#i will not apologize you brought this on the world by asking

[helaintoloki]

hii !!! would u be able to do a bucky x reader where they are at a party and something happens like the reader gets assaulted by someone and she has a panic attack and bucky finds her and helps her through it and comforts her? then some protective!bucky where he sorts out whoever hurt her or something. i hope that is okay !!!!! thanks 🩷

author’s note: hi dear! apologies for how long it took me to get to this. i did make some minor tweaks to the prompt but hopefully you like it!

warnings: attempted assault (reader escapes before anything can happen), violence, language, feelings of guilt/shame, hurt/comfort, minor thunderbolts* spoilers, Bucky is sickeningly sweet to his dear reader

summary: Bucky seeks justice after you experience a frightening encounter at the bar

“What? You’re leaving already?!” Yelena protests as you fish your card out of your purse to close your tab. “The night is still young!”

“I know, but I have an early press conference in the morning I can’t miss,” you tell her with an apologetic smile despite the prominent pout on her lips. “Besides, you know I can’t keep up with either of you anyway.”

“She’s got a point,” Ava notes with a raised brow before taking a swig of her beer.

You’re not an Avenger or any kind of hero, only a local journalist, but the two women had taken to you almost immediately after Bucky reluctantly introduced you to the team. Your witty sarcasm and ability to withstand their antics had earned you their respect almost instantly, and it wasn’t long before they began inviting you to their weekly nights out on the town. Being a New Avenger wasn’t easy, especially when most of the world refused to take you seriously, so they liked the slice of normalcy your presence brought them and the fact that you had a way of making them feel somewhat important. Yelena often warned Bucky she’d steal you away if he wasn’t careful, and he soon came to realize she wasn’t joking.

“We’ll walk you out,” Ava says as she starts to rise from her seat only for you to wave her off.

“That’s alright, you guys stay put. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yelena urges with a raised brow while looking over the people in the room for any signs of danger. “It is really no problem.”

“Really, it’s fine,” you insist with a faint smile, “I sent Bucky a text a while ago so he should be here any second. You guys enjoy yourselves.”

Despite their protests, you’re able to convince the two to let you walk out of the bar by yourself. It’s something you’ve done numerous times in the past, and with Bucky most likely already waiting for you outside you feel safe enough to venture out into the cool evening air alone.

The music from inside soon becomes muffled as you allow the doors to shut behind you while you survey your surroundings. There’s no sign of Bucky anywhere, prompting you to pull out your phone with a sigh as you check for any new messages. You absently begin to head back into the bar as you pull up his contact only for your path to be blocked by a presence that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, you leaving already?” The man asks with a charming grin. His face is clean shaven with friendly features, and though he seems like someone who hasn’t touched a single drop of alcohol tonight, you’re not interested in starting a rapport with a stranger.

“Yep,” you respond as dryly as possible to showcase your clear disinterest. “Just waiting for my boyfriend.”

“That’s too bad,” the man notes while stepping towards you, the closeness prompting you to shuffle back in discomfort. “I was hoping I could get to know you more. I saw you in there with your friends and thought you were really pretty.”

You feel an uncomfortable sense of unease settle in your gut, your intuition screaming at you to go back inside and accept Yelena and Ava’s offer to wait outside with you. Your skin crawls the longer the man looks at you, and all you want is to get away before he can continue to invade your space with false pleasantries. This doesn’t feel right.

“I think I forgot my jacket inside,” you fib while hastily trying to maneuver your way around him for the door, but he’s quick to grab onto your arm and keep you in place.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” the man reprimands you coldly while harshly tugging you back towards him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Let go of me!” You demand, fruitlessly trying to pry yourself from his ironclad grip. You can feel the tension in your muscles as he squeezes harder, sure to leave a bruise in his wake as he pulls you up against him. You yelp in protest and desperately struggle in his hold to no avail. You hopelessly look around for anyone that can help, but the streets are empty and the music from inside the bar is much too loud for anyone to hear you scream.

You’re alone.

“I tried to be nice, but you clearly need to be taught some manners,” the man sneers before roughly gripping your face in his hand. You feel his other hand slowly start to wander down your back and immediately begin to panic as you realize what’s coming next. Your mind is scrambling for some sort of way out, despairingly trying to remember at least one defense move Bucky or Yelena had taught you for situations like these.

The feel of his fingers digging into your hip sends a surge of adrenaline through your body, and without a second thought you rear your head back before slamming it with full force into his face. The man cries out in frustration at your attack, clearly not expecting you to fight back. He releases his hold on you to cradle his now bloody nose, and you use this moment of freedom to sprint as far away as you can from the man. His frame was still blocking the entrance to the bar, so you had no choice but to run down the sidewalk in hopes that he wouldn’t follow you.

Your legs feel like they’re on fire, your lungs burning as you gulp in the biting night air, but you never once stop to look back. In fact, your running is only halted when you slam straight into a solid figure on the sidewalk. A pair of familiar arms grabs hold of you to keep you from falling backward, but you still try to fight against their grip in your continuing state of panic.

“Stop! Let me go!” You cry out desperately while pounding your fists against their chest. “Don’t touch me!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” The voice urges you while carefully taking hold of your wrists to cease your assault. “Y/n, stop, it’s me!”

The familiarity of the voice registers in your mind and you instantly begin to falter. Willing your body to cease its state of panic, you look up through teary eyes to meet the worried gaze of your boyfriend. The fight within you dies, and you immediately collapse into his arms as you begin to sob. Your chest is tight with anguish and your skin aflame from the stranger’s touch, and despite knowing that you’re safe now you can’t bring yourself to calm down.

“I’m here,” Bucky assures you as he holds you against him and soothingly rubs circles into your back. “I’m right here, pretty girl. You’re safe. Just take a deep breath for me, y/n.”

You try your best to do as he says, taking in trembling gasps of air despite the steady flow of tears and snot that stream down your face. You try to focus on the feel of his fingers against your back and the sound of his heartbeat gently thrumming through his chest, and despite the time it takes to pull yourself together Bucky never wavers in his support for you.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He asks gently after your sobbing ceases and all that is left is the subtle trembling of your body in his hold.

“I-I walked outside to look for you, but then this man came out of nowhere and he- he tried to-“ you attempt to get out only to break down into sobs once more. Bucky’s eyes grow cold as he puts the pieces of your story together, a growing rage bubbling within his chest at the thought of someone trying to hurt you. He wanted nothing more than to march back to that bar and find the man who touched you, make him wish he’d never so much as looked in your direction, but Bucky knew that right now the most important thing was you. You needed him, and that took precedence over his revenge fantasies.

“It’s alright,” he hushes you gently, carefully brushing away your tears before comfortingly pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “You don’t need to say anything else. Let’s just get you home, okay?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you simply nod and allow him to wrap a protective arm around you as he escorts you to his awaiting car. Though your tears continue to fall and your entire body is crawling with disgust and shame, you’re able to finally relax in the presence of your boyfriend. You know that Bucky would never let anything happen to you, and you can slowly begin to let your guard down as you force yourself to rest.

Other than the sound of your quiet sniffles and Bucky’s steady breathing the ride home is silent. His right hand lovingly encompasses your own while his left tightly grips the steering wheel in a quiet display of fury. He tries not to let his mind wander, but he can’t stop himself from thinking of what could have happened to you if he had shown up later. Bucky adored you, and he couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to you because he’d failed to protect you. He knew it wasn’t his fault, just like it wasn’t your fault that some creep had tried to take advantage of you, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for the trauma you’d just endured.

He brings you to the tower instead of your own apartment back in the city due to the fact that it’s the safest place you can be, and it would ease his mind to know he could keep an eye on you while you processed what had happened to you. You don’t have it in you to protest, especially not when all you want is to be comforted by the man you love, so you allow him to guide you through the building and up the elevator towards his room.

The late hour means the tower is silent, and you’re grateful for the fact that everyone has long since gone to bed. You don’t think you could handle running into someone and having to explain your distraught state, and you’re too embarrassed to be able to relay what had happened to you to anyone other than Bucky.

“Can I use your shower?” You ask meekly once you cross the threshold into his room. Shutting the door gently behind him, Bucky responds with a warm nod and lovingly cups your face in his hands.

“Of course. Anything you want,” he reassures you while gently running his thumb along the expanse of your cheek. “There’s fresh towels already stocked in there. Do you want some of my clothes or do you want me to swipe something from Yelena’s room to wear?”

“Yours,” you reply softly, voice so quiet Bucky almost misses your response. His heart pangs with guilt at seeing you so downtrodden and defeated, but he hopes a warm shower and a night of rest will help improve your mood and alleviate your stress.

You step into the bathroom and start the shower while Bucky searches through his drawers for something you can wear. You’re quick to remove all clothing and toss it in the hamper so you no longer have to bare the constricting fabric, and once the water is warm you fully submerge yourself under the shower head so you can begin washing away the grime.

You scrub your skin with more force than necessary, desperate to rid yourself of the sense of disgust and shame that lingers on your body despite having long since removed yourself from the clutches of your attacker. No amount of soap or body wash frees you from the torment of your assault, and no matter how hard you try you aren’t able to rid yourself of the growing bruise on your arm that marks your skin with evidence of your trauma. You wish you hadn’t gone out tonight, you wish you hadn’t denied Yelena and Ava’s offers to walk you out, you wish you could have done something differently to stop any of this from ever happening to you.

“It isn’t your fault,” Bucky assures you gently after you speak such thoughts aloud. You’d spent half an hour in the shower attempting to cleanse yourself before finally giving up and deciding to get dressed. You’d slipped into a tee shirt and sweatpants that were much too big for you, but Bucky’s lingering scent on the clothes served as a comfort and alleviated some of your tension. Now you sit quietly in bed while he lovingly brushes out your wet hair for you.

“But if I hadn’t gone outside by myself or if I had been nicer-“ you begin to say only for Bucky to cease his movements so he can gently take your face in his hands and stop you from finishing your sentence.

“That’s not true,” he insists sternly, his words contrasting the softness of his tone. His brows are set in a firm line as he meets your gaze and comfortingly rests a thumb on your trembling bottom lip “What happened isn’t on you, it’s on him. That bastard had no right to put his hands on you or force you into something you didn’t want. Do you understand, sweetheart? You did nothing wrong.”

You let out a shaky breath as a silent trail of tears begin to fall down your cheeks, only able to offer him a small nod in return. You know he’s right, and you know that you’re innocent in this situation despite how hard your brain screams otherwise. You’ve felt nothing but shame and guilt since coming home, but Bucky always knows how to chase away the storm clouds from your mind. You’re safe here in the comfort of his room, and you know that you can let your guard down and accept his words of affirmation.

“I promise you I’m going to do whatever you need me to for you to feel safe,” Bucky avows in earnest before leaning down to press his lips against your own in a kiss. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to look over your shoulder now and I don’t want you to worry about someone trying to hurt you. I won’t let that happen. I’ve got you, okay?”

You say nothing but are quick to throw your arms around his neck and tightly hold him against you. His arms immediately find their way around your frame as he holds you close and carefully maneuvers you both back into bed. His metal arm keeps you tucked securely into his side while his flesh fingers gingerly rake against your scalp the way he knows you like. The feel of his heartbeat against your cheek as you rest your face on his chest lulls you into a state of calm, and you can almost feel the tension melting away from your body as you put your entire trust into your partner.

You know no harm can come to you with Bucky around, and this thought allows you to drift into a relaxing slumber as you fall asleep in his arms.

~~~

The tower is quiet when you wake the next morning.

Though you’d managed to sleep without disruption until morning, memories of the previous night were quick to flood your conscious and fill you with quiet gloom. You don’t think you could have handled attending that press conference this morning, which is why you’re grateful Bucky had called in for you and taken care of everything. All you needed to focus on today was taking care of yourself and recharging from the exhaustion your body felt.

After Bucky lovingly coaxes you out of bed and helps you through your morning routine you make your way to the kitchen for breakfast. While the rest of the team is nowhere to be found, you stumble upon Bob contently buttering a piece of burnt toast while he waits for the coffee machine to finish making his espresso. The man looks surprised to see you at first, but his features soon morph into a sheepish smile as he offers you a friendly wave.

“Morning,” he greets you both as you sit yourself at the counter. “I didn’t know you guys were here. Everyone else went out for the day. Toast?”

You offer him a faint smile and a careful shake of your head as he holds the charred piece of bread out for you to take. You don’t feel very hungry right now, and you’re okay with just settling for the protein shake Bucky slides your way across the counter. He won’t force you to eat, but you know he’ll feel better if you at least have some form of nutrients in your system. You take slow and languid sips from the cup while you watch your partner prepare his morning oatmeal.

“I have to run out for a bit,” he says suddenly from his place at the stove, catching the attention of both you and Bob. “Valentina has me working as her errand boy this morning and I can’t get out of it. Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

“Of course,” you reply with an understanding nod and a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Duty calls.”

“I won’t be away for long,” Bucky promises, making his way over to you so that he can press a kiss to your temple. “Once I’m done you’ll have me to yourself for the rest of the day.”

You hum in quiet appreciation and relish in the feeling of his lips against your skin. His gentle reassurances ease the worry that had begun to bubble at the thought of him leaving, but you know Bucky has never gone back on his word to you, so this time shouldn’t be any different.

“Can I trust you to look after my girl while I’m gone, Bob?” He asks the blond with a raised brow, tone half serious as he claps a firm hand on the jumpy man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Bob avows in earnest before looking to you with uncertainty. “I’ll try my best, at least.”

“We’ll be okay, James,” you assure the man with a quiet laugh. “I’m sure Bob and I can figure out something to do in your absence.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Knowing that you’ll be looked after while he’s away lifts a weight off of Bucky’s shoulders as he bids you goodbye and departs from the tower. It makes his next task much easier to complete now that he’s free of distractions.

There was no errand from Valentina, but Bucky couldn’t tell you that he was off to enact the revenge plan he’d been mulling over the entire night while you slept.

He liked to consider himself a changed man. He’d been through grueling efforts to rid himself of the Winter Soldier in Wakanda, and he’d put in the hours at therapy to help him work through his lingering turmoil as his past continued to clash with his present. He was a better man now, a man determined to make the world a better place so you could be safe.

In spite of this, Bucky also knew that monsters still lingered in dark corners, and not everyone was deserving of his kindness. The trigger words had been erased, but his skill set had remained, and Bucky couldn’t be bothered to feel an ounce of guilt for using them when it was for your benefit. He knew you wouldn’t approve, would beg him to let it go because it wasn’t worth his time, but he couldn’t sit idly by and let this asshole get away with hurting you, and he couldn’t ley him have the chance to hurt someone again.

Finding the guy had been easy. All Bucky had to do was return to the bar you had gone to with Yelena and Ava, use his charm to get the bartender to hand him the security footage, and find the clip that revealed the man who had dared try to put his hands on you. Bucky committed the face to memory before setting off on his search, determined to use his tracking skills for good.

It didn’t take long to find out everything Bucky needed to know about your assailant. Just as he had done countless times as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had been able to hunt him down with ease and uncover the details necessary for his mission. The man’s name was Arthur, he was forty-two years old, and his phone carrier was Verizon, which was especially useful to know since it allowed him to hack into the asshole’s phone and pin his location.

His findings led him to the alley way of another dingy bar where Arthur lurked for his next victim. Too busy searching for unsuspecting women, the man failed to notice the Winter Soldier quietly creeping up behind him until it was too late. His metal hand grabbed the back of the perpetrator’s neck while the flesh one quickly wrapped around his jaw to muffle his panicked screams as Bucky dragged him into the alley way behind the bar. He was grateful for the fact that the space was empty and secluded, granting him cover despite it being broad daylight out.

Bucky immediately slams your attacker against the wall, keeping him pinned by the throat and dangling him high enough to keep his feet from touching the ground. He flails pathetically, spluttering and frantic while desperately clawing at the metal fingers pressing roughly against his windpipe. James simply flashes him a pleasant smile.

“You don’t know me,” Bucky states plainly with an innocent shrug before immediately hardening his gaze, “but I know you, Arthur.”

“H-How do you know my name?” The man whimpers fearfully only for Bucky to yank him forward and slam him back against the wall once more.

“I know everything about you,” he explains with a chilling smile that fills the man’s stomach with dread. “I know that you prey on unsuspecting women. I know that you throw temper tantrums when you don’t get your way. I know that you’re a lowlife piece of shit who thinks he’s entitled to any woman that crosses his path. Most importantly, I know you tried to take advantage of my girl.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man sobs pathetically, clearly afraid for his life and willing to say whatever he must to get Bucky to set him free. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t lie to me, Arthur,” Bucky warns with a humorless chuckle and soft shake of his head. “That’s only going to make things worse for you. Last night, you put your hands on a woman leaving a bar and tried to assault her before she got away. Do you remember that?”

A sniveling mess, the man gives Bucky a frantic nod.

“Good, I’m glad you’re being honest,” he sighs before finally releasing his hold. The man drops to the floor in a heap, desperately gasping for air and watching in trepidation as Bucky kneels down in front of him. “I like to consider myself a changed man, Arthur, but after I found out about what you did to my sweet girl… well, I felt like I had no choice but to kill you.”

“N-No, please! Please, I-I have a family! A wife and kids! I-“

“Shut the hell up, would you?” He interrupts in annoyance. “I want nothing more than to rid the earth of someone like you, but I won’t. I know my y/n wouldn’t want that. In fact, she doesn’t even know we’re having this chat right now, so out of respect for her, I’m not going to kill you.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you! I promise I won’t ever bother her again!” Arthur sobs in relief only for Bucky’s heavy boot to immediately slam down on his hand. The sound of crunching bones and agonizing shrieks fill the alleyway as he forces his sole down harder.

“Consider this a warning,” Bucky avows lowly through gritted teeth. “If I find out you even so much as put a fucking finger on another woman again you’ll be dealing with worse than a broken hand. You make sure to tell that wife of yours exactly what it was you did to deserve this, and keep the fuck away from my girl.”

Bucky leaves the man there without so much as a second glance, uncaring to his pathetic cries or pleas for help. He’s confident the streets will be free of one less predator, and he can feel content in knowing he’d gotten you the justice you deserved. He should have killed him, he wanted to kill him, but he wasn’t that man anymore. He was changed, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize your new life together by completely reverting back to his old ways. The Winter Soldier would retreat back to the inner depths of Bucky’s mind, and he would return to you as the James you knew and loved.

When Bucky finally makes it back to the tower, he finds you nestled on the couch with a blanket absently watching your favorite reality show on the flatscreen. A mess of snacks takes up the coffee table, and a few feet away from you lies a sleeping Bob who had long since passed out during your binge session. He greets you with a kiss before tiredly seating himself beside you, wrapping his flesh arm around you and pulling you closer into his side.

“You doing okay?” He prompts you gently, fingers soothingly trailing up and down your arm.

“I think so,” you reply quietly before shifting to meet his gaze. “Were you able to finish those errands for Valentina?”

“I handled it,” he assures you with a careful nod. You hum softly and curl closer into his side, enjoying the warmth and comfort you’ve missed in his absence. The room is quiet other than the sound of the television, and a few beats pass before you decide to rupture the stillness you find yourselves in.

“James?”

The dulcet nature in which his name falls from your lips has the man peering down at your tender gaze. He subtly raises a brow in question and prompts you to continue with a slow nod of his head. Your eyes are knowing yet full of gratitude, lips curling into the faintest of smiles that anyone other than him would miss.

“Thank you,” you utter carefully, catching the man by surprise. The look on your face reveals your understanding of his absence and the fact that you know there never were any errands to attend to. You know what he has done, and you aren’t angry or disappointed. You’re grateful for his valiant efforts to bring you justice, and it makes it all the more worth it.

“I told you,” he reminds you tenderly, hand coming to rest upon your cheek, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

And he means it with every fiber of his being.

[charliedawn]

Charlie I’m telling you this in complete confidence. Also on the internet for strangers to see but we can pretend. (I chickened out and turned on anon anyway). I have an idea for remmick. The other blog doesn’t have asks turned on so I’m asking here.

Remmick with a sunshiney girlfriend. Very sweet kind, and bubbly. She ain’t exactly innocent and sometimes uses her innocent like charm to get people to open their doors to him. She won’t exactly lie either, “I trust him with my life!” She says, knowing he’ll end theirs. Loves to sing with him, and loves dancing too. Girl who would run for a field of flowers barefoot for the fun of it unironically

(Maybe it isn’t exactly like the initial idea? I took artistic liberties. 😅👍 Also, Stockholm Syndrome. Enjoy.)

You prided yourself on being a good neighbour so you had decided to go knock on the neighbours’ door after you had moved in next door. You met Bert and Joan. They were a little rude, but you knew it was because everyone was a bit distrustful those days. It was a dangerous world to live in and not all neighbours were friendly. Upon them opening the door, you heard a baby in the back and smiled at them—but they were quick to slam the door in your face. Rude. But understandable. You then decided to return to your new home and hope that you could perhaps change their minds with time.

…What you didn’t plan on was for someone to come knocking at your door at 3 am on a Sunday.

You rubbed your eyes and went to the window—only to see your neighbours standing there with creepy smiles on their faces. What the hell? Why did they look like that? You gathered your courage and opened the window.

“Hey, neighbours! What can I do you for?”

Bert stepped forth and shouted back. “Sorry, lil’ missie! We came to apologise. We were quite rude last time we had a chat and we were wonderin’ if we could come in to apologise properly?”

You frowned. “Do you folks know what time it is? Couldn’t you have just come by when the sun is up?”

Joan had this deeply unsettling smile as she stepped forward next. “We truly sorry. We just couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it. We were really unkind to you and it kept us up ALL night.”

You hesitated. You no longer believed in Santa Claus, so you really didn’t believe in their sudden change of heart. But still, it would be nice to be friends with the neighbours. You sighed. “Alright. Wait up.”

You then quickly got dressed and went downstairs to open the door. You saw them both standing there and that odd feeling came back instantly.

“Hey there…” You stared at them. “So hum…you came to apologise, huh?”

They nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. We did.”

You looked around. “And hum…where’s the baby?”

Joan’s smile faltered slightly. “…At her grandma’s.”

You frowned. “Really? It’s hum…yeah. Nice.”

You really didn’t know what to say. The next step would be to let them in so you could perhaps have a chat? But really…the way they were both staring at you made you shiver and forget the rules of hospitality. You stood there like a rock at the entrance of your home with your neighbours still as two scarecrows in a field. They were waiting…for what?

You coughed. “Hum…apologies accepted. You really didn’t need to trouble yourselves by coming by.”

You were about to close the door when Joan suddenly spoke up. “Aww. C’mon, honey. We came all this way. We brought pie? We REALLY want to apologise properly.”

She showed you the pie…but it was tightly tilted. She didn’t even look down and the more you stayed there staring at each other—the more you felt that something was definitely wrong with them.

You chuckled awkwardly. “Right. Sorry. But…how about you come back in the morning and then we can all have breakfast together?”

You saw Bert’s hand twitch and Joan seemed to lose her smile.

“Now now…C’mon. It won’t take long, lassie.” Bert insisted.

You frowned. What was that? Lassie? Was Bert Irish?

“The accent is new.” You pointed out and Bert smirked.

“Yeah. Irish. Three generations on my mother’s side. You like Ireland, doll?”

You hummed and smiled. “Hum…Well, I like their dancing. Yeah.”

Bert smiled before making a few steps. “Like this?”

You were momentarily surprised before you smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You know how to dance?”

Bert and Joan smiled and then surprised you by dancing right outside of your house. They started by tapping their feet on the ground and throwing their legs in the air effortlessly. They circled around each other and you found the spectacle…charming in some way. You smiled and giggled as they clapped and sang together. There was certainly a funny side to your neighbours you hadn’t expected. You started dancing too. It was nice—instinctive. It made you want to step out and join them. But the moment you took a step outside, they stopped and their heads snapped towards you in frightening synchronisation. It made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Sorry. Did I overstep?”

They didn’t answer. Their heads tilted and they eyes blown wide. It almost seemed as if they were having a mental debate. You quickly stepped back. But Joan quickly raised a hand and smiled again. “It’s okay, honey. You can come out and dance with us.”

You hesitated before extending a hand forward. However, it wasn’t Joan who took it. Suddenly, another hand had latched from your right to grab your arm and drag you outside. Before you could comprehend what was going on, you were dancing. But with a man you didn’t know. You tried to pull away, but his strength was…out of this world. You opened your mouth to scream, but he slammed a hand over your mouth. He then looked down and smiled—showing you an impressive range of sharp teeth.

“Ssh, dolly. Not a sound now. It’s okay. Am not gonna hurt ye.”

You were scared as you realized that his mouth and neck were covered with warm sticky blood. You started crying and he shushed you again. “Now now. None o’ that, darlin’. I thought ye would like a lil’ dance with lil’ old me. I liked yer lil’ steps earlier and decided I would like to have this dance. Ye do not mind, right lassie?”

You didn’t really have a choice in the matter since you were pretty sure the man was a psychopath. Or some kind of crazy cult leader by the way Joan and Bert seemed to have their eyes fixed on him. You looked up at the sky. Really? Couldn’t you have nice and normal neighbours? Was it too much to ask? You then reluctantly nodded and the man grinned widely.

“Good lassie.” He then removed his hand and was pleased to find you obeying his suggestion, even though your heart was hammering in your chest. You thought for sure that you wouldn’t survive the night…might as well make your last moment unforgettable. When the stranger lead you into a dance, you decided not to fight it as he twirled you around. You could hear a soft symphony. Bert and Joan had started singing as you and your ravisher were dancing. Your eyes looked up at him and he grinned before effortlessly picking you up.

“How ‘bout a lil’ trip, darlin’?”

You opened your mouth to disagree, but before you could…he grabbed you and jumped. You were flying and had no choice but to grab onto him for dear life. You glimpsed down to find that your house was no longer in view and then looked back up at him. His eyes were already on you and he smiled. He already knew he had found himself a good companion. He couldn’t wait to show you to the others…

A month later

“Did I do well, Remmick?” You asked as you had opened the door to get him into yet another house. Remmick didn’t answer. He stared at you like your were the sun itself. Both feared and adored. You hadn’t hesitated. Not once. You had stepped into this house—ate with those strangers. You knew what would happen to them. And yet, you hadn’t hesitated before opening the door for him. You were supposed to be innocent, but your actions…your actions caught him off guard. It hadn’t taken him all that long to convince you of helping him. He had even been surprised by how easy it had been to manipulate you into doing his bidding.

But, he didn’t second guess it.

“Aww…C’mere, mo chroí.” He smiled and wordlessly lifted a hand to pull you closer. “Ye were perfect. Thank ye, me absolute bundle o’ joy.”

He wrapped his arms around you and you smiled as he stroked your back. Remmick knew you were a sucker for praise so each time he was pleased with you, he made sure you knew. It was the least he could do for his hardworking little sunshine. Love…You had never asked if he loved you, he hadn’t either. Because you both knew love didn’t matter. Only survival. Remmick was your protection, and you were his. You used your cute face to open doors for him, and he used his fangs to make sure your sunlight never dimmed.

Like a flower, you needed water, sunlight and a lil’ affection to flourish. So he did just that. He offered you everything that would make you smile and keep you happy. He let you roam free during the day, knowing that you would come right back comes nightfall. You were his little spotter. You found houses far enough from crowds to ask for hospitality and then—he would come in.

He kissed your cheek and whispered,

“Ye know am absolutely crazy ‘bout ye, right?”

You smiled and nodded. You knew you were his favourite. You knew he took pleasure in you doing whatever he wanted. It was the reason you were still breathing. That—and Remmick liked to have you close when he slept. He called you his lil’ human heater. No matter that humans were his food source, he seemed to be obsessed with them. He liked to do what he called ‘roleplay’ whenever you ended up in a new house.

“How ‘bout we become farmers for a while, dolly? Would ye like that? A bit o’ roleplay. Ye can be the sweet lil’ wife and I’ll be the hard workin’ husband. Dye think we’d get the parts?”

You would smile. Sometimes the roles would change. He would ask you to be his sister, his wife, his daughter, his girlfriend…Then Joan and Bert would take the secondary roles. But you liked that he always chose you to be the secondary lead in whatever ‘play’ came next.

He always thought of you first—or you liked to think he did.

One night, he pulled you into his lap when he was rocking on the porch and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed your neck in return and held you like this for a while. You both enjoyed the silence…until men approached the house. They didn’t seem friendly, but Remmick wasn’t worried. He whispered for you to get back inside the house and get to bed. You didn’t hesitate and got off his lap to enter the house.

You knew he would be alright.

You heard a couple of firing shots and screams, but you knew Remmick would be unharmed. He always was. You closed your eyes and as expected, Remmick came into the bedroom a few minutes later. He wordlessly settled behind you and wrapped his arms around you from behind. One of his hands laid spread over your stomach as his thumb gently caressed the fabric of your nightgown.

He then kissed the back of your neck and you felt the warmth, but also the wet sensation of blood on his lips. You shivered. But you were both perfectly aware that it wasn’t from fear or excitement, you were just uncomfortable with that feeling…You had always been. He hummed and pressed his forehead against your shoulder as he whispered almost apologetically:

“…Mo chuisle. I ruined another shirt.”

He sounded like a genuinely regretful puppy and you held back a laugh. Or was it a sob? You weren’t sure anymore…He kept kissing your neck to distract you and you knew you had no choice but to let him. He had just drank his fill and that’s when his most human side showed—alongside the emotional wave. He growled:

“Mo chuisle. Do not ignore me.”

He commanded and you closed your eyes before finally facing him. His glowing eyes were staring at you in the dark and you knew he could see your expression light as day. He stroked your lips with his thumb and you almost gagged on the taste of blood. You loved Remmick, but the taste? The taste was always so horrid and you made it a rule for him to wash after each feed. Unfortunately, that rule seemed to have been forgotten or ignored tonight…He kissed you. He always kissed you differently after each kill. Sometimes, it was gentle as the breeze, other times it was violent and as passionate as an animal. Through each kiss, Remmick made you learn more about humanity.

He was by no means human.

But he was an experiment, the content of thousands upon thousands of lives he drained. You particularly felt it when he kissed you after a feeding. They tasted like sadness, lust, joy, misery, pain, anger, hunger…all at once. You could never expect, all you could do was wait and feel. You had told him as such.

He pressed his forehead to yours and smiled. “What does it taste like now, mo ghrá?”

Your lower lip trembled. “…Regret.”

He hummed and kissed you again.

…

You looked at him one day and asked him: “Is it possible to fall in love with no one?”

He paused, like the question had struck some old, forgotten nerve. His eyes—normally glowing with mischief or bloodlust—dimmed into something unreadable. Ancient. Like a storm holding its breath.

“…With no one?” he repeated softly, almost to himself. You watched the gears turn behind his expression. He wasn't confused by your words. No, he understood exactly what you meant. It was the emptiness you were asking about. The way your heart ached for something that didn’t exist. Not a person. Not a face. Just…a space where love should be.

Remmick exhaled through his nose. It sounded almost like a laugh, but the kind you choke on.

“Aye,” he finally whispered. “It’s the worst kind.”

He looked at you then and there was a flicker of something that might have been sorrow. Or envy. Or rage.

“You fall in love with the idea of being safe,” he informed you, his voice as soft as silk and just as sharp. “With the way someone might have looked at you. The sound of a voice that never existed. A ghost ye made yerself, mo chroí.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling like vines around your knuckles.

“That kind o’ love? It’s dangerous. ‘Cause ye spend the rest o’ your life searchin’ for somethin’ that doesn’t breathe. And when it never shows…” He smiled—a bittersweet one. “…ye start lookin’ at monsters like me and think, ‘Maybe this’ll do.’”

The silence that followed stretched like a blade between you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t smile either. Just stared back and asked the question again, this time quieter: Is it possible to fall in love with no one?”

And this time, he didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have to. You both already knew the answer. But you would keep asking it—hoping one day for a different answer.

A few years later

Your voice trembled when you asked another question—barely a whisper, like you weren’t even sure if you wanted him to hear. “Remmick…Can no one fall in love with someone?”

He stilled. For once, Remmick didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. Didn’t purr out a clever answer in that sing-song Irish lilt you’d come to both crave and dread. Instead, he looked at you like you’d asked him if the moon could drown.

“…Aye,” he finally answered, and it hurt coming out. Like truth scraping its way up a ruined throat. “No one can.”

He meant himself. Remmick, the monster in borrowed skin. The thing stitched together from memories that didn’t belong to him. The one who slept beside you, bled on you, kissed you with a thousand ghosts behind his teeth. He pulled you close again, this time with both arms, like he was trying to make up for the cracks that just showed in his shell. His voice dropped to your ear, hoarse and full of something that sounded far too human:

“No one like me…I wasn’t meant for love. Not the way you understand it. I feel things. I want things. But love…real love…it slips through my fingers every time I try to hold it.”

You stayed quiet. Because part of you wanted to scream at him that he was wrong. That he was more than the death and hunger and rot. That whatever haunted thing that pulled you two together, it felt like something close to love. If it wasn’t…then what else was it?

But another part of you…It knew the truth. You were no one. And he was someone. Or maybe was it the other way around? You weren’t sure anymore.

“Can no one fall in love with someone?” You asked again—your eyes glassy with tears.

And this time, Remmick pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “…Only if someone is naïve enough to let them.”

Your voice was too calm for what you were saying. It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a sob. It was the truth. And it came out like a confession laid bare at the altar of something unholy. “I was someone before you…I learned to be no one.”

You felt his hand twitch against your back. You’d never seen Remmick flinch before—not when guns were pointed at him, not when bodies dropped, not even when he got hurt. But that? That made him flinch.

“I was someone who had a name that didn’t come from your mouth. I had hands that opened doors, not ones that lured lambs to slaughter. I had thoughts that were mine. I smiled because I wanted to, not because you needed me to.”

You didn’t mean to say it all. Not at once. But it poured out like water from a broken dam.

“I became no one so I could survive you,” you whispered. “So I could matter to you.”

He reached for you like a starving thing—but this time, you didn’t move.

“I never asked you to stop being someone, Mo ghrá,” he rasped, and you could tell he believed it. But he also knew. He knew what it meant, what it cost you to be what he needed.

“I made it easy,” you uttered softly. “I let you in. I smiled. I danced. I said yes.”

He nodded slowly. “Because ye’re kind. Because ye care.”

“No,” you denied, “because I was scared. And then I forgot how to be anything else.”

Remmick stared at you for a long time—long enough that the world outside the window went still. And then, he asked: “…Can you learn to be someone again? Please?”

You swallowed thickly. And then, barely audible: “…Only if you remember who I was before I forgot.”

And in that moment, with the blood still drying on his hands and your heart held together with fear and affection, Remmick whispered the first apology you’d ever heard from him: “I’m sorry, mo chroí. I didn’t mean to eat the part o’ you that dreamed.”

Your eyes watered. “Mo chroí. Mo ghrá. Mo Mo Mo…Mine. Always mine. But you are never mine, Remmick. I am yours. But you are never…mine.”

“…Don’t say that,” he whispered and kissed your forehead. “Ye don’t mean it.”

But you did. And he knew it.

“I let you crawl into every part of me,” you told him. “You sleep in my bed. You drink near my lips. You make me your dolly, your heater, your little actress in your twisted plays. I give you everything, and you give me just enough to stay.”

He reached for you again, but his hand hovered—hesitating.

“I want to be yours,” you choked, “but I want you to be mine, too.”

“Ye don’t know what ye’re askin’, mo chuisle…” he murmured and smiled weakly. To have him…Why would anyone ever want him?

“I do,” you said—as if reading his mind. “I’m asking if there’s any part of you you haven’t already given to the dead.”

Silence. Then his voice, lower than before. Frighteningly calm. “There’s nothin’ left in me they didn’t already take. I gave ye what I had. I am what I am.”

You stepped closer. You could smell the iron on his breath. “Then lie to me, Remmick. Say you’re mine—even if you don’t mean it. Say it, because I need something to hold onto.”

He looked at you like you were breaking his ribs without touching him. You were a flower. You needed water, a lil’ bit of sun and affection. He had given you two of them, but the last one. He didn’t know how to give you something he no longer possessed…You were asking for the heart of a dead man. But oh…he wished he could give it to you. Just to see you smile. Just to see you happy. He cupped your cheek with bloodstained fingers and said, with aching finality: “…I am yours.”

You closed your eyes. And for just a moment—just one—you pretended that was the truth.

“Remmick…Let’s…dance. Right? Let’s just…dance. Like that first night.”

Remmick’s jaw slackened as your words fell into the stillness between you. Slowly, he extended one hand. The other he kept pressed against his chest, as if there still beat a heart inside that monstrous frame. His glowing eyes flickered—uncertainty, regret, something like longing.

“Dance,” he echoed, voice barely more than a breath. “Aye…like the night I met you.”

He drew you close, one arm settling around your waist with surprising gentleness. The other took your hand, fingers brushing against yours—cold, stained faintly crimson. Outside, the wind stirred in the trees, but inside, the world contracted until it was only the two of you. You lifted your other hand to his shoulder. He bowed his head, so close your foreheads almost touched, and for the first time since you’d known him, he hesitated before placing his cheek to yours.

The room felt empty except for the soft scrape of your shoes on the floor. Remmick began to sway, a slow, mournful rhythm that you somehow recognized from the night of that first dance. But it was different. You were different. It was the same steps—hesitant, stilted at first—but still two scarecrows learning motion again. Your heart pounded with each step, but you matched him: one, two…one, two. Your other hand slid up to clasp the back of his neck, feeling sinew and the cold weight of his skull. He closed his eyes, and you could feel him drawing in your warmth.

At the second rotation, he whispered against your hair: “Mo chuisle…I love ye.”

Your grip tightened just a little—not in fear, but to steady him, to steady yourself. The beat in your chest guided him: “One, two…one, two.”

He paused mid-step, tilting your chin until your eyes met his. There it was—fleeting—something human flickering behind those ancient depths. Or was it the reflection of your own eyes in his? You weren’t sure.

And then he led you onward again, slow and steady: “One, two…one, two.”

And you were happy again.

[dxrlingluv]

Heheheh... Fem!reader x Aphrodite (or maybe Dionysus) smut would be awesome.. basically, reader got cheated on by her partner and left to rot... Soo... Aphrodite kinda feels bad for her and when she goes to comfort her (in a disguise) kinda thinks reader is pretty cute..... and then they wink wink 👅👅👅👅

She chose me

A/N : I haven’t written yuri in such a LONG time. The last time I wrote one was 5 years ago so this is not great, so please read with caution. Aphrodite art is from Gigi!

WARNING : Smut. Fem!Reader

Word Count : 1.5k

You didn't expect your life to unravel so quickly.

One moment, you were happy. Or at least, you thought you were. But happiness, it seems, was a fragile illusion. One careless glance at a phone screen. One text from someone you didn't know. And everything shattered.

He cheated.

And just like that, you were discarded. Alone.

You stopped eating. You stopped answering messages. The world blurred into a monotone haze of pain and self-loathing. Friends offered comfort, but their words were empty. Sympathy couldn't fill the hollow ache in your chest.

So when the woman appeared at your doorstep—strikingly beautiful, with warm eyes and a strangely familiar smile—you didn't question it. She introduced herself simply as Dite, claiming to be a counselor sent through a friend.

"Don't ask which friend," she said, winking. "I'm good at staying anonymous."

You let her in. Something about her felt... calming.

Over days, then weeks, she visited you. Brought flowers. Laughed at your tired jokes. She didn't pry. Didn't push. Just listened. And with her around, the dark cloud hanging over your head began to lift.

One rainy afternoon, as thunder grumbled and rain painted the windows, you broke.

"He didn't even apologize," you whispered. "He just... left. Like I was nothing."

Dite leaned forward, her hand brushing your cheek with a softness that made you shiver.

"You are not nothing," she said. "You're art. You're sunlight. You're the kind of beauty that makes gods jealous."

Your heart skipped. The way she looked at you—like you were sacred, something to be worshipped—was almost too much to bear.

You laughed, a bitter edge lacing your voice. "You talk like you've seen gods."

She smirked, and for the briefest second, her disguise shimmered. Not gone—but cracked just enough. You saw the truth in her eyes. The divine shimmer of a goddess.

Your breath caught.

"...Aphrodite."

She smiled wider, almost sheepishly. "Surprise."

You didn't know what to say. But you didn't have to. Because the goddess of love leaned in and whispered against your lips, "I came to comfort you. But now, I can't stop thinking how beautiful you are when you smile."

Your lips met—slow, tender, electric.

Hands explored gently at first, reverent, like you were something precious. Aphrodite kissed like the tide—soft at first, then all-consuming, pulling you under in waves of heat and longing. Her body pressed against yours with divine purpose, every inch worshipping, healing, claiming.

There was no pain. No regret. Only Aphrodite—warm, real, and impossibly loving—as she made you forget anyone who ever failed to see your worth.

And when the night settled in, with silk sheets tangled and hearts laid bare, she whispered, "You were never meant to rot. You were meant to bloom."

Your breath caught the moment Aphrodite's lips met yours again—this time with far less patience.

Gone was the soft, tentative tenderness of your first kiss. Now she kissed you like she had waited centuries. Like she'd crossed oceans of heartbreak just to get to you. Her hand cupped your jaw while the other trailed down your side, tracing every dip and curve like she already knew your body by heart.

"You are so..." she whispered against your neck, "...achingly beautiful. Even when you're hurting. Especially then."

Your fingers tangled in her golden curls, tugging her closer as her mouth grazed the base of your throat. The warmth of her breath made you shudder. Her lips moved lower—down the hollow of your neck, to the curve of your collarbone. You gasped as her teeth scraped gently across your skin.

Clothes disappeared between kisses and sighs. You didn't even register how. One moment, your shirt clung to you like armor. The next, it was gone, and Aphrodite's hands were on your bare skin—warm, divine, worshipful.

She kissed across your chest, slow and reverent, until your breath turned into a moan. Her fingers danced down your sides, thumbs brushing under your breasts before cupping them like offerings. "Perfect," she murmured. "Made to be loved."

And she did.

Every inch.

With her mouth, her hands, her whispered words.

She pulled you down onto the bed with a gentle tug, crawling over you like a goddess reclaiming her temple. She pressed your thighs apart, eyes locked to yours. "Tell me to stop," she murmured, voice low and smoky, "and I will."

You shook your head, breathless. "Don't you dare."

Her grin was wicked. "Good girl."

She dipped down, slow and deliberate, kissing her way lower, lower—until her mouth hovered over your heat. You whimpered, your hips shifting toward her instinctively.

"Oh, love," she cooed, "so eager. Let me taste you."

And she did.

With skilled, divine precision, she used her tongue like a holy relic—delicate at first, teasing, circling where you needed her most. Then deeper, firmer, as your moans filled the room. You arched beneath her touch, your fingers gripping the sheets. It was overwhelming—pleasure blooming so fast you barely had time to breathe.

Her name tumbled from your lips in broken gasps.

"Aphrodite—please—"

She hummed against you, the sound sending vibrations through your core.

"You sound divine when you beg," she said, voice thick with lust. "Do it again."

You didn't need prompting. Every movement of her mouth had you unraveling. And when she slipped two fingers inside you—slow, deep, curling just right—you shattered.

Stars behind your eyes.

A sobbed cry of release.

The sweet, aching rush of pleasure so intense it made tears spill down your cheeks.

Aphrodite didn't stop. She held you through every tremble, every aftershock, her hands soft and steady, grounding you even as your world spun.

Only when you finally collapsed against the sheets, boneless and breathless, did she pull herself up to kiss you again—tasting yourself on her lips.

"I could worship you forever," she whispered, brushing your hair from your face. "But right now... I just want to hold you."

She did. Tucked you against her chest like a cherished thing. Her fingers stroked your hair as your heartbeat slowed.

And just before you drifted into sleep, you heard her murmur softly into your skin, "You were never broken. You were just waiting for someone to see you."

Morning crept in like a quiet blessing.

The light pouring through the curtains was golden and soft, and you stirred only when the warmth at your back shifted. A hand—delicate, warm, and reassuring—rested on your waist. You were held. Still.

You blinked your eyes open slowly. Everything ached in the sweetest way.

Then came the realization.

Last night wasn't a dream.

You turned slightly and found her there—Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, wrapped around you like she belonged there. Her hair was tousled in perfect waves. Her skin glowed faintly, sun-kissed even in the shadowed room. But it was her smile that made your chest ache.

"Good morning, my love," she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you murmured, brushing your fingers down her arm. "You stayed."

She leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Of course I did. Did you really think I'd vanish after touching you like that?"

You shrugged shyly. "Gods tend to be... distant. Temporary."

She frowned, her hand cupping your cheek. "I'm not just a god. I'm your Aphrodite now. And I don't leave the ones I cherish."

The words hit something deep. You blinked away sudden tears, and she noticed—of course she did. She kissed them away, her lips soft against your skin.

"You're still healing," she whispered. "But love doesn't come only when you're whole. Sometimes, it arrives in pieces... and helps you gather yourself again."

You smiled into her touch. "That's... poetic."

She chuckled. "I am the goddess of love and poetry. It comes with the territory."

The two of you stayed in bed a while longer, tangled in limbs and lazy kisses. Eventually, Aphrodite sat up, the sheet sliding down her bare back, revealing soft skin dusted with golden light.

You couldn't help staring.

"What?" she asked, catching your gaze.

"You're just..." you trailed off, biting your lip, "...unfairly gorgeous."

She grinned and rolled over you, straddling your waist with divine elegance. "And yet, you are the one who made a goddess lose her composure last night."

You blushed. "You're impossible."

She leaned in. "I'm yours."

The moment deepened, a quiet promise settling between your bodies.

Aphrodite's hand brushed your hair from your face. "Would you like to come with me? See where I dwell? My temples, my gardens... I'd show you beauty even Olympus envies."

You hesitated. "Is that even allowed?"

"For you?" She smirked. "I decide what's allowed."

You laughed softly and pulled her down for another kiss.

And in that moment—your heartbreak, your doubts, your broken past—it all felt like a shadow. Because Aphrodite didn't just love you.

She chose you.

And maybe... just maybe, you were divine enough to be chosen.

[everwhovian]

Do you think In-ho knows what happened to Jun-ho with the VIP ? And if you think he knows, how does he feel about it?’

Damn. This ask is fucking with my brain. I sure hope In-ho found out what happened to Jun-ho with the VIP! And I sure hope he dealt with that man accordingly!

Well, the VIP was never seen again, right? So imma assume In-ho shot him. And disposed of the body.

Also please never make me channel the VIPs voice. I feel disgusting...

(warnings: disgusting VIP thoughts, gun violence, typical squid game violence, mentions of attempted rape)

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The Panther Mask VIP lounged in the dim private chamber, legs spread, silk robe untied at the chest, a fresh glass of amber liquor sweating in one jeweled hand. He looked utterly unbothered – smug, drunk on power, and still flushed with humiliation that someone had dared to best him.

“I assume you brought me here to apologize,” the VIP drawled. “That little waiter of yours? He ruined the mood for everyone. Can’t have that again.”

In-ho didn’t respond.

He stood near the wall, arms still, mask tilted slightly downward. Listening.

Always listening.

“I mean, really,” the VIP continued, rolling the glass in his palm, “your staff should be trained better. Pretty thing, though. Slender, quiet. Looked like he knew how to take… direction.” He chuckled. “Bit of a mouth on him, but that’s part of the game, isn’t it? Makes it more fun.”

The room felt colder.

“You know what he said to me?” The Panther Mask turned his head, laughing. “He begged. Told me to take him somewhere private. Thought I’d get a proper show. Thought I’d finally get something for all this money I keep pouring into this place.”

In-ho didn’t move.

But something in him cracked.

A tiny fracture. Hairline. Deep.

“I took him to the room,” the VIP went on, voice slurred at the edges. “Told him if he satisfied me, I’d change his life. Like I’ve done for others. He had a nice mouth. Real nice. Thought I’d at least get five minutes of fun before tossing him out.”

He raised the glass to his lips and muttered, “But then the little fucker pulled a gun on me. Can you believe that? Ruined the whole damn night.”

Silence.

Heavy. Electric.

The VIP kept talking, oblivious.

“I’m telling you, the nerve of that kid – ” he scoffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, liquor dripping from his chin. “Bet he’s dead now anyway. I told him they’d kill him after. Cute thing like that – shame to waste him, really –”

In-ho didn’t react.

But the words hit like a slow-burning match dragged across his chest.

Cute thing.

Five minutes of fun.

Told him they’d kill him after.

The phrases repeated in his head, grotesque, looping, clinging to the walls of his mind like rot. Every syllable burrowed deeper, scraping over every nerve, every instinct.

He’d always hated the VIPs. Their decadence. Their delusion. The way they viewed the world as theirs to toy with – everyone beneath them reduced to entertainment or tools. They were consumers of flesh and spectacle, drunk on power, convinced that the rules didn’t apply to them because they paid to watch other people die.

In-ho had followed the rules. Held the line. Played the part of the good dog with the sharp mask.

And yes – he’d agreed that the players were trash. That was the language of the system. People discarded by the world, by their own choices, by their debt. If they died, it was because they lost.

That was the game. Trash eliminated from the competition.

But the workers – he had always drawn the line there.

They were like him. People who followed orders. People who obeyed the rules and kept the machine moving. They wore masks, gave up names, surrendered themselves to structure.

And in return, he gave them something close to fairness.

Not kindness. Never that.

But equality.

Until now.

Because Jun-ho had walked in wearing one of those red uniforms – obedient, masked, silent. And this thing, this glutton wrapped in silk and gold, had seen him not as a person…

…but as property.

A toy.

And in that moment, everything In-ho had ever pretended to believe shattered underfoot.

The mask hid his expression, but behind it, his jaw was clenched so tight it ached. His fingers curled into fists. He could hear his own pulse in his ears.

Now it was Jun-ho they’d dragged into that filth.

His brother. His little boy. The only family he had left in the world.

His kid brother, who still wrote in all caps and left too many sugar packets in his coffee. Who called him hyung even when they fought. Who had once fallen asleep on his shoulder during stakeout and drooled all over his coat.

And this man – this bloated, leering animal in silk robes – had put his hands on him. Had threatened him. Had laughed about it.

In-ho could see it now. Jun-ho standing still, calculating, mask on, alone. Playing the part. Buying time. Surrounded by men like this. His body tense. Heart racing. Smiling when he had to. Terrified.

And still – still Jun-ho had pulled the gun. Still he’d escaped.

The thought should’ve brought pride.

Instead, it brought fury. The kind that hollowed you out. The kind that left no room for mercy.

In-ho stepped forward.

One movement. Silent. Final.

The VIP didn’t register the danger until it was too late. He looked up just as In-ho was standing in front of him, taller, still masked, gloved fingers curling into fists at his side.

“Wait, what –”

In-ho slammed him into the chair with a single, brutal motion. The liquor splashed down his chest, glass clattering to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” the VIP gasped, caught between confusion and offense.

His grip tightened around the man’s throat, and for the first time that evening, the VIP looked scared.

That familiar cowardice creeping in around the edges.

“You don’t touch him,” In-ho said, voice low, mechanical, flat.

“What – what are you talking about–?”

“You don’t look at him.”

He drew the sidearm from beneath his coat and pressed it to the VIP’s ribs.

“And you don’t speak his name.”

Panic bloomed across the Panther Mask’s face. “You’re insane. You can’t do this – I’m one of your inves –”

In-ho pulled the trigger. Once. The sound was quiet. Controlled. Just a muted pop that barely echoed in the plush silence of the chamber.

The man slumped, mouth open mid-sentence, eyes wide behind the mask until they weren’t.

Still.

Done.

In-ho stared at the body, breath shallow, heart a thunderstorm behind his ribs. The silence that followed was the only answer the VIP received.

He didn’t feel relief. He didn’t feel satisfaction. He didn’t even feel disgust He didn’t feel clean. He just felt… less human.

He felt cold.

Colder than the water that should’ve swallowed his brother. When he found the ID on a bloated corpse and chose to believe it. Even when he saw his brother alive again, deep in the tunnels of the island.

But it didn’t matter.

He dragged the body out of sight, stripped the robe, the mask, the jewelry. He would erase the VIP from the record like he was never there.

No one would ask questions.

No one ever did.

The VIPs would assume their ‘friend’ was called back to his home country. The workers would assume the body disappeared at sea, or that the Front Man had made an executive decision.

But In-ho would remember.

Because this was the moment everything changed.

Not when he learned Jun-ho was alive.

Not when he saw him in the tunnel.

But here.

When someone hunted him.

And In-ho became a predator in return.

[shatcey]

Spoilers. Can I ask? With very little information provided, do you think Nica is similar (or will be revealed as similar) to Alphons in backstory? Ie. Someone who covers up his loneliness with hypersexuality and other reckless actions? It has been a while since reading Alphons' route (and I heard they rewrote parts of it) so forgive misunderstandings. Alphons fears being forgotten so he is self-destructive. But Nica's ability means he cannot trust that other people are honest with him? Also Darius seems to be extremely manipulative (especially with Ring), so that might skew his perception of relationships. Still, a person can *not want* something and still feel incredibly lonely. I am drawing parallels.

Alphons thinks he can make himself a toy and Nica thinks he can makes toys of others. Both are flawed in understanding other people

Hi, dear Anon.

Wow… you've touched on a huge topic.… I had to think a bit before answering.

There is no need to apologize for possible misunderstandings. There are thousands of possible readings in the current topic (the characters of the game), and this does not mean that someone is right and the rest are wrong. I really doubt that even the developers know everything. They only have the basic idea, and they don't pay much attention to the rest. We, the fans, find or create missing pieces to fill in the gaps. So it is not surprising that there are so many opinions. I will correct you not because you are wrong, but because I see it differently.

But before I start, I know too little about Nica and Ring. I haven't read their events, just some translations. And because I didn't put much effort to figure it out, I don't remember much. But despite the fact that I have very little information, I have a pretty solid vision of these boys in my head. Again… It's just the way I see them, it's not necessarily true, and maybe that will change over time as we get more information about the boys.

As for Ally's route… yes, they brought back the original (JP) dubcon, but they did it almost immediately after the release (a few days later). And I haven't heard of any other changes. You may have more information than I do.

Okay… I'll hide it… Mostly because it's too long. And… I'll definitely talk about Ally. For those who haven't read his route and are planning to…

About personalities

Alfons

Ally is not self-destructive, he's indifferent. Lim-lim is self-destructive, he deliberately put himself in danger. Alfons just doesn't care what happens to him. He doesn't treat himself as a person, for him… he's just an object with zero value.

As @.kurishiri once mentioned, Ally uses s** as a shield to distance himself from others, or rather to shield others from himself. It's very similar to how Nokto treats women to make them hate him. So I can't say it's a mask, but at the same time it is.

And because he doesn't see himself as a person, he doesn't pay attention to his emotions and desires. He just ignores them. Yes, deep down he is lonely and sad, and he longs for something as beautiful as true love, but… he doesn't understand it himself.

And because he has a strong desire to help others, he literally does just that. A selfless idiot. And this day-to-day routine makes him think of life as a very boring place. He's bored because he has no plans or dreams, he's just stuck in the same routine…

Nica

I see in Nica a man who has little faith in people. He thinks they are very easy to manipulate and control… so, it might be quite boring for him. Indeed, it looks very much like Alfons. But the reason is different.

And since, as I believe, Nica does not trust people, he does not believe that love is actually possible, not for him, but in general. Precisely because he understands people. Their emotions and desires…

But… At the same time, he loves Ring very much and seems to give him everything of himself. He's the only person who matters to Nica. Just the two of them against the rest of the world. He doesn't even give a damn about Dari. I think he'll take his brother and leave Dari if he finds a better option.

Vivi! We need these twins!!! Let's steal them!

His flirting is a way of playing. He's like a cat playing with a mouse that can't escape from him. He can touch a person at any time and that's it… he doesn't even have to do anything. But it's too easy, so he entertains himself. What Ally said about herself… that she likes to play with people… in fact, Nica is. Funny, isn't it?

I haven't read current fake wedding event, but the preview says that he doesn't take vows even at a fake wedding. I see it because he doesn't believe in promises. Promises are just empty words… So it's again lead me to the thought… he doesn't trust people. Perhaps it has something to do with the twins' past… most likely it is.

Darius

This guy is something. If Ally doesn't see herself as a person, then Dari is the opposite. He doesn't perceive anyone besides him as people. They're just pawns or dolls… objects. They only exist to be a part of his plans, and he gets very annoyed when they don't do what he thinks they should do. Silly guy.

And since, in his opinion, he is the only person, he doesn't even understand the concept of emotions. Not only the emotions of others, but also the emotions of himself. Just like on the 2nd anniversary, Kate forgot about him, and he couldn't comprehend his emotions.

And perhaps partly because he can see people's futures, he doesn't see them in the present… they already… dead. He is indeed "Ally on the contrary." It's odd that I've only just now noticed this.

But I don't think he's a bad guy. He's just very broken inside and very stubborn to even think that he might be wrong. Definitely my type.

Ring

Oh, he's such a sweet, innocent kid. As far as I believe, Ring doesn't remember much from their childhood for some reason, maybe it helped him stay so sweet and gentle. What they have to deal with as little kids has made Nica very cynical and harsh inside. But Ring doesn't remember much.

I mentioned what could have happened to the twins in childhood here.

And because Ring has very low self-esteem… I really wish I knew where it came from… He's easy to manipulate. Dari can't control or command like Wizzy or Vivi, but Ring doesn't need to. He's so afraid to be… abandoned… yes, that's how it feels… so he is ready to do anything. Like a stray dog… It's very similar to Lim-Lim. Why do I keep thinking about my twin? He has so many problems that his name often comes to mind. My family is such a mess….

So… Ring is… soft and gentle. But I don't think Dari increased Ring's low self-esteem purposefully. I think Dari is just using what he has very insensitively, not paying attention to other people's feelings, because… he doesn't understand this concept at all.

I wonder what will happen if Ring remembers. Would he be broken that he hadn't remember about it for so long and left Nica alone? Or will he become tougher and stronger because of this information?

So... answering your question

(if I understood correctly, that was your question)…

Both Nica and Ally understand other people's emotions very well and know how to manipulate them. But the reason they do this is significantly different. But finding out the reason is not so easy. Because they (at least Ally) don't understand their motives themselves.

I like that line of yours...

Still, a person can *not want* something and still feel incredibly lonely.

The feeling of loneliness is very complex. You can be surrounded by people and feel lonely. Conversely, you can be alone and not feel lonely at all. Depending on the psychotype of the person or the current communication needs. And this is not a stable feeling that is constantly present. One moment we feel lonely, the next… we don't.

But in the sense of characters… I think all the boys in this game are extremely lonely. They have to face problems, responsibilities, promises, and expectations… and they don't ask for help or share the burden with anyone. This is so… real… almost scary.

I hope I answered your question, if not… let's continue. I am always open for discussion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔝 ��𝕋𝔸ℝ𝕋 ℙ𝔸𝔾𝔼 🔝

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[obsidianpen]

Hi, first time caller! I do apologize if this has already been asked and answered. I’m not on Discord so I’m having a little trouble following what info is out. My first question for Blood and Gold - how is Bellatrix still alive after what she did to Hermione? I was just surprised she wasn’t taken out like Fenrir. My second question - will we find out what happened to Harry, Ron and Draco after Hermione sacrificed herself? I understand if you declined to answer this one as it could be a spoiler. Thank you for taking the time to read this! Blood and Gold is a forever love. Surprisingly, I’m not in the Harry Potter fandom but somehow came across this story.

hello! So I did initially have a bit about Bella in the chapter originally, but I took it out because it felt a bit forced and also, not that important. I shared it in the discord so I’ll share it here too (takes place after she is reminiscing about Fenrir):

“You were thinking about that werewolf, weren’t you?” the mirror said aptly. “That was certainly… dramatic.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “It certainly was.”

“Imagine if he had brought Bellatrix in, too… or worse.”

Hermione did not want to imagine that. Bellatrix Lestrange…

He’d said he’d do it. Happily. But the very same day he proclaimed that he would slaughter one of his most devoted, important Death Eaters for her, he’d also figured that he ought to bring in Draco Malfoy, too, and Ronald Weasley, because while Harry didn’t exist in this world, they did, and if they were going to punish this Bellatrix for branding her, then they ought to punish these versions of her so-called friends for the crimes of their counterparts as well, no?

Hermione had needed to beg him, then. Please, don’t kill them, don’t kill anyone, no more killing, please.

Tom did say that Bellatrix had been given a very fitting punishment for hurting her… and Hermione, without a shred of doubt, believed him. 

second question: nope! Open to interpretation

[sapsolais]

-

[kanene-yaaay]

as I get comfy in bed and ready to rest, I send you Jiang Cheng for the blorbo game and go to sleep with a smile knowing you will descend into insanity <3 <3

- @squeaky-n-blushy

I have NO idea why Tumblr is taking so much quality from the screenshot but I am on my pc so pls bear with my lack of knowledge.

YOU KNEW EXACTLY WHAT U DID WHEN YOU CHOSE HIM I WAS GING TO SLEEP AND SPENT ONE HOUR INSTEAD THINKING ABOUT HIM

I only put 3 Fruity points because I don't actually think he was ever interested in anyone romantically but that list of the "Perfect Wife" of his is so ghjkjhygtfr bruh u don't want a woman pls just say it (/j) also infinitely funny that most of those characteristcs fits Lan Xichen we keep winning fr fr

Also I must say that I only put Little Meow Meow because he is just so freaking <3 pathetic little wet cat hissing and scratching everyone them wailing when that results in no pets </3 babe PLEASE let someone get close to you besides your nephew you created like a son PLEASE

Friend Shaped because I want to hug him and I would be oblitarated otherwise besides it would be great to be friend of a leader especially from yunmeng

I see ur Sidekick Onwer and offer to you instead the Sidekick OWNED

Like I killed you. You are my family. You killed my family. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. It was theirs. What are you doing with them. I died for you. You brought me back. I hate you. I carry your weapon for 13 years. I hate you. I follow your traces and every hint of you. I can never escape you. I can never be you. I can not bear to let go. I can not ask for you to stay. You are the only one who remembers. I can't understand you. We used to talk without fighting. I used to understand you. You forced me to stay. I miss you. I miss you. I can not stop following you.

I will never forget the very moment when we spend the entire story seeing Jiang Cheng as someone who just can't leave Wei Wuxian to have a single moment of peace, who was his best friend/future leader/brother/whatever and now is full of resentment and hate and keep finding and screaming and prodding at every bruise and yet in the most important fight takes a hit for him and reveals holding onto Chengqin for 13 entire years.

And then. AND THEN after he discovers Wei Wuxian gave him his core and therefore gave up from ever following the cultivation path again, we have that single moment, that single memory of Jiang Cheng attracting the Wen Soldiers away from him, being captured, tortured, losing his core and almost dying which was the biggest show of love and care that started the entire cycle of sacrifices and drove each other away.

The love was there. It made things worse but it was there.

That was the very moment everything else clicked and I knew that he was The Blorbo I would be obsessed with. Also is a parental figure so my fate was sealed from the evry beginning.

On a llighter note!!! I put more, less AND different romance because kijuygthyujikol how can he be listed as the 5th most derisable cultivator of his generation AND NEVER have a SINGLE one HINT of a partner <3 <3 <3 my bro has absolutely NO RIZZ and no desire to marry <3 <3 I think it would be super interesting to see anything romantic related to him

[tatsumi-rin]

Yeah no my family still use my deadname when talking to one another when they think I don't hear

No wonder they struggle so much with getting my name and pronouns right

But don't you know it's so hard to get used to after so many months

And I am so aggressive when correcting them

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Can I request a scenario with Malleus encouraging f!reader touching his horns now that one of them is broken after seeing she's sad/hesitant about it but she used to do it a lot before? ♡♡♡Thank you love your blog♡♡♡

Malleus Draconia:

You had never hated Malleus.

You had never been afraid of him.

You were scared for him, scared that he would never see past his anguish, that the concept of losing someone dear to him would blind him to the reality of what he’s done. You felt like an intruder in this battle, watching those who grew up alongside him, who served him dutifully and who were fueled by the desperation to save him from himself, stand their ground best they could until a victor could be announced.

The partial loss of his horn was a sacrifice that had to be made, if it was either that or his life, your preference was clear. But the loss of his magic was a heavy hit, as was the emotional fallout from all the very upset students who had fallen under his sleeping spell. You can’t say you were mad, just exhausted, and endlessly relieved that in the end his family could stay together, no matter how each individual had changed over the course of this journey.

Malleus was hesitant to approach you, perhaps remembering that your dream consisted of a yearning to be by his side, yet he couldn’t give you the full attention he wanted while monitoring everyone else’s dreams. He had left you with just a copy of himself, which was why he was determined to seek you out in the waking world. You had greeted him with a smile, as strained as it might be, and he found himself wondering how you felt about him now. Worrying was a more accurate descriptor, but if he allowed himself to think on it too long, he would never find it in him to approach you.

He does notice when the conversation begins that your eyes drift to his horns, specifically the broken one that had brought an end to this unfortunate situation. You had always had a fondness for his horns, admiring them quietly in class when you could, and Malleus could never forget the look of awe (and mild embarrassment) when he had asked if you wanted to touch them. He knew humans were generally curious about such things and since you had been polite enough to not just grab at them like they were decorations, he figured you’d take him up on his offer.

“Would you like to touch them?” His tone is mildly playful and you’re brought back to several long months ago when he had first asked, the question making your face warm the same way it had before.

“I… It won’t hurt, would it?” You didn’t know the biology of his horns, or if there were nerve endings or something else that might cause discomfort.

Malleus just shook his head in response, leaning down to allow you access, praying that you would do it. Did you see him differently now? Was the broken horn a signifier that something else inside him was broken? He was afraid of the permanent damage he had done to your relationship, to you, and there would never be enough apologies to offer to truly make up for it. He just hoped you understood him, what it meant to touch a dragon’s horns, and that you were willing to see a future that involved you intertwined.

 Your hands are as gentle as they were the first time, and the many times after where he allowed you to touch him, fingers slowly tracing along the hardened surface of his horns. You don’t avoid the jagged areas where it’s broken off, familiarizing yourself with each bump and point until you finally pulled your hands away. You had felt his intense gaze on you the entire time, finally allowing your eyes to meet.

You gave him a smile, a genuine one, and while the path of forgiveness might be long, Malleus knew you’d walk alongside him until the very end.  

[reidrum]

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows. 

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy. 

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch,  you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point. 

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured. 

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere. 

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

[sanriovin]

hear me out on this one y'all.

imagine yourself coming back home from a hard day at work, right? all overwhelmed, exhausted, annoyed at the world, and so on. as soon as you walk into your shared room though, you see a sight you weren't expecting in the least.

your husband, kento nanami, jerking himself off.

poor man, on his one day off, which were EXTREMELY rare for him, you, as luck had it, had to go to work :( and he was all needy and desperate for you, resorting to masturbating, which he never did often, even more so after the two of you became a couple.

his big, strong, calloused hand from the type of jobs he was involved in, wrapped nicely around his aching, pulsing cock, fisting himself, as pathetic, desperate groans and moans of your name and how good he was feeling left his lips, as his hips bucked up further into his hand from the pleasure he was feeling.

his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, head lolling back into the soft, welcoming pillows, dressed in a gentle linen pillowcase, undoubtedly not even realising that you had came home. the sight before you stirred something inside of you, making the exhaustion and annoyance from the day disappear completely, instead, replacing it with a feeling of your own neediness, and a sense of pride, seeing how your husband could fall apart. it gave you ideas. MANY ideas.

"Kento?" you spoke from your spot at the door, your eyes trailing down your husband's half-nude form; his trousers and boxers gone, his tie loosened, three tops buttons undone from the top.

hearing your voice breaking through the sounds of his ragged breathing, loud grunts of pleasure, and the occasional moan or two, his hand came to a stop, his eyes opened wide, looking at you, with shock, embarrassment, and shame. he couldn't even bring himself to hide his body, in a state of processing what had happened.

placing your bag down on the dresser near the door, you took one step, then another, then another, as you approached your shared bed, your eyes locked onto kento, not looking away for even a mere second, in fear that you would miss even the slightest reaction from your normally composed husband.

he swallowed harshly, audibly, slowly moving his hand away from where it was nicely wrapped around previously, placing it down on the linen clad duvet, averting eye contact with you, his cheeks flushed a soft pink, from either the embarrassment, or the physicality and feelings that masturbation brought, or both?

"I'm sorry, darling, I wasn't expecting you to be home so soon." he spoke a quiet apology, seeming genuine with it, but how could you even be mad at him? or how could he even think you would be mad at him?

shaking your head, you moved yourself down onto the bed, situating yourself in between his thighs, watching how his adam's apple bobbed with nervousness and excitement, how a dribble of precum ran down his dick with every tremor that ran down his body.

"You're sorry for what, Kento?" you asked, the question being more of a chastise for him even thinking that he needed to apologise for this, rather than an actual question. in all honesty, seeing your husband like this, undone into a puddle of desperation and lust, was something you would kill to see on a daily, so you were definitely not complaining.

taking a single finger, you trailed it down his thigh, inching closer and closer to the one spot that was the key to getting rid of all his frustrations and stress, even if just for a day. he let out a quiet sigh, watching you with eager eyes, silently pleading with you to do something, anything, to relieve the pulsing ache.

"Do you want me to help you, Kento?" you, once again, gave him a question. your voice was sweet, soft, as if lulling him into a sort of haze. your voice worked like a siren's, bringing him in and in, with only mere words. having him wrapped around your pinky. true, most of the time, nanami preferred to be the dominating one, the one in control, however, he also knew how to let himself be taken care of by others, specifically, you.

"Please, honey, please, I need you so badly." his voice was strained, barely managing to hold himself back; hold himself out for long enough for you to do something.

taking that as your sign to continue, you put a coy little smile on your face, lowering yourself to lay comfortably between his legs on the soft bed, before placing one, single, chaste kiss to his angry, red tip.

he let out a groan in response, head falling back, peeking at you from under his eyelashes, hands trembling slightly at the feeling. your kiss felt good, so good, but it wasn't near enough for what he wanted, no, needed.

"Darling you, fuck, tease..." he groaned out, situating himself to rest on his elbows, so he could see you better, and see what you were up to.

you would have teased him for longer, but the look on his face, one of love, neediness, pure eagerness and desire, was enough to pull you out of your teasing and cruel state, and you decided to help your beloved partner, help him release all the stress within him.

opening your lips, you slowly lowered yourself onto his aching, hardened cock, lowering yourself further and further, as you attempted to take him fully, with, as you soon found out, ended futilely on the first go, with uncovered space still left at his base. however, that alone was enough to cause nanami to let out a low moan, pressing his eyes shut again, letting the darkness consume him as he focused entirely on the pleasure he felt in the moment.

the scene was messy. your drool dribbling down nanami's sensitive cock, the tip of it pressed and poked against the back of your throat, trying to push further and further, however, it was stopped through the tightening of your throat, and the sounds of gags and chokes on his large size.

he gently moved one of his hands to rest on your head, not pushing, not pressing down, just trying to ground himself to reality from the immense pleasure he felt. "Sweetheart, it feels so good... You're doing so well..."

nanami kento has a way with words. a way that made you feel eager and excited to pleasure him, to satisfy him, in hopes of getting more and more praise.

trying to breathe through your nose, you slowly relaxed your throat, bobbing your head up and down, attempting to inch further and further down his large dick, holding onto his thighs with trembling hands, as your tongue swirled around his leaking tip, which resulted in a loud, higher pitched moan than before from nanami.

the moan was all you needed to proceed with your actions, desperately trying to bring your beloved to the edge of release, as you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking on his cock so well he could practically see stars in his eyes.

taking one of your hands, you gingerly brought it to his balls, beginning to slowly mess and play with them, testing new waters to see if it would have the desired effect on nanami.

and it did not fail.

in mere seconds, nanami was falling apart on the bed, his legs trembling pathetically, his hips jerking up to your mouth, his back on the bed, his arms having lost all strength to support himself. curses, moans, and groans of your name kept spilling from his mouth, as not once did he open his eyes. hot spurts of his cum landed in your mouth, on your tongue, as you began to taste the salty yet slightly bitter taste of it on your tongue.

letting him ride out high long-awaited orgasm, you took all that he gave you, only pulling off once you saw his body laying practically limp on the bed, regaining himself from the experience.

but, of course, he was a gentleman at heart. he wouldn't let such a favour go unrewarded, oh no, he couldn't have that.

"How about you let me pleasure you now, love? What do you say?"

(author's note: finished writing this after finishing AOT S3 - the ending hurt so bad that i couldn't even cry)

[monogamia]

not me haunting your asks in every single blog you own 😈 sooo, do you write parents!au? bc I wanted to request some scenario abt how sylus, caleb and xavier would react to their kids telling u to shut up. I KNOW ITS WEIRD BUT ITS A OLD TREND I THINK?? anyway, love ya babe 💘💋💋

੭⠀ A little prank.

⋆⠀AUTHOR'S NOTES: I love parents!au so much 😭

⋆⠀FEATURING: Xavier, Sylus, Caleb.

⋆⠀WARNING: English is not my first language, so it may contain some mistakes.

Your son’s favorite pastime was annoying his father, and he was certainly better at it than anyone else. Not only that, but he also managed to convince you to help with yet another one of his… pranks.

The boy smiled when he saw his father heading to the kitchen and turned back to his video game. Not long after, you walked into the room with something in hand. “Sweetheart, could you take this—”

“Shut up, mom,” he tried to say in an irritated tone, but a smile was plastered across his face.

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀XAVIER

Not even five seconds had passed before your son was groaning in pain, Xavier’s slipper lying on the couch beside him after hitting the back of his head squarely. “Dad—”

Xavier raised the other slipper, pointing it at the boy. “Apologize. Now,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing. “Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

“But I was busy, and she—” Once again, the boy didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the other slipper flying straight at him. Xavier crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on his son.

You widened your eyes and placed a hand on your husband’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Okay, okay, it was a… joke, just a prank.”

Xavier gave a faint smirk, glancing at you. “…Yeah, I knew that.” He pulled you into a hug, sticking his tongue out at your son. “You think I’d stop at that if I saw him disrespecting you like that?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀SYLUS

Sylus prided himself on being an exemplary father. He was patient, fun—or so he thought—and wealthy. I mean, surely his son was already having a better childhood than most people who came from the same place Sylus had, right?

And perhaps it was exactly that freedom and comfort in his presence that made the boy feel confident enough to make that kind of joke.

“I must’ve misheard. Definitely,” Sylus said loud enough for both of you to hear. You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression, while your son simply grimaced.

“Dad, she could’ve just asked one of my uncles to go—or, I don’t know, gone herself!” the boy said, spinning the pieces of a pistol between his fingers.

Sylus’s steps were almost inaudible; it was as if he had teleported to his son’s side. He crossed his arms, an irritated expression on his face. His son had never seen that look before—at least, not directed at him.

“Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that under this roof,” he said. “I don’t care if she could’ve asked someone else—if she tells you to do something, you do it. She brought you into this world.”

The boy couldn’t hold back his laughter, bursting out in hysterics. Your husband opened his mouth to say something but stopped when he saw you laughing as well. He let out a sigh, rubbing his face. “You too now?”

𝜗ৎ ⠀⠀CALEB

Honestly, your son was expecting Caleb to yell at him or chase after him, but it was even more terrifying to see him stay silent, slowly turning to face the boy.

He froze, setting the video game controller down on the coffee table. Caleb’s eyes stayed fixed on him, and his silence lingered just long enough to make the boy shift uncomfortably under the stare.

When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was strangely calm—and that wasn’t exactly a good thing. “You have five seconds to do as your mother said and come back here, and another five to apologize and explain yourself.”

You let out an awkward laugh before wrapping your arms around your husband. “It was just a joke, I swear.” Caleb glanced at you, slipping a hand under your shirt to give you a pinch. “Ouch! It was his idea!”

He rolled his eyes but let out a relieved laugh, despite his irritation with your newfound way of spending free time. “I should’ve known.”

[blueivyy99]

Sylus? No ... Skye?

Sylus x NonMC

summary: you didn't know that your lovely sweetheart is the most wanted man in all of Linkon. you knew him as Skye. one year with him was bliss, then suddenly he ghosted you.

tags: fluff, angst, sylus as skye, non mc reader more tags to follow

taglist: @animegamerfox @lazypostfandomer @mentaltrouble2201

note: ACKKK new series hiii! Hope you enjoy this

Masterlist

"How is my darling?"

Destiny cafe is particularly busy during this time of the day. Chatters from friends and the sound of the coffee grinder fills the place. So when you heard a familiar voice talking in your direction, you tear your gaze away from your laptop and looked at them. It's your very adorable boyfriend -- Skye. You immediately shoot him a smile. He's finally here.

"You're just in time. I'm actually loading up my cart for skincare products. Come and help me choose."

He groaned before plopping to your side and looked at your screen. That made you giggle. He doesn't really like doing all of these and in his own words he can "just help pay for it" but he tolerates you anyway.

"Sweetie, didn't we just bought some a few months back?" he asked while still scrolling through different brands of facial masks looking for the ones you two already tried and tested.

"Months. It's been months, Skye. We already went through all of them. We only have a week's worth."

"Fine. Go and check out this one. I like the scent."

Your afternoon went on like that. Nothing new. Just a fun and light moment with your long term boyfriend. It has been a blissful year since you two got in a relationship and so far, he did nothing but make you smile. Although he is stubborn at times and makes your head ache with his sudden disappearances, you didn't question him for it. You wanted to, but it seemed like he isn't ready to tell you where he goes and as an apology when he returns he gives you a bouquet of peonies.

Skye tells you that he is just a lowly fruit vendor whose income depends on how his fruits sell and that he got lucky supplying a few bigshots costumers here in Linkon, but sometimes it's hard to believe that. His motorbike collection alone is enough to pay for your year's worth of salary and so far he used at least five different big bikes around you. Not to mention his cars that's another puzzle that you cannot wrap your head around.

And the way he spoils you is out of this world! You're not one to police someone's spending habits but if Skye is telling the truth and he is just living off of his fruits, then he should start cutting back on the amount he spends on you.

"Skye, if you ever think of paying for this, I'm telling you now: don't." you said trying to be stern. "Let me cover it this time."

He raised a brow at you, "What kind of boyfriend am I if I let my lady pay for the things she loves?"

When he is like this it's so easy to just give in and do what he wants especially when he looks so offended that you don't want him to pay for you. It might no be obvious to him, but he has this little pout whenever he doesn't get his way and his eyes looks so disappointed that it makes your heart clench.

But no. You will not be swayed.

"You will be a responsible boyfriend who will be mindful of his spending habits so he can maintain his lifestyle." you answered him looking directly in his eyes. "You have been spending wayyyy too much on me, baby. It feels like for a week alone, you already managed to gift me an entire month's worth of my salary."

"Fruit sold so well it's fair that my lady gets her share."

There he is again. Using his charm and sweet words to get to you.

"I love that you had such a provider mindset, that's very husband material of you." you said emphasizing your last phrase because you know you get him to listen to you when that kind of topic is brought up. "BUT you have to spend wisely. It's not everyday that you will sell well. What if a competitor comes and you lose all your costumers, then what? I would happily provide for us, but if we can avoid being broke then by all means let's avoid it."

Skye knows you and your history. You didn't come from a rich background and you had to work your entire high school until college just to finish studying so you know hard work and how important it is to be mindful of your purchases and seeing Skye just burn his finances like it doesn't hurt his pockets is something that you would just watch.

"What I'm saying is, you need to save up for your future. You never know what might happen."

He took your hand and laced it with his, bringing it up his lips and kissed it.

"Don't worry about that 'kay? I'm not spending more than what I can lose. We won't go broke." he said and smirked, "But I think I would spend more on you. I like it when you get so ... wifey. Makes me wanna put a ring on you."

You blushed hard. Feigning irritation, you took your hand back and crossed your arm.

"Well, I won't marry someone who doesn't care about our finances."

"Hey! Don't say that!" He made you face him but you won't budge.

He sighed defeatedly when you didn't speak further. "Fine. I would spend less."

You smiled and finally looked at him. "Promise?"

"Promise." he looked like a kicked puppy it's adorable. You kissed his cheeks to mend his broken heart.

"Love 'ya. Keep that up I might propose to you myself."

He was wide eyed when you said that.

"Don't you dare, sweetie. Let me do the proposing." he said.

"If you are gonna spend a couple of thousand dollars on it, then I would say no." you stuck your tongue out just to piss him off.

He chuckled at you and your childish antics, "A man don't kiss and tell about the prices of their gifts, sweetheart. You wouldn't know."

You just pinched his ears lightly careful not to hurt him. "Take me seriously, Skye. Don't spend too much on me. Save some for yourself."

"I know, baby. I hear you. I will try, okay?"

You nodded your head. That's good enough to hear for now.

==

You walked out of the cafe planning to chill in your home and watch movies when Skye received a phone call from his shop assistant Luke. He answered it while keeping his hand on your waist to guide you to the front seat of his car.

"Hello?" He shut the door to his side and started driving putting Luke in speaker mode.

"Boss Man, we're on our way to deliver watermelons. The client wants to meet you. It's important."

You can hear Skye grumbling under his breath. He hates it when these kind of things happen especially when his time with you gets cut short. You two only see each other once or twice a week and it really pisses him off when he can't spend it like he intended to. You took his free hand and held him nodding for him to go.

"But -"

"Do it. Visit me tomorrow or the next day. Just text me and I will take a day off." you said. You really missed him too but his business needs him and you won't be the one to cause it's downfall.

He just sighed and answered Luke, "I'll be there. I will just take Y/N home."

"Copy boss!"

==

He pulled up in front of your apartment. You can see that he hesitates to leave because he doesn’t even look at you and he has that little pout on his lips again. When Skye is like this, you really want to kiss him silly.

“Skye,”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Tsk.” He turned off the engine and went out to open the door for you. “I will be back as soon as I can, okay? I love you.”

You gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. You need your fill for when you wait on him.

“I love you too.”

You watched his car leave. Feeling hollow on your chest.

You went inside hopeful that he will see you in two days tops.

But then a week had passed and no message from him. You tried to call but it only rings.

It made you worry and you don’t know any way to reach him.

If you had known that it would be the last time you would see him after a very long time, would you have let him go?

note: how was itttt? i hope you enjoy. this will be at least 3-4 parts only. love you!!! reacts, comments and reblogs are much much welcome 🤗

[anomalyaly]

right where you left me

Summary: You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

I profusely apologize for the pain.

Inspired by @sychenb for the prompt idea. Also crediting @sloanesallow for her headcanon about Sebastian keeping track of numbers.

(also sort of inspired by Unus Annus - iykyk - and Taylor Swift, if you couldn't guess by the title)

Tags: Angst, F!Reader POV (you), unreliable narrator, vague ship (Sebastian x reader/Ominis x reader), Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, ambiguous ending, overall the sads in general, I cried while writing this

[AO3] [Wattpad]

It had been 279 days since you died.

At least, that’s what Sebastian tells you — your portrait, anyway. It was all that was left of you after the devastating battle you had fought and never walked away from. You hadn’t even known he’d had a portrait of you commissioned when you were alive until you woke up, your body cold, your face illuminated by the flickering candles of the Undercroft.

He comes to visit you every day — some days, he simply sits in front of you, cross-legged and silent. You creep into the frame and study him, the shadows on his face, a haunted look in his eye — unfamiliar. You can only recall a bright, talkative, charming boy with whom you were once close. You didn’t recognize him the first time he visited you, yet his presence brings you comfort.

On other days, you see traces of the boy he was before. He bursts in through the gate talking nonstop about everyone who misses you, about something he saw that you would have liked or that reminded him of you. Sometimes, he even brings you gifts and places them in front of your frame so you can admire them when he’s away.

That’s where he keeps you — hidden behind a wooden crate in the Undercroft like a sacred shrine, untouched by anyone but him. He only speaks with you when he is alone.

Another boy comes in on occasion, and you only know because of the sound of his voice and the pulsing red light of his wand that you can see from behind the pile of crates. Ominis, you remember Sebastian telling you, another friend from when you were alive. Sometimes they argue, other times they refuse to acknowledge each other. But Sebastian always keeps you tucked away, his own personal secret.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he sighs as he plops down in front of you. “300 days since you…well, since— ”

He could never bring himself to finish that sentence, even after almost a year. You never finish it for him.

“Are you going back to Feldcroft?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t do that to you.”

You knew he probably hadn’t been back since that dreadful day. He had only spoken of it once to refresh your memory. He never brought it up again.

“Sebastian,” you say, and he perks up at the sound of his name leaving your painted lips, “how come you always hide me away when Ominis comes in? Doesn’t he want to talk to me, too?”

His eyes flash with something — anger, perhaps, it was hard to tell from your two-dimensional world — and he stands, approaching your portrait. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m only a portrait,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like you’ve been practicing necromancy.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but you don’t completely understand why. He turns away from you, fists clenched, shoulders tense and hunched over, before running his fingers through his hair and repeating himself more adamantly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

You remember him uttering a similar statement throughout your short life at Hogwarts — secrets that only the two of you shared, unbeknownst to Ominis until it was too late. “Surely he misses me, too— ”

“Did you love him?”

The question takes you by surprise, though you think it’s not the first time he’s asked it. “What?”

Sebastian whirls to face you, his gaze intense, demanding. “Did you love him? Or did you love me?”

Your portrait blinks, confused. Truthfully, you hadn’t been alive nearly long enough to confirm your feelings for either of them, but you knew that both boys had been important to you during your last few months of life. The portrait of you had only been a time capsule of your fifteen-year-old self — undecided and immature. You’re not even certain if the emotions you feel now are real or remnants of what you experienced when you were alive. “I…I cared deeply for both of you if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your answer nearly breaks him, as if he’s heard it a million times before. He tugs at his hair, the movement causing him to look frenzied and mad. “That’s not what I asked! Who did you — ”

“Sebastian?”

The voice of the intruder causes both of you to freeze. Sebastian pulls himself out from behind the crate and holds a finger to his lips before pushing it in front of you once more.

“Over here, Ominis.”

You hear footsteps and see the red glow of the other boy’s wand, then shuffling as Sebastian strategically places himself in front of the wooden box. The echoing footsteps grow closer, and you straighten at Ominis’s frantic tone as he speaks.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks. “I…I thought I heard…her.”

“No one else is here but me,” Sebastian says, guarded.

You can practically feel Ominis’s internal struggle to believe him. You decide that there have been enough secrets between the three of you — you’re not going to let it carry on post-mortem.

“Ominis? Is that you?” you call out. You hear Sebastian press his body against the crate in front of you. Ominis pushes past him, and they both tumble into it, knocking it over and exposing your portrait.

Chaos ensues at Ominis’s realization. The two boys are shouting at each other in front of you as you are helpless to stop them — Ominis, for having yet another secret kept from him, and Sebastian, for defending his reasonings. You aren’t sure if it’s because of jealousy, grief, or some combination of the two, but all you want is for the noise to stop.

You call out helplessly from your portrait, wishing you could step between them, just as you had done time and time again all those months ago. Before everything had gone so wrong.

Suddenly, hot, angry tears are pouring down both of their faces, and you are overcome with just how useless you are at this moment — a fragmented memory, trapped within the confines of your magical canvas. You want nothing more than to hug each of them, to let them feel your arms around them in comfort and take their pain away.

But you are gone.

The two boys now stand solemn and silent in front of you. Ominis takes a step closer, his wand hovering over your portrait before he runs his fingers along the gilded frame. “Is it…really you?”

“No.” You can hear the flatness in Sebastian’s voice, how tired and worn he truly is. He repeats exactly what you thought only moments before as if to confirm it. “She hardly remembers what happened, or even who we are. She’s just a fragment. A memory.”

You want to argue that it is you, but you know that he’s right. You barely remembered your living self until Sebastian explained everything to you on his daily visits. Whispers of your personality still shine through on occasion, but you are otherwise simply existing.

Ominis sighs, and you can hear the weight behind it, as if he had been holding his breath and finally allowed himself to release it. He traces his fingers along the divots of the frame once more, and you try to will yourself to feel it.

The two boys exchange an unspoken conversation that thickens the tension in the air. They seem to come to an agreement, and you let out a small breath — if you can call it that — of relief when they sit down in front of you and appear to bask in your presence. You stay quiet and allow them this moment — it’s the only thing you can do.

The days that follow are the same. No longer is Sebastian coming in alone for covert meetings with your portrait. Now, you see both Sebastian and Ominis at the same time every single day, a religious appointment that they’ve set aside just for you. They take turns talking to you, even if they can only manage a few words, and you learn to appreciate their company, knowing that you were loved by both of them in life.

Just like old times, Sebastian says, and the three of you laugh.

Christmas approaches quickly, or that’s what they say when they come to visit a short while later. They bring your favorite things from when you were alive — chocolate frogs, flowers, even books, which Sebastian reads to you — and they tell you stories about you and the kind of person they knew you to be. You wonder if it’s true, or if they have created an idealistic image of you since you are no longer there with them. Not really.

Kind, they say that you were, thoughtful, loving, self-sacrificial, and maybe a bit idealistic. You were friends with both of them, after all, the mischievous pair that they were, before everything was taken away from them, before life was unfair. They try to smile for you and remind you that Christmas at the castle is a time for celebration, but you can tell that it’s a weak facade.

You smile back at them anyway.

The anniversary of your death approaches. Neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, aside from a few words to honor you. So the three of you sit in tearful silence, admiring the flowers that they decorated your portrait with. You think you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the bouquets.

Something changes in the air — you can sense it — though you aren’t sure what. You notice it when their visits become shorter, with fewer stories to tell, and fewer presents left in front of your frame. Sebastian and Ominis start showing up at separate times, stopping in for a brief hello before leaving with an excuse. You start to wonder what they are doing when they are gone, but you are unable to leave your frame — only one portrait of you was ever commissioned.

Soon, they start missing days, returning at a later time with profuse apologies about how life was busy, but they still miss you. Difficult classes, detention, studying for NEWTs, and preparing for a career — all of these seem to take precedence over you. But they still manage to make time in all of the hectic day-to-day activities, and you look forward to the days when they do come.

You wake up one morning and realize you are in a different location — Feldcroft, most likely, though you hadn’t seen it since that fateful day. Sebastian hangs your frame up on the wall, promising that he and Ominis will come to visit you more often now that they have graduated.

They don’t.

The length of time in between seeing them grows longer, you’re certain of it. Each time one of them arrives, they look a little bit different — sometimes they have longer hair, other times a bit of scruff around their chins, but they always come in looking more weathered than they had when you last saw them.

You realize that they are doing something that you will never again be able to join them in — growing older. You start to wonder about their lives outside of you, yet your painted mind cannot comprehend what an adult life looks like, forever frozen in your adolescent state. You find that you are unable to relate to any of their stories, and they seem to be holding back in what they choose to share.

I wish you were still here, they always say before they go, and you start to wonder if they mean it.

At long last, the visits from your once two closest friends become scarce, and you aren’t certain how much time has passed since someone last spoke to you. The bright flowers that once decorated your golden frame wither and die, and the little gifts they used to leave stay untouched and unopened. The tiny cottage in Feldcroft becomes a sepulcher of your essence — a permanent reminder that you are no longer among the living.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you did, if their reasons for not returning were your fault. You can feel the stories that they used to tell you fading away, unable to retain the memories in your current form.

You decide that it’s time to rest.

In the quiet house, just south of Hogwarts, your portrait closes its eyes. You do not wake again.

[belit0]

I hope your request are open if they aren’t feel free to delete this!

How would the Uchiha men ( Indra, Madara, Obito, Itachi, Shisui and Sasuke ) react to receiving the silent treatment from their usually loving wife? Maybe they had promised to come home on time this time but failed to do so again. Now, she was disappointed and truly upset. She had always been super understanding, but this time, it felt like she was no longer a priority to them.

We all have a limit, don't we? Also: my requests are always open! I'm a creative vampire, love to have a constant flow of scenarios to play with jeje

Indra – The One Who Watches

Indra was not unfamiliar with silence. He wielded it as a weapon, as armor. But this silence—the absence of her warmth, her voice—was different. It was not a tool; it was a wall. And he despised it.

(Y/N) did not acknowledge him when he stepped into the room, his dark gaze assessing her as one might observe an unfamiliar storm on the horizon. He exhaled slowly.

-You are upset.- A statement, not a question.

(Y/N) did not reply.

Indra’s jaw clenched. He moved closer, fingers ghosting over her wrist, but she turned away. He could command armies, bend the wills of men, yet here—before her—he was reduced to something small. Mortal.

-Speak,- he murmured, low and deep. -I do not enjoy this game.-

Silence.

His Sharingan flared to life, frustration leaking through the cracks. He was not one to beg, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes when he murmured, -I will not ask for forgiveness, but I will make amends. Look at me, (Y/N).-

She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to. But he needed to learn.

For the first time in his life, Indra found himself standing before something he could not control.

Madara – The One Who Fights

Madara Uchiha did not apologize. He fought, he commanded, he conquered. But this silence…

(Y/N) passed by him without a glance. He stood there, watching her go, a scowl twisting his lips.

-You're still angry?- His voice carried the edge of a man who did not like being ignored.

Nothing.

Madara crossed the room in three long strides, placing himself directly in her path. Arms crossed, expression thunderous. -This is childish.-

(Y/N) met his gaze at last, eyes cold. Childish?

Her silence turned sharp, a blade pressing against his pride. She saw the moment frustration flickered into something else—concern.

-Fine,- he exhaled, voice rough. -Tell me what you want.-

(Y/N) shook her head and walked past him.

A growl, a flash of crimson eyes. Damn it.

The great Madara Uchiha… bested by silence.

Obito – The One Who Falters

Obito was all heart. Loud, expressive, relentless in his affection. So when (Y/N) did not greet him, did not look at him, did not smile at him, the world tilted on its axis.

He tried at first to brush it off, draping himself over the couch dramatically. -Alright, alright, I know I’m late, but I brought dango! I know you can’t stay mad at me when there’s dango.-

Silence.

The smile faltered.

Obito sat up, brows furrowing. -Hey… you’re really mad...?-

Still nothing.

The panic settled in. His fingers fidgeted, reaching for her, but hesitating. -(Y/N)…?-

When she turned away, something in him cracked. His voice softened, hesitant. -I didn’t mean to— I just— Can you please talk to me? I don’t like this. You— You talk, you always talk.-

The desperate edge to his voice almost made her cave.

Almost.

Shisui – The One Who Pleads

Shisui was playful, light-hearted. But right now, there was nothing light in the way he hovered around her, hands twitching at his sides, wanting—needing—to touch her.

-(Y/N)~,- he crooned, voice coaxing. -You wouldn't really ignore your husband, would you?-

Silence.

His smile wavered.

-Okay, wait, let’s talk about this—

Nothing.

Shisui let out a very dramatic sigh and literally dropped to his knees before her. -You’re killing me here.-

(Y/N) looked down at him, expression unreadable.

-Just say something,- he begged, reaching for her hands. -You can yell, hit me, anything—just don’t shut me out.-

When she still refused, he groaned, falling backward onto the floor. -Oh god, this is how I die.-

A tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. Almost imperceptible.

Shisui caught it. His eyes glinted.

-Ah...- He shot up, grinning. -There it is! I'm winning you back already.-

She sighed. This idiot.

Itachi – The One Who Endures

Itachi noticed the shift immediately. He was perceptive, too much so. The subtle stiffening of her posture, the way her gaze lingered just past him rather than meeting his eyes.

A lesser man might have let it fester, waiting for the storm to pass. But Itachi…

He did not speak at first. Instead, he moved through their shared space with careful deliberation, bringing her tea, leaving small gestures of warmth in his wake.

And still, (Y/N) gave him nothing.

Finally, he placed a teacup beside her and murmured, -I have hurt you.-

A pause.

Itachi exhaled through his nose -I cannot undo the past, but I will ensure it does not happen again.-

His voice was soft, edged with exhaustion. He would not beg. But he would wait.

And she knew, in the end, Itachi never broke a promise.

Sasuke – The One Who Burns

Sasuke was used to coldness. He had lived his whole life in the shadow of it. But from her?

No.

His steps were measured as he approached, expression carefully blank. -(Y/N).-

Nothing.

His teeth clenched. -You're overreacting.-

The silence sharpened.

Sasuke inhaled slowly, struggling to rein in his frustration. -I said I'd be home. I didn't say when.-

That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the moment her shoulders tensed, fingers curling into fists.

Sasuke was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to swallow his pride.

-(Y/N)... I didn’t mean to make you feel unimportant.

A flicker of something in her eyes. Sasuke pressed on.

-I’ll be better.

A pause. And then—finally—her gaze lifted to meet his.

Silent, but no longer cold.

And that was enough.