did you think I’d be so forgiving?”
His lips quirked, his hands settling possessively on your waist. “A butler’s duties require commitment,” he replied smoothly, his crimson eyes glinting with a rare spark of anticipation.
“Perhaps.” You tilted your head, fingers tracing the line of his jaw as he leaned into your touch. “But I’ve been all alone down below. Imagine what I might have done if I got bored.”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered slightly, a touch of warmth slipping into his otherwise impassive face. “My apologies,” he murmured, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Perhaps I underestimated how much my absence would… disappoint you.”
“Oh, it did,” you whispered back, your lips dangerously close to his. “You’ve left me, Sebastian. And you know how I get when I’m feeling neglected… I get vengeful.”
A low chuckle escaped him, rich and inviting. “Then, my darling,” he said, voice dipping lower, “show me what vengeance looks like.”
Your lips met his, every ounce of longing and tension igniting as the room filled with a charged silence. When you finally pulled back, your lips brushed his ear, whispering, “But since I am here to aid you now, perhaps you can give me a taste of your servitude…”
A dark spark lingered in Sebastian’s eyes, and he chuckled. “Then I’ll make sure, my love, to stay right where you want me, for I am, after all, simply one hell of a butler.”
Biting your lip, you let a devilish purr slip from you as you pressed Sebastian’s tall form down before the ornate fireplace, the flames casting flickering shadows over his sprawled figure. The fire crackled in the silence, casting an otherworldly glow across his face as he gazed up at you, crimson eyes gleaming with that familiar mixture of amusement and intrigue.
“Such a handsome face,” you murmured, standing over him, your heel trailing up his leg with deliberate slowness before gliding across his chest. “I doubt it’s been a lonely face.”
Sebastian’s gloved hand caught your calf, his fingers skimming up your skin with a practised, reverent touch. “Only business, my love,” he murmured, his voice soft yet unyielding. “You know I cannot be… fulfilled by another.”
You arched a brow, lips curving in a wicked smile. “Perhaps… perhaps not. That remains to be seen, but first, I must show you exactly what you’ve missed since you abandoned me.”
A flicker of amusement softened his gaze, though he remained perfectly composed. “Never abandoned, my darling,” he soothed, his voice low and velvety, his grip on your calf tightening possessively. “You are mine, and I am yours—merely a business trip.”
With a lingering glance, you tilted your head, letting your foot slide down his chest as you leaned in close. “A business trip,” you mused, savouring the crackling tension in the air. “We’ll see if that’s enough to excuse your absence.”
Sebastian’s eyes darkened, his lips twitching into a knowing smile. “Then by all means,” he said, his voice like a dark promise, “show me what I’ve been missing.”
‘’With pleasure.’’
Great mercury trendrill bloomed from the floor, curling around his limbs holding him place. Sebastian neither flinched or moved as they held him tightly in place, you knew he wouldn't, but it was fun all the same.
You moved slowly, purposefully, each step a calculated tease as you stepped over him, the thin fabric of your garment slipping and billowing around your hips as you lowered yourself, inch by tantalising inch. With all the grace you possessed, you lifted the delicate material, gathering it around your waist as you sank down, eyes locked on his with a wicked gleam.
Your husband's mouth had alway been his most dangerous asset. It was, after all, how he’d tempted you to leave behind the quiet simplicity of life as a mere witch, luring you into a world of infernal delights, transforming you into something far darker—a succubus, desire and love incarnate. His tongue sucked at your core, savouring your taste with a low growl, sending a wave of pleasure though you. You were needy, without him by your side you had gone without for far too long.
His mouth worked against you with an unrestrained hunger, each touch of his tongue sending a shiver through your entire body, every flick and press igniting the tension that had built up in his absence. A low, primal growl rumbled from his throat as he savoured your taste, his hands holding you firmly, possessively, as if staking his claim on you all over again.
The ache of longing surged, your need for him sharpened by the memory of all the nights you’d spent alone. Without him there, you'd denied yourself, holding onto the desire that only he could satisfy. But now, as he devoured you, the months of yearning melted away in waves of white-hot pleasure. Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, a soft moan escaping your lips as you leaned into his touch, desperate and lost in the feeling of being whole once more.
“Don’t stop,” you murmured breathlessly, your voice barely more than a whisper, every nerve alight as he worked with relentless skill as you peer down into his crimson gaze. He responded with another deep, satisfied growl, his eyes flashing up at you with a promise that he had no intention of stopping.
You rolled your hips against his tongue with deliberate, forceful need, each movement a wordless reminder that he was making up for lost time. He had neglected you, after all, left you simmering with desire as he attended to mortal obligations, and now this was yours to take.
The intensity of your own rhythm made him grip you tighter, a low, hungry sound escaping him as he surrendered to your control. His mouth met each motion eagerly, matching your fervour with his own, as if he understood that every moment was one he owed you—one he longed to repay with reverence and indulgence. You pressed down harder, eyes half-lidded as you revelled in the rush of power and pleasure that crackled between you. The world around you faded, leaving only the flicker of the flames and the intoxicating sensation of reclaiming what was always yours. You where fucking him now, there was no doubt, with wild, abandoned frenzy, fast and hard. Till you shattered, letting out a beautiful scream and us gushed against his mouth, smiling as he licked you clean of every drop.
“Let me serve you properly,” he murmured, his lips brushing a soft, reverent kiss against your thigh. You nodded, you had long since surrendered to your own bliss, too far gone to care now, he was not forgiven, not in the slightest but you would let him work you a little longer.
With a contented sigh, you released the tendril of power that had held him in place. Free of its hold, he moved with deliberate grace, his gloved hands gliding up your legs, his touch slow and reverent, leaving a trail of heat that seemed to sink into your skin.
A shiver rippled through you, unbidden, and Sebastian's keen eyes caught it immediately, a knowing glint flashing in his deep crimson gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward, pressing you back against the plush rug as the firelight cast flickering shadows across his chiselled features. His gaze was dark, smouldering, his attention wholly on you as he settled between your legs, his mouth moving to leave tender, lingering kisses along your inner thigh.
“Allow me, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet rumble against your skin. Slowly, he brought his hands to his lips, removing his gloves one finger at a time, each tug deliberate, revealing his bare hands. The suffocating cotton fell away, and at last, you felt the raw warmth of his touch as his fingers found your skin, their heat searing and irresistible.
‘’Such a delicious little joy’’ he moaned, pressing his nose in between his folds revealing in the way arched for him enjoying it even more as you let of a soft gush of sounds as he pushed a finger inside your soft walls, curling it just slightly, not enough to hit that special lace inside you but enough to leave you panting for more.
“Hush, my darling,” he whispered, voice dripping with both affection and amusement. “I’ll give you what you need. I’ve neglected you, haven’t I?” His lips curled into a teasing, mocking smile as his fingers pressed deeper, slow and relentless. “Let your husband make it all better‘’
His fingers curled, deliberate and knowing, intensifying with every thrust as he added another finger, filling you. His touch was masterful, skilled enough to unravel every ounce of composure, and soon, your body betrayed you—every nerve was attuned to him, each stroke turning you into a trembling, helpless mess beneath him.His eyes held yours, gleaming with that devilish satisfaction, revelling in the power he wielded over you as he continued his rhythm, taking his time, as if savouring the slow undoing of your resolve. His uniform trousers, doing nothing to conceal his twitching cock.
Once again, his tongue flickering against your already sensitive clit, basking in your beauty as you bucked against him, your neglect spurring on your deep need to chase the feeling overwhelming you.
‘’That's is my little love.’’ his fingers quickening deep inside you, never withdrawing just rocking against you, massaging that sweet spot, moulding it beneath his powerful tips.
When you finally shattered, a scream tore from your lips, echoing through the room as waves of pleasure surged through you, each one more intense than the last. Your body arched, fingers curling into the fabric beneath you, as you succumbed completely, letting the ecstasy ripple through every inch of you.
Sebastian’s eyes darkened with satisfaction, his gaze never leaving yours as he watched you unravel beneath his touch. His movements slowed, savouring the aftermath of your release, fingers still tracing gentle circles, coaxing every last bit of bliss from you. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your quivering form, murmuring, “There now, my love… That’s what you deserve, and I intend to make up for every moment you went without.”
He held you close, fingers tracing soothing patterns along your skin as he steadied you, grounding you from the intensity that had just swept over you. His crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction, an unspoken promise lingering in his gaze. But you, still resolved, pulled yourself gracefully from his hold, eliciting a slight furrow of surprise in his brow.
“Hm, my love?” he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of protest, his fingers flexing as if to pull you back. Yet he remained composed, reclining by the fire with his gaze locked onto you in that predatory, assessing way you knew all too well.
With a smirk, you met his watchful stare. “When I have truly forgiven you,” you purred, an arch to your brow, “perhaps I’ll think about letting you back into my bed. For now, though, I’ll be catching up on the fun you’ve had in my absence.” Letting your gaze drift casually toward the door, you added, “Maybe I’ll start with that gruff cook downstairs.”
A spark of possessiveness flickered in Sebastian’s eyes, and his mouth set into a tight line, a low, feral growl escaping him despite his calm exterior. His jaw tightened as he took in your words, his eyes darkening with challenge, but you merely laughed, enjoying the sight of his restraint slipping as you sauntered away.
You could feel his gaze, hot and possessive, burning into your back as you exited the room, leaving him simmering by the fire, just as you intended. The thrill of it lingered, a delightful anticipation tingling down your spine as you stepped into the hallway, well aware that he wouldn’t let such a taunt go unanswered.

I needed to write some smut to get back into practice, and now I am seriously considering doing a little mini series on Sebastian and Reader having a little fun with other characters from the series.
Who do you think I should do first? They are all so tempting!
Please like, comment or make a request for any fandom!
#sebastian michaelis x reader#sebastian x reader#sebastian michaelis#black butler x reader#black butler
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Just...Pissed off Bestfriend!Ghost who can't get outta the friendzone...
TW: no direct smut ig, but its teasing and build up to smut. Ghost pinning over an oblivious reader.
This might get a second part if it does well, but who knows.
Imagine Ghost who prides himself in being subtle, unfazed, and mysterious. Except, he isn't around you. He'd been one of your closest friends since you both practically grew up together. Even when he joined to military, you made it a point to send letters and stay in touch. Ugh, that made it so much harder to not grow attached.
Ghost, or Simon, as you know him, would never out right tell you he was interested. Instead, he chose to drop hints. Maybe warding off any guy who looked at you too long wasn't the best hint, but it was crucial. Simon made an effort to keep his hands on you whenever he could. Whether that was a hug; a hand on your hips when he brushed passed you; or full blown cuddles on the couch when you guys watched movies.
Oh, he loved the cuddles. He had your whole body pressed against him as he occupied most of your attention. You were always so soft and warm. He always had to take a bathroom break half way through to relieve himself of a harder problem.
If you noticed how Simon began to change, you never mentioned it. This was now approaching your sixth month of this friends with cuddles non-sense. It wasn't like he wasn't your type! On a boring mission break, he might or might not have gone through your search history to find some enlightening Onlyfans subscriptions. He was both unimpressed and flattered when he saw how his body matched many of your most visited sites. Why pay to see other men's bodies when you could run your dainty hands over his? Simon Riley didn't get it.
Simon also couldn't fathom how you still hadn't taken the hint. He'd agreed to go clubbing with you as you chose to parade around in the sluttiest two piece he'd ever seen. Fuck. Why was your skirt so short anyway? Your top was basically lingerie with the mesh pieces and thin straps. Were you trying to grab his attention on purpose? Cause it...was kind of working... a little too well for his liking.
He hated how his eyes ghosted between your thighs before pulling away to look at the cock block who had you exhale an airy laugh. Your sounds were always angelic. He'd be lying to himself if he hadn't fantasized about the more sinister sounds he could draw out of you when you'd finally gotten the hint. Nevertheless, hearing it directed to someone else made his blood boil. Perhaps the other predicament was the fact that he knew that his eyes weren't the only ones lingering on you.
"Hey, darling, I think it's time we head out." Simon wasted no time, in two strides he was at your side with his arms wrapped protectively around you. He gazed down at the moron who looked a bit paler before the guy made an effort to wrap up your conversation. The idiot quickly scurried off into the tight crowd.
"No, I wanna dance more~" Your voice drew Simon's attention. You were being such a brat by subtly grinding your hips against him. Sure, you were wasted, but you had to know how riled up he was. You should be able to feel his hard on poking your back by now. He gripped your hips, forcing them to still.
"Baby, you're drunk, and I'm the one who's responsible for getting you home," he growled in your ear. There was a thick rasp in his voice as he tried to repress the urge to grind back. This wasn't fair to him at all. How could you expect a man to resist you? Simon had plenty of trouble doing that already, but this gave blue balls a whole new meaning.
#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley#cod smut#simon riley smut#ghost smut
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Hiya!
It's me again. I hope you are well <3
I'd like to request a Hannibal x reader (preferably female or undisclosed) who is Hannibals new therapist. But she catches that Hannibal is like... SUPER unethical. Perhaps not that he's a cannibalistic serial killer, but she gets a feeling that he's not exactly safe to be around.
Therefore, she tries to withdraw their sessions, saying that she does not get the impression Hannibal actually wants to be helped or change his behaviour (she tries to play it off that she doesn't want their sessions to be unprofessional, which seems to be his angle). Of course, Hannibal doesn't like that idea and does some despicable shit to get her back (blackmail, murder, etc)
Thnx!
who? hannibal x gn!reader
category: angst
content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! dark themes, cannibalistic references, mentions of death, stalking, aggression, kidnapping
The air in Hannibal Lecter’s office was always meticulously curated. Subtle notes of bergamot and sandalwood mingled with the faintest hint of old books, creating an atmosphere that was as inviting as it was disarming. You’d thought at first it was his way of making his clients feel comfortable, but as weeks passed, the room began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a spider’s web—artfully spun, deliberately designed. You weren’t entirely sure who the prey was meant to be.
“Dr. Lecter,” you began, keeping your voice measured as you adjusted the cuffs of your blouse. “I’ve noticed something peculiar in our sessions.”
Hannibal’s dark eyes lifted from the notepad he wasn’t really writing in, his head tilting slightly like a predator feigning curiosity. “Have you?” he said, his voice as smooth and rich as aged cognac. “Please, do elaborate.”
You hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing against you like a physical force. It wasn’t just his intelligence that unnerved you, though that was certainly part of it. It was the way he seemed to already know what you were going to say—as if he had been inside your head long before you even stepped through his office door.
“It’s my professional opinion,” you continued, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, “that these sessions aren’t serving their intended purpose. I don’t believe you’re interested in exploring meaningful change.”
His lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile. “And what, may I ask, led you to that conclusion?”
Your fingers tightened around the armrest of your chair. “I think you find these sessions entertaining rather than enlightening. It feels less like therapy and more like a… game.”
Hannibal’s smile widened imperceptibly. “Life is, in many ways, a game, is it not? One of strategy, of observation, of opportunity.”
You suppressed a shiver, holding onto your composure with an iron grip. “Be that as it may, I don’t think our continued sessions would be ethical.”
His expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Ethics can be such a mutable thing,” he said softly, leaning forward just enough to blur the boundaries of personal space. “What is ethical to you may be anathema to another.”
“Dr. Lecter,” you said, your voice firm despite the way your heart was pounding, “I’m withdrawing from our arrangement. I’ll refer you to another therapist if you’d like, but I don’t believe I can—”
“You feel unsafe.”
The words hung in the air between you, more statement than question. Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to shake your head. “That’s not it,” you lied. “I simply feel our dynamic risks becoming unprofessional.”
Hannibal regarded you for a long, unnerving moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, moving with the kind of deliberate grace that made you feel as though every step he took was a calculated act. “I see,” he said, turning to the window and clasping his hands behind his back. “If that is your decision, I will respect it.”
Relief coursed through you, but it was fleeting. Something about the way he said it felt off, like the calm before a storm. You rose from your seat, smoothing your shirt with hands that trembled only slightly. “Thank you for understanding,” you said, heading for the door.
As your hand closed around the cool brass of the doorknob, his voice stopped you cold.
“Before you go, Dr. l/n,” he said, his tone as polite as ever but carrying an edge that set your nerves on fire, “may I offer one last piece of advice?”
You turned slowly, your pulse quickening. “Of course.”
His smile returned, small and chillingly sincere. “In the pursuit of understanding others, one should take care not to reveal too much of oneself. Vulnerability is a currency, and in the wrong hands, it can be… terribly costly.”
The words followed you out of his office, sinking into your skin like cold iron. It wasn’t until you were in the safety of your car that you allowed yourself to exhale, the tension in your chest finally breaking like a wave against the shore. But even as you drove away, the feeling lingered: the sense that Hannibal Lecter wasn’t done with you yet.
The days that followed felt like a haze, a fog of unease that never quite lifted. You told yourself you had made the right choice, that withdrawing from Hannibal Lecter’s sessions had been necessary. But there was an unshakable weight in your chest, a whisper that he had known all along what you would do. That he had been preparing for this moment, for your withdrawal, long before you had ever made the decision.
In the quiet of your apartment, the phone was always within arm’s reach. You had set it to silent, the fear that he might call a persistent hum in the back of your mind. Every ring, every vibration, seemed to mock you, reminding you of his final words. Vulnerability is a currency… it can be terribly costly.
Weeks passed, and you managed to convince yourself that you had escaped his grasp. But then, one evening, the phone rang.
Your breath hitched when you saw the name on the screen.
It was him.
You stared at the display for several seconds, heart racing in your chest, a surge of cold dread sweeping over you. Then, before you could convince yourself to silence it, your finger slid across the screen, answering without thought.
"Dr. l/n, it’s been far too long."
His voice, smooth and familiar, filled the space around you, and you could almost feel him in the room with you, his presence crawling beneath your skin. You tightened your grip on the phone, trying to steady yourself. "I… I thought we agreed that our sessions were over, Dr. Lecter."
"Did we?" His voice was tinged with amusement, as though the very idea of agreement had never truly mattered to him. "You’re still thinking of it as a session. I suppose that’s part of the problem, isn't it?"
Your pulse quickened, but you kept your voice steady. "What do you want from me?"
"Ah," he murmured, and you could almost hear his smile in his words. "Always so direct. But I would prefer to think of it as something more than a simple want. You see, I am curious about something—something I neglected to ask during our last conversation."
"Which is?"
A pause, long enough to make the silence unbearable. "Why did you choose to walk away?"
You didn’t answer immediately. The question hung in the air, its meaning far deeper than the surface of the words. You hadn’t realized until that moment how much his absence had unsettled you. "I felt our dynamic wasn’t healthy."
He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unsettling. "Isn’t that the nature of all human relationships? The power dynamics, the tension… they’re what make them interesting. And you, my dear, are quite… interesting."
Your breath caught. You hated how easily he saw through you, how much he could manipulate your words, your feelings, as if he were a marionette master pulling invisible strings.
"You know," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "I find it fascinating that you would choose to withdraw when I offered you something so… rare. An opportunity to explore parts of yourself that most would never have the courage to examine. And yet, you left."
"Because I realized I wasn’t prepared for whatever it was you wanted from me," you replied, your voice firmer than you felt. "I’m not your plaything, Hannibal."
"You are not a plaything, Doctor," he said, a trace of something darker in his voice. "But you are a puzzle. And puzzles, I find, are best when solved."
The air in your apartment seemed to thicken with his words. You knew, even before he spoke again, that you had made a mistake answering the phone. The last shred of safety you had felt, the illusion of escape, was now shattered.
"Think about it, my dear. I’m sure you’ll come to realize that we are far more alike than you care to admit."
You felt the ground beneath you shift. Something had changed. And in that moment, you weren’t sure if you had been running away from him, or if he had been waiting for the right moment to pull you back into his web.
"Goodbye, Dr. l/n." His voice was smooth, final. "I look forward to seeing you again."
The call ended, leaving you in a thick silence that suffocated the air from your lungs. Your body trembled as you set the phone down, your hand still shaking. You had known, deep down, that it wouldn’t be the last time you heard from him.
At first, you told yourself you were imagining things. The faintest glimpse of him on the street, his figure disappearing down a corridor before you could confirm it was really him. The soft scrape of a chair across the floor when you were alone in your office, only to find the room empty when you checked. But the unease never left. It lingered like the faintest scent, always just on the edge of your awareness, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you.
It started small. A book on your desk that hadn’t been there before, its cover embossed with intricate, foreign designs—an impossible coincidence, or so it seemed. Then, a note left on your windshield, a single sentence scrawled in elegant handwriting:
"Some puzzles are worth revisiting."
You’d scanned the parking lot, your heart pounding in your chest, but there was no one in sight. No evidence of how it had gotten there, just the unsettling knowledge that Hannibal Lecter had been close enough to leave it for you to find.
The fear began to settle into your bones, insidious and suffocating. Everywhere you went, you felt his gaze, the sensation of being watched constantly hanging in the air like an invisible thread. You changed your routine, took different routes to work, and started locking your doors with an obsessive precision. But nothing seemed to matter. The feeling of being stalked only intensified, the distance between you and him growing smaller with each passing day.
You found yourself walking home through the quiet streets, the chill of the evening air biting at your skin. The usual sounds of the city—the distant hum of traffic, the faint murmur of voices—seemed muted, distant. Your footsteps echoed in the silence, and it felt wrong. Too quiet.
You turned the corner to your apartment building, heart racing as the darkness seemed to close in around you. And that’s when you saw it.
A shadow, standing just beyond the edge of the streetlight. The shape was unmistakable. Tall, slender, poised. Even from a distance, you knew it was him.
You froze, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you—if you had finally lost touch with reality. But the figure didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It simply watched you, its presence oppressive and suffocating.
You took a step back, then another, but the shadow didn’t follow. It just lingered there, like a predator biding its time, waiting for you to make the next move. You wanted to run, to escape, but your legs felt like lead, as though they had turned to stone beneath you.
The air shifted, the hairs on the back of your neck rising in response to the subtle change in the atmosphere. The figure turned then, slowly, as if it had been waiting for your acknowledgment.
And then, you heard it—a voice so smooth, so utterly calm that it felt like it could break you.
"Dr. l/n," Hannibal’s voice drifted toward you, too soft to be a true threat, but carrying the weight of something far darker beneath it. "You’re still running."
You could see his eyes now, gleaming in the dim light. They were locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze impossible to escape. There was no fear in him—just a cool, calculating presence that made your insides twist with terror.
"You’ve been avoiding me, but you can’t outrun what’s already inside you," he continued, his tone almost gentle, as if offering you some twisted comfort. "No matter how far you go, it will always be there, won’t it?"
Your throat tightened, the air thick with a sense of inevitability. He had found you. He was here. You weren’t sure if you were more frightened of the fact that he knew you so well, or that you couldn’t escape him.
"Why are you doing this?" The words came out as a choked whisper, the panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?"
"Because, Doctor," he said, his voice low and full of something almost tender, "I’m not done with you. I’ve only just begun."
The words hung in the air, and in that moment, you understood the true weight of his meaning. He wasn’t stalking you out of simple obsession. No. He was drawing closer, weaving his presence into the very fabric of your life, until there would be no escape.
He took a step forward, and you felt your body tense, as though preparing to flee, but your legs refused to move. The distance between you both was closing, each step of his calculated and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to claim you.
"I told you before," Hannibal said softly, his breath now almost a whisper against the cold night air. "In the pursuit of understanding others, one must take care not to reveal too much of oneself."
He smiled then, the darkness around him deepening, and you realised with chilling certainty that you had given him far more than you ever intended.
One morning, you arrived at your office early, determined to confront your own mind and wrestle back some semblance of control. You couldn’t keep living in fear, and you couldn’t keep hiding from the truth. You had to be done. Done with him. You knew, deep down, that you would never be able to escape the haunting presence of Hannibal Lecter unless you made it final.
You made the decision then, as you sat at your desk, your hands steady for the first time in weeks: you would call him, tell him to leave you alone, to end whatever twisted connection had formed between you. You would refuse him. You would refuse him in every way, and you would be done with it all.
The phone felt cold in your hand as you dialed his number. Your heart thundered in your chest, but you clung to the hope that this would end it. The line rang three times before he picked up.
"Dr. l/n, I had wondered when you would reach out again." His voice was smooth, as though the distance between you both had not been filled with terror and hesitation. "I trust everything has been well since our last meeting?"
Your voice was tight but resolute as you replied, "No, Dr. Lecter. It hasn’t. I need you to stop—stop watching me, stop trying to manipulate me. I’m done with this. I’m done with you."
For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. And then, just when you thought he might speak, you heard the subtle sound of him exhaling, as if he were considering your words carefully.
"You misunderstand me, Doctor," he said, his tone calm, but underneath it, you could hear the faintest trace of something dark, something dangerous. "This is not something you can simply walk away from. I do not allow people to walk away from me."
The words sent a chill down your spine. But you couldn’t back down now. You had to stay strong.
"I’m not afraid of you anymore," you said, though your voice wavered just the slightest. "I want you to leave me alone, Dr. Lecter. If you don’t, I will go to the authorities. You won’t get away with it."
Another pause, longer this time. And then, his voice came, colder than it had ever been. "You believe that you are in control. But you are not. You never have been."
And before you could react, the line went dead.
The silence that followed was oppressive. Your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts racing, but before you could process what had just happened, there was a knock at the door. It was too early for any patients, too soon for anyone else to be here. You stood frozen for a moment, uncertainty flooding your mind.
You forced yourself to move, to rise from your desk, though your legs felt like they might give way beneath you. With each step toward the door, a sense of dread twisted your stomach. You peered through the small window in the door and, for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you saw him—his face, as calm and calculating as ever, framed by the glass.
You swung the door open, and your breath caught in your throat.
It wasn’t him at the door. But it was someone.
A man, tall and broad, wearing a dark suit that seemed out of place in the sterile office building. His eyes were dark and unblinking, his presence suffocating in its intensity. He smiled at you, but it wasn’t a smile that offered any warmth.
"Dr. l/n, is it?" The voice was soft, but there was a hardness behind it, a finality that made you feel small in its presence.
"Who are you?" you demanded, stepping back instinctively. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your pulse quickening as an icy shiver ran down your spine.
"That’s not important," the man replied, and in that instant, you knew exactly who had sent him. Hannibal had never intended for you to simply walk away.
Before you could react, before you could scream or make a run for it, the man lunged forward, his grip closing around your wrist with inhuman strength, yanking you back into the office. You tried to fight, to push him off, but his hand was unyielding, crushing your arm against the desk as he pinned you down.
You struggled, your mind racing for some way to escape, but the door slammed shut behind you. The last thing you saw before everything went black was the faint outline of a figure in the doorway—Hannibal. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable and still. There was no panic in him, only that cold, calculating smile.
"You should have listened," he whispered.
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The first day
Okay just a quick rant I probably only care about ahead. Just some thoughts about Wyll’s backstory CW(Mizora and Wyll’s relationship discussion/eye trauma)
So I may be biased by honestly Wyll’s backstory is probably one of the most tragic imo especially if you consider the time spent waiting for his father to return from Elturel. Like did he imagine he could maybe make things better in the way that fathers do? Make her go away? 😭 I also can’t imagine the pain of having your eye removed in such a way. I can only imagine that there must have been complications like infection. I do wonder if wyll would have been embarrassed or anxious to ask for help with his eye as that would require a lot of explaining. He was just a babyyy 😭
Like I feel like it’s so sad that he practically only has Mizora for ‘comfort’ from the time he signed his pact.
Also Wyll probably wasn’t the most equipped to survive in the wilderness. He was a teenager from the city who is now recently blinded in one eye.
Also about Ulder, I feel like people often characterize him as an absent or cold father which is not the way I see him at all. He was clearly a loving man judging by how wyll speaks of him and the diary you can find of his favorite memories. So I think the tragedy is not within Wyll not having a father figure, but instead Wyll’s loss of such a strong and loving figure in his life.
And from Ulder’s perspective I do wonder what he thought about for 7 years. Did he worry about Wyll having food or water? Did he worry about his son’s tears being dried?
I also wonder if Ulder perhaps saw Francesca’s face within his son’s and wondered what she would think about him sending their son away if she were here. Also can you imagine the guilt you’d have to unpack knowing that your son was pushed further into the arms of a devil for seven years because of your rejection?
I also think about the dynamics of Mizora and Wyll’s relationship. I do think that Larian could’ve obviously handled it all with more care and put more effort into defining it better but that’s been said. Larian drops subtle hints of Wyll and Mizora’s relationship being more than we see. I think that if they wanted that to be in background it’s not necessarily a wrong choice but I also think they should’ve fleshed it out better. Like we see with Astarion and Cazador it’s clear that he is left with a lot of trauma from what happened. And I love that we get to see a cathartic moment for him, but I feel it’s such a shame we dont quite get that option with Wyll and Mizora. I’d love for them to have delved deeper into Wyll’s trauma and how he is going to grow and heal from it in the future. I also just feel Wyll’s trauma is sort of overlooked a bit compared to other characters. Almost as if his trauma is played for laughs in a way? If that makes sense.
Anyway some of that may be HC territory or ooc but it’s just my thoughts when drawing lol. The ADHD is ADHDing.
#baldur's gate 3#art#fanart#artists on tumblr#baldur's gate iii#baldurs gate fanart#digital art#bg3#bg3 fanart#baldurs gate wyll#cw blood#cw eye trauma#cw Mizora#mizora#baldur gate 3#wyll baldurs gate#baldur’s gate 3#bg3 wyll#wyll bg3#bg3 art#wyll ravengard bg3#wyll ravengard#ulder ravengard#cw grooming#my poor meow meow#I will draw something happy to make up for it#hcs#fuck Mizora#all my homies hate mizora
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GIRLIE PLS, I request a boothill x gnreader tarte aux fraises along with leve soufflé
PLEASE PLEASE AND THANK YOU ILY
.note. HEYYYY, sorry for the delay anon. i already needed to do some heavy angst, so I did this in good time. btw, sorry if there is a typing error. hope you like it ദ്ദി(˵ -̀ ᴗ - ˵ )
𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a soufflé."



Probably

pairing. boothill x gn!reader cw/genre. exes to something else, angst, slightly suggestive/nsfw, vomiting, mentions of vomit. synopsis. after “getting back” together, you find him almost making out with a girl full menu
Boothill caught you just in time as you stumbled through his doorway, his arms a steady anchor for your drunken sway.
"I recall you sayin' you'd be just fine without me, yet here ya are, standin' at my doorstep with those tipsy pretty eyes fixed on me."
It had only been a week since he’d left you. His hands gently rubbed your head as he guided you inside and settled you on his couch.
"There, there, you'll be alright."
He watched as you settled into the couch in the heart of his living quarters, your flushed features a stark contrast against the worn leather seat. The scent of alcohol permeated the air, a subtle hint of your earlier exploits.
A playful smirk tugged at the corners of Boothill’s lips as he moved to sit beside you, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch just behind your head.
He took a moment to observe you, admiring the effect the alcohol had on your usual composed demeanor, before a bemused tone colored his voice.
"Looks like someone had a little too much fun."
“But I can’t help but wonder,” he continued, a hint of teasing in his voice as his gaze lingered on the pink flushed on your cheeks. “How much of your decision to come here was influenced by the alcohol or maybe…”
He paused, his finger gently tracing the edge of your chin as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “By the fact that you missed me.”
The air between you thickened with an undercurrent of tension, the silence in the room magnified by the soft sounds of your breath. Boothill’s eyes never left your face, a mixture of amusement and curiosity in their depths.
His fingers continued to trace along your jaw, as if mapping out the contours of your features.
“Or perhaps it was a little bit of both,” he mused, his lips curving into a knowing half-smile.
The proximity of his body to yours was intoxicating, the heat from his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.
He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest. His eyes, which had been locked on your face, flickered to your neck for a brief moment, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin there for a beat longer than necessary.
“It’s just... cute. Seeing you come here all tipsy and needing me,” He murmured, his hand moving to the back of your neck.
"Nuh huh, I just, just got the wrong department." You said, slurring your words a little, shuddering a little at his cold touch.
“Sure you did, darlin’.” He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the sight of you in your carefree, inebriated state.
His thumb tracing lazy circles against your flushed skin.
“No need to explain nothin’." He drawled, his fingers gently tracing the nape of your neck. ”I get it, you missed me.”
"Fuck you." You replied again, frowning.
Your mind was fuzzy, from the alcohol in your system.
This time, however, you leaned into his touch, as if it were soothing to you.
Oh, he was thoroughly reveling in this moment.
A soft, pleased hum escaped him as he felt you lean into his touch. He was thoroughly enjoying the shift in your demeanor under the influence of alcohol, the usual steel behind your words replaced with a more vulnerable, needy edge.
His fingers continued their slow, soothing motion against your skin, his gaze never leaving your face.
"You know," he said, his voice lower and warmer than before, "You're a lot more affectionate when you're drunk."
His other hand moved to gently tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to his view. “Looks like your tough exterior isn’t so tough tonight, hm?”
You mumbled something he couldn't understand.
As you moved away from his touch momentarily to straddle his lap.
"I hate you," you blurted out, almost as an incoherent mumble.
He had to bite back a laugh at the sight of you straddling his lap, your words and actions betraying your usual stoicism. You were a mess of contradictions tonight, and he was relishing every moment of it.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he heard your petulant words, the contrast between them and your current actions making his chest rumble with amused laughter.
"Sure you do, darlin’." He murmured, his hands settling on your hips, pulling you closer until you were pressed firmly against him. His fingers flexed slightly, giving a light squeeze.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your flushed features, lingering on the way your hair fell haphazardly around your face.
His hands, still resting on your hips, began a slow, rhythmic motion, his thumbs tracing lazy circles against the fabric of your clothing.
"Always acting tough."
You let out a shaky sigh, resting your forehead on his shoulder.
Your eyes closed slightly. His touch was what you had been longing for. You just wouldn't admit it.
He chuckled softly at the sight of you resting against him, the way you leaned into him. It was such a small gesture, but it said volumes.
His fingers continued their steady, soothing motion against your hips, occasionally drifting up to the small of your back.
"I missed you…" You blurted out, slurring your words again, as you settled on top of him, closing your eyes completely.
The alcohol had drained you of all the previous energy you had in the bar.
His smile widened at your impulsive words. He'd expected a denial, an argument, anything but this. But here you were, drunk and honest, confessing that you missed him.
He moved one hand up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers burying themselves in your hair as he held you close, his other arm wrapping firmly around your waist to keep you in place.
"Feeling sleepy, huh?" He asked, his voice soft yet tinged with the same hint of amusement he'd been displaying earlier.
You just nodded in response, your eyes still closed and your breath warm against the crook of his neck. You felt exhausted, the alcohol numbing your senses and leaving you heavy-limbed and compliant.
He took advantage of your state to adjust you in his lap, shifting you slightly to make himself more comfortable. He could tell that you had fallen asleep, the steady rhythm of your breathing and the way you leaned into him.
He chuckled again, resting his cheek against your head.
The next day, you left, trying to be quiet.
You were embarrassed about what happened, that was clearly not your intention.
Your relationship was supposed to be over, so why come crawling back to him?
"Ugh, what an idiot," you thought.
You're supposed to be fine without him. You were calm and not needing to have someone by your side. Of course you were.
Right?
Right…?
No, you were not fine like that.
Try as you might, it was in vain.
A few days later, you sent him a message, late at night.
You wanted to call him, but you couldn't.
Oh yes, it goes without saying that you had alcohol in your veins again.
You sent him somewhat incoherent messages, but they all came to the same meaning; "why did it all end between us?"
His phone vibrated on his bedside table, jolting him out of his sleep.
Boothill reached for it, squinting at the bright screen in the darkened room. He felt bleary-eyed and disoriented.
As he read through the messages, his eyebrows arched up, a mixture of surprise and amusement playing on his face. He wasn't expecting to hear from you, let alone under these circumstances.
"What the…" he muttered, reading through the somewhat incoherent texts.
He leaned back against the headboard, his gaze fixed on the screen, running a hand through his hair as he clicked on your name.
His thumb hovered over the call button for a moment, debating whether to respond in kind.
Eventually, he gave in to curiosity.
He hit the call button and brought the phone to his ear.
The phone rang once, then twice.
Each ring seemed to echo loudly in the silence of the night.
He waited, wondering if you would answer or hang up on him.
Finally, there was a click.
"We were doing so well,"
Your voice was unsteady when you picked up, your words slightly slurred.
He could almost picture you, probably sitting alone somewhere, alcohol coursing through your system. It was a familiar sight, one that both annoyed and amused him.
"Hey there, darlin'."
Boothill let out a soft sigh, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.
The mere fact of the nickname made you frown, feeling your vision blurred by stupid tears.
At your silence, he continued.
"We were doing so well, huh?" he repeated.
He couldn't help the sardonic tone, though there was a hint of resignation in it.
He leaned back further against the headboard, his phone held between his ear and shoulder.
"Is that why you're drowning yourself in liquor right now?", he stated bluntly.
You fumbled to find the right words, your brain slightly mush.
He was right and you hated that.
"I just…"
You stopped, feeling your throat getting tighter.
The tears finally fell, your cheeks wet but your eyes dry.
You swallowed a sob with difficulty.
His words felt like a shot through what little remained of your buzzed brain.
It was a direct hit on the reasons for your current state.
"It's not…", you answered, trying to compose yourself, to sound like you were at least slightly less drunk than you currently were.
But it was futile.
Your voice trembled, betraying your true condition.
"You left," you said, your voice breaking slightly. "Shit."
"You said you would never do it." You stifled a sob. You were upset, he was a liar and selfish for ending something perfect.
Boothill winced slightly at the sound of your cracking voice.
There was a pause on his end, his expression shifting.
He wasn't expecting you to sound so… broken.
He had expected anger, maybe harsh words.
Not this.
Not the genuine heartbreak in your voice as you spoke.
His jaw set slightly, his grip on the phone tightening.
His voice was low when he spoke again.
"Why are you send me messages, then? If you're just goin' to blame me for leavin'."
Your accusation hurt him, but it was not far from the truth. He had said many times that he would never leave.
And yet he did.
You sniffed, wiping away the tears on your cheeks with a shaky hand.
Your chest felt tight, and your throat ached from holding back the sobs that threatened to spill out.
The alcohol in your system didn't help.
It made everything more intense, your emotions raw and unfiltered.
"I don't know," you admitted, the words coming out in a frustrated half-sob. "I don't know. I miss you and it's your fault."
The truth in your statement was bitter, a stinging reminder of your current vulnerability.
The words hung in the air, echoing a truth more profound than you wanted to admit.
"It sucks," you continued, your voice still trembling.
"It sucks that I still…"
The rest of your sentence was lost in another sob.
His expression softened, his tone shifting from defensive to something more vulnerable.
"Still…?" he prompted, his voice low and soft.
He hadn't seen this side of you before, the raw pain and vulnerability laid bare by the alcohol and the late-night call.
It was a far cry from the tough exterior you normally projected.
You stayed silent, you felt like you were throwing a tantrum like you were a little child.
He let out a heavy sigh, a hand running through his hair.
"You don't know what you're sayin'."
It was a weak attempt to deflect, to push back against the truth of your words.
His comment about not knowing what you were saying stung more than it should have. It felt like a dismissal, like he was trying to downplay your feelings as nothing more than booze-fueled ramblings.
But the thing is, you did know what you were saying.
You heard his voice, softer now, the usual teasing edge absent.
It pissed you off.
"Shut up," you replied, your own voice shaking.
Your tears continued to flow, your eyes stinging and your vision still blurred.
"Stop trying to dismiss it," you continued, your voice rising slightly, "Stop trying to act like it doesn't matter."
His jaw clenched as your voice rose, the frustration in your tone cutting through the silence.
He'd never been good at dealing with emotional outbreaks, much less drunk ones.
The tension in your voice, the pain and anger in your words — it all hit him like a gut punch.
"I never said it didn't matter," he countered, his voice tight.
"But you're not in the right state of mind, darlin'. You're drunk and upset—".
And again, minimizing your words just because of how you were currently.
Immediately, before he could continue speaking, you interrupted him. "You're a fucking idiot." You said, before hanging up the call.
You wanted to throw your phone, but you stopped before doing so. Allowing yourself to sob without holding back any emotion.
The sudden silence after you hung up was deafening.
He looked down at his phone, as if staring at it would make the situation better.
It didn't.
He swore under in his mind, tossing the phone on the bedside table and clenching his metal fists in frustration.
Your words echoed in his head.
He was used to your sharp tongue, your retorts and banter.
But something about hearing those words now, in that tone, was different.
He stay there, staring at the ceiling, the silence of the night mocking him.
The entire conversation felt like both had ended your relationship again.
He sat up well, the blankets pooling around his waist.
He was torn between anger and guilt.
Anger at your words, your drunken honesty.
Guilt for the part he had played in this, for the choices he had made that led to this moment.
He reached for his phone again, his finger hovering over the screen.
He wanted to call you again. To try and fix it, to apologize or to do something.
Then he put the phone back down.
It was no use.
Not now. Not like this.
Approximately two days.
Two days in which you fought with yourself to not let yourself be trampled by your feelings.
A shame your will wasn't strong enough for this.
The taste of a good whiskey made everything better, or at least made you feel brave.
With the little reasoning you had now, you couldn't help but think about your pride, which right now, by doing this, was at its limit.
Yes, you knocked on his door again.
Your somewhat messy hair, your cheeks pink from the liquor and your somewhat glassy eyes were the first thing he saw when he opened the door.
He couldn't believe it.
There you were, standing before him again, a few days later, looking as disheveled as the last time he had seen you.
For a moment, he just stared at you.
Your disheveled appearance, the flush on your cheeks, and the glassiness of your eyes told him everything he needed to know.
He hadn't expected you to show up — not after your emotional fit over the phone.
He felt a pang of guilt at the sight of you, knowing he was partly to blame for your current state.
The sight of you shouldn't affect him as it did, yet it did.
"Come to yell at me again?", he drawled, his gaze roaming over your face.
The sight of you standing there, clearly inebriated, stirred a cocktail of emotions he couldn't quite place.
There was annoyance… concern… and something he didn't want to acknowledge.
Your face contorted in a mixture of irritation and frustration, your mind foggy.
You didn't know whether you wanted to yell, cry, or throw something at him.
Maybe all at once.
But the sight of him, his slightly tousled hair, his disheveled shirt, his tired eyes, it softened your expression a bit.
But his sarcastic remark made the irritation flare up again.
"Yell?", you repeated, your voice carrying a hint of slur.
Your eyes narrowed, a hint of hurt behind the drunken haze.
You met his gaze, your gaze unfocused but unwavering.
"No," you replied, your response coming out more as a slur than a clear answer.
You swayed slightly on your feet, leaning against the door frame to stay upright.
You felt exposed under his gaze, the effects of the alcohol making you more vulnerable than you'd like, and yet, it also made you feel emboldened.
"You're a bastard," you responded, your voice slightly slurred, "A selfish, seelfish bastard."
The words slipped out, fueled by a mixture of emotions: anger, hurt, and that damn thing you hated—that lingering feeling of affection that didn't seem to go away, no matter how much you tried to drown it in liquor.
His expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing at your accusation.
He took note of the way you swayed on your feet, the slur in your voice, and the glassy look in your eyes.
Everything screamed "drunken emotional outburst".
"And you're a mess," he retorted, his voice flat.
His gaze moved over your disheveled appearance again.
Your cheeks flushed redder, anger and humiliation mixing with the alcohol in your system.
"Oh, I'm a mess, am I?", you shot back, your voice rising with emotion.
You stepped closer, close enough for him to smell the whiskey on your breath.
"What right do you have to criticize me when you're the one who left? Left me with nothing but a bunch of broken promises."
Your voice cracked at the last part, the vulnerability seeping through despite your drunken bravado.
His expression remained neutral, though a flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes at your words.
He knew where this was going.
He had seen you in this state before — emotional, inebriated, angry.
But this time it was different.
He stayed silent for a moment, the tension between you two palpable.
He didn't know what to do with this side of you — the raw, hurt you.
"Maybe I left 'cause bein' with you was like walkin' on eggshells," he retorted, his voice laced with irritation.
The words left his mouth before he could reign them in.
Your eyes widened slightly.
"Eggshells?", you repeated, your voice rising in pitch, "Is that what I was? A burden? A pain in the ass?"
His words were like a slap, stinging worse than you'd ever admit.
A bitter laugh escaped your lips.
"Right, blame me for everything, as usual."
You stumbled slightly, catching yourself on the door frame. Your voice was thick with sarcasm and hurt.
"It's always easier to run away than to stay and face the problems you helped create, isn't it?"
The vulnerability from before was gone, replaced by the protective anger that had been your default since he left.
You took another step forward, jabbing a finger at his chest.
"News flash, cowboy, relationships are not easy. There are ups and downs. You don't just up and leave because it gets messy."
His eyes narrowing, the guilt from earlier replaced by a mix of irritation and something else.
"Easy?", he retorted, his voice rising to match yours, "This wasn't about somethin' being 'easy' or 'difficult'. It was about being able to breathe. To not feel like I was bein' suffocated by a constant barrage of your-"
He cut himself off, his jaw clenching.
He'd already said too much.
The words cut deeper than he intended.
But...suffocated?
Is that how he saw you?
As a weight around his neck he wanted to get rid of?
"A constant barrage of my what?", you demanded, your voice sharp.
Your finger was still pressed against his chest, your entire body bristling with anger.
"Say it," you challenged, moving closer, "Finish the sentence."
Your eyes locked with his, searching for a hint of what he was leaving unsaid.
But your vision was still slightly hazy, the alcohol making it difficult to focus.
Yet your emotions, raw and unfiltered, were clear.
He let out a heavy sigh, as he ran his hand through his hair.
"Besides you don't just turn to liquor to escape reality," he retorted, his voice low yet sharp.
He didn't continue with what he was going to say, he just changed his words.
He knew he was walking on thin ice, but the situation, the alcohol pumping through your veins, the hurt in your voice, it all stirred a mixture of emotions he couldn't fully grasp.
"Coward," you hissed, venom in your voice.
His comment about your drinking stung, a sharp rebuke that hit a raw nerve.
Your breathing hitched as he mentioned your reliance on liquor, a sensitive point that he knew all too well.
You pulled your hand away from his chest, stepping back, your eyes narrowing.
“You're a fucking moron,” You began to blurt out, your insults tripping against your slow tongue.
'Coward' and 'moron.'
The words were like a kick to his gut, though he refused to show it.
"'Kay, that's it." He said, while trying to turn a deaf ear to your insults.
The irony wasn't lost on him, considering his past habits, but he was too defensive to acknowledge it.
He moved a little away from the porch of his door, grabbing it with one hand.
"And yeah, I walked away. 'Cause dealin' with your things was gettin' a lil exhausting, darlin'," he retorted, his tone sharp.
And, after saying that, he closed the door in your face.
He hoped that his words, which were not entirely true, would push you away and make you never come back to look for him.
The door shutting in your face was like a final nail in the coffin.
You stood there for a moment, stunned, the effects of alcohol and raw emotions swirling together in a toxic concoction.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Anger was the first emotion to surface, bubbling up like hot lava in your veins.
"Bastard," you spat at the closed door.
But then the anger gave way to a deeper, more painful emotion: hurt.
Tears stung the corners of your eyes, the alcohol making your emotions harder to control.
He heard your insult through the door.
His hand was clutched around the door handle.
But he forced himself to stay put, to not open the door again, no matter how much he wanted to.
He knew he was being harsh, unnecessarily cruel. But the sight of you, a mess on his porch, filled him with conflicting emotions.
He heard your voice through the door, the anger and the hurt in your words clear.
The sound of you saying something, he assumed it was an insult or another expletive, only heightened his guilt.
But then, that damned sound came.
The sound of soft sobs filtering through the door.
He squeezed the door handle, the temptation to open the door and draw you into his arms was almost overwhelming.
Almost.
His jaw clenched, torn between his pride and the overwhelming need to comfort you.
He knew he shouldn't care.
He shouldn't open the damn door.
But standing behind it, listening to your soft sobs, was like needles pricking his nerves.
He could practically see your face, tears streaming down your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy.
However, he forced himself to move away from the door.
You, you ranted, you insulted him in every way you could think of. Also releasing phrases like; 'I'm sorry', 'I hate you' and 'I miss you'.
Phrases that totally contradicted each other, not to mention that you continued to let tears soak your face.
By the time he slowly approached his door again, he heard nothing outside.
He sighed, mentally relieved that at least you're back at your apartment.
However, he was going to make sure that was true.
Because, obviously you were already in your apartment, right?
Right?
When he opened the door, his eyes went to the floor, there you were.
You had fallen asleep there, he assumed without energy from the alcohol and from crying.
He felt like shooting himself in the head out of guilt.
Your sleeping face, somewhat swollen and wet, was something that caused him displeasure. He hated seeing you like that.
He stood there, staring down at you.
Your breath was steady, face peaceful in sleep.
He knelt down, his eyes taking in your disheveled state.
A part of him wanted to wake you up and send you on your way.
But he couldn't.
You looked so fragile, so… broken.
He sighed softly, his hand brushing against your cheek.
Then, in a move that surprised even himself, he scooped you up into his arms.
You stirred lightly as he lifted you up, your body instinctively snuggling into his chest, seeking comfort.
He clenched his jaw, the feeling of your small frame, compared to the size of his body, in his arms stirring something deep within him.
But he ignored the stirring of emotions, focusing instead on getting you inside.
Memories from the past threatened to surface, but he quickly pushed them back.
With you in his arms, he walked back into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.
He carried you through the living room and into his bedroom, the room still dimly lit.
He laid you down gently on the bed, pulling the covers over you.
He watched as you curled into the bed, your body seeking comfort in the soft sheets.
His eyes lingered on you for a moment, taking in your peaceful expression.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the room silent except for the sound of your soft breathing.
His hand hovered over your hair, tempted to brush strands away from your face. Yet, he stopped himself at the last moment.
No.
He shouldn't get close.
Oh, but he wanted to.
So he allowed himself to do that.
He couldn't resist.
His hand found its way to your hair, gently brushing the strands away from your face.
The motion was slow, almost hesitant.
His fingers trailed down your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw.
He'd missed this, touching you, being this close to you.
But he had to stop.
He pulled his hand back, his expression conflicted, his resolve wavering.
Aeons, you looked so fragile, so beautiful, laying there in his bed.
If yesterday, your pride was less than half, now you had nothing.
Would you regret this? You did not know.
You hoped not.
You felt a little nervous, despite having only had 2 glasses of whiskey.
A very low amount for you.
You sighed, trying to control your nervousness and, above all, embarrassment.
Your hand approached the door, which seconds later you knocked.
He grabbed his revolver from the bedside table before opening the door, only to be met by the sight of you.
You were standing there, looking nervous, a far cry from the drunk person who had been on his porch earlier.
“Uhm,” You blurted out, measuring your words.
"I was just coming to thank you," before continuing you scratched your cheek, "You know, for not locking me out yesterday."
He stared at you for a moment, surprised to see you sober and looking less disheveled.
His eyes roamed over you, noticing the change in your demeanor.
"You don't gotta thank me for that," he said after a moment.
He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze never left you, observing every bit of your expression as if searching for something.
"You sober this time?" he asked, a hint of a tease in his voice, though his expression remained guarded.
You tried to act nonchalant, shrugging your shoulders, but your heart was racing.
"Yeah, I am," was what left your lips, followed by a nervous laugh. "I only had two glasses, I'm good now.", ducking your head a bit to avoid his gaze.
Silence settled for a few seconds, almost uncomfortable.
Then, you decided to take a chance, raising your head to look at him.
The atmosphere was different, not as charged as the previous night, but there was still a tension lingering.
"Uh…can I come in?" You dared to ask.
His eyes flicked to yours, noticing your attempt to hide your nervousness.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, seeing you avoid his gaze.
"Two glasses, huh?" he repeated, his tone playful.
He didn't step aside immediately, letting the silence linger just a moment longer.
Eventually, he moved back, gesturing with his hand for you to come in.
"Sure, come on in," he said, his eyes studying you as you stepped inside.
You stepped inside.
It had been so long since you were in his apartment. This way exactly.
Your gaze wandered over the familiar surroundings, only made you feel more aware of the situation.
The room was still in its usual messy state, but you were grateful for it. It brought a sense of comfort, a sense of familiarity.
Silence hung in the air again. You felt small, almost sheepish, but you tried to keep your bearings.
You sighed before taking a seat on the comfortable couch.
"Can we talk?" you said, your voice a notch above a whisper.
After he decided to end the relationship, both hadn't seriously talked about it.
He closed the door behind you.
His eyes followed you as you sat down on the couch.
He approached the couch, sitting down, keeping a comfortable distance between you.
"Yeah," he said, his tone neutral.
He leaned back, the tension in his body still visible despite his laid-back pose.
Talking with you was risky.
You both knew this conversation could lead to things he wasn't sure he wanted.
Your fingers fidgeted with the loose threads of the couch's cushions, your gaze fixed on your hands.
A moment of silence followed, the only sound was that of your breaths and the hum of the air conditioning.
Then, taking a chance, you looked up at him.
He was still leaning back on the couch, his arms casually draped over the backrest.
He met your gaze with a blank expression, but in his eyes, you could see something stirring.
“I miss you,” you blurted out.
A flash of emotion passed through his eyes.
Surprise, then something deeper, something more… vulnerable.
But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a familiar mask of nonchalance.
He exhaled softly, his body still tense, but his gaze remained on you.
"I miss you, too," he admitted, his voice slightly softer than before.
He paused, his eyes searching your face, like he was looking for something.
Your heart seemed to thump a little louder.
You weren't expecting that.
His confession was like a soft blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you.
You stared at him for a few moments, your expression one of surprise.
"You do?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze still fixed on you, the previous hardness in his eyes now replaced with a strange vulnerability.
His response was simple and direct, a nod, confirming that he did indeed miss you.
But his eyes held a lot more than his words could convey.
There was a depth of emotion, an ache, a raw vulnerability that he tried to keep hidden.
His fingers tapped against the couch, an unconscious sign of his internal turmoil.
He was torn between acting on his emotions and keeping his distance, torn between pulling you closer and pushing you away.
You didn't miss the subtle signs of his inner battle.
The tapping of his fingers on the couch, the flicker of his eyes, the tension in his jaw.
You knew him well enough to understand that his nonchalant facade was just that; a facade.
He was struggling to keep his emotions in check, you could sense it.
And without him noticing, you had already gotten close enough to put your hand on top of his.
Although he couldn't feel your body heat, be could feel your touch.
The feeling of your hand on his made his breath hitch, almost imperceptibly.
His eyes darted from your hand to your face, his expression a mix of disbelief and something that he couldn't quite identify.
His mind screaming to pull away, to maintain his distance. But, he didn't.
Instead, he let your hand rest on his, his fingers twitching underneath as if to intertwine with yours.
The contact sent a small shiver down your spine.
You could practically feel the internal struggle he was having, the war between the logic and the desires.
Despite his initial shock, he didn't pull away from your touch.
Time seemed to slow down, the tension in the room almost palpable.
Your hand wavered a little, but in the finals you did it.
With the hand you had intertwined with his, you let it go for a while, grabbing it and guiding it towards your cheek.
It was a contrast to you, his hand cold from the metal and your cheek warm.
You clung to his hand, as if you had been waiting to do that for a long time.
As your hand guided his to your cheek, he felt an overwhelming wave of raw emotions wash over him.
His fingers instinctively curled slightly, as if he was gripping you.
It had been so long since he had felt your skin against his like that.
He struggled to keep his emotions in check.
Your hand held his with such tenderness, almost like you were afraid he'd pull away.
He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, his thumb gently your cheekbone. A painful reminder of all he'd given up and everything he still longed for.
The dam he had built to hold back his emotions was dangerously close to shattering.
You took notice of the subtle changes in his demeanor.
The clenching of his fingeres, the way his eyes closed.
He looked almost… pained.
You could feel the tension in his hand, the conflict within him.
And, this time, your body acted on its own.
While he continued with his eyes closed, quickly, still with his hand on your cheek, your face got close enough to his face.
In such a way that your lips touched his.
His breath hitched again as your lips touched his.
His eyes flew open, meeting your face, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief.
He should pull back, maintain his distance.
But for a brief moment, he was overwhelmed by the feeling of your lips on his, the scent of you, the proximity.
So, all the pent up emotions he had been holding in, the longing, the want, the regret, all came rushing forward.
He closed his eyes and kissed you back with a mixture of desperation and yearning.
His fingers dug into your skin, holding you tightly and gently.
The kiss started off slowly, almost hesitant, but it quickly grew into something more.
His lips moved against yours, his touch rough yet gentle, as if he was trying to hold back but failing.
His fingers pressed into your cheeks, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid you'd disappear.
He was practically drowning in the feeling of you.
You'd missed this so much.
All that mattered was this moment, the desperate connection between the two of you.
You reached out, clinging to the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing to feel more of him.
However, you couldn't help but get sentimental about this.
You were happy and excited, you felt like this was your first kiss.
So after a few seconds, even with your eyes closed, a few tears fell and slid against your cheeks.
It wasn't until he felt the wetness on your cheeks that he snapped out of his intense state.
He broke the kiss, his eyes widening when he noticed the tears streaming down your face.
He froze, his hands still on your cheeks, his breathing uneven.
"Fudge," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse.
He gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs, his expression now laced with concern and guilt.
"Was I too rough…?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Even with the tears on your face, a small laugh escaped your lips at his question.
"No," you said quietly, shaking your head.
In fact, he was way too gentle.
The thought made a small smile appear on your lips.
"I'm just… happy," you explained, your voice soft and earnest.
You reached up, covering his hand with yours.
"I really missed this," you said.
His expression softened at your assurance that he hadn't hurt you.
He let out a shaky sigh, his fingers gently caressing your cheek.
Your words, "I really missed this," echoed in his mind.
It was the truth.
For both of you.
He couldn't deny it.
He had missed this connection, the feeling of your touch, the comfort of being close to you.
He had been the one to end this, and yet, here he was, craving your touch like a man starving.
He chuckled softly, a mix of relief and amusement at your response.
"Happy tears, huh?" he said, his voice a bit lighter.
His fingers traced your tear-stained cheeks again, as if committing the feeling of your skin to his memory.
"You always were a crybaby," he teased gently, the familiar tone of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.
However, as your words sank in, his expression softened.
You let out a soft scoff at his teasing remark about you being a crybaby.
"And you're always such a jerk about it," you retorted, but there was no bite in your words, only a hint of amusement.
"I missed this too," he admitted quietly, his gaze fixed on yours.
Then, the last part of his reply hit you. I missed this too.
You felt a renewed flicker of hope in your chest.
Without thinking, your hands came up to his face, gently tracing his features as if to ensure he was really there, and not some illusion.
"How much did you miss me?" you asked softly.
His breath hitched again as you traced his features, your touch almost reverent.
The feeling of your fingers on his skin sent a jolt through him, a mix of pleasure and guilt.
He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the touch until your question pulled him back to reality.
His eyes fluttered open and he met your gaze again.
His throat felt tight, the confession he'd kept buried threatening to escape.
"Too much," he admitted quietly, his voice gravelly.
The thought that all this time, he longed for you as badly as you longed for him was… bittersweet.
Your fingers continued to trace his features, taking in every inch of his face.
You didn't say anything, just stared at his face for a moment.
Under your gaze, he felt vulnerable, exposed.
But he didn't pull away.
He wanted to reach out and pull you closer, to feel more of you against him.
But he held back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Stop staring," he muttered under his breath, his voice betraying a hint of embarrassment.
The silence stretched between you, the air heavy with unspoken words and pent-up emotions.
However, he spoke again, a little more confident.
"You're making it hard for me to keep my distance," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.
Stop staring.
You heard him mutter those words, but you didn't care.
And you weren't going to stop.
Your fingers continued their exploration, tracing his jawline, his eyebrows, his nose, his lips.
Your fingers lingered on his mouth, gently tracing the outline of his lips, and felt the slight shiver that ran through him.
You knew you were testing the edges of his self-control, but you couldn't help it.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips at his words.
"Good," you replied, still tracing the lines of his face.
You couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction in the way he seemed almost flustered by your gaze.
After months of separation, you craved this closeness, this connection.
His self-control was faltering, and he knew it.
Your fingers on his mouth sent a jolt through him, and his breath hitched again.
The smirk on your face made him want to both strangle you and kiss you senseless.
He could only take so much.
With a suddenness that surprised both of you, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from his face.
"Enough," he croaked out.
He brought your hands down to his lap, holding them tightly in his grasp.
The sudden jerk and the grip on your wrists surprised you, making you gasp softly, but a part of you was satisfied.
You had gotten a reaction.
But even as you stood there, with your hands pinned to his lap, you didn't try to pull away.
Instead, you held his gaze, a stubbornness in your eyes.
"Or what?" you taunted, a hint of defiance in your voice.
The challenge in your voice sent a surge of heat through him.
He gritted his teeth, his grip on your wrists tightening almost reflexively.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to control his breathing.
You were playing with fire.
"I'd like to know what's going on in that head of yours." You said, starting to feel the atmosphere somewhat heated.
The tension in the room had grown thicker, the air almost crackling with electricity.
He studied your face, his gaze boring into yours, as if trying to decipher your thoughts.
He didn't understand why you were doing this.
Why were you purposefully baiting him?
If you wanted him so much, why would he refuse to give you what you demand?
He pulled your wrists with his hand towards him, while his other hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you to his lips.
Before you could respond or tease him further, your wrists were suddenly yanked forward, and you stumbled towards him.
And then, his mouth was on yours.
It wasn't like the previous kiss. This one was fiercer, hungrier, filled with months of suppressed desire.
His hand on the back of your head held you against him, preventing you from pulling away.
It was a kiss born, out of both longing and frustration.
His fingers tangled in your hair, holding your head in place as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth.
You gasped against his lips, the suddenness of his action and the intensity of his kiss taking you by surprise.
The gasp you let out only fueled his desire, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.
He tilted your head, angling it to grant himself better access, his tongue tangling with yours in a possessive dance.
He wanted to explore every inch of you, to claim you as his own, to make up for all the months you spent apart.
He released your wrists in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, practically yanking you onto his lap.
You felt yourself being pulled onto his lap, your legs straddling him as you now sat facing him.
His arm was a strong and secure presence around your waist, holding you tightly against him.
The feeling of him under you, his body pressed against yours, sent a shiver up your spine.
Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the metal start to heat up a little, before looping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He let out a low growl as you straddled him, the feeling of your body against his sending waves of heat coursing through him.
His hand on your waist moved to your hip, his grip tightening as he pulled you even closer, leaving no space between you.
Your hands in his hair sent sparks shooting down his spine, his heart racing as he continued to kiss you.
He could barely think, his mind consumed by you and the overwhelming desire that was coursing through him.
His lips moved from your mouth, trailing a path down your jaw and to your neck.
The grip he had on your hip, he moved it towards your butt, squeezing it.
A small gasp escaped your lips as his mouth trailed down your neck, his kisses and light bites sending jolts of pleasure through you.
The feeling of his hand on your hip, pulling you against him, was almost primal.
Then, as he squeezed your butt, you let out a small moan, your hips involuntarily rocking against his.
You could feel the effect you were having on him, his breathing becoming more labored, his body growing hotter against yours.
His name escaped your lips in a sultry whimper, the sound making him shiver.
That was all he needed to make your mind go blank in a few minutes.
Oh, poor your hips, your legs, your hole. Poor your body.
And, all said and done, after about 10 minutes, the only thing that could be heard from outside his apartment were moans and whimpers on your part.
That became a vicious but fun routine for both of you.
Sometimes it was in your apartment, sometimes in his apartment.
The strong need both felt for your bodies and presence was too much.
This wasn't just part of your imagination, you and he enjoyed it too much.
This would probably last permanently. That's what you decided to think.
Since, just as you thought months ago, days after your relationship ended, he would need your kisses, you in general.
"Nnnngh…"
Your body trembled against his, your breathing still ragged and uneven.
He held you tightly against him, his own breath coming in ragged gasps.
Your body, still sensitive and flushed from what had just occurred, felt boneless and heavy against his.
When the sounds finally died down, the room was filled with a heavy silence.
Your body was plastered to his, your head resting against his shoulder as you tried to steady your breathing, his grip on you finally loosening as he allowed you to slump against him.
He was also trying to regulate his breathing, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back in a soothing gesture.
The aftermath was always like this.
He'd hold you close, his touch gentle now in a stark contrast to the intense passion that had just unfolded between you moments before.
You'd rest against him, your body limp and spent, your mind still foggy from pleasure.
And you'd lie there, both of you silent, the only sound the steady beat of your heart and the soft rustle of clothing as he continued to stroke your back.
The room was quiet, the air heavy with the aftermath of pleasure.
After a few moments of simply catching your breaths and basking in the aftermath of your passionate encounter, he spoke, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
"You alright?" he asked quietly, his hand continuing to tracing small circles on your back.
There was a hint of concern in his tone, but also something else, something softer.
He knew he'd been more intense than usual, maybe a bit rougher than the previous times.
You inhaled slowly, your breath still shaky, before nodding against his shoulder.
"Yeah," you managed to reply, your voice a little raspy.
The feel of his hand on your back, his touch gentle and soothing, was a comforting contrast to the passion of a few moments ago.
You could sense the concern in his voice, the subtle shift from intensity to tenderness.
You slowly lifted your head from his shoulder, meeting his gaze, you found his eyes watching you, his expression a mix of affection and worry.
You smiled at him, unable to hide or deny your excitement despite your exhaustion.
"I love you damn too much." You said, standing up a little to give him a soft, short kiss on his lips.
His expression softened at your smile, relief washing over him as he saw the reassurance in your eyes.
Your words, I love you damn too much, made him chuckle softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.
He returned the soft kiss you gave him, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you close for a moment.
"I love you more," he murmured in response, his tone laced with both adoration and a hint of possessiveness.
Your heart swelled at his words, a soft huff of laughter escaping your lips.
"I doubt it," you retorted, your voice laced with a playfully stubborn tone.
But even as you challenged his claim, there was no denying the depth of your feelings for each other.
You leaned into his touch, your own hand placing over his on your cheek, holding his hand in place.
The simple gesture spoke volumes, expressing the tenderness and connection between you.
After a moment, you left his side, getting out of bed somewhat wobbly.
You stretched a little, trying to relax your sore muscles.
You looked down, noticing how your body was full of marks, that made you blush a little.
But you felt good.
"See you the day after tomorrow at the bar?" You asked, before grabbing your clothes as you began to put them on.
His gaze followed you as you got out of bed, his eyes tracing the marks on your body, a mix of pride and possession in his expression.
He laid back, resting his arms behind his head as he watched you dress.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice casual but affectionate. "I'll be there. Can't stay away from you for too long, you know that."
A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued to study you.
"You're funny. See you around, honey." You said, as you let out a light laugh, turning your body to leave the room and the apartment.
Even though you didn't want to go out, you had to go back to your reality, where you are busy almost all day.
He lay there for a moment longer, watching you leave, a pang of loneliness already settling in.
He knew these moments with you were precious and fleeting, but he was comforted by the knowledge that he'd see you again soon.
As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he ran a hand through his hair, a small sigh escaping his lips.
Your light laugh still echoed in his mind, a sound that he always found endearing and soothing.
With another glance at the empty space where you'd been just moments ago, he quietly muttered, "Can't wait for that."
Just as they agreed, the day came when you would see him at the bar.
However, 3 hours had passed by the time you both agreed to meet.
This time it was your fault, you were working so much that time literally flew by.
You arrived at the bar barely breathing. You took some time to take out your phone and see on the camera if you were unkempt.
Magically you weren't, the only thing you noticed were the bite marks and kisses on your neck, they were still present.
The memory made you happy.
Afterwards, you put your phone away, starting to enter the bar.
This time you almost tripped over people, the place was too dark for you to see.
You spent 10 minutes looking for him throughout the large bar, and, you couldn't find him.
You pulled out your phone again, sending a quick text asking him if he had returned to his apartment yet.
There was no response from him, which seemed strange to you.
But you didn't give the matter much thought.
You sent him one last text in which you said you were going there.
And that's what you set out to do, calmly.
The closer you got to his apartment, the more you felt a strange tightness in your chest that gave you certain spontaneous chills.
You hoped he wasn't upset or sad because it took you so long.
A block from his apartment, you took out your cell phone, there was no notification from him.
Your brow furrowed a little, it was strange.
You shrugged your shoulders and continued walking.
You had already taken out the key to enter, he had given you the spare key, in case you wanted to enter whenever you wanted.
And, being only a few steps from the door, you heard some faint moans.
The blood drained from you for a moment, even your hand trembled as you raised it to put the key in the door lock.
You reassured yourself, that was probably coming from the TV.
You tried to tell yourself that it was just the TV or the neighbors. Maybe he was alone and had put on a random movie.
However, your mind kept going to the worst possibility.
Your hand was shaking as you pushed the key into the lock, trying your best to keep yourself calm.
Finally, you managed to unlock the door, the sound of the key unlocking almost deafening in the silence.
You pushed the door open slowly, holding your breath, the sound of the moans becoming clearer with each step.
And then, the sight that met your eyes confirmed your worst fears.
What you saw made your stomach turn.
You had to cover your mouth to avoid vomiting right there.
There he was, half lying on the couch, being on top of someone. Exactly licking a girl's nipples.
The way his hands pressed roughly and desperately made your head spin.
You didn't know how to react, you froze.
Your emotions were a mess, your own body didn't know whether to cry, scream, hit him or just run away.
You felt far away from that view.
Humiliated. That's what you were.
Did those hands and that mouth kiss you two days ago? You thought, feeling disgusted with him and yourself.
Your body was still full of marks that had not been erased. You were humiliated.
The sight was a cruel blow to your heart, a reality that seemed almost surreal.
You felt sick to your stomach, a mix of disbelief and heartbreak swirling within you.
Each movement, each touch he gave her made your blood boil.
You stood there, frozen in place, watching something you thought was yours being shared with another.
The most degrading thing was that he didn't even hear the door open. The girl, seeing out of the corner of her eye that there was someone else, shook him a little, to get him out of the disgusting trance he was in.
The girl separated from him, covering her breasts as best she could, looking at you with embarrassment and curiosity at the same time.
His confusion increased with the girl's action.
And that's when he looked up, seeing you.
His eyes widened, realizing the situation with a mixture of shock and realization.
He stood up from the couch, trying to get closer to you.
At that moment, it was like you had covered your ears, you didn't hear any of the words you saw him saying.
But how could he possibly explain this?
The first thing you managed to do was cover your neck with your hand, which had his marks.
Pure humiliation.
It felt like he was making fun of you.
The keys that were previously in your other hand slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor.
You stayed there, watching him formulate words with his lips over and over again that you weren't hearing.
It made you sick to see his lips, his face.
Each word he said seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Your mind was racing with emotions, your chest felt tight and your heart was hurting.
Seeing his confusion and attempted justification made you feel even worse.
There was no explaining.
Every mark that littered your neck felt like a reminder of your trust in him, now shattered.
Your tears fell silently, without even realizing it, the scene in front of you becoming more and more surreal.
You still hadn't moved from your place, your body frozen like a statue.
You didn't know what the right way to react would be, maybe yelling at him about how he could have cheated on you.
But oh, right.
You and him had never said that you would be dating again.
You just created a guess, because of how things were the same again.
You had nothing to complain about.
Your mind flashed back to the last few weeks, the passionate encounters, the nights spent in each other's arms.
All of it felt tainted now, as if it had all been a lie.
Your tears fell even more, your nose began to run and your breathing became more labored.
The girl was still sitting on the couch, in silence, watching all the scene.
He was getting more and more desperate, now that he realized that you weren't reacting to any of his pathetic excuses.
You still stood there, still unable to process what was happening.
It was all so surreal and unfair.
Both had returned to each other's arms so easily, without a problem.
How could he do such a thing having you in his arms?
You felt your own body shaking, your head spinning with disbelief and shame.
How could he do this to you, just a day after holding you in his arms?
A bitter laugh escaped your lips, but it sounded like a sob.
Your body finally began to move, slowly walking out of the apartment.
He followed you, still trying to explain himself.
But your mind was still blocked, you couldn't understand his words.
All you could feel was the stabbing pain in your heart, the humiliation and the tears streaming down your cheeks.
You were holding your breath so you wouldn't start sobbing there.
As you stepped out of the apartment, you heard his footsteps behind you, pleading for you to listen to him.
But every word seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Your feet continued to carry you forward, tears clouding your vision.
His voice seemed so far away, it was like trying to pick up the voice of someone on another planet.
Each step you took felt like it was echoing louder and louder in your head.
You were so hurt, so betrayed.
Once you were far enough away, no longer hearing his footsteps, you allowed yourself to breathe again, only for your breathing to become extremely rapid.
You felt like you couldn't even breathe, your heart was going to jump out of your chest.
Until, in the first drawer you found, you vomited, taking out everything that was inside you.
As well as the tears and strong sobs.
As each tear fell, it was like it carried a piece of your heart with it.
You stayed there on the sidewalk, letting the humiliation and pain wash over you.
Each of his words echoed in your mind, his excuses, his pleas.
You felt so stupid, so humiliated.
The pain in your heart was almost unbearable.
The cold night air was a stark contrast to the numbness that enveloped you.
How could someone who touched you and held you so tenderly be capable of such a thing hours later.
The memories of what you saw came back to you, like knives to your chest.
The tears continued streaming down your face, your whole body feeling weak and exhausted.
Until, even though you were still sobbing, not as hard as before, you stood up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
You forced yourself to walk back to your apartment.
On the way, in the first trash can you found, you threw your phone inside.
In which, while you were already blocks ahead, it began to ring and ring, over and over again, with audios, calls, messages. From him, exactly.
It was probably all in your mind, and after all, your relationship with him had ended months ago.
It was a shame that this situation had taken you out of your beautiful imaginary story.
©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr fanfic#hsr angst#angst no comfort#honkai star rail fanfic#boothill x reader#boothill#honkai star rail boothill#hsr boothill#boothill hsr#boothill angst#slightly suggestive#angst
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𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟗 |
[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]
“I don’t get it.” You cross your arms, glaring at Jay, who looks like he’s seconds away from tearing his hair out.
“What’s so hard about down-up-left, smash-up, then down again two times ?” He jabs a finger in your direction, his tone accusing. His game controller lies abandoned on the carpet, thrown there in his dramatic rage-quit.
“Firstly, how dare you assume I know anything about this game,” you retort, raising a brow. Your own controller dangles limply from your hand as you return his glare with equal intensity. “Secondly, you’re the one who was lacking a teammate. In case you didn’t notice, I was busy trying to kill those aliens you let through.”
Jay groans, dramatically slumping back on the couch like the very fabric of existence has betrayed him.
To be fair, he’d given you little choice but to join him. He’d texted you the second your classes ended, announcing that it was his turn for guard duty. After a week of being chaperoned by Nya and Kai (who at least managed to stay professional about it) you were left with Jay. Fun.
Nya had dropped you off with a laptop full of incomplete Word files and a heap of boredom. It didn’t last long. Jay had instantly yelled for you to join him in the game room, and, well, here you were.
“Hello.” Zane’s voice cuts through the argument as he enters the room wearing a pink apron, carrying a plate of cookies. You seize the distraction, leaving Jay to sulk on the couch as you swipe one from the plate.
“I assume you’re having fun?” Zane asks, though you suspect he already knows the answer.
You smirk, nodding. “He can never know how I kicked your butt last time we played this game,” you whisper, giving Zane a conspiratorial glance.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Zane replies, though there’s a subtle hint of mischief in his tone.
You pat his shoulder, taking another bite of the cookie. “Good man.”
It’s then you notice something off. It’s not the blinking arcade lights in the corner or the disorganized pile of vinyl records waiting for salvation. Neither is it the foosball table that’s been turned on its side or the random origami paper on the ground.
“Where’s everyone else?”
Zane tilts his head, as though mentally ticking off a list. “Sensei Wu gave the students the day off. Nya and Kai are still on patrol. Lloyd is in the strategy room with Pixel, and Cole stepped out to grab some pizza for dinner.” He pauses, glancing at you. “Will you be staying?”
You sigh wistfully, longing for a slice of Hawaiian pizza. “I wish. But I’ve got dinner at home I can’t skip. I’ve already been out with you guys too often this week.”
“For your safety,” Zane reminds gently. “This thief, whoever they are, is still at large and remains a significant threat. However, Lloyd mentioned an update earlier. Perhaps you’d like to join me to hear it?”
Your gaze flicks to Jay, now fully engrossed in setting up a solo game, and then to your laptop perched on the table. “Yeah, alright. Lead the way.”
Zane guides you through a set of doors and into a lift, which hums softly as it descends into the depths of the base. The doors slide open with a hiss, revealing the familiar sight of the strategy room, bathed in the soft glow of monitors.
Pixel is the first to notice you, offering a welcoming smile. Lloyd glances over his shoulder, his brows lifting in surprise. “Hey,” he greets, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect you down here. How’ve you been?”
“Could always be better,” you reply with a shrug, matching his casual tone. His grin widens, and you can tell he’s already picking up on your vibe.
“Heard there’s an update,” you say, gesturing to the room. “Anything I can do to help?”
Lloyd hesitates for a moment before nodding to Pixel. She presses a button, and in an instant, holographic screens materialise, casting a pale glow over the room.
You try to read the text, but it’s dense. Paragraphs of information fly past faster than your brain can process. Instead, your attention is caught by a sketch of a masked figure, their features obscured, and a blurry CCTV photo beside it.
“That’s the thief,” Lloyd explains, stepping beside you. His tone grows serious as he gestures to the photo. “Unfortunately, this is the clearest image we’ve got. All the cameras surrounding the jewelry store went offline during the heist. Pixel’s still analysing the footage for anomalies, but so far, nothing adds up.”
“Convenient,” you mutter, squinting at the screens. “So they knew how to cover their tracks.”
“Exactly,” Lloyd replies, his expression grim. “Whoever this is, they’re good. Too good.”
“And the Scrolls?” you ask, noticing another screen displaying text about their ancient origins.
“They’re connected,” he says, voice tight. “The thief’s after them for a reason, but we’re still piecing together why. If they get their hands on all of them…”
The weight of his unfinished sentence hangs heavy in the air.
“Well,” you say, crossing your arms and forcing a smirk, “guess it’s a good thing you’ve got a team of ninja and a… very stressed university student on the case.”
Lloyd chuckles lightly, the tension easing just a fraction. “Yeah. Guess it is.”
Pixel steps forward, her mechanical fingers tapping on a keyboard. “We’ve highlighted the thief’s potential next targets. With your permission, Lloyd, I can brief her on the details.”
He nods, and you step closer to the screens, your smirk fading as you take in the gravity of what’s unfolding.
“I believe Cole mentioned this at dinner the other night,” Pixel begins, swiping her hand across one of the holographic screens. The image shifts, revealing three distinct scrolls. Each is wrapped with a different colored string. One red, one blue, one gold, and sealed within ornate tubes etched with intricate patterns.
Pretty.
“These are the only three Scrolls whose locations are known,” Pixel continues. She points to the red scroll first, its intricate casing glowing faintly on the screen. “The Scroll of Fate. This was stolen here in Ninjago the night of the charity auction.” She taps the image, and it zooms in to show an empty display case surrounded by police tape.
Your hand curls into a fist at your side, recalling the way the ground had collapsed in on you with that stupid gauntlet the thief had worn when they punched the floor.
Her finger moves to the blue scroll. “This is the Scroll of Dreams, located in Cloud Kingdom.” The image shifts to a floating realm wreathed in mist. It looks almost ethereal, your eyes widening in awe.
Finally, she gestures to the gold scroll. “And this is the Scroll of Destiny, housed in the Temple of Light.” The screen transitions to a simple temple atop a grassy mountain, its white stone walls and red accents glowing under the bright sunlight.
“Wait.” You hold up a hand, frowning as a memory tugs at the edge of your mind. “Didn’t Cole say there were four?”
Lloyd and Pixel exchange quick, knowing glances. You narrow your eyes, suspicion bubbling up.
“The fourth is… different,” Zane chimes in, stepping forward. His tone is calm, but his words carry a heavy undertone of solemnness. “Its location is a mystery, known only to its guardian, who guards it fiercely. Even its name has been lost to time.”
“Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “So it’s like some mythical hide-and-seek. What happens when the thief gets their hands on these three?”
“The first three Scrolls can be combined to form a map,” Zane explains. “A map that reveals the location of the fourth Scroll.”
You frown. Even the very notion sounds complicated. What’d they use? Glow-in-the-dark ink?
“Exactly,” Lloyd says, his jaw tightening. “That’s why we need to figure out the thief’s next move before they can get their hands on the others.”
Pixel nods. “And we must also understand why they are targeting you. Their intentions remain unclear.”
Looking at the ground with a defeated sigh, you kick at an imaginary pebble. Great. Juuuust great.
“Yes,” Lloyd says, his tone sharpening as he turns to face you fully. “Are you sure there’s no one you might suspect? Someone from your past, or even recently, who might have a connection to this?”
“What?!” You gape at him, incredulous. “Dude, I just moved here. I barely know anyone, and my enemies list is at a solid zero. I think. I’m pretty sure.” You pause at his sceptical look. “I’m sure.”
Lloyd exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as his shoulders tense. “I had to ask.”
“Maybe try asking the thief next time they pop up,” you quip, leaning back against the table. “Pretty sure they’d have more answers than me.”
Lloyd shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. Pixel offers a small smile, attempting to ease the tension.
“Regardless,” she says, her tone soothing, “your safety remains our priority. We will continue to monitor the Scrolls and the thief’s movements.”
“Good to know,” you reply, though the idea of being a walking target gnaws at the edges of your thoughts. Vulnerability isn’t an option, so you shove the unease aside and straighten your back.
Lloyd steps forward, his gaze softening. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
You nod, forcing a small smile. Pixel parts her lips, about to say something before another voice pipes up.
“I got the goods!”
All heads swivel toward the lift. Cole strides in, pizza boxes stacked high in his arms, his grin as wide as ever. He stops short, eyebrows quirking as he takes in the scattered documents and glowing screens. His eyes land on you, and his grin shifts into a wry smile.
“You gonna stay for dinner or what?”
— — — — —
You did not, in fact, stay for dinner. But right now, you wish you were back at the monastery. Anywhere but here, sitting next to Emily of all people.
She cheers when the fireworks go off a short distance away, your dad gesturing back as he lights up another one. What was supposed to be a calm, peaceful dinner quickly turned into a kidnapping when he sprung the surprise of a beach hangout instead.
Emily had been caught off guard too, warily glancing in your direction before nodding when he grinned widely. Now, here she was, sitting awkwardly beside you, the two of you making an unspoken agreement to ignore each other as much as possible atop an old Barney the Dinosaur mat he’d somehow found.
“Here.” Her voice snaps you out of your brooding. She holds out a sparkler, its long, unlit stick wavering slightly in her hand. You glare at it, suspicion and annoyance bubbling up. Of course, she’d try to break the awkward silence with a gesture like this.
You don’t move at first, staring at the sparkler like it’s a snake ready to bite. However, your love for the stupid small stick wins out. Huffing out a breath, you snatch it from her hand, your fingers brushing briefly against hers.
Dang it.
“Thanks,” you mutter, though the gratitude is purely for the sparkler, not the person handing it to you.
She nods, looking away.
A candle flickers a few feet away, stuck in the sand. Your dad had set it up earlier, claiming it was for the sake of convenience before running off to light up the more whimsical fireworks near the coastline.
You shuffle over, careful not to let the grains stick to your jeans, and lean forward to light the sparkler. The tiny flame catches with a hiss, and it comes to life in a shower of glowing embers.
For a moment, you just watch it, letting it dangle limply from your fingers as it sputters and sparks. The light reflects in your eyes, the embers reminding you of a certain someone. But the joy is fleeting. It fizzles out far too soon, leaving only the acrid smell of smoke and a charred stick.
You toss it aside, brushing your hands off. A firework whistles into the sky, bursting into brilliant red and gold. Emily claps beside you, her enthusiasm grating on your nerves.
You glance down at the sand, grimacing at the thought of it clinging to your clothes. With a resigned sigh, you shift closer to her. Anything to avoid the gritty annoyance.
She glances your way, perhaps sensing the movement. Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something, but she seems to think better of it, turning her attention back to the fireworks.
Another one explodes in the sky, showering the night with brilliant light. You tilt your head up, watching it fade. For a second, you close your eyes. It makes it easier to pretend that Emily isn’t there, that it’s your mother instead.
Then, she hesitates. You can feel her glance, the kind of awkward sideways look that signals incoming small talk. Silently, you pray for the moment to pass before it even begins.
But of course, your prayers aren’t answered. They never are.
“So…” she begins, her voice tentative. “How’s Master Wu’s classes going?”
You tense, not expecting her to bring that up. Your gaze flicks toward her briefly before returning to the waves you can barely make out in the dim candlelight that slowly sweeps onto the shore. “They’re… fine.”
She nods, clearly trying to gauge whether that response is an opening or a dead end. She chooses the former, her tone turning almost casual. “He’s… quite something, isn’t he? You know, I actually met him once. A while back.”
That catches your attention, but only slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She smiles, a little fondly. “At one of my book signings, of all places. He showed up right at the end of the event, stood patiently in line with this serene expression. At first, I thought he was in the wrong place, but nope. He handed me a copy of Heartstrings of Eternity —”
You can’t stop yourself from blinking at her. “Wait. Master Wu… a romance novel?”
She laughs, light and easy. “That was my reaction too. But he was very polite about it, said he appreciated the deeper themes and my perspective on fate.”
You stare at her, trying to picture Master Wu solemnly flipping through pages of a swoony love story. The mental image doesn’t compute, and yet, there’s a weird sort of charm to it. “Huh,” you say finally. “Never pegged him for a romance novel fan.”
Emily grins. “I didn’t either. But he has this way of making you feel like everything he does is somehow deeply intentional, you know?”
You don’t respond immediately, unsure how to navigate the conversation. Reluctantly, you offer, “Yeah. He’s… definitely got that vibe.”
To your horror, Emily continues. “He even gave me this little nugget of wisdom before he left. Something like, ‘The threads of destiny weave through all hearts, even in fiction.’ I’m pretty sure it was his way of telling me he liked my book.”
You hum absentmindedly, shifting slightly as the sand threatens to creep onto your clothes. A firework bursts overhead, painting the sky in gold and blue.
Emily watches the display for a moment before speaking again, her tone softer. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re taking his classes. He doesn’t exactly hand out invitations to just anyone, you know?”
Her words hang in the air, uncomfortably sincere.It would be easy to brush her off, easy to pretend the entire conversation didn’t happen and just not respond. But you’re reminded of the first time you met the rest of the ninja, how quickly you warmed up to their presence despite your whole soulmate situation.
Eventually, you nod. “I appreciate it. The classes are…” you hesitate momentarily, eyes flicking to her before casting them back to the mat beneath you, fingers tracing the outline of Barney the Dinosaur's mocking smile. “They’re good.”
You can hear her sharp inhale and already regret your words. Luckily, you’re saved from more conversation when your dad finally returns to the mat. He’s breathless, his forehead shining with sweat, but his smile remains as he collapses into the small space between Emily and you.
“Seems like my girls are getting along well!”
Emily parts her lips, glancing at you with uncertainty. You shrug your shoulders, offering probably one of the best responses you have given so far.
Your dad doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care about the awkward tension lingering in the air. With an exaggerated flourish, he pulls a plastic bag out from behind him, the Chen’s Noodle Palace logo emblazoned in bright red on the side.
“Dinner is served!” he announces, holding the bag up like it’s a trophy.
You blink. “Chen’s? Here?”
“Turns out they do takeaway for beach picnics now,” he says, pulling out steaming containers of noodles. “I had to wait forever, but trust me, it’s worth it. Best noodles in Ninjago City!”
You and Emily exchange glances, both skeptical. Your dad opens the first container, releasing a savory, mouthwatering aroma that has you leaning in despite yourself.
Emily perks up, her earlier hesitation forgotten. “That actually smells amazing.”
“I know, right?” Your dad grins, passing you one of the containers and some chopsticks. “Dig in!”
You take a cautious bite, the flavors immediately bursting on your tongue. Sweet, salty, umami…it is surprisingly good. You don’t realize you’ve taken a second bite until you catch him watching you with an annoyingly triumphant smirk.
“Told you,” he says smugly.
Emily is already halfway through her portion, nodding in agreement. “Okay, I have to admit, this is probably the best takeaway I’ve had in months. Guess they really improved ever since the original owner stepped down.”
Your dad beams, clearly basking in the success of his food choice. Just as you’re about to go for another bite, Emily taps her chopsticks against her container lightly, drawing your attention.
“Hey,” she says, holding up a golden-brown piece of tempura prawn. “Wanna try?”
You hesitate, the automatic response on the tip of your tongue. No, thanks. I’m good. But the way she holds it makes you pause.
“Uh…” you trail off, glancing at her offering. Before you can decide, she gently sets the prawn on the edge of your container.
“There,” she says with a small smile. “No pressure.”
You glance at the prawn, then back at her, reluctantly nudging it into the noodles with your chopsticks. “Thanks.”
Your dad watches the exchange, his expression softening. He doesn’t say anything, but the glint of pride in his eyes is impossible to miss. You shift uncomfortably, focusing on the noodles instead.
“Wow,” Emily says after a moment, gesturing at the food with her chopsticks. “I don’t know what’s better, the fireworks or these.”
“Definitely the noodles,” you mumble through another mouthful.
She chuckles softly, and for once in a long while, the air between you feels a little less tense.
— — — — —
- [ Musketeer ] has changed [ Cake Enthusiast ] to [ Rocky’s Dad ] -
- [ Rocky’s Dad ] has changed [ Musketeer ] to [ anarchy ] -
Rocky’s Dad [ 11:02 PM ]: i always knew id be used for my dragon
anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: lol what
anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: lololol what is this name
anarchy [ 11:11 PM ]: do i even wanna know
Rocky’s Dad [ 11:20 PM ]: sry was in the shower
Rocky’s Dad [ 11:20 PM ]: at least make my name shorter
- [ anarchy ] has changed [ Rocky’s Dad ] to [ kole ] -
kole [ 11:24 PM ]: .
anarchy [ 11:24 PM ]: ?
kole [ 11:24 PM ]: anyw i got the short straw for next week
- Incoming Call from [ kole ]-
“Send me your schedule.”
“For free?” You put him on speaker, resuming your essay on the study of Borg Industries. “Don’t tell me you’re enrolling like Nya did. How does she even find the time?”
“You’d be surprised at her multitasking skills,” Cole replies, his voice tinged with amusement. In the background, you catch faint sounds of Jay and Kai bickering. The noise fades, and you suspect he’s left the room. “Anyway, since I’m your bodyguard next week, I figured we’d need a solid cover story.”
You hum, absently tapping the spacebar. “What kind of cover story?”
The line falls quiet. You glance at your phone, narrowing your eyes as if the device itself could pull an answer out of him. “What kind of cover story, Cole?”
After a beat, he says, “I think it’d be easier if we pretended to be a couple.”
Your hands hover above the keyboard. With deliberate care, you set your glasses aside and pinch the bridge of your nose. “...Why?”
“For starters, I’m not about to enroll in a business course I know nothing about. And second, people don’t ask as many questions when it’s soulmate-related. Makes it less complicated.”
You groan.
“Wow,” he says, his voice mockingly wounded. “At least warn me if you’re a hater.”
You highly doubt he’s offended. Secretly, you suspect he’s just as much of a drama queen as the others, maybe worse.
Pausing, you weigh your options. Unfortunately, it does make sense. No one would believe two "friends" willingly spending that much time together unless they were besties or soulmates.
Luckily for you, he falls into the latter.
“Fine,” you relent, “but we’re setting some ground rules.”
“Oh, agreed,” he replies, adding a theatrical shudder. “Rule one: we can never fall for each other.”
That draws a laugh out of you.
“Rule two,” you continue, “hand holding is allowed, but no PDA. I refuse to be that kind of couple.”
“Absolutely. We’ll save the PDA for the privacy of the monastery.”
You can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you close your laptop and pick up a pen to fiddle with. “Rule three: you pay for our ‘dates’.”
“Dates? As in plural?” he teases. “Didn’t realize you liked me that much.”
You snort. “Very funny, Brookstone. But you know I have to study to pass. You only had to take a few Zoom classes.”
“Hey, online university is hard when you’re saving civilians half the time.” He clears his throat, his tone softening. “Will you be okay, though? Studying outside, I mean.”
Your chest tightens at the shift in mood. You nod reflexively before realizing he can’t see you. “I’ll be fine. Corner seats in cafes are better anyway. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”
The joke lands flat, and Cole forces out a weak chuckle. “How about we swing by Papa’s? He’s been asking about you.”
“I still don’t get how you managed to charm him into giving you free stuff every time he sees you.”
“What can I say?” His smugness practically oozes through the speaker. “I’m just that amazing. Good-looking too, if I dare say so. And also smart. Can’t forget smart.”
You hum in mock agreement, though part of you begrudgingly acknowledges it. He is rather handsome. Objectively speaking, of course.
“Welp,” he cuts himself off with a yawn. “I’ll see you next week.”
“And hereI thought ninjas never run out of stamina.” You state, picking up the phone. “Goodnight, Cole.”
“Night.”
You hang up.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Taglist: @candyquokka @mossy-mika @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viennasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls
#ninjago#lego ninjago#cole brookstone#cole brookstone x female reader#cole x female reader#ninjago x reader#cole ninjago#lego ninjago x reader
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𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓷/ part 4
Pairing: vampire!𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -
“The thruth”
"The truth?" she asked arching an eyebrow, whilst her eyes seemed to search your soul probing for any hint of deception.
Seeing the worry etched on her face, you quickly realized that your choice of words had conveyed something entirely different to her.
"I didn’t mention anything about the... supernatural stuff. I just told them I was looking for my supervisor regarding some case we had been working on— his assistant told me he was in a late meeting with Bowman so I knocked on the door of his office, but when no one answered, I uh…made sure no one was in there and then I left.” You quickly reassured her.
Natasha's posture relaxed slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. "Good. You did well. You almost had me worried"— She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper "I thought I might actually have to follow through on my promise."
A shiver ran down your spine at her words, the memory of her earlier threats lingering in the air. "I swear, I didn’t say anything about…you know…the thing."
Natasha's lips curved into a smirk. "You seem quite certain of yourself. But understand, I take no chances."
You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. "I still feel bad for not telling the whole truth though" You said as a small pout appeared on your face.
"Do not burden yourself with unnecessary guilt" Natasha said, her voice soothing yet firm. "You protected yourself and perhaps many others. This world requires discretion."
“You’re right—soo why are you really here?”
She paused, her eyes studying you intently before she spoke. “I have some leads concerning the men Bowman was talking to. It appears there is a clandestine gathering—a sort of secret society. They host an exclusive party every week, and it seems integral to whatever plan Bowman was involved in.”
You leaned in, your curiosity piqued. “A secret society? What kind of party?”
Natasha’s expression grew serious. “These gatherings are not your typical soirées. It’s a place where the lines between business and pleasure blur, and the stakes are extraordinarily high.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“The plan” she said with a touch of finality, “is for me to uncover more about your boss’s scheme and the men he was entangled with. You, however, must stay put.”
You bristled at her command. “I want to help”
“Absolutely not.” she retorted, her tone brooking no argument.
You met her gaze defiantly. “I need to know what my boss was hiding and why he killed Davis. I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”
“This is not your fight. Your involvement could jeopardize everything—and it could get you killed.” You felt a mix of frustration and determination welling up inside you. “Can I trust you not to interfere again or put yourself into trouble?” she asked, her voice both commanding and concerned.
You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I guess I could be persuaded.”
Natasha stepped closer, her presence both intoxicating and intimidating—“How could I persuade you?” —her voice a sultry whisper, a knowing grin teasing her lips.
Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears—She was close, too close. Her proximity made you nervous, your throat suddenly dry, your palms clammy. From this angle, you could see every detail of her face: the subtle curve of her lips, the slight arch of her brows, the way her eyes sparkled. She was beautiful, stunningly so, and it left you both captivated and unnerved. She needed to stop making you feel like this.
“Well, for starters, you could keep me in the loop. Every time you have news… and you could answer some of my questions.” you said steadying your voice.
“Darling, this is not a negotiation; either you do what I told you willingly or I make you. Your choice.”
What harm could it do anyone to tell you what you so ardently desired to know? Had she no trust in your good sense or honour? Why would she not believe you when you assured her, so solemnly, that you would not divulge one syllable of what she told you to any mortal breathing.
You sighed “Ugh, why do you have to be such a buzzkill!?” you said as you walked around the room before collapsing onto the couch.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, lifting a brow. "Getting quite bold, aren’t we? I would’ve thought you still feared me. But no, I sense no fear in you anymore."
You couldn't help but smile. "Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it”
“Perhaps” Her eyes searched yours, as if trying to discern the truth of your words— “Fascinating,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “You are either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish.”
You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “Maybe a bit of both.” You looked up at her, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to be left in the dark” you admitted quietly. “I need to understand what’s going on…please”
She regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing her options. “Very well” she said finally. “I shall keep you informed, but you must promise to stay out of it.“
You nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. “Deal. But don’t think I’m just going to sit idly by.”
Natasha’s laughter was soft, almost musical. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
You sat up on the couch, leaning forward slightly. “There are so many things I want to ask you” you began, your voice steadier now, despite the lingering effects of alcohol.
“Oh? Pray tell, sweetheart” Her tone was both amused and challenging, as if daring you to delve deeper.
You took a deep breath, trying to organize the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “Well, for starters, how old are you in like vampire…age? Are there rules or a society you have to follow? How fast can you run? Do you have a uhm…a family?” The questions tumbled out in a rapid rush, leaving you out of breath.
Natasha’s eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and caution. “My, my, such inquisitiveness”
“Well, I think its only fair for you to answer my questions if we’re going to work together”
“Is that so? I do not recall the moment when I agreed that we would work together” Natasha said—her tone carrying a hint of amusement.
You leaned forward, undeterred. “Well, if you want me to stay out of trouble, it’s only fair I know what I’m dealing with. Besides, you already said you needed me to keep this between us. We’re practically partners in crime now.”
Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Very well, I shall indulge your curiosity for a moment” Her eyes flicked over you, as if assessing the depth of your resolve. “I shall warn you, the answers you seek may not bring you the comfort you hope for”
You nodded eagerly, the anticipation bubbling up within you. “I’ll take my chances”
She paused, her gaze growing distant as if she were reaching back through the annals of time. “I am much older than you might imagine”— There was a coldness, it seemed to you, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford you the least ray of light.
Your eyes widened with awe. “How old are we talking?” you asked with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.
Natasha avoided your gaze, her eyes roaming the room as if seeking something lost. Then, with a fluid grace, she moved closer and sat beside you on the couch. Her presence was both comforting and intimidating, a paradox that left you breathless. You did not scoot away.
“I’m 1053 years old” she said quietly, her words hanging in the air like a ghostly whisper.
The statement echoed in your mind— a reverberation of disbelief. 1,053 years old? —You stared at her, your brain struggling to wrap around the concept—A thousand years. Over a millennium of experiences, of living through history you only read about in books.
But what did that mean for you, standing in front of her, barely a blip in the vast expanse of her existence? —Your life, with all its challenges and milestones, must seem like a fleeting moment to her. The thought was humbling, almost belittling. Yet, it also brought a strange sense of wonder. Here you were, an ordinary person, sharing a moment with someone who had seen and survived a thousand years. It was surreal.
Your breath hitched. “Wow”
She nodded, her expression unreadable. “Wow Indeed. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of countless souls. Time is both a gift and a curse.”
You swallowed hard, trying to comprehend the weight of her words. “What’s it like? Living for so long?”
“It is a relentless march of time, where the world changes around you while you remain the same. You learn to cherish fleeting moments, yet you also bear the burden of endless memories.”
You felt a pang of sympathy for her. “That sounds... incredibly hard.”
Natasha shrugged slightly, her expression softening. “It is what it is. One learns to adapt, to find purpose in the midst of eternity”
Your breath hitched, the weight of her revelation sinking in. “That’s... unbelievable. I can’t even imagine living for so long.”
“It is not something one can easily fathom. You witness the world change in ways unimaginable, yet remain untouched by time yourself.”
“Must be incredibly lonely”
She shook her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I got lucky. I’m not entirely alone. I have a family, friends, and a sister. They make the endless years more bearable.”
You felt a spark of curiosity. “A sister? Like, a biological sister? Is she... like you?
“Not by blood” she clarified. “But as close to it as one can get. We were turned together, and we’ve looked after each other ever since”
“That’s... actually quite beautiful” you said, feeling a strange sense of admiration. “Having someone who understands you, who’s been through the same things.”
“It is a rare gift” she admitted, her voice softening. “Many of our kind are not so fortunate. We are often solitary creatures by necessity.”
You hesitated, then asked, “What about your friends? Are they... humans?”
Natasha paused, her gaze becoming distant as she considered your question. “No,” she finally replied, shaking her head slightly. “I do not engage with humans, at least not for... pleasure.”
“So, your friends are... other vampires?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice tinged with an old sorrow. “Over the centuries, I’ve found it safer to form bonds with those who understand our nature, our struggles. Humans are... fragile. Temporary. It’s difficult to form lasting connections when you know they will wither and die in what feels like the blink of an eye.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, and you could sense the weight of centuries in her gaze. “So, you only interact with humans when you need something?”
She sighed, her expression conflicted. “In essence, yes. Whether it’s information, sustenance, or to blend in, my interactions are often driven by necessity. Anything more is... dangerous.”
“So, you’re using me to get information?”
She looked at you, her expression unreadable. “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it’s not as simple as that.”
You felt a pang of disappointment and a touch of hurt. “So, I’m just a tool to you? Just someone you can manipulate to get what you need?”
Natasha sighed, her eyes softening slightly. “It’s not that I see you as a mere tool. It’s just that involving humans in our world is fraught with complications. The less you’re entangled, the better, for the both of us.”
The sting of her implication lingered in the air, sharper than you expected. Why did it hurt so much? There was a connection, a growing bond that made you feel significant in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. Her presence had stirred something within you—the idea that she might view you merely as a tool, a pawn in whatever game she was playing, cut deep. You wanted to be more than that.
The vulnerability of that desire caught you off guard, and it scared you. Why did her opinion matter so much? Why did her validation feel like something you desperately craved?
You had hoped that in her eyes, you were more than just a means to an end. You wanted her to see you. You needed her to.
Your mind raced, trying to process her words. “I would have hoped you didn’t see me that way” you said quietly, more to yourself than to her.
“How would you like me to see you?”
“I don’t know…but I don’t like to be considered a tool. I’m much more.”
“And i’m sure you are” Her gaze was penetrating, almost otherworldly, and you found yourself lost in the depths of her green eyes. It felt as though she was seeing right through you, peeling back layers you didn't even know you had. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air growing thick with an electric tension that crackled between you.
You stared into each other's eyes, locked in a silent battle of wills. Her eyes held a hint of amusement, as if she was enjoying watching you squirm under her scrutiny. It was both unsettling and mesmerizing. The intensity of her gaze made time stretch, elongating each second into an eternity. Your breath caught in your throat, and you struggled to maintain your composure, to not let her see how deeply she affected you.
Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush forming that you were powerless to stop. You would’ve blamed it on the alcohol, but deep down, you knew it was her—her presence, her eyes, the way she seemed to envelop you completely.
You tried to muster the strength to break the gaze, to regain some semblance of control. But her eyes held you captive, and you felt as though you were drowning in them, unable to look away.
Every nerve in your body was on high alert and the intensity was almost too much to bear. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
Finally, with a monumental effort, you managed to tear your gaze away from hers. The break in eye contact felt like a physical release, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your heart was still racing, and you could feel the warmth in your cheeks, a telltale sign of your flustered state. You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the effect she had on you, but the feeling lingered, making you nervous and unsteady.
“Do you have a phone?” you asked, desperate to change the topic and alleviate the tension.
Your voice was more desperate than you intended, fear lacing your words. You hoped Natasha wouldn't notice, but it emerged with a quiver that betrayed your nerves.
“Why?”
“Well, you can let me know if you have news without having to break into my house and give me a scare.”
“Are you that desperate to see me again?” she asked grinning at your request.
Your cheeks flushed, and you shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I am, or maybe I just want to make sure I’m not left in the dark."
She studied you for a second, then pulled a phone from her leather jacket and handed it to you. You smiled when you saw it, realizing she was probably not used to modern technology. You quickly added your number to her contacts and sent yourself a text.
“There” you said, handing it back to her.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, noticing your attempt to contain your smile.
“Nothing.”
“You should know better than to lie to me” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Sorry, uhm, it’s just I haven’t seen one of those phones since 2012” you said, smiling softly.
“Well, I have no use for it. Why would I get another one?”
“No, it’s cute,” you said, grinning.
“Cute?” she echoed, her tone slightly incredulous.
“Yes, cute” you repeated, laughing softly. “It’s endearing, seeing someone like you with something so outdated. It makes you seem... more approachable”
Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability flashing across her features. “Approachable and cute, you say? That is not a word often used to describe me”
You leaned back on the couch, feeling a bit more relaxed now that the tension had eased. “Well, I think it suits you” you said with a warm smile plastered on your face.
“It is late, and you have had a taxing evening” she said, her tone shifting to one of gentle authority as she stoop up from the couch “I believe it is time for you to go to bed.”
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden change of her behavior. “Yes ma’am” you replied attempting to stand. As you got up, you almost stumbled over the carpet, an embarrassed smile spreading across your face.
“Can I trust you to make it to bed without falling along the way?” she asked, one eyebrow arched in amusement.
“Yeah, I’m good” you said, steadying yourself.
“Alright, then I guess this is goodbye for now”
You took a step towards the door, trying to maintain your balance. “Good night” you said, reaching out to open the door for her. Natasha’s lips curved into a smile at the gesture.
“Good night” she replied, her voice a soft whisper that lingered in the air as she stepped through the doorway.
Entering your room, you barely managed to close the door before collapsing onto your bed. Her presence had been overwhelming, but in a way that left you wanting more.
You buried your face in your pillow, letting out frustrated murmurs as you began to grasp the full weight of your situation.
"Fuck” the word softly leaped from your mouth through an appeased air, to which in vain it fell onto the silk pillow under your cheek.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
A strong rush of shivers coursed through your body, the wet grass beneath your heels composing a delicate struggle with each step.
An arm twisted with yours, bringing the warmth your heart so desperately needed.
“Im craving coffee so bad” Ava said slowing her peace. Her voice trembled slightly, blending with the rustling leaves around you.
“yeah me too” you replied, your thoughts drifting as you tried to keep up the small talk. The chill in the air seemed to seep into your bones, amplifying the emotional numbness you felt.
Ava squeezed your arm gently, drawing you out of your reverie. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes searching yours with concern.
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Just... thinking about everything. It was intense.”
“Tell me about it” Ava sighed. “It’s hard to believe Davis is really gone. And his poor mother and wife were so devastated…it was heartbreaking”
“Yeah” you echoed, your mind flashing back to the ceremony. The speeches, the memories shared, the way everyone had come together to honor Davis’s legacy. It was overwhelming, but also a stark reminder of the void he left behind.
As you approached the office building, the familiar hum of activity began to seep into your senses. The transition from the tranquil outdoors to the bustling environment felt jarring. The routine, the noise, the normalcy—everything seemed out of place in the wake of your loss.
“Hey” Ava’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Want to grab that coffee before we dive into work?”
“Yeah, that sounds good” you replied, grateful for the distraction.
As you walked to the break room, you couldn’t help but replay your last conversation with Natasha. You haven’t seen her since Friday, it’s like you ached for her presence, but she hadn’t contacted you and the worries that she might not contact you again left you numb.
“So” Ava said as she poured two cups of coffee, “Do you think we’ll ever find out what really happened to Davis?”
You took a sip of the steaming coffee, the warmth spreading through you. “I hope so”
Ava nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah well, im pretty sure Bowman has something to do with it.”
“Yeah probably”
——
As you returned to your desk, coffee in hand, you found yourself immersed once more in Davis's meticulously organized case files, each page a breadcrumb leading deeper into the convoluted narratives of high-profile divorces and contentious custody battles. Amid the dry legal documents, something about the case of a wealthy couple caught your attention—an affluent businessman accusing his wife of alcoholism, claiming custody of their child. It tugged at your heart, remembering of your parents hard divorce.
Lost in thought, you absentmindedly flipped through the paperwork, trying to piece together the puzzle of a mother yearning to reclaim what she perceived as stolen from her.
Suddenly, a folder nestled among the case files caught your eye. It seemed out of place, not connected to any ongoing litigation. As you opened it, you were surprised to find what appeared to be economic data of the company—a jumble of numbers, graphs, and financial projections. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of the figures. There was an unsettling pattern indicating financial instability, a revelation that sent a chill down your spine.
Sitting back in your chair, you rubbed your temples, the implications sinking in. Davis had been onto something—evidence of corporate malfeasance, perhaps. Was it possible he had stumbled upon information that Bowman would kill to protect?
Your fingers traced over the pages, each one revealing more about what might be causing the company's impending downfall. There were records of donations far exceeding what the company could sustainably afford, and a name jumped out at you: "The Old Oak Sip." — It sparked a memory, a name you had encountered before, but where?
The clock on the wall ticked away, a steady reminder of time slipping by as you delved deeper into each piece of evidence which hinted at a larger conspiracy, and you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The numbers were not just figures on a page; they were the remnants of a hidden truth, a web of deceit and corruption that Davis had inadvertently stumbled upon.
Your mind raced, trying to connect the dots. The Old Oak Sip—why did it sound so familiar? You closed your eyes, willing the memory to resurface.
Could this club be the key to unraveling the mystery of Davis's murder? The thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. If Davis had uncovered something significant about this place and maybe the reason why Bowman was making donation to this place, it might explain why he was killed.
Taking a deep breath, you gathered the files and carefully tucked them in your bag mindful of the prying eyes that might be watching you.
Standing up from your chair, you cast a glance around the office, ensuring no one was watching too closely. As you made your way to the elevator, you felt the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside, only to be met by Emily.
"Hey, you okay?" she asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.
You mustered a weak smile. "Not really, I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to head home. Can you let Ava know?"
Emily nodded sympathetically. "Of course. Take care of yourself, alright?"
"Thanks" you replied as the elevator doors closed with a soft ding.
——
Your apartment was a mess: each file spread across the coffee table, your eyes scanning the documents with a mix of urgency and trepidation. You flipped open your laptop, fingers flying over the keys as you searched for any information on "The Old Oak Sip." The results were scant, revealing only that it was a high-end night club cocktail bar open exclusively on Wednesday nights. You tried to dig deeper, but everything seemed locked behind layers of exclusivity, and the club accessible only with tickets.
A frustrated huff escaped your lips. You needed to get inside that club, to uncover the secrets it held. But how?
Then it struck you—Bowman's money clip. The strange tickets you had found in the secret compartment. You hadn't understood their significance at the time, but now, a spark of realization ignited. You dashed to your bedroom, rifling through the nightstand until your fingers closed around the wallet.
"Ah, found it!" you exclaimed, excitement bubbling up as you pulled out the tickets. "Old Oak Ink Premium Pass." This was it. Your ticket inside.
You held the pass in your hand, the weight of it somehow more profound now. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you let out a shaky breath. This pass was your key to uncovering the truth. Your mind drifted back to Davis, to the look of determination on his face when he had been on the verge of a breakthrough. He had died for this, and now it was up to you to finish what he started.
Taking a deep breath, you resolved to see this through. You couldn't let fear hold you back, not when so much was at stake.
You placed the pass carefully in your wallet, feeling a renewed sense of purpose heading’s back to the living room, your mind was already racing with plans for the night. The Old Oak Sip awaited, and with it, the answers you so desperately sought.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Wednesday had arrived faster than you anticipated, your mind racing with thoughts of the impending night at The Old Oak Sip. Natasha's continued silence gnawed at you, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the immediate task: choosing how to dress.
Standing before your closet, you searched for an outfit that would help you blend in. Finally, after twenty minutes of searching through your wardrobe you opted for skinny black jeans, high boots, and a black shirt—a look that was both sleek and understated. Not your usual, but it fitted the purpose.
The taxi sped through the ink-black night, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and crimson. The hum of the engine thrummed beneath you, a dull counterpoint to the chaotic swirl of thoughts in your mind. You leaned back against the worn leather seat, the coolness of the material doing little to calm the fevered heat of your thoughts. Natasha’s stern, knowing eyes flashed in your memory, and you could almost hear her voice, a melody of concern and admonition, warning you against your reckless choice.
Outside, the city seemed to pulse with life—treetlights cast elongated shadows that danced like phantoms across the pavement, and the distant murmur of the nightlife was a haunting symphony that filled the silence. You knew you should tell Natasha about your discovery, about the cryptic “Old Oak Sip” but the thought of her disapproving gaze, the inevitable scolding for your recklessness, made you hesitate. You needed to deal with this one on your own.
The cabbie’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror, curiosity evident but unspoken—The taxi slowed to a stop, and you paid the fare with hands that trembled slightly, the anticipation gnawing at your resolve. As you stepped out into the night, the cool air hit you like a slap, invigorating and terrifying all at once.
The Old Oak Sip loomed ahead, its neon sign casting an eerie glow. Two imposing bodyguards stood at the entrance, their muscular frames and stern expressions exuding an air of intimidation. One had a shaved head and a thick neck, his arms crossed over a broad chest, while the other sported a buzz cut and an angular jaw, his eyes scanning the crowd with hawk-like vigilance. A small group of people lingered outside, chatting and smoking, their laughter incongruent with the tension knotting your stomach.
You took a deep breath and approached the door. "Hello" you greeted, your voice wavering slightly.
"Ticket?" one of the bodyguards demanded, his gaze piercing through you.
"Oh, yes. Right" You fumbled with your wallet, pulling out the ticket and handing it over with a forced smile. "Sorry, it’s my first time here"
The guard nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Have fun" he said, handing the ticket back and stepping aside to let you pass.
Inside, a strange mix of scents assaulted your senses—sweat, alcohol, and something floral, perhaps incense. The interior was a blend of opulence and decay. Dim, colored lights cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor, and rich red velvet drapes framed the walls, giving the place an almost theatrical feel. The bar was a polished mahogany affair, lined with bottles of every conceivable liquor, and the air buzzed with the low hum of conversations and distant music.
As you scanned the room, trying to find someone who might be a staff member, a woman appeared before you. She had striking features—sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes lined with kohl, and full, dark lips. Her hair was an intricate mass of braids, adorned with tiny, shimmering beads that caught the light as she moved.
"Hello" she said, her voice smooth and commanding.
"Hi" you replied, taken aback by her presence.
"You’re late. Volunteers need to come around nine so that we can dress them up" she said, her tone leaving little room for argument.
You stared at her, confused. "I- uh..”
“It’s alright, I’ll make an exception…you smell- divine by the way”
“Uhm thanks but I’m n-“ You tried to explain, but she cut you off swiftly “Come on, we have to be quick” she said— before you could protest further, she grabbed your hand, her grip firm and insistent, and began leading you through the place.
Your mind raced, a mix of anxiety and confusion swirling within you. The realization that you were being mistaken for someone else-or something else— brought a surge of panic. What had you gotten yourself into? You felt the press of bodies around you, the pulse of the music thrumming through the air, heightening your senses and adding to your disorientation.
"Wait, I-" you tried to protest, but the words were lost in the cacophony of the club. The woman's pace was relentless, weaving through clusters of people with practiced ease. Her grip on your hand was unyielding, and you stumbled slightly, struggling to keep up.
"What?” she asked not hinting to stop walking.
"I’m not a volunteer. I really need to talk to your boss or whoever’s in charge here" you insisted, your voice tinged with desperation.
She halted abruptly, turning to face you. "Why do you need to talk to Viktor?" she asked, her eyes boring into yours.
You hesitated, heart pounding. "I... I need to discuss something important. It’s about... business" you stammered, hoping it sounded convincing.
"Listen, sweetie, I have a job to do and we’re already late. I don’t want to be fired." She studied you for a moment, then sighed. "You know what? Keep your clothes. They’ll do. You still look gorgeous" — “Follow me”
"Look, I’m not a dancer or a stripper-I can’t dance if that’s what you were hoping. I just want to get some uh…drinks" you lied, trying to sound casual.
She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed out of place in the dim, chaotic club. "You can have all the drinks you want, after someone picks you"
"Pick me?" you echoed, confusion evident in your voice.
"Yeah, some of them are ugh, ugly…but don’t worry. You’ll forget everything by tomorrow morning" she said nonchalantly, leading you through a set of heavy red velvet curtains.
Your heart pounded as you stepped through the velvet curtains, the rhythm so fierce you feared it might burst from your chest— You stood paralyzed, your limbs weighted by a sudden, profound fear. How could you be this stupid, this naive, you thought, your mind spiraling in frantic loops. The sight before you seemed to stretch time, the air thick with an oppressive, unnameable dread.
Your breath hitched, panic bubbling up as you tried to make sense of the scene.
Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your feet were rooted to the spot, trapped by an invisible force.
In that moment, you knew you were in over your head. The full weight of your mistake crashed down on you, leaving you breathless and trembling. The realization was as cold and merciless as the air around you, and you could do nothing but stand there, paralyzed by the enormity of what you had stumbled into.
- - -- -- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -- -- - -
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