#they only managed to exist for seconds without each other

[dykobra-kid]

You don’t remember what he looked like?

[satoblue]

MDNI, f!reader, ghost husband satoru (he is dead after shinjuku but is stuck between worlds and haunts you), a little angsty at first then smutty, masturbation (satoru ofc sigh he is a freak even when deceased), cumming on your face. | not proofread, will likely play around with this idea more in the future, dividers made by me

ghost husband satoru . . . if there is one thing that hasn’t changed about him even though he is without a corporeal form — it is that he is capable of turning any situation sexual. though, his freakiness proves rather helpful this time as it confirms that maybe you can sense him at times. it first happens when you’re asleep one night, and like usual, your husband is watching over you.

all he feels - and all you feel these past couple of days - is nothing but grief and heartbreak. both of you were mourning (though he was the only one who was technically dead) the loss of each other and how you’d no longer be able to hold one another. to kiss, to caress, to feel your heartbeats against your chests. he often finds himself lost in thought, gazing at something distant and out of his reach, sights strictly stuck on your form. you toss and turn — and satoru, he would always complain about your icy feet and how he’d wake up in the middle of the night to your foot on his cheek. but now, he wishes more than anything in the world to feel the chill of your skin than that of death.

with each passing night, you only grow more restless as satoru’s scent seems to dissipate from the sheets and from the air of your home. you feel even colder than normal, the bed no longer warm and inviting. there was no comforting presence alongside you, no loud snores and breaths right beside your ear as a certain someone invades your space. for once and for forever, you have the bed all to yourself — and you hate it.

eventually, at some point, you end up on your back, lightly snoring as you finally manage to shut your eyes. satoru lets out a breath of relief. at least you’d have a couple hours of sleep to properly function the next day. as he continues to stare, however, his eyes don’t fail to roam over you — attention shifting from your face to your heaving chest. he can tell you weren’t wearing a bra like usual — your nipples poking through the thin fabric of your shirt.

seconds pass as he looks, and the harder he does . . . the harder he gets down below. satoru’s head whips down in shock, a bit flustered at the way his cock twitches to (ironically) life. how could he still do that? this paranormal stuff is weird — his paranormal penis is weird. out of all the times to get an erection . . . your husband shoots his gaze towards you, where you lay all sprawled out, covers kicked off from your wrestle with an imaginary creature in your dreams (at least, that is what he picked up on from your sleepy mumbles).

could he even…… cum? — like this, he means. he didn’t even know he could get a boner in this state so it wouldn’t exactly hurt to try. satoru crawls atop the bed slowly — and it doesn’t shift or dip as if he’s lighter than a feather, like he doesn’t even exist. yet, he still does so quietly and carefully, as if scared to wake you even though he knows it isn’t possible. he makes his way on top of you, straddling you. and as he lingers above, looking down at the sight of your slightly parted lips in your slumber, spying a bit of drool at the corner — he can’t help but throb in his pants with interest. you look so innocent and peaceful, and yet, your filthy (dead) husband can’t help but be a freak at a moment like this by getting off to it.

after a bit of (no) contemplating, he tugs down the front of his pants, enough to free his cock just a bit. he hisses slightly as his tip meets the abnormally icy air and with a sigh, he starts stroking himself — right above your face. unbelievably, heat creeps up onto his face and spreads throughout his entire body. this was wrong, but . . . you wouldn’t mind right? it’s not as though you knew your husband whom you’ve been crying over for the past few weeks is jerking off on you while you sleep . . . as a ghost.

the hand stroking him works faster, and if he could, he’d probably be sweating by now. letting out a string of groans and whines, his tip leaks and dribbles a bit onto your shirt, but it doesn’t bleed through and soak it. with that, he feels a little bolder, more confident and assured in his depravity and runs his mushroom tip over your lips only to feel a mixture of irritation and disappointment as it does nothing for him. all it serves is sending a weird sensation down his spine at the contact.

regardless of that, satoru imagines himself cumming straight into your open mouth, the familiar coil in his stomach building and he starts strokes himself even quicker, breathless gasps permeating the air while his hips rut desperately into his own hand. and before he can stop himself — his cock explodes, sending rope after rope of his semen on your face.

with a flinch, your eyes shoot wide open. satoru yelps, jolting back in surprise, almost stumbling back but catching himself with a hand on the bedding.

you blink up at the ceiling, startled like a lamb, before your hand reaches up slowly. and if his heart could beat, it’d be thundering in his chest right about now. he swallows, watching closely as you feel around your face for whatever just hit you …….. only to find nothing.

huh?

the evidence of his transparent orgasm doesn’t budge the slightest bit as your fingers trace around the perimeter of your face. that is, until you sit up and he shuffles back a bit, making room for you even though he technically doesn’t have to (it’s more out of instinct). and right then, his seed starts dripping down, unable to defy gravity. but you can no longer sense it now, as if the odd sensation suddenly vanished.

but, you felt it. you felt the phantom feeling of him blowing his load all over your face. out of all the things he’s done so far to get you to acknowledge that he is here, that he’s touching you — that’s the first bit of contact you recognize?

[juneoirs]

devoted to you ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა

katsuki bakugo who makes love to you with a tenderness you didn’t know he possessed—he refuses to call it ‘fucking’ says it feels too crude, too disrespectful to describe what you both share. it’s not just about desire, it’s about love, about trust, about the quiet moments where his world feels like it begins and ends with you.

katsuki bakugo who starts by holding your hand, rough fingers brushing against your soft skin, and kisses your fingertips one by one. then your knuckles, each press of his lips slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every curve of your hand. he works his way up to your arm, leaving warm, lingering kisses along the way, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your wrist, the curve of your elbow, until he reaches the crook of your neck. he plants a few soft kisses there, his breath warm against your skin, but never leaves marks. he doesn’t need to. others might talk about ‘claiming’ but that’s not him. he doesn’t need proof for anyone else—he knows you’re his, just as much as he’s yours.

katsuki bakugo who never rushes your time together. he’s not in any hurry to get anywhere. he takes his time, savoring every moment, every touch, every sound that escapes your lips. he wants to make you feel good—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, in ways that only he knows how. he says it’s how a man should love his woman, with care, with devotion, with the kind of passion that builds slow and steady, like a flame he never wants to burn out. it’s not just about making love—it’s about showing you, with every kiss, every touch, just how deeply he loves you.

katsuki bakugo who hangs onto every word that slips from your beautiful lips like it’s gospel. it doesn’t matter what you say, he’s ready to obey without a second thought, no hesitation, no questions asked. you want to try something new? he’s already asking how and where you want him, his crimson eyes burning with anticipation as he waits for you to guide him. show him, teach him—he’s all yours to mold.

you want to have full control, to flip the dynamic and make him yours to command? oh, that’s his favorite. the way you take the lead, the way you look down at him with that confidence he loves so much, makes his pulse race. nothing gets him going like being yours to use, to please, to satisfy. he’ll follow your every move, hang onto your every demand, and do it all with a smirk because there’s nothing he loves more than surrendering himself to you.

you want him to get on his knees and beg? he’s already there, the second the thought crosses your mind. no words needed—he knows. and when you finally do speak, telling him what you want, his knees hit the ground faster than his pride can protest. for you, pride doesn’t matter. ego doesn’t exist. it’s you—your words, your desires, your commands—and he’d do anything to give you exactly what you want.

and if he ever did say no to you, even once? well, that’s not him. no way, no chance. katsuki bakugo who jokes that you might as well shoot him in the head if he ever dared deny you.

katsuki bakugo who is absolutely, undeniably, head over heels for you—like, beyond saving. it’s almost embarrassing how smitten he is, but he couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks. if someone asks him a simple question, somehow, the whole conversation gets derailed, and suddenly, it’s all about you.

"oh, that reminds me." he’ll start, and then it’s off to the races. "my girl loves that kind of stuff. did you know she—" and there he goes, talking about your favorite foods, the way you light up when you laugh, how you always manage to make him feel like he’s the luckiest guy on the planet.

it doesn’t matter who’s listening—his friends, his colleagues, hell, even strangers. katsuki can’t stop singing your praises. he’ll call you ‘amazing’ and ‘beautiful’ like it’s a fact of life, like the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. and don’t even get him started on the future.

he’s already got it all planned out. every time he talks about you, it’s with this quiet, determined confidence. "she’s gonna be my wife one day." he’ll say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. there’s no ‘if’ in his mind, only ‘when.’ "and the mother of my brats." he adds with a little smirk, already imagining the future—kids with wild blond hair and that fiery spirit he loves so much in you.

he’s completely, utterly gone for you, and everyone knows it. and honestly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[beloveds-embrace]

Hello! Thank you for feeding us the angstier timeline of the dukedom au!! I live for angst

You don’t have to entertain this thought ofc, the angst and how good you write for my brain worms worming. I just can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if König wasn’t there and instead the duchess had to suffer all on her own

(Or better yet, if he was there but ended up also leaving the duchess for someone else or was killed protecting the duchess)

Reader having to endure everything on her own which eventually leads her to falling terribly ill and in the olden times we all know how a simple cold could turn into more and yield deadly results

The stress combined with the overall lack of appetite (and the food not cooked well at times to add to that… more angst (: ) as well as other factors rendered the reader terribly ill

Maybe she fell into a body of water and had to save herself, or maybe she was caught up in a rainy storm on a walk with no one offering her warm clothing or a cover up until she eventually managed to get back that leads to pneumonia

Maybe she gets injured but hides it until the blood loss gets to her and infection sets in

Just so many options and flavours of angst

Anyway, thank you for sharing your writing with us! Agin, you don’t have to engage with this, so please don’t feel pressured!! I’m just having many thoughts and am currently going feral /pos

WAITTT WAIT I LOVE THIS

Because imagine clinging to König, to your one singular source of comfort in a manor that has no room for you, and in the end, he leaves as well.

You had been telling yourself that you had been simply more imaginative lately; König was simply busy, he wasn’t growing more and more distant! The way he looks at you now compard to before hasn’t changed. At all. His responses were in hums and nods, noncommittal but that’s okay, sometimes you did not feel like speaking- like existing- either.

Until he stands in your office, the light from the windows reflecting off his armour. You had been happy to see him, a smile on your lips to be in the company of the only one who didn’t seem to despise you.

When he tells you that he will not be doing this anymore, it feels, for a very split second, like your heart shatters into a thousand tiny pieces. You can feel the shattering of each, single piece.

Better place. He says, pity in his eyes but no regret. He pauses for a second. I wish… the best for you.

König leaves you like that; staring after his back in abject horror. Every step he takes echoes in your ears, until you are left alone in your office, hands trembling, and your ears ringing.

After that day, everything practically crumbled. You crumbled.

Without him, the weight of your isolation became unbearable. The disdain of the household grew sharper once it became known your only solace was no longer there, the whispers more cutting. Meals came cold, uneaten. Sleep eluded you, and the constant stress gnawed away at your strength.

One fateful day, you went outside in a desperate bid to escape the suffocation. The air was crisp, the sky gray with the promise of rain, and yet you still did not turn back. You wandered farther than you intended, your steps aimless even as the first drops began to fall.

The storm came quickly afterwards, drenching you to the bone. Your thin cloak offered little protection, and the chill seeped deep into your skin. By the time you returned, trembling and soaked, no one was waiting to help you. No fire had been lit in your chambers; no warm blanket was offered, and no company was given.

The fever began that very night, burning through you with a strength that left you bedridden. Days passed in a haze of pain and delirium. The wound you had hidden- an injury from your fall in the storm- festered, the infection spreading rapidly through your weakened body. You hadn’t the strength to call for help, nor the faith that anyone would come even if you did hoarse out your voice in your attempts.

Only when your condition worsened and you really, truly disappeared out of view, the household finally took notice. Whispers swirled, faint echoes beyond the fog of your fading consciousness, and everyone became alert of your absence, meals returned untouched and maids reporting it’s weeks since they’d helped you with anything.

John sat in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey as the fire crackled in the hearth. He told himself your absence didn’t matter- that you were retreating because you’d finally realized the truth. But when he closed his eyes, he saw your face as it had been on your wedding day- hopeful, trusting, and unaware of the coldness that would greet you.

Simon found himself pacing the halls around your room more often than usual. He would glance toward your chambers but never step inside, convincing himself it wasn’t his concern. And yet, something about the silence unsettled him.

Johnny had begun to notice the meals sent to your chambers were left untouched, the plates returned barely touched or sometimes not taken at all. He hadn’t cared at first, dismissing it as you sulking because no one was giving you attention. But now the thought lingered- had you even been eating at all?

Even Kyle, with his sharp tongue and sharper gaze, felt the unease creeping in. He found himself hesitating when passing your door, his usual indifference cracking as guilt gnawed at him.

In the end, it’s Kyle who couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He stepped into your room, telling himself it was simply to prove to himself that you were fine and just- sulking.

The sight stopped him cold.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the air heavy with the faint, sour scent of illness. You lay motionless on the bed, your body shockingly frail, your skin damp with fever. Your hair clung to your forehead, and your breathing was shallow, each breath rattling in your chest.

You didn’t even notice him. Not even when he turned around and barked sharply for John, for a doctor now. You didn’t notice him at all. Not him, not John or Simon or Johnny when they appear while the maids run to get the doctor.

(Kyle will never tell anyone how utterly sick he felt upon seeing the dried tear-tracks on your face. The unfinished, rotten meals near the bed. The tear spots on your pillows. He will never, ever forget today. He doubts any of the others will be able to do so, either.)

[ticifics]

Hello author, can i request a part two dor divination? Maybe the vision finally came true and its all just fluffy? Thank youu

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

── james potter x f!reader

summary: “Remember the Divination classes?” James asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself. “Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

tags n warnings: just fluffy - after Hogwarts(married with children), a very cute little Harry. divination

a/n: hey honey, I hope you like it

The night in Godric’s Hollow was calm, the silence only broken by the soft crackling of the fireplace and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. The golden light from the flames cast delicate shadows on the walls and filled the living room with a warm, cozy glow. It was one of those rare and perfect moments where time seemed to slow down, as if the world outside didn’t even exist.

Harry was on the floor, on the plush rug that covered most of the room, surrounded by colorful magical blocks he was trying to stack. He furrowed his brow, his little face serious as his tongue slightly poked out the side of his mouth. The newly built tower collapsed once more, and he let out an annoyed grunt before suddenly getting up.

James was sprawled on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table, watching his son with eyes full of amusement. You were sitting on the floor with Dahlia standing between your hands, propping her tiny arms on yours to keep her balance. She let out squeals of joy every time she managed to take a wobbly step or two before safely falling back onto the rug. Each of her attempts was met with laughter, claps, and kisses on the top of her little head.

“Again, little one, come on,” you encouraged softly, lifting her under her armpits and raising her into the air. Dahlia giggled in her tiny voice, her round cheeks flushed from the effort, her eyes sparkling with pure joy. She looked like a miniature version of you, the features so alike that even James had commented more than once how it threw him off a little.

At that moment, Harry, who was facing away from you, found James’s glasses abandoned on the coffee table. He picked them up carefully, turning them in his little hands as if they were a treasure. Without a second thought, he put them on, the large lenses slipping down his nose.

“Dad!” he called, stumbling over his words as he turned around with a big smile. “Look, now I’m you!”

James’s laughter echoed through the room, that loud and carefree laugh that brightened any place. He threw his head back, his hands covering his face for a moment before he stretched out his arms to Harry.

“Merlin, you look just like me!” James said, his voice full of affection. He scooped his son into his arms, messing up his already wild hair even more. “You just need to try flying on a broomstick and get into trouble, and I’ll have to retire because my legacy will be secured.”

Harry laughed, adjusting the glasses that kept slipping. “I’m going to fly better than you, dad,” he declared with all the confidence in the world, which only made James laugh more.

“Of course you will, Prongslet. That’s the spirit.”

On the other side of the room, you watched the scene with a smile so wide your cheeks ached. Dahlia, now in your lap, stretched her little hands toward her dad and brother, babbling something that sounded like a demand for attention. James looked at her and froze for a second, his smile softening as he watched the little one in your arms.

He stayed silent for too long, his gaze almost absorbed as he studied Dahlia’s face, so identical to his. You noticed the moment and furrowed your brow slightly, your voice soft as you asked,

“What’s wrong? Why the silly look?”

James turned his gaze to you, that silly grin still shining on his lips, and then looked back at his daughter, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her.

“It’s you,” he murmured, his voice so low that it barely reached your ears. “Smaller, cuter, but… it’s you.”

Your heart warmed, melting like butter under the sun. The look of adoration he gave his daughter was the same he reserved for you, and that always affected you in an inexplicable way.

“Careful, James,” you teased, your voice sweet. “She might end up wanting to fly better than you too.”

James chuckled softly, letting Harry slide off his lap as he stood up and walked over to you. He crouched down beside you, his arms extending around both of you.

For a moment, you stayed like that: Dahlia in your lap, Harry playing again with the blocks, and James too close, his presence as comforting as a warm blanket.

“Remember the Divination classes?” he asked suddenly, his voice light, almost as if talking to himself.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Those classes? James, that was years ago.”

He laughed, resting his head on your shoulder while still looking at their daughter, now yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I know. But… I remember her talking about a boy with glasses. Just like his dad.”

His gaze softened as you also looked at Harry, who was now grumbling softly because another block tower had fallen. A boy with his father’s messy hair and huge glasses. It was truly remarkable.

“Yeah,” you murmured, feeling the memory bring an unexpected warmth to your chest. “She really got that one right.”

James turned his face to look at you, his expression so tenderly affectionate that it felt like your heart might leap out of your chest.

“And I also remember saying that I would prefer… a girl,” he continued, his eyes shining softly. “Someone who looked like you.”

The mention caught you off guard, an unexpected wave of emotion rising within you. Your smile was automatic, even though a stubborn tear threatened to fall.

“And here we are,” James murmured, kissing the top of Dahlia’s head as she finally fell asleep in his arms. “Who would’ve thought, huh? It seems like the future really was written. We just took our time seeing it.”

You smiled, one of those smiles that starts slow, spreading across your whole face, as you watched Dahlia’s little closed eyes. His words brought a warm feeling to your chest, mixed with old memories that seemed to come from another life.

“We really did,” you replied, resting your head on James’ shoulder, feeling his familiar warmth. “If it depended on you, we’d have been together since first year.”

James chuckled softly, looking at you with that mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“I wasn’t wrong, let’s be honest,” he said, with a voice as if declaring a universal truth. “I spent six years trying to prove I was irresistible, but no… you preferred to ignore me. Ignore me, can you believe that?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “I’d call it common sense.”

James put on a mock expression of outrage, placing his free hand on his chest as though he’d been struck with an arrow. “Common sense? And when did you decide to lose that?”

“Sometime around sixth year,” you replied, trying not to laugh. “When you became less… unbearable.”

“Unbearable?” He blinked a few times, indignant. “Come on, love, you make it sound like I was the worst of the Marauders. Everyone knows Sirius was the problem.”

“Oh, of course,” you agreed, the tone ironic but playful. “Because Sirius, who by the way is the godfather who spoils the godson the most, didn’t learn from you how to be impossible.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Sirius didn’t learn anything from me. He was born that way.”

You laughed louder but quickly put your hand over your mouth when Dahlia stirred in your lap. James looked down at her lovingly and kissed her forehead again, murmuring a “shhh, it’s all right.”

At that moment, Harry appeared in the room, rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his sweater. His hair was even more tousled than usual, and his oversized glasses— which he had taken earlier— were almost falling off his nose.

“Are you talking about Uncle Sirius again?” he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

James let out a contained laugh and reached out his free arm to pull Harry in. The boy easily settled onto his lap, snuggling between you and James.

“Of course. We always talk about Uncle Sirius, especially when he’s not around to defend himself,��� James replied, smiling at Harry. “It’s the price he pays for being the most impossible of uncles.”

Harry chuckled, his eyes almost closing again with sleep. You ran your fingers softly through his hair, feeling how warm and comfortable he was.

“But he brought chocolate yesterday,” Harry mumbled, his voice muffled against James’ chest.

“And ruined your dinner,” you said, rolling your eyes with a light smile. “Not even Remus can control Sirius when he decides to spoil you two.”

James nodded, amused. “That’s because Remus is a saint. I never understood how he puts up with Sirius even now.”

Harry lifted his head again, his little face scrunched up in curiosity. “But Uncle Remus likes Uncle Sirius.”

“He likes him a lot,” James confirmed, kissing Harry’s forehead, enveloping him in a warm embrace with both arms. “Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius were made for each other, just like your mother and I.”

Harry smiled at you, his little eyes almost closing. “So you’re the same?”

You exchanged a quick glance with James, feeling the warmth spread across your face. He gave you a sweet smile, though full of playful provocation.

“Yes, Harry. But don’t forget to tell your mum I’m more charming than Uncle Sirius, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hold back a laugh. “More charming? James, what else do you want him to say? That you’re irresistible?”

James smiled openly, turning his gaze back to you. “I’d love to hear that again.”

Harry let out a little laugh, though he was already almost asleep again. You shook your head, amused, before looking at James more softly.

“All right,” you murmured, surprising him. “You’re irresistible, James Potter.”

James’ eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe it, before breaking into a slow, passionate smile. “Did you hear that, Harry? Irresistible. Next time Uncle Sirius says something, you defend me, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Harry whispered, with a sleepy smile before finally closing his eyes.

The silence returned to the room, warmed by the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow breaths of Harry and Dahlia. You rested your head again on James’ shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent and the peace of the moment.

James, for his part, turned his face softly and placed a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you,” he murmured softly, almost like a secret.

You furrowed your brow slightly, your heart beating faster. “For what?”

He smiled against your hair, as though savoring the answer. “For everything. For this. For choosing us. For being… you.”

You closed your eyes, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’d choose you a thousand times.”

James smiled, that special sparkle in his eyes.

“I am irresistible, after all,” he whispered, teasing.

You laughed softly to avoid waking the children. “And unbearable,” you added, looking at him fondly.

James pulled you both closer, smiling ear to ear. “I’ll take both. As long as it comes from you.”

And there, in the warmth of the fire and in each other’s arms, you stayed. A perfect picture of everything you’d ever imagined— a life full of love, laughter, and little miracles that even the best of seers couldn’t have predicted.

[faiszt]

⠀⠀⭑⠀𝆬⠀⠀CLOSE ENOUGH:⠀✴⠀ r. cameron.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ minors do not interact.

PAIRING:⠀s2!rafe x stalker!reader.

†⠀⠀LISTEN TO:⠀close enough by ava morse.

wordcount: 3.7k⠀⠀|⠀⠀CONTAINS: ⠀ smut content. violent behavior. obsessive behavior. hard / strong language. drug mentions. kidnapping. face sitting. rough sex. slightly size kink. p in v. unprotected sex. dirty talk. face fucking & tits sucking.⠀ minors who interact with this will be blocked.

꒰ SILLY NOTES:⠀hi, sweets! i still don’t have a masterlist and stuff, i know, but i just really needed to write this. also, this is my first time writing a smut in my life, so... forgive me for any mistakes, i swear i'm trying and i’d be so happy if you could tell me what you think of it.⠀⠀⠀⠀(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 💬 ♡

there were two perfect words to describe you from what rafe thought: kind and sweet. so sweet, the kind that made him stop and think ‘what hole did you crawl out of?’ well, in a honest answer, the hole you crawled out of was hell. this isn't a silly little joke, it's reality, your sweetness was the perfect counterpart to the kind of obsessive and insane devil you've become since the day you laid eyes on him.

it took rafe longer to figure this out than you had anticipated before starting this freak game between you.

if he needed someone lovely, you'd be her. if he needed someone gentle, you'd be her. but, if he needs someone as crazy and fucked up as he is? his lucky day, you were all of that without even having to hide it with cute clothes and a damsel in distress demeanor.

150 days that you knew him, 150 photos of him kept in the last drawer of your dresser, right under your panties like a stupid plan not very calculated, but existing. a photo a day that you wisely chose every time you followed him around like an abandoned puppy, finding out things about him and his life was part of the shameless fun.

and each time he accidentally noticed you, you acted as he expected you to act. a confused expression and a gentle smile, pretending you were doing anything that a weirdo would, acting like it was purely fate putting you in the same place as him. what kind of shitty fate was this? god could only be punishing you for putting you in each other's lives.

but, no siege was impossible to close, and eventually, the pieces fell right into place in his mind. too late, he was the little mouse that bit the cheese in the mousetrap.

not that his insanity had reached its limit—you were never any different from that—it was just something you wanted to do and felt he needed, given how much stress you'd watched him go through lately. it wasn't wrong, was it? it was just love, no matter how strange, violent, and intense.

just a little help, you wouldn't hurt him... you'd just show that you can take care of him as well as anyone else since no one would take care of him if not you. plus, in the meantime, he could taste his own medicine with someone just like him, or worse.

“what the...” his eyes opened with difficulty, a throbbing pain in his head and his body limp, tingling, almost struggling to move. a dimly lit room, definitely not his room, unless he had been drugged enough to forget how he got there—which was what it looked like. “that’s all i needed now.” rafe thought he was talking to himself.

until he notices you there, sitting in front of your desk, swinging your feet with only one side of the earphone in your left ear, scribbling something. how cute, he thought, not thinking really much about it and when he did, well, he knew he was so fucked.

hands tied to the headboard, he wouldn't even question how you managed to drag him there, but there he was, gagged on a girl's bed. he could kick you if you came near, if it weren't for the clear fact that you both knew he wouldn't do it, first 'cause he wasn't afraid of you, second 'cause he wanted to know how far you'd go.

honestly, if you didn't go all the way, he'd make you go all the way with him since you were the one who brought him here, you had to do something about it now.

“are you plannin’ to make me die here or just playin’ some insane weirdo game, princess?” he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position—even though nothing felt comfortable when his wrists were gagged. he was just trying to get your attention. was it strange that he was finding this too interesting and appealing to simply want to run away?

you turned in your chair, taking the earphone out as you left your pencil on the table. his eyebrows slowly rose when he noticed you was you, the acting was good, he had to admit, not every girl who was into him would simply gag him in her bed like he was her own doll. it was confusing, arousing, a lot of things his mind was trying to think about.

“you looked stressed, i just wanted to make you relax.” you mumbled with a sweet, albeit fake, smile, still swinging your feet in the air. so handsome, you thought, watching him with his disheveled hair and looking so vulnerable to you. “are you relaxed, rafe? or you need me to help you again?” 'cause there wasn't a single thing you wouldn't do for him at this point.

your smile only made him let out a nasal laugh, looking away for a brief moment as he stared at the ceiling. “nice way to relax someone, huh?” he scoffed. “but, since you’re offering... i think i’d be more relaxed if you let my wrists go from that rope.” he tried to suggest, blue eyes looking at you again with a disguised pleading, as if he could actually convince you like that.

“you look better this way.” you grumbled, standing up and walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, his knee lightly brushing against you for a moment. “but, if you wanna leave, i’m not really stopping you. just say the word and we both pretend it never happened.”

“but, i don’t wanna pretend it didn't happen... and i don’t wanna leave either.” he wouldn't say it out loud, but secretly he thought you were kinda wimp. what? you just do all of it and brought him here to... well, nothing? no, no, he knew you could do better than that. “i want you to do what you wanna do, or have you bitten off more than you can chew? don’t tell me you’re that stupid, princess.”

for a man gagged in your bed, he sounded very confident and intimidating in every word. he wanted you to do it so badly, whatever the fuck you had in mind, 'cause it was turning him on to see you do this to him. “come on, you know you didn’t gagged me in your bed to let me leave.”

and, as expected, what he said had exactly the effect he wanted. in less than a minute, your legs were on either side of his hips, straddling him as he looked up at you with a smug little smirk, not caring about the darkness in your eyes. you looked hot like that, he didn't really care about the implications of fucking you without using his hands.

“you talk too much, cameron.”

“then, you should shut my mouth.”

the implication of his words had almost immediate consequences. you bent over him, hands on both sides of his head, pinning him even further into the mattress as you pressed your lips hard against his. there wasn't one percent of delicacy in that messy kiss, just hunger and desire and rafe noticed it, feeling his blood rush to his lower half.

he moaned softly against your lips as he returned the not-so-loving affection, letting your tongue invade his mouth as if he was completely at your mercy—and he, actually, was. not that rafe had ever agreed to be on the bottom very often, but if it ended with you riding him, then it was for a good cause.

when you had the urge to separate your lips from his, it was like being woken up from a trance, he didn't say anything and if his wrists weren't gagged, his hands would be saying something for him. he ran his tongue over his reddened lips, slightly swollen from the inner contact, as if he wanted to know if the remnants of your taste were still there.

“y’know,” rafe started talking after a few seconds, noticing how breathless you looked from just one kiss. it was kinda cute, he'd give you credit for that. “if i wasn’t gagged here, you’d already be face down in that pillow.” he said with such conviction that you had to roll your eyes, thrusting your hips down only to see his facade tremble at the small contact over your clothes.

“yeah, yeah, but you’re gagged and i’m on top.” you gave him a mocking smile, gently patting his cheek before grabbing his chin, making him look straight into your eyes. “and that’s a lose-lose, for you, not for me.”

“lose-lose? i don’t see it that way, sweetheart,” his blue eyes dropped downwards, indirectly giving you the message that it wasn't bad for him when you were the one straddling him in your bed on any given day. “i’m just wonderin’ when you’re actually gonna act beyond these boring little kisses and put that pussy to sit on somethin’.”

“you’re talking too much again, cameron.” you shook your head in disapproval, sighing deeply as you pretended to think about what you were going to do to him. “but, since you want me to do something and i want you to shut up...”

you let the words hang in the air as you got off his lap, standing in the corner taking off your shorts and panties quickly, but to rafe it looked more like you were doing it in slow motion. every second counted and he was already missing your weight against his lap.

kinda ironic... that he was so comfortable being gagged in the bed of a girl he must have seen less than five times in his life. but, rafe never thought straight and he wouldn't start doing that now. it was even pleasurable for him to know that you were obsessed with him to that point. you might have been in physical control, but you both knew better than that.

despite the tension, you were on top of him again. knees on the mattress, your hands holding onto the headboard, the best way to shut him up and he wasn't really complaining about it, in fact, this was exactly what he wanted from the moment he thought of the possibility. a devious smile formed on his lips, his tongue moistening them for a brief moment as you graced him with that sight. shit, he wanted to touch you so badly, but he'd have to do it only with his tongue for now.

his tongue slowly passed through your wet folds like a tease of power, you might be on top, but he had his share of power too and he'd make sure to remind you of that. “you taste so good, princess...” he smirked against your cunt, giving it a brief suck before running his tongue over it again, only to see your expression falter and a shiver run through your body. “like a fuckin’ lollipop, so sweet.”

you placed more of your weight on his face, closing your eyes gently as you rubbed your clit against the tip of his nose, feeling his tongue suck hungrily between your wet folds. “mmhm...” you allowed yourself to let out a moan, looking down as your hips rocked over his face, his blue eyes fixed on you, attentively wanting to see you break under the touch of his tongue. he didn't want to miss a single detail of it.

rafe's pants were tightening around his crotch, his thoughts were hazy and he could only think of one thing: you and the dirty little noises that escaped your throat. he wanted to hear each of those and he wanted to be the reason for them. no one else, just him and he hoped you had used your weird obsessive behavior to understand that he was possessive as hell.

but, you were going far, he could feel it, pressing yourself harder and harder against his face and suddenly, the sound of the rope coming loose. your eyes opened in confusion, still numb from the brief pleasure he gave you, only for you to notice his hands loose from the rope, his wrists not even red. “what...? how?” you whispered, looking between his wrists and his face between your legs.

then, he pushed you back, not too hard, just enough to make you fall back onto the mattress and get off of him. “y’know... you’re bad at tying ropes, really bad,” he grumbled, sitting down on the bed before using one of his hands to pull you closer, climbing on top of you with an even more sinister smirk than before. “but, that’s good, it means i can touch that pretty little body of yours now.”

rafe didn't want to wait for you to have any reaction to that, he already waited for too long pretending to really be gagged in your bed, he didn't give a damn if he should've waited a little longer, he got what he wanted.

he pinned you against him and the mattress, crashing his lips against yours as he kissed you violently, as if he was trying to mark you or, maybe, he just really wanted to mark you. his tongue didn't ask for entry, it just invaded your mouth, making you feel your own taste, exactly as he wanted.

“did you like to taste your own sweetness, baby?” he whispered against your lips, sucking your bottom lip before kissing you again. “guess i have to take care of you now, don’t i? you’ve been following me around like a good puppy... i think you deserve a reward.” he pulled away from your face a little, only for his hands to go towards your shirt, pulling it over your head.

on a normal day, he'd take more of his time with you, but not today. today he was a little too eager for this, today you wouldn't go unnoticed by him.

“so sweet...” his fingers caressed your belly before he moved his lips down your neck, making sure to press wet kisses against it before moving down a little further and lightly biting your collarbone. you heard the sound of one of his hands going down to his pants, undoing his belt without any difficulty, as if he had done it many times before, and he did.

pants and boxers on the floor, he was hovering over you with an expression of hunger and desire, one of his fingers running over your cunt, he wanted to feel with his fingers how wet and ready for him you were. he patted your thigh, a warning for you to open it wider for him. you looked so pretty like that that he even felt like sucking you again. but, no, this time he wanted to make you feel everything.

rafe bent over you again, lips against yours, a cheap deception only for him to thrust his fully hard cock inside you. you opened your legs wider in shock, but you didn't push him away, you just moaned painfully against the sudden impact and he liked it, he really liked the way you lost your composure when he had no mercy on your tight little pussy.

no niceties or "just the tip", you were a weirdo who stalked him and he'd give you exactly what you wanted when you drugged him and took him to your bed. the kind of fuck that would leave you sore for days, and when you forgot about the pain, then he'd fuck you again... and again... and again.

he lifted your body a little, holding your legs as he slammed relentlessly inside your tight cunt, his cock was having trouble getting all the way inside you, but he didn't really care, he'd make it fit. “what happened to all that attitude, pretty girl? where did that "lose-lose" go?” he went deeper, making you sink into the mattress as you tried to contain the loud moans that wanted to escape your mouth.

“no, no holdin’ back your little noises, i wanna hear ‘em all.” he roared, his hand letting go of one of your legs as he held your chin firmly. “and eyes on me. if you close them or hold back your moans, i’ll stop and you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

you couldn't say a single word, you just nodded, agreeing with what he was saying, even though you didn't know how long you could keep your eyes open. “good girl.” he released your chin, his hand trailing down your neck and collarbone until he reached your bra.

just fucking you could be enough, but it wasn't, not for a greedy man like him. he wanted more and your tits looked so inviting to his eyes, he wanted everything he could get of you. everyone knew, if he wanted it, he could get it. so, he didn't ask, he just pulled one of your tits out of the bra. his fingers pinching your swollen nipple and circling it as he stared at you, wondering if this would make you go further over the edge or not.

him being too big for you was already something, but rafe knew perfectly where to push your buttons and he'd make you tremble without needing much, he wanted to break you so you'd know better before you thought you could leave him in a position like that. your legs locked around his waist, just so he could go balls deep, feeling you squeezing him tighter and tighter as your tight walls clenched in pleasure.

“mmgmh, rafe, fuck...” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard as you looked down to see his rhythm. thrusts so rough that the bed began to creak and he had no intention of being discreet about how good and hard he was fucking that sweet pussy of yours. “rafe... i need to... i need to come...”

a mocking laugh came out of him as he slowly thrust inside you again, really much slower than before, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. “yeah, princess? you wanna come that fast? this pretty little cunt can’t handle such a big cock, can it?” he continued with the slow thrusts, like a tease that he was really enjoying doing.

“but, it’s okay... i said i’d take care of you.” rafe whispered, leaning over you again, his tongue flicking over your nipple that he had been pinching moments before. “then, come for me, princess, come while i suck your tit.”

his thrusts gradually increased again, making you see stars as he sucked on your nipple hungrily, his eyes flicking up to see your expression of pleasure. your loud moans and whimpers were music to his ears, like fuel that only motivated him to go deeper.

and when you got to the edge, by god, you squeezed him so hard and moaned like you were in heaven; and he enjoyed every second of it, pressing himself against you as he felt your legs tremble for him. “you did so well for me...” he licked your nipple once more before moving kisses up to your neck. “but, we still have one thing before we finish... and you’re gonna be a good girl and do it.”

“what? what’s left?” you mumbled, tired and breathless, your legs still shaking as he grabbed your body and made you sit on the bed. not understanding what he meant when you noticed him standing up, right next to you.

“come here ’n open your mouth, i’ll show you.” it wasn't a request, it almost sounded like an order, if you didn't do it he’d make you do it anyway. “open wide.” he said again as you sat on the edge of the bed, right in front of him. one of his hands gripped the back of your head, while the other gripped his still hardened length, positioning it in front of your lips.

your eyes widened a little, but you looked up to meet rafe's gaze and he looked very confident about what he was doing. “no hands, i just need your little mouth, pretty girl.” he definitely wasn't expecting you to nod, he just shoved his cock into your mouth and waited for you to do what he wanted. “mmh, yeah, just like that...” he smirked, satisfied with your work, moving his hips back and forth, not caring if you could handle everything he put inside that sweet mouth.

he, in turn, didn't need much either, you had already given enough of a show for him to feel his balls full, he just needed a little more, your lips around his cock would solve the problem. “that got you so far, didn’t it? this stalker thing, you’re exactly where you wanna be, aren’t you? with my cock hitting your throat, so pretty.” he moaned, using his dirty words to motivate you to swallow him all the way down.

his moans started to become more frequent, he stopped moving his hips, using your head as if you were a doll, back and forth quickly, choking you, he was slowly reaching his limit and the sight really helped with that.

rafe knew he wouldn't last longer than that, he was exhausted, panting, letting out long gasps every time he sank the tip of his cock into your throat. he needed to come. so, he did it. “stay there... that’s it... stop.” he gasped once more, thrusting himself deep into the wet heat of your mouth, his length twitching as he began to spurt hot streams into the back of your throat. “fuck... fuck... mhmm.”

he didn't move his head, not until he was one hundred percent satisfied, not until you had swallowed every little drop of him.

and when it was over, you were a complete mess, falling back on your bed, dealing with the intense aftermath of what rafe gave you. he joined you at your side, as breathless as you were, not regretting a single microsecond of what had happened between you. “next time you wanna do this, remember to tie me tightly to the headboard, princess,” he suggested, lying on his back to face the ceiling like you. “just call me and i’ll bring the rope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[padmespetal]

apocalypse — bruce wayne

synopsis: after weeks of silence, bruce shows up wounded, and as you tend to him, unspoken emotions unravel, leaving everything hanging in delicate uncertainty, part two of casual

word count: 1.3k

warnings: bleeding and wounds, cussing

note: English is not my first language as always sorry if there are mistakes I hope you enjoy reading <333 I felt like the ending was maybe a little rushed though lol / recommended listening to the song by cigarettes after sex while reading!🤍

It had been weeks since you last spoke to Bruce. Weeks since you last saw him. Weeks since that wretched night, the one you kept replaying in your mind like a scratched-up vinyl stuck on the most painful note. Since you stormed off in anger and hurt, since he let you walk away after that lingering moment with Selina. Since he didn’t call.

So, you didn’t go back.

Each passing day without hearing his voice only drove the knife deeper into your ribs. No apology. No explanation. No effort. Just silence, thick and suffocating, curling around you like cigarette smoke. Was he ignoring you? Had he finally realized you were a liability? A dead weight he never needed?

The thoughts burrowed deep, festering like wounds left unattended.

You spent most of your time in a state of half-sleep, half-existing. Draped in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, you lounged on your couch, listless. The dim glow of the television painted shifting shadows across the walls, a political debate about Gotham’s corruption playing in the background. Rain drummed softly against the window, but you didn’t move to open the curtains. The moonlight had no business watching you like this.

And still, your mind played the scene over and over. The way his eyes lingered on her. The way he didn’t stop her. The way he didn’t stop you from leaving.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself up, only to knock over the cup of tea you’d made hours ago but never drank.

“Shit,” you muttered, too numb to feel properly annoyed as the cold liquid seeped into the fabric of your sweatpants. With a tired sigh, you padded to the sink, leaving the mug behind without a second glance.

You needed a change of clothes.

Slipping into your bedroom, you stripped off the damp sweatpants and tossed them into the laundry bin. The closet door creaked open as you rummaged for another pair, but a sudden, muffled thud in the other room stopped you cold.

Your breath hitched.

That was unmistakably the sound of a window shutting.

Your stomach twisted. You knew for a fact you hadn’t left any windows open.

Moving purely on instinct, you reached for the gun in your bedside drawer—an old habit from your time with the GCPD. You gripped it tightly, heart hammering against your ribs as you crept down the hallway, each step careful, precise.

The living room was dimly lit, the flickering TV screen casting jagged silhouettes across the walls.

And then you saw it.

A figure. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow looming in the darkness.

Your breath stilled.

You rounded the corner, raising the gun—

And then your heart nearly stopped.

It was him.

Batman.

Bruce.

Your hands trembled as you lowered the gun, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding rushing out in a shaky exhale. But the relief was short-lived because he was bleeding.

Badly.

Blood dripped in thick, dark pools onto your carpet, staining it crimson. His movements were sluggish, his breaths uneven. When he tried to speak, only a strained grunt escaped.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, instantly dropping the gun onto a nearby table as you rushed toward him. “Bruce, what the hell happened?”

He barely managed to collapse onto your couch, gripping his side with gloved fingers, jaw clenched in pain.

“Thought you were gonna shoot me for a second,” he rasped, voice laced with exhaustion and amusement.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—this is really not the time for jokes,” you snapped, panic flaring in your chest as you took in the full extent of his injuries.

He was trying to distract you. That’s how bad it was.

You needed to move fast.

“Stay here. Don’t—don’t move.”

You bolted to the bathroom, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing a first-aid kit, a needle, stitches—anything that might keep him from bleeding out all over your damn couch. When you returned, his breathing had become even more labored.

“Okay, I need you to get this off,” you instructed urgently, motioning to the armored suit.

Bruce grunted but didn’t argue. That alone told you how much pain he was in.

His movements were sluggish as he attempted to sit up, and you immediately reached out to help him. He didn’t protest.

You worked quickly, peeling away the blood-soaked material. Every hiss of pain he let out was a stab to your chest.

And then, when the last piece of fabric fell away, your stomach turned.

Bruises. Old and new. Ugly shades of blue and purple blooming across his skin like war paint. And the worst of it—a deep, jagged wound slashed across his abdomen, still oozing.

“Jesus, Bruce,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “What the hell did you get yourself into?”

He exhaled sharply as you pressed a cloth soaked in alcohol against the wound, his body tensing under your touch.

“Just… dealing with some thugs,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Things got messy.” A shaky breath. “Couldn’t drive. Figured you were closer.”

He came here. To you.

Even in your frantic state, that realization hit somewhere deep. Bruce never let people take care of him. Ever.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus as you threaded the needle.

“I need you to keep talking,” you said, voice tight as you began stitching up the wound. “It’ll help with the pain.”

He huffed weakly. “Not sure how much talking I can do.”

“Try.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer—“I didn’t mean to ignore you.

Your hands faltered for the briefest moment before you forced yourself to continue.

“Yeah?” Your voice was sharp, bitter. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Maybe he knew he had no excuse.

Another moment passed before he spoke again.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “That’s a first.”

More silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the worst was over. You pulled away, staring down at your blood-covered hands. Your heartbeat was erratic, your emotions frayed at the edges.

“Y/N—”

“No.”

He froze.

“You don’t get to do this, Bruce,” you said, voice raw. “You don’t get to disappear for weeks and then break into my apartment, bleeding out, and act like that’s okay.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“You didn’t call,” you whispered, throat closing up. “You didn’t even try.”

His expression twisted into something like guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You thought I didn’t care,” he said finally.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I thought you were done with me,” you admitted, voice barely audible. “And then—then you show up like this—”

The words broke apart as a sob escaped before you could stop it.

Bruce moved before he could think, reaching for you—only to wince sharply, pain shooting through his body.

You caught his hands before he could pull away.

And then, in a blur of frustration, relief, and something far too overwhelming to name, your lips crashed against his.

The kiss was desperate, breathless—like two people drowning and trying to drag each other to shore. His gloved hand cradled your face, gripping you like he needed to feel you solid beneath him.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing hard.

“Never do that again,” you murmured.

He exhaled, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Twice was enough.”

You huffed out a tearful chuckle. “More than enough.

A pause.

Then, quietly—“Alfred bought circus tickets.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He was going to make me call you. To apologize.” A beat. “So… come with me?”

You stared at him. “Is this seriously what it took for you to ask me out?”

He gave you the tiniest, sheepish look.

You shook your head, laughing softly despite everything.

“Yes, Bruce,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

And just like that, something between you shifted.

Neither of you knew it yet.

But the night at Haly’s Circus would change everything.

© padmespetal 2025 - I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

[calciumcryptid]

The KinnPorsche the Series core three ships headcanons but it is things about their relationships that surprise the rest of the cast.

KINNPORSCHE

KinnPorsche being into each other beyond sex is the main shocker. Obviously, sex is a huge component of their relationship, but it was never the only component. Every time anyone sees them on normal dates, there is a moment they do a double take.

For Kinn, it is him calming down his lifestyle for Porsche. Kinn was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth, and he utilized it to his full advantage throughout his life. The notion he'll abide by whatever lines Porsche establishes with what rich kid nonsense he'll put up with verses which rich kid nonsense he won't makes people think he is possessed the first couple of times they see it.

For Porsche, Kinn is his first genuine relationship so everyone is a little thrown by him acting like someone who is new to relationships. Porsche bribes the staff for information on Kinn's favorite things, favorite places. He tends to blush and giggle when talking about Kinn. He has a hard time with communication, establishing boundaries, and time management with his other relationships. Every time, people get a little surprised and amused this is the same Porsche as charming bartender Porsche.

KIMCHAY

KimChay going public with their relationship in the WiK space surprises a lot of people. After everything they've been through, Kim doesn't want Chay to be a dirty secret, and Chay figured it was better to reveal it on their own terms. Kim's idol persona does take a hit, but it recovers when it's clear Chay is staying around (besides, now that WiK has a consistent muse the release schedule becomes steadier).

For Kim, people are shocked by how peaceful Kim is with Chay. Kim was raised as an assassin, an enforcer, with harsh training and traumatic baggage. Whenever he is with Chay, it all seems to seep out of him as he melts into Chay's touch.

For Chay, people are startled by how intense Chay is about their relationship. He doesn't take slander to Kim kindly, even if he has hurt him in the past. If they are arguing behind closed doors, he'll back Kim up in public. After all, Kim has defended himself enough. Now, Chay is is here to do it for him.

VEGASPETE

In general, VegasPete's existence is enough of a shock on its own, but the main thing people are surprised by is how co-dependent they are. They were both lone wolves in their own ways before each other (Vegas never taking bodyguards with him, and Pete being a lot more closed off and fake with his colleagues). Now, you can barely see one without the other. In fact, seeing one alone is a warning sign because (best case scenario) the other one is probably around the corner or (worst case scenario) Thailand is about to burn.

For Vegas, him listening to Pete baffles a lot of people. Vegas is a schemer with control problems; however, Pete can tell him something won't work for xyz reason and Vegas won't bat an eye. It doesn't even have to be Vegas' plans, it can simply be the minor family needs more bodyguards or they don't have a specific type of cooking oil. Genuinely, someone could point out something and Pete could point out the same thing ten seconds later, yet only one of them is chewed up and spit back out for it.

For Pete, everyone's day was ruined when they realized he liked Vegas for his personality. They figured Pete defecting would be a short-term sexual thing, and Pete would be back once the glow wore off. The reality is Vegas will be an annoying know-it-all petty bitch, and Pete will stare at him with fond eyes. Vegas gets sopping wet and pathetic, and Pete is visibly turned on. The compound wishes it was a sex thing, as it would be easier to wrap their heads around it.

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈, 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

— pairing; itoshi sae x reader  

— summary; in which you and sae meet again in japan after a messy breakup in spain. set in the blue lock manager au.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s not really something you like to broadcast, how you and Sae were close when you were in Spain with your parents for that brief, wonderful period of time. While he honed his skills with football, you would balance your studies while helping out at Re Al.

❋ Things had been so simple back then. Late-night walks in Madrid, your fingers intertwined with his. Sneaking kisses in quiet corners, away from prying eyes. Sharing popsicles and everything else. Sae was cold to the rest of the world, his softness reserved entirely for you.

❋ You were each other’s first everything — first kiss, first love, first heartbreak.

❋ Some part of you had to have known that this was only temporary, considering how often your parents travel for work. But it still comes as a shock to you when you parents abruptly decide to return to Japan to help fund the Blue Lock project.

❋ And Sae, so full of potential. Sae, whose career is finally taking off. You aren’t about to let him leave it behind; and Sae, too driven, too focused on his dreams, wasn’t about to throw it all away and return to Japan either. Not like this. Not for you.

❋ You hadn’t expected to see him at the airport to see you off. Sae’s expression was closed off, and it was like the two of you were strangers once again, the distance and silence already stretching endlessly between you. As if your relationship had never existed in the first place.

❋ The breakup was messy, yet silent. Both of you knew instinctively that this was the end. And just before Sae left without looking back, his final words to you were, “If you’re going, don’t expect me to wait.”

❋ The last image you have of him is his retreating figure, back rigid, leaving as the words die on your lips.

❋ And that was that.

❋ You’d returned to Japan with your parents to work as a manager at Blue Lock (Ego had agreed to take you in under the promise of free labour, apparently). Ego’s lectures aren’t fun, but you’re actually learning something under him and Anri when you’re not being driven insane by a group of rowdy, immature teenaged boys.

❋ You try really hard not to think about Sae. Even if the occasional headline reminds you of his burgeoning career in Europe. But the memory of him is a quiet ache in your chest that surfaces in random moments — when you see the colour teal, or hear a song he’d used to like.

❋ You’ve been to JFA headquarters only once or twice before, but it’s bustling with activity as always. Your purpose here is purely business; you’ll act as a secretary for Ego and Anri while they finalize plans for the U20 match with the top brass.

❋ You didn’t think that he’d be there.

❋ Right at that very moment.

❋ In that very room.

❋ Fate is cruel, sometimes.

❋ He looks . . . The same, yet somehow different all at once. His hair’s a little longer, his expression sharper, but those piercing green eyes haven’t changed at all, and the realisation makes your chest throb painfully all over again.

❋ You wonder how you appear to him, underneath your professional blazer and veneer of carefully controlled calm. Does he think you still look the same? Or does he think that you’ve changed, become a total stranger to him, much like how he is to you right now?

❋ His gaze is intense, scorching. You can feel it the second you enter the room, but you keep your head down and try to pay attention to the meeting. (The thought of having to present incomplete notes to Ego certainly does a marvellous job at helping you focus.)

❋ A breath of relief soughs out of you the moment the meeting ends. Quickly, you gather your things, following Ego and Anri out the door. You’re eager to avoid the lingering eyes of the association’s board members.

❋ And perhaps most of all: you’re eager to avoid unnecessary small talk with Sae.

❋ But you catch a final glimpse of him out the corner of your eye; Sae, still staring at you. His expression seemingly softer, almost hesitant. It’s almost as if he wants to call your name, to stop you from leaving, but something — Pride? Anger? — holds him back.

❋ The door to the meeting room clicks shut behind you with a cold finality, and this time, you’re the one leaving first.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Feverish Confessions

G/N. 1.8k. You kindly take care of Gun. Soft. Masterlists

You were under the notion that Gun Park could not get ill.

That his antibodies also had ultra instinct and there was no virus strong enough to even consider invading his body.

But alas, you found out he was human when you discovered him unsteady on his feet, pink cheeked and sweat sheened.

"You ok?" You ask, reaching out the back of your hand to feel his forehead.

"Don't touch me," he says without any of his usual bite. That was the first warning sign.

The second one comes when he fails to dodge your grasp and you do make contact with his skin.

"You're burning up."

"I'm not."

"You're ill."

"I'm not."

"You're being a child "

"I am not."

.

.

You decide the best course of action is to get Gun home. He's in no fit state to find his own way back and Goo is no help. In fact, no one is any help at all when Gun's energy quickly drains and he struggles to stay upright.

"How fucking heavy are you," you grit out, trying to push his weight off you.

"Fuck you," Gun mutters as Goo whispers something to Kouji and he snorts.

"Poor oppa," Crystal titters, a smirk on her face, watching you both with sharp eyes.

"Fuck you," Gun now directs in her general direction.

"Yeah, fuck you all," you snap in agreement, staggering under the heft of his body.

.

.

With a strength and patience you didn't know you possessed, you wrestle him into the passenger seat of your car and drive Gun home at breakneck speed.

He murmurs, delirious fever-induced ramblings, between laboured breaths as you hum in response, keeping your attention on the road.

To your surprise, you catch him speaking your name and each time your eyes flicker to his, you find him staring at you, even if his own eyes appear glazed and unfocused.

Gun repeats your name again, like a question.

"Nearly home," you tell him as a way of comfort and seemingly appeased, he doesn't say anything else.

.

.

"All that money and you still live in a junkyard," you comment, holding on to his arm around your shoulder and the other around his waist, slowly ambling towards his shack.

"Shut up."

"I'll shut up when you don't live in a shit hole anymore."

"Shut up."

"Make me," you stop in your tracks and send a cocky grin his way.

Gun, in his weakened condition, only manages to glare back.

"That's what I thought."

"I said shut up."

.

.

Gun collapses into bed, or more accurately you try and throw him off you and hope for the best that he lands onto a more comfortable surface.

You take in his sorry state and actually find yourself feeling sympathy for him. All that money and power but when it comes down to it, who is there to look after him when he needs it? It's a lonely existence.

(Not that you're faring any better but you push that thought out of your mind.)

"Don't you dare kick me," you warn, bending to take off his shoes.

"Stop," he moans, barely lucid and you know that if he was any healthier, you would have been booted in the side of the head.

You look at him again and probably against your better judgement, decide your next move.

"I swear I'm not taking advantage of you," you say, holding your hands up to show you mean no harm and making quick work of his clothes - unbuttoning his shirt and his slacks and removing his socks.

Gun doesn't respond and he doesn't fight you. You know this looks questionable. Undressing an unconscious person is never a good sign. Except he's lying there with his flushed cheeks and clammy forehead, fringe flopping down and sticking to his face and you couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth for him.

Once he's down to his underwear, you tuck him under the covers.

You hum to yourself, feeling for his forehead again. Gun groans under your touch but he's no worse than this morning.

.

.

Gun's pantry, despite the threadbare surroundings, is exceptionally well stocked.

You know from your many outings together of his high standards though you didn't expect that he was much of a cook himself. Of course, you should have known that Gun Park doesn't do anything by halves.

After rooting through his cupboards and drawers, you find what you need. You cover a saucepan with rice and adjust water levels according to the length of your finger knuckle, seasoning it with various spices and adding ingredients from his fridge.

What you're doing for him is above and beyond. You've already assured his comfort, cooking him rice porridge is unnecessary, and you can imagine unappreciated-

However, you think of all those times you've been out with Gun and Goo, drank more than your fair share of Soju and Gun is the one who has delivered you safely home; Gun’s cruel taunts when you come back from fights with bruises and cuts and his disparaging comments even as he makes time to train you to be a better fighter; how Gun never snaps at you the same way he does Kouji, or talk to you how he does Crystal, or treat you how he does Goo and-

Well. Maybe he does deserve a little of your kindness.

.

.

An hour later, just as the sun starts to dip below the horizon and you’ve had more than your fill of doom scrolling - the rice porridge is ready.

You spoon a small bowl for Gun and set it on his nightstand.

“Who are you?” comes Gun’s croaky voice, hand shooting forward and snatching at your wrist.

“It’s me,” you say, “And be careful you don’t knock this off.”

HIs grip lessens but he doesn’t let go. “Knock what off?”

“I made you food,” you sit down on the bed next to his lying form.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why, look at you!” 

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, don’t be an asshole.”

Two blinks, then - “Why are you taking care of me?”

“Because!” you huff, feeling your face flush.

“Do you like me?” Gun asks, and the question is so left field you’re reeling. You don’t have a chance to respond or even collect your thoughts before he continues on in his fever haze.

“I caught a fragrance the other day that smells exactly like you. It’s odd that I know this.” He looks towards the ceiling, mind a blur of thoughts.

“When did I start to hoard these facts like a pathetic idiot? I barely know who you are, what you like and what you dislike. And yet I look at you and I can tell exactly what you're thinking."

"Can you do the same to me?" Gun turns to look at you, eyes a dull bronze and you forget to breathe. There’s a startling clarity as his gaze pierces yours. 

“Wh-what?” You stammer at his sudden confession, the sight of his natural eyes leaving your sanity further hanging by a thread. Did he just- Did he mean?

“Maybe not.” The clarity fades. Gun closes his eyes and finally lets go. "Only a fool wouldn't be able to tell."

"Oh." Then you add, “Am I a fool?”

"Only a fool would like another fool."

.

.

The bowl of rice porridge is left uneaten. 

.

.

You watch Gun, coughing in his sleep, and message Crystal that you won’t make it into work the next day.

.

.

That night, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Gun’s timeworn sofa digging into your back and his jacket as a make-shift blanket keeping you warm.

It smells like him. Of course it does, it’s his. But you realise you recognise his scent too.

.

.

Gun spends the next day floating between half-conscious and sleeping. He no longer has any burst of energy to compose his thoughts or spill his desires.

You check in on him every now and then, pleased when you find his bowl empty and refilling it each time. 

You hand searches for his forehead. It never fails to smooth the furrow between his brow as he murmurs your name in his sleep.

.

.

It’s sort of funny how those few words changed how you look at this man.

The other day he was a pain in your backside, and you could have sworn you were one in his too.

You’ve lost count of the amount of times you wanted to punch him for his scathing remarks, that arrogant glint in his eyes, that smirk on his face.

Yet now, those feelings don’t really lessen, but you wonder if Gun would keep smirking or would he shut up if you kissed him instead.

.

.

Crystal: Assume you’re not coming into work tomorrow?

Y/N: Sorry, Gun still looks bad.

Goo: Gun????????

Goo: You’re shacking up with Gun????

Y/N: What?????

Y/N: No!!!

Y/N: I’m not shacking up with anyone!

Goo: Liar 

Kouji: Ok…

Kouji: But

Kouji: You’ve been skipping work to look after hyung?

Y/N: …

Y/N: No?

Y/N: Maybe…

Crystal: Yes you have

Goo: What!!! Nooooooo

Kouji: Pay up, Goo Kim. I was right.

.

.

Gun’s fever breaks the day after.

Your hand reaches out to feel his forehead and he opens his eyes, dark as night once more, to look at you.

“You’re still here?”

“I am,” You give him a smile when you feel his temperature back to normal.

He reaches up, large hand and long fingers wrapping around your own, and manoeuvres it down to rest your palm against his cheek.

“You’ve been here all this time?”

His fever has subsided, but the contact makes you feel like you’re on fire, “Yep.”

A hum, then “Good.” 

Gun leans into your hold, turning his head, the side of his lips lightly grazing your skin.

“Can you tell what I am thinking?”

You’re rewarded with a smile, small and serene, when you roll your eyes and tell him yes, and that you're both fools after all.

[witchesverse]

life & death

pairing: agathario x reader

summary/request: the oldest deities, life and death, fall in love with a human but everything falls apart when her child dies. centuries later, you meet your past lovers on the witches' road.

content: angst without a happy ending, mention of death, crying, agatha being angry and hurt.

masterlist

You have been around since the start of life and since then, you have only managed to fall in love with two witches.

One of the witches was your complete opposite and not in a personality or aesthetic way, but in a way that she took life whilst you gave life. She was Death and you were Life. You would think that Death and Life would not be able to stand each other, but you craved each other.

For a very, very long time, she and you were each other's only lovers. Until you met Agatha Harkness. It was unbelievable that two of the oldest deities fell in love with a human, but it had happened.

Alas, it fell apart.

You had breathed life into the child growing in Agatha's stomach and all was good. His heartbeat was strong and you could feel his life churning through his body. Then, you felt nothing.

For the first time in existence, Life had fought Death.

It was wrong. It went against the natural order of life and death. But you could not bear to watch Death take away one of your most precious creations.

So, the boy lived for six years.

When Death came back for a second time, you couldn't fight her. It broke both of your hearts to watch Agatha cry and beg.

But even love cannot stop the natural order.

Once he was taken by Death, your relationship with the witches' was killed.

There was deep hatred in Agatha's heart for Life and Death. She hated how you did not keep the life in him and she hated how Death took the life. After that, everyone went their separate ways. The only connection you had with Death was feeling her take the life from your creations.

But centuries later, you met your lovers on The Witches' Road.

A grin was plastered across Rio's face as Agatha clawed at her and screamed in anguish.

"I hate you!" Agatha practically growled.

Rio turned to you with a dramatic surprised look on her face. "Do you hear that, my love? Agatha hates me! That's news I haven't heard before."

You stared at her, unsure of how to reply. Rio had always been the more sarcastic and cruel one, but her sarcasm seemed too cruel.

Agatha grunted, turned away and walked hastily down the Road.

Her coven glanced between the three of you with a look of confusion on their face.

You sighed. This was going to be horrible.

And so it was.

Rio continued to make comments towards Agatha, which only angered her. There were a few times you thought Agatha was going to slap her across the face.

You hadn't said much. Being Life, you preferred to watch people interact. You have done your job by breathing life into them, and now you can watch them use that life to their own liking.

It was as you all sat around a campfire you found yourself talking.

"I have a scar." Rio abruptly spoke.

Agatha laughed. "No, you don't."

Yes, I do." She insisted, glancing over at you and locked eyes. You shifted awkwardly under her gaze.

"A long time ago, Y/n and I had to do something we really didn't want to do, but it was my job and I had to do it."

Agatha stiffened.

"And in the process, we deeply hurt someone who we both love." You continued as you understood who she was talking about.

"And she is my scar," Rio concluded.

You wanted to say more, but Agatha stood and muttered something about needing fresh air. Naturally, Rio and you followed her.

Agatha stood in the middle of a deeper part of the forest. Now, that you were further away from the coven, you could feel how strong her life was and that made you smile.

You brushed your hand against Agatha's arm but she pulled away. "Don't."

"Agatha, you know we couldn't control it."

Wrong words. There were unshed tears in Agatha's eyes and her brow furrowed. You watched as pure anger filled her eyes before sadness washed over.

"Couldn't control it?" Her voice wavered with emotion. "You are Life and she is Death. What the hell do you mean you couldn't control it?"

She dug her finger accusingly into your chest.

Rio grabbed her finger and stepped into her personal space. Agatha tried to pull away but Rio kept a tight grip on her.

"I understand you are angry, but-"

"Angry? Are you fucking serious, right now?" Agatha made a noise of disbelief. "I feel furious, hurt, abandoned, heartbroken, and lost. You both took my boy away from me and expect me to just be angry? You are unbelievable."

You swallowed roughly. You had imagined this exact situation millions of times in your head, but now that it was actually happening, you didn't know how to react.

"Agatha, I loved Nicky dearly and taking his soul was the last thing I wanted to do. I gave you something that has never been given in all existence because I love you and him." Rio spoke calmly and sincerely, completely different from how she spoke sarcastically earlier.

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't have taken his life away." Her eyes flicked over to you. "And if you really loved me, you would've kept feeding him life."

"You're both monsters."

Those words stung. You bit your lip and held back tears from forming in your eyes. You didn't want to cry, not in front of them.

Being Life, you weren't used to being called cruel names. People praised and worshipped you. But being called such a cruel name by a person you loved broke your heart.

Agatha scoffed at the silence and walked back to the coven, leaving Rio and you alone.

Rio didn't seem as bothered by Agatha's words. Being Death, she was constantly called cruel names, therefore, she was used to it.

"It's okay to cry."

"I'm not going to cry." Your voice broke with emotion as you said that.

Rio sighed, pulling you into her embrace. You buried your face in the crook of her neck and you cried softly.

"Why can't she understand that we couldn't stop it?"

"Nobody will ever understand it. Humans think life and death are simple but don't realise how complicated it is."

Rio kissed your neck before pulling your face out of her neck and cupping it lovingly. She wiped your tears away with her thumb and sadly smiled.

It broke her heart that you were upset.

"I miss her." You sniffled. "I miss us."

Rio's brows furrowed and she wiped her own tears away. "I know."

You wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her softly. Your heart fluttered and you relaxed in her hold. Kissing Rio was one of the most magical feelings.

When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against hers.

"Do you think she will ever forgive us?"

"No, I don't," Rio answered honestly.

You sniffled. Her answer broke you but it was the truth.

No matter what, Agatha would never forgive you for what you did. You will always be considered a monster to her.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Only for Paige

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader; Paige x reader’s younger cousin!oc (Jaiden)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: try having a hyperactive younger cousin never sits still—except in Paige’s arms.

A/N: I apologize that it took so long to post anon, but I hope you enjoy

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @shikaizer

There were two types of people in the world: the ones who could handle Jaiden’s endless energy, and the ones who couldn’t.

I liked to think I was in the first category, but if I’m being honest, Jaiden was like a turbocharged ball of chaos—constantly running, bouncing, shouting, and rarely stopping for anything. That kid had more energy than the entire neighborhood combined. But there was one person, one person who could do the impossible: Paige.

Yeah. My girlfriend.

I don’t know how she did it, but whenever Paige was around, Jaiden would sit still. Not for me, not for anyone else in the family. No, he only wanted Paige. The moment she walked in the room, he’d stop his random sprints and chaotic antics, crawl into her lap, and curl up like a little kitten.

The first time I really noticed it was at a family cookout. We were all outside, the grill sizzling and the smell of ribs wafting through the air. It was one of those typical loud family gatherings—Auntie Mona was talking politics at the table, Uncle Ray was cracking jokes about his high school days, and everyone was grilling each other about their love lives.

Jaiden, of course, was running wild. He’d kicked over a drink, spilled chips everywhere, and was now in the middle of an intense chase around the yard with one of the neighbor kids. No one could catch him. I was pretty sure the kid had wings attached to his back.

But then Paige showed up.

She’d just gotten off the phone with me—told me she’d be late because of practice—and when she walked in through the backyard gate, Jaiden froze. Completely still.

He turned to her, blinked once, and then—without a second thought—ran straight for her. Paige knelt down, arms open, and Jaiden dove right into her lap like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

I watched from the picnic table, blinking, mouth agape.

“He… He’s actually sitting still,” I whispered to my cousin Camille, who was sitting beside me.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen that kid be still for more than a minute,” Camille said, shaking her head. “What did she do?”

“Nothing,” I shrugged, still in disbelief. “She just… exists.”

The second time it happened was at my niece’s birthday party. You know how birthdays go—there’s cake, there’s dancing, there’s way too much sugar. Jaiden was off the walls, refusing to sit and enjoy anything. He kept tossing toys, knocking over chairs, and at one point, actually tried to climb the wall. My aunt, who’d been running around trying to manage all the kids, finally came over to me and practically begged.

“Can you get him to calm down?” she asked, clearly at her wit’s end. “You’re his favorite cousin. You’re the one he listens to!”

I glanced around the room. Jaiden was nowhere to be seen, so I took a deep breath and braced myself for the search.

“Jaiden! Jaiden, where are you?” I called out, but I didn’t get an answer. I walked into the kitchen and found him hiding under the table, his little feet kicking the air in excitement.

“Come on, buddy,” I said softly, reaching down to grab his hand. “We gotta calm down. Let’s play with the toys over here.”

But Jaiden wasn’t hearing it. His gaze locked on someone behind me, and I followed his line of sight to see Paige walking into the room, holding a plate of cupcakes.

“Paaaaige!” Jaiden screamed, practically launching himself off the floor. He darted across the room, knocking over a chair, but Paige just laughed and scooped him up before he could fall.

“Hey, little man,” she said, hugging him tightly as if he weighed nothing at all. “You want to color with me?”

“Yeah!” Jaiden squealed.

He had gone from a chaotic whirlwind to a calm, content child in the blink of an eye.

I stood there with my mouth hanging open, still trying to process what I had just witnessed.

“You… You’ve got some kind of superpower,” I muttered to Paige, who was now sitting cross-legged with Jaiden on her lap, coloring in a book.

She just shrugged, a sly grin on her face. “Guess he just likes me.”

I shook my head, watching the kid who wouldn’t sit still for anything fall asleep, curled up in Paige’s arms later that night. It was unreal.

That was when it hit me.

I wasn’t the only one who was falling for Paige. Jaiden had somehow decided that she was his personal superhero.

Fast forward a week. Paige and I had decided to take a mini vacation to unwind before she had to leave for Dallas. It had been a while since we’d had the time to just ourselves. The house was quiet, the lake in front of us glistening under the setting sun, and I finally felt like I could breathe. I had my arm around Paige, and we were both laying on a hammock, just talking about everything and nothing at all.

But then my phone buzzed in my pocket. I sighed and pulled it out.

It was Auntie Mona.

“Girl, I swear, you better come back here. Jaiden has been asking for Paige nonstop for almost two weeks. He refuses to listen to anybody else. We’ve tried everything. You’re coming back and bringing that white girl with you or I’ll start sending the kid to your house as punishment.”

I could hear Jaiden’s high-pitched voice in the background screaming, “Paige! Paige!” over and over.

I looked at Paige and rolled my eyes, chuckling. “Looks like we’re headed back to my aunt’s place.”

“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

“Auntie says Jaiden won’t stop calling for you,” I replied, shaking my head. “He wants you and only you. Apparently, he’s been doing it for days.”

Paige grinned mischievously. “Told you he likes me best.”

I chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. “I know, baby. I know.”

We made our way back to Auntie Mona’s place, where Jaiden was bouncing off the walls yet again. The moment we walked through the door, though, he froze. His eyes locked on Paige, and without a word, he sprinted toward her.

“Paige!” he shouted, his arms outstretched.

“Hey, buddy,” Paige said, holding her arms wide open as he ran straight into them. She caught him effortlessly, lifting him into her lap as he snuggled into her chest.

“Where’s my snacks?” Jaiden asked, his voice muffled by her shirt.

“You know the rules,” Paige said, smiling. “You get your snacks after a nap.”

“I’m not sleepy!” Jaiden protested, trying to squirm, but Paige only tightened her hold on him, rocking him gently.

“You will be,” she said softly.

At that moment, Jaiden’s mom, my cousin Tasha, walked in. She took one look at the situation and threw her hands up. “At this point, y’all might as well adopt him. I swear he calls for you more than he calls for me.”

I burst out laughing. “I mean, if you’re offering…”

Paige smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Jaiden’s head. “I’ll take him. But only if you share him.”

Tasha rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was just as amused as I was. Jaiden was finally calm, and it was all because of Paige.

That evening, after we’d gotten Jaiden to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about how great Paige was with him. How she could settle him down with just her presence. How, when the time came, she’d be amazing with our own kids.

It wasn’t just that she could handle Jaiden. It was that she wanted to. And I knew, in my heart, that I wanted her to be the one to hold our future children too.

Because if she could get Jaiden to sit still—imagine what she could do for us.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[celaenaeiln]

Small scenario ask:

A kid version of Robin!Dick gets teleported into the present day of the DCU, in particular during one of those times that Batfamily are split up and at each other’s throats with only Tim(my) and Alfred sort of trying to keep the peace.

They don’t know he’s present until he jumps in from out of nowhere to help the Batfamily take on a Scarecrow attack.

How would they react to this tiny version of Dick and his more chipper and lively attitude especially once he starts asking Batman if these other guys around them are their allies or something?

OMG I AM SO EXCITEEDD!!

THE FUNNY THING IS IVE ACTUALLY BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TOPIC SEPARATELY IN MY HEAD!!

Not this exact scenario but just like how much Dick has changed over the years.

This is SUCH a good fanfic idea!!!

Okay so Dick would jumps into the future where the whole family is fighting and all of a sudden, a brightly colored boy just "POP"'s into the dark batcave.

Everyone at that point had been growling and snarling and screaming at each other over ethics and morals and course of action for a case that devolved into tearing at family lines and loyalties.

The tensions are high and no one is on anyone's side because as united as the batfamily is, they are just as divided.

They're seconds from coming to blows when - pop (goes the weasel. lol jk) - a 3 foot 2'' boy in the most canary yellow cape, scarlet vest, and emerald green scaled shorts blinks into existence.

The batfamily immediately goes for their weapons at the sound and most barely refrain from throwing them at the sight of a boy but some weapons slip out people's hands too fast for them stop.

They watch with their hearts in their throats and move as one to prevent it, their minds barely registering the sight in front of them, the only thought in their heads is - STOP! As if mere words could halt assailing weapons hurtling at breakneck speeds towards the child.

They've barely started moving when the small child - he couldn't have been taller than Batman's hip at the height he was - suddenly bounced on his right foot and used the moment to twirl horizontally in the air. The brilliant yellow cape swirled around his body as he turned, almost acting like a cocoon. The batarang sailed underneath their twirling body while two knives sliced the air harmlessly above him, all three weapons embedding themselves soundlessly into the cave walls behind him.

The batfamily makes an aborted move forward, halting in their tracks as the imminent danger passed and the walking traffic light of a child uses their split-second of decision to stop to take the time to gracefully land on his toes before flipping far out of reach. His back arched back into a perfect elegant little backflips which absolutely should not be possible or done so smoothly for a boy as young as he, but the kid manages anyway to land perched on a railing from the upper batcave level, looking down at them from his spot.

Duke glanced around to see if the rest of them had seen the same thing he did. Clearly not because Bruce, Tim, and Alfred looked like they'd seen a ghost. Jason and Damian looked grudgingly impressed. Steph looked openly impressed.

"So, we’ve got surprise visitors, huh? Gee, swell! You folks friends of B? Wait a sec-that can’t be right. B doesn’t have any friends except for me!" The kid chirped - and Duke swore, honest to god, chirped - with a cheeky grin, hands on his hips like he'd just cracked the world's funniest joke.

Duke just stood there, mouth slightly open, like his soul had momentarily left his body. The kid’s mask squinted as if narrowing his eyes at Bruce.

Duke blinked hard. Am I hallucinating? Did I eat bad takeout? He thought.

Bruce, meanwhile, stood frozen, looking like he was wondering where in his life he went wrong.

“Gee whiz, mister, I don’t mean to jump to conclusions or nothin’, but it’s kinda bad manners to go borrowin’ somebody else’s clothes without asking first!” He gave Bruce an exaggerated once-over, the grin on his face making it clear he wasn’t intimidated in the least. “I mean, that cape looks swell and all, but it isn't exactly screaming ‘your size,’ ya know?”

He tilted his head and piped up, “A friend of Catwoman’s?” His voice was light, full of curiosity and mischief.

Jason suddenly snorted. "A friend of Catwoman's, alright."

Cass gently smiled. Duke suspected she had known from the beginning who he was and thus had not moved a muscle during the chaos. Duke couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t because of uncertainty. Nope, Cass had known. She always knew.

He sighed internally. Why was he always the last to catch on to these Batfamily mysteries? On the other hand, maybe he should be grateful. He was still wiping off the remaining sludge off his suit from the last batfamily mayhap.

"Dick?" Bruce’s voice was raw, breaking apart as if it couldn’t decide whether to hope or mourn. It was the sound of disbelief and desperate longing, the kind of ache you didn’t just hear—you felt it. Duke’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t imagine what it must mean to Bruce, but the pain was so thick it was almost unbearable.

"Who are you, mister?" Dick - holy fuck that was Dick. Wait- Duke whipped his head around. Where was their Dick?!

Tim was looking a little peaky in Duke's opinion and that was saying something since the other guy always looked pale.

Bruce raised a shaking hand to his cowl, dragging it down the back of his head almost looking like he wanted to do anything but. "Bruce. It's me, Bruce."

"I know you're a guy who looks like Bruce, but you're not my Bruce."

If his kids' previous deaths hadn't killed Bruce, then that one single sentence did, Duke thought, watching the man.

He saw a flicker of something break inside Bruce. The hardened mask Bruce wore cracked, revealing the raw, vulnerable man beneath. It was like hearing the one thing he feared most—that he wasn’t enough for them—and the way it pierced him was brutal. The light left Bruce's eyes for a moment, and Duke could almost feel the weight of that rejection.

It probably hurts to hear it from an 8 year old version of a person that adored you. Duke realized sadly. He wasn't there for Dick's childhood with the man - none of them were - but he was sure it wasn't called the Golden Ages by everyone for show by all those who had known them then.

"Wait, Alfred?" Dick asked, boring holes into the elderly butler.

So, he recognizes the same Alfred but not Bruce? Duke fought back a hysterical laugh. That's gotta sting. Sorry, man. Duke sent a silent prayer to the man who looked like he didn't know if he was going to start sobbing or glaring daggers.

Alfred cleared his throat, rather wetly in Duke's opinion. "Yes, son." He said and smiled warmly.

The boy gave a hoot of laughter that sent the bats in a flurry as he threw himself off the railing. Steph and Jason scrambled to catch him but mini-Dick (Duke was still half-panicking over where big-Dick went. Big-Dick. Haha) hopped onto Jason's shoulder used Stephanie's back as a personalized springboard and landed happily in Alfred's arms.

He hugged the man's neck like it was a plush toy and Alfred tightly held the boy with one arm under his thighs and the other around his waist.

Duke noted with no small amount of surprise that Dick perceptively didn't point of Alfred's suspiciously wet eyes and near-silent sniffling. It was damn loud for the cave though.

"Hey, did you whip up some cookies? I gotta say, that casserole’s a real knock-out, and your filet mignon? Spot on! Say, after we chow down, how about a rousing game of badminton? I’m on fire today! Let’s shake a leg, have some fun, and see who’s got the best swing!"

"Of course, Master Dick." Alfred said and the two continued conversing as Alfred carried the boy up the stairs of the batcave.

"Say, did you get to the next chapter of Lady in the Lake? I gotta tell ya, there's something fishy goin' on there, like a real gumshoe mystery. I can smell a twist coming a mile away, like a crook with a bad alibi! Whaddya think? There’s more to this dame than meets the eye, I betcha!"

Dick's voice faded as the rest of them dumbfoundedly realized they needed to follow after the two of them. Except for Cass, of course, who was already tugging a stiff Stephanie along.

Duke couldn’t help notice Tim. The guy was practically glowing in the corner like he was about to faint, his face flush with excitement. Duke knew all about Tim’s obsession with Grayson—Steph had spilled enough gossip to fill a novel. Tim had ranted about Dick for years, quoting everything from his acrobatics to his smile. But now, seeing the younger version of Grayson in front of him? Tim was this close to passing out. His eyes were practically sparkles. If there were stars in the Batcave, they were all shining in Tim’s eyes.

“Tim, dude, you alright?” Duke teased, but Tim couldn’t even form words. He just gave a thumbs-up so exaggerated it might as well have come with a marching band soundtrack.

Duke couldn’t shake the feeling that Damian was acting a little… off. The usually fierce, unflappable kid was clearly trying to maintain his tough exterior, but Duke could see the subtle signs. The way Damian’s eyes flicked over to Dick with just a hint of nervousness, his stance rigid, like he was bracing for something, but not quite sure what.

"Is it just me, or is Dick an absurdly happy kid?" Duke suddenly spoke, thinking about Dick's demeanor. The older Dick Grayson was so strict and while he joked, there wasn't a free-hearted levity in him that his child version carried.

The kid had been practically shining, bouncing around the Batcave as if it were his personal playground. This was the same kid who had grown into the stoic, responsible, and sometimes brooding Nightwing. The difference was like night and day. Duke could see the weight of the years had changed him, and as he watched this boy, full of energy and warmth, he realized just how much had been lost. This wasn't the Dick they all knew. This was a Dick that had never seen the kind of pain that had hardened him into the man they looked up to.

It was a version of Dick they would never witness - laughing so freely, so full of life - one that was locked away in Bruce's heart, his memories paying tribute to their god-like figure he'd embellished of their brother.

It was a homage Bruce had unknowingly clung to and fed into, and a part of Duke wondered how much of this Dick, too, had buried inside himself.

Duke felt an ache in his bones, realizing just how much was buried under the weight of Dick’s current life. The boy before him was a ghost of the past that no one would ever get back.

Jason groaned. "One depressing revelation at a time, Duke." He stomped his way up the stairs followed by near swooning Tim, and an anxious Damian.

Bruce hadn't moved an inch. It was as if the air around him had thickened, suffocating both of them with tension. Bruce, usually so composed, was now locked in a frozen tableau of silent agony. His face was unreadable, but his eyes - Duke could see them - betrayed a terrible storm. Guilt, loss, and a deep, unspoken grief. The kind of grief that didn’t make noise but settled in your bones and dragged you under.

But Duke was The Signal. He was the Light, that's what his emblem meant. While Bruce was drowning in his own anguish, Duke could not afford to drown with him. So he patted the man on the back and followed his brothers up the stairs, readying himself for more horrifying realizations about the loss of innocence and joy from their favorite brother.

[shaunamilfman]

i almost do [3]

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!reader summary: It's been long enough, hasn't it? If only Shauna could bring herself to apologize. note: minors dni Masterlist

She’s doing it again. It’s not even a surprise any more, if it ever was. You aren’t sure what to make of it, but you know with a bone-deep certainty that if you show your face outside of Nat’s hut, her eyes will be solely focused on you. 

Shauna’s been the butcher for so long that she doesn’t even need to look down at her hands as she slices, each move mechanical and efficient, but you wish that she would. You used to tell her off for it, constantly reminding her to at least pretend she was watching for your sake instead of staring down Mari, but that’s just not your place anymore.

And whose fault was that?

You shuffle next to a group of girls huddled around the fire, staying close for warmth as you surreptitiously adjust the outer layers of your clothes to make sure her flannel is still hidden firmly out of view. The last thing you need is for someone to comment on it loudly enough for Shauna to hear. It was a stupid risk, keeping it. 

Dumber still to wear it out, but you spent far too much time laying around in the hut and tracing the worn fabric with your thumb to pretend you didn’t want to. She snuck into Nat’s hut in the middle of the night like some kind of bandit and left it with you. Well, the exact opposite of a bandit really, but the fact remained that she wants you to have it. Wanted, maybe, if she hasn’t changed her mind since.

It was hard enough avoiding those eyes of hers now—achingly sad and lonely, right back to the girl who had first pinned you up against that tree all those months ago. Her eyes were always more expressive than anything else. Even those rare times she managed to keep what she was feeling off of her face, you could always count on those brown eyes to tell you what was what. They told you when she was proud. When she was feeling uncertain. When she loved you.

Because Shauna certainly won’t.

She never has, really, but she hasn’t even brought herself to speak to you since she tried to pull that gun on you. Shauna wants to speak to you, to explain whatever fucked-up thing was going through her head when she reached behind her back, or even just quietly exist beside you like she used to. But she never seems to be able to fully cross that line and make her way toward you. Seemingly content to mope around and stare like some kind of depressed ghost.

You know that if you let her talk to you, you would forgive her just as easily. If she could actually get the words out, that was. No hesitation, no lecture, no more sleeping in Nat’s hut and wishing you could feel Shauna pressing up against you.

It wasn’t some calculated attack, but the stupid split-second reaction of someone who’s never known how to sit with hurt feelings without letting them explode outwards and damaging everyone in the vicinity. Shauna has always acted without thinking, right down to the very beginning of your relationship when she kissed you back without even fully knowing why. It’s done nothing but get her in trouble, back home but especially out here.

The kind of impulsivity that ends with you pregnant with your best friend’s boyfriend’s baby or holding a camp full of girls hostage because you can’t deal with the idea of returning to a town that holds nothing but ghosts and shame.

Then there’s the rage. That blinding rage that takes hold of her and erases all sense of thought and logic, her eyes narrowed so tight you’re not even sure she can see beyond it. When she gets that smug little smirk on her face that seems perfectly designed to get beneath your skin, as infuriating as it is hot. The one that makes you want to slap her and kiss her in the same breath. But mostly slap.

But there are other things. Softer things that you have to make a concentrated effort not to think on if you have any hope of remaining mad.

Like the tears she sheds when she thinks you're asleep, face pressed tightly into your shoulder as she shakes from the effort of holding them back as you lie there pretending not to hear. The name she whispers in her sleep that you won’t acknowledge even to yourself. How worried she’s become since summer turned into fall, how dedicated to ensuring you were never cold. Not the rest of them, just you.

The look she gets when you're cuddled up on your cot, pressed together tightly as her hand brushes stray strands of hair away from your chest. The comforting weight of her head on your chest when she falls asleep listening to your heartbeat. Even just the way she entwines your fingers when you’re alone, tracing her thumb up and down the side of your hand like she could never get tired of it.

The way she reached for that gun behind her back.

You have to remind yourself of it.

You can forgive her, but you need her to ask for it. She has to mean it. It can’t just be folded away like so many of the things she’s done out here.

If there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s letting her pull you back into that hut like what she did was nothing. You know what the rest of them whisper about you behind your back. What they get brave enough to say about your and Shauna’s relationship. Her little dog, faithful and forgiving. 

The first person you heard say it was Mari, laughing with a group of them around her about how you’ll stop following Shauna around when she finally bites you hard enough. You didn’t say anything then, just rolled your eyes and pretended like you didn’t hear it. But you always did.

Then there’s the bets Van’s been taking about when you’re going to take Shauna back. Those you didn’t mind so much, not when Van winked and promised to share the loot. She made it sound more like a joke than the pity some of the rest of them looked at you with. At least Van was honest. At least she seemed to understand sometimes.

But still. Being with Shauna wasn’t like what the rest of them thought. You’ve seen the way they’ve been looking at you for months: like they felt bad for you. Like you somehow drew the short straw. They couldn’t possibly understand why you were with her in the first place, and it made you so damn sad.

They didn’t see the way her face softens when she catches you staring. How shy it makes her, like she didn’t fully understand it either. Her eyes darting down and then back up, always pleasantly surprised to find you still looking. The way she squirms and slaps your hands away when your fingers tread just a little too close to being ticklish. They didn’t know how tightly she holds onto you, like she’s terrified you won’t be there when she wakes up again. That special way she says your name.

She was your girlfriend, and they just keep making it into a punchline.

Maybe that’s why, even now, there’s still distance between you and the rest of them no matter how closely you’re huddled together. Nat bumps your shoulder, careful not to brush by Misty who’s standing near you. You have questions about their sudden distance, but you’ll let her keep her secrets. She never presses you about Shauna, despite how badly she seems to want to at times. The least you could do is return the effort considering you’re sharing her bed now.

Regretfully you step back from the fire, following Nat a bit away from the rest of them. Just out of earshot, you think. You glance over at Shauna, scoffing when you see her talking to Hannah again. As much as she cautioned you about talking to her—screamed at, belittled, accused you of flirting with, made you feel small—the same didn’t seem to go for Shauna.

Figures.

The whole thing was stupid, anyway. You don’t get why Shauna would be talking to her in the first place. Shauna hates talking to anyone who wasn’t you, and sometimes even you didn’t seem to be an exception. What are they talking about over there, anyway? Probably off braiding each other's hair and swapping secrets. It’s petty of you, but you felt that it was more than deserved at this point. Shauna had stormed off after much less, after all.

You miss the way Shauna’s eyes follow you with something awfully close to jealousy as you follow after Nat.

…

“What are you doing out here?” Shauna asks sharply. 

You jump in surprise, wincing as it pulls against your shoulder. It was mostly healed, but it still doesn't feel nice. Her posture shifts as she softens, hands uncurling by her side as she glances at your arm. She stands by the doorway of her hut, shifting on the balls of her feet like she isn't quite sure what she's doing out here. Shauna’s looking at you like you’re a puzzle she still hasn’t figured out, even after all this time. You wonder if you really are just a mystery to her sometimes with the way she reacts in surprise to so many things.

“Just watching the fire,” you say, feeling a tinge of awkwardness from the way she was just standing there watching. Her expression, what you could make of it from the light of the fire, was far too intense for how late it was. 

“That's not your job.” Simple, to the point. Direct. Typical Shauna.

“Well, no,” you admit, glancing over in the direction of Misty's hut. You knew she was awake in there, likely listening. It was, after all, her job to be watching the fire. You weren't sure why she chose to stay in the hut. She's been avoiding you ever since you started rooming with Nat. Giving you a wide berth, like whatever you had was contagious.

“I just couldn't sleep.”

“You should go to bed,” Shauna says tersely, like she’s forcing the words out. 

“Fine.” You sigh as you stand up, taking a step toward Nat's hut. 

“No.”

“No?” You ask as you slowly come to a stop. You don't turn around to face her as you speak, which you know must drive her insane. 

“To your bed,” she says pointedly. Despite how it comes out like an order, you can hear the way her voice wavers. 

“And where's that?” Still not looking at her. You can hear Shauna moving around behind you, hesitant and unsure.

“Don't be like that.” 

“I'll be however I—” 

“Please,” Shauna says. It's enough to make you turn around in surprise. “Can we… Can we talk?”

“Talk, then.” 

Shauna glances around, eyes narrowing on Misty's hut. “Inside? I don't want… “

Anyone to hear, you finish in your head. Yeah, that sounds about right. You step towards her silently, closing the distance between you. Shauna's eyes widen in surprise, murmuring a soft “oh” under her breath as she ducks back into her hut. 

For all her talk, she doesn't seem to know what to do with you now that you're back in her hut with her. Shauna blushes suddenly as her eyes catch something before quickly looking back at you. You can't help but indulge your curiosity and follow her eyes, a pleased feeling rising in your chest as you catch sight of your shirt balled up on her bed. 

Worn and unmistakably slept in since you’ve been gone. You wonder how many nights she’s spent sleeping in it, or maybe even just holding it up to her face and pretending you were here. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but you can’t deny how good it is to see it. It’s mostly just sweet. Finally, some evidence that Shauna was as affected by your separation as you are, as much as she pretends otherwise as she walks around with Hannah just a half-step behind her.

Not that you hadn’t been sleeping in Shauna’s flannel as well, but that was your business. You let the silence hang for longer than you usually would, feeling a little earned cruelty as you watch her squirm. 

“Didn’t think you were the sentimental type,” you say, voice low and just shy of mocking.

“I’m not,” she rushes out too quickly, her voice cracking just enough to be noticeable. Shauna clears her throat like that would help. “Just cold.”

“Clearly.” Shauna flinches at the words but doesn’t rise to them for once. She opens her mouth, hesitates as she rubs her thumb absently against the sheath on her thigh, and then closes her mouth again. When she doesn’t say anything else, you continue, “I‘m here. Now what?”

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” Shauna says, too fast again, giving you what you think is an attempt at a smile but looks a little too threatening. She seems to be aware of the fact as she winces and looks away, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck in a soothing motion. The way you used to. Then she tries again, softer and more sincere.

“It wasn’t about hurting you.” Her voice sounds so small, so uncertain that it makes you a little sick. “Not really. I don’t know why…”

“So you reached for the gun?” You cut in, tired of watching her pretend it was anything other than what it was. 

Shauna flinches like she hadn’t expected you to actually name it. What had she been expecting, anyway? Did she imagine that all she had to do was invite you into her hut and look at you with her sad eyes, and suddenly everything would be okay? Fuck that.

“I just didn’t know what to do. It was—everyone was watching, and you just walked away from me. Like it was easy. Like I wasn’t anything.” She can’t bring herself to look at you as she speaks, but you can hear the way she’s practically begging you to understand what she can’t say. Her arms wrap around her stomach, taking a step back until she’s almost pressed up against the wall of her hut.

You don’t follow her. You don’t offer her anything. You’re tired of making it easier for her.

“Whatever, Shauna,” you mutter.

“Wait, no.”

“I’m tired of waiting for something that’s not ever coming because you’re not—”

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, breath catching in a surprised squeak that you couldn’t have stopped if you tried as you stare at her with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t even thinking. I just wanted you to come back. I didn’t mean to scare you—or maybe I did, somehow in some stupid way. It’s the only way I could think of to keep you, even if it was…”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She repeats again. “That’s all I have.”

Was it enough? 

You think it might be.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She questions neutrally, like she’s trying not to get her hopes up. Maybe it was expecting too much of her to think she would sound more excited by the thought. Shauna’s been as emotionally vulnerable as she can manage for the rest of the winter.

“Okay,” you repeat, watching her carefully.

“Okay, what?” Shauna looks frustrated, fiddling with her hands as her fingers twitch toward her sheath again. She rolls her eyes when you grin at her. “You forgive—you’ll come back to bed?”

“This is the last time,” you warn, serious enough that Shauna tenses again. “You don’t get another do-over with something like this.”

Shauna nods thoughtfully as she takes a step forward, seeming pleased when you don’t take a step back. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, carefully avoiding her anytime she tried to stand nearer to you.

“I think I can manage not pointing the gun at you,” she adds smugly.

“Or the knife.”

Shauna gapes at you. “Like…ever?”

“Well, I mean sometimes—”

“A lot of times—”

“Just don’t threaten to kill me with it. Jesus, Shauna. You knew what I meant.”

“No threats?” Shauna demands seriously, even as a small smile comes to her face. It’s barely a smile, more of a twitch of her lips that you would call a muscle spasm on anyone else. It’s practically ecstatic on her. Wow, she must have really missed you.

“No serious threats,” you allow. She tilts her head to the side as if she’s about to start negotiating terms with you, only to hold her hands up mockingly when you narrow your eyes in her direction.

“Fine.”

Her hand hovers by her side before she slowly reaches out for you, hesitant, like she’s forgotten how. You reach out and lace your fingers together, squeezing firmly as you pull her closer without any resistance at all. Shauna’s warm where she’s pressed against you, chest to chest, with your joined hands trapped between your bodies.

She traces her fingers along the edge of your jacket, smirking as she notices the collar of her flannel peaking out. There’s no comment on it, mostly because you kiss her before she has a chance to.

…

Shauna gasps quietly, muffled against your lips as she clutches to your shoulders. Maybe not as carefully as she could, but you can’t bring yourself to mind much.

“Like that?” You question breathlessly between kisses, your non-dominant hand fumbling around between her legs as you curl your fingers again. 

It’s taken you a few tries to get it quite right, but Shauna hasn’t seemed to mind much even as your forearm trembled from the effort. Out of character, really, for your girlfriend, who was usually so demanding and bossy, but you think she must need the weight of you on top of her more than anything else. God knows you’ve wanted to feel her as well, active or asleep, as long as it meant she was pressed against you.

A pained hiss leaves your lips as your hand cramps again, not quite as used to the motion as you should be. The angle is awkward, the whole thing really, but it’s the first time you’ve had her in ages. You can’t bring yourself to readjust.

A nod, and then, “Yeah,” as she curls her fingers around the back of your neck to hold you closer. Her head tilts back, offering you up room you happily take to kiss a path down from her lips to her neck.

You can’t get as far as you want, not with her jacket firmly planted in your way. As much as you would love to have her bare beneath you, the ever-present threat of the winter air keeps the two of you mostly clothed. Even her sweatpants stayed on, the waistband digging into your wrist. Still, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Shauna definitely wouldn’t, full out refusing when you tried to go down on her instead. She insisted it was because it was too damn cold out, but you secretly suspected it was for another reason entirely. The way she hasn’t been able to drag her eyes away from you since you eased her back down on your bed said more than words ever could, especially when they came from Shauna’s lips. Like you might not be there, waiting for you to disappear if she did so much as blink.

She looks at you like that a lot, actually: like she can’t fully accept that you’re real.

You’ll just have to remind her that you are. Not to toot your own horn, but it seems like you’re excelling at that right now. Shauna’s fingers curl in your hair as you nip at the peak of her collarbone showing beneath the collar of her jacket. They aren’t guiding you anywhere like they normally would, content just to touch and be touched.

Shauna cries out far too loudly for how close your hut is to the next one as you bite down where her neck meets her shoulder, sucking the skin with your mouth to soothe it with your tongue. She loves marking you more than just about anything else, bruises of any kind littering your body to remind you and everyone else who exactly you belong to. There were still bruises on your hips in the final stages of fading that she left before your fight. She was many things, but thorough was definitely one of them.

Equally happy to receive them, even if she prefers for them not to be visible. Luckily for you, she was too far gone to complain much now. Even when she caught sight of it tomorrow, she would wear it with pride after all this time apart, if only to prove to the rest of them whose hut you were sleeping in again. Shauna was a simple girl sometimes.

“Fuck,” she breathes lowly, pulling you up with the hand on the back of your neck to kiss you again.

It’s desperate now, like it has been all night. The two of you have been making up for lost time, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. Your time apart has done nothing but make you want her more, and it seems that she’s not immune to the pull either. If there was one thing you could expect from Shauna, it was to match your crazy.

“Could you—I need—” Shauna murmurs between kisses, struggling to pull away long enough to verbalize the thought.

You know what she wants, and it makes you flush in embarrassment. “I know,” you whisper, trailing off into a whine as she bites at your bottom lip. It's your fault for talking so close to her lips. It was almost a taunt, and of course Shauna would rise to it. “It’s just a little difficult with–”

Shauna rolls her hips up against your hand, grinding her clit against your palm as she tests the waters.

“There you go,” you murmur as she settles into a rhythm, your hand cramping something awful from trying to keep up with it. The words of complaint don’t leave your lips—you hardly even think about them as the two of you move together.

It doesn’t take long then, not that it ever does, before she’s clutching at your shoulder as she makes those quiet little sounds in your ear. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but you can tell she’s holding herself back. Her hips start to slow as she forces herself back from the edge she’s been rapidly approaching. It’s not something you appreciate.

“Shauna, what’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.

Her eyes dart away in discomfort before she slowly drags them back, her face slack with pleasure as she struggles to stay focused on you.

“Fuck, just… Tell me you love me,” Shauna demands.

“What?”

“Tell me you love me,” she repeats, more hesitant this time. Embarrassed. “Are you stupid? You can’t even—”

“I love you, Shauna,” you interrupt, trying to stay patient. Shauna whines in your ear, a sound you know she’ll deny making until her death, as she speeds up.

“Again,” she demands.

“I love you.”

“Again.” Breathier this time.

“I love you.”

“Again.” 

She cries out, thighs clamping down around your hand as you struggle to keep your fingers moving. Shauna murmurs your name in something like disbelief, eyes slipping shut as she buries her face into your shoulder.

“I love you.” You press delicate kisses along her jaw as she shudders, repeating the words with each press of your lips.

“Idiot,” Shauna says finally against your ear, her cheeks red from some mix of the cold and her own embarrassment.

You laugh breathlessly against her neck, nipping at the skin in retaliation as her hands trail down your sides.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🎀Pick a Picture: 💗🌸💕🎀🍨 What makes you so alluring 💗🌸💕🎀🍨

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

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👑Pile 1:

I feel like you may not be aware of how powerful your gaze and aura is; im getting the message that you may be someone who is naturally really pretty looking, beautiful eyes especially. For you, it's something natural, something you don't stop to think about, but for others it's like you are meeting a celebrity, really intense. There is a duality in you: on one hand, you can be soft, almost calming, so if you are inviting someone to come closer without words, but on the other, there is an intensity they drive people insane, you are captivating. It's not that you use it in a calculated way, it's not a game. For you, it's simply your way of interacting with the world. But others find it fascinating how you manage to project so much without having to say a single word. Every time they look at you, they feel as if you are inviting them to something without even knowing what it is. Maybe they don't even realize that they are falling under the spell of your eyes, but they are, and they don't even know why. They know you as someone who does not get carried away by the superficial, someone who goes beyond what is seen, and that generates an indescribable fascination. Often, people feel that there is something special in the way you look at the world and others, something that only they can see, although in reality, everyone can see the same thing. That feeling that, even if it was just a second, something has changed inside them. And what fascinates them most is that they don't understand why. And that is the true essence of what makes you so alluring. Because you don't just look at them, you read them without them knowing that you have fully understood them. And although it may seem like all of this happens involuntarily, the truth is that it is your nature.

👑Pile 2:

What makes you so alluring its this "calm confidence" that you have. People can't help but notice you, because you're not looking for validation, you're not waiting for someone to agree with you or make you feel like you're enough. You know you are, and that inner peace is what is reflected in each of your movements. It's fascinating how you manage to attract others with just your presence, they feel that you don't need anyone's approval to be happy. You're not arrogant, nor do you boast about what you're capable of, you just are. And that simplicity, that natural authenticity, makes people around you feel comfortable, feel accepted. You have a very special way of making everyone feel good about themselves when they are around you, so if, by being in your presence, they are reminded that they can feel confident about who they are too.

The most alluring thing about all this is how, with such apparent simplicity, you create a space full of confidence, an atmosphere so powerful that people are attracted without really understanding why. You may not realize it, but you are the example of the emotional freedom that many people wish to achieve. You have that ability to walk through life without having to justify your existence, without having to provide anything to anyone. And that makes you more beautiful than anything physical, because what is reflected in you is that inner calm that only self-confident people can have. You are exactly who you're meant to be, and that's why you turn heads.

👑Pile 3:

Your charisma and your style is so interesting and alluring, you ahve an amazing fashions sense pile 3. Also, When you speak, even if it's the simplest of things, your voice has a softness that captures attention, but not in the way seeking someone attention would, but by simply being you.You charisma makes people, without knowing it, feel safe around you. There is something so comforting about the way you are, the way you give yourself over to conversations, the way you truly listen to others, that people feel comfortable opening up to you. People feel seen in your presence, and that's what draws them in. Because in a world so noisy, you are a haven of peace, a reminder that what matters most is genuine connection. And what makes you even more captivating is that you don't try hard to be. You don't obsess over how others perceive you, you don't seek to be the center of attention, nor do you put pressure on yourself to be perfect. Your charisma doesn't come from making a conscious effort to please; it simply arises from your authenticity, from that ability to be completely yourself, without pretensions. People can't help but be drawn to that calmness, to that genuine way of being in the world, and your amazing fashion sense of course, a true trend setter of what you are, the it girl/boy.

There's a quality the way you communicate that makes others read in, eager to understand what you have to say. You're a sort of beacon of quiet wisdom, someone who doesn't need to stand out to be heard.

💗🌸💕🎀🍨Thanks for reading! Tell me if it resonated and i hope you have a great day!💗🌸💕🎀🍨