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vsimp · 10 months

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bitter

pairing: kamisato ayato x f!reader

wc: 3k

genre: angst

summary: where you are in an arranged marriage with him and you rarely ever see him

warning: somewhat traditional housewife roles, negative thoughts

What a cruel fate it was, to fall in love with a man who neither loves or hates you.

To spend long, cold nights alone. A large, indifferent room divided by two separate futons.

You knew that your husband was a busy man. He worked all night, barely resting during the day, and every time you’ve caught glimpse of his office, there was always a huge mess laying around on his desk. But having been married to him for such a long time, you felt that the distance between you two grew longer and longer every day.

In the morning, you would greet him with the biggest smile you could muster. He would greet you back with the same gentle smile everyday. At this point, you knew what his real smile looked like. You don’t recall when the last time he’s ever given you one.

If Miss Ayaka and Thoma were busy, and you dined alone with your husband, the table would be silent. You didn’t know what to say, and he’d also be reading over papers while eating, so you were afraid to disturb him. If the two were present, or if there were any other guests, Ayato would be more active in the conversation, joking lightheartedly and appearing like he was actually enjoying himself.

This man did not treat you unkindly despite having these feelings that lurked in your chest. In fact, it was the opposite. He was a true gentleman every time you interacted with him. He would open the door for you while you two walked together. He would pull out the chair when you wanted to sit. He would hold your hand and escort you to any event, or if you were getting on/off a carriage.

But it was all superficial. It felt like he was forcing himself to do these actions for you. You couldn’t even tell what his intentions are for doing so. You couldn’t tell if he just disliked you, disliked this arranged marriage, or if he just wanted people to see what a loving husband he was, that everything was okay right now even though it really wasn’t.

From touchless nights to meaningless small talk, your heart ached at the thought of everything. You don’t ever recall the last time he’s kissed you on the lips in private. You don’t recall the last time he’s ever opened up to you about the depths of his heart, from the things that scared him the most, to the things that has made him truly happy.

And while you know that a relationship thrives off of communication, you couldn’t help but feel scared. You were scared that the man in front of you would grow even colder, shutting off the depths of his heart forever, pushing you away if you were to ever confront him. Maybe he’d even take it to an extreme and call off the marriage with you, telling you that he never loved you, as this was really only an arrangement between your two families. Maybe he was in love with someone else prior to this marriage, and he has only reserved his heart for them all of these years.

You have seen his darker sides. He doesn’t think that anyone has noticed, but you have. You were always watching him, after all.

A more mischievous side of him existed deep down in there, a certain sly foxiness that could even rival Guuji Yae herself. Sometimes, it would scare you to see that forced smile on his face as if what lingered in his mind were true thoughts darker than what he had initially led on.

But despite his flaws, despite the mask he constantly wore around, you loved him. You loved him so much it hurt. You loved how he cared for people despite them being complete strangers to him. You loved his gentle smile as he holds your hand so tenderly when you accidentally trip. How could a man be so kind, yet so cruel to your heart?

And even as you laid in bed most nights alone, shedding tears as if you were the dark side of the crystal moon longing for the light of the sun, you still loved him regardless.

You were in your futon all alone as of this moment, staring at the ceiling. The room was pitch black and silent, other than the occasional sounds of the residual droplets from the passing rain. Ayato would never let you rest in a room that was cold, so the temperature was heated comfortably, yet you couldn’t help but bundle yourself up under the covers even more.

It was cold without him. You didn’t even realize when the last time he had actually went to bed in this room you both allegedly shared.

But it didn’t matter anyways because his futon laid far away from yours.

Your own husband wouldn’t even come near you when you’re together in the same room. You didn’t know if he just wanted to be respectful as a formality between husband and wife, or if he is repulsed by being in the same vicinity as you, but it hurt regardless.

You sighed as you covered your face with the blanket, trying to get rid of these harboring thoughts. It was no use, no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop thinking about your relationship with him every single night. He is what plagues your mind at night, like a thorn lodged deep in a fingertip. It was only soon that you will be bleeding out your love for him.

How could you make a scene about all of this anyways? You've seen how hard he works. You knew that everything he did, it was for the sake of protecting his family and home. Who were you to complain about how busy he was? That was another reason why you continued to keep silent. You thought that your worries meant nothing compared to his own.

Your mind was racing a mile per minute, and you knew you weren't able to get any sleep like this. You got up and out of your futon as you decided to go for a stroll around the estate. The guards protected the outside and prevented from anybody from coming in. As long as you walked around inside, there should be no problem with you strolling the corridors, so long as you remained quiet.

Lighting up a candle, you started meandering through the halls, your footsteps nearly silent with no goal or destination in mind. You didn't even realize your feet had automatically taken you to the doors of his office, the same door that you have stared at many times, knowing that your husband was in there, but you had no reason or courage to open. You see the dimly lit light through the translucent paper sheets, and you knew that tonight was going to be another long night with no rest for him.

You sighed, not remembering the last time you had been in his office, and you were about to step away, but the door suddenly slides open rather violently. You flinch in shock because you didn’t expect for anything to happen, as he usually never notices your presence.

"Who is there?" He said in a serious tone, and you were finally greeted by the man who plagued your every thought and dreams. His hand laid on the hilt of his sword, almost as if he was ready to strike down any intruder who was lurking in the shadows. But instead of drawing his sword, he blinked a few times, realizing it was just you who stood there. He instantly let go of the sword and his expression relaxed a bit, although his eyebrows were furrowed slightly to show confusion. "Y/n? What are you doing here? It is almost 2am right now."

His presence stunned you for a second before you snapped out of the current awe-struck daze you were in. It had been quite a while since you've seen his face. He was rarely home anymore, but when he was, he would be holed up in his office. You only ever see him to greet him when he returned back home, and sometimes when he leaves, as he had a habit of sneaking out secretly every so often.

"Oh." You were flustered at this unexpected situation. "I had trouble sleeping, so I decided to go for a walk..."

"Is something troubling you?" He asked in concern. "If it is work-related with the household, then I know Ayaka would be happy to give you a hand.”

"It's not that..." You shook your head. You didn't want him to worry about you, so you tell him a small lie. "It's just one of those nights..."

"I see."

"Have you been faring well?" You then asked him.

He gave you a small, gentle smile, but you have seen this many times. It was one of the masks he wore when he wasn’t telling the truth.

"I've been doing alright," he replied. Anybody would've believed him, as he would never appear disheveled in front of anybody, but from the way his eyes had a slight dark tint underneath them and the mess that apparently was his desk with papers and pens strewn everywhere, you knew that he was far from so. "I was actually looking to take a break soon from my paperwork. Since you probably will be up for a little bit, would you care to join me?"

An invitation from him was rare, and you immediately jumped ship. You nodded. "Let me go prepare some tea."

"Oh, there's no need to do that."

"Nonsense," you gave him a reassuring smile, knowing what he was going to say. He was so considerate as always, not wanting to trouble you. "It will only be a few.”

You start to walk down the hall to head to the kitchen, but you were surprised to hear footsteps behind you. Before you knew it, Ayato was walking beside you, and you could hear your heart thumping in your chest.

"Ayato?" You questioned.

It was dim, as the candle was the only thing that lit the dark halls, so you can barely make out his expression.

"I'll tag along with you then." He said softly, as to not wake anybody else up. "It will be a good change of pace from being stuck in my office all night."

To you, he was so hard to read at times. If he was accompanying you, he surely must have his reasons, as he had never used any of his personal time on you before. He only accompanied you outside when he had a special meeting at an event that required for both spouses to arrive. Those were the only times when he was somewhat affectionate. That was why you were nervous when he decided to come along with you, thinking he had an ulterior motive like he usual does. But a small, small part of you hoped that it was something else; that he wanted to join you because he missed you and just wanted to idly chat.

You stepped into the kitchen and then lit a brighter lantern to illuminate the room using your own candle. But before you could do anything else, you watched as Ayato's hand pushed a portion of your hair aside. You couldn't help but feel your cheeks heat up at the action, your eyes making its way towards him now that you were able to see his face.

He wore a gentle smile on his face as he looked down at you tenderly. A rare expression indeed, you’ve only noted him to give this look to Ayaka. It made your heart hurt a little as it thumped away in your chest, feeling like you could soar to the moon and never come back.

"Your hair was getting close to the flames, so I didn't want it to burn,” he explained.

"Oh..." You didn't know what else you could say. "Thank you..."

With that, you started boiling the kettle of water, your body moving to find tea leaves. Ayato watches on without speaking a word, and you two drift into a somewhat lulling silence.

As you prepared your leaves, Ayato interrupted the silence no sooner than later.

“There’s another event that the Kanjou Commission is hosting,” he said. There it was. He needed you to attend another political event with him. You were once so naive to think that he would actually spend time with you just because he wanted to. You knew he hated small talk and would rather get straight to the point. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind attending it with me.”

Of course you didn’t mind, if it meant that you would be spending more time with him. But even if you did expect for this, you were still disappointed.

“Sure. When will it be?”

“In two months. They’re hosting a party event to discuss upcoming financial plans for the winter.”

You nodded, your hands a little rougher than usual as you crushed up the dried tea leaves in the mortar. Usually you would hide your emotions well, but it definitely showed in the way you pounded at the leaves.

If Ayato had noticed your switch in moods, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he went over to the cabinet to grab two cups for the tea.

“I appreciate it. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

Another blatant lie fueled only by courtesy. He always says this whenever you did a favor for him. If you were to truly ask for a favor, he would have Thoma somehow fulfill it, or he would say that he was too busy to do it himself, and that he would make it up later. He would send a gift, picked out by either Thoma or Ayaka of course, to later apologize for not fulfilling your promise.

And although it has only happened four or five times before you’d stop asking him for favors, knowing that he was too busy to fulfill them, it still left a bitter feeling within you.

You felt that it was selfish for you to feel this way. You knew that he had lost his parents at a young age, having to resume the role as the leader of the Yashiro Commission and head of the Kamisato Clan very early in life. You thought it wasn’t right for you to feel bitter about small things like this. Yet, as you glanced at the man in front of you, who barely looked at you and instead stared at the bright full moon outside, your heart ached at this solemn expression— one that loomed with fatigue and tiredness.

Maybe what you truly longed for was his happiness. Maybe you wanted to share that happiness with him, although you knew it would be a long shot. So long as he was the head of the Yashiro Commission, the leader of the Shuumatsuban, there will always be a distance between you two, as he prioritized things differently from any other typical person. Even though he was in the same room as you right now, as the moon peaked through the small window, the cicadas singing in the distance, he still looked as alone as ever. Like there was an unmeasurable length between you two, and you were too afraid to cross it, in fear that you would never be able to reach him.

The kettle soon starts to heat up, and you take it off the flame to start steeping the tea leaves. A few minutes of silence passed, and you wondered then if he was going to leave immediately after he finished his tea. It was still hot, so you had a couple more minutes left with him, right?

You poured the tea carefully in the cup and then proceeded to hand it over to him.

“It’s hot, so be careful.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at you and graciously accepted the tea. He picked it up to his lips, blowing it a few times as he inhaled the scent. “This smells like a different type of tea than the one you served at the event the other day.”

You remembered that event. You were attending a birthday party for an old couple who were close friends with the Kamisato’s. You brewed that tea with extra care, knowing that Ayato was going to drink it on that very occasion.

“It was truly delicious,” he complimented and you felt your heart soar at his words once more. “I know I never told you this, but it was one of my favorite hot teas.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I smiled, making note to remember that information. “This one that I brewed helps with stress and calms the mind.”

He took a sip once the tea is cooled down a bit more. “I can see how this one can have that effect. It’s a very mild, but calming flavor. It’s a good choice for you to brew this, since it will probably help you sleep.”

Actually, you had brewed it for him, so that he wouldn’t stress so much, but you held your tongue back. Instead, you took a sip of the hot tea, trying to match his pace so that you both could finish at the same time.

“I hope you like it,” you said.

“I do enjoy it quite a bit,” he replied with a small smile on his face. “I will take it to my office and savor it. I appreciate you willing to spend time with me.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“I hope you get some sleep soon, and try not to stay awake for too long,” your husband stated. “Please pardon me, I must return to my work.”

You forced out a smile in return, knowing that he had cut his time off with you short on purpose.

“Have a good night, Ayato.”

He gave a small nod as he walked out with the tea in his hand. You waited for the door to fully shut before you leaned on the counter with your back pressed to it.

He didn't even wait to finish the tea before he left. He just went straight to the point, pushing you aside as if your feelings had never mattered to him in the first place.

Your hands gripped the ceramic tea cup tightly. It felt like if you had held it tight enough, it would shatter and break, scalding your skin like the way your husband did just now.

Your tears dripped into the tea, the salty solution messing with the delicate taste of the drink as you sipped it, not wanting anything to go to waste. What was once a calming, smooth taste was now bitter.

So, so bitter.

It was another cruel, lonely night that awaited you.

#repost from this morning because I don’t see it listed when tagged #when u just started this blog and ur already soft shadowbanned #genshin impact #genshin #Kamisato Ayato #Kamisato Ayato x reader #Kamisato Ayato x reader angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #Ayato x reader #Ayato x reader angst #genshin angst

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alicerosejensen · 10 months

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Spontaneous post. Just fluff and nothing serious.

§ Leon who loves you with aching tenderness. Squeeze at night in your arms in a strong grip and does not let go until morning.

§ Leon who hates to leave you. He is a man who lost stability in life and returning to you is literally returning from hell to heaven.

§ Leon who is always the initiator of spontaneous hugs. His arms are too sinewy and muscular, so your bones will sometimes crackle, scaring him that he might accidentally break something.

§ Leon who covers your face, head, body with a lot of small kisses. Especially when you're crying or upset.

§ Leon is the language of love whose service to you. Unable to extract feelings with words, he proves them with actions.

§ Leon who is constantly teasing. But in a kind way, his jokes never bear an offensive character.

§ Leon who tries with all his might not to involve you in his work and asks D.S.O to classify the data about your relationship/marriage with him.

§ Leon who confesses his love a lot by having sex with you because feelings overwhelm him. He breathes heavily and groans hoarsely, intertwining your fingers with his, grabbing your face to catch your lips and imprinting a deep kiss on them.

§ Leon sex with whom always balances on the verge of tenderness and rudeness. He knows perfectly how to give pleasure so that you both are crazy. He literally worships your body, constantly focusing on how your breasts are shaking or how cute your legs are that wrap around his sides. He loves to hold your hips or waist.

§ Leon who will always be gentle in the subsequent care. Caring stroking of the places where he held you especially tightly, his palms will now gently stroke. Shower, bath...it doesn't matter If you don't have the strength, he will just wash you himself by smearing your body with your favorite lotion.

§ Leon, who likes to wrap himself in a blanket with you and lie on the couch watching some movie. He is mostly indifferent to the plot, but the comfort of the proximity and warmth of your body make him feel safe and plunge into a light sleep forgetting about work and Raccoon City.

§ Leon who understands that Ada remains a part of his life, but what he got from you is worth more than all the treasures in the world. He would rather die than betray your trust and love.

§ Leon who will take care when you are sick: hot soup, warm tea, taking medications on time. It's nothing to him.

§ Leon who loves to hug you from behind while you are busy with some business and gently kiss your temple or neck without distracting you.

§ Leon who worries when you're not dressed for the weather. He wants you to always be warm and cozy. His main jewel should not feel bad.

§ Leon who does not know how to cook, but will please you with his only signature dish that his mother also cooked - lasagna. He helped her in childhood, so the recipe is still perfectly preserved in his head.

§ Leon who is one-women men. The only difference is that he does not distinguish love and affection well, but when he meets you, everything falls into place.

§ Leon who will turn into a beast if someone takes you away from him and tries to harm you.

§ Leon who will die for you.

§ Leon who will win all the soft toys for you in the dash.

§ Leon who hates quarrels. Even if he is right, he will feel guilty for raising his voice or, God forbid, bringing him to tears. Afterwards, he behaves like a devoted pup trying to earn forgiveness.

§ Leon who only sleeps with you in his arms.

§ Leon who is crazy when you put on his things.

§ Leon who likes to carry you in his arms or throw you over his shoulder.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #reader #leon kennedy headcanons #infinite darkness leon #resident evil leon #leon kennedy resident evil #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil headcanons #fluff

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bonny-kookoo · 5 months

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Jungkook

𝕽𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | Teaser

Hang the sinner by his wings.

Tags/Warnings: Demon!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Modern fantasy AU, Angst, slow burn, mature themes, hurt and comfort, Tags vary for each chapter

Length: ~4k words per chapter

There is no taglist for this fic.

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⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

He can't even get you to drink anything at all, but he has to if he wants even the slightest chance at getting that rogue demon out of you.

He tips the cup of water against your lips to aid in getting you to drink anything and replenish what your body so desperately needs during this time- but he knows, deep down, that you can't keep this fight up much longer than you already have. Your soul might be strong, but your body is already hitting its limits- muscles trembling from the force of the most recent attempt made to possess you.

"There you go.." he hums to you in gentle reassurance, unable to contain his affection for you even if you're incapable of returning any of it. He can't help the way his hand runs over your back to try and comfort you, even though he knows it means nothing to you.

You feel nothing for him but indifference. You don't even hate him.

Knowing what he does now, he's aware of the fact that this entire situation is partially, if not entirely, his own fault. When he saved you centuries ago, he also made you very much horribly attractive for houseless demons like the one currently attempting to use you as more than just a host, but even if he knew back then what he knows now, he would've still gone through with it.

He'd save you any chance he'd get. And maybe that's the sickest part of his whole curse.

The knife on the table is another way out for you, of course. A dead vessel is worth nothing to a demon of this kind, and maybe, it would let you rest for once as well- but he knows that even if held against the prospect of eternal punishment, Jungkook wouldn't ever be able to be the one to take your life. After all, he did what he did many lifetimes ago to save it, and not have it taken either way.

He didn't just buy you time.

He bought you the guarantee of a full life, with every reincarnation.

Jungkook helps you back into bed after letting you calm down for a little bit, before he opens the door to let your friend back inside. At the sight of him, you immediately begin to reach out and cry, and the sight alone has his heart in a chokehold.

Or whatever is left of it, in this case.

Your tears are salty in the open scars he has inside of him, but the fact that you can even shed them at all makes the sting feel a little less harsh. He can deal with this, as long as he knows you're getting the life you were almost denied. He can see you smile, and cry, and love-

Even if it's in the arms of someone else.

"She's a lost cause." Yoongi mumbles from a corner, watching Jungkook who closes the door behind him.

"She's not." Jungkook denies.

"You barely made any progress." The fellow demon shakes his head at him. "You're torturing her."

"I'm saving her." The younger demon denies. "Any progress is progress."

"And how long can you stand this, I wonder." The cat eyed man asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall behind him. "Let me-"

"No." Jungkook instantly denies. "You'll kill her."

"And maybe that's for the best, my friend." He offers in sympathy. "Why are you chasing after someone who cannot even love you?"

"Because if I don't,.." jungkook mumbles, turning to look at your closed door.

"...then everything I sacrificed has been for nothing."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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awkwardauthorwrites · 6 months

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What If (You Were Made For Me)

Word Count: 6.2k

Themes: pining, angst if you squint, two idiots in love, fluff

Summary: Halsin realises he’s in love with his best friend, Tav

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol. Like one swear word. I almost made myself cry writing this.

(I haven’t written since The Devil Doesn’t Bargain, please be nice. BG3 and specifically this druid has me in a chokehold, your honour I love this man, I am feral for him, he consumes my every waking and sleeping thought)

Halsin watched Tav from across the campfire, his brow furrowed as she spoke to Astarion with a smile on her face. She had been avoiding him recently and no matter how hard he wracked his brain, he couldn’t seem to put a finger on why. It had started small, with going on supply runs with anyone except for him until she gradually stopped training with him, she steered clear of his favourite parts of camp, and eventually it built up to her making excuses to not spend any more time with him than completely necessary. The explanations she gave always sounded sincere, but it had all been happening for weeks, and now there she was, sitting on the opposite end of the campfire instead of next to him and laughing and talking with Astarion.

He felt himself begin to frown as Tav gave Astarion a playful shove, a laugh escaping her as the rogue tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders to pull her back in. He watched with bated breath as Tav’s eyes lit up when Astarion held his hand out in front of her again, slowly showing her how he twirled a coin in between his fingers and how to make it look like it disappeared with a flourish. Halsin couldn’t understand it - it felt like only a few weeks ago that Tav and Astarion had regarded each other with cool indifference, but ever since the days they took to recuperate she had practically been glued to the rogue’s side. Tav took the coin from Astarion and attempted the sleight of hand herself, her face one of pure concentration. She made it to the final turn of the coin before she fumbled it and it slipped from her grasp, a low groan slipping from her as it fell to the floor.

Halsin didn’t want to admit how he was feeling as he watched them interact, but he hated it. His chest felt tight and his gut rolled with anger and jealousy. Especially when Astarion leant in to murmur something in Tav’s ear, his voice too low for Halsin to hear what he had said to make her face flush the most delicate shade of pink. She laughed again and shook her head, her nose wrinkling the way it did when she found something unbelievable. She nudged Astarion again, softer this time as he scoffed and stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she let the pale elf know she would be right back before she wandered into the treeline. Halsin watched her disappear from sight and wanted nothing more than to follow her and ask her what had happened, to figure out when everything had changed between them. The thing in his chest clenched tighter at his heart with every second she was gone and he was torn between waiting for her return or going after her.

“You know,” Astarion drawled, breaking Halsin out of his thoughts. “You can go after her, if you’d like.”

“And you can mind your own business,” Halsin snaps back, feeling unlike himself as he glares at the rogue. “She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, especially when she’ll only be gone a few moments.” To his credit, Astarion doesn’t flinch at the druid’s harsh tone or at the way his eyes flash gold in warning to reveal the beast that is itching to be released.

“Oh?” Astraion smirks, his fingers twirling the coin Tav had been holding earlier with practised ease. “With the way you’re acting like a scorned lover I never would have guessed. Green may be your colour but jealousy doesn’t suit you.” Halsin’s fists clench by his side and before he can even think about what he’s doing he’s stood from his seat and stalking his way across to Astarion, his jaw tight with anger and annoyance. The more rational part of his brain is telling him to calm down, that he can’t beat Astarion to a pulp just because he had struck a (annoyingly accurate) nerve, but the bear inside him is fighting its way out and wants to -

“Halsin,” Tav’s voice rings out from behind him, her tone sharp. He stops a few steps away from Astarion and turns to face her, his ire slowly seeping away as he looks at her. She looks equal parts confused and concerned at his out of character anger, although she also seems to be a little annoyed with him too from the glare she’s giving him. “I don’t know what Astarion said to piss you off, and I’m sure he deserves the punch you’re about to give him, but why don’t we leave the violence for the near daily threats we face, hm?” Her eyebrow is raised and she looks less than amused at the scene in front of her while Astarion dramatically places a hand on his chest, feigning outrage at her words.

“I…I apologise,” he mutters, embarrassment settling in his gut at his behaviour. He risks a glance at Astarion, who is watching him with vague interest and a hint of a smirk, before shaking his head and turning back to Tav. “I don’t know what came over me.” Her gaze softens as he looks back at her and she takes a few steps forward until she’s right in front of him, standing closer than she has been in weeks. Her hand grasps one of his fists to loosen his body language and she gently tugs at his sleeve.

“Come take a walk with me.” It’s not so much a request as a demand as she lets go of his sleeve and takes his hand in hers and begins to pull him away from the campfire. Astarion begins to whistle the tune for a bawdy ballad and without missing a step Tav leans down to grab a rock and throws it at his head. She doesn’t stop to see if it hit him or not (because of course it didn’t, thanks to his ability to uncannily dodge every blow that comes his way) and leads Halsin into the treeline, ignoring how loudly Astarion is laughing behind them.

“What’s happening? Is something wrong?” Her touch is like magic, and if he didn’t know any better he would think she’s cast a spell on him with how fast the tension leaves his body as he wraps his hand around hers. All the anger, the annoyance, the jealousy that he had been feeling earlier fades away as she pulls him deeper into the woods until they come across the small river they use to wash up in.

“You tell me,” she says, letting go of his arm once they reach their destination. She turns to face him, a fire in her eyes as she crosses her arms and looks up at him. “You’re the calmest person I have ever met. So tell me why you were about to swing at Astarion with more anger than I saw you direct at Minthara when she tried to raze the Grove to the ground.”

“Astarion-” Halsin breaks off, feeling slightly uneasy with the glare she’s directing at him. He had seen her use the look more times than he could count, but it was never directed at him. “It was nothing. It was stupid.”

“Clearly it wasn’t nothing because you looked seconds away from shifting into your bear form and ripping him to shreds,” she snaps. Halsin’s head dips down and he runs a hand through his hair warily as her tone suddenly makes him feel like he’s a boy all over again being chided by his tutors. Tav sighs and she steps forward slightly, her hand brushing his. “Look at me,” she says softly, the anger draining out of her voice.

Halsin lifts his head fractionally to look at her and sees nothing but kindness and concern in her gaze. Her expression is soft as she steps closer, and he itches to pull her into his arms and never let go but he can’t. He can’t because she is his closest friend and he doesn’t want to scare her away and despite believing the heart should be able to roam free he isn’t sure if hers belongs to Astarion or not and he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“What did he say?” Tav asks again, her voice gentle. “I’ve never seen you that angry before, Hal, so it can’t have been stupid.” Halsin’s heart thuds in his chest as she steps so close he can feel the heat from her body, and the way the nickname she’s given him rolls off her lips makes him want to fall to her feet and beg for forgiveness.

“He called me a scorned lover,” he mumbles angrily, turning away from her again. His face feels hot under her gaze and he doesn’t have it in him to watch her reaction as he repeats the rogue’s words. “He insinuated I was jealous of him because you’re spending more time with him than me.”

“Oh.” Tav blinks, clearly not expecting that answer and stumbles back a few steps, her teeth tugging at her lower lip in a nervous habit that set Halsin on edge every time she did it. “So you...you were going to hit him? Because he made some false, asinine insinuation that he and I were together and I had tossed you aside?” Halsin can’t tell if she sounds angry or not and he’s suddenly apprehensive at replying to her. He can usually read her like the back of his hand - and she can do the same for him - so why couldn’t he tell what was running through her mind right now?

“Is it false?” he asks, turning to face her again, his voice quiet. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, you’ve been spending your time with him. How could I not think that?” Halsin knows he’s said the wrong thing the minute the fire flashes back in her eyes and she steps closer to him again, her finger prodding him in the chest as she speaks.

“So what if I was seeing him? We’re not together Halsin, we never have been. You don’t get to throw punches at every person I meet just because I spend a little time with them!” Her voice rises steadily as she speaks and she turns her back on him and takes a few steps away, a hand running through her hair in frustration before she whirls back to face him. “I’m not seeing Astarion, by the way, and not that it matters, but I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“So why not me?” he blurts out, his eyes shining gold in suppressed rage. “Why is he the one you spend your time with and not me? Why does he get to steal you away from me? Why can’t I be the one to make you laugh for hours and be the sole recipient of your affection and time?”

“You-” Tav lets out a hollow laugh. “You’re joking, right? I’ve waited months - months - for you to stop looking at me like a child that needs protection. For you to look at me the way I’ve wanted you to since the moment we first spoke properly at that party after we saved the tieflings and the Grove. And now you start acting like you want me back?” She’s not shouting, but every word has Halsin flinching as if she had. “Now that I’ve finally decided I shouldn’t pine after you anymore because I’m nothing more than your best friend and you’ll never look at me the way I want you to?”

“You…” Halsin can feel his heart pudding in his chest at her revelation. He feels like someone has just yanked a rug out from underneath him and he’s free falling, but at the same time his heart soars knowing she feels the same way as he does. That she wants him just as much as he wants her. “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you just tell me?” He reaches out so he can touch her, so he can hold her. “I never thought…I didn’t want to let myself hope-”

“How could I tell you?” She steps away before he can touch her and he swears his heart cracks as her eyes go misty and tears begin to well up. “You’re my best friend, Halsin. How was I supposed to tell you that somewhere along these months of travelling you’ve tripped me up and I’m head over heels in love with you?” The tears fall down her face and she wipes at them angrily. “How was I supposed to tell you that after you slept with someone else only a few days after I drunkenly came onto you?”

He feels his heart shatter at the sight of her tears, as he vaguely recalls the evening she’s talking about. They had stopped for a much needed break at a tavern and every single one of them had gotten ridiculously drunk as they unwound for the night. She had come up to him, her face red from either the alcohol or nerves and had run a hand down his chest in a way that set every nerve of his alight as she seductively murmured in his ear and asked him to join her in her rooms for the night. He had declined, even though every part of him screamed not to. He didn’t want her to regret things in the morning when she woke and had a clear head, he didn’t want to put their friendship at risk like that. A few nights later in the same tavern an elven warrior had come over to him when they were all significantly less drunk and had barely finished propositioning him before he whisked them away to a room for the night.

“Tav,” his voice is hoarse and he feels like someone is running a sword through him. She never brought up asking him to sleep with her in the following days and he had assumed that meant she was embarrassed or didn’t remember doing it. When the elf had come up to him later and asked the same from him he never stopped to think about how it would make her feel. How it would look to anyone else. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks eventually, “because you’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” she takes another step away from him as he tries to get closer. “I’m not proud of it, and seeing your face drop every time I made an excuse not to be around you felt like someone was shoving a dagger into my heart,” she puts her hand to her chest, the tears falling freely down her face now, “but I had to do it. You…you’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more and I couldn’t be around you because it killed me to know you would never feel the same. The final nail in the coffin was when you slept with that elf. They were fucking stunning and I knew then you would never want me like I want you.”

“How can you say I don’t want you like that?” he rasps. “Have you not seen the way I’ve looked at you? Do you know how much effort it took to resist you?” He tries to inch closer to her, his body screaming to wipe her tears away and pull her into a tight embrace.

“Congratulations, would you like a medal?” Her tone is sarcastic as she slips away from his touch yet again. “Well done on showing some restraint with me when the Oak Father knows you’ll fuck anyone else with a pulse.” Her breathing is heavy as she glares at him in equal parts anger and heartbreak. “You thought Astarion and I had something going on and you almost ripped him to shreds. Imagine how it felt for me, watching you take someone else to your bed.”

“You’re right,” he admits. “How many times have I done this to you? How many times have I pushed you away, assuming I know what’s best for you when you’re more than capable of deciding yourself who you want to sleep with. Who you want to be with.” He takes a deep breath and he lowers his walls so she can see just how much she means to him. “You’re everything I want - everything I have ever wanted. And you always will be.” His words have the opposite effect he was hoping for and she sinks to the ground, a gut-wrenching sob leaving her as she covers her face and begins to cry.

He falls to his knees beside her, his arms reaching out to pull her into his embrace and tell her just how in love with her he is, but he hesitates inches away knowing she will only pull further away from him if he follows through. His hands land uselessly at his lap and he feels his own eyes burn as tears threaten to well up at the sound of her anguish. He blinks them away, he hasn’t earned the right to be upset, not when he’s hurt her so deeply.

“I understand if you don’t believe me,” he says instead, his voice low and full of emotion. “If you tell me to leave right now, I will. Or if it will make you feel better to yell at me some more I’ll stay and take it. I’ll do whatever you want - whatever you need.” He pauses, hoping the words he’s about to say don’t hurt her further. “Please believe me, Tav.”

“Would you have told me?” she asks, her voice thick with tears. “If you hadn’t thought I was with Astarion, would you have ever told me?” She looks up at him and her red-rimmed eyes only cleaves his heart further in two. “If you didn’t think my heart belonged to somebody else would you even have realised how you feel about me?” He pauses as she speaks; he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he knows in his soul she won’t be pleased with the answer he’s going to give her.

“No,” he whispers eventually. “It took seeing you with him to realise I was in love with you, and I wish every day that I hadn’t needed that reminder. I should have seen it the moment we met, the way you made me feel…” He lets out a shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m an idiot.” Tav inhales sharply at his words and nods to herself, her jaw clenching tightly as if she’s trying to stop herself from falling apart again.

“Well, you won’t hear any arguments from me.” She looks up at him for a few seconds before she looks away again, tears welling back in her eyes as she stands up. “I’m tired. I’m going back to camp.” She doesn’t ask him to follow her, but he does anyway, stumbling to his feet as he follows her back through the trees. He walks in silence by her side as she leads them back to camp, his body heavy and his mind spinning. The one person he wanted in the world was right next to him and he had never felt so far away from her. They return to the camp and all eyes are on them, especially when they take note of the tears that have yet to dry on Tav’s face.

Astarion sits up as she walks over to him and throws her arms around his shoulders and begins to sob into his shirt. The vampire clearly doesn’t know how to react, but after a moment he wraps his arms back around Tav and holds her close, walking her away so that everyone in camp isn’t privy to her breakdown. Halsin bites the inside of his cheek and looks away as Astarion does what he can’t and comforts Tav as she cries. He knows now that she doesn’t have romantic feelings for the pale elf, but that doesn’t stop his chest from clenching tightly as Astarion’s hands rest on her waist and run through her hair comfortingly.

“You’re an idiot, you know,” Shadowheart sidles up to him, her tone dry. She has an unamused expression on her face as she stares up at Halsin, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Karalch gives her a gentle nudge and offers Halsin an apologetic smile.

“I know,” he agrees instantly. “I want nothing more than to give her the comfort he’s providing her right now, and it breaks my heart that I’ve caused her this much pain without even realising it. Seeing Astarion hold her like that…I wish it was me, but I’m glad she kind find some solace in someone here.”

“She doesn’t love him, you know. They’re only friends.” Shadowheart nods her head towards Tav and Astarion. “He’s been trying to help her catch your eye for a while now.” Halsin blinks, the information catching him off guard.

“Astarion is trying to help her?”

“And you,” Shadowheart turns her head to glare at him. “Astarion has been trying to help her with her confidence so she could test the waters and flirt a little with you. And then you had to go and reject her when she finally tried to tell you how she felt only to sleep with someone else a few days later?” The cleric looks mad now, and Halsin has no doubt in his mind that if they were in a more secluded part of the camp she would be yelling and cursing him out for treating Tav the way he had.

“Nothing I say will ever be able to erase what I did, no matter how much I wish it could.” He lets out a sigh and looks over at Astarion and Tav again. The rogue has pulled her across the camp to her tent and through the open flaps he can see she’s lying down on her bedroll, her head in Astarion’s lap as his fingers run through her hair. “How long has he been trying to help?”

“Does it matter?” Shadowheart asks, her tone sharp. “You never even looked twice at Tav until you thought Astarion was interested in her. No one wants to be made a choice after they become unobtainable - or in this case assumedly unobtainable.” There’s a soft expression on Astarion’s face as he comforts Tav, one Halsin has never seen before. For a split second he wonders if she’s better off without him in her life, whether that’s as a friend or more, but the selfish part of him can’t bear to leave her.

“Just give her some time, soldier,” Karlach steps forward, ignoring the glare Shadowheart shoots at her. “She’s hurt, it won’t do any good to speak to her right now, you’ll only push her further away. Give her a few days.” He gives Karlach a nod and looks back over at the campsite, wanting to disappear into the trees and give Tav the space she clearly needs, no matter how much it will hurt him.

Shadowheart and Karlach walk away, leaving Halsin alone again. He watches Astarion cup Tav’s face in her hands and wipe away the last of her tears, muttering something he’s too far away to hear before he kisses her on the forehead. Tav lets out a weak laugh and shakes her head, and the scene grips Halsin’s chest painfully tight. He shakes his head and walks back into the treeline, his eyes glowing gold as he shifts into his cave bear form and darts into the woods.

One Week Later

Halsin trudges back into camp, feeling weary and more than a little exhausted, and is a little surprised to see everything is still in its place and the group hasn’t moved on without him. He shifts back into his elf form, shuddering slightly as his body protests and walks towards his tent, giving awkward smiles and nods to Gale and Jaheira, who wave in greeting at him.

“Hey, soldier!” Karlach grins when she sees him, raising her tankard of ale in greeting as she bounds over. “Welcome back, it’s good to see you.” For a moment it looks like she’s about to pull Halsin into a hug, but decides against it at the last minute. She watches his eyes dart around the camp, no doubt looking for Tav or even Astarion, and his hopeful expression falls when he sees neither. “She’s in town gathering supplies,” the tiefling lowers her voice considerably so no one can hear them. “We’re running a little low after she all but forced us to stay here and wait for you to come back.” Halsin looks at her in surprise, but she just shrugs as if she hadn’t said anything and takes another sip of her drink.

“I assume Astarion has gone with her?”

“You assume wrong.” The white-haired elf walks by, a book in his hands. “I’d say it’s good to see you again but…” Astarion grimaces and takes in Halsin’s dishevelled appearance. A week of wandering through the woods as a bear has left him looking more than a little worse for wear, with dirt and dust covering him from head to toe, and what felt like a small bird’s nest worth of twigs tangled in his hair. “You look like shit. You should get cleaned up before she’s back, the gods know she’ll only be more upset at you dragging yourself back here looking half dead.” He walks away and settles outside his tent, sipping idly from a glass of wine as he continues to read.

“Wyll went with her,” Karlach fills the awkward silence. “We needed a lot, so he’s gone to help her carry everything.” Her gaze softens as she looks him over, taking note of his tangled hair and the dust on his clothes. “She’s missed you, you know. She’ll be glad you’re back.” Halsin feels something in his chest loosen at the words and he hopes the barbarian is right.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Soon, probably. I’m not saying Astarion was right but uh…you might want to consider getting cleaned up before then. No offence,” Karlach wrinkles her nose playfully and Halsin can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, the sound foreign to his ears. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing as he catches on a large knot and lets out a quiet sigh. The thought of Tav coming back to see the state he’s in pushes him to move, and he mutters a quick see you later to Karlach before making his way to his tent to grab some clean clothes and his supplies.

He’s soon down by the river, trying not to think about the last time he stood there and the heartbreak on Tav’s face as he strips down and scrubs the week in the forest from his body and his dirty clothes. He pulls more twigs and leaves out than he thought possible and it isn’t long before he’s walking back to camp, a towel slung over his shoulder and his now cleaned and dry outfit in his hands while he wears fresh clothes. Karlach is still drinking when he returns, her feet propped up on a bench as she basks in the sun, Shadowheart curled beside her as she sips from her own goblet.

“Halsin?” He would recognise her voice anywhere. He turns around to see Tav a few feet away, a large supply pack hanging from her shoulder. It falls to the floor with a thump as she takes a hesitant step forward. “Is it really you? Are you back?” Her voice is as soft as a whisper, and he barely registers as Wyll picks her discarded pack up and walks away, giving them both some much needed space. Halsin feels like his heart is caught in his throat. All at once he wants to pull her into his arms, he wants to fall to the floor in front of her and beg forgiveness, he wants to hide from her again but he also wants to yell from the mountains that he loves her and will do anything to fix what he broke.

“Oak Father’s blessings, Tav,” he places his fist on his chest in greeting, his voice hoarse. He takes a small step closer to her before hesitating. He wants her to decide where they go from here. She is all he wants, but he doesn’t want to push himself onto her. He doesn’t have time to finish the thought in his head before she’s dashing across the camp and throwing herself at him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders tightly, her legs dangling because of their height difference. Her head is buried in his neck and for a moment he forgets how to breathe let alone hug her back. He’s stunned for a few moments, and more than a little relieved that she hasn’t outright told him to shove off, and his arms wrap around her waist, holding her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t reply, and instead she holds onto him a little tighter and he can feel the collar of his short go damp as she begins to cry silently. His eyes slip closed as he pulls her closer and he wills himself to keep it together as he uses one of his arms to grip her legs, prompting her to wrap them around his waist so that they aren’t dangling in midair. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his heart stuttering as she doesn’t pull away or snap at him not to touch her and he’s only vaguely aware that the rest of the camp is being ushered away by Shadowheart and Karlach so the pair can have their moment. Once everyone has disappeared, Tav pulls back and steps out of Halsin’s arms. He itches to pull her back but the glare she’s sending him makes him reconsider.

“Don’t ever do that again!” she snaps, pushing him slightly. She doesn’t do it with enough force to move him, but surprise and confusion flits across his face. “You can’t just disappear like that for a week, Halsin! No one knew where you were, you didn’t leave a note - what if something had happened to you? How was I supposed to know you weren’t hurt or captured or even dead?”

His mouth flops open uselessly at her reprimand, an apology on the tip of his tongue that suddenly feels unbearingly inadequate. He can see it on the exhaustion on her face, in the dark rings under her eyes. He thought leaving and giving her some space was the right thing to do, but just like when he had slept with that elf he hadn’t stopped to consider how it would make her feel. At the time he didn’t think she would care he was gone - she was an inconsolable wreck when he left - he hadn’t realised that Tav, let alone anyone else, would have no way of getting into touch with him while he was away. The silence between them is so loud that his ears ring, and yet he still can’t find the words to say. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover the pain he’s put her through.

“You’re… you’re not hurt, right?” she asks, the anger leaving her voice as she stares at him, assessing him for any damage that she can’t see. He tries to respond with a quip or a clever comment, but he can’t. The guilt weighs too heavy on his heart right now.

“My pride, perhaps.” He offers her a weak smile as she scrutinises him. “I didn’t mean to worry you while I was away. I just wanted to give you some space.” She opens her mouth to reply but it seems it’s her turn to be unsure of what to say. She wraps her arms around her waist and looks around at the now empty camp and tilts her head towards the unlit fire.

“We should probably talk. I promise I won’t shout and poke you this time.” A weak smile falls on her lips as she makes her way over and sits down on one of the logs. Halsin gives her a weak smile and follows, sitting on the tree stump opposite her. He has so many thoughts rushing through his mind, so many things he wants to say to her, but when he opens his mouth to say them all that comes out is an incoherent mumble followed by a low sigh.

“I don’t know where to start, either,” she laughs nervously and runs a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry for how I reacted last week. I didn’t mean to explode on you. It’s not an excuse, but I was just so hurt and angry and I felt a little betrayed and…I’m sorry.”

“I deserved it.”

“Maybe,” she gives him a faint, teasing smile and he feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. “Hal…” She hesitates again, chewing on her lower lip. “Did you mean what you told me? When you said I was everything you want and that you-” she breaks off, her face flushing, but the words hang in the air. Did he mean it when he said he loved her? His face softens and he nods.

“I did. I meant every word and I still do.” His voice is soft as he slides into a seat closer to her and holds a hand out in offering. He’ll let her decide if she wants to take it. From here on out she makes the calls on where they stand. He can live with being just a friend to her if it means having her in his life. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me anymore, given all that’s happened, but I want you to know.” She fidgets in her seat and her face turns the most enticing shade of pink as she places her hand in his and squeezes gently. Halsin has to struggle not to pull her onto his lap and wrap his arms around her, but he reminds himself that she’s in charge here.

“I meant what I said too. Somewhere along the way while we’ve travelled I...I just fell so hard and fast for you. You mean the entire world to me, Hal. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She swallows and looks up at him and how did he ever think she didn’t have feelings for him when she looked at him like that? He was blind to have not seen it before. “I’m not going to lie, it stings that you only wanted me after you thought I was taken by someone else. But...I’m selfish. I love you, Hal. I-I’m putting my heart on the line here, I want to be with you. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine.”

“Tav,” he whispers, pushing himself to his knees in front of her. “My heart does not stir easily, but…” he pauses to let out a quiet, warm chuckle. “I feel like it never truly started beating until I met you. Nature outdid itself with you, and the Oak Father will have truly blessed me if he allowed you to be by my side. My heart is yours, as is every other part of me.” Tav lets out a breathless laugh at his words and sinks down so she is also kneeling in front of him, her hand winding around his shoulders so she can fiddle with his unbound hair.

“And mine is yours,” she murmurs, a smile flitting across her face as his hands come to rest on her waist. He pulls her onto his lap like he’s wanted to since he first realised he had fallen for her, and he’s rewarded with a beautiful blush and coy smile.

“You’re all I want. I don’t even want to look at anyone else but you.” He leans in, his lips brushing across her jaw softly before he places a kiss on her cheek. “My love, my heart, my soul; they’re all yours.” Her breathing hitches and her fingers tangle themselves in her hair in response and she leans in, her lips a breath away from his

“Halsin, may I kiss you?”

“I was hoping you would ask.” He closes the gap between them, his lips brushing hers tenderly once, twice and a third time before he grips her hips and kisses her like he’ll never have the chance to again. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of her hands in his hair, or the sweet sounds she makes as he pulls her impossibly closer, but he relishes the feeling all the same as they more than make up for their lost time.

#halsin fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin x y/n #halsin x you #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin x fem!reader #halsin fluff #halsin angst #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #awkwardauthormasterlist #awkwardauthorwrites #awkwardauthor

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ghouljams · 7 months

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I saw this artwork and immediately thought of your knight! ghost and princess work!

it’s “the meeting on the turret stairs” by frederic william burton which was inspired by the danish story of princess who falls in love with her personal body guard.

Ugh I think of this painting so often I think it's tattooed onto my brain. The way she can't look at him, can't do more than let him hold onto her arm. Her hand doesn't even grasp at him but you can see her desperation. The flower discarded on the stair, perhaps indicative of another lost flower. The absolute devotion on the knight's face. The yearning. God. More stairwell stuff with knight!Ghost and his princess.

You don't know quite where you're going, you only know you had to get out of there. Had to get away from that horrible dinner, that horrible man who looked at you with cold callous indifference. Away from the half-baked praises your mother was singing, trying to court a man who had less interest in you than he would a flea. Everything is going terribly wrong and you have nothing to fall back on but empty, broken, promises.

You run up the turret stairs, determined to find a space for yourself away from all of this. Anywhere you think would be the last place for your maids to look. Besides, the knights stationed up there won't say anything if you cry. Their gossip hardly ever reaches the maids.

You press close to the wall to make way for the knight coming down, but he's quick to grab you instead. Gentle hands hold you steady as he moves a few steps lower to let you meet his warm gaze, one you recognize even(perhaps especially) through the watery tears gathering on your lashes. Your Ghost.

"My lady," His hand reaches to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away the stray tear that escapes you, "I can't leave you alone for a second."

You hardly give your positions a seconds thought before you collapse onto him. He's strong enough to take it, hardly wavering as you cling to him. His arms circle your waist, tight to hold you close as you press your face to his armored shoulder. You feel his nose against your neck, his breath as tense as his body. This is improper, but you don't care. You hate seeing him without your colors, you hate it.

Ghost sighs and loosens his grip on you, letting you go. You wrap your arms tighter around him, as if that could stop it. He tuts, as if it's such an imposition, and reaches for your arms to pry you off of him.

When you're set right on the stair again he keeps hold of your hands, a warning not to try grabbing him again. Still, his thumbs stroke the backs of your hands, warm leather soothing against your skin. You love him all the worse for pushing you away, for doing his duty.

"Let's get you back where you're supposed to be," He tells you. You swallow and nod, unable to look at him past that. Back into the maws of wolves, you think. Ghost walks you back to the dining room, offers you a handkerchief to dry your tears. His duty ends there, but he enters with you.

When the table stands to welcome you, you hear the creak of his glove as he clenches his fist. You feel the guard he raises for you like the warmth of a fire, safe from the dangers of the night. Your eyes are trained on the foreign king on one end of the table, the way he stares down his nose at you, the darkness of his eyes behind his mask. You've never seen a blue look so hostile, so black with malice. As if he isn't waiting just for you to leave again, but for you to die.

"Sir Riley," Your father's tone is light, but unquestionably harsh, "You are off the princess's service, are you not?"

"My duty is to the royal family, which my lady is apart of. I'm doing my job and escorting her," Ghost challenges. Your father grits his teeth, determined not to make a scene for a potential ally. You've never known your knight to call the king like this. It's a dangerous game, one with consequences you don't want Ghost playing against.

"Ghost," You turn away from the hateful gaze of the German king to speak to your knight. He drops his eyes from the king to yours, soft and coppery, and affectionate.

"Princess," He hardly hides his preference for your authority. You're sure your father is seething.

"I'm alright," You tell him softly, "you're dismissed."

He stalls a moment, eyes searching yours. You know he'd jump if you only asked, you never saw a problem in that until now. Some things you need to be able to handle on your own. Things like diplomatic incidents. He nods, bows shortly, and leaves. Your eyes follow him as he goes, your heart leaving with him. You turn back to your audience.

"My apologies," You address both kings, "my emotions got the better of me, it won't happen again."

"I should hope not," Your father tells you. König tips his head, studying you.

"Pathetic," The voice barely fits the man, but you hadn't heard him speak all evening. König rolls his shoulders back and gestures for your maid and your new knight. "I was getting tired of this dance anyway," when he turns his eyes back to you they hold the trace of a smile, though you hesitate to call it that, "Princess, I think a walk would do us both some good."

"Of course," You try to smile, though all you can feel is a deep unease. Perhaps you should have kept Ghost by your side, politics be damned.

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chocsra · 2 months

Text

"Eternal Damnation."

PM! dazai x fem! immortal reader

a/n: apolgies for my absence. i was planning to write but everytime i could something piled up 🙁. thank u to @cherylpoptarts for the sudden reqs which piqued my interest immensely. ill work on my pending requests another time. enjoy the angst.

summary: you, an ability user who is able to automatically heal has been alive for centuries, constantly avoiding death. in the midst of it all, you hire an assassination, not for anyone, but yourself.

content warnings: suicide, mercy killing, insanity, assisted suicide, angst, small oneshot/long drabble, pm! dazai, (i hate this sm)

Lukewarm.

A temperature that was not too cold or hot; tepid. Little enthusiasm or indifference.

Similar to the freezing snow cooling down your neck into your back during Japanese winters. Catching snowflakes in the heat of your palm did not melt the bitter cold engulfing your being. Lukewarm was your companion throughout the tedious years of this beautiful thing we call 'living'. Lukewarm is the only comfort you know of.

There was a cut that always bled, never fully healed, the scab that you reckon to always pick off. Lukewarm water would wash over your scabbed wounds, into your eyes, and swallow you whole. You'd watch your loved ones become engulfed in a scorching heat, the bubbling fire scraping and tearing over old, bitter skin.

You'd run your fingers over the freshly new skin and everlastingly massaged joints. You never became old. You never felt hurt. You never were hurt—for long of course. For healing was your salvation, your ability, your gift—your curse.

"Winter is over soon,"

you muttered softly, the melancholic rebirth of nature prospecting over the misty blankets of snow surrounding you. Spring. The season when flower seedlings, trapped beneath infertile soil, reawaken and sprout; revelling in rich petals and leaves, calmly drifting in the cool breeze. You've seen it one too many times; 134—to be exact.

"And that's your reason?"

Your eyelids never falter your solemn, sad look. Continue to stuff your hands deep in your pockets to escape the cooling air, huffing out as you also fidget with the origami you've been toying with. "I'm not sure what you mean," you reply, eyes gazing over to the melting body of water, a local river as you stand over its bridge. For it was a beautiful sight, nature did this annual thing called grow—rebirth, if you may. And as many others hated the cold breeze that nature gifted, somehow, you basked in it. —"You want me to kill you because winter's over soon."

...

Right, you forgot the predicament you were in. Merciful. Yearning. Bright. Though the man beside you excluded the exact opposite of those adjectives, you cannot help but feel this funny thing called desperation—besides, you've heard it all, no 'youngest mafia executive' is truly evil. To you, he is only just a boy, a foolish boy. "I have lots of riches. You can even take my house, it's not dirty money."

"I see,"

A harsh breeze of wind swiftly picked up the origami that you were crafting from your hands, reaching out to grab the piece—a cold hand catches it and holds the folded paper in front of you, extending his hand. "you forget that you can't approach mafiosos on the street pleading for suicide, y'know? That sort of desperation is seen as dirty."

On the surface level, his words seemed like an insult; it was utterly offensive to refer to a person's actions as filthy. However, there wasn't any hint of insult in his voice—he even seemed amused. He, was a young man wrapped around in a beige scarf and black trenchcoat engulfing his entire body; he, was practically swimming in it. He, had brown wavy locks that framed his face. He, for some odd reason, was covered in bandages. —not the gauze you'd find wrapping around wounds, one similar to a mummy. And he, who looked like he lacked self-care, though you would be able to take in his pleasant features.

"Am I pleading?—" You snatch the origami away from his hand, "It's more like a deal. Consider it a paid assassination." the brunette merely scoffs, light air huffing out of his lips as he stuffs his hand back into his pocket. "Our conduct doesn't consist of mercy killing or assisted suicide," the man chuckles, peering along the barely frozen body of water. "nor unarranged business deals. But I'd like to know one thing,"

You lift your gaze meeting his in curiosity, taking in the soft features of his face, yet he brimmed with impurity. The slopes of his cheeks were so slim, and that followed through his lanky frame - a face that didn't seem boyish at all. Merciful. Yearning. Bright. He screamed an antonym of those words —Cruel. Repulsed. Dark.

"Why is it you want to die?" he asks, watching intricately as you brush your thumb continually over the origami you were making: a crafted swan. The brunette seemed rather impressed, watching - your skills seem exactly like traditional art of origamis: something he'd see in an old painting or lost crafts book. Swans - which symbolised eternal love, you seemed anything but loving. Maybe, it had just been eternal. An eternity without love.

"My journey started with helping others live. But once you start taking the breath of living for granted, it becomes the very reason you wish to die. I. suppose I've met my limit with that. With living." you reminisce the past, the melancholic nights under blankets under the same winter—the spring, autumn, or summer. In the blessing of longevity, there was a problem; for what you've gained, there was also lost. Death of others—an eternity without love was your reality. Your resentful condemnation.

"I understand."

At this moment, the mafioso didn't seem so cruel; it was almost sympathetic, you'd think as he gazes over the river. "I've never understood the purpose of living if that makes you feel any better."

...

"You're not very good at comforting, are you?" an unexpected chuckle escaped his lips, "I'd at least expect an immortal to be a nihilist." you remotely scoff at his revelation. "Stupid. There's a reason why I want to die, I understand the meaning of living." the brunette rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. "Well, I don't understand the meaning of living hence why I want to die."

You chuckle, "For a mafioso, you are sassy."

"For a beauty, you are quite rude." He smiles indifferently.

It's almost funny, actually. How casual that conversation was.

Engulfed in the flames of this beautiful thing we call living, you finally obtain that sweet release of death the moment you intertwine fingers with a young mafioso—one who reeked of death.

The flames that engulfed you were lukewarm, but he was different. He was warm, almost scorching. Scorching an angelic heat that cascaded into the palms of your hand all the way to your shoulders and neck. The feeling was deftly abstract, and you basked in it; the way he'd hold you so close, run bandaged hands over the slope of your cheeks, whisper untangible nothings near the shell of your ear.

"Death is the absence of life, the desire I've been longing to taste since adolescence."

Mist and smoke fill around the room, almost making you feel dizzy. There were a lot of turbulent emotions circulating through your brain. First, you were relieved. You've been insensitive to death for a while, the times you did cry for someone—it was out of relief. The sweet relief that that one person would not have to suffer. You suppose it was the same for yourself. You would meet your demise in the arms of a fallen angel. Fall into the fiery pits of hell, or be welcomed by heaven's gate through a smoky embrace of whiskey and canned crab.

"I'm a bit envious of you, actually," Dazai murmurs, his thumb which was once connected to a trigger, soothingly rubbing your skin. "you'll meet this desire before me." you often wonder, what was the man's infatuation with death? He was in the mafia from a young age, he must've been associated with all forms of death. Ranging from a loved one withering away, to open guts and blood-stained lips. The absence of life can be seen through the empty carcass of one's body, the glint of vitality in their eyes disappearing.

Dazai Osamu was unique. In fact, he never had that glint in his eyes. His carcass was handsome, he was the product of love and passion. However, the eyes—his eyes, which were the window of the soul, were a dark void, abyssal, vantablack. He was unreadable. The brunette's experiences, his beliefs, his spiritual grounding. Dazai Osamu yearned for death, but for what he learned as just a boy, he did not meet death—but became it.

You had a connection. The special origami of a swan—meaning eternal love. He wanted eternal, you wanted love. In the end, none of you were happy. And so, he'll give you peace, and you'll give him understanding. The carcass you're going to become is much different from a being he merely murdered. Dazai moves a hand from interlocking with yours, to cup both of your cheeks. Warm and rosy cheeks.

"I'm sorry,"

He had fluttered his eyes shut and leaned his forehead on your temple. Despite the burning fire ignited by the candle of his flesh alone, his warm and shallow breaths gave you a balmy breather from this feeling called lukewarm.

Crack.

Lukewarm.

"I see you got what you wanted, huh?"

You stood atop a bridge from frozen water with a black scarf snuggled tightly around your neck.

A brunette man averted his gaze to you with a confused stare. The gape of which was rather familiar, one that excluded a slight glint of vitality, but other than that, abyssal. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He adjusted the bandage on his finger, in which you assumed he cut his finger on something. "Nope. But I made an extra origami, do you want one?"

Silence. "..Sure."

The mysterious man picked up the crafted paper with suspicion. His gaze softens as he sees a professionally crafted swan. "I feel like we've met before—actually, I'm sure of it."

"Not too sure about that."

chocsra™

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alwaysmicado · 2 months

Text

smile, baby

5.1k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader

Warnings: D/s dynamic, drinking, degradation, orgasm denial, masturbation (m), spitting, big fat cumshot Summary: Nathan teaches you a lesson in submission. You hate love it. A/N: Filth with heart. I can't be normal about this man, okay? Can be read alone or as a prequel to in control and predator & prey. Enjoy and let me know what you think! 🤍

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks. “Giving up control. Being able to turn your brain off.”

– – –

“What are we doing tonight?” You sit down on the couch beside Nathan, a glass of wine in hand.

“I’m watching TV,” he answers coldly without as much as a glance in your direction.

“Hmm…okay,” you murmur. You take a generous sip from your glass, appreciating Nathan’s excellent taste in wine. It’s your favorite; you discovered it on a trip to France during your college years and haven’t been able to find it since then.

What an incredible coincidence that he would just have it here, right?

Not right.

Unbeknownst to you, Nathan meticulously arranged every single detail of your living environment before you even crossed the threshold of his mansion for the first time.

The exquisite wine you now sip, seemingly a stroke of luck, was deliberately stocked to align with your taste. Much like the lavender shampoo that envelops you in its soothing fragrance during each shower, the never-ending supply of fresh strawberries, and the perpetually replenishing KitKats in your minibar, each aspect of your surroundings has been carefully curated to ensure your every comfort is met.

You haven’t really picked up on that fact yet, as you’re still in the process of settling into your new, exciting, but overwhelming environment.

In the two weeks since moving in, you’ve immersed yourself in the intricacies of artificial intelligence, navigating the uncharted waters of innovation under Nathan’s eccentric mentorship.

And eccentric, he is.

It took you five minutes of mostly one-sided conversation to realize that his intellect, an unmatched force of brilliance, is rivaled only by the staggering magnitude of his ego.

And, even more strikingly, it took you just as little time to realize you’ve never craved another human being as badly as you do him. There’s just something about him…beneath all the arrogance and assholery. You can’t put your finger on it, but you feel it’s there.

Nathan sensed your immediate attraction to him, of course, reading your microexpressions and body language. And after a few days of subtle teasing, he decided to give you a small taste of pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of, only to leave you without it for the past week since then.

Beyond lingering glances, the subtle brush of his hand against the small of your back in the kitchen, the knowing smirk when he catches you stealing glances at the bulge in his shorts, or his deliberate choice to work out shirtless—Nathan has been purposefully cold, relishing in your growing desperation.

For him, this is more than a game; he revels in a level of amusement he hasn’t experienced in years.

He could never get the androids to look at him with the same intensity, hunger, and raw need he can see in your eyes, and the control he now holds over your desires is a source of unparalleled satisfaction.

He definitely made the right choice by selecting you.

Nestling your feet under you in an attempt to find comfort on the cushion, you silently study your boss’s profile, observing as he brings the fourth bottle of beer to his lips. Your eyes slowly trace the distinct contours of his nose, the meticulous lines of his beard, the strength evident in his neck and shoulders, until they finally reach the casual sprawl of his naked feet at rest on the coffee table.

His lidded eyes remain unwaveringly fixated on the screen as he leisurely surfs through the channels, a deliberate act of indifference that extends to ignoring your presence. You nervously chew on your lip, trying your hardest not to break the silence first, even though you so obviously want to.

Seemingly absorbed in the movie he settled on, Nathan is keenly aware of your eyes repeatedly drifting towards him, lingering for a few seconds before retreating reluctantly back to the indifferent glow of the screen.

You’re so cute when you’re trying to be coy.

“Did you think of me?” he asks suddenly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Did I…huh?” you respond, startled, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He turns his head to look at you, his face revealing no emotion, his dark eyes piercing yours. A shiver runs down your spine as his gaze drops to your lips for a split second before finding your sparkling eyes again.

“When you were fucking yourself with that purple dildo last night. Did you think of me?” He peers at you with a straight face, casually taking another sip from his bottle.

“Wha–”

Your heart skips a beat, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks as his words hang in the air. Shocked and exposed, your eyes widen, and your body tenses. After a few endless seconds, surprise turns into a mixture of anger and humiliation as you figure out how he knows.

Mother. Fucker. There’s a fucking camera in your room.

“No need to act embarrassed, baby,” he scoffs. “You put on quite a show.”

“It’s not technically a show when I’m unaware that my pervy boss is watching me, though, is it?” you snap at him, crossing your arms defensively in front of your chest.

“Yeah, well. It’s all in the NDA you signed.”

“Oh, of course it is,” you chuckle incredulously, looking up at the high ceiling of the living room.

“Did you think of me?” Nathan asks again, his eyes not leaving you.

“Uh...yeah, I did.” You down the rest of your wine in one go.

“Tell me about it.”

You sigh deeply. “You saw everything, so why don’t you tell me?” you say, unsuccessfully trying to mask your embarrassment with annoyance.

Nathan raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond.

When he had you on your knees in front of him a week ago, hands tied behind your back, allowing you a few seconds to catch your breath before going back to fucking your throat, he asked if you’d thought of him while touching yourself. You were flying high at that point, teetering on the edge, so desperate for release that you would have admitted anything he asked.

And so, you blurted out the truth.

He can tell you regret it now, but that only makes him want to push you further. The thought of forcing you to admit what you want, what you are, has his cock hardening in his sweatpants.

“Okay, fine,” you murmur, unable to take the deafening silence anymore. You clear your throat and shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“I couldn’t fall asleep and thought…you know, an orgasm might help. So I started with my hand, trying to get myself off as fast as possible. But then, um, that wasn’t enough,” you trail off, your gaze avoiding his, and you set the empty wine glass on the coffee table with a sigh.

“Look at me, baby.”

Nathan studies your face, typically adorned with a confident smile, and feels a surge of satisfaction as he takes in your dilated pupils and bashful expression. This is turning you on.

“Continue.”

“My fingers weren’t enough, so I thought I could use the toy I brought. I, um,” you inhale and exhale deeply, “I imagined it was you and I thought of what you…I thought of what you’d do to me.”

Anxiously, you search his eyes for a sign of approval, your heart racing in your chest.

“What did you think I’d do to you?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer without breaking eye contact.

You swallow audibly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your cheeks ablaze with heat. The sensation coursing through your body is undeniable—an intoxicating blend of humiliation and arousal.

Under Nathan’s intense scrutiny, you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing second, succumbing to the forbidden pleasure of confessing your innermost, shameful desires.

“I thought you’d grab me like last time and kiss me…kiss my neck, bite my lip, hold me down while…” you stop again, too ashamed to go on.

“Hold you down while?” Nathan prompts, making it clear that you’re not done talking.

You tilt your head and furrow your brow as your gaze lingers on the man who has dominated every waking thought since the first time your eyes locked with his.

He’s condescending, self-centered, moody, and so used to playing God in his kingdom of androids that he’s seemingly forgotten how to connect with humans and their emotions. And yet, there’s an inexplicable allure about him that has you longing for his touch, his attention, his…guidance.

What is going on with you?

“I imagined you’d put your weight on me, keeping me pinned down, making it impossible for me to get away,” you say, peering at him through your lashes. “You’d fuck me, hard, using me in any way you like.”

You bite your lip and shift in your seat, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you catch sight of Nathan’s hard cock twitching beneath the elastic fabric of his sweatpants. He’s still looking at you, his casual demeanor unchanged, beer in hand on his belly.

“You’d take, um, you’d take control of me, choking me, muffling my screams with your hand, grabbing my tits. I’d beg you to let me come, you’d bring me right to the edge and then you’d stop, denying me over and over again, and using me until I…”

“Until you?”

The subtle arch of Nathan’s eyebrow, the lingering scent of his beard oil, the way his lips press against the glass bottle’s opening—it all ignites an overwhelming surge of arousal within you, urging you to give him what he wants.

“Until I couldn’t take it anymore,” you purr seductively, your pupils so dilated your eyes are black.

“Is that the thought that made you squirt all over your bed?”

Your jaw drops and your chest tightens, the humiliation intensifying as he talks about this intimate, vulnerable moment with such nonchalance. Like it’s not a complete invasion of your privacy. Like he’s not penetrating the very core of your personal boundaries.

You feel a flutter in your stomach, and your throat constricts as you struggle to find your words.

“I…no,” you murmur, averting your gaze. Your eyes land on Nathan’s hand gripping the bottle a little harder than before. “What pushed me over the edge was you telling me to come.”

When your eyes meet his again, you recognize the same dark glint in them that you saw seconds before his lips crashed against yours for the first time.

“I would beg you to let me come over and over again, and you’d always deny me…until you decided I deserved it. And when you, uh, when you ordered me to come on your cock, I came so hard I lost all control.”

Nathan can barely hold back a groan as you confess your desire for his dominance. His cock is leaking precum, staining the inside of his pants. He’s this close to ripping your clothes off and taking you right here, right now, burying himself deep inside you and filling you up with his cum.

But that’s not the plan for tonight.

“Is that so,” is all he says, turning his head back to the TV, a satisfied, almost unnoticeable smirk playing on his lips. He chugs the rest of his beer, then sets the empty bottle down on the little side table next to him.

Keeping his eyes on the flickering screen, he purposely ignores you again, reveling in the escalating neediness and desperation he perceives from you. He can sense your fidgeting and squirming beside him, uncertain of your next move. After a brief pause, you lift your hand but retract it hesitantly. Amused, Nathan catches a glimpse of your indecision from the corner of his eye.

You’re such a perfect little slut—beautiful, eager, smart, pliant. And it just tickles him that you could scream at him to fuck your ass harder during sex, but act all shy and flustered when asked to talk about it.

Another minute of silence, and you’re unable to resist any longer. Your swollen clit is painfully sensitive, your damp panties are clinging to your pussy, and your brain is screaming at you to make a move. You reach out again, this time making contact with Nathan’s clothed chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart becomes palpable under your touch, and feeling his body connected with yours has you pressing your thighs together.

Your breath quickens as you slowly start trailing your hand down his chest and his belly, but before you get a chance to touch his cock, he stills your hand with his.

“Don’t,” he says without looking at you.

You wince and immediately pull your hand away, clasping it protectively against your chest with your other hand.

“I thought…sorry.” You look at him like he just slapped you.

Nathan sighs, but doesn’t say anything. There’s no scolding, no inquiries, no indication of what he wants you to do—it’s unnerving. You’re fidgeting with your shirt again, clearing your throat, and shifting your legs, trying to find a position that will alleviate at least some of the burning ache in your core.

“Can I–” you say quietly, but cut yourself off. You’re facing him completely now, feet tucked under you, hands on your thighs, a silent restraint preventing you from reaching out to touch him again.

Satisfied that you’re learning, he decides to reward you with his attention. His eyes find yours again, and he’s pleasantly surprised by what he sees. It’s not just lust or neediness; no, you’re lost. Completely, unequivocally lost without his orders.

Nathan’s used to Kyoko looking at him with a blank face, awaiting his commands, reacting to his actions, doing what he programmed her to do. But this is different.

You actually want him to tell you what to do.

He takes his feet off the coffee table and scoots back in his seat, spreading his legs. “Sit on the floor,” he orders, watching with an imperceptible smile as your eyes light up. You quickly get off the couch and kneel on the floor between his legs, your eyes fixated on the outline of his cock inches from your face.

You want to taste it so bad you can feel yourself salivating at the sight. You bite your lip and move a little closer, looking up at Nathan expectantly before gently putting your hands on his thighs. He lifts his hips slightly, groaning at the delicious feeling of his tip rubbing against his pants. You take that as a sign to continue, moving your hands further up to the waistband.

“No,” he says calmly before you can pull it down.

“Why not?” You don’t pull away your hands this time. “You’re hard. Why won’t you let me–”

“Look.” He leans down to tilt your chin up with his thumb and index finger. “I get that you’re a needy whore and seeing my cock instinctively makes you want to suck it, I really do, baby,” he scoffs, condescension dripping from his words. “But I honestly thought you’d be able to follow a simple instruction even dogs can understand.”

A sharp inhale catches in your throat and your eyes widen at his demeaning words. Your gaze locked onto his, you can feel a surge of frustration coursing through your veins, tinged with a spark of defiance. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure.

Nathan tilts his head, studying your expression, your reaction. You could have slapped him by now, stormed off, told him to go fuck himself—anything. But no, you’re still kneeling between his legs, lust and determination evident in your eyes.

“Let’s try this again, hm?” His thumb gently traces your bottom lip. The sensation sends a wave of ecstasy through your body and it takes all of your self-control not to start sucking on his finger. He can read in your eyes what you’re thinking, so he repeats the motion with your upper lip just to test your resolve.

The way you squirm under his touch is mesmerizing and oh so gratifying.

“Sit on the floor.”

He releases his hold on your chin, reclines into the couch, grabs another beer from the side table, and redirects his attention back to the TV.

You decide to crawl out from between his legs, ensuring he gets a tantalizing view of your shapely ass in those snug yoga shorts. Leaning against the couch with a deep sigh, you position yourself next to his leg. You glance up at him, searching for a sign that he’s happy with your obedience—and also very much hoping for a reward that involves him fucking your brains out again.

It’s not as if you don’t deserve it for enduring his grandiose monologues and drunken crying sessions every other night. Besides, you’re hot, and he should be so lucky…

To your frustration, though, he’s ignoring you again, absentmindedly tapping the beer bottle with his index finger as his eyes stay focused on the movie. He can feel your annoyance, your anger, and it’s almost enough to get his softening cock hard again.

You sit in silence for a minute before quietly scooting closer and gently leaning against Nathan’s leg. Feeling him, even through fabric, is enough to embolden you to go further. You look up at him, trying to be sneaky. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixated on the TV, one hand cradling his beer, the other casually draped over the backrest.

You’re not giving up that easily. Your pussy won’t let you. Just one little touch, and you’re convinced you can get him in the mood. Just one little touch, and he won’t be able to resist you. Just one little–

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Then why the fuck am I down here?”

“Because I want you to be.”

“Oh, wow,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “And now what? You think I’m just gonna sit here and watch you get drunk?”

He ignores your pouting.

“I got better stuff to do, you know.”

He turns up the volume of the TV.

“This is so dumb, Nathan. Why do you want me to sit here if you’re just gonna ignore me?”

“You like it when I tell you what to do,” he says calmly.

You’re taken aback by his statement and furrow your brow. “Well, yeah…but this isn’t…I–”

He looks down at you, effectively shutting you up.

It’s absolutely amazing how he can watch in real time as the defiant fire in your eyes fizzles out. The small, self-satisfied smile creeping across his arrogant face stings.

He’s such a cocky bastard.

You huff agitatedly, cross your arms in front of your chest, demonstratively turn away from him, and kick your legs out from under you. Nathan, on the other hand, relaxes in his seat. He’s thoroughly enjoying your little show, and your pouting doesn’t bother him. Not as long as you’re doing what you’re told.

After a few minutes of listening to the blood rushing in your ears and the occasional gulping sound coming from Nathan working on his beer, you can’t hold it back any longer.

“I’m not just gonna stay down here,” you hiss at him.

“Yes, you are.”

Unbelievable.

You stare at him incredulously. “And what makes you so sure of that, huh? I could just walk away and leave you here to sulk. I don’t need this, okay? And you–you can’t just–”

Nathan says your name sharply. “Stop your whining. You’re sitting on the floor because I told you to. That’s it.”

He looks at you, his eyebrow arched, daring you to defy him.

“That’s it?” you repeat, your eyes narrowed.

Nathan smirks and turns towards the TV again, slowly sipping his beer.

“Yup. That’s it.”

You glower at him, and, for a brief moment, he half-expects you to finally get up and storm out in frustration. He wouldn’t mind, really. But there seems to be a subtle shift within you, and after a few tense seconds, you release a long, aggravated breath. Turning away from him, you cross your arms with annoyance, and firmly plant your back against the couch.

Nathan keeps an eye on you, observing how your tense posture relaxes and how you make yourself comfortable after a few more minutes of sitting at his feet.

It’s an image he wants to savor.

You’ve been good for some time now, doing what he told you to do, submitting to him nicely. He decides to reward your obedience, reaching out to pet the back of your head. You’re startled and your body stiffens at his touch, but he can feel you relax more and more with each gentle stroke of his palm up and down the nape of your neck. He gives you a soothing massage, soft scratches, allows you to lean into his touch.

He’s stroking you for some time, relishing the feeling of dominance, of control, until a quiet moan escapes your lips.

Nathan smiles to himself and tightens his grip on your neck for a few seconds, intensifying the sensation. You sigh in pleasure and close your eyes, getting lost in his forceful touch. He then loosens his grip, and you release a contented sigh as you rest your head against his leg. He lets you, gently scratching your scalp, your soft moans music to his ears.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s so much better when you do what I say, hm?”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, your brow furrowed.

Seeing you look up at him with those pretty, lust-filled eyes of yours is enough to get his cock hard again.

“You can just do what you’re told,” he says, his fingers gently tracing your neck. “You don’t have to think, or ask questions. You can just let yourself fall and give up control.”

Your eyes widen, and he caresses your cheek.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks. “Giving up control. Being able to turn your brain off. Not having to think for yourself, not having to make decisions.”

You don’t respond, mesmerized by his dark eyes and calm voice. There’s a hint of surprise in your expression, but that doesn’t surprise him. You’ve been suppressing your desire for submission for a long time, and now, he’s presenting you with the chance to finally embrace it.

“If I want you to sit on the floor because that’s where I feel you belong, you don’t ask why. You just do it,” he says, running his thumb over your lips again. “Right?”

You nod slowly and press your thighs together with a little whine. Your panties are drenched and it physically hurts you how empty you feel.

“Very good,” Nathan murmurs, pressing his thumb against your lips, and giving you a quick nod when you look at him questioningly. You open your mouth for him to slide his finger inside, your eyes going even wider at the sensation.

Nathan’s cock twitches at your total submission.

He gently thrusts his thumb in and out of your mouth, sliding it along your warm tongue. You suck and lick it seductively, eyes half-closed as you hum around the digit, swirling your tongue around it as if to show him what his cock is missing.

He sucks in a sharp breath and takes his thumb back out of your mouth, pulling down your bottom lip slowly before bringing his face close to yours.

You half-expect him to kiss you, but instead he murmurs, “Clothes off, hands on your thighs.”

He watches contentedly as your eyes light up, and you eagerly follow his orders, pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, pulling down your shorts and panties in one swift motion.

“Kneel over there,” he says, directing you to a spot away from the couch.

He gets up and pulls down his sweatpants, letting them fall onto the floor. You stare at his cock with need, awe, and a tinge of fear—your holes were sore for days after your last encounter. He smiles to himself, crossing the distance between you two, and positioning himself in front of you.

You’re sitting back on your heels, thighs spread, your hands firmly placed on them, your glistening pussy on display. There’s a smooth arch in your back and your head is tilted upwards as you wait for further instructions.

Nathan looks down at you, his eyes scanning your naked body, spits in his hand and starts stroking his cock. He groans at the delicious feeling of finally getting some relief. He hasn’t jerked off all day, despite watching the tape of you fucking yourself after he got up this morning. And after lunch. And again this afternoon.

To say he’s pent up would be an understatement.

“That’s it,” he moans, wasting no time to tease himself. His right hand sets a steady pace, sliding up and down his length with honed efficiency.

“I’m gonna come all over your pretty face, baby. And you’re gonna take it like a good girl, aren’t you?”

The thought of it, of Nathan marking you that way, dirty and wrong and everything you’re not supposed to desire, it sends a surge of heat through your body, settling in your clit with a throb.

You whimper an unintelligible response, your eyes fixated on his hand moving in practiced motions around his thick cock. Nathan chuckles above you, and you manage to tear your eyes away from his cock to catch the look of dark amusement on his face.

“You gotta speak up, baby. Or are you too cock-drunk to use your words already?”

You swallow hard and dig your nails into the flesh of your thighs. “Y-yes,” you manage to choke out. Your face burns with humiliation, intensifying your desperation as you plead, “Please come on my face, Nathan. I want you to mark me. Please give me your cum. Please.”

Shocked at your unexpectedly bold words, Nathan’s hand momentarily falters in its movement, before picking up again with increased speed.

A strangled groan bubbles out of his throat, followed by your name and a swipe of his thumb over the tip of his cock. His dark eyes meet yours for a split second, looking down at you as you’re patiently waiting for your reward with an opened mouth.

You writhe and squirm at the sound of Nathan’s groans and the intense sight of him pleasuring himself. You’ve never seen anything hotter. You want to touch yourself, to rub your clit or slip your fingers into your wet core—to finally get some release—but you resist the urge, clenching your hands into fists.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby,” Nathan pants, his words coming ragged and tight. He’s so close.

You look up into his lidded eyes and whisper, “Please.”

“You want that, huh? Oh fuck. Such a filthy little cumslut.”

You moan at his words and feel your walls clench in desperation. Your arousal is dripping out of your pussy onto the floor below, an obscene sight that confirms what Nathan already knew.

You’re loving this.

Nathan’s hand is jerking his leaking cock, fast and firm, as he races toward his orgasm. He’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel—the wet squelching sound of his hand around his slick cock, his grunts and moans, the mumbled curses, the heat radiating off his imposing body.

You see him twitch in his hand and your swollen clit pulsates in response. He increases the speed of his hand and reaches to fondle his balls with his left hand. It takes a harsh squeeze and a “Holy shit, fuck!” before he’s coming with a long, low moan.

Your eyes shut instinctively but you don’t flinch as you can feel it hitting your face and tits in hot, wet spurts. You stay still, like the good girl that you are, moaning as another thick rope of Nathan’s cum lands across your lips, dripping into your mouth, salty and bitter on your tongue.

You don’t get to see his face as he comes, but the explicit sounds that reach your ears are enough to make you twitch and moan in pleasure, expanding the puddle beneath you.

Nathan strokes himself through his orgasm until his balls are empty and he’s milked every last drop out of his cock and onto your face—until he’s painted you with it, until he’s marked you as his.

“Goddamnit.”

Spent, he lets go of his pulsating cock, putting his hands on his hips, taking a step back to take a good, long look at his work of art.

Your face is painted white with cum, spread all over your cheeks, chin, and dripping down to your tits. You put on a little show, gathering up the drops with your finger and sensually putting them on your tongue while keeping unwavering eye contact.

“You can swallow,” Nathan says, pleased with your conduct.

You do as he says, happily adding some more cum from your lips, and swallowing it all down with a blissed-out smile.

“Thank you, Sir,” you coo.

“Such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, stepping closer. He bends down, grabs the back of your neck forcefully, and tilts your head up.

“Open your mouth, slut. Tongue out.”

You open wide, sticking your tongue out for him to see. He leans in to let a big glob of his spit fall directly into your open mouth. He hums in satisfaction as he watches you swallow it eagerly, and then he finally kisses you, dirty and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips, desperate for him to finally touch your neglected pussy.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your lips, making you moan. “Now, go get cleaned up.”

Oh no, he wouldn’t.

You stare at him with wide eyes. “But I–”

“Go. Get. Cleaned. Up.”

“But I haven’t…what about me?” you stammer, your voice trembling.

“What about you?” he responds with a raised eyebrow, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

Your face falls and his cock pulsates at your expression. You look like you’re close to crying, your thighs pressed together to alleviate your aching clit, your nails painfully digging into your palms. You’re shaking with anger and frustration.

Nathan’s never been as turned on as he is from seeing you suffer—you’re just so pretty when you’re denied.

He can already picture himself playing with every part of you for hours on end, denying you over and over again until your body is ablaze with burning anticipation. And then, once he’s finally reduced you to a brainless, overstimulated mess, he’ll wrap his hand around your throat and make you take him until you beg him to stop.

But that’s for another day.

“Smile, baby,” he smirks, tapping your cum-stained cheek and straightening up to get himself another beer from the kitchen. “You’re on camera.”

– – –

Thank you for reading! 🤍

in control || predator & prey || main masterlist

tagging: @pattwtf @tuquoquebrute let me know if you want me to add you!

#nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #nathan ex machina #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fic #ex machina fanfiction #smut #oscar isaac fic #ex machina

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steveseddie · 2 months

Text

cold bones (you were the warmth)

rating: g | cw: none apply | word count: 1,307

tags: eddie munson lives, steve harrington is a sweetheart, pre-relationship, fluff and hurt/comfort

for the @steddielovemonth prompt “love is asking ‘do you want a blanket?’” by @thefreakandthehair

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie wakes up feeling cold.

He always does these days. Since he almost died in the Upside Down it’s like the coolness from that place burrowed deep inside him and even now, two weeks later, he still can’t shake it off.

It doesn’t help that he’s still stuck in this room while he recovers. There’s an iciness to this place too- this secret government hospital. It’s not just the place with its gray and empty walls, but the people who work there too. The doctors, the nurses, and the government agents who are constantly walking into his room all treat him with the same indifference and apathy, and Eddie is used to people being hateful and mean, but this treatment is far worse.

The only time he ever feels warm is when someone comes to visit him, his uncle, or one of his new friends. But even then, that warmth doesn’t last long once they leave and he goes back to being cold.

With a sigh, Eddie wraps the flimsy hospital sheet around himself and rolls over on the bed, careful not to jostle the stitches covering his sides too much.

He lets out a soft gasp when he sees someone sitting on the chair next to his bed.

“Steve?” Eddie has to ask because he’s not completely sure that he’s not dreaming. Yes, Steve Harrington somehow ended up being part of that group of new friends, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t surprise Eddie every time.

Steve looks up from the book he’s reading- The Hobbit, which does little to convince Eddie that he isn’t imagining this- and smiles.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

“Am I? Because King Steve Harrington reading Tolkien next to my bed feels like something that would only happen in my dreams,” Eddie says, cringing a little at the meaning behind his words, hoping that Steve doesn’t read too much into what he said.

If Steve does, he doesn’t show it, simply chuckling softly. “Someone left it here for you. Think it was Henderson. It was either reading this or watching you sleep, and that one felt a bit creepy.”

Eddie snorts, gesturing at the worn-out cover of the book. “What do you think?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not bad, but there are too many names, man. It’s confusing.”

“Fair enough.”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, putting the book back on the bedside table.

Eddie makes a face. “Like my body is being held together by stitches and prayers,” he says. A displeased frown appears between Steve’s eyebrows. “But they’ve got me on some powerful drugs here, so I can’t complain.”

The pain isn’t really what bothers him the most anyway, it’s the cold. Always the cold.

For a moment, Eddie thinks he said that out loud because the next thing out of Steve’s mouth is, “Do you want a blanket?”

“Hm?”

Steve gestures at Eddie on the bed. “You bundled yourself up like a burrito there and you were shivering in your sleep.”

“I thought you weren’t watching sleep, Stevie,” Eddie says with a smirk.

Steve’s cheeks turn a pretty pink shade. “I might’ve glanced at you once or twice. You snore, it’s annoying.”

With an undignified squeak, Eddie says, “I don’t snore!”

Steve laughs heartily. “So, blanket? I can ask one of the nurses for one.”

“You would have better luck asking Vecna for a hug, man” Eddie snorts. “I’ve asked, they- they never bring me one, either they forget or just don’t care.”

Steve frowns. “What? But they’re supposed to be taking care of you. All that shivering could mean you have a fever or something worse!” Eddie can’t but chuckle as he slips into Mother Hen Steve mode.

“Pretty sure it’s not. It’s- I think it has to do with the Upside Down? Like, being there and almost dying there left me feeling perpetually cold or something,” Eddie tries to explain. Steve’s eyes narrow at him. “I know it doesn’t make sense-”

But Steve shakes his head. “No, it does, the kids- they told me that when Will got possessed by the Mind Slayer or whatever his name was, he felt cold all the time so maybe it’s like, an Upside Down thing.”

Eddie blinks. “So you’re saying I could be possessed by a monster?”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “No! No! No. I’m sure you’re not. I’m sure it will go away eventually.”

“If you say so.”

“Speaking of that. Going away,” Steve says, looking down at his watch and wrinkling his nose. “I should go, I have a shift.”

“Are people even renting movies after half the town got destroyed?”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve says. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

Then, he reaches for Eddie’s hand, halfway concealed by the hospital sheet, and squeezes it. Warmth spreads through Eddie at lightning speed from the touch. It lingers just long enough after Steve leaves so that Eddie can fall asleep again.

***

The next time Eddie wakes up- cold again, always cold- Steve isn’t there, but he comes back a few hours later, carrying a large bag.

“Back already?” Eddie asks when Steve closes the door. “Did you miss me that much, sweetheart?”

Steve splutters, almost dropping the bag and flushing a bright red. “Shut up.” He places the bag on Eddie’s bed and he recognizes the logo on the front.

“Did you raid Melvald’s on your way here?”

Steve bites his lip. He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes, staring down at the contents of the bag instead. “I figured if they weren’t going to give you any blankets here, I’d bring you some.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts unpacking blankets from the bag- first a yellow fuzzy blanket, then a plaid one, and finally one with some animated cartoon characters on it that Eddie doesn’t recognize. He stares at them with his lips parted in shock.

“Uh, these were all they had, they donated a bunch of them to the shelter after, you know, everything.”

“You- brought me blankets?”

“Uh, I did, yeah.”

“You’re- something else, Harrington, did you know that?” Eddie says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Uh, something good I hope?” Steve asks, fidgeting a little.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Definitely.” It hits Eddie then that he’s in a lot of trouble. It was one thing when Steve was just an attractive guy, but it’s another thing to realize that he’s kind and good and cares about Eddie. This is a guy that Eddie could see himself falling in love with and that’s a problem.

But it’s a problem for another day. For now, he grabs the yellow blanket and drapes it over himself. The cold doesn’t go away entirely but it recedes, and Eddie sighs happily. When he looks at Steve, he’s got a pleased little smile on his lips.

Eddie figures that he’ll leave now since he already did what he came here to do. He doesn’t want him to, but to his surprise, Steve lingers and Eddie sees his eyes land on the book on his bedside table.

He smirks. “Admit it, Harrington, you’re hooked.”

Steve’s eyes dart to him and he shakes his head. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Eddie singsongs. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Henderson. Under one condition.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

“Read to me?”

Steve blinks, clearly not expecting that, but then the corners of his mouth tug up slightly. “I can do that.”

He sits down on the chair after grabbing the book, and Eddie carefully rolls onto his side, facing Steve, and wrapping himself up like a burrito in his new fuzzy yellow blanket.

He feels real warmth for the first time since he went through that portal, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the blanket or the sweet voice reading to him.

Or maybe it’s just Steve.

#steddielovemonth #day 25 #hello i have another prompt for you i managed to keep this one a little shorter but hopefully just as sweet #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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adokyoguen · 4 months

Note

Can you write a fic where Muzan sees the reincarnation of his late wife who he married when he was a human.

★۰ ໋࣭ muzan x reader.

omg I really liked this request so much that I wanted to do two parts, lol

this will be before Muzan finds the reincarnation of his late wife okay? I hope you like it and I'll be posting the second part soon :)

note: any grammatical errors made, please ignore. English is not my first language so I ask for patience :((

Muzan was never affectionate, at least the upper moons never noticed a feeling of empathy or an ounce of happiness in muzan. Everyone described him as spiteful and insensitive, he sees no value in humans. To his subordinates... he never showed respect.

But what no one knew was that a long time ago, Muzan actually had a family, he didn't have children, but Muzan has a wife, or rather, he did. She died a long time ago, he didn't even remember her face anymore, like, it was more than a thousand years alive as a demon... how could he remember? But he remembered all the effort she had put into giving her husband as much comfort as possible. Muzan was currently in the Infinity Castle, testing some experiments, but it seemed like something was wrong, the man felt something draining his energy. Even if it was 0.1%, he could feel it.

Was this some effect of the experiment? No... Muzan knew very well what he was messing with, and no side effects involved mental fatigue, especially from the first Oni that existed. Maybe it was his intrusive thoughts about humans that ended up leading him to you. He really hated humans, he wouldn't hesitate in the slightest to take one's life, but with you... was it different?

When he turned into an oni, you were there, in fact neither of you two understood very well what had happened to Muzan, but you never treated him with indifference... you had a pure heart, too pure to live in this world cruel, too pure to be rotten.

On the one hand, he would have immensely wished that it had been him who had killed you, it would have been much more dignified than a simple death from natural causes, at least for you. It's ironic to say that Muzan fell in love with you precisely because of your pure heart, since the man was totally the opposite. Even if you were here, Muzan wouldn't be the same caring husband he was years ago, but deep down, he would know that you would never give up on him.

Muzan sat on the chair, trying to clear his mind to return to the experiment, he cursed you deeply for appearing in his thoughts just when he was busy with something that could revolutionize the lives of oni's.

But then... there you were.

Muzan raised his head after feeling a presence in the same room as him, the man knew that Nakime wouldn't put anyone in the infinite castle if it weren't for Muzan's own request, so why is he feeling watched?

The answer was you.

For some reason that even he couldn't describe, you were there, exactly as you were buried, for a split second, he might have thought he was going crazy, but he didn't want to think about it. Muzan got up from the chair and approached his late wife, you looked so... cold. He didn't show any hint of emotion in his eyes when he raised his hand to touch your cheek, that touch wasn't a form of affection, it was just a test to see if he could feel your skin.

And the answer was no, the hand instantly passed across her figure. How were you here? Had he cursed his soul or something? Haven't you rested in peace all these years?

— Y/N?— Muzan calls you, hoping that you could respond.

Hope, this word is something he hasn't had for many years, of course his greatest hope was the blue Spider Lily Flower, but he never felt hope in the human race. But well... you're not human anymore, so he didn't care about his momentary weakness.He watched her hand come up and land on his hand, which was flying across his cheek. Muzan felt his senses scramble when you gave him a smile, that smile he thought he would never see again.

Muzan never left his cold expression, after years of being an oni and killing people... he no longer felt anything inside him, and at that moment, it was the same. His thoughts were interrupted with smoke filling the place, Muzan hurried to move the container that was causing this away from his table, so that the smoke would stop.

His gaze turned to you, but you weren't there. The man looked at the room he was in, looking for any sign of his presence, even though he felt that there was no one else with him. Muzan sat in his chair again, looking at the blueprint he was studying on his desk.

Brugmansia suaveolens of course... how did he not think of that before? The man took his notebook from the table, where he had notes about the variations of plants on the planet.

Brugmansia is a genus of seven species of flowering plants in the nightshade family Solanaceae. They are woody trees or shrubs, with pendulous flowers, and have no spines on their fruit. Their large, fragrant flowers give them their common name of angel's trumpets, adjacent to the nickname devil's trumpets of the closely related genus Datura.

Side effects of Brugmansia include nausea, vomiting, dry eyes, increased heart rate, dizziness and visual hallucination.

#muzan kibutsuji #demon slayer muzan #muzan x reader #kyn #kimetsu no yaiba #kny muzan #tanjiro kamado #nezuko kamado #demon slayer #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira #upper moons #romance #dark romance

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kiwisa · 1 year

Text

The Winner Takes It All ✷ cl16

✷ FIRST INTERLUDE OF THE TAMING OF THE HEARTBREAKER

━━━━━ NEXT !

in which... another name is added to Y/N's infamous list !

IN THE GILDED WORLD OF HOLLYWOOD, two events have become so common that no one bats an eye at the sight of them anymore: seeing Y/N L/N win an Oscar and leave with the current heartthrob.

Last night was no exception, ticking all the boxes in this new industry's ritual. While the West Side Story actress did indeed bring home the Best Actress Oscar (again), her real award of the night was the charming Timothée Chalamet, present to support the ten nominations for Dune. The two actors were seen very close during and after the Vanity Fair after-party, eventually both slipping away in the same SUV.

This is nothing new for the actress. Wherever she goes, it is impossible to feel indifferent about Y/N L/N. She knows it. So does everybody. Her ever-growing list of conquests is always the talk of the industry. No one even bother to count the names anymore: it would take hours.

Between Chalamet at the Oscars, François Civil and Pierre Niney at the French Césars or Harry Styles at the Grammys, Y/N L/N seems determined to single-handedly revive old Hollywood, between conquests, scandals, and chaos!

✷ SEE ALSO ON LOVE CLUB... !

Is Y/N L/N the inspiration behind Harry Style's Woman?

Between existing for her art or for her body, Y/N L/N seems to have made her choice

L/N's French idyll with François Civil cut short

The one now known as "The Heartbreaker"⏤a politically correct version of "whore," still favoured by many internet users⏤has been causing daily havoc everywhere, be it in newspapers or on social media, because of her behaviour, deemed "unladylike."

She responded to these criticisms on Jimmy Fallon's Tonight Show a few months ago:

"If I were a man, nobody would say anything. I'm a whore and, yet, when a man does the same thing, he's a player. This has double-standard written all over it. People just hate to see women do what they want with their bodies."

Regardless of the hate she receives on a daily basis, L/N doesn't seem ready to settle down soon. But will she ever be?

We are all left wondering who will succeed in⏤to quote Shakespeare⏤taming The Heartbreaker.

FILED UNDER #Y/NL/N #TIMOTHÉECHALAMET #ACTORS #OSCARS #DATING

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Anonymous 2 hours ago

She didn't deserve Best Actress. I mean... Jessica Chastain was right there. Once again, it shows us just how rigged the Oscars are! Go fuck your boy-toy and let the real actors act.

Anonymous 1 hour ago

She's an incredibly good actress. What a shame she is so crass.

Anonymous 1 hour ago

You go, girl! She's living her best life, as she should. If she doesn't want to settle down now, then she doesn't have to. Men should just shut up.

Anonymous 3 hours ago

No one will ever want something serious with her. Women like L/N are only meant to be fucked.

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lisbeth-kk · 25 days

Text

Sherlock fandom

Big Brother’s Observations

Since the day I held Sherlock in my arms for the first time, I loved him fiercely and I instantly wanted to keep him out of harm’s way, whatever the cost. I was only seven years at the time, but I tried my best to keep my promise.

At first, it was easy. Child’s play, so to speak. He followed me with his eyes, always smiling, filling my chest with warmth and joy. When he learnt to walk, he never let me out of his sight. Where I went, he was close behind.

I taught him everything I knew about nature; biology, geology, meteorology, when we were outdoors, mathematics, languages, history, geography and logic reasoning when the weather was bad, and we stayed in Father’s library or in my room. He was like a sponge, and it became quite clear that he was above average intelligence; just like me.

However, there was a big difference in our personalities. Where I avoided other people, Sherlock couldn’t get enough of studying and talking to others. For a while…

The other difference between us was sentiment. He was full of it, I was empty, apart from my undying love for my brother. I told him he would get hurt if he wasn’t on the alert. He was naïve and always thought every person was good and meant well. For a while…

***

My heart broke several times during the years, and in the centre of it was Sherlock. His tears and sobbing were unbearable to witness.

“Why do they hate me, Myc?” he cried so many times, I lost count.

“You must stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, Sherlock,” I told him. “Everyone will take the opportunity to hurt you if they know you’ll react like this. There doesn’t need to be a reason other than they want to see you cry. People are evil like that. Sentiment is never an advantage, brother mine.”

He wouldn’t believe me. Not at first. It was a hard lesson for him, and I hated every single person who dared to give my brother such a difficult time, but finally he managed to put up an armour of indifference. I knew how much effort it was for him to maintain it, because I caught him more than once crying himself to sleep after the more trying days.

When he started university, the contact between us was sparse at best, but I kept my eyes on him of course. Alas, I was unable to foresee and stop his drug addiction before it was too late. By then he hated the sight of me, which broke my heart in a totally different way. He turned his back on the one person who wished him well. It was a blind spot he dealt with for years, put there by me.

***

I couldn’t believe my luck when Sherlock met Gregory Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. The detective saw Sherlock’s potential and promised him work if he got clean, which he achieved in record time.

Despite the trust Lestrade put in Sherlock, my brother didn’t trust him fully. The police wanted results, which Sherlock was able to give, but it ended there. Lestrade was no friend in Sherlock’s eyes. He just used Sherlock for work, nothing more. My brother failed to see that the detective cared for him outside of crime scenes. He didn’t even bother learning Lestrade’s Christian name.

***

I saw a crack in my brother’s armour the day he realised that John had killed a man to save his life, mere hours after they’d met. When I mentioned it, Sherlock waved it off as John’s need for danger, excitement and his military background, but I observed a second of insecurity. It vanished soon enough.

My instincts when I met John Watson for the first time, told me he could be just what my brother needed, or quite the opposite. His loyalty baffled me, but spoke volumes, and it increased for every passing day. He protected Sherlock just like I had done decades ago. I wasn’t entirely sure what to think of that. Of course, I wanted my brother to be cared for and kept safe from the criminals he recklessly chased through London, but it should be me doing that. Letting go and placing my trust in an ex-army doctor with PTSD and a passion for danger, wasn’t exactly what I preferred, but it seemed I didn’t have much saying in the matter. John Watson was Sherlock’s confidant and friend now, and I should be glad, but my treacherous heart ached for the loss of my brother’s trust and love.

When it became clear to me how John felt about Sherlock, I prayed to the universe to let Sherlock’s blind spot disappear. It had finally happened; there was a way for Sherlock to gain happiness and love after all, and perhaps his hostility towards me would dissipate a little if he felt content and loved. My prayers weren’t heard, and John was too scared to jeopardise their precious friendship to pursue the matter.

***

I never dreamt of that an Irish criminal mastermind should be the answer. When Moriarty kidnapped John Watson and Sherlock realised he might lose John when he emerged with that bomb vest strapped to his chest at the pool, the blind spot instantly vanished. When the danger was over, John had proved that he would sacrifice himself so that Sherlock could live.

“My life isn’t worth living without you, John,” I heard Sherlock say in the surveillance video.

I had ushered my men out of the room and watched the scene alone. It was a private moment I didn’t want anyone else to witness, and I turned off the recording once I was sure both men were safe and had finally confessed their love.

My mission was far from over, but my faith in John’s capability to keep my brother as safe as possible, was absolute.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @phoenix27884 @a-victorian-girl @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #mycroft holmes #sherlock #john watson #greg lestrade #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #johnlock #FFF247 #blind spot

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lihhelsing · 5 months

Text

“Can I ask you a question?”

Stiles tried to keep a neutral face but the annoyance blooming on Derek’s expression was enough to make him pop a grin.

“I hate you,” Derek said even though he didn’t mean it. Or at least Stiles hoped he didn’t mean it otherwise the fact that they were dating for almost a year now would be very weird.

“But can I?”

Derek huffed, “yes.”

“Do you think I’m cute?”

Derek rolled his eyes and walked away before Stiles could stop him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

There was no smiling this time. No mischievous laughter alongside the question. The question so he could ask a question. The infinite loop of everything that scared Stiles.

Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes. Stiles knew why. Knew Derek’s girlfriend was close by, standing by the cheese table chatting with a friend as Stiles watched his heart beat outside of his body in the shape of a grumpy man.

Stiles didn’t mean to bump into Derek like that. He had no idea Derek and whatshername would be there at the party. But looking back at it, he should’ve known. He should’ve felt the dread filling up his body as he made his way into the party hearing the telltale laugh of the man whose heart he’d broken.

“Yes,” Derek said, eyes glued on the floor.

“Are you happy?”

Derek walked away, the silence of Stiles’ unanswered question almost too much to bear.

“Can I-“

“Shut up,” Derek was looking ahead, hands wrapped around Stiles’ waist as if it was nothing.

“But Derek I-“

“You’re drunk so you should keep your mouth shut.”

Stiles had never in his life kept his mouth shut. Asking permission to ask a question, any question, was just an excuse to talk even more. To see the false annoyance on Derek’s face and know it was nothing more than pure affection. At least it was.

“I still have questions,” Stiles huffed. Maybe he really was drunk.

“Of course you do.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Of course I can’t,” Derek replied, sounding more resigned than annoyed.

Derek stopped moving and he propped Stiles’ body against a wall. The party was still in full swing outside this dark room and Stiles was feeling brave, especially with Derek’s hands around him.

“Do you love her?”

Derek didn’t reply but it was like Stiles could feel him rolling his eyes.

“Stiles…”

“Derek.”

Derek sighed. “The answer is not what you think it is.”

Stiles frowned, confused.

“Do you still wanna be with her?”

“Fuck me.”

Stiles felt Derek’s grip tightening around his waist. Felt Derek take an impossible step closer until his chest was pressed against his.

“Derek, can I-“

“Just ask the right question, Stiles.”

Stiles’ head was spinning. He was definitely drunk and he didn’t even know there was a right question to be asked. He was just being annoying. Just trying to get Derek’s attention away from that girl and back to him. He had been scared, back then. Of how intense their relationship was. Of how his silly high school crush had become the man of his dreams right before his eyes. Of how everyone was always saying Derek and Stiles were a bad idea up until the moment Derek and Stiles started to seem like a good idea. A perfect one.

Stiles had been scared of how serious everything felt all of a sudden.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Stiles wasn’t sure why that was the question that popped into his head. He wasn’t sure he was the right one and for a second he thought he was too drunk for this. He felt Derek’s hands leaving his waist and thought that was it. He was done for.

But then Derek’s hands were cupping his face instead and Derek was close. Too close.

“What do you think?” Derek asked.

“Thought I was the one asking questions,” Stiles replied, delighted to see the roll of Derek’s eyes. That meant Derek had come back from his indifference to the affectionate annoyance.

“She’s my cousin, Stiles.”

Stiles’ world tilted. Then went back to its rightful place.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Will you kiss me, then?”

Derek huffed but he was smiling. He was pleased. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Stiles’. It was soft and chaste but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity everywhere on his body. Stiles let his hands wrap around Derek so he could pull him close.

There were still too many questions he wanted to ask, but for now, he would keep his mouth busy with what really mattered.

Written for the Spotify Wrapped challenge with the song Question...? by Taylor Swift for @bleedingoptimism (ily)

You can submit yours too!

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fic #minific #spotify wrapped challenge #writing challenge

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reverieaa · 1 year

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The self, fufilled.

It might have taken me a while, but as I promised in my last poll, I will deliver what you all were most interested in hearing, my explanation of the self fufilled. Consider this a pt.2 of "a change of clothes".

Yes, I say the self fufilled. I thought this play of words is not only interesting to do but would bring light to a new perspective that may help you come to your own understanding.

Many don't sit to really understand what " no other cause to your thoughts other than you" really means to them, we know, but we don't understand.

How do I stop my doubtful thoughts? How do I manifest quickly? how do I feel my wish fufilled? How do I change my state? How do I feel free? How do I stop punishing myself?

Well for the last one, you can start by putting an end to all previous questions, searching with the intention of finding an outside answer.

The opposite of love is hate, as the opposite of to hurt is to heal.

And the opposite of attention is indifference. As Edward art himself said that indifference is truly the answer to all your doubts.

I don't want you to go through your day and force yourself to imagine, affirm, and re-read every post you've ever read again and again until it finally clicks, I don't want you to fight every thought and scold your mind for "going out of place" either.

All that I want you to do is all that is required for you to do, change the inner. We truly are fortunate when I tell you this good news because change is all we do, all we've ever done.

I'll tell you honestly, not to give you hope and neither to shatter it or delude you when I tell you that majority of your problems that sound so complicated as the universe itself, could be solved just through self identification and a rearrangement of the mind.

I don't say this to give comforting lies, false hope, and support because I don't want people with hopes and dreams in tough situations to feel bad and be a moral person, but because the truth is far more comforting than any of it.

I won't tell you to "keep going" when you feel like nothing is working and breaking down. If you feel the need to change something, then change should happen, and it shall as your word is logic to your world.

I want you to understand that you're not meant to fufill the thing itself, but yourself instead. It's not about your desired face, it's about you, it's not about your ideal relationship and sp, it's about you, it's not about imagining the perfect life, it's about you.

It's not about using yourself to fulfill the scenario/desire. It's about it fulfilling and changing YOU.

Right now, you have a bed, you are not imagining that you do, you're not checking to see if you have a bed, you probably didn't even look to see if you have one, it is a CLAIM within yourself. With the same conviction, you use it for your desires. Take this example with things you have in your life.

I don't think people realize that the whole reason why trying changing the outer reality does not work because there is no outer reality to begin with, I mean that literally.

It is crucial to understand when you imagine that you are not creating the desire or a new reality, but you can only conceptualize that version of you to begin with because it already exists.

Let the ego mind go, let the need for outer change go, both its worries and time-frame of your life so far and just sit there with what I'm trying to say when I tell you to feel the wish fulfilled. It is a CLAIM, not a process, a change of identification.

Once you identify yourself with who you actually are, the awareness/ pure consciousness and believe that you is all there is , you won't want to "manifest a df" just to decorate the outer man, but you'll want to manifest it bc it genuinely makes u happy for yourself, same for every manifestation.

It all comes down to a satisfying claim, a claim of your observation that you see as TRUTH and are currently seeing in your mind.

For those who are wondering what knowingness I'm talking abt, it's the same knowingness when someone asks your name, you know you are (name), you know you're (nr) years old.

And so the same way you know your name, you know you have your desired body, the same way you know how old you are, you know you have your dream car.

We identify as body and outer when the outer world itself is WITHIN us, you are the answer to everything as everything has it's root to you, and at the same, everything cam only live through ypir awareness, nothing greater and nothing to "get".

If i view myself as pure consciousness, then I do not care for the 5 senses to show me anything because I don't view myself as just body, and this doesn't mean you can't deal with things in the 3D, because working in the 3D and identifying with it are different things. Therefore, don't feel the need to commit all your 5 senses to your imaginal act.

This isn't a for you to tell yourself: " ok, I have to know I am pure consciousness/ the creator and work with it from there" this post is telling you that you ALREADY are it, skip emotions here, we have established that you are it right now and youvare becoming aware that you are in imagination.

All we do in life is make claims within ourselves about things we are aware of having in the mind. Say you have a red car, and you think about it in your head, you know it's yours, you don't need to check your own drivers license, you know you have a certain hair color, it is a aware claim, you aren't trying to get it, there is no rush to do so, you are at ease knowing it IS so and are just observing your life through that state on consciousness.

And since you are consciousness, and you can get/be anything you want just by being aware that you are it, what is it that you can't do or be in this world? You can't be satisfied going after the "object" itself bc the only way we can enjoy things in this world is through the awareness that we have it, it has no life of its own outaide your own consciousness.

#law of assumption #affirm and persist #manifesation #manifesting #neville goddard #3d #affirmations #loa methods #void state #loa blog #loa

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yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt · 21 days

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One thing I like about Nimona that I haven't seen brought up yet (and maybe I'm alone here) is that Nimona becomes more sympathetic to the audience at the same pace that she becomes more sympathetic to Ballister (kinda long analysis below sorrys)

Like, I know not everyone agrees, but on my first watch of the movie, I found her downright annoying for the first like, quarter of the film. I don't find her annoying upon rewatch at all, I absolutely adore her, but the first time I watched it I reacted with a similar distaste as Ballister-- not because she was a shapeshifter or queer, obviously, but because she appears completely tone-deaf to Ballister's situation when the man is experiencing probably the worst thing anyone could imagine, she jeopardizes his reputation even more by pretending to be him while menacing the public, constantly undermines his efforts to minimize harm and clear his name, and just does as she feels without regard to others.

Then you start to learn why she acted that way, just as Ballister does. You (and Ballister) start to see that his efforts are in vain, that trying to minimize harm or clear his name doesn't work in his favor and is impossible to achieve, and Nimona knew that all along so of course she didn't care! She's seen this film before enough times to stop taking it seriously. If the outcome is always the same, why not have a little fun with it?

Her whimsical mannerisms start to look less annoying and tone-deaf and more powerful and brave (that she could be so determined to be herself despite everything). She starts to look less carefree, and more jaded. You realize that she's only carefree because it hurts too much to care.

And Ballister's line "Let's break stuff" is the turning point where we see that she (or rather, the Institute) has taught him to embrace chaos and be himself, because they're not going to listen either way.

And the subsequent scene, where Ballister offers to take her away from the walls and she says "No, this isn't right, we have to take the Institute down" shows that Ballister taught her to care again because he proved that people can change. They both had an important lesson they needed to learn from the other, basically: "Don't expect the system to work in your favor but don't be a doomer about it either" lol

And it hurts when Bal turns on her because you can kinda see where he's coming from, it would make sense that a lonely, lonely creature would possibly sabotage someone else hated by society so that they could finally have a friend. It would explain why she acted so cavalier about his reputation, constantly threatened people and undermined him, made them both out to be far more villainous than they were. She was acting out of indifference, but it came across to him as malice, and while we the audience know that obviously the eponymous character isn't a twist villain, Ballister wouldn't, and further, how much easier would it be to believe that this one person double-crossed you, rather than to believe everything you ever knew was a lie? So he turned his back on her.

And he, and the audience see what a huge massive fuckup that was.

What I like is you don't even NEED her backstory to sympathize with her, and neither did Ballister. This isn't a case of "character was unbearable for the entire time but they have sad backstory so they're now likeable I guess Snape). She was already sympathetic and likeable. We already understood her. The backstory was just extra context, nothing more, and that is fucking excellent writing.

We slowly learn to love Nimona for herself at the same rate that Ballister does, rather than being irritated wishing she was something else. And I absolutely, absolutely love that. She doesn't "become" more likeable, you learn that she was likeable all along.

#nimona #ballister boldheart #nimona 2023 #nimona analysis #nimona movie

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pin-k-ink · 6 days

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Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

entropy // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

wc ⇢ 7.1k

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

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