#feel heard but no pressure to actually like respond to people

[roachemoji]

[dollgxtz]

Ok a fic where reader and sylus are at a business meeting, she “offers” herself as payment (maybe as a joke or just to rile sylus idk) and he makes sure to remind her who she belongs to? Please???

Kindred Spirits

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, possessiveness, ownership, spanking, hitting, slight blood mention, pet names like kitten & sweetie, creampie, rough sex, crying, slight fluff at the end :3

AN: Anon ur a literal genius. This has Sylus written all over it. Im so happy to be back posting another story for you all! Also happy to announce my masterlist is now complete and can be found in my pinned! Ty all! Enjoy and remember, my asks are open for any character, Sylus is just my husband LOL. Remember to read my pinned before requesting please! This is a bit tamer than my other stories but trust I am cooking up some deviant content as soon as I publish this one :33

“Finally…”

You nearly collapse near your front door. A whole week of your life. Gone. To what you ask? Dealing with wanderers on a special aid mission. Sure sure, the job paid well but it had been weeks since your last off day. Every time it seemed like one was around the corner here they go with some emergency call and a spill about how some rich politician needed help or something.

You were starting to get tired of cleaning up other people’s mistakes.

You fumbled with your keys, fingers numb from the biting cold. The wind whipped around you, making you shiver as you tried to fit the right key into the lock. Your breath came out in visible puffs, and you could feel the frustration building with each failed attempt. Finally, with a relieved sigh, you heard the click of the lock turning.

The still warm air is such a welcoming contrast to the wind and biting cold outside. You quickly shut your door and melt to the floor, your feet aching with relief as the pressure you had been putting on them subsided. Peace at last. Time for a hot shower an-

Your peace was cut short with the distinct tone of your phone ringing. And not just any ring tone. The one you had set specifically for a certain white haired man that only ever brought trouble. Wondering if you should even pick up, you bring the phone to your face, knowing that you were going to answer regardless.

“Sylus…I’m really tired. Can we talk lat-"

“Long time no see kitten. You should stop by for a bit, hm?”

You roll your eyes, suppressing the urge to scoff out loud. Arrogant prick, you think, irritated by his inability to let you finish a sentence without interrupting. How did he even know you were home now?

You sigh deeply, feeling the tension building, and rub your temples to alleviate the mounting frustration. No, you tell yourself firmly. You wouldn’t put up with this today. Maybe another day, but definitely not today.

"Actually, no. I just returned from a week-long aid mission. Not today," you say firmly, aiming to be clear and resolute in your decision to stay put. Sylus however, seems to sense the cracks in your resolve and only responds with a chuckle.

“I want to see you. I’ll have Luke and Kieran come get you since you’re so tired”.

“Hu-”

“See you soon. They’re en route. Ciao”

The phone clicks, signaling the end of the call. For whatever reason, your ever growing frustration simply dissipates, defeat taking its place. You should be used to this by now. Sylus always gets what he wants. And you always let him. It goes without saying that it’s the same way for you as well. At least, Sylus always gives you what you want if it doesn’t interfere with his need to lay his eyes on you at least once in awhile. He knew that you wouldn’t push this though. You both knew.

Deep down, you wanted to see him too.

You asked Luke and Kieran to wait outside for a bit while you took a brisk shower and freshened up. Those two had always been very patient and understanding. You felt bad “bossing” them around, and yet they always insisted that you could. Though Luke had admitted on one occasion that he never expected to be helping a girl find hair ties or carrying shopping bags while working for Onychinus.

The statement had made you laugh a bit. You finally finish dressing in some plain sweats and rush to the car. Luke and Kieran are waiting outside of a dark colored jeep. Not too flashy as to not draw attention, but it was still clearly very expensive.

“Actually miss, Boss wanted you to wear these” Luke says, holding out an expensive looking dress. Clearly designed by hand and tailored to your measurements. Kieran follows his lead, holding out a box containing a pair of earrings and a lavish looking necklace.

“Huh? What’s this for? A date?”

“Business. That’s all he said” Kieran chimed in. Although you couldn’t see their faces, you knew they had no reason to lie to you about this.

“Ah. Dragging me into more trouble. Got it”.

When the three of you finally arrived to the location, the sun had already set for the day. You darted your eyes back and forth, squinting above at the bright neon sign of the establishment.

“We’re not going to the N109 Zone? This is a nightclub…” you mutter, taken aback by the unfamiliar surroundings. When did this even get here? There were plenty of clubs in Linkon of course, but you never seemed to notice this one. Not that you knew much about the night life to begin with. People were lined up at the entrance, chatting, fixing makeup, or texting.

“Boss wants you here. He’s waiting inside. Enjoy your time miss” Luke said, amusement written all over his tone. He gets out of the passenger seat to open the door and lend you a hand. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to appear shaken up by the situation. Sylus was always full of surprises. This was no different, act confident.

At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself. After getting almost immediate entrance into the club with just a simple nod from the guard, you enter. As you walk inside the club, Luke and Kieran not far behind you, you can tell this was no ordinary night club. Everyone here was dressed lavishly and sharp, clearly possessing power and ulterior motives. A few eyes lay on you as you walk in, and you feel your hands start to sweat.

Keep cool. This isn’t the first time you’ve been around high ranking individuals. This is probably some test he set up…right? Or some kind of joke to get a laugh?

Clenching your fists, your eyes dart and search for a tall figure with white hair, feeling more nervous by the second that you don’t see him. You’re about to turn around and ask one of the twins, but at last your gaze settles on him, sipping on a glass of Gin Fizz. He’s sitting in a velvety booth by himself, people watching. He’s wearing his black button up with red streaks across it, coat hanging on his shoulders per usual. As if he felt you staring, his eyes shift to meet yours. He sets down his glass, giving you you a small smirk. His eyes narrow, sending a very clear message.

Come here.

As if you were suddenly possessed, your feet seem to start moving on their own. You weren’t sure if you were relieved to see him or if it was just the relief of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. You take a few deep breaths as you approach, readying your witful replies to any of his attempts to make fun of you. Without making any sound or looking at him, you quietly slide in next to him.

“You look nice. Seems I was right about this look on you” Sylus says, taking another sip of his drink. His eyes wander up and down behind the glass, seemingly devouring you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Hm. Thanks. This gift is the least you can do after dragging me to do whatever you want on a whim once again” you scoff, eyeing the full glass that sits on the table. It’s another glass of Gin Fizz, probably for Sylus. There’s three other very empty glasses on the table.

This man can definitely hold his alcohol.

He chuckles, taking a finger and pushing the glass of Gin closer to you.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. Loosen up a bit, you’ll need it”

“For what exactly? Business?” you mock, picking up the Gin. You didn’t exactly like the taste of this particular alcohol of choice but Sylus was right about one thing. Some liquid courage was definitely needed for whatever shenanigans he was dragging you into tonight.

“Yeah. Figured I could use Linkon’s darling Miss Hunter as backup” Sylus chuckles, watching you nearly choke as you take three big gulps of the drink. You squeeze your eyes in disgust as you finish the rest of the glass, shooting a death glare in his direction as you set it down.

“You’re perfectly capable. Don’t mock me Sylus”. You grit your teeth in irritation, almost ready to rip him to shreds with your words. Clearly your tone has no effect on him though, as all you get in return is a soft smile. Sylus places a hand on your upper leg, slowing sliding his fingers under your dress. You gasp, the coldness of his fingers making you twitch a bit. The warmness of your skin mixed with his cold touch makes the sensation feel like icy fire.

“Or what? You’ll use this on me?” he smirks, tugging on the concealed gun strapped under your dress. “I’m all for it honestly”

You slap his hand away, the woozy feeling from the Gin Fizz starting to kick in. What was in this drink? It was strong. Too strong.

“Pervert. Always touching me, making fun of me. Maybe I will shoot you. Again.” you growl, turning your head away from him. You attempt to scoot away as well, but are met with a strong grip around your waist as you’re pulled into closer proximity with him. Sylus grabs your chin and lifts it towards his face. He leans down a bit, the smell of alcohol and his bourbon vanilla cologne making you feel even more dizzy.

“You can put your claws away now kitten. Don’t make me have to melt your little tantrum away” he coos, gently caressing your face with his thumb.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, desperately searching your sluggish brain for a comeback but finding yourself too flustered to form any words. The look in Sylus’s eyes shifts from a smug expression to a much softer, almost tender gaze, and you wonder what his next move will be. Your face starts to burn as you feel heat rising in your core, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic sets in as you consider the possibilities, your mind racing with the fear of what might come next.

Don’t tell me he’s going to…?!

"You're so...confusing" you mutter.

You’re just about to try and squirm from his grip, when Luke and Kieran tap on the table, catching yalls attention.

“Boss man, Val says he’s ready for ya” Luke says, nonchalantly ignoring the scene that’s displayed in front of him. Sylus releases your face, his face going serious again. He gets up, reaching out a hand to help you out of the booth.

“Time for business, sweetie”

You’re guided by the twins and Sylus past the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to a somewhat hidden room located downstairs. The area the stairs led to was blocked off by a singular rope, clearly only meant for a select crowd.

In the room there’s a long black table, cards and chips all over it. There’s a few prominent figures already seated, along with a few bodyguards standing near the door. Sylus pulls a seat out for you, before taking his own. You study the figure that’s sitting at the head of the table as you sit. He’s short, a bit chubby, dark hair, smoking a cigar. A scar sits angrily on his forehead and you wonder what kinda grudges led to such an injury. He notices you looking at him, and gives you a devilish grin. Some of his teeth are crooked or missing.

All that money and he can't fix his smile?

You shudder. Sylus looks over at you, and back to the man at the head of the table. He’s reading you, clearly sensing your nervousness. He says nothing, simply reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh.

“Was starting to think you were going to keep me waiting Sylus. Seems you didn’t run after all” he laughs, wheezing a bit as he takes another puff of his cigar. You wrinkle your nose a bit as the potent smell hits your senses.

“I couldn’t turn down a game of cards with my dear old friend” Sylus says, irritation coating the last word. “Let’s keep things civil this time, hm Valentino?”

Valentino bursts into laughter, clearly amused. Despite his laughter, you couldn’t ignore the murderous tension in the air. Something tells you this isn’t any regular game of cards. You gulp, trying to force yourself to look at everyone at the table and smile.

“Well hello little lady. Sylus, you didn’t tell me you kept such gorgeous company…” Val says, his eyes snaking all over your body. You feel Sylus squeeze your thigh, clearly irritated. He pulls out a coin from his coat pocket, seemingly trying to channel his frustrations into something else.

“You know I’m not really the type to share, Val. She’s all mine. Down to every single strand of hair”. Sylus ends, catching the coin and shooting a glare in the man’s direction. It was plain, but conveyed a message very well.

You feel your palms start to sweat. Was he being serious right now?? You side eye him, trying to piece out whether or not this was some kind of facade you’re supposed to play into. Valentino clearly takes Sylus’s words as a challenge.

“I’ll give you twenty million for her. Maybe fifty million if you make her give us a little strip show. What do ya say? She looks so soft. Probably makes cute noises too…~” he chuckles, likely enjoying the look of surprise that washes across your face.

Sylus remains quiet, his face unmoving, frozen in a pissed glare. You don’t know if it was the alcohol you drank earlier, or if it was some inkling of an attempt to dissipate the tension, but you clear your throat and begin to speak.

“Well Sylus? You can share can’t you? It’s quite the generous offer Mr. Valentino. I’m quite flattered actually.” you express, putting on your best smug look. Sylus stiffens, a somewhat shocked expression washing over him. Valentino erupts into yet another fit of laughter, seemingly unable to contain himself. Turning to look back at Sylus, you see it in his face briefly. An uncaged look of rage before it quickly dissipates.

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.

Far too late to stop now though.

“You heard the lady Sylus. Why don’t you try sharing just this once? What I would give to taste that sweet little body of he-”

Sylus slams a revolver on the table, then calmly starts picking up cards from the deck.

"I'd suggest you stop talking and start playing the game, Mr. Valentino," Sylus snarls, his words dripping with venom. The fury in his voice is palpable, and it's clear he's reached the end of his patience.

You give Val a sly look, feigning pity. “Ah, sorry Valentino. Seems this one can’t quite let me go yet”. You don’t know what you were trying to achieve, but it’s certainly not working to dissipate any tension. Val doesn’t respond to you though, all his focus on Sylus now.

“My dear friend. You should know me by now. There’s something I’m much more interested in now than some money. Now I want the girl, or nothing”.

Valentino wears a shit eating grin on his face, soaking in the fact that he thinks he’s gained some control of the situation, unaffected by the gun on the table. Sylus simply sighs, rubbing his fingers against the temple of his forehead.

“I see where this is going then”.

You barely process what’s happening before everything and everyone starts moving. As soon as Sylus begins to stand, Valentinos guards start shooting. Sylus wastes no time flipping the large table, sending the cards and game chips flying everywhere. You yelp as he yanks you towards him using his body and the table to shield the oncoming attack of bullets. You hear Luke and Kieran joining in the frenzy, yelling obscenities as they begin shooting their own hidden weapons.

You swiftly reach for the weapon concealed beneath your dress, your fingers brushing against the cool metal as you draw it out. Turning to face Sylus, you ready yourself for his instructions, your body tense with anticipation. Instead of giving you orders, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you with an intensity that feels like it's reaching into your very soul. The silence is heavy, charged with unspoken tension as bullets whip past the both of you, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken in response.

“I need you alive for what’s coming sweetie. Pay attention, stay close”

You blink. Twice. Unable to process his words before he yanks you both up, one hand using his evol to send the table crashing into several bodyguards. The four of you fight your way through the onslaught of people coming into the door, before eventually dashing up the stairs. People are running in all directions, seemingly caught up in the chaos of everything. You all manage to make it out the door and into the brisk cold air, the twins quickly hopping into the car to whisk you away.

“Go on, I’ll catch up soon” Sylus states, hurriedly pushing you into the car and slamming the door before you could protest. He signals Kieran to drive off, and that he does.

“He’s…going to level the building. Isn’t he?” you sigh, sighing at the fact that Sylus seemed to conveniently forget that this was in fact not the lawless land of the N109 Zone. No doubt the Hunter’s Association would have to investigate for potential wanderer activity, and that would be a lot of paperwork.

"It's fine. He owned that place anyway. He'll just build another," Luke says, his voice calm and unbothered. Just as the words leave his mouth, a deafening boom erupts behind the car, shaking the ground beneath yall. The explosion's shockwave rattles the windows, and the sky lights up with a fiery glow, cutting off Luke's next sentence mid-breath.

You groan.

The twins did drive you to the N109 this time, swiftly helping you out the car and into Sylus’s private villa. When you entered the front door, a nightgown and lacy underwear were laid neatly out for you in his room, your arrival clearly anticipated.

It wasn’t more than an hour before Sylus waltzed in the front door, eyeing your slouching figure on the couch. You sit up as soon as you see him, still somewhat annoyed.

“What took you so damn long? Also do you have to level every building you come across?” you spat, glaring at him. He says nothing though, walking straight past you and into his room.

“Huh? Sylus?? What the hell…”

Not liking the feeling of being ignored, you hurriedly chased after him. You had never really been uncomfortable barging into his room. You had done it plenty of times at this point, the first time being when he had challenged you to steal the brooch from him. No point in being shy now. He’s fumbling with something in his drawer when you reach up to tap his shoulder.

“Sylus! Don’t ignore me, I know you ca-”

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist before you can touch him. His gaze is unreadable, cold even. You start to sweat, trying to take your arm back. But he only squeezes tighter.

"I was hoping you'd leave me be so I could calm down. But of course you're as petulant as ever" he says.

"Let go! What's wrong with you!?" You attempt to remove his hand from your wrist but he doesn't budge.

“Go to the bed. Place your hands on it” he says, face unchanging.

“Huh??”

“I don’t like to repeat myself”.

You freeze for only a moment before quickly moving to the bed. You meticulously put your hands where instructed, something deep in your core telling you that it’s likely best to listen for now. However, you can’t help to look over your should to quip at Sylus. You’re slightly bent at an angle, trying your best to keep your balance.

“What’s this about? I’m not that upset that you reduced the building to rubble”

Sylus snakes his way behind you, quietly, as if thinking of what to say. He reaches out a hand, grabbing the ends of your nightgown and moving the soft fabric around in his fingers. You feel the heat rise to your face, the skin of your ass feeling a slight gush of cold air.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Testing me” he says coldly, fingers trailing up the back of your legs slowly. You shiver, attempting to squirm away. His evol appears around you, its tight grip making you cry out.

Oh. This was about that.

“Huh?? No, I was just playing along. Just friendly banter yknow?” you say, voice wavering. You’ve clearly pissed him off. A part of you knows it’s a slight lie. You didn’t want to admit it out loud but it was kind of amusing to see Sylus get so riled up over something. Over you especially. But you hadn’t exactly done it fully on purpose. It was the alcohol.

But you knew he wasn’t buying it, as observant as he was.

“Sure. You were just pretending to act like a stray kitten trying to find a new owner?” he smirks, his fingers beginning to trace circles over the cloth of your panties. You let out a small whine, his touch just barely grazing your already wet cunt.

“Owner? I don’t belong to you. Or anyone” you scoff, the resolve in your voice wavering with every little circle he completes on your skin. You almost whine in disappointment when he pulls away.

“And yet…” Sylus trails off, leaving you with aching curiosity before you’re met with stinging pain on your ass. You cry out, unable to move with his evol still snaked around you. “You did exactly what I told you to do just now, wear the clothes I leave out for you, and practically melt everytime I even barely touch you”.

“Sylus?! What the hell was that…?!” you exclaim, trying your hardest to process his words and the situation at hand. He doesn’t respond, proceeding to gently caress the spot where he smacked you. The stinging pain gently eases away, and you feel yourself relaxing with his touch once again. He once again trails his fingers down to your clothed pussy, rubbing slow and meticulous circles around it. You start to whine, attempting to push yourself into his fingers for more friction. He pulls his hand away, making a disapproving sigh.

“Acting like you’re in heat per usual” he chuckles, watching as you wiggle around under the grip of his evol. “This is a punishment”.

“For what? Cause I let some sick and ugly looking crime boss think he had a chance with me?”

Sylus wastes no time bringing his hand to your ass again, earning another painful whine out of you. You feel tears forming in your eyes that you can’t wipe away. He’s certainly not holding back his strength, and yet you know this isn’t even a third of the force he could use on you.

“For entertaining him” he says plainly.

Another smack.

“Another for stupidly handing over your life, body and soul for a measly twenty million”

An even harder hit, this one fueled by rage.

“And lastly…”

You nearly choke as he delivers the final blow, your ass definitely bruising by now. Sylus offers no comfort this time, instead leaning down next to your crying face, breath hot against your ear.

“For forgetting that you belong to me, just as much as I belong to you. Kindred spirits remember?”

You have no chance to respond before he’s flipping you on your back, your nightgown flying up to reveal your wet panties.

“I-im sorry, Sy” you choke, tears blurring your vision.

“Show me then, sweetie. Spread your legs. Wide” he instructs, reaching up to brush your tears away. This isn’t done lovingly, more like calculated and cold.

This is far from over.

You silently but shakingly open your legs, your ass still painfully aching from his assault. You’re surprised when he doesn’t rip your underwear in two, choosing to rather peel them off your legs slowly. You notice the hunger in his eyes as he does so, as if savoring the view of your cunt at his fingertips. A small drop of arousal pools down your ass, and Sylus scoops it up with one finger.

You watch as he puts his finger in his mouth, savoring the drop of you with swiftness. His piercing gaze never leaves yours though, and you want to suddenly run away and hide. This is beyond thrilling, but you try your best to remain as still as possible, scared that he’ll think you’re enjoying it too much and punish you accordingly.

You suddenly can’t take the tension anymore, and close your eyes. You hear the sound of Sylus removing his belt from its loops, then the loud clang as it hits the floor. You feel the bed shift as he lowers himself over you, his face stopping just inches over yours, indicated by the sudden feel and warmth of his breath. He grabs your face in his hand and squeezes your jaw. Hard.

“Look at me kitten” he commands, his tone filled with unkempt rage and anger. Your eyes fly open, terrified.

“I’m the only one that will ever taste you. Repeat it” he says. Before you can get a word out, he’s pushing the fat tip of his cock in your entrance. You cry out in agony, nowhere near ready to have been penetrated. But he doesn’t stop filling you.

“Repeat it. Or I’ll hit you again. Do you want that?”

“You’re t-the…ah!” you whine, his cock halfway inside you at this point. Your poor cunt feels like it’s being impaled, splitting pain soaring through your core.

“Try again”

You let out a whimper, trying your best to push through the pain and put thoughts into words.

“You’re the oh-only one that gets to taste me” you choke out, voice wavering and your eyes teary. Sylus gives a hard thrust, pushing the rest of his length inside you. You cry out again, feeling like you’re on the verge of passing out. Sylus seems unmoved by your outbursts though.

“And?”

You stare at him, barely able to see his face through the tears. What? What does he mean and? He didn’t say anything else did he?

“Hu-what?”

You hear him sigh with disapproval, giving you yet another hard thrust. And another. And another. You’re clinging onto his back now, nails digging into his skin as the sound of the bed creaking and your pants fill the room. Blood has probably been drawn on his back, not that he’d even notice. You can hear him grunting in your ear, clearly enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him when you tense from the pain. Although it still hurts, you can feel yourself accumulating to the shape and size of his length, and the pain lessons a bit more with each thrust. He stops once again, tilting your face in his grip.

“What did I say you forgot? Or is this kitten filled with too much cock to think straight now?” he mocks. You can hear the smile on his face despite not being able to see him clearly. Heat creeps up on your cheeks as you wrack your brain for answers.

“I-you…we’re kindred spirits?”

“Before that sweetie”

You blink the tears on your face away, your vision becoming a bit more clear. Although he’s still gazing down at you, his expression is not as angry as before. Seems he’s gotten a bit of his pent up anger out now.

“I belong to you, Sylus” you say, voice small and whiny from crying. That’s definitely what he wanted to hear, as he began to pepper kisses on your neck, on your cheek, and eventually resting on your lips. You greedily return his affection, leaning into this feverish kiss, the both of you only periodically stopping to pant for air between kisses. He stops, resting his forehead with yours, gazing into your eyes once more.

“And I belong to you. What’s mine is yours. All of it”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s thrusting again, this time with a continuous and steady pace. You cling onto him, the exchange of flowery words and rigorous thrusting already bringing you on the verge of ecstasy. Sylus already noticed long before you did though, as he brought his hand between the two of you, circling your clit further your stimulation.

“Go ahead, come undone for me” he whispers, voice strained for nearly being at his end too. Your body obeys, unraveling and writhing with pleasure as Sylus continues to pound into you. You ride your orgasm to its end, till the touching of your clit becomes too much and you whine from overstimulation.

“Sylus…!” you moan, and he stops, already at the start of his own climax. You shudder as you feel him spill into you, his seed immediately beginning to pool down your cunt and to your ass. He pulls his heavy cock out of you, a feeling of emptiness taking its place. For a moment nothing is said, just the sound of the both of you catching your breath.

You decide to break the silence.

“Sylus…I’m really sorry” you start, looking up at him. He simply chuckles, placing a kiss on your cheek before getting up to grab a rag from the bathroom.

“You’ve taken your punishment quite well, why are you apologizing again sweetie?” he says from the bathroom, coming back to wipe you clean. You scoff, slightly tensing from the coldness of the cloth.

“Hmph. Fine, I take it back then. I’m holding a grudge anyways for how hard you hit me”

He simply sighs as he finishes wiping you up. “Back with the infamous wit already? Can’t a man catch a break?”

You sit up, feeling emboldened once more.

“Nope. Maybe don’t hit me with the strength of a thousand suns next time and we’ll see”

Sylus tosses the rag in a laundry basket, making his way back to your side. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you in his warmth. You can’t help but smile against his chest.

“Well, good thing I have all night to make it up to you”

You lightly pinch his side, giggling into his embrace. A question crosses your mind.

"Did you mean it Sylus? We belong to each other?"

Sylus took your face in his hand, giving you a slight smile.

"I don't say stuff I don't mean. You know this"

That's the furthest he was willing to explain it. At least for now. Who knows what kind of power trip would ensue if you truly knew how much you had the big bad leader of Onychinus wrapped around your finger.

[chiscaralight]

gamer!perv!mean!neighbor!scara x fem reader nsfw. table sex(woah), thigh riding, unprotected sex,more story building tbh idk i just like writing for this, part 3 soon?🫣 this wasn’t proofread we die like tingyun

part 1 here!

after that night, you literally couldn’t face scaramouche anymore. it was so weird! you found yourself staying in your own home more, barely responding to his texts or calls now. even locking your door when you knew his was home so he wouldn’t come waltzing in like he always does.

but being away from him after you’d gotten so used to his presence was eating away at you from the inside. which is why you’re contemplating wether to knock on his door or just go in like you usually do. it’s been a very distressful five minutes like this, and another noise of distress leaves your mouth. then your face flushes. he definitely would have liked to hear that.

when you finally open the door, the living room is empty. so is the kitchen. but his bedroom door is wide open and he’s facing his setup, headphones on as he’s saying something harsh to whoever he’s in the voice chat with. his victory is easy, accompanied by a few more insults and a sultry laugh. once you’re sure he’s not actively playing, you call out his name,

he turns you you, expression blank. then turns right back to his screen to cue up for the next game. what the hell? you’re stomping over to him like a child and tell him not to ignore you.

“but haven’t you been ignoring me all this time?”

your mouth presses into a thin line. you look like a puppy that’s just been kicked across the street. so you apologize. its quiet, but he definitely heard it. and you’re not hard to read at all. he knows you didn’t do it to spite him in any way, so he waves it off and pulls his chair back. you slide your way into his lap and his free hand finds your waist.

you’re about to speak but the match is about to start. as much as you like being here, you’re trying to get his attention back on you, not watch him yell at other grown men. but you’ll be the first to admit the way he plays is mesmerizing. his fingers clicking at the keys with ease. your can feel your mouth start to water, the memory of-

“stop staring, whore.”

he doesn’t actually care if you stare. he’s stares at you all the time. he’s even staring at you right now, barely concentrating on the game he’s playing as you squirm in his lap. you’re moving way too much for either of your comfort and he tells you to stop squirming around. the bulge under you says otherwise. you’re biting back the gasp you can feel in your throat as you push down harder on him.

it's so wrong, moving around on him like this when he’s talking to other people. but it feels so good when he grinds up into you in response. he pushes you to the side so both legs are around one of his. bounces his thigh once and you wince at the pressure. it's starting to bother you a little more than it should. you're getting frustrated, and he's paying no mind to you and your problem.

in all reality, it's bothering him just as much. he might seem focused on his game, but he's trying to shift his attention from the strain in his pants! because of how you're sitting, you can't feel how hard he is. it's starting to get worse now bc those little noises of yours are getting louder, and he swears he can feel your slick seeping onto the leg of his pants.

now, scaramouche isn't one to throw a game for any reason. but with the way you're whining out his name like that, he's mumbling a sultry fuck me before just closing the game as a whole. he's sliding the keyboard away and throwing his headphones off in the blink of an eye. before you can even tell him to calm down, he's standing up and pressing you down onto the now-empty space of his desk.

"so needy. couldn't even wait a couple of minutes for me to finish my game. you want my attention that bad?"

you purse your lips. why did you want his attention like that? you've never felt like this before. not to mention doing anything like this before. humping his leg like that, whining his name like that. he didn't make you do any of it. that was all you. but before you can think about it anymore, he's pushing himself against the swell of your ass. he's hissing at the contact. he can feel how soaked you are through the thin fabric of your shorts. he's rolling his hips into you now, nails digging into the soft skin of your waist.

"miss me this much, hm?"

he cant see your face, but the red creeping up the back of your neck tells him exactly what he needs to know. you whine as he moves away but the cool air that hits your behind shuts you right back up. you can hear him moving around behind you, and it’s not long before you can feel him pressing his tip against your entrance. he taps your hip, and you nod, letting him know that he can go on.

when he finally pushed into you fully, your head drops right down to the table. you missed this so much, why were you hiding away from him again? he’s bunching up your hair in a fist to draw your head back before he starts moving.

he’ll never explain to you that he actually did miss your presence. his apartment was so quiet without you and it started to irk him. which is why he’d rather show you with how he fucks you. he’s hitting you so deep and hard, you can barely keep up! you can feel your knees buckling under your weight, so he releases your hair to hold your hips up. he doesn’t need to tell you to look at him this time, because once you manage to push yourself up, you’re already craning your head towards him. his smile is wicked, and he’s purring out an atta girl because you’re doing such a good job like the doll you are. your hand is reaching back to grip his forearm to tell him you can feel your orgasm coming. so he stops, but it’s not for the reason you think of.

in any other situation, he would’ve just held out on your orgasm for as long as he wanted. it was your fault after all, but with how long it’s been (it was an excruciatingly painful couple of days), he just tells you to face him.

he’s guiding you to half sit on the table. raising your legs up, he slides right back in with no warning. the moan you let out is so broken, so full of pleasure that he’s speeding up in you. one of your hands grips his shoulder for support so the other can find his hair and drag his head towards yours. the kiss is sloppy, your whimpers trickling into his mouth as he groans into yours. one specific thrust has you almost crying into his mouth as you come around him. he doesn’t stop pounding into you until he reaches his own climax, body stilling against yours.

part 3 here!

[dandylovesturtles]

this is a brain worm that spawned as soon as I read the second injury prompt, bad future timeline, from the prospective of someone outside the family (civilian, fellow resistance fighter, etc), where one of the brothers/april/or either of the casey’s are injured, “Someone get the medic. Get the medic!” and the medic is leo, unknowingly responding to a gravely injured loved one

shit this is a good prompt anon, thanks

credit to @promptsbytaurie for the injury ask meme!

cw: ROTTMNT bad timeline, mentions of blood and injury

———

He finds her leaned against some rubble, the carcasses of four krang hounds strewn around her. They don’t bleed like earth creatures, but the stringy bits of their mutilated bodies are strewn across the ground, and all he can think is, Good.

There is blood, though: her blood, gushing from a set of lacerations in her side. She’s so still that he thinks, for one awful minute, that she’s dead.

Then she shifts and groans and he stumbles quickly to her side, dropping to his knees and putting pressure on the wound, the way he was taught in ROTC a million years ago.

She sucks in a breath, gritting her teeth, and then her eyes open. They rove the battlefield with a dazed confusion, and he wonders if that’s a concussion or just the blood loss. Or both.

“Commander O’Neil,” he says urgently. “We need to move you.”

Her head turns and her searching eyes find his face. She blinks rapidly and squints at his face.

“Who…?”

He smiles, because it’s a kindness he can give her. Kids in school used to make fun of his buck teeth. Weird how an alien invasion makes some things easier. “Jake West. I joined your squad last week.”

“Oh, right.” She grunts and starts to shift. “New guy. Help me up, will you?”

Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think you can walk with that wound.”

“Well, I’m not letting you carry me out of here like some damsel in distress,” she says stubbornly. She slings an arm over his shoulders, gritting her teeth. Her brow is sweating, but she repeats, “Help me up.”

Jake’s only been part of this resistance colony for two weeks, since the tattered remnants of his last group was found by one of their scouting parties, but he already has a lot of respect for O’Neil. She’s a foot shorter than him, but she embodies toughness in the set of her shoulders and her refusal to back down. She’s more fearsome than most of the old military guys Jake’s ever met.

So he helps her up.

She stumbles when she’s on her feet, and he moves in to keep supporting her. The blood drips down her side, and she hisses when she sees it.

“Can’t believe I let those hounds get a piece of me. Dee’s gonna be insufferable.”

Jake wonders who “Dee” is, but doesn’t ask. They have to get out of here - the onslaught may have calmed for the moment, but the krang always come back.

O’Neil can’t move very quickly - Jake finds himself dragging her more than he helps her walk. He suggests carrying her again and she turns it down, though only with a shake of her head this time. They stumble through the rubble in mostly silence, making for the base’s hidden entrance.

Above their heads, there is a noise like a sonic boom, a streak of orange lighting up the sky as it goes past, latching onto an approaching krang drone ship and pulling it out of the sky.

“There goes Mikey,” says O’Neil, without even looking up.

Right; Master Michelangelo, one of the turtles. Jake had felt a little trepidation, when he had first learned this resistance group was full of - and even run by - inhuman mutants.

Then he’d seen what they could do, and that feeling faded fast.

He hasn’t actually met the turtles, only ever seen them in passing. He’s heard from those have been here longer that they’re actually really friendly, or at least all of them but Master Donatello are. More importantly, they put their lives on the line every day for what remains of the people of earth. Jake hasn’t needed to be here more than a few weeks to see that.

They fight like they have everything to lose. Jake respects that.

Master Michelangelo’s cover makes the trip back to the base easier, even as O’Neil flags more and more against his side. By the end he’s carrying her whether she wants it or not, draped half across his back in a fireman’s hold. She’s too out of it now to object. He hopes that doesn’t mean he’s too late. He’s so tired of losing people, even those he hasn’t known long. He likes Commander O’Neil.

He stumbles through the tunnel and into the bright synthetic lights of the entry checkpoint. Most combatants have already returned by now, but there are still people milling around, checking for any signs of krang infection in those coming back.

“Someone get the medic!” he hollers as he enters. “Get the medic!”

There’s a few echoing shouts, and then a door flings open and out walks Master Leonardo himself. He’s wearing a makeshift surgical apron, covered in blood, gloves, and a mask hanging loose around his neck. Jake’s never seen him this close, and now he’s a little taken aback, the way the turtle towers over everyone, moving so lithely despite the bulk of his shell, a commanding but easy air to his presence that seems to demand respect but also offer reassurance to everyone else in the room.

Every time Jake’s seen him from afar, he’s been grinning, laughing, smiling. He isn’t now.

“Don’t yell unless someone’s dying,” he says, eyes scanning the room until his gaze locks with Jake’s. He sees the body slumped across Jake’s back and grimaces. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

He crosses the room and directs Jake toward one of the cots. “Alright, put ‘em on the triage bed and let’s see what we’re working with.”

“Lacerations, sir,” says Jake, as he lowers O’Neil to the cot. “She was conscious when I found her, but she’s lost a lot of blood. Maybe a concussion.”

He trails off as he turns back and sees Master Leonardo’s state. His eyes are locked on O’Neil’s face, like he’s only just recognized who it is on the cot. His mouth hangs slightly open, and there’s an open, vulnerable devastation, a naked fear on his face. One Jake recognizes too well.

Even the mutants, with all their powers and all their strength, can be afraid.

Then, just like that, he pulls it together again for a fleeting glimpse Jake saw Leonardo, but now the Master is back, and barking orders.

“Marta!” he calls, turning his head to address a woman standing at the inspection line. “Prep OR now! And get us ready for a blood transfusion- B positive if we have it.”

“On it,” says Marta, and she’s gone just like that. Jake turns his attention back to Leonardo, who has taken O’Neil’s wrist in his, feeling for a pulse.

He’s quiet for several seconds, then he nods to himself and starts asking questions.

“Any idea what did this?”

“It was hounds, sir. I found her with several dead ones.”

“Sounds about right.” Master Leonardo sounds almost amused, though he doesn’t stop his work. “Any sign of infection?”

“No. She was talking and able to walk most of the way.”

Krang infections take over the host so quickly, they would know by now, with a wound like that.

“Hounds can only infect with their bites, and these look like scratches from claws.” Leonardo comes out again, as he reaches for O’Neil’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Knew you wouldn’t let them get a bite in.”

The way he looks at O’Neil is so tender. They clearly know each other, and not just as fellow resistance commanders. Jake can’t help but wonder how they know each other; how a human and a mutant came to have a bond this close.

He doesn’t have time to ask, of course. Seconds later, O’Neil is being moved to OR, and Leonardo is making to follow them.

“Sir!” Jake calls after him. “Is there anything else I can do to help the commander?”

Master Leonardo barely pauses. “Get yourself checked for infection, and donate blood if you can. Then get some rest. You’ve done enough today.” He glances over his shoulder. “And stop calling me ‘sir’. Makes me feel so old.”

Then he’s gone.

Jake watches the door Leonardo just disappeared through for a second, then moves to do as he was told. He thinks about the way Master Leonardo looked at Commander O’Neil. Like she was part of what he was fighting not to lose.

And he thinks, maybe, that they’re lucky here. That this just might be the resistance that saves the world.

[queenie-avenue]

L-O-V-E! That's what she feels for you!

💌 ⤻THE CHEERLEADER, Katie Williams

—> despite how loud she is on the field, she is always quiet when watching you through your window.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader is a nerd, obsessive behaviour, stalking, stealing, posessive behaviour, bullying, jealousy, slightly suggestive, this is a drabble but I will make fics for her in the future

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Katie Williams, the most popular girl in school. Stereotypically pretty with brunette hair, rich ebony skin, and of course, the cheerleader captain of you college. Regardless of what major you take, everyone has heard of Katie Williams and her sorority parties and cheerleading skills. Not to mention the piling number of admirers she has.

Yet, the only person she admired was you. The Hopeless Nerd who was a fellow student in one of her elective courses.

The first time she saw you, you were unassuming, the type of person she would have talked about behind your back but when you offered to share notes with her; without anything in return other than a thank you, it made her heart flourish like a blossom. You seemed so genuinely happy when you managed to speak to her and offer you help in the course.

She even heard you muttering about how you were glad to make a friend.

Oh... oh you... you may seem unassuming from your sweaters and oversized pants, but you — beautiful you — you were such a vixen; seducing her like that.

That night, she could not sleep at all.

Instead, she lulled over your notes in her one-person dorm, taking in the scent of the paper as she wondered whether the paper was accurate to how your delicate fingers actually smelled like.

She wanted those fingers so badly on her skin.

She had never desired anyone as much as she desired you. From a young age, her looks, her sensuality, and her popularity were all a means to an end — from that time she batted her eyelashes at a professor to round up her grade or flirted with the quarterback to get him to bring his crate of expensive beer to a party — but you were different. So different to the point she wanted to study you.

So she did.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

It started out innocent — as innocent as it could be, really — by just tailing you after classes, even appearing out of nowhere so she could chat with you or maybe even drag you to cheer practice. Oh, your hands were so nice to touch, she didn't care if they were soft or callous, she just liked to touch you. She just loved the feel of your skin against her ebony-coloured hands. She was darker than most people so seeing the contrast made her rather pleased. It was a mark that you were holding her hand. As disgusting as it sounded, she didn't wash her hands till the scent of your hands faded away. If you used lotion, cologne or perfume, she made sure to buy that exact scent just to spritz around her dorm room to mimic the delusion that she was cuddling with you.

More than that, she utterly loved watching you from afar. Sure, talking to you was heaven for her, but seeing you alone, unfiltered, and without any societal pressures on you just made her want to latch onto you. She hoped one day you'd be able to show that part of yourself — unrestrained from social norms — to her. For now, she'll have to watch you from afar and from the camera she had snuck in when she came over to talk about a history essay for your class.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

"[y/n], I remembered you liked this kind of candy, so I bought it for you!" She exclaimed as she clung onto your side.

"Huh?" You responded as you looked down at the candies she placed into your hands. "Did I ever tell you I liked this kind of candy?" You racked your brain, attempting to find the memory where you had shared such an intimate detail with her. After all, the both of you aren't that close, yet, anyway.

She froze on the spot for a moment. She had never been so obsessed with someone before, so she was admittedly a bit sloppy but she quickly recovered. "I see you around campus always snacking on it, I hope you like it!" She explained, twisting her words to make them sound sweet.

All. For. You.

"Thanks." You smile at her, and she swears she might faint. "See you in class?" You offered.

"Ye-yeah, see you in class." Katie had never been much of a fan of history, it was just something she picked out, but now she had something to look forward to.

"Are you coming to the game next week? I'll be cheering as usual, so you need to come! Cheerleaders need their own cheerleaders too, okay?"

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[girlgenius1111]

I want to be here.

part 3!!!

no warnings... i don't think.

You sat on your couch, staring at your phone resting on the coffee table. It was opened to your messages with Ona. You had barely texted in 6 years, only sending happy birthday's back and forth. Today, though, sat a message sent from you.

-Are you okay? I hope nothing we did made you uncomfortable. Not that you had to stay. I just want to make sure that you're okay.

It was marked delivered. There was no response. You'd only sent it an hour ago, and it was possible Ona had just gone home to sleep. But you didn't know when she'd left, how she got home. You were worried. And, as much as you wished you weren't, you were hurt. You felt... icky. Used. You knew Ona, and you knew she wouldn't just fuck you to get back at you, or just for fun. There was a small part of you, however, that felt like it would have made sense for her to do either of those things.

It's not like she could really have still feelings for you, if she ever did. She was Ona. The human embodiment of sunshine. A laugh that brought a smile to anyone who heard it's face. She was perfect, or as close as a person could get. And you were just... you. Nothing special. Nothing compared to her.

You pulled yourself out of the familiar spiral when your phone buzzed. You felt nauseous as you picked your phone up, Ona's caller ID flashing across the screen. Hand shaking slightly, you answered.

"Hello?" You tried to keep your voice level.

"Hey, I'm fine, I'm sorry I left like that. I just needed to get my head on straight." She didn't sound okay, she sounded like she'd been crying.

"No, it's okay. I was just worried, wanted to make sure you were safe." There was so much more you wanted to say, but you stuck to simple sentences, simple statements.

"Yeah, I'm good. I just kind of freaked out. Not because I felt pressured or anything, I just... got scared." You were relieved at that but still, she sounded slightly choked, like every word to you was a challenge. You could hear the murmur of someone else's voice next to her, but you couldn't make out the words.

Suddenly, you needed to get off the phone. You were convinced she regretted it, regretted you, and the rejection that hadn't actually happened yet felt suffocating. "It's fine. I get it. I messed things up, and I shouldn't have let it go this far. I'll see you at practice tomorrow."

You tried to hang up, feeling a lump in your throat as you spoke, but Ona's frantic voice stopped you.

"No! Y/n, no. Please don't run again. I know that's insanely hypocritical considering what I did this morning, but please. Can we please just talk?" She sounded panicked, and you felt too guilty to tell her no. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing tears out of them, wondering how she still had you wrapped around her finger, so many years later.

"Okay. Do you want me to come over?"

"Um. I'm actually at Alexia's. Don't be mad, I told her what happened, I just needed advice. Can I come to you?"

That shouldn't have surprised you. It made sense. Alexia was the biggest pusher of team cohesion. If people had a problem with each other, she made them work it out. She clearly had told Ona to talk to you, to tell you that it was a mistake in person, so there wasn't any tension.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you soon." You hung up before she could respond, leaning back against the couch, trying to pull yourself together. You wiped the tears off your face harder than necessary, and took a couple deep breaths.

Ona was going to come over, and tell you that you guys made a mistake. That was it. There was no other option. And you had to be fine with it, because this was your fault. If you'd handled the situation differently when you were 18, maybe things would be different, but they weren't. There was no conceivable way that Ona would want you.

You must have sat thinking longer than you thought because suddenly the doorbell rang, and you jumped to your feet, masochistically excited to see Ona even if you were sure she was about to break your heart.

----

The 2 of you sat on opposite sides of your couch, silently. She'd been crying, you could tell, and she was wearing clothes that were obviously Alexia's. You ignored how good she looked even in a t-shirt and sweatpants that were too big on her. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few pieces falling free. You were about to speak, to tell her it was alright, you knew what she was here to say, but she beat you to it. Her words surprised you.

"I was hoping maybe you could tell me what happened on my 18th birthday. After I kissed you." Her eyes met yours, and her gaze was curious.

"What makes you think something happened?" You hated how defensive you sounded, but this wasn't where you thought the conversation was heading and you didn't think you wanted to talk about this.

"Well you took off, moved out of your parents house a couple weeks later, and pretty much stopped speaking to me. You wouldn't do that without a reason." Her voice was gentle, as if you were fragile and you were so, so confused. Nothing she was saying made any sense.

"You didn't try to talk to me either, Ona." You said it more bitterly than you intended, and suddenly realized that you were kind of angry. Not really with her, but with yourself. For not allowing yourself to lean on her when everything happened with your parents. You hadn't realized, until that moment, how much you had needed her.

"I'm not proud of that." Your eyes snapped up to hers. "I was hurt, when you ran, but I shouldn't have kissed you. You weren't ready, you weren't comfortable with it yet, it was obvious. I pushed you too far, and I assumed you wanted space, and I was hurt, and then. I don't know. It had been too long."

You were really confused now. Baffled. It sounded like she was telling you that she knew you hadn't left because you didn't want her, but because you weren't ready. This whole time, she had understood you better than you'd really understood yourself. You felt tears welling in your eyes again, and you bit your lip, trying to keep everything in.

Ona scooted closer. "Y/n. Can you tell me what happened when you got home that night?" She knew. Of course she did. She had known your parents well, and they weren't shy about their beliefs. And she'd know that something catastrophic must have happened for you to move out at 18.

You couldn't look at her, staring at the coffee table, watching it get blurrier and blurrier as tears continued to gather. Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you spoke, but it still managed to break on every other word. "I told them. They weren't happy. They told me to leave when I turned 18." You stuck to the facts, the bare minimum.

You felt her grab your hand, but you still couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

"I'm so sorry. Fuck. I'm so sorry for all of it. I shouldn't have kissed you, and I shouldn't have just let you pull yourself away. I knew you felt bad about what happened, and I felt bad about what happened, and I didn't know how to fix it. You needed me, and I wasn't there, and I'm so, so sorry y/n.

The tears were really flowing now. Because how was she sitting her, apologizing. To you. For something that was completely your fault. You looked at her then, your eyes meeting hers. They were filled with apologies, regret. She was crying again, and you couldn't help yourself but reach a hand up and gently wipe a tear away with your thumb.

"Oni, you don't have to be sorry. I shouldn't have left. I loved you and I should have been brave enough to tell you that. And I definitely should have been brave enough to try to fix it after. I was a fucking coward, and you deserved so much better than that, than me."

"No." Her voice was suddenly harsh, and you jumped a little, startled. She softened slightly. "No. You were terrified, I could see it on your face. Please don't talk about yourself like that. You didn't do anything wrong. I always knew you had a tougher time with being gay than I did. You needed more time, and there is nothing wrong with that."

She said it so definitively, like it was a fact, not just what she felt. It was... almost convincing. Taking a deep breath, you tried to let her off the hook, still convinced she didn't want you.

"Well. I'm still sorry. I know I ruined us." She shook her head at that.

"You said you loved me. Past tense." Your eyes dropped again, suddenly interested in the tattoo on her arm. She kept talking, undeterred. "I hope it's not past tense. Because I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now. I never stopped. Alexia told me I needed to get my head out of my ass and just tell you, because she says it's obvious that you love me too."

You looked back up at her in shock for a couple seconds. You sounded broken when you spoke again, lower lip trembling. "I don't understand." And you didn't. You were genuinely perplexed at the idea that Ona loved you.

She moved closer to you, taking your face in between her hands gently, forcing you to meet her eyes. You'd never had someone look at you that way before; like she was consumed with love for you.

"I love you. I want you. I didn't leave because I didn't want you, I left because I was I didn't know how to tell you. I just want to be here, y/n. With you. I want tell you that I love you, that you're a good person, and you deserve good things, until you believe it. If you love me, if you want me. I want to be here." She spoke slowly, making sure you heard every word.

You were still surprised. Still kind of confused. A part of you was starting to believe her though. Her words, the way she looked at you, the gentle feel of her hands cradling your face. It didn't leave much room for doubt. She stared at you, and you realized she was waiting for an answer. As if you would say no.

Surging forward, you pressed your lips against hers, kissing her firmly. You pulled back after a second, and you told her what you'd been dying to say since you were a kid.

"I love you, Ona. So much." You were sobbing at this point, and she sighed in relief at your words, pulling you back into her. You smooshed your face into her neck, holding her tightly. She held you just as tightly. You let yourself feel it all then, and you cried into her for a while. She didn't ever let go, running her hands through your hair and whispering reassurances into your ear.

When you were done crying, she was still there. Wiping away the tears with the sleeve of Alexia's sweatshirt. Ona was looking at you so tenderly, so gently. You leaned forward, pressing another kiss to her lips, just because you could. She smiled against you, pulling you to lay down on top of her. You rested your chin on her chest, looking up at her.

"God we're so stupid." She laughed at that, and the sound made you grin, a bigger smile than you'd felt yourself have in a while.

"The stupidest. If we'd just had one conversation, we could have figured this out years ago." She was smiling down at you, still lightly pushing your hair out of your face. "Thank god Alexia convinced me to come back over here. She was so sure you loved me back, she practically dragged me into the car."

"I wonder how she knew," you mused.

"She says you look at me the way Mapi looks at Ingrid, Marta at Caroline. I knew what she meant, but I never saw it. Not until now." You blushed, realizing that you were staring at her, enamored. "She also said Mapi said something to her about you having feelings for me. I think they've been conspiring together."

Your jaw dropped at that, and you were suddenly sure that they had been. "Oh they absolutely have. We should tell them we aren't getting together just to drive them insane."

"Yes, and we aren't speaking to each other. They'll lose their minds. But first, I have something I need to do." She sat you up, and you looked at her, confused.

"What do you ha-" She cut you off, pulling your face into hers in a decisively dirtier way than you'd been kissing. You met her with equal enthusiasm, wrapping your hands around her body, pulling her sit in your lap. Pulling back after a minute, gasping for air, you responded.

"You're right, I think we're busy for the rest of the morning"

"Maybe the rest of the day"

She pulled you back into her, and you kissed her hungrily, taking your time, because neither of you were running this time.

-----

Hope you enjoyed :) not sure if we've seen the last of these 2, but let me know if there's anything specific you want to see.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I have never had a post-coital headache, but I saw the ask and it made me think...

Orgasming using a vibe hurts my clitoris. It doesn't even touch my clit because it uses airwaves or something to vibrate the air around the clit, not sure. And I don't enjoy vibrators that touch the clit because it just doesn't feel like anything pleasurable? I can't explain it but it doesn't feel good or bad just kinda numbs me.

I'll be getting bottom surgery to nullify my crotch someday, so I guess it doesn't matter much, since I can limp along till then. I'll be tucking the clitoris and the nerve bundle under some skin and tissue and hopefully the padding will help offset the pain (and I could finally use those cute giant wand vibrators with the big buzzy ball), but I'm just asking in case you have ever heard of this and are willing to respond on your blog.

For the record, I don't enjoy using my hands on my clit, doesn't feel good and dysphoric and bothers my asexuality (I don't like touching genitals at all and the wetness feels icky). I grew up using the pressure and squeeze method. Basically ball up a blanket, press it to my pubis, and then do a very prolonged, overpowered kegel and there you go (kinda tiring tho). I didn't even know I had a clit growing up, always assumed it was the urethra because it hurt to touch (turns out it's supposed to be wet, thanks homeschooling for the lack of sex ed).

So I use the vibrator but I hate the vibrator. The moments before the orgasm is just so painful. And I have to immediately turn it off because the continued vibration causes even more pain and makes my muscles clench up in response which makes it very difficult to pull the toy away from my body. When using it with my partner I have to "tap out" and she'll pull it away for me.

I low-key believe the multiple orgasms for clit+pussy based anatomy is a myth because how could it possibly feel good to touch there once the orgasm has happened? Sometimes I can't close my legs completely for minutes. That shit is so sensitive and like swollen? Throbbing? Why?!?

I theoretically like orgasms. I like the quiet feeling after them. But getting there sucks, masturbating is unpleasant (apparently normal people enjoy the whole process, I'm just there for the afterglow), esp when it's a maintenance orgasm and I'm not horny or physically aroused (sometimes I just think that I need to orgasm without really wanting to if that makes sense, weird ace shit).

This ask is longer than I hoped it would be, but there's lots of important context and I honestly don't know why my body is like this, Google is useless (esp nowadays).

Okay there’s a ton to touch on here, but first: vibes are not one size fits all. Everyone’s body’s are different and motors come in different powers and pulses. The “cute” massage wand types are actually some of my least favorite because they just go cataclysmic in power which is way too much for 90% of clits. They just have good marketing.

If possible, you can look for a gentler vibe. Jimmy Jane Form 2 has a pulse setting that’s reallyyyyy light, and puts vibrations on either side of the clit instead of directly on it. But there’s a lot of shapes and sizes that could be gentler than what you’re using now.

If you’re unsure check out a store and try the vibe on the tip of your nose. This is pretty close to how sensitive your clit is and can give you a frame of reference for how much power you actually want. Generally lower rumbles are more expensive but also more pleasant so that’s a cost/benefit you can run.

The other aspect of this is that clitoral tissue is actually massive. There’s a lot of stuff going on under the hood, so to speak.

Clitoral nerves get everywhere! That’s the whole thing with G-spots- you’re still hypothetically applying pressure to nerve endings associated with the clit. I’ve heard anecdotally that they can end up in the anus too but I couldn’t find a source to verify that.

The takeaway from how sprawling all those nerves are is that there’s probably places you might like sensation better that directly on the clit. Most clit havers in my experience found that pretty overwhelming, myself included.

If your main business with your junk has been businesslike and unpleasant to touch it makes sense not messing with it much. If your partner is a person you trust to explore with you can just have them feel around and caress and see if other areas feel stimulating without being as overwhelming.

As for getting so throbby and uncomfortable afterward, and multiple orgasms: In my experience and anecdotally this depends how you get there. When you come fast and hard your body reacts differently than when you edge into an orgasm. You can try changing up your routine to see if this makes a difference for you.

Some people can never do multiple orgasms, it’s rare for me but does happen on occasion, so it’s worth noting that smut has a lot to answer for in terms of how normal they make that. If you can’t get off more than once it is what it is. It’s not a myth but it’s not everyone’s reality.

I hope this was helpful, good luck and as you say, eventually after surgery this will get easier for you!

[ultrainstinctslasher]

Ik this is super clichè, but RZ!Michael with nurse reader. Like he gradually starts to become obsessed with you, and you don’t even know what to do. Could be fluff, angst or smut, whatever you’re comfortable with

Yesssss I love it. I hope you like it my friend <3

Probably gonna make a part 2 tho

RZ!Michael Myers with Nurse!Obsession 

Warnings: slight violence

______________________________________________________________

Michael's adoration for you was nothing like love at first sight. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. When he saw you walk into his room (cell) next to Dr. Loomis, wearing the same uniform as all the other nurses, all he felt was animosity towards you.

After all, all of his old nurses would either be scared of him, try to start something sexual, or just didn't do anything at all. At this point, he expects it.

But you didn't hold a look of disgust, lust or fear when you introduced yourself to him. Rather, a look of kindness adorned your face. A look Michael practically never got.

But you smiling at him doesn't mean anything. It wasn't going to make him magically trust you. You could just be faking it after all.

He never reacted when you talked, never looked or acknowledged you. When you gave him something, like food, he would wait until you would leave the room so he would eat.

However, the longer you took care of him, the more he lowered his guard down around you.

He started to look at you when you were talking, instead of pretending you weren't there. That was the first sign of him opening up.

Then, he started responding to you with small nods, grunts and huffs. To anyone, that wouldn't mean much, but this is Michael we're talking about, he hadn't let out a sound in 15 years.

As soon as Dr. Loomis caught on to how Michael was responding to you, he urged you to push him to use actual words, to start talking.

Of course, you were entirely against that. If Michael wanted to talk, he would. And you were not about to make the giant feel pressured.

Contradicting to what everyone thought, you didn't think that Michael was a bad person. All the talk about him being "evil" or having "the devils' eyes" seemed like bullshit to you. He was just a man who was misunderstood. A man who needed guidance. And proper therapy. (Instead of an underqualified piece of shi-)

But while you were thinking such innocent thoughts, the man who you call misunderstood had begun to feel something new.

In the beginning, he would look forward for when you came to him. If you were even a minute late, he would feel a twisting feeling in his stomach, thinking that you had left, had become scared. Scared of him. But the feeling would vanish the instant he heard your footsteps down the hall.

He would pay attention to every little thing about you. Are those new pairs of shoes? Did you get your nails done? Tried a new type of makeup? Mentioned your favorite food? Looked tired? Someone was being rude to you? What your favorite color is? He catches it all, and makes sure to never forget it

Then, it would get a bit more severe. He wouldn't eat unless you were the one giving him the food. If anyone tried to give him medicine or sedate him that wasn't you, well now they have only one eye and a couple broken limbs.

Soon after that, Michael's favoritism for you had become a full-blown obsession. Everything you do was engraved into his mind. People who talked badly about you were dead the next day. All his thoughts surrounded you.

He couldn't explain why, or how, but he needed you to be with him. He felt something that could only be described as bliss when he was with you, and he never wanted it to end.

But with every positive, there's a negative. He would get a gut-wrenching feeling when you weren't there. Become more impatient than ever.

But the most surprising thing was, the feared by all Boogeyman was afraid of something. He was afraid that you would leave him, or get scared of him, and he hated that.

So, he started making you gifts. Being stuck in a single room kind of restricts your ability to gift someone, but Michael already knew what to gift you.

You would always compliment his masks, so why not make you one? So, when you came into the room and sat down next to him, and handed you a careful made mask, it was a surprise.

The mask was nothing like the ones he usually makes. This one was colorful and bright, contradicting his dull and almost creepy masks that adorn the walls. It was almost adorable the way he delicately holds the mask in his calloused hands.

The gift had made you feel butterflys in your stomach. Not only had Michael opened up to you, but he was now also gifting you. You didn't know how to feel about this. You were his nurse after all.

"Thank you, Michael. It looks gorgeous."

Michael didn't think he would ever feel happy. But now, with you thanking him for something he made for you, he felt good. Really good.

And you hadn't missed the glint of pride in his eyes behind the mask

______________________________________________________________

[spiderfunkz]

hi!

okokokok, what about the reader completely friend-zoning peter.

like peter is completely infatuated with nad tells her that he really likes her, but the reader's like "aww i like you a lot too! your like a brother to me"

basically the reader is oblivious to the fact that peter parker has a massive crush on them. :)

no pressure obviously but i just think that would be rly cute,

luv ya!

-victoria

✧.* STUCK BY THE GLUE.

— summary : peter was confessing his love to you, though you didn't quite get the message.

— word count : 0,6k

— warnings : all fluff, oblivious!reader, teasing, friends to lovers, cheesy confessions, a kiss, happy ending because i'm soooooooo nice😝😝😛😛😛

a/n : i did gn!reader btw i hope thats ok!!!! some of the confession stuff are inspired by beabadoobee lyrics.

"what about.. number 13?" you ask.

you and peter have just finished a long week of tests. which means you now have to bombard peter with thousands of questions about his answers.

"uh, i answered b. i think." he replies, unpacking the books from his bag.

you blink, you were pretty sure you answered d. and knowing peter answered b, you were pretty sure you got that one wrong.

"do you think mr. anderson will still give me a point? because a 'd' is basically a 'b' but backwards." you explain.

"maybe, mr. anderson will probably give you a pity point." he replies, still unpacking the books from his bag. you were sitting on the edge of his bed, "i don't think mr. anderson is capable of feeling pity for anyone."

"don't think about it too much. i think you did good on your tests. i mean, you did have the best tutor." he smiles — "oh yeah! how could i forget, jimmy neutron is my tutor."

"okay. rude." he puts his hand on his chest, letting out a dramatic gasp. "what? you have brown hair, you make weird gadgets, and you're abnormally smart." you shrug.

"that's bullying."

"is calling people smart bullying now?"

"when you say it, yes. you're lucky i love you." he sits next to you.

you smile at the L word. though you were 100% sure he meant it platonically. that's what friends do, right?

"you're not gonna say it back?" he pouts.

you laugh, jokingly. but peter didn't.

"oh don't take it to heart, pete."

"can i tell you something?" his heart was racing, "yeah, of course. are you okay?" he seemed tense all of the sudden.

"there's no other way of saying this really. but i like you. a lot." he pauses, "i have never known someone quite like you. you're so pretty it actually hurts." he stutters. a lot.

"i'm having trouble finding the words for this, yet the words to describe you aren't so hard to find. you're like a fresh breath of air. like a shot of espresso. like a cold wind on a hot summer day. you're like a ribbon, laced around a braid." he rambles, "and i really, really like you."

you can't even process whatever he just said. you're not sure how to respond to any of that.

but for whatever reason, your brain can only come up with one response.

"aw, peter. i like you a lot too!

you're like a brother to me."

and with that peter's face looked like a ghost. he just poured his entire heart only for you to completely friend-zone him.

"is something wrong?" you ask.

"you did not just pull that card on me."

"what card?"

peter sighs, covering his face with his hand in utter embarrassment.

"oh." you realize. "let's just forget everything i just said. anyways, what did you get for number 16?" peter changes the topic.

"peter-"

"or maybe number 15? i heard gwen say that was the hardest question."

"peter!"

"or number 3? have you asked me about number 3 yet? i can explain number 3 to you."

he won't listen, so you shut him up,

by kissing him.

now, you aren't doing this because you feel bad. but you truly do have feelings for peter. you don't know why it took peter to finally confess to you for you to realize. but you do. you really do.

"now can you please just listen."

peter's cheeks were bright red, he nodded.

"i really like you too peter and gosh, i wish i realized sooner." you were struggling to find the right words to continue, just like peter did a few minutes ago.

"i like you. i like your messy brown hair, i like your weird gadgets and when you ramble about them, i like how caring you are and how patient you are all the time with me."

"and i love you too."

[triple-starsss]

(Hallo! This is meerly a fun idea/hc/concept, please dont feel pressured to respond or accept this!) 

Had been looking back at your potential inclusion of elise in this au, (makes me happy to see her recognized in any au at all haha) and its been conjuring up in my mind of how she would maybe meet triple S. I cant remember if they go anywhere outside of their home city to do performances but if they did, i could imagine some alibeit cliche thing where whilst exploring the city they accidentally get lost and dont have much time to get to their performance. And while trying to rush to the destination or bicker about what to do, she happens to spot them; and recognize them from well; media popularity and them being a popular band and so forth.

Since you mentioned she’d be on the richer side she maybe could have a cab or limo with her as her father wants her to get around “safetly” or something. She greets herself to them and asks them if she could offer them a ride to their performance (as she had heard about it online)? And id imagine they’d maybe take it as a like “we dont have any other option and she looks nice” thing. So they get on, sonic and elise chat yada yada and they make it to their destination right on time to get prepared for their concert- or performance. 

All 3 of em thank her obviously and she ends up staying to watch in the crowd as they let her in with them for free. (Do as you want to with this, could be a one time thing or whtev. as i said please dont feel pressured to respond! Sorry for the long text!)

THIS IS SO GOOD ACTUALLY.

I'm pretty set on Elise being an idol in this au (her dad is still an owner of a major record company so she's got direct links!!) so this is honestly such a fun way for Triple S to meet her rather than just. Ivo managed to get them a collab or something yk.

WOULD DEFINITELY HAPPEN EARLIER ON IN THE AU THOUGH! considering how they're just. strolling around this city without getting swarmed by fans/ journalists. also the fact that Ivo trusts them enough to just venture out without watching them like a hawk ABJDHF!

really love the idea of Silver recognising Elise and gushing over her music during the drive (HE'S A BIG FAN OF HER SINGING ABJDHF, i think Elise being an inspiration for Silver would be super cute). since they're still pretty new to this whole fame thing, can imagine them struggling to Act Normal around the people they look up to BAJDHF not used to meeting celebrities so often just yet!!

ALSO LOVE HER STICKING AROUND TO WATCH THEM PERFORM.

like this is their first time in this specific venue so she guides them through it and watches them from backstage, (if she was out in the crowd SHE'D get swarmed ABJDHF).

BUT AGRRHFHD YEAH THIS WOULD BE SUCH A FUN START TO THEIR FRIENDSHIP. I AM 100% TAKING PARTS OF THIS THANK YOU.

[mishy-mashy]

Do you think Banjo is the type of person who hides his problems behind a clown mask?

The guy acts like a bit of comedy relief, but I think he's the kind of person to face his problems head-on. I don't think he uses humor as a coping mechanism. We never see him do that for himself. He's just a loud guy

Look at how he first appears to Midoriya

He's loud, and it steals Midoriya's attention. But he's calling him out on why he's messing up

But as a character's debut, the first things he does are:

Call out Midoriya for trying to do things alone, when Yoichi's first message to him was that he wasn't

Tell him that if he can compose himself, things typically work out

Understands Midoriya's side of things, and tells him he knows (like lacking a mouth)

And once he says those two previous things, he exhales, and his eyes show their pupils properly

The parting advice he gives Midoriya is a reiteration of the second point: It's okay to be mad. What's important is controlling your heart.

Blackwhip is a Quirk that responds to the holder's emotions. Like other Quirks, but Blackwhip goes out of control when the user isn't able to get a grip on themselves

Banjo used his Quirk effectively. He'd have to live that advice to pass it on to Midoriya, back when Abilities were starting to become normal, but Japan was still wrecked. And we know that Quirks are influenced by, and influence, the holder's personality.

Banjo would have to be able to be honest with himself, understand his emotions, and has the maturity to say it's okay to be mad. Just control it.

When he said that for the first time, it actually surprised me. Everyone in fiction or reality says "Don't be mad", but a character on his debut and says it's okay to be that. I never heard anyone say that controlling your emotions and outputting them in a healthy manner is what matters. People just say not to he negative or annoying, because it's inconvenient; but Banjo went past that.

And when he fades, he tells Midoriya he's got this. He reminds him that they're all behind him.

Whenever he speaks, he doesn't make the receiver feel bad, or speak down to them. He understands them, and gives the next step in a familiar, friendly way.

On his debut, he told Midoriya to control his heart, and to remember he wasn't alone. Here, he tells him he should try understanding their Quirks better.

He's actually got a mature way of seeing things. He's an adult, and being the holder between Shinomori and En, he wouldn't be able to deal with either of them if he wasn't mature about himself. Shinomori probably wouldn't choose someone who can't be honest with himself upfront, after spending almost half his life for OFA. And En is young, prone to panic, and a guy who acts like his problems aren't there or funny wouldn't help that.

I can visualize Banjo sitting at a small fire with Shinomori, having an honest, calm talk about life (until Shinomori says the wrong thing and Banjo yells something about it). But not Banjo trying to push his problems down with a hearty laugh, and Shinomori being okay with that.

When Midoriya used his Quirk for the first time, Banjo did get loud at the start, but he did lecture him in a way that was kinda teacher-mentor-ish.

I actually like the way Banjo talks about his observances. He's got the demeanor of a good teacher, he's clear, and direct. He's light-hearted about serious things, but doesn't diminish them. He just approaches it in a way that you aren't feeling the pressure, and can feel like it's possible.

He seems to have this habit of being loud to get people's attention, and simmers down once he has it. He's never indirect or leaving the addressed to figure out the answer on their own, he gives it outright.

When Midoriya used Blackwhip for the first time, Banjo was all "You got it all wrong!" and then explained things. Since he felt himself fading, he could've been talking louder to compensate himself past the daze he felt. To make sure he was talking, heard, and to keep himself awake

When the first Three made the void silent because Kudo and Bruce didn't want to help, Banjo broke it with what Midoriya should do next

When Shinomori got yoinked, the first thing Banjo did was report it in a panic to Midoriya. This just tells Midoriya he really has to be careful now, because OFA can really be stolen. Even if Banjo just panics and doesn't say that aloud

Every time Banjo is facing some kind of problem, he doesn't let others panic too hard. He's not pressuring about problems, and steps back to let Midoriya figure things out.

When Midoriya was running himself into the ground, Banjo was one of the vestiges that didn't show up to tell him to rest. He already understood how Midoriya saw things, and was doing them his own way

Rather than trying to be a clown, I think Banjo is just a friendly person. He's honest with others and with himself, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to utilize Blackwhip right, or be the holder between a sagey hermit and young, scared adult.

[dathen]

The abandonment of the rod by Griffin, suggests that in the emotional excitement of the affair, the purpose for which he took it—if he had a purpose—was abandoned. He was certainly an intensely egotistical and unfeeling man, but the sight of his victim, his first victim, bloody and pitiful at his feet, may have released some long pent fountain of remorse which for a time may have flooded whatever scheme of action he had contrived.

After the murder of Mr. Wicksteed, he would seem to have struck across the country towards the downland. There is a story of a voice heard about sunset by a couple of men in a field near Fern Bottom. It was wailing and laughing, sobbing and groaning, and ever and again it shouted.

RATTLES THE BARS OF MY CAGE

THIS IS WHY THIS BOOK ATE MY BRAIN and why I’ve latched onto the dreadful gremlin scientist who now has actual blood on his hands

There’s a lot of villain origin stories of a beleaguered person put under increasing pressure until they snap and commit some horrible deed, and it is like taking the cap off of their evilness that was there the whole time. Or in more nuanced stories, you have things like Frankenstein’s Creature strangling a child to death without fully intending to, but then embracing that feeling of violence and immediately framing a woman to be hanged for the crime.

Griffin responds by throwing away his only defense and spending hours wailing and sobbing alone.

He talked such a big game about the Terror he’ll inflict, how since the only thing he’s good at is killing people, then killing he must do. But when it comes down to it the first time he actually takes a life—in what was most likely self-defense while being badly beaten—it breaks him. The repetition of “his victim, his first victim,” reminds us that the image of this cold and calculating serial killer is a fabrication of both the people and Griffin’s own mind, and a revelation that he didn’t want to kill, only to survive.

(Oddly enough, the first life he actually takes doesn’t result in any escalation, because the hunt is already as extreme as they can make it. His life is already forfeit in advance, the crime a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not responding to a message about an ex-classmate's family member dying?

CW: The word suicide is mentioned, but no actual suicide occurs, is attempted, or at risk. I would not say it if it were not important, rest assured.

I feel horribly guilty for this, and if I am the asshole there's not really any way I can fix it, because it's been over ten years. I have no way to contact this person anymore, and I was only about ten when it happened. There is a lot of context about how she treated me required to get how this could happen in the first place.

There was this girl in my class who sometimes would join in with my bullies on being cruel to me, but sometimes was nice, it depended on how badly other people were pressuring her, and if she knew I'd find out she participated or not. I did not consider her my friend as she was only occasionally kind to me, but I went to her house once. She had invited me, and I'd only been invited to someone's house once before this, plus I had been told it was going to be a party with many people. I thought I could fade into the background, but no one else showed up (I heard rumors it was because they learned I was going, but I don't know if that's true or not.) It was a very nerve-wracking experience, and she later confessed to me that she knowingly served me food that had come in contact with something that could make me super sick without telling or warning me. (It did give me a stomach ache, but I was lucky and it wasn't too bad. It could've been a lot worse, and previous reactions had been.) I said I forgave her for that. She then confessed to playing a twisted game with the others on a day where I was out sick. In this game, they hid in the school bathroom with a flickering light. They pretended that bathroom was haunted by my ghost, and that I wasn't just out sick, I was dead- they even went so far as to pretend that they had bullied me into killing myself and that I was making the lights flicker because my ghost was going to hurt them, and take revenge on them. It was the most horrifying thing I think I've ever learned was said behind my back, especially when I never talked about self harm, suicide, or anything of that nature- they had made that all up for the sake of a game.

At that point, I never talked to her willingly again because I was just really tired of having her come into my space, insist we were friends, and then do something mean when I wasn't around. I'd get visibly tense when she was nearby, I would only nod or shake my head when she talked to me, just little things to remain civil and no shows of trust or affection.

Then, a couple of months after I'd left that school, she texts me for the second time ever, and first time in like a year, saying her older brother died. I was really stressed out that day, I don't remember by what, though. I just remember not knowing what to say, and deleting the entire app she contacted me on in a panic since I didn't hadn't used it for months anyways.

I feel like I led her on into thinking we were close by going to her house that once, and I know now I should've just bit down the stress and comforted her... but as soon as I made that choice in my panic, I couldn't fix it- there wasn't any way to undo it and I especially can't fix it now, so many years later. I guess posting this is more a confessional than anything. I sincerely hope all her friends were kind to her and comforted her and that my choice didn't affect her too badly.

What are these acronyms?

[raidtheradio]

Hard Morning

Summary: You help Arthur through a particularly hard morning.

Notes: I just wanted to write something short and simple hehe, I have this other series I really gotta work on I posted like one chapter then disappeared for a month. Anyway, I haven't edited this since it's midnight and I'm high I might edit it later though who knows.

Read it on AO3!

Arthur Morgan is dying, his sickly dry heaving reminds you every day. ‘Black Lung’ Micah calls him. The cruel nickname creates a devastating image in your head when you hear him heave.

He struggles through daily life, he helps you girls with camp chores that are normally left to the women and Mr. Pearson. Karen is often too drunk to walk, and Abigail struggles worrying about her husband in prison. With two people out of condition, the workload had been overwhelming for you and your partners in crime. You tell Arthur every day not to worry, that he should just rest and focus on getting better. He never listens, he’s always up. Chopping wood, feeding horses, repairing travel-worn carriages. Between the scores that Dutch always assigns him to, he somehow manages to bring home dinner for the camp. It’s not always enough, but it keeps you and the gang going. You remember a time when you woke up before the rest of your little family. You were still in your undergarments, and working to restart the fire so you could make a large pot of coffee. That was when you heard the too familiar sound of dry heaving. Micah's nickname echoed in your head as you rushed to the source. Arthur was sitting on the log used to chop wood, the axe in his hand was forgotten and a half-chopped log was on its side in the grass. You weren’t good with people, quiet and reserved. Your flawed social skills became prominent when you saw your dear friend struggle with something as simple as breathing. You stood there and stared, slack-jawed. This man could survive on a can of beans for a whole day, you’ve seen him tear through drunken men with his bare knuckles.  A whole tank reduced to a man. You could practically see his black lungs struggle to bring oxygen to his body. With every heave, you could hear the fluid filling his chest. You had no words for the dying man, so you placed your hand on his back. You began with light circular motions, not wanting to take his concentration away from breathing. When he finally began to stabilize you increased pressure. Your stomach was filled with cement, your brows upturned. 

“I’m sorry.” He heaves, and your chest begins to hurt as well. He shouldn’t feel the need to hide his pain the way he does. He was always around to lend people a shoulder to cry on. 

“Take your time friend.” You respond. He draws in air through his nose, and exhales through his mouth. He’d finally caught his breath, you pulled your hand away as he began to stand.

“That was bad.” Stupid, but you had nothing else to say. 

“I’m ok, thank you.” He bends down to grab the axe and log. You grab his hand, he stops and looks at you.

“There’s no need Mr. Morgan, there's plenty of wood already.” You start to lead him, and like a poorly trained horse he hesitantly follows. You set him down on a nearby chair and he watches as you start the fire. You’ve done this many times before, being the early bird in the camp. You shove scraps of dead leaves and twigs in the center of the little tiipii and before you could even ask, Arthur holds his lighter out to you. You didn’t know how he managed to get his hands on such a nice one, gold with antler engravings, but you didn’t  ask as he didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. Soon the fire was blazing, and coffee was brewed. You settled yourself beside him and handed him his own cup. He took it, his large hands looking out of place as he grips the small handle. You take a sip and look out to the forest. 

“Everythings just gone to shit.” Arthur is never really one to complain. Actually that’s a lie. You remember giggling many times when you’d catch him swearing under his breath over something stupid Sean did. Aw, Sean. You missed the poor bastard.

“You’re right.” You look him in the eye. He looked as if he’s aged ten years in the past two weeks. His once bright blue eyes faded, his mouth downturned into a heartbreaking frown. “But we have coffee, and this nice view.” You gesture to the woods around you both, and you thank God for his beautiful work. Even if his world is cruel, he sure knew how to landscape. Arthur doesn’t even chuckle, his mouth cemented into his frown. You take his hand and rub your thumb over his bruised knuckles. You have nothing else to say, and neither does he. He sips his coffee while the first sounds of life come from Dutch's tent. Well, let the day begin.

[imtrashraccoon]

Do you have any romantic headcanons or headcanons in general for dirk, maul and reven? Dovovan can be added into the mix too! Just curious on those three since we've only seen how they interact with somebody who they are fighting against, being soulmates with their boss and joining the team. :o so curious on how they would do with somebody they fall for.

Oh boy, oh boy, do I?! So, I'm actually gonna just spitball some general headcanons as well because I love these guys and need to write for them!

The Dark Fortress: Headcanons

Dirk

- He's a really crass kind of person. You've never heard so many different ways to curse before meeting him and most of the time, you have no idea what half of what he says even means. He's also loud, obnoxious, and endlessly flirtatious towards anyone remotely attractive in his eyes. No one is safe, even those in commited relationships, but his advances aren't ever serious. Well, except for when they are.

- He struggles to feel much of anything most days. Which is why he acts the way he does most of the time. He needs stimulation. He needs to stay busy. He needs to interact with people or he'll go crazy. Depending what phase his soul is at the moment also impacts how he responds to people. He doesn't really like talking about his soul though.

- Despite what you might think, and what he insists, he's not from high society. He had very simple beginnings, think a farmer or something to do with physical labour, but he never talks about his childhood. If it ever comes up, he gets deathly quiet and withdrawn. You get the sense that whatever actually happened to him was pretty bad if the guy who never shuts up suddenly refuses to talk.

- He doesn't really talk about anything before he joined up with the band of brigands actually. He likes to boast about all the heists he took part in and how much he made from them. He doesn't talk about what happened to cause him to snap completely and kill the people he used to call brothers, but considering how much he values loyalty, you suspect it's somehow related.

- He's a huge flirt but somewhat surprisingly, he won't pressure you into anything that you aren't comfortable with. If you clearly tell him to stop, he will, no questions asked. He mostly flirts for his own amusement since he finds other people's reactions incredibly funny. He does get up to his own escapades whenever the opportunity presents itself, which isn't as often anymore now that he works for Donovan.

- As for how he'd react towards something more long term? You'd think a guy with a penchant for messing around and flirting with anything that breaths might be a poor choice in a partner. His unyielding loyalty means that he'll be there for you through anything and everything, providing you do the same for him. He's your ride or die, but woe to anyone foolish enough to betray his loyalty.

- With Dirk as a partner, you will never be bored as he won't allow it. He struggles with any type of emotion that isn't passion or violence, but once you become close with him, you'll begin to see an entirely different person.

- Dirk is oddly sweet when he's alone with you. He loves snuggling, usually he'll insist on being the big spoon, and will often find excuses to stay in bed with you. He's a physical touch kind of person already, generally giving it, but he would love it if you did the same for him.

- He's really good at giving compliments and if you're feeling down, he's quick to try and cheer you up. You're his rock and if you're sad, he's gonna be sad and neither of you want to see that.

- He's still a really dangerous person though, even with all his obnoxiousness and flirting. No matter how long you're in a relationship, he's still scared of accidentally hurting you. Oddly enough, being around you does calm him down if he's worked up, so unless he's in an actually dangerous state of mind, you might get shoved into the same room as him if any of the others need him to calm down quickly.

- While he enjoys killing people for the chance to get more EXP, Dirk has a couple of more "normal" hobbies. He likes to "collect" weapons and cool looking armour, even if he won't actually use most of them. He just likes having dangerous and shiny things. He also likes animals, especially cats, but most animals don't do well around the corruption from the dark fortress. If you somehow find him a pet that can survive, you'll be his best friend for a while.

- He knows how to properly use most types of weapons, even some obscure ones, but he prefers a dagger since it's easier to sneak into places he's not supposed to have weapons. He's totally the type to have multiple knives hidden on his person at all times, sometimes even while sleeping.

Maul

- If Dirk is the loudest and most energetic, Maul is the quietest and generally the calmest. He speaks pretty much only when spoken to and when the question can't be answered with a simple yes or no. Even then, he keeps his answers brief and moves on to whatever he was already doing before being interrupted. This changes when he realizes that he likes you though.

- Maul generally keeps to himself when Donovan doesn't have need of him. He's basically a brick wall most of the time anyways, but he does show some emotions at times. This is mostly the occasional grin, raising a bonebrow, or frowning if he's annoyed. It's rare for him to emote since he doesn't want people to know what he's thinking, but occasionally he'll catch himself reacting to something genuinely funny or express some of his frustrations.

- Maul mostly spends his free time doing chores like sharpening his greataxe, maintaining his gear and armour, or working on his hobbies. He enjoys cooking, especially baking, and often is the one in charge of meals. Except for maybe Donovan, who is at least competent in the kitchen, he's the only one who can cook well. Maul also likes taking care of animals or gardening, although it's harder to do either of those now that he's staying in the dark fortress.

- He doesn't talk about himself, at all. If you can somehow start a conversation with him, he'll talk about literally anything else but his past or the things he's done. Just be patient, as his idea of a conversation is letting you do the bulk of the talking while he listens, usually while doing something else, and occasionally answering with grunts or one word answers.

- The thing is, while Dirk is immediately up front if he likes you, Maul isn't really, at least not to any outside observers. He's just doing normal things that anyone would do for others, right? He'll randomly make foods you like, bring you something to drink or eat if you've been busy for a while, and come see you just to "hang out". To the others, it's very, very obvious that he likes you as he pretty much ignores them most of the time, but you might have a more difficult time figuring it out.

- He even starts to engage with you about topics he's knowledgeable on. He knows exactly how to sharpen any weapon or tool and while he may not have as much martial knowledge as Reven, he could probably still teach you a thing or two about throwing your weight around in battle. He doesn't do sneaky or small weapons though so if you want tips, you're fresh out of luck with him.

- He'd love it if you joined in on whatever he's working on. Making food for others is one of his ways of showing he cares, so to do it with a partner is a great way to bond with him. You'll get bonus points if you have experience cooking/baking already, especially if you've memorized recipes or have made up some of your own.

- Maybe when you get really close, he might let you in on his backstory, although it'll take a while to put together all the pieces since he isn't gonna sit you down and explain everything at once. Instead you'll get little comments here and there randomly like how he learned to get meat to stretch as far as possible or how much he despises tyrants. He definitely didn't come from wealth but it's hard to tell if he had a simple upbringing like Dirk or if he was enlisted into military service at a young age. He doesn't care how anyone perceives him anymore but he struggles with believing that anyone could find him anything but scary.

- His head injury has impacted his memory and changed a lot about how he processes emotions and approaches situations. He sometimes takes a bit to respond to questions but at least combat still comes as naturally to him as breathing does. He's much more patient as a result and takes his time doing tasks so they're done correctly the first time.

- He's a very doting lover. All he wants is to have a calm, relaxed life without having to fight for survival each day. If he had his way, you wouldn't have to lift a finger for anything. Things like breakfast in bed and cuddles in the evening by a fireplace are a regular occurrence. He also loves physical touch, both giving and especially receiving, but his larger size makes it a bit difficult for him to be the small spoon while cuddling.

- He's also majorly protective, almost like a guard dog. If he thinks someone's bothering you, he'll come up to you, wrap his arms around you, and frown at them. To you, he doesn't look that scary, but to anyone else outside the dark fortress, he's downright terrifying. He's not above growling at people if they don't get the message but unless you're in an actually dangerous situation, he's more likely to pick you up and leave than actually start a fight. Not that it would be much of a fight for him, but he doesn't enjoy needlessly killing people, especially in front of you.

- He experiences nightmares and zoning out fairly often. He's been through a lot before joining Donovan, including a coup that overthrew the monarchy which resulted in a famine and caused many citizens to suffer. He stood by as people starved and did nothing but follow orders like a good soldier should. It took his own brother attempting to stand up to the tyrannical general for him to act. In the resulting conflict, he was mortally injured although he survived. The head injury left him with a memory gap so that he isn't certain who walked away from the fight or who was dusted. He doesn't even know if his brother made it out or not.

Reven

- Reven is somewhere in the middle, although he tends to be a bit more quiet rather than chatty like Dirk. He generally likes to sit back and observe the situation before injecting himself. He's a schemer by nature and thanks to his incredible observation skills, he often notices details that others won't. If he's approaching you to talk before you have a chance to approach him, it's likely because he thinks he can get something from you.

- He's prone to random outbursts of laughter, especially if the room has been quiet for a while. If asked what's so funny, he usually attempts to brush the question off by claiming that you wouldn't get it. He's aware that it probably makes him look insane but it's the truth.

- He won't readily admit it but he hears the voice of his dead brother constantly as he's haunted by him. It's unclear if it's actually his brother's soul or just a figment of his insanity, but Reven fully believes that he literally has his brother haunting him. While his brother normally has murderous tendencies, if that behaviour isn't directed towards you, then Reven is gonna pay extra close attention.

- You catch him staring a lot, like a lot, a lot. His face is almost always hidden by his hood but you can usually still see his eyelights and feel the intensity of his gaze. Even when you catch a glimpse of his face, it's like he's wearing a mask. His expression rarely changes but when it does, he tends to grin with unknown glee or glare at whatever has irritated him in the moment.

- It often takes a lot to make Reven actually angry, but when something tips him over the edge, you better hope there's nothing particularly valuable or fragile nearby. He wouldn't dream of actually hurting you but there isn't any guarantee that you won't get caught in the crossfire. Most of the time, Dirk is the target of his anger but he likes to purposely rile Reven up when he's bored, which is fairly often.

- It's true that Reven used to be a paladin before snapping. He and his brother were raised in a dusty backwater kingdom that has since collapsed but when they were young, they decided to join a holy order to defend those who couldn't defend themselves. They were brave and noble paladins until disaster struck of course.

- Reven doesn't talk about what actually caused him to snap. It's possible that he was responsible for his brother's death and doesn't know it, or he is very much aware and just refuses to even think about it. Either way, he abandoned the order after this and eventually his insanity led him to become the serial killer responsible for the Crimson Stabbings. His obsessive nature led him to never actually be caught, although he was spotted often enough to become known for his red cuirass.

- He occasionally gets the itch for more EXP and will look for opportunities to kill again, for this reason he isn't usually left alone on stealth missions. He's good at what he does though and with the proper motivation, will complete any mission perfectly without anyone even knowing he was there.

- His obsessive nature can lead to concerning situations, especially if you haven't figured out that he likes you yet. You'll start receiving gifts from an unknown admirer that are very obviously tailored to your preferences. Sometimes you even get the feeling of being watched but there's never anyone there. Hopefully, you already know him before he makes a confession of love and hopefully you accept his affections. Otherwise, well, he doesn't do well with rejection and there's no telling what he'll do.

- He's really sweet when you're in a relationship though. He enjoys spoiling you with little gifts and lives for your gratitude since it makes him feel oddly fuzzy inside. He's also super cuddly and will find any excuse just to sit with his skull on your shoulder and arms around your waist. He also likes PDA and will shamelessly hold your hand in front of others. He may not actually kiss you in public but if he does, it's probably because he thinks it'll upset someone or make you embarrassed, which he thinks is really adorable.

- It goes without saying that his mental state is unstable but just be patient with him. If he's having a bad day, give him some space to calm down but if you approach him later on, he'd love it if you comforted him. You'll probably get confined to the couch with him holding onto you. He's not that heavy as he's a skeleton but it's a bit difficult to move around with a whole person hanging off of you. Best to wait it out.

Donovan

- Donovan is an interesting case. He claims that he can't feel emotions beyond negative ones, which is technically true. Once he finds his soulmate though, he starts to question everything that he knows about himself. While he isn't the person he used to be anymore, maybe there's a semblance of his old self still there?

- No matter how much you look or how many people you ask, there is no information on him. It's as if he just popped into existence or something. He's not exactly one to talk about the past either, which seems to be a running theme by now, but maybe someday he'll tell you what happened to him. He wasn't always covered in corruption or had tentacles protruding from his back after all.

- He's really not a nice person and while he's generally very patient and reserved, even his patience has limits. He tries not to get upset at you but there are times when he inevitably snaps and says something he shouldn't. He usually regrets it immediately afterwards but sometimes he won't notice how upset you are for a few hours.

- Most of the time, he acts cold towards you and the boys but he does care in his own way. He makes sure you have anything you could need to survive and be happy as he struggles with anything more. He's fiercely protective of those he calls his own, which may come as a bit of a surprise at times, but he really does consider you and the boys as his "family".

- He has no patience for foolishness or people trying to deceive him. This is why he might lash out at people and harshly punish those who wrong him. Of course, he's also rather selfish and isn't above just taking what he wants. He very much sees himself as a god and everyone else as being below him.

- He has genuinely sweet moments, although these are strictly reserved for his soulmate. Something about the closeness with an uncorrupted soul seems to almost "heal" his own very damaged one. Maybe there's hope for him after all?

- He's actually a little shy about PDA, although he doesn't mind holding onto you if he can excuse it away with being protective but behind closed doors it's an entirely different story. He loves touching you. He loves how warm your body is, how soft you are, and especially the little noises you make when he touches a ticklish or sensitive spot. He's super mindful of his claws and his own physical strength as he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he seriously hurt you.

- He will gladly snuggle with you and will often drag you into bed if you're taking too long for his liking. He wouldn't force you to do anything you aren't comfortable with but you may have to get firm with him if he's distracted and not listening. His tentacles are basically an extension of his own body and mean he has an even easier time hanging onto you. If anything, he prefers to touch you with them since they are soft and squishy, as well as cool to the touch.

- He was very lonely before the boys and you especially came along. He collected them because their souls ooze negativity and he enjoys having an easy source of it nearby. He also wanted to have henchmen to facilitate his own plans and spreading more negativity. Over time though, he's come to kind of see them as his own and not just pawns. It's an unconventional arrangement at best though and they butt heads a ton, but he's provided a place for the destitute, the lost, and the vagabonds to stay.

- When you've earned his trust and been together for a while, you'll learn about who he used to be and where he's from. This could be through an ancient book that he keeps locked away for safekeeping or through bits and pieces of what he tells you. However, you learn a few things such as how he was once a prince of a lost kingdom, had a twin brother, and barely survived an assassination attempt.

- There was a massive tree at the center of his kingdom which bore two kinds of magic fruit. It was rumoured that if you ate one, you would gain knowledge beyond all measure and the power to defeat all foes. The fruit also had the power to influence your emotions but this wasn't of much interest for those who lusted after them. Donovan ate all of the negative fruit in an attempt to survive a mortal injury and protect the tree. However, he was overwhelmed by the power and failed.

- He aimlessly wandered the world for many years before he grew into his powers and decided to make a move to create his own kingdom. This is why he created the dark fortress and collected the boys. At the moment, his goal is to spread the corruption and his influence, but contrary to what some may think, he isn't all powerful. There are many powerful people out there who may take issue with him if they heard about everything he's done.