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papaya-twinks · 2 days

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Can you do one with lando. He’s kind of been cold to y/n, thinking about breaking up (for some reason you can make up) and giving her silent treatment to kind of push her away. It’s only after they break up that she realizes that she’s pregnant and she’s unsure if she wants to tell Lando or not. she ends up running into Lando’s mom at the dr office and she ends up telling her that she’s pregnant. Ending however you want

Warnings: Angst, depression, anxiety, pregnancy, cheating

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Mixed with this:

A/N - Chat this is how my oldest brother was born FUN FACT also I’m using Lando’s sister, not mum.

You’d been feeling like utter shit ever since the Miami Grand Prix - but you’d chosen to keep it out the way, especially from your boyfriend, who still hadn’t come down from the joy of his victory. You weren’t annoyed about it, no way, that was exactly why you didn’t tell him. You didn’t want to ruin his celebrations for him, but you didn’t expect him to hold that AGAINST you. Surely he’d see you as a good girlfriend for it?

“Going out,” he said, it had been three days since his win, and he hadn’t stayed a single night with you. “Again?” you asked, sitting in the bed, wincing as you shuffled a bit. “Well you don’t want to,” he shrugged, ignoring your start to tell him otherwise and walking out. You jumped slightly at the sound of the door slamming before you sighed. He’d been cold with you the second he’d come home from the race and you’d said he could ‘party with his friends, if he wanted to’.

Maybe he wanted you to be there, sure, but still. You didn’t mean for him to give you the cold shoulder. You were woken up hours later by the sound of the door slamming and…a girl? She was giggling, mumbling something along the lines of, ‘Lando, please’. Your eyes widened but you said nothing, listening as Lando went into the guest bedroom, the ‘girl’ following him as she giggled. Did he even realise what he was doing? He was drunk, sure…was he about to cheat?

You didn’t have the heart to stop him, trying to block out the sound of the headrest hitting the wall and her annoying, shrieky moans. In the end, you plugged your headphones in and played the music as loud as you could. Wow. “Morning,” your boyfriend grumbled coldly as he walked into the kitchen. The girl must have gone home sometime during the night, because she was nowhere to be seen. “Have fun?” you asked, sipping on your tea. “At the party?” he asked. “Sounded like more fun at home,” you shrugged, looking away.

“Okay, Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?” Lando said, shoulders raised. “Why are you getting defensive?” you asked, putting the mug down as you turned back to him. “Fuck you,” he spat, scoffing as you frowned a bit. Harsh. “I’m done with you, Y/N,” he pushed your mug away, caging you in with his arms to the counter, “I’m done with us,”. You’d expected many different outcomes from your comment - but him dumping you? Not one of them. He walked away, leaving you with your thoughts as tears clouded your eyes.

“Be out by 10,” he yelled from upstairs. You coughed, your illness fading back to you as you flinched at his tone of voice. Ouch. So you did that, moving into a small hotel room for a few days, your illness getting worse and worse with the stress and anxiety, your eyes red, lip blue and body shaking. “Go to the doctors, Y/N,” your friend said sympathetically over the phone as you sighed. “Fine,”. You arrived at the small clinic, seeing a nice nurse waiting for you.

“Y/N, right?” she smiled gently. You nodded. “Tummy aches and a cough, is that it?” she asked, leading you to a chair. “Head hurts a lot too,” you mumbled. “Is it okay if I take your temperature and ask you to do a few tests?” she asked, to which you nodded. She gave a lot of tests. But of all of them, you didn’t expect the one to be positive. The pregnancy test. “Oh, hi, Y/N,” a voice said brightly behind you, making you jump and clutch the test to your chest.

“Hi Cisca,” you mumbled. You guessed Lando hadn’t told her. “What’s that ya got there?” she chirped, smiley and nice as usual. “Nothing,” you said, far too quickly. “Y/N, are you alright? Your eyes are all red,” she said slowly stepping forwards. “Just ill,” you said. “No, you’ve been crying,” she frowned. “Y/N, did my brother do something?” she asked, taking your hand as you tried to stop shaking.

“I just…” you trailed off before the nurse left, leaving you two together, as you explained to her. “And now?” she asked, eyes wide at what Lando had done. “And this,” you showed her the test. “You’re pregnant?” her jaw dropped. You nodded. “Oh sweetheart,” she hugged you softly as your tears poured out, head buried in her shoulder. “Cisca, it doesn’t take a fucking decade to- Y/N?” a familiar voice said, making you jump. Lando.

“Fuck you, Lando,” Cisca snapped at him as he raised an eyebrow. “What bullshit has she made up?” he asked, looking at you, unimpressed. “Made up?” his sister scoffed. “Don’t, please,” you gripped her hand as she groaned. “He’s a been a right dick, though,” she huffed, frowning a bit. “He needs to know,” she added. You sighed, still holding her hand slightly. “I don’t want him back,” you said softly, as she nodded.

“Tell him anyways,” she said, frowning at her brother. “Tell me what, exactly?” Lando said, crossing his arms. Slowly, you stepped forwards, pushing the test into his hand. “What, you got STDs? Who d’you sleep with this time?” he snorted, not even looking at the test. “Very funny, Lando. Now stop running your mouth and look,” Cisca pulled you back. “What the fuck is this?” the Brit demanded to you as you turned away. “Oh fuck, slipper my mind,” his sister said haughtily, “she’s pregnant,”.

“Who’s the father?” Lando demanded. “What?” you asked, eyes wide. “You, obviously? Because unlike you, I don’t go around sleeping with other people when my significant other is in the other room,”. Lando rolled his eyes. “A simple misunderstanding. Was drunk, thought she was you. You look the same as every girl. Basic and simple,” he shrugged as you turned, tears welling again. “Don’t EVEN,” Cisca snapped, pulling your hand.

You ended up staying with his sister for a few weeks, which led to months, and eventually, a year. Your bond with her had been strong before, but now? Stronger than ever. She helped support you and your beautiful baby girl, Cherrii, til she turned 1 years old. You loved her so, so much, but she was almost like a painful reminder of Lando, with soft brunette curls, wide green eyes, and his nose and face shape.

It was almost like he’d done the whole tango thing himself. Lamdo had cut off all ties with his sister too, so as to avoid you before suddenly, on a random day, the doorbell rang. And you expected a parcel or something, as you sat in the lounge, playing with your daughter and her pretend dolls, when a shout came from the door, from Cisca. “What are YOU doing her?” she yelled. “Baby, I’ll be back, okay?” you said to your daughter, kissing her cheek before peering round the door.

Lando.

He looked so much more…different. He had a beard, for fucks’ sake. “Y/N?” he saw you round the door as you pulled back. You weren’t ready for him. You gasped as an incoherent babble made you look down, seeing your daughter waddling towards Cisca. “Cherrii,” you frowned, lifting her into your arms as she pouted slightly, her curls bouncing. “Is that..?” Lando asked, eyes wide at the girl. “It doesn’t matter, you,” Cisca pointed her finger in his face accusingly.

“I just…Y/N, I…she’s beautiful,” he began, gesturing to the girl as she turned to him. “Who he?” she said, frowning a bit. “Doesn’t matter, baby,” you shook your head. “Eyes,” she said, pointing at him, then her. The resemblance was uncanny. You frowned putting her down and shutting the door before standing behind Cisca. “What do you want?” she demanded. “I just…I made a big mistake,” he said weakly. “No shit,” Cisca said sarcastically. “Cisca,” you held your hand up. “Took a while to realise it,”.

“Cherrii? That her name?” Lando asked, to which you added. “Pretty. Like you,” he said. “Thought I was ‘boring and simple’,” you said, the words still stung to this day. “Y/N, please, I need you back,” he said, almost begging now as you turned your head, “and Cherry, she…” he trailed off, but you knew of his implications. “See her,” you said simply. “I don’t care for you. I don’t want my baby growing up without her dad,” you said coldly. “Thank you,” he said, following you into the room.

“Cher,” you smiled at the girl as she grinned toothily - Lando’s smile. “This is…your dad,” you almost sighed. “Daddy!” she clapped her hands, reaching them up so Lando could pick her up. “Hey princess,” he gave her the same smile, “look at you,” he held her up as she giggled, making you turn away from the sight. You did miss Lando. But he’d need to prove he wanted you back, and not just your daughter, who you’d spent your time and effort raising.

“Y/N,” Lando said, planting his hand on your waist. “Please,” he said, one last time, before pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you huffed, pulling your daughter back. “You have a year to make up for,”.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando x reader #f1 #lando norris smut

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after-witch · 3 days

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The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you.

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters.

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess.

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.”

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal.

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?”

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room.

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips.

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse.

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel.

“Then show me.”

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke.

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts.

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?”

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.”

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair.

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning.

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say.

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.”

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains.

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles.

“Don’t.”

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again.

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.”

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.”

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward.

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up.

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

“I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable.

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!”

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end.

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them.

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you.

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.

#mahito x reader #yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere mahito #yandere jjk #afterwitch writes

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cute-sucker · 2 days

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oh em geeee im thinking of rafe taking you to weddings as his plus one 😇

i'd like to think he does this when the two of you are engaged??

⌗ . ·🌥⌇⁺.🌷

theres something about that man dragging you to a wedding, your his plus one and he's staring at the diamond on your finger with such vigor you would think he wanted to marry you at that second.

you like it too, the way that he watches you in your shimmery dress as if he can't get his eyes off you. not only that but he kisses you so deeply you can feel it all the way to your heart. there is something about him, the way he gets ready in a dark suit, a firm look on his face after you took hours to get ready.

and he's the type of person you don't want to invite to a wedding, because he'd asking you what you would like. at one point, he's pointing at the roses and the different foods, "yea' baby so which one do you think would look good at our wedding?"

you're blushing, but trying to tell him to stop at the same time, "rafe! you can't talk about our wedding while we're here at-"

he definitely silences you with his kiss, hands coiling around your waist and when he pulls away you're stunned the way you always are. at one point you get so drunk you start sitting on his lap telling him you want to go.

to make matters worse, he's trying to talk to the older couples as well, trying to make small talk by asking how quickly the marriage ended into the honeymoon stage, "so was it 3 days? i mean-listen between you and me, my lady and i would like to go into our honeymoon as soon as possible."

then he would give you a firm pat on the bum before you gasped and whispered your apologies.

the two of you are horrible at weddings, and yet somewhat endearing. everyone knows rafe as the big bad wolf, but standing next to your giggly persona, a sweetness that radiates off you - he looks almost....soft.

people can see the way his eyes continuously linger over you, and how he always manages to weasel his way into the conversations you have. but he doesn't bother what others think of him, rather he stares at your bright smile and feels love grow in his heart.

especially when the heels get too much for you.

"rafe?" you mewled, practically on the floor. he looked shocked staring at your small figure under the table.

"what the hell are you doing down there?" he hisses, as you give him a dazed smile. clearly, you've had something to drink as you bite your lip before giggles escape your mouth. your laughter is a clear sign of how much you've had to drink

you sigh, tugging at the straps of your shoes, "can't get them off?"

he shakes his head, "why did you wanna wear them in the first place."

at this you pout, tilting your head down almost in sadness, "'cause they looked cute." finally, he grunts before his coarse fingers reach down to fix your heels. you let out a sign of relief when the heels unbuckle, and he stares at you with an exaggerated look.

now it's your turn to smile, "lets go home!"

you know what's coming, but you enjoy it anyway. he bundles you up in his arms - bridal style (he's horrible at weddings, yes he is,) hand supporting your back as you shyly wave your friends goodbye.

you're excited to be a mrs. cameron.

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 21 hours

Note

im not sure what it ia, but i LOVE the little remora. i love it i love it i lvoe it

it makes me insane id love to groom ghosts scales, and everyone elses scales. i want to clean soap up, even if he see's poor ol remora as a toy to play with, i just wanna scrub them all up!

(i love this already. i love mer's)

the more shark mer Ghost pushes you away the more you wanna take care of him so so bad <3

you find yourself pouting a lot at Ghost’s surly attitude, darting up and down his big scarred body, as he tries to nap. tries to, but can’t.

it has nothing to do with you. he has these bouts of insomnia. but they make his temper real short.

regardless! you insist he needs to let you groom him. it’s been days. you get twitchy when he makes you skip your daily grooming with him. the rituals. the rituals are intricate.

“i’m trying to rest, you little pest,” he growls. "come back later. or not at all."

you tell him (tartly) that he said that yesterday and the day before.

“i meant it then and i mean it now. go away before i decide to chase you off.”

like he would. he hardly exists during the day as anything but a grumpy seafloor log. you swear you’ve seen bottom-feeders start nibbling on him he’s so inert.

(nibbling on him is your job.)

you settle down on the sand next to him on your stomach. you don't touch him yet, but he's just within reach. you stare at his pale, scarred sharkshin with bright eyes, practically vibrating in place.

he can feel your eyes on him. worse—he can feel the impatient flicking of your tail fin agitating the water as you stare at him. how can such a small creature be so terribly full of want, he wonders. your anxious energy is like too much salt in his gills.

“i will bite you," he warns. “i’m not in the mood.”

rationally, you know he doesn't like to be touched sometimes, no matter how you insist he'll feel better once he's clean. and still your anxious mind won't calm down until you're absolutely sure you've made yourself useful.

you lay your palms on the silt, fingers inching silently closer to him.

he growls, low and dangerous. the one that means he’s run out of patience and is about to make good on his threats.

you jolt and flatten yourself against the sand in instinctive submission. you’re not a threat, see? you’re harmless. you’re basically just a little piece of seaweed, c’mon.

your instant compliance does nothing to calm him. if anything, the sight of your immediate surrender drives him to double down.

he grabs you by the by the nape of your neck and lifts you up to eye level. “i warned you not to touch me.”

your stupid little heart leaps because all his attention is on you now. you want to wrap your hands around his eagerly, want to reach out and touch his chest. but you can only get close enough to skim his chest with your clawtips.

the sensation only makes him tense.

you quickly bring your hands in and wring them, trying to stop being a bother. "please can i—"

he glares down at you, teeth bared. “no,” he snaps. cold, firm, immediate.

but the more he tries to repel you, the more desperately you want to please him. to get back into his good graces. you feel every bit the creature full of anxiety and neuroses he thinks you are--always trying to figure out how to feel useful and stay on the other mers' good side.

he can see that in your eyes—the desperate need to be useful. it’s what he hates most about you. he can't stand how compliant you are at this moment. how desperate. how eager you are to please even after he's been nothing but cruel to you.

he squeezes you. your body thrums nervously in his grip.

“you little parasite. what part of ‘don’t touch me’ is so hard for you to understand?”

all of it. you stare up at him with big, blank eyes.

“you can't get the simplest instructions through your thick skull, can you?"

you shake your head (kind of, best you can) in his grip as a shameless display of agreement. he’s right, you’re stupid. so stupid.

Ghost scowls. eager, willing to degrade yourself at the smallest fucking thing.

"don't tell me you're getting off on this.”

okay! you won’t.

at that, you see the look in his eye shift from anger to something more devious. your response is so quick and willing that he can't help but smirk.

of course. of course you’d comply. no matter how hard he pushes, how cruel he is, you simply ask for worse. you're a little masochist. a nuisance. worse, you’re his nuisance. you insist on being around him, on seeking him out every bloody day.

he tolerates your presence. that's more than anyone else gets. and you take the precious little patience he gives you and wear it threadbare??

he can’t abide that. he can’t let your audacity go unchecked.

"look at you," he hisses. "eager to debase yourself at the first sign of anger. don't you think that's just pathetic?"

you nod enthusiastically.

mindless creature. willing to let him treat you any way he wants if it means attention. pitiful.

"say it," he growls.

you do. you happily tell him you’re pathetic.

“that you are. finally, something sensible out of that pretty mouth.”

you’re wired—fucking blitzed at the mere implication of good girl in his tone.

“and you're my little parasite. mine to do with as i please."

your whole body wants to curl in delight, your tail twisting like an eel in the sand below you as he eases you onto your back.

his eyes rake over you. you are the picture of obedience and submission, all pinned down and ready.

“look at you,” he rasps. “so desperate to please me. you’d do anything i tell you right now, yeah?”

yes. yes. anything.

he leans in and puts his mouth to your ear. "then let me sleep."

then he’s gone.

you lay in the sand in blank, sexually charged confusion.

by the time you slap your tail into the sand to twist yourself up into the water, half-flustered and hot-tempered, you see the ends of Ghost’s chewed-up tailfins disappear into his favorite dark cave.

before you can give chase, the familiar shape of Soap passes overhead, and he's chuckling as he dives down to you.

Soap’s grin widens as he watches your face cycle through frustration, confusion, and irritation.

you can’t believe Ghost would do that to you.

“of course he’d do it,” Soap says. he saw the whole thing.

you bluster and he coos a little teasing sympathy at you, ushering you up into his arms instead. poor wee cuttlefish, he calls you. lays it on thick because he knows you're looking for a place to expend all that pent up energy now.

he whisks you away somewhere more private so you can tend to him instead. groom him all you want. tell him your troubles. maybe let him make good use of your compliant nature. he tells you it’s a good way to make Ghost jealous.

meanwhile, Ghost is finally able to snooze contentedly, dreaming of you, maybe. he does owe you a little thanks for that small catharsis you gave him.

...

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

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thatmexisaurusrex · 2 days

Text

What if in the big first disaster mini-arc of season 8, Tommy's helicopter crashes close to where the 118 are. Gerrard decides that the helicopter, and everyone that is in it, is a lost cause and that they shouldn't be wasting resources or his team trying to help anyone out of the crash. What if the entire team mutinies to go find Tommy, his team, his helicopter, and the patients he was transporting?

What if the people in the helicopter crash are scattered - some in the helicopter, some flung out of it? What if Tommy was one of the people flung out of the helicopter; lost and out of range?

What if the 118 manages to find the helicopter, only to see that Tommy is missing? But they have to secure the scene, they have to call for back up, they have to make sure everyone still in the helicopter is okay. But maybe Hen takes over the scene and tells Chimney and Buck to keep searching the woods for other survivors.

And Buck feels guilty that he's relieved that Hen chose him to go sift through the woods of this mountain for other survivors, but there's really no time to think about that. There's no time at all.

Lives are on the line.

Tommy is out there.

And in the woods, Tommy is hurt. He's hurt, but he can hear someone calling for help. So, he moves despite knowing full well that might be bad for him. He moves because he's a first responder and will always try to help someone in need. And he finds one of his patients worse off than before. And he feels guilt that due to bad weather conditions and how the fire in the woods traveled (did I not say there was a fire? There's a fire and it's threatening to reach their side of the mountain at any moment), he lost control of the helicopter (and I would like to think there would be another twist too, like the 118 find something was already messed up with the helicopter to begin with, so it was a miracle that Tommy could even fly it at all).

But Tommy could do this.

He could save this one person.

So, Tommy's doing his best. He's working through his own pain as he puts a splint on this person's leg, as he pops this person's dislocated arm back in, as he makes the split decision to burn a cut closed because he doesn't have the supplies and that was the best he could do without the person bleeding out during a hike. And he makes a fucking board out of low branches he rips off trees. And, damn it, he knows his radio is basically busted, but he tries for help, only getting broken static back.

But he is going through.

He just can't hear the other end.

But his words are getting through the radio - they're reaching Buck. And Buck is desperately trying to answer back, he's trying to far longer than he should, he should have realized the first four tries that Tommy can't here him.

But he knows which direction Tommy is going. Because he and Tommy hiked up this mountain before. Buck knows which trail Tommy is trying to get to, so it's a race against time - will Buck and Chimney get to Tommy and the patient before the fire gets to them?

And the answer is that they get there just as the fire does. Nipping at Tommy's heels, but it ends up being stopped by a water drop just in time. Tommy is stunned when he sees Chimney and Evan, he's truly stunned.

He didn't think anyone heard him.

He didn't think they were going to be found in time.

And Buck calls it in, asks for backup, asks for help. Chimney checks on the person Tommy did first aid on.

And Tommy.

And Buck.

They run to each other.

They collapse into each other's arms. Exhausted and running on adrenaline alone. And they're checking if the other is okay - both are very worse for wear. And things seem okay as they wait for help to get to them. Things are going great for Hen too, she successfully saves everyone else in the helicopter crash with Eddie and Ravi's help.

But then.

A tree nearby is unstable.

Tommy sees it just in time.

And Tommy pushes Chimney out of the way, only to be caught under the tree.

And this is bad.

Back breaking bad.

Body crushing bad.

Buck tries not to panic, but it's clear this has shaken him. Chimney is doing his best and is calling for more help.

Help gets there, help finally gets there. And they manage to pull the tree off Tommy. Buck rides with Tommy to the hospital, holding his hand. He paces, distressed, as he waits for the longest surgery in his life.

And Tommy? Tommy should make it. But he's out, he's been put into a medically induced a coma as he heals. And at first, that's okay. Buck can be there. He can make sure Tommy's warm. He can hold Tommy's hand and read to him, and sleep in a rolled in bed.

Until that stops.

Mysteriously, he's not allowed into Tommy's room.

He's not allowed any information.

He's not Tommy's family.

And Tommy's parents are, somehow, technically still Tommy's next of kin - they're in charge of his medical treatment. They're in charge of who sees him.

Buck tries to explain who he is.

They reject the very idea of it.

And it's devastating. Buck didn't think about this. He didn't know this could happen. Tommy hadn't spoken to his parents in over twenty years, yet they're just allowed to come and do this to him.

Buck doesn't know what to do. He can't eat. He can't sleep. People have to force him to do anything for himself as he wonders how Tommy's parents are treating him.

Are they reading to him? Are they spending time with him? Are they making sure he's warm? Are they doing anything at all? Is this all for spite?

Somehow, other people are allowed to visit.

Just not Buck.

Buck is blacklisted.

Eddie is allowed; Christopher too. Chimney, somehow; probably because Tommy had saved his life. Maddie, even. Hen isn't, they can tell something is queer about Hen. Ravi isn't either. Bobby was allowed at first, before he made a case to the Kinards to let Buck see Tommy and it went south.

But definitely not Buck.

And Buck? Buck is camped out in the waiting room. The waiting room he kissed Tommy in. He basically has grown a short beard in that waiting room, he hasn't been shaving.

And all Buck can ask when he sees Eddie or Chimney or Maddie is - how is he doing? Is he doing okay? Is his favorite blanket still on him? What did you talk to him about? What did you read him? How did he look?

And the nurses - they know Buck. They've known him for years. And some take pity on him one night, and let him at least near the room when the parents are gone.

And the parents file for a restraining order against Buck, but it was worth it just to see Tommy.

Tommy looked better than last time.

That was good.

That was what mattered.

And a few more days go by like that with Buck in the waiting room, unable to leave.

Until Tommy wakes up.

He wakes up.

He asks his parents to leave.

He asks for Evan.

And a band of nurses and maybe Chimney rush over and tell Buck the news.

And Buck is running.

Sprinting.

To get to Tommy's room.

He knows where it is.

He memorized where the room was.

And he sees Tommy awake.

And part of him hadn't realized that he wasn't sure if Tommy would wake up. That some little, horrible part of him thought that Tommy would never wake up and he would never see Tommy again.

Tommy makes a joke about how Evan looks like a caveman.

Buck laughs. And cries. And sobs as he rushes frantically over to Tommy and collapses into a hug.

Tommy holds Buck as best as he can in his state while mumbling fondly that Evan smells like a caveman too. Buck offers to go, get cleaned up, but Tommy holds onto him.

Asks Evan to stay.

Apologizes for his parents, that he hadn't expected them to come. That he is going to change his will as soon as he can.

And he just wants Evan there.

With him.

And Buck stays.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy fic #911 speculation #911 s8 speculation #hurt comfort #angst #tevan #kinley #kinkley #my fics #i guess this sort of became a fic lol whoops

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 days

Note

If your taking requests can you please do Yandere Tengen uzui and his wives with a reader who died and was born as Tengens wives. ( a bit like recantation mawhnas)

Reincarnated Wife to be | Yandere Uzui Tengen + Wives

Being reborn into the world of shinobi is hard

Your higher intelligence is helpful for somethings but it still doesn’t compare to strength training before you can properly walk

Not to mention its the Taishō era

Everything is different

No plumbing

No typical school

And on top of all that demons are alive and well

In your new lifetime demons don’t physically appear until your early teens

“That man…”

“Yeah a demon. Those overpowered slugs got to our target before us.”

It’s brutal

That the clan you come from was just so nonchalant of an epidemic on humanity

That was arguably much more brutal then sending a shuriken before an unsuspecting person’s eyes

You only realize they intend to give you away when you hear whispers of the arranged marriage

“He’s the only one who’s survived…”

“Ah he must have the best genes…”

“....or the only one who actually can learn from those graves on their property.”

“What are they at….six?”

The final nail in the coffin is when your prepped to meet with your fellow wives

“Make sure you take note of their weaknesses. It’ll make all the difference when it comes to his favorites.”

Your hesitant

By now you recognize the venue, your sister wives, his surname

But despite how cool it is you don’t want to marry the future sound hashira

You know how it goes

And your not sure if you’d survive with your addition to the other wives

So you run

Using your built up skill and knowledge to get as far as you can from your family if you could call it that

Your plan is to hide in someplace until you can gather enough wisteria to give yourself a private sanctuary

In the meantime you try to find the mineral of nichirin

Enough for you to craft a decent weapon that bodes well when demons occassionaly attack you

For years you’re sure your scott-free

Able to slowly widdle at the demon’s population in your little sanctuary

That is until you stop at the sound of jingling chains from the roof

“I heard there were talks about a mysterious ninja outside of demon corp! To think it’d be just who I was looking for!”

You barely escape a young but powerful demon slayer who you can’t seem to decipher

Is he trying to kill you?

To catch you?

Why does he keep following?

You hold up pretty well for a while unil you narrowly dodge a star thrown in your direction

“We really liked you (Y/n). Why’d you choose to run away?”

If it wasn’t worse already all three of them seem to arrive from the shadows to continue their assault

You try to reason with them

“Can’t you understand?! I didn’t want to be forced to marry some guy I didn’t know!”

“But you knew us! Doesn’t that make it better?!”

“No it really doesn’t!”

It’s getting overwhelming

So unless you’ve mastered some kind of style of your own

They’ll overpower you

“Yack!”

Your strength is preying on their care for one another

Sending an unusual violent kick toward Hinatsuru

You take advantage of them running to help her

Easily disarming a distracted Tengen, you run off

But you aren’t home free

For whatever reason your ex-fiancees are just so hung up about you

And between Uzui’s new occupation he’s aiming for your capture

“You’re just as flashy as I’d hoped! When I do win, there’s sure to be fireworks.”

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twilight-nephilim · 2 days

Text

Do I wanna know ? || Blue Lock

Blue lock headcanons ! : Red flags + Arguments

Characters : Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness (Separately)

Description: Their red flags in a relationship and how your arguments would look like

Word Count: 957

Warning/s: Arguments, All of them are assholes here, Mild swearing, Degradation, Emotional manipulation, Slight Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Kaiser, Most of this might be OOC

Note: This was originally supposed to be crack hcs but I thought it would be fun to make it serious 😭I am not romantacizing any of these red flags and if these things are happening in your irl relatioship please seek help

Rin Itoshi

After his brother left he started to act coldly to everyone else- including you.

As he would dedicate his entire life to football, it meant sometimes ignoring your needs,

Whether intentionally or unintentionally he would brush you off, leaving you to deal with things alone

Rin would be insensitive towards your feelings- saying things that would hurt you unknowingly

“You know… You didn’t need to say that…” You looked down at the ground as Rin just stared at you coldly, as if you were nothing. “Say what? That you aren’t important enough for me to care about? I talk to you almost everyday, isn’t that enough?” He said, his voice laced with venom. It hurt you, to say the least. Was it the way he said it so indifferently? Or was it the way he looked at you as if you were a nobody, someone who he just saw as a stepping stone to his goal. “Rin ! Can’t you just understand that you can’t just say that to me and expect me not to feel hurt from it?! Why do you treat me as just a ‘someone’ to you!? I’m your fucking girlfriend for god’s sake— can’t you understand that I need you to at least talk to me and act like you love me?!…”

Sae Itoshi

Similar to rin, he would act cold to you, but unlike rin he does it intentionally

Sae could ghost you for days and respond with a simple “k”

He doesn’t really realize that what he’s doing is a bad thing, and he refuses to accept his faults

Doesn’t trust you AT ALL but he himself lies or keeps things from you intentionally

“Sae… We need to talk” You looked at your boyfriend as he was laying on your bed, he turns to look at you with a bothered look. “What is it this time Y/n…” Sae groaned as he got his phone to do something. “Sae- listen, I know it’s kind of selfish for me to ask but… can you try to make time for me… You never really talk to me that much anymore…” You mumbled, but it was loud enough for Sae to hear you. “Am I not good enough for you?” He asked rhetorically with an annoyed look on his face. “No- That’s not what I meant-“ You shrieked as Sae suddenly stood up and walked up to you and grabs your wrist. “Then stop being selfish. I’m here aren’t I? I took a trip away from Spain to see you, can’t you just be thankful that I’m spending my time with someone as worthless as you?”

Michael Kaiser

Michael is a really complex character to say the least,

He can manipulate you into doing things that would benefit him under the guise of “making him happy”

Forces you to be more dependent on him so you feel more obligated to do what he wants

Sae 2.0 but worse

Puts himself above you, seeing you as just a emotional support when he’s upset

Expects you to be there for him whenever he’s angry or distressed, but doesn’t do the same for you because he thinks he’s more important than you.

Has MAJOR attachment issues and even if things got extremely toxic you couldn’t leave. He either guilts you into staying or you just come back to him.

You walked up to Kaiser after one of his matches, “Michael… I don’t know if it’s the right time, but can we talk?” Kaiser looked at your serious face with his usual playful look. “What is it, mein liebling? I don’t have all day” He said with a playful yet degrading tone. “I… I wanna break up, this isn’t working out. I just feel exhausted—“ You were cut off as Kaiser grabbed your wrist, his nails digging into your skin. “If you think you can leave me just like that, then you're fucking stupid” He pushed you down on the ground as he moved his hand to grab your hair, “I'm the only who would ever love your pathetic ass; you're worthless without me, so don't even try to leave me. Understood?”

Alexis Ness

Ness gets jealous easily. Seeing how he acts around kaiser, it’s not too far fetched to think he would act the same around his partner.

He doesn’t let you go out alone because he’s afraid that you would leave him for someone else.

Overprotective in a bad way

He gets picky over what you wear because it will attract attention and someone might ‘steal’ you from him

Will get into fights with you over kaiser

Guilt tripper pt. 2

“No. You will not go out tonight.” Ness said as he stared at you from the hallway, “Why not? I'm just gonna go out with my friend, and it's a mall ‘Lexis, It's not like I'm gonna leave you…” You explained but he ignored you and walked to the door, effectively stopping you from leaving. “Y/n… Why can’t you just listen to me!? You’re always picking someone over me, do you even love me anymore!?” Ness started crying, in shock you instinctively hugged him, as an attempt to comfort. “No wait— That’s not what I meant ‘Lexis, of course I love you. Please… don’t cry over me… I won’t leave anymore, I’ll stay.” You said as you tried to comfort Ness, you failed to notice the smirk he held.

#bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #alexis ness x reader #tw.manipulation #tw.abuse #michael kaiser #rin itoshi #sae itoshi #alexis ness #bllk headcanons #blue lock hcs

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leonw4nter · 1 day

Text

Look Into My Eyes and You Won’t Ever Have To Ask

DI!Leon and F!Reader

“Y/N, we’re going to jump into the water. We’ll have to brace for impact, you especially.” Leon informs you urgently as he clutches the top of his dislocated shoulder but he eyes your broken rib, obviously putting more emphasis on your injury even though both your conditions are critical.

“Will we make it with your arm?” You ask before wincing. “Don’t force it back into the joint, you’ll make things worse for yourself.”

Leon scoffs, a soft gust of wind leaving his chapped and busted lips that are somehow still curled skyward. “Drop’s not that high but we still gotta be careful and don’t worry, I won’t pop this thing back in place. I’m not that stupid.”

You two look down from the platform and into the dark and rocky water below; the drop is high and along with other metal debris falling into the water, jumping would be dangerous. The response team’s arrival can’t be estimated due to several factors so you’re not sure how long you and Leon have to stay out in the water; treading will be difficult for him due to his arm and it’s not going to be easy helping Leon stay afloat due to a cracked rib and what you’re guessing, a fractured hip as well. This mission has not been kind to you and him, the B.O.Ws involved seemingly much stronger than those you two have dealt with in the past. The mission was supposed to be a lot simpler, a “slip in and slip out” kind of mission but due to unforeseen circumstances, you two are now on a high platform with broken bones while dressed in formal clothing. There was an auction afterparty on a private island that you two had to infiltrate while posing as a married couple, complete with rings and an expertly-falsified marriage certificate. The goal was to grab the lone sample of an engineered Plaga strain to bring back to a research lab and have scientists re-engineer the DNA to try and weaken it. Sounded simple enough until someone’s advisor recognized Leon and had you two’s cover blown and now landed you two in this shitty situation. Mentally and physically preparing yourselves as much as you can, you two slip your shoes off and chuck them to the water to prevent adding weight to your bodies because staying afloat will prove to be a challenge.

Just as you were about to say you were ready, a Tyrant busts the door and spots the two of you. Not sparing a moment for you two to even think of getting ready, the B.O.W runs towards the both of you. Leon gives you a look and swiftly takes your hand, the both of you leaping into the ocean with eyes shut and breaths held. The impact of sinking into the water knocks the wind out of your lungs, cracked ribs uncomfortably disturbed. Your eyes open, greeted by the dark black blur of the ocean and salt of the sea slowly irritating them. You turn to look for Leon, fighting the pain of your injury and trying to spot him amidst the black sea. You spot a suit trying to swim upwards to get air and that is enough confirmation for you so you try to swim upwards to get some air and try to look for a chopper. Unfortunately, something tugs against your leg and it appears that debris has hooked around your ankle and is dragging you downwards. You bend down and try to wriggle your foot free, feeling around in the dark since you couldn’t see. Fortunately for you, you managed to get it out and you furiously try to get back to the surface to tell Leon you’re fine.

You gasp sharply and tread water despite the roaring ache in your arms and legs, your head turning here and there to look for your partner.

“Y/N!”

You heard a strained call for your name, trying to locate him amidst the splashing surface due to the pitter patter of heavy rains on the surface of the water obstructing your view.

“Leon!” You call out and try to swim to him but he yells your name in a perturbed tone.

“Big wave!”

You look to your right and see a large wave headed for the both of you. You didn’t have time to fully sink back down and so the wave tossed you, causing you to accidentally swallow some water and choke on it while fighting for your life. Could it get any worse? It could, since the Tyrant above you decided to rip the metal door off of its hinges and throw it down into the water above you. Tossed and disoriented in the water while choking, you didn’t realize that you were heading in the direction of a metal part of the door jutting out. You hit your head hard and fell unconscious, all the thrashing and efforts slowly coming to a halt.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon woke up in a hospital, his right arm placed in a sling and his other arm attached to IV drips. There were several electrodes stuck to his chest, connected to a beeping machine. Dazed and confused, especially with the bright lights of the hospital room, he nimbly sat up despite the dizziness that overcame him and got up, not minding if he was connected to several machines. The sudden commotion alerts the nurses on duty, rushing to him just as he reaches to remove the devices attached to him.

“Sir, please calm down–”

“Where is she–”

“Sir, you can’t–”

“Where’s my wife?!”

He had never yelled like that, not even during training when cadets couldn’t get their form right. Not even when he was frustrated with how life turned out for him.

“Where’s my wife? I need to see her,” he repeats less loudly but still retaining the same stern tone he used earlier. He isn’t moving as much but he keeps his eyes peeled on the door of his hospital room.

“She’s on the same floor, 3 rooms across yours, sir. She’s still unconscious the last time I checked so please be careful and try not to make any sudden noise,” a nurse tells him. He calms down, his body no longer as tense as it was earlier. His shoulders sink, occasionally moving his free arm so the nurses can reattach the electrodes that have gone loose when he moved violently earlier.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “And thank you. For telling me.”

“It’s fine, sir. You did that out of love and concern for your wife. You must love her very much if you lost your cool and acted irrationally just to make sure she’s safe.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.”

The nurses helping him simply smiled and continued making sure all instruments on him were secure before helping him back to his hospital bed and making sure he was laying comfortably and didn’t place any pressure on any other injuries he sustained. Before the last nurse turned around to leave him be for the time being to go call a doctor and have the doctor check his vitals, she informed him that guests aren’t allowed at your room for the time being that you’re unconscious. He nods, understanding since you did take a particularly dangerous hit to the head and nearly drowned. He sits in silence, head hung low as he looks at himself and sees his injured arm on a black sling and his suit discarded in favor of a hospital gown. Purples and yellows, along with some small red spots, decorate his skin along with new scars among old ones. Now that he’s more aware of how he’s feeling, he realizes just how much his back hurts and how sore his joints feel. He’s no stranger to an achy and sore body, especially after missions, but as his age progressed the pain seems to have increased along with it. He can’t carry heavy things like he used to and he now takes longer breaks to regain his bearings after training. His gaze falls on his hand and notices the fact that his ring is missing first, not the redness and the bruising in his knuckles on top of recovering wounds from the previous mission. His eyes widened, looking around for his ring until his gaze fell on the ring inside of a tiny ziplock on his bedside table. He sighs, a small lock of brown hair falling down and covering his eye. His mind drifts back to the mission and his small outburst earlier, flitting between the two events. He feels guilty to have taken longer to bring you back up to the surface despite the arm proving to be difficult to swim with. If only he’d already swam up to you and moved you two somewhere less prone to having debris dropped on, you wouldn’t be suffering a concussion. If only he didn’t resist having you style his hair differently, that damn man wouldn’t have recognized him and caused an uproar. For once in a long time, none of his thoughts went into whether or not the mission was a success; he was entirely concerned with your well-being as a nasty guilt eroded his heart slowly and painfully. He loved you, he loved you dangerously for he would do anything brash if it meant securing your safety at the expense of his. He cherished you more than the stars that the night sky offered for your presence outshone even the most stellar cluster of stars. He cherished you more than the serenity that solitude offered for in your presence he could find a peace that solitude could never offer him. He knew the lone and solitary path, having gone down that road almost all his life but when he knew you, he could never go back to living without you by his side again. Hell, he loves you more than he does with whatever freedom he has left after being forced to work for the government for when he’s with you, he finds the true meaning of liberty. For the first time in the longest time, he prays. He stopped praying in the winter of the same year he turned 21, the prospect of believing in a God and holding on to a prayer as good as stupid and a waste of breath. Despite his doubt with the heavens, he is firm in his belief that you will recover soon. In a universe where he sees no god, he prays for you for in you he has found something sacred.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He waits for several days and nights, occasionally getting up from his room to drag himself and the IV drip to the locked door of your hospital room. He tells nurses passing by that he’s your “husband” and that he just wants to see you, even for a little bit. The more he explains to nurses that he’s your “husband”, he feels like a liar. On a fake piece of paper, he is, but do you really want him to be your husband? He is far from ideal– he used to be a heavy drinker, he’s got emotional baggage, and a life with him would put her and possibly, your future family, in constant danger. He knows you’re very capable, more than capable in fact, to defend yourself but you can only do so much to defend yourself, you lying unconscious in a bed attached to tubes being proof of that. As he turns to walk back into his room, a million thoughts run through his head; he decides to tell you about how he feels and treat you the best he can, whether or not you feel the same way towards him. He’ll even request the D.S.O. to put both of you on a break since you both deserve time to focus on your recovery and pursuit of interests outside of work. He also considers writing a book to record his thoughts but considering the injury on his dominant arm, he realizes that writing will be a lot more difficult. On the steps back to his room, he also mentally lists down what he wants to gift you but he stops himself– realizing that he’s getting too ahead of himself.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

“Oh, he did react violently. Very violently.” your nurse tells you as the doctor with her takes your vitals.

You asked her how he’s doing as soon as you got up, looking around worriedly for your ring and your other belongings. The lights disoriented you for a moment, too bright for your pupils that are still adjusting after being asleep for nearly an entire month. You also learned that he got discharged 2 weeks ago but still came by often to visit you. He’s also been said to occasionally brush your hair away from your face and change the water from the vase and flowers he brought you a day after he got discharged.

“He was yelling, moving so much and screamed ‘where’s my wife?!’. Honestly, it was so cute!” she said with a wide smile.

“The entire floor heard him since he opened the door loudly and screamed even louder but he cared less, even if his ass is poking out of his hospital gown.”

You blushed at the mental image of Leon looking for you like a madman in a hospital gown where he’s naked at the back.

“He only calmed down after we told him where you were and he stayed in his room, head hung low the entire day and we all honestly felt bad for him.”

You nodded to her words, your gaze falling to the ring in the ziploc baggie on your bedside table. You asked for a phone and called him, telling him that you woke up and he can come visit you.

“He seemed really happy, could tell that wideass grin of his even through the phone,” you told the nurse and doctor while they smiled and giggled for you.

“Go give him the best kiss you’ve ever given him and profess your love again like it’s the first time!”

Their words made you blush again, only this time it’s because they don’t know you two aren’t exactly married. You two have only kissed once and that was during the fake wedding that the company set up for you two, present with a witness with no affiliation to any of the guests or you two. You’re not even sure if him talking to you was purely out of kindness or if he did that in order to keep up the image that things have not gone awkward. You’re even surprised Leon doesn’t seem to have been picking up the hints you’ve been dropping at him; for an agent who’s trained to be highly perceptive of people’s actions and body language, he sure doesn’t know how to pick up signs that you’re flirting with him. Unless he doesn’t want you. You groan and carefully rest your head on the pillow behind you but you stop, wincing because you just remembered you’ve got a busted rib or two.

A few minutes later, the sliding door to your room opens and in comes Leon with a bouquet of sunflowers on his free hand because the other is on a black sling. His black leather jacket is draped over his shoulders and he can hardly contain his joy at seeing you awake.

Placing the bouquet on your lap, he cages you in for a hug with consideration for your injuries. You swear you hear a soft sniffle from him and feel his body slightly jerk and as he pulls back, he’s got semi-glossy eyes.

“Y/N. Hey, how are you feeling?” He softly asks as he takes your hand in his.

“Feeling amazing. You?”

“Better than ever now that you’re up.”

“That’s good.”

A comfortable silence settles between the both of you, Leon taking one more good look at you. He thought he had a ton of things on his chest but that couldn’t compare to the amount you had on yours– literally and metaphorically. He breaks the silence first by clearing his throat before speaking.

“I– Uh… I got you some flowers,” he explains as he picks up the bouquet and shows some of the flowers to you.

He definitely picked it up in a rush since you spot a small card in the middle of all the sunflowers that says ‘well wishes on your new business’ in swirly gold lettering. You smile for the first time in a long time, finding the gesture to be sweet coming from Leon. He probably got it seeing as how sunflowers seemed to be a bright and happy kind of flower and he wanted you to feel even a little bit positive even in this condition and it’s definitely working but you still decided to ask him why he chose sunflowers amidst all the different pre-packaged flowers.

“Why sunflowers?” you ask as you gently inhale the scent of the flowers despite sunflowers being odorless.

“It only made sense for me to get these for you since sunflowers always face the sun,” he explains as he drags a chair to sit down on as he talks. “I go to you when I need help with something and you’re always there for me so I guess… in a way… you’re kind of like my sun.”

His words trigger your heart to ram itself against your ribcage, your heartbeat thundering so loudly in your ear as you imagine color furiously rushing to fill in the paleness of your face. Leon looks away, a hand making its way to the back of his neck and rubbing it. His gaze returns to you but his eyes shoot up to his brows, picking up your hand with a finger clipped to the pulse oximeter, looking at you worriedly.

“Your pulse is picking up. You alright? Need water? A nurse?” he rapidly asks. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

The pulse oximeter continues to display your heightened heart rate and you want to tell Leon that you feel fine– amazing even– but that would contradict with the reading of the device. You can’t tell him that whatever he just said made your heart race because you love like him so much, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Water would be nice,” you say. He gets up and pours you a glass of water, handing it to you carefully while keeping his hand near the glass in case you don’t have the strength to hold it yet. For the entire day, he tells you all about what he’s been up to while you were unconscious– the break that the D.S.O. gave to the both of you, the mission, his arm, his thoughts while you were gone, and a lot more things.

“Leon Kennedy prayed for me?” you ask in shock, mouth agape while still curled into a perplexed smile. “Leon ‘religion is beyond me’ Kennedy clasped his hands together, shut his eyes, and devoted a few moments of his day to pray for me.”

You laugh heartily, clapping along. You find the image of Leon praying to be a little funny, impossible even; you know about Leon’s past on religion and how he was a practicing Catholic up until the winter of the same year he turned 21 but it seemed so foreign for him to be praying for you. Little did you know, he found himself praying because his love for you taught him devotion in feelings more powerful than he.

“Shut up,” he mumbles while his cheeks burn pink. “Don’t laugh at me like that, at least it worked.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You told Leon about what the nurses told you about him nearly having a meltdown as soon as he woke up. You’ve never seen him bury his face into his hands and groan, leaning into your side and burying his face there as he pulled his leather jacket above his head and begged you to stop teasing him about it. It’s been a week since you’ve woken up and Leon’s visited you every single day since then, occasionally bringing personal items you told him to bring for you or lunch boxes he cooked and made for you. Bento boxes, he called them. He showed you the entire playlist of YouTube videos he made full of bento box cooking videos, some of the videos having the red bar underneath them.

“Rebecca told me all about them, said that they were balanced with everything you’ll need to recover,” he explained. “They’re pretty neat, actually. It’s fun making them look all cutesy for you. I’m pretty sure we’re giving the nurses a new reason to giggle every day.”

You smile as you take a bite of the spam, humming in satisfaction as the flavors erupt. You thank him for the effort he’s been putting into cooking for you, to which he smiles and nods to.

“Leon,” you say as you put the lid back on the bento box. “Um– I’ve… There’s…. I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” He says, putting his pocketbook into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“We’re on a break right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He shifts in the chair and you begin to fiddle with something small in between your fingers.

“Are we still required to keep this up?”

He stays silent for a moment until you gesture to the rings on both of your hands. “Not sure but not until we confirm that the mission is a success in a briefing, I guess we have to.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, you know. The hospital makes sure to feed me everyday.”

“I don’t have to but I want to.”

“I’m sure no one’s suspicious of us being a sham couple. You’re always nice to me and it seems genuine so you’re free to go.”

“Y/N,” Leon begins. “I’m not doing this for the mission. I’m pretty sure praying for you isn’t required by the D.S.O. Before you begin to tell me that I’m being nice for the record, Y/N, I’ve never prayed for anyone to wake up from a coma. You’re the first.”

“Does that mean you love me, Leon?” you ask. You lock stares with him, determined to not let Leon leave your room for the night without getting a direct answer from him.

“Y/N. If you stared any longer and fiercer into my eyes a long time ago, I would’ve crumbled then and there and told you that I have always loved you. All this started from a deception but it led me to the most honest feeling I’ve ever felt so yes, I do love you.”

Silence befalls the both of you in the room, save for the soft beeping of the machines in the same room as you two are in. Amidst the silence, you two come to a wordless understanding that you two are in love and have been in love for a long time. A delicate smile points the tips of your lips upwards before a soft laugh leaves you, genuinely ecstatic that your feelings have been returned and he fiercely feels the same as you do. He follows suit, smiling and chuckling as he takes your hand into his and kisses the back of your knuckles, nuzzling into your open palm as you gently rub your thumb back and forth on his stubbly cheek.

“In a few years time, we’re going to replace these ones with actual rings,” you say to Leon to which he nods, silently basking in your beauty and in the joy that there’s a future ahead for him with you. A nurse knocks at the door, informing Leon that visitation hours end in a minute and he has to go soon.

“Well, looks like I gotta go,” he quietly says though you know he doesn’t want to go just yet and frankly, you don’t want him to go just yet.

“You’ve only got a minute left before you do leave, just wait it out,” you urge him.

Sighing but not out of displeasure, he sits back down and leans near you to bask in your presence before he heads back into his lonely apartment. An entire minute passes by and Leon begins to get up but not before you sit up, reach for the sleeve of another one of his many jackets, pull him down to your level, and place a hungry yet velvety kiss on his lips. His eyes are widened before he shuts them, his free hand traveling to the base of your head and gently drawing your face nearer to deepen his kiss. A nurse walks in again, telling Leon to leave since his visiting hours are over but neither of you are too stubborn to pull away and break the kiss just yet. Your hands finds a portion of Leon’s jacket draped loosely over his shoulders and lifts it up, shielding both your faces as you feel a smile widen on Leon’s lips fitted against yours. You two are definitely giving the nurses a new reason to gush and giggle every time they are going to see either of you. As for you alone, you’ll have some explaining to do to the doctor checking your vitals for the irregularities in your heart rate.

NOTE - I didn't proofread this so if you spotted errors then I'm rlly sorry because I'm lazy (💀). This fic is a lot longer than my other drops lately so I hope we're all okay w that!!! I've got like 2 requests in my Inbox so to my anons who are waiting, it might take a while but I'm def going to work on them and post something for you <3 Happy Pride Month to my queer readers and queer mutuals, you deserve to be seen, heard, celebrated, and appreciated!!! Support your queer friend or someone you know who is queer by doing something for them or getting them a food item that they like, make them feel extra special this month yk :3 Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!! I <3333333 UUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The wavy divider was made by @roseraris , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

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euno11a · 16 hours

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i just saw your post about reader who can’t make themselves cum and ugh i love it, especially because i feel like no one ever talks about or includes it. anyways i would love to hear your thoughts on reader who has a hard time cumming, especially during sex no matter how good it feels

I fell that it’s honestly really important to talk about it to let people know that they aren’t alone. And I’m so glad you liked it :)

It is scientifically proven that men can cum easier during sex than women. It’s mostly because women have complex bodies, what works for one person might not work for the other. So when figuring out your own body, it’s important to keep in mind that your body is unique compared to others.

this wasn’t the first time that you’d been sprawled out in bed with Simon pleasing you. He kissed up and down your body, caressed every inch of you, even stopped for a little to rest his head on your chest and make sure you were nice and relaxed. You two had been on this journey together for a little while now, trying to figure out what you like and how he can make his pretty cum. He had tried many things, using his tongue, light pressure on your clit, firmer pressure, no pressure and just stimulating your g-spot, stimulating your g-spot and your clit, adding nipple play to see if that made you more sensitive; but even if it felt good, your body wouldn’t let yourself go.

at first, Simon thought it was because he wasn’t good enough. That he just lost his touch and that he wasn’t doing enough for you. But when you comforted him and explained how you’d been like this since you could remember, it made him feel better and worse. Alright, he wasn’t a complete failure and could still make you cum…but why hasn’t he? Every time you two had sex or just did foreplay, he would make sure to take all the time in the world to get you really nice and wet for him. He would use his fingers to curl inside you and touch that spot to make you mewl and arch your back off the mattress. But you still couldn’t cum. You were in the middle of him thrusting into you, feeling how his cock would twitch gently inside you, his fingers working your clit. Left side, right side, hood of it, right on it, pinching it gently, but all it would do is make you feel more pleasure that lead to nothing but a dead end.

you buried your head into his neck and let out small whimpers as he kept his movements steady. After another 15 minutes, that’s when the whimpers turned into silent sobs. Your body jerked a little as you cried, tears gliding down your cheeks and onto his bare shoulder. His head leaned down against yours and held you tightly, gently sliding your of you to hold you in his lap. You cried softly, neither of you talking, but both knowing what was wrong. “I don’t like being broken…” you said through little cries, voice soft and hoarse. But you were cut off by Simon shaking his head and cupping your face to press small kisses against the apples of your cheeks.

“Yer not broken, love. Y’just different. Just because we don’t know how t’make you cum just yet doesn’t mean my sweet girl is broken.” His words were soft against your ear as he caressed your head, another time failed.

as time passed, you began losing hope. It’s fair, thinking you just can’t do it because something inside is wrong or maybe you just weren’t cut out to be able to feel that pleasure everyone talks about. You started to notice how Simon even began refusing any type of pleasure. Handjob? No thanks, love. Maybe a blowjob cause you had a stressful day? Nope, but I do need cuddles, sweet girl. He was refusing your love. While he sat in his home office finishing some paperwork, you walked in quietly, staring at him as he stared down at the paper, pushing up his glasses. The glasses that you finally got him to buy because he kept complaining about the television being too hard to see and the news on his phone is too small. Thank god you did though, he looked bloody hot in them. Scooting your way into his office, you stood in front of his desk, catching his attention. “Somethin’ ya need, love?”

your cheeks burned as he looked at you, but you couldn’t get distracted! “Why are you refusing my love?”

it was clear the question caught him off guard by the way he paused, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you. “I’m not refusin’ your love. What makes you say that?”

“Wha-…? Yes you are! Every time I offer you a blowjob or a handjob, you say no. Am I doing something wrong? Does it not feel good? Do you…do you not like me anymore?”

he could hear your little heart shatter in that last question, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. He grabs you hands and sits on his desk, pulling you towards him. “I fucking love you. Neve think for a minute that I stopped loving you. I’m refusing to let you do any of tha’ because I don’t think it’s fair to ye. Not fair that my sweet girl has to endure not bein’ able to cum, so m’not gonna either.” He says while looking straight into your eyes, his thick and calloused fingers pushing some hair behind your ear. “Won’t cum until you can.”

while you thought he was refusing your live, he was actually doing it because he didn’t want you to feel left out? This man looked like a scary man, but he was the most thoughtful and caring teddy bear ever. “What if I never do, though?”

“Then neither will I.” He spoke seriously. “Understand?”

the small nod you give him is enough acknowledgement for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Now, I was doin’ some research, and I found that most women can’t reach an orgasm without some help. So, what do ya think ‘bout lookin’ for some toys with me, eh?”

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awakenedevildays · 1 day

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「insecurities」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

you can read the other parts here!

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"goodnight sweetheart" you whisper to your fast asleep daughter as you kiss her cheek, you walk out of the dark room and close the door behind you before walking towards the master bedroom of the hotel suite. While you wait for Art to get out of the bathroom you strip down to put on Art's shirt you sleep with and, as you do, you get lost on your thoughts: Art has been acting so weird lately, he is silent, often spaces out and his eyes always looks at you with insecurity, doubts clearly floating in his mind about something you don't know.

Your thoughts are interrupted from your husband that emerges from the restroom, but he just stands there, eyes locked to the floor and you look at him worried.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and your hand reaches out to him, "come here baby" you say and Art follows your voice until he is in front of you to his knees.

His head rests on your lap and you caress his short hair in a loving manner while the other goes to massage his neck to soothe him.

Art's body responds to your touch like a cat to a scratch, he sighs and leans into your touch as his eyes flutter shut, you swear you hear him purr at your caress as he leans in and nuzzles into your stomach, you chuckle softly amused at his antics but don't comment on it, instead you just continue giving him massages while your fingers comb through his short hair, he wraps his arms around your lower back under your shirt.

"What's going on in your head? tell me" you say calmly and Art sigh.

"I really can't hide anything from you, can I?" he smiles sadly and you feel your heart crack when you see his dull eyes closing, Art used to always be such a smiley person so seeing him so down just doesn't feel right, you bring him back to you and take his cheeks in your hands, his back is straight as his face leaves your thighs.

"you know you can talk to me about anything" you say softly but Art just sighs again, squeezes your hips in his hands and nuzzles in yours like a cat, his eyes still looking down to his hands under your shirt, there are a few moments of silence as you wait for Art to finally talk, your heart beats faster and faster.

"I want to quit this year, whether I win the Open or not." Art admits, and you can hear your heart missing a beat at his confession. The tension in his shoulders drains away immediately after saying what was making his heart heavy and you sigh out of relief, you thought he was going to say something way worse. Despite the ease you feel after his confession, the news still shocks you and an incredulous "what?" leaves your lips.

He finally looks at you, his eyes begging you for something you're not sure to understand.

"I said..." Art starts, but the words are lost to a strangled sob "will you still love me if I just... play the Open and retire afterwards? Can you promise me that? Can you please promise me that?"

"art-"

The man continues, breathless as he forces out another word "please?" his forehead touches your thighs again. His voice is small when he speaks next "...please say you love me," he whispers, and you have to strain to hear him.

You take his face in your hands again "hey there is no need get anxious! of course I'll always love you, you just surprised me... i thought you were happy to play" you say smiling, you don't like this side of him.

Your words seem to have a soothing effect on him, his back slump forwards as he melts into your touch. His face slackens, lips parting as a shaky breath slips from them and doesn't say anything, merely presses his face into your palm and closes his eyes. In this moment, he's entirely yours.

Art closes his eyes as his thumbs trace patterns on your hip, thinking on the perfect way to explain his feelings to you, the words stuck on his throat.

"I'm just tired of it" he lets a humorless chuckle before shaking his head "all the pressure, the stress, the competition... I feel like I've lost the passion I had when I began this sport" Art takes your hand and intertwine your fingers with his "I feel like I'm not doing this for myself anymore, I'm not happy in the court" you hum in understanding.

Your thumbs now caress his temples in a motion you hope soothes him "what's going on in this head of your, mh? I thought you knew that my love for you was unconditional"

Your hands continue to coax him towards calmness.

"...I know," He agrees softly. His eyes remain shut as a shaky sigh slips free. "I know, I just... I worry that I'm a bad husband, sometimes... Y'know? I just have this—this thing" Art tries to elaborate, but his breath catches in his throat "that makes me think you'll find someone better," he grits out, and the admission makes him shudder and you smile pitifully at him.

"Art there is no one in this world that could be better of you for me, you are the best husband and the best father I could ask for: you're patient, kind and loving and i feel so lucky to be loved by you!" you briefly kiss his lips before continuing "I want you to be happy with me, with us, i want you to do what you love and if tennis doesn't make you content i'll be the first to support you"

Art seems to take comfort in your words; his mouth tremble when he feels your lips against his, and when your fingers skim across his jawline he almost moans, pressing himself closer to you as if scared you'll move away, he doesn't think he ever craved your affection this much until now.

"I know" he murmurs, lips trailing kisses against your fingertips. "I know all these, I just—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head with a sigh. "Never mind. Forget I asked".

"No, art. I must've done something wrong to make you think that something like this could change my feelings for you, please tell me"

There's a frustrated huff from Art, though you suspect it's more at himself than anything you've said.

"Stop." A note of pleading in his voice. "I—" Art tries to protest, but the look on your face clearly communicates that you're not taking no for an answer. For once, he really seems to be at a loss for words.

"...You didn't do anything," He finally whispers, defeated. "...I really do know that you love me, I'm just... scared, is all".

"I'm here, in every step of the way I'll be here" your words feel like salvation for Art.

A shaky breath slips past his lips, "thank you" he whispers against the skin of your hand and kisses it.

"just please... do something for me" you ask and Art answers immediately.

"Anything".

"Even if it's your last season, do your best. I don't want you to retire with regrets" Art nods against you.

"I will, I promise," He mumbles, muffled against your skin. "I'll do as good as I can, I swear" he lowers his face to kiss your knees and you feel like he has something else to say, though he looks a bit nervous when he begins to talk

"Before the next slam," he starts, and his gaze skitters away from yours. "...can we spend a weekend just the two of us? Only me and you? Without Eloise or distractions, just us... I miss having you all to myself."

"love how that sounds" you bring him up with you and lay him on the bed, despite his somewhat serious mood, Art cannot help the sharp inhale of surprise he gives when you climb on top of him. He looks a bit bewildered for a second, but he quickly gives into the sensation of your weight pinning him down, his hands caress your thighs softly.

"where were you thinking of going?" you ask and Art thinks for some seconds before answering while smiling: it's tender and affectionate and he looks far more at ease than he ever did in the last twenty minutes.

"I dunno," He murmurs, reaching up to put your hair behind your ears to look t you better "maybe a long weekend up at the beach house? It'll be all ours".

His gaze flicks to your lips, clearly he's already entertaining ideas of what the two of you could get up to in complete isolation.

You laugh and kiss him "i like the idea" Art tilts his chin up to let your lips meet his, his bust rest now on his forearms.

"i'm happy you'll be at home more often, Eloise will be ecstatic to have you around" you confess.

"I'm happy about it too," Art admits. A brief pause, and then there's a very obvious question he's refrained from asking.

"...Do you think she misses me? I mean - I know she's only three, but..." Another sigh "...sometimes I worry that she doesn't want me around...".

"Don't be ridiculous Art, she loves you! she can't wait to see you when you're not with us, she also asked for something the other day"

That piques his curiosity; his head draws back to look at you.

"Really? What did she say? What did she ask for?" Art presses you for details, clearly eager to know what his daughter desires, he's always been a bit of a doting parent.

"she asked for a little sister to play with, said she got bored of playing with me" you laugh, that brings an amused chuckle out of Art.

"A sister, huh? I think a brother might be a bit easier on her, you know," he muses, grinning as he pushes himself to rest against the headboard pulling you with him, your chests pressed together.

"Do you want to have another kid, then?" He murmurs against your skin. "Have another little one running around the house?".

"more than anything" you caress his abs "but...".

Art's breath hitches in his throat when your hands come to his skin. One of his hands wander down to lift your shirt while the other goes to your ass cheeks.

"'But' what?" He prompts, words whispered against the skin of your collarbone.

"i want her to have your curly blonde hair"

Art hums in recognition of your words, his hands sliding further down past your hips to your thighs.

"My hair, huh? I thought you'd go after a cute brunette or a ginger, maybe," Art murmurs, lips pressing against your jaw now "are blondes really your type?" he teases, a kiss on your chin.

"Donaldsons are my type" you wink.

Art laughs at the response, burying his face in your chest. He nips gently at the skin he can reach, fingers kneading into the meat of your ass in a firm massage.

"Guess I fit the criteria, then," he teases, his breath hot against your collarbones as his teeth graze just above your pulse-point, drawing another shuddering whimper from you.

"are you okay with it?... with having another baby i mean" you ask between your moans.

Art thinks your question over, expression softening as he lifts his head from your chest to look at you. His hands trail up and down your side, drawing soothing circles into your skin.

"Of course," he whispers, and he sounds so sure of this "having you and Eloise is the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I'm more than happy to give her another sibling. I'd give you anything, anything you ever asked for."

Your heart swell in your chest "what did i do to deserve you?".

That makes Art's expression turn sheepish, and he ducks his head to hide his blush against your chest. It's the easiest thing in the world to turn him into a flustered boy, even after all these years, even if now you are both adults.

"I should be asking you that," he mutters, pressing an absent kiss to your skin "I wouldn't be half of what I am now without you, love".

"the same goes for me".

A quiet, fond laugh slips past Art's lips, he lifts his head up to look at you, eyes shining with affection and contentment.

"I love you," he whispers, like it's a promise. The words sound like they're just for you, not to be shared with anyone else. Art presses another warm kiss over your heart, sighing happily. "I love you so much".

"I love you too..." you smile lovingly "so, when should we start working on making a sister for Eloise?"

Art laughs, leaning to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

"We can start tonight, love," He murmurs, leaning in to claim your lips with another eager kiss "and if we don't succeed tonight, we can try again in the morning".

"eager aren't you?" you push your hips down onto his, the laugh Art lets out turns a bit breathless, more of a gasp as your centers touch.

"What can I say, I'm feeling a bit... inspired," he whispers, catching his breath as his hand comes up to cup the underside of your thigh, fingers digging into the meat of your leg.

He meets your kisses gladly, sloppily and messily. He's far more interested in pressing further into your body, arching eagerly against you with a low groan. The hand on your thigh slides higher as Art seeks more contact, more skin, more of you, he lifts up your shirt and you raise your arms to take it off, now the only thing that separates your bodies are your panties and his boxers .

"I love you," his breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and fervent at your ear. His mouth moves to your jawline, lips worshipping every inch of your skin. Art's intent is clear - he wants to make sure you feel so deeply, truly loved, so that you never doubt his affections or dedication to you.

You are going to push his boxers off but a knock on your door makes you and Art freeze. Your heads turns towards the door, his breath quickening in anticipation.

"Eloise?" He calls, his tone unsure. He doesn't seem like he's willing to take his hands off of you, though, as if the thought of moving away from you frightens him.

"mommy? daddy?" you daughter voice comes from the other side of the door.

At the sound of his daughter's voice, Art's demeanor softens and slumps in relief, his half hard-on immediately softens "fuck-" he whispers and you chuckle "yeah, sweetheart? We're in here, is something wrong?" he passes you you shirt and helps you put it on hastily, you remove yourself from his body and sit on the edge of the bed.

"come in" you say after fixing your shirt to cover your body, the knob turns and your daughter pokes her head inside, eyes filled with tears as she looks at the both of you, you stand up worried.

"Mommy," she whispers, sounding a little unsure of herself "daddy" she looks at him. A smile spreads across her features, and she rushes towards you.

"are you okay baby?" you ask and take her in your arms before sitting on the bed next to Art.

Eloise nods and curls her little body against yours, looking up at you with bleary eyes.

"I think I had a nightmare," she mutters, cuddling closer to you. Her hand reaches out to grab for Art's, and he immediately holds onto that precious little hand to kiss it softly.

"ow baby, i'm so sorry" you kiss her head.

She leans up and presses a sleepy kiss to your cheek, her thumb coming up to rub at your jaw as if to comfort you and take away any hurt you may have.

"You didn't give me a nightmare, mommy," she tells you with a tired smile. Art chuckles and gives you the fondest look he can offer - pride at your daughter, and adoration for you.

You laugh "would you like to sleep with us? nightmare's can't come in here".

Eloise seems to love the idea, and she nods eagerly as she clambers off of your lap to crawl towards Art, he pulls her on him and adjusts himself into a lying position under the covers, Eloise on top of him, he pats the space next to him welcomingly for you to join them.

You lay against him, your head on his chest near Eloise's and Art feels like he's holding his world in his hands.

He wraps a warm hand around you, pulling you in closer. You can hear the steady beat of his heart as you lean in.

"good night, i love you" Eloise murmurs and you kiss her forehead.

"We love you too, honey," Art whispers, leaning down to kiss his daughter's head. Your daughter hums happily at the affection, burrowing into Art's chest. His head turns to meet your eyes as you lean up towards him, he kisses you sweetly.

"I guess we'll have to wait for the week end at the beach for *that*" you whisper on his lips.

There's a chuckle that rumbles from Art's chest at your words, and he lets his head drop back onto the pillow "I suppose so, love," he says with a yawn, his other arm wrapping around Eloise's small frame. He pulls the two of you flush against him as he gets settled in.

"But this is good, too."

"yes it is" you smile and slowly you drift off to sleep in his arms

Your husband listens to your even breathing for a while, making sure you've fallen asleep and Art smiles fondly at the two of you. He presses a lingering kiss to Eloise's forehead before turning his head to claim your lips with another, brief kiss for one last time.

Art feels the full gravity of his affection for you and your daughter, contentment washing over him. Soon, he too falls asleep with his family bundled up in his arms under the covers.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Do not copy or repost.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson #challengers fic #challengers

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cntloup · 1 day

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medieval au you finally find out what your husband does

"does it bother you?" you ask as you lay in your husband's arms, "what?" he asks, peering down at you, confusion written on his face.

"that i was... a prostitute." you respond, lifting your head from his chest and gazing into his gorgeous brown eyes as realization settles in them.

"no." he replies with a slight shake of his head, "no?!" you question in a surprised tone.

"no." he repeats, "what bothers me is the fact that you had to do it, the circumstances that forced you into it."

"and i assure you..." he continues, "that you never have to do that again. in fact, you will never have to even lift a finger as long as i'm here."

"simon..." you call out breathily, a dreamy smile painting your face and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

as soon as your lips meet, the sound of footsteps and metal clanging in the distance reach your ears.

he's on high alert and instinctively shields you from any possible danger, his large body covering yours as he faces the door, ready to jump at whoever dares to attack him and his wife.

"stay here." he whispers to you and reaches to take his sword beside the bed, "simon? what's happening?" you ask, frightened and confused.

he turns to you as he reaches the bedroom door, "don't make any sound. whatever happens, whatever you hear, you stay here and keep quiet."

"wha-" you start and he shushes you, "under the pillow." he says, gesturing for you to look.

your hand reaches under his pillow and you take the dagger hidden there, "use it if necessary." he says and leaves the room.

you squeeze your eyes shut as your hands tightly hold onto the dagger, crying silently in utter fear.

the sound of shouting and swords clanging against one another and bodies falling and hitting the floor fill the house.

and you pray, although not religious, you pray to whomever there is above listening, that no harm comes to him.

after what feels like an eternity of terror, he enters the room, "we have to go." he informs you while clutching his abdomen as he bleeds into his shirt and hand.

"oh my god, simon!" you rush to his side and remove his hand to take a look at the wound.

he winces as you remove the part of his shirt that was stuck to the wound, "sorry." you apologize.

your eyebrows furrow and you wince in pain, as if you can feel it as you glare at the deep wound.

"you know how to sew?" he asks, "i've got it." you utter and leave to bring your sewing kit, trying so hard to keep your composure and not scream in his face asking what the fuck just happened. he's hurt and he's your priority right now.

you guide him to sit on the bed and sew him up with your delicate hands, shedding silent tears as you think about how you nearly lost him, and the amount of blood frightens you, "don't worry, love. it's nothing. i've had worse." he says, wiping away the tears running down your cheeks and you scoff at his attempt to lighten the mood.

you finish patching him up and place a clean cloth over the wound.

"we have to go now. there has to be more coming." he says and you help him to get up as you witness him struggling.

"go where? who even were they?" you ask in frustration, you still have no idea what it is all about, "i'll tell you on the way. now pack up your stuff." he replies monotonously, only adding to your frustration, but you stay cool and obey.

he informs the lads of the attack and you all gather in a large ship... which is your husband's apparently. there's a whole lot you don't know about him.

"you're a bloody pirate?!" you shout with widened eyes, surprised and angry and all the emotions in between.

"...yes." he mutters, "and there's a prize on my head."

"what?! simon, what the hell?! when were you gonna tell me??!" you start shouting in his face and slapping his chest, unleashing all the anger and frustration you felt.

"i wasn't planning on it." he responds, his nonchalance only fueling the fire of your rage towards him as you huff and puff, glaring daggers at him and pacing the length of the ship.

"i know it's a lot to take in-" he starts, only for you to cut him off, "damn right it is." you snarl, but immediately take a deep breath to cool yourself down, "but it's not your fault."

"i'm sorry, simon. i know i overreacted." you apologize as you walk up to him and embrace him while keeping wary of his injury.

"not at all, love. you have every right to." he says, wrapping his big burly arms around you and taking you in his loving embrace.

"you need to rest." you murmur, looking up at him, "only if you stay with me." he whispers, slowly leaning in, "always." you say and capture his lips with yours, both smiling widely into the kiss.

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lilghostiequinni · 2 days

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Baby Steps

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Finacee!female oc (Kaylen) x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy, Established relationship

Summary: People only knew her as the girlfriend of Lando Norris, but it's a slip-up by Lando that reveals her to be more in an interview.

Requested: NO / yes

Kaylen was walking around the paddock waiting for her fiance, boyfriend; everyone still thought she was the girlfriend of Lando, not the woman who would soon be his wife, his fiancee.

There was nothing she could do about it, she wanted nothing more than to tell the world, but she much more enjoyed the peace of no one knowing but those trusted few.

She ran into a fan of Lando's accidentally, like she literally ran into her.

"I am so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you okay?" Kaylen quickly says as she helps the woman she knocked over up.

The friends of the woman came over as the woman stood up. As one of her friends was opening their mouth to say something, the woman beat her to it, "It's okay, I wasn't watching either."

One of the woman's friends' eyes widened in recognition, "You're Lando's girlfriend, your Kaylen!"

Kaylen nods at the girl, "And you are fans of his? All of you?" She meant nothing negative, knowing that some are fans of her fiance's but also like another driver.

"Yeah, we all are fans of Lando. We have some bracelets of him, but we weren't able to give them to him before he walked away." The woman she knocked down told her.

"Well, I can give them to him, or if you stay right here, I'll be right back, and I'll get you some signed merch," Kaylen said. She had had worse run-ins with fans about her being with Lando, but there were many who weren't, and she usually got them like a shirt or hat.

"Really? You would do that?" Another in the group asked.

"Yeah, you must be some of the nicest fans I've met. The last fan I ran into was so rude, and she called me a whore for loving Lando," Kaylen says to them. "Stay right here, I'll be right back, here take my pass and they won't move you away."

When she received a nod, she turned and walked back to the McLaren garage, where Lando seemed to be ready to text her.

"Hey, I was just about to text you. Where were you?" Lando asked as he pulled her into a hug.

"I was exploring as always, and I got bored. But I ran into a fan, quite literally, and they are so nice I promised merch. So, please,' Kaylen asks, well, says to her fiance as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"Alright, hang on," Lando says; he lets go, prompting Kaylen to let go, too.

Lando walks away and returns with a box and a pen, "Lead the way."

Lando has a smile on his face as he says so, "Let's go before I'm called into the next meeting."

Kaylen nods and leads the way to the fans she has met, having seen them in the same spot she left them, "Sorry it took longer than expected. I had to wait for him." After she says something, the fans see Lando behind her with a box, and they are speechless.

Lando just chuckles.

"I told him how we met and that I promised signed merch, and he decided to get out of the paddock," Kaylen said to the group of fans.

Who had regained their voices and were talking a lot, and Lando was signing things from the box of merch and giving them to the fans and putting the bracelets they gave him on his wrist.

When the fans have their merch and leave, Kaylen hugs Lando with a smile before the two walk back to McLaren.

A few days later, Lando is doing an interview where he is supposed to tell the truth, a lie sector test.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No," Lando answers with a chuckle; it's technically true; he doesn't have a girlfriend, but a fiancee.

The man behind the computer nods, signaling that he's telling the truth.

"Oh, do you have many girlfriends?"

Lando puts his head and chuckles, and he thinks to his fans who call him their boyfriend, but none that he himself considers his girlfriend, but what he does think of is the way Kaylen smiles and how she makes him feel, "No, but I've got a fiancee."

After the interview is released, it's all over Twitter X, that he's scared people, thinking he and Kaylen broke up, but then when he says fiancee, fans are shocked, but the response over the new discovery rather than development is amazing, and people love it

A/N: A little short, but I like it.

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @barcelonaloverf1life @tallrock35 @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

#ln4 #f1 #lando norris #formula 1 #mclaren #lando norris x reader #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris x oc #lando norris x you #lando x reader

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loveinhawkins · 21 hours

Text

the first in a history of removals

ao3 Written for @steddiemicrofic June 2024 prompt, “stuff,” 483 words. Rated G, Post-Canon, Pre/Developing Relationship, Steve Harrington Backstory, cw: absent parents, implied depression in a parent

The house is quiet when Steve gets back, not in a too quiet way, exactly, not in the way that makes Steve’s hair stand on end.

But there’s an imperceptible shift in the air, like summer waning, on the cusp of fall—enough for him to know that something’s changed in the time it took to give Robin a ride home.

Eddie’s in the living room, kneeling near the TV; he’s wearing an old off-white t-shirt of Steve’s, one that’s grown soft and faded with time. The sight would normally make Steve smile: how their spaces are blurring together; how there’s a new toothbrush resting on the bathroom sink that, by silent agreement, belongs to Eddie.

But he spots the change immediately: the cabinet by the TV has been opened. Eddie’s holding a photograph delicately by the corners; he turns when he notices Steve’s in the room, keeps glancing down so his thumb doesn’t smudge the picture.

“Your mom called,” he says softly.

The words sound just like how he’s holding the photograph. Careful.

“Oh,” Steve says.

He can’t stop the wave of sadness in his voice—that he wasn’t there, that he missed her. He never knows when the next phone call will come.

But he does know that Eddie would’ve been kind.

“Was she, um. Was she okay?”

“Yeah, she—” Eddie stops, a tiny crease in between his eyes. “I think so. She—she just wanted me to check…” With his free hand, he indicates the open cabinet, “I wouldn’t have—it’s just, she asked me to—”

“I know,” Steve says. “Eddie, it’s fine, I’m—I’m glad you picked up.”

He sits down, and Eddie hands the photograph over so gently that Steve has to look away. His eyes catch on the cabinet shelves, the old photo albums, and he laughs quietly, “I can’t believe she kept all this stuff,” because that’s easier than trying to explain the rest of it.

When she calls on bad nights, her voice trembles with the strain of sounding upbeat—like how people try to disguise drunkenness, their over-enunciation only giving them away. More than once, Steve has wanted to say I know you’re not sleeping, because they are similar in that regard; sometimes the louder they are, the worse it is.

“How old were you?” Eddie asks.

Steve glances down. He doesn’t look at the picture directly, but he sees enough. The crimson blur of fall leaves. His mom pushing him on the tire swing.

“Ten,” he says. Then, suddenly, “That house isn’t there anymore.”

“Okay,” Eddie says kindly. He pauses. “Steve. You know you can… you can tell me anything.”

Steve nods. Murmurs, “Not tonight.”

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Wanna sleep?”

Steve nods again.

Eddie leans over, kisses his forehead; it’s the closest they’ve come so far, and all Steve can think is that Eddie must’ve brushed his teeth already, because his breath smells faintly like mint.

Smells like home.

#the soft ache of the past #talking around things #pre steddie #steve and his mom #steve harrington’s mom #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficjune #steve harrington fic #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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toriangeli · 2 days

Text

I will spend my life making it up to you

OKAY. The thoughts I've had since that new teaser last night.

More than one person has called what happens between Louis and Armand in 2.04 a "dynamic shift." This wouldn't be that important if all they meant was that the two of them formed a cathartic new BDSM roleplay (which Jacob has alluded to, for sure, and on rewatch, you very much see it in the "You summoned me?"/"I felt your panic" exchange). If that was all it was, Assad wouldn't be calling it "the tipping point" of the season.

So what does it mean?

I think it means we've been reading this entire relationship wrong this whole time.

Book/movie spoilers ahead.

What we've seen: Armand does everything. He seems to be the gatekeeper to everything. He's the only one who can reach the bookshelves on the ceiling. He controls the lights and the windows. Louis asks him for the missing pages of Claudia's diaries. He lingers nearby during the interview, always ready to jump in if they venture near a subject that could be upsetting for Louis. With every new piece of information, confirmation bias has worked toward this idea that Armand is pulling all the strings.

Then Hannah Moscovitch said something in the Autumn Brown interview: that Armand wouldn't do something without Louis' permission because he is entirely Louis' creature. This seemed contradictory.

Jacob said Louis had become "the Lestat" of the Loumand relationship.

We had yesterday's episode's "dynamic shift."

Then last night, we got a new teaser where Armand and Louis have the following exchange:

Armand: I will spend my life making it up to you.

Louis: You'll never make it up to me.

Armand: I know.

My immediate thought was, naturally, that they are talking about Claudia's death. Look, if Armand can put the coven to sleep in an instant, he could have done it again long enough for Claudia to escape. He could have prevented it. He knows it, both in the book and in the show. And in the books, he is miserable about it. Louis notes how much so when they talk about it.

Later, we find out the real reason for Armand's extreme guilt. While he says he didn't plot to kill her, he admits to something even worse: he cut off Claudia's head and sewed it to an adult vampiress' body to give her a woman's body for once before her execution. He didn't do it out of charity, mind you--he just wanted to see what would happen. He says he's been haunted by it ever since, even having nightmares. Yes, Armand did something so horrible he traumatized himself.

Now, whether they include this experiment on the show (it would have to get past the network), I think simply failing to save Claudia is a good enough reason for this exchange in the teaser to take place.

And now, I'm looking at all those signs of Armand's controlling nature with new eyes.

See, Armand in the books can be controlling, but there's no evidence he ever is so with Louis. In fact, he's almost the opposite with Louis as he is with Daniel. Part of it is guilt, and part of it is desperation for love. After the vaguest of hints from the writers, people assumed their relationship on the show would be more regimental.

But I thought of the moment where Louis has Armand open his umbrella for him and light his cigarette, even going so far as to throw away his own lighter. And all those signs of control are starting to look like acts of servitude.

Bookshelves on the ceiling: any time Louis wants a book, Armand has to go fetch it for him. He can't get exasperated and tell him to get it for himself.

Turning lights and UV filters on and off: menial tasks demeaning to a partner rather than household staff.

Arranging for the missing pages of Claudia's diaries: Notice he doesn't say no, and in fact looks very nervous when asked. His only objection is that there is stuff about him on those pages he doesn't want made public, and he still agrees to it. It's like he is Louis' personal secretary.

Then there's the scene from last episode where the photos are mixed up. As soon as Armand clocks that Louis is accusing him of mixing things up on purpose, he starts stimming. He knows an argument he wants to avoid is coming, so he immediately tries to throw Rashid under the bus. Later, Louis is yelling at him for "embarrassing" him in front of Daniel, which is one of those textbook accusations toxic people use.

I think Louis is making Armand make it up to him.

There's something else Louis says: he accuses Armand of thinking he needs to be coddled. As if Armand pathologically placating him has been a thing in the past.

I want to be clear: this is not a "poor Armand" post. I think when the audience knows the full story, they will feel Armand got off easy. Because he did. I'd be tempted to do the same in Louis' shoes (but ultimately wouldn't want to see his face, so I don't think I'd go through with it). One of the reasons Armand is staying is because he knows he's getting off easy. If you tell me you would blame Louis for treating Armand this way, I wouldn't believe you. Armand deserves love, but he doesn't deserve to get it from Louis (I still ship it tho, I ship everything).

Now, there's no indication that Armand is afraid of Louis hurting him. The fact of him being stressed out about an incoming argument, and changing his behavior to avoid it, isn't the best sign--toxic partners will often use this tactic to gain capitulation--but by no means is this anywhere near his worst relationship.

It would all make his actions make much more sense: he's this jumpy about Daniel's intervention because his relationship with Louis is permanently on thin ice. He doesn't desire control over Louis for its own sake--that's not really an Armand thing, as much as people attribute it to him--he just wants to keep this man from ruining years of his hard work and effort put into this partnership. It's a sunk cost fallacy.

#armand #iwtv #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #iwtv amc #iwtv spoilers #louis de pointe du lac #tvc book spoilers

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