#i love being tired and drained for literally no reason! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

springtyme · 3 months

Note

51 ✨ for carmy 🐻

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐀𝐭 𝐀 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request anon, I hope you like it! 💕

Carmen Berzatto x reader || Carmy playlist || Main masterlist

51: “I can’t live without you.” for the 1k follower celebration. The strain of Carmy's new responsibilities at The Beef has taken a toll on your relationship, leaving you worried and questioning your place in his life. And you're scared, but not for the reason Carmy thinks.

Angst (with a happy ending). Hurt/comfort. Mention of what happened to Michael.

word count: 2.1k

You stand in the dimly lit hallway of your apartment, anxiously tapping your foot against the worn floorboards. It’s late, much later than Carmen had told you he would be home. The clock on the wall mocks you with its ticking, each second feeling like an eternity.

Your relationship with Carmen has been strained lately, the weight of his responsibilities after taking over The Beef after Micheal’s death has taken a toll on both of you.

You and Carmen had met in New York, about two years ago, when he had moved into the apartment next to yours. You had not looked for a relationship and neither had Carmen, but it was like fate had kept pushing the two of you together.

It had just started out with a few chance encounters in the hallway or at the local grocery store, with him stumbling slightly over his words as he asked you about your day or offered to carry your groceries.

But it had been a power outage which had left the whole building in darkness that really had brought you together. You had fumbled your way out in the hallway to figure out if it was just your apartment that had lost power or if it was the whole building. And that’s when you had bumped into Carmen, literally. His strong arms had wrapped around you instinctually, preventing you from falling on your ass.

You had candles in your apartment, unlike Carmen so you had invited him in to share the light and wait for the power to be restored. As the hours passed, you two ended up talking and getting to know each other better. It was a simple yet intimate evening, and from that moment on, you felt a connection that you couldn’t ignore and a sweet friendship had blossomed between you.

He didn’t have much time off, literally working at one of the best restaurants in the world, but the moments you did spend together were cherished, and it hadn’t taken long before your connection had grown even stronger, evolving into something more than just friendship and eventually blossoming into a real and deep relationship.

You had not hesitated to say yes to move back to Chicago with him after his brother had passed away.

You never got to meet Michael, Carmen didn’t really speak to him through all the time you dated, you've never fully understood what had happened between them, but you have a feeling that Carmen didn't really knew it either, and he has never really liked talking about his family in general, but you do know that he loved Michael a lot.

You had tried to convince him to go to the funeral, telling him that you would be there for him, but he had kept shooting the idea down. He kept excusing it by saying that he couldn’t, his contract at the French Laundromat hadn’t expired yet, and despite that being true, you had a feeling that going to the funeral would make the loss of his brother feel all the more real, and that was something he wasn’t ready for.

You also had the feeling that he didn’t want to see his mother, at least not in that setting, so you had just decided that you would let him grieve in his own way, and just be there for him in whatever way he needed you to.

It had been the same you had done with his job after all.

You know that he had loved his job in New York, in his own fucked up way. It was a messed up, down right toxic, work environment, and it had hurt to see him come home every night, tired to the bone, both physically and emotionally drained, yet he kept doing it. His ineffable love for the culinary arts that just couldn’t be extinguished kept him going. It is just after you moved to Chicago a month ago that he told you that he would throw up every morning before work.

It crushed you to hear that Carmen was suffering silently, but you understood why he continued to push through. The restaurant industry was demanding and competitive, and Carmen was determined to prove himself. You had hoped that the move to Chicago would bring some relief, a fresh start away from the toxicity of his previous job. However, the weight of his responsibilities at The Beef seemed to have only deepened the strain on your relationship.

You love him, and you want to be there for him, no matter what. But the constant absence and distance have started to make you question where you stand in his life. But most of all you’re just sad that he is sad, or really it's more that you're sad that he is in a situation that should make him sad, it's like he doesn’t even really allow himself to be sad, and that really hurts to watch.

You try to push away those negative thoughts, you try yo remind yourself that Carmen is just going through a difficult time, but that just makes the worried feeling in the pit of your stomach feel even heavier.

As the front door finally creaks open, your heart skips a beat. Carmen steps inside, his weary eyes meeting yours. The exhaustion etched on his face is painfully evident, and your worry intensifies, yet you're just so happy to see him. As he slides off his jacket his white t-shirt comes into view, it’s stained with sauces and his hands bear the marks of countless hours spent in the kitchen, but it’s the weariness in his eyes that tears at your heart.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse from lack of rest. “Why are you still up?

You muster a small smile, trying to hide your concern. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admit softly, stepping closer to him. “I was worried about you. You said you’d be home earlier.”

Carmen sighs heavily, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I know, I’m sorry, it was just... things got really busy tonight.”

You nod, biting your lip to hold back the words that threaten to spill out. You want to scream at him, not from a place of anger, but frustration, to make him understand that his health is more important than any sandwich on the menu. But you also know that he pours everything he got into the restaurant.

“I’m just worried about you, Carmy,” you finally manage to say, your voice tinged with both frustration and concern. “You work yourself to the bone, and it’s taking a toll on you. I can’t bear to see you like this.”

He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know, but there is not much I can do about it, okay. I’m sorry for putting you through this. But I can’t just abandon the restaurant. If I don’t fix it Jimmy’s gonna sell it and turn it into a fucking Applebee’s.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you take a step closer to him. “I get that, Carm. I do. But you need to take care of yourself too. It hurts seeing you like this.”

Carmen looks at you, his tired eyes searching your face. There’s a mix of frustration and resignation in his gaze, as if he knows you’re right but doesn’t know how to change the situation. The weight of his responsibilities seems to visibly crush him, and it breaks your heart.

“I know, I know,” Carmen says, his voice tinged with defeat. “But it’s not that simple. The Beef is struggling, and I need to turn it around. I can’t just walk away.”

Your frustration builds, and you can’t help but argue back. “I understand that, Carmy, but you also can’t sacrifice your well-being for the sake of this restaurant. There has to be a way to find a balance, to take care of yourself too.”

“I know I need to take care of myself, and I don’t want to keep putting you through this,” his voice taking on a more frustrating tone, he isn’t yelling, but there’s an edge to it. “But I just... I don’t know how to do that right now, okay”

The tone of his voice makes you pause for a moment, he has never talked to you like that before and you can’t help but slightly flinch. You know that he is just frustrated but it still makes you feel a deep pang of hurt. It’s not that you’re scared or anything, you know that he would never ever hurt you, you’re just sad that it has come to this.

But seeing you flinch clearly affects Carmen, his frustrated expression softening, turning into an expression of guilt and regret instead.

You swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure before saying what you need to say. “I love you, Carmen, and I want you to be happy. But I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself in the process.” you’re taking a deep breath before continuing, “you’re scaring me.”

Carmen’s gaze meets yours, the expression in his eyes breaking your heart. “I never wanted to scare you. And I-I would never hurt you.”

This makes your heart break even more, yes you had flinched at his tone of voice, but not because you in any way had thought he would physically hurt you, never. The thing you’re scared of is that he’ll end up hurting himself…

You reach out to take Carmen’s hand, wanting to assure him that you understand his intentions, but also wanting to convey the depth of your concern.

“I’m not scared you’ll hurt me, Carm. I know you’d never do that. I’m scared you’ll hurt yourself.” Tears are now streaming down your cheeks, your voice trembling as you’re about to unveil your biggest fear in all of this. “I just don’t want you to end up like Micheal, okay… I was scared that the reason you didn’t come home was because you had blown your brains out on a bridge somewhere.”

Carmen’s eyes widen at your words, a mixture of shock and pain flashing across his face.

He reaches out to gently wipe away your tears, his touch warm and comforting. “I’m not going to end up like Michael,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “I promise you, I could never do that to you.”

You hold onto his hand tightly, desperately seeking reassurance. “But Carmy, you’re pushing yourself so hard. You’re not taking care of yourself, and it scares me. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t live without you.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you as if he never wants to let go. “You don’t have to, I promise you.” His voice cracks with emotion, and you can feel his tears dampening your shoulder.

You hold onto him just as tightly, your heart breaking for the pain he’s been carrying alone and you’re just so happy that he is finally letting himself cry.

Carmen pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of gratitude and determination. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m so grateful to have you by my side.”

You smile through your tears, relieved to see him opening up and acknowledging the need for change. “We’ll figure it out together. We’ll find a way to make things work.”

“Yeah, we will,” he nods, before continuing. “I… I actually started going to Al-Anon, I go three times a week.”

You’re taken aback by Carmen’s revelation, but also immensely proud of him for taking this step. You gently squeeze his hand, your love for him growing with each passing moment. “That’s amazing, Carm,” you say softly. “For how long?”

“I started going two weeks ago, I don’t know why I didn’t say anything earlier,” he admits, a hint of shame in his voice. “I guess I just needed to take it in my own tempo.”

You shake your head, wiping away your remaining tears. “It’s okay, Carm, I’m just so glad you’re looking out for yourself.”

Carmen takes a deep breath, his gaze filled with renewed determination. “I really don’t deserve you, thank you for not giving up on me, even when I pushed you away. I love you so much, and I promise I’ll find a way to make this work.”

You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling a sense of hope and unity. “I love you too, Carmy. And yeah, we’ll face this together, one step at a time.”

Thank you for reading! ♡ this is my first time writing for Carmy and I had such a blast writing for him, but I also was a little intimidated by this piece, so please let me know what you thought ♡

667 notes · View notes

inkskinned · 1 year

Text

my old roommate once told me she was jealous of hyperfixation.

yesterday i couldn't take a shower. or eat. my legs fell asleep.

often i'm aware i'm hyperfixating, this sense you need to go! and i just sit there, fixating.

adhd means it's all or nothing. if you take a break for a snack, get a glass of water - when you come back, your joy may be ruined. all of a sudden, this hobby, this project - just returning to it feels like scorching your hands. didn't you love this thing 23 seconds ago? what happened?

this strange trade-off. if you can handle being uncomfortable for a little while longer, you might be able to actually finish everything in a single rush. there will be no battling yourself to try-again. you don't have to worry about the effort it takes just to start something.

and you get stuck here, sometimes, on the bad stuff. scraping the grout out for literally no reason. individually cutting your split ends off. where even is your brain in those moments? where even are you, watching yourself pick at your skin in the mirror, obsessively, almost like you're praying.

sometimes i find myself laughing - i don't even like what i'm doing anymore. this thing became expensive, draining. i'm tired and my whole body is sore.

and still, something internal demands - just one hour more.

#writeblr #you ever just make the weird choice like -- yeahhhh im hyperfixating but if i leave this activity #i will not be able to rejoin it later

3K notes · View notes

debonairprincesposts · 14 days

Note

hi!! idk if requests are open, but ill just leave this here in case they are.

can I request lucifer and alastor (separate plz) with an imp s/o? just general headcanons :)

General head-canons of Lucifer and Alastor with an imp s/o.

Not a problem Anon! I take requests at random. But here are the head-canons u requested! Hope they’re to your liking.

Enjoy! (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

Lucifer:

▫️ Lucifer is the type of person who would literally do anything you asked and get it done as fast as he could.

Let’s say that you came home from work and you’re tired, hungry, and completely drained.

You didn’t even have time to say anything

The moment he takes in your disheveled state, he would immediately scoop you up in his arms, put you in your pajamas, make you your favorite food then lets you eat it on the couch with your favorite tv show on, then proceed to put your legs on his lap to massage your feet and ask how your day went.

Totally empathizes with you when you complain about how your boss was a total jerk.

Asks if you need him to “talk” with your boss real quick.

Obviously you say no.

Is definitely the type to make short jokes

Even if he isn’t that much taller than you

He’s excited to finally have someone shorter than him, leave him be!

While you’re trying to reach something off a high shelf or something, he would definitely be like, “Need help, my love?” While smirking and looking all smug.

Tries to reach for it but he’s too short

Ends up using his magic to get it

When he hands it to you all embarrassed cuz he couldn’t reach it himself, you just smirk in amusement and kiss him on the cheek, “Thanks, love.”

Doesn’t matter how long you guys have been together, he still blushes at the pet names.

He calls you “My love” “Little Duckling” “Honey”

You call him “Darling” “love” “Luci”

Thinks you give the best cuddles.

Like, you’re definitely the perfect size for him for him to just scoop up and put you on his lap. Loves nuzzling his face at the back of your neck when he does.

Leaves a few kisses there too.

Absolutely loves it when you cup his face and just litter the entirety of it with kisses.

Blushes and smiles like a lovesick fool each and every time.

Fiddles with your tail when you sit on his lap.

Lets you pet his wings when you’re upset

Loves being big spoon because it makes him feel like he can protect you cuz of how small you are.

Sometimes when he went to sleep early and you had to stay up late to finish some work, he’d get a nightmare and go to your office wearing his duck pajamas with a blanket around his shoulders while holding a pillow with his hair looking disheveled. He’d stand infront of the door and keep looking at you with cute puppy eyes, all big and glistening, filled with tears until you get off your desk and lead him back to the bedroom to cuddle his nightmares away.

Appreciates it every time.

Makes sure you know it through mumbles in between kisses he leaves on your hand when you spoon him.

Loves being spooned after nightmares

Just very grateful he has you in his life now. He just loves you so much.

Alastor:

He would quite literally kill for you

Seems to be obsessed with you on an unhealthy level

But you love it and think it’s cute so you don’t care. Plus, he’d never hurt you.

He loves you too much to even think of hurting you

He made a deal with you to make sure he never could

Absolutely hates physical contact

But if it’s you then he doesn’t mind :)

Makes you jambalaya during the time he knows you would arrive home.

Massages your shoulders while you eat and asks about your day

Despises your boss for causing you stress

The only reason he hasn’t killed him yet is because you said no

He’d never disobey you

Your word is basically law

If you’re upset, he’d take you to his room, lay your head on his lap, rubs you head and horns, and sing for you

If that’s not enough, he’d lay his head on your lap instead and lets you play with his ears

You find that they’re very fluffy

You let him know that

One time while you guys were out, a bullet almost hit you.

He killed the sinner responsible immediately

Always made sure he was out with you from then on

Doesn’t matter what you’re doing. He’s going with you

Loves to make you flustered with all his nice fancy pet names. Loves to call you “Darling” “Dear” “Little Doe”

Your pet names for him are “Al” “Sweetie” “love”

Loves playing with your tail when you sit on his lap.

Would literally do anything you ask

He loves you that much

I think I went a bit overboard. I enjoyed writing this tho! And I hope you enjoyed reading it too ∠(ᐛ 」∠)

Thank you anon for this wonderful request! I hope it was up to your standards :)

Anyway! Stay healthy and hydrated y’all

Bye Babes!

-DebonairPrince

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin headcanons #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader fluff

200 notes · View notes

after-witch · 1 year

Text

Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying.

word count: 5417

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside.

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight.

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it.

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room.

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet.

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable.

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in.

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row?

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario.

But… the damn bed situation.

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping.

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want.

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you.

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can.

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you.

On that, you stood firm.

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant, you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.”

You purse your lips.

You remember the first day well.

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you.

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled.

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour.

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you.

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled.

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.”

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.”

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone.

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff.

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.”

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…?

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session.

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away. “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken.

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well.

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about.

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw.

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space.

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away.

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you.

You don’t look up.

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed.

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment.

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace.

“Are you enjoying the book, love?”

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.”

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more.

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously.

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.”

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else.

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?” He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for.

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months.

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels.

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.”

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes.

It was enough to make your stomach churn.

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up.

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable.

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick.

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.”

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher.

“Are you going to be good today?”

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced.

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes.

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand. His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now.

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him?

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it.

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind.

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.”

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all.

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working.

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it.

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.”

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you.

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly.

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.”

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never.

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again.

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure.

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?”

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip. You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?”

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you.

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.”

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise.

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.”

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

2K notes · View notes

youronlydarlin · 3 months

Text

warning: crack! Local old man Price being drunk in love with you literally, Gaz being a bit sassy, Gaz being a cutie pie, fluffy

Never in your life did you think that you'd be getting a frantic call from Gaz in the late hours of the night. Telling you to come get the Captain's drunk ass from the pub.

It seemed almost out of character. But Price is struggling to keep himself upright while his arm is slinged over Kyle's shoulder, who looks like he's about ready to cry. You could compare yourself to an angel with the way Kyle looks at you as if you just took all his problems away. He slowly moves the Captain down to the floor, muttering something to him before helping him sit upright. And he doesn't even argue, looking like one of the passed out drunks in the dark alleyways.

Kyle rushes to your side and braces himself by holding on to both sides of your shoulder. He looks, and acts as if an angry mob carrying a bunch of pitchforks were just hot on his trail, quickly looking back to Price then to you, Price. Then, you again. You open your mouth to say something, before he beats you to it.

" You don't know know, but those folks in there were glaring at me like they wanted me DEAD."

He accentuates his words with quite a rough shake to your shoulders, making your vision swim for a moment.

"All because he."

Points an accusatory finger at Price.

"Wouldn't stop talkin' bout you."

The finger is now pointed at your chest. And he pants like that explanation just drained years from his life. You feel sorry, really. Though you weren't the one getting smashed in a pub, it still somehow felt like you had somewhat of a responsibility to keep your lover away from causing a disturbance.

So you tell Kyle a quick sorry, and a ‘I'll make it up to you, I swear. Which he teasingly answers with a 'you, better. Gesturing over to Price, Kyle gives you a nod before you two make your way over to the drunken man to help him on his feet. Even with both of your strengths combined it still proves as a tough job to make Price stand up. He's slightly slurring his words, something along the lines of "Piss off, m' taken..." You don't know. It's hard to make out anything when he's resting his whole weight on both of you. Nearly falling over when he almost trips on his own pair of wobbly legs.

It feels like you just had a boulder off your back when you finally managed to get him into the backseat of your parked car. Both you and Gaz taking a moment to straighten your backs, free from the suffocating weight of the man who's physique is comparable to a bear.

You feel even worse when Kyle immediately slumps to the passenger seat. You hope the night hasn't drained him out much, but by the looks of it, he's probably exhausted. Taking a moment to breath, you try and wrack your brain for a reason on why this happened in the first place. Or more rather, why Price decided to suddenly drink himself to oblivion. Climbing into the drivers seat you offer a small tired smile to Kyle which he offers back.

"M' really sorry for the trouble he's caused.."

He gives a breathy chuckle. Looking slightly guilty himself.

"Don't be. I should've taken it as a bad sign when the Captain's already downed three shots in a minute.."

You both laugh at that, before Kyle tips his head to the Price's direction. Oh yeah, better check up on him. You turn in your seat to get a better view of your lover. He has his head down, fisherman hat slightly obscuring his handsome face, and you really can't stay mad at him. Not like you were even mad in the first place. You're sure he has his reasons.

"Hey, hubby..."

You say, and it sounds so gentle, and soft that it's immediately grabbed at his attention. You try and place a hand on his thigh, when all of a sudden he smacks it away.

...

You're left dumbfounded, eyes blown wide. And Gaz looks as every bit as surprised as you are. Mouth agape, hand slightly hovering over it like he had just witnessed a scandal.

"My partner's gonna get mad if you touch me like that, and m' not interested."

He stubbornly says. Turning his face, and body away from you like a child throwing a tantrum.

You have half a mind to hit him on the head for not recognizing you. But you'd rather not start anything in the car, especially in front of Gaz who looks like he's just watched both of his parents fight.

You sigh, admitting defeat, and starting the car, opting to just let Price explain once he's sober. Minutes pass and you're on your way home, Kyle's tapping away on his phone. Occasionally chatting with you, and aside from the fact that Price is now squeezing himself on the farthest corner of the vehicle to get away from you, you can say that the atmosphere's a lot less tense now. More bearable, at least.

You try communicating with Price again. See if he'll give you a proper answer this time.

"You know, never did l think I'd see you absolutely shitfaced after a night out in the pub.."

You say to him. Surprisingly, he answers you. Albeit a bit gruffly, considering his alcohol induced state.

"Jus' didn't wanna get cold feet.."

"From what..?"

"My proposal..."

"What kind of proposal..?"

"The one with a ring..."

You almost crash the car.

a/n: UHHHHH. If you guys don't get the ending it's because reader thought that Price ment a business proposal or something but he was actually just nervous to ask them to marry him. Sorry if this was confusing 😭. Once again, practicing my fluff, n english skills. So this might be bad. But M' getting better, I think! Ne ways, hope you're having a better day/night, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

#cod imagine #cod x reader #cod x reader fluff #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price fluff #captain price x you #captain price fanfic #I LOVE HIM #i love him sm

192 notes · View notes

aingeal98 · 4 months

Text

I think there's a misconception among some fans who mostly get their characterisation from ao3, that the reason Cass and Jason wouldn't get along is that Jason kills people and Cass hates murderers. And like. You're 50% right but the key context being ignored is that Cass would literally fight to defend the right of a serial killer to live and change like she believes desperately in second chances no matter how far gone the killer is. She'll knock a man out and break his hand so that he can never shoot and kill someone again but if she sees someone feel bad about their kill or even like. Hesitate to hurt a child. She is all over that like she will fight the world just to save this one kind of shitty assassin and give them a second chance at life where they can do better.

Whereas Jason believes that sometimes there are bad people that are simply too far gone, too much of a force of evil hurting and draining actual innocents. And the best way to deal with scumbags like that is a bullet. He feels that some people don't deserve to live, and he's comfortable ending their lives. Judge, jury and executioner. Because no one else is going to kill these people and they deserve to die so that they can never hurt any victims again.

Of course all of this is kind of irrelevant in current canon since dc basically skipped over the reconciliation and development and went yeah Jason is a batfam member and he doesn't kill anymore. So currently in canon none of this conflict of ideals is likely to be addressed. But a lot of people are interested in writing fics that actually detail the steps of reconciliation which is great and I love those fics. I've just also noticed a trend of fumbling a little when it comes to Cass.

Because the root cause as to why they wouldn't get along is not just because Jason kills people. If Jason was a random crime lord Cass would probably try to help him get free of Gotham and start over somewhere else. Killing people and having conflicting emotions about it is the easiest way to get Cass willing to be your number one sponsor at murderer rehabilitation anonymous. It's Jason being someone personal to the family, and someone who believes that some deaths need to happen, as long as the person is sufficiently repulsive enough to Jason. Or even just as a means to an end to prove a larger point, if they're pathetic and evil enough. That's what would make Cass see red, because she projects herself on every single killer and Jason dismissing the possibility of redemption for them, writing them off as deserving of death, clashes fundamentally with not just everything Cass believes in, but also her whole sense of self. Of course it's not that deep for Jason like he's not going to believe Cass should die because she killed someone as a child. But for Cass is simply IS that deep and you throw in the fact that they're both Bruce's kids and yeah. They can maybe be civil in a room together with the family right up until one of them actually talks. Because like 99% of what they could say is guaranteed to touch a nerve for the other.

It's like: Damian says something hilarious and rude towards Jason and Jason jokes about that time he shot him and Cass immediately connects that with him not feeling bad about shooting Damian and starts grilling him as to why. Because Damian's Bruce's son? Or because he's a killer? Or just to get to the rest of the family? And Dick, Duke and Tim are so tired like Alfred cooked a nice meal can we all just eat pie for one night without having to listen to you two go at it.

Tim: I've literally shot you before do you think maybe we can cool it on fighting about Jason's personal ethics tonight. Because generally that ends with me in pain even if I do nothing but sit here.

Cass: You shot me with consent. Different.

Jason: How are you even more obnoxious than Bruce? Do you ever get tired of being so exhausting to be around with your bullshit righteousness?

Cass: If you're tired I can knock you out. Nice nap for you and fun for me.

Dick: And that's ten minutes in a room together before any threats of physical harm start flying around! Great job you two, a new personal record.

#dc #cassandra cain #batfam #dc rambles #jason todd #Ironically enough if Jason didn't focus on killing “bad” people #And instead was just a regular murderer with no greater point except Yeah I need this person to die as a means to an end #Cass is way more likely to look at him and go: Oh hell yes personal improvement project right here #Going up to Bruce like trust me dad he feels bad about killing that guy I saw his hand hesitate for 0.5 seconds before pulling the trigger #Whereas if Jason is like I'm killing this guy to prove a Point. The world is better off without him in it #Cass sees red like congratulations you triggered a solid 70 of her trauma buttons. Hope you like broken bones.

198 notes · View notes

2-dsimp · 2 years

Text

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

Hybrid rule 202: Always give your cat milk before you go!

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

Cat hybrid! Tamaki Amajiki x female reader

Cw: Praise, NFSW, monsterfuxking, overstimulation, breeding, usage of cunt, slight lactation, smonophillia, impregnation, oral f! Receiving

🔞 MDNI/ NO AGELESS BLOGS🔞

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

You just got back after a trifling day at work, pulling 9 to 5’s working under a boss who’s really got his work cut out for him. If he thought for even one second that you were gonna stay overtime, handling rabid clients over the most ridiculous of complaints about hybrids.

Talking about how they wanted one, no, needed one in their pathetic lives. It annoyed you to no end to have spoiled grown adults complain about how getting hybrid companions are damn near impossible. Which to be honest it was.

You worked at a special shop that was anonymously known for their hybrid clientele. Who’d willingly sign up to be paired with a potential mate should you find someone who matches all the credentials, tailored fit for your esteemed hybrid clients.

However the partner selection comes down to luck, should a person call a certain number that pertains to your shop. They’re one of the few lucky individuals who’ve gotten a chance to be paired with the love of their life or best friend forever. The reason being that the store number changes periodically, so that not just anyone can be included in the match making just to be fair.

The next stage would be having them sign a contract that states that they’ve lost their right to privacy. In order for you to see if they’re qualified to even be considered as said hybrid’s life partner. Since the hybrids have specific tastes and desires that they believe their human partner should have.

Finally once everything checks out, you then notify said hybrid that you’ve found their match. And notify them that you’ll transport them via portal straight into their home and lives.

I guess you could say you were a match maker of some sorts. The job can be tiring however, it puts a smile on your face. To see your matches made in heaven to be living happily ever after with each other in the end. You were the best of the best in this industry, as your matchmaking rate was 100% accurate. So no wonder you have evolved into a sleep deprived workaholic.

“W-welcome back honey, how was work?”

Thank the lord for your sweet hybrid husband Amajiki, he’d always wait for your return even after he’d been swamped with hero work as well. Making sure the house was kept clean and made sure to make his mate feel comfortable and taken care of.

“It was tiring as usual baby, but nothing that I can’t handle.”

At your drained response he looked down at the ground, almost guiltily as if he had something to hide. Uh uh not in this household, so you cupped his face mindful of his whiskers. And made him look directly into your eyes, indicating with no words how he should just spit it out already.

“Bunny…I’m sorry to say this when you’re already overworked but my heats coming up soon. Just to give you a heads up! Y-you don’t have to worry about helping if you don’t want too—“

You shut him up with a passionate kiss from your plump lips. Stealing his breath away, he could feel his heart thumping out his chest. He could never fully understand how he managed to have you as his mate for life. You were literally his goddess in the flesh, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“Baby I’ll always want to help you in any way possible, so don’t ever bring up that nonsense again mkay?”

He gulped and stiffly nodded.

Face flushed pink, along with heart shaped pupils, he’d never do anything you didn’t want. If only you knew how much power you held over him. After leaving him unable to function you left to get ready for bed as today’s work had taken a lot out of you.

Once your lovely husband got into bed, you quickly turned off the lights and proceeded to drift off to sleep cuddling into Amajiki within your king sized bed. scarf secured tightly around your kinky hair, the silk satin bonnet placed snugly on top.

It was a peaceful night until you found it getting harder to breath through your nose, from weight being applied to your stomach. But you payed no mind thinking it was the thick covers limiting your air supply, the room was getting hot anyways so you promptly kicked the blankets off and slumbered away.

Failing to notice the your hybrid husband sitting on top of you staring pointedly at your defenseless half naked form, he was thirsty. Cat ears perked at attention, from the unforgiving urge to drink milk.

Amajiki couldn’t restrain the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth at the alluring fragrance you possessed. You smelt so good, he wanted to try and milk you to see if that could satisfy his peckish pallet. He gingerly placed his hands on your chest to knead and grope at your generous mounds.

“You smell so good baby, I bet your milk would taste so good.”

He said in a hushed voice.

Using his fingers to pinch and pull at your hardening nipples, to see if any breast milk would come out. Pouting from not seeing immediate results, he leaned down to take a supple tit and suctioned his lips around a dark areola. Swirling his wet tongue and nibbling at it to get any milky substance out.

Due to his quirk the saliva that he carries can act as a slight asphrodiasic. Thanks to that he managed to see those slicked areoles perked up with tiny beads of milk. However that wasn’t enough as he wanted those nipples to gush with the sweetness of your lactating tits.

“That’s not enough, I need more honey. I’m so thirsty”

He whined.

In his heat crazed mind He got a thought that maybe it was because you weren’t impregnated yet. So all he had to do was fuck all his seed into your womb ensuring he could indulge in your milk that’d probably taste as sweet as you smell. His violet feline eyes sparkled at the mere thought, as his slim tail wagged like a happy dog.

Sparing no time he teared your panties to shreds with his sharp claws, becoming entranced by your natural luring scent coming from your exposed nether regions. Admiring your pussy openly with an endearing smile.

“You’re so beautiful Bunny”

He praised endearingly.

He wasn’t worried about you waking up since he had your explicit permission to do what he seems fit whenever his heat came with a vengeance. He’ll be sure to buy you as many clothes as you want to apologize for the clothes he destroyed. But with the way you seemed to be unbothered by your panties literally getting ripped off of you. He could take more relaxed measures.

First he wanted to eat you out, so he started by shuffling in between your plush brown thighs inhaling a whiff of that pussy before delving in between those lips with his rough tongue.

It was messy and sloppy from the ravenous way he ate you out like you were his last meal on death row. Savoring the tasty juices that you left on his tastebuds, he had to practically rip himself away from the honey that dribbled from your sweet lubbed hole. That winked at him flirtatiously, teasing him, taunting him to finish what he started.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll get you all nice and filled up with my kits.”

Fishing out his long fat barbed dick, with the little ridge bumps trailing down from his leaking tip. He used his stream of precum as lubricant, Panting when he started to press up against your slick folds. being mindful of the spines protruding from his penis as a means to stay hooked within his mate.

The mere sight of your juices dribbling onto his dick from tip straight down to his balls made him go feral. And thrust deeply into your tight heat, a pretty moan falling from his lips as he reveled in your squelching cunt.

Today must’ve really worn you out, since you didn’t even bother arousing from your deep slumber. Only uttering praises and soft moans, as he pounded into your pussy like a dog in heat, or should I say cat. Unrelenting in his mission to impregnate you so he could suck on those delicious lactating breasts of yours.

“B-bunny you’re so tight and warm, your pretty pussy is hugging my dick so well!”

He mewled.

His face flushed a beet red as his ears were pulled back in deep concentration, leaning down he began to litter you in the faintest of kisses. Licking your sweat and nibbling on your exposed neck lovingly in a trance. In contrast to the harsh impact of his pelvis clashing against your trembling thighs. Grinding hard against your mound, that was messy with lewd fluid coming from the both of your conjoined bodies.

He was getting close, gripping your hips tightly and lifting both of your legs onto of his broad shoulders. To watch your beautiful breasts jiggle at the rhythm of his rough railing into your gushing cunt. That fluttered around his pulsating length as you squirted from the stimulation.

“Bunny I’m close! I’m so close to filling you with my kits, please take it! Take all of my cum!”

Letting out an feral hiss, he crammed his hips flush against your entrance. Locking in his barbed dick with the spines that implanted themselves inside your soaked walls. Allowing the sharp tip of his mushroom tip to burst nicely inside that irresistible drenched pussy he claimed as his own.

Your husband twitched from the overstimulation with each and every flood of cum that completely coated your walls. His fat balls being drained of his seed he’s saved up just for you. Surely he got you pregnant after that, hopefully when you wake up in the morning you wouldn’t be too mad at how much of a mess he’s made out of you.

Since he silently swore that throughout this heat he won’t stop pumping you full with his seed. Until he can fully milk your tits should he happen to get an unsaitiable thirst again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Pt 2 ? 👀

#tamaki x black reader #amajiki smut #bhna smut #mha x poc!reader #mha smut #amajiki fluff #amajiki x y/n #amajiki tamaki x reader #amajiki tamaki imagine #amajiki x reader #tamaki x reader #tamaki x you #tamaki x y/n #tamaki smut #female reader #mha x black reader #mha x female reader #cat hybrid! amajiki

2K notes · View notes

ilwonuu · 2 months

Note

I so love yeosang smutty fanfics. Can you please please do one for me where she's an atiny and them two got paired in the same hotel room by accident due to the hotel. He enters while she's in the shower and so forth

Please and thank you

yes yes omg ty for the request!!! i literally hope this isn’t too bad… I LOVE THIS IDEA BTW I HOPE U LIKE

˚₊‧⁺˖✮coincidence✮˖⁺‧₊˚

↴ kang yeosang

⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚

➶ summary- the universe gives you a one chance opportunity to be in a room with your idol.

➶ warnings- protected sex, dirty talk, strangers to fucking lmfao, pet names (pretty, angel)(yeo), neck kisses, kinda softdom!yeo, lmk what else

➶ a/n- i literally LOVE writing for yeo sm<3

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you have just gotten back to your hotel room after to seejng ateez. you are completely drained wanting to quietly change out of your concert outfit. you make your way into your bathroom getting into the shower.

yeosang wanting the same as you as he unlocks the hotel room. he makes a weird face at the sight of other peoples clothing on the floor. he curiously looks at the bathroom door. seeing the light and the shower is definitely on. he gets a little scared now.

meanwhile you are just finishing your shower as your idol is casually in your hotel room. you get out of the shower after hearing a faint voice. “um excuse me? i think you’re in the wrong hotel room.” you hear the person say through the bathroom door. “one second please!” you call out quickly grabbing a towel to cover yourself opening the bathroom door. “i just paid for this roo- yeosang????? what the fuck yeosang?” you are shocked beyond shocked. he is standing. right in front of you.

“yea? what.. im sorry miss but i think you have the wrong room.” he repeats himself. you shake your head suddenly. “no- i just paid for this room when i got here..” he is now confused. “do we need to talk to staff?” he says.

yeosang’s eyes slowly trail to your figure as you’re standing in front of him naked under the towel. “im gonna be honest you can do all that. i just went to your concert and im tired.” he laughs at you softly. “i just performed at that concert you think im not tired?” his voice is inviting as if he is waiting for something. his eyes are still on you as you smile at him. “i really cannot believe im talking to you- okay! anyways i honestly don’t mind sharing if you don’t. ill sleep on the couch.” you say before going to grab your things but he stops you.

“no need. i can sleep on the couch.. of course you take the bed.” he grabs his stuff moving it away from the door. “o-okay..” you curse at yourself for stuttering. but how could you not? the boy you just saw on a screen is now in front of you. in your hotel room. and he looks more attractive in person. he’s so sweetly spoken and polite with his movements. you’re watching him as discreetly as possible.

he pretends to not see your glances. you see him kick off his shoes and other accessories he had on him. “i know i interrupted your shower but can i shower when you finish up?” he moves closer to you as he asks you.

you just nod without a verbal response. “this is kinda weird right?” he says being a few feet away from you. “i mean yes- but i swear im not a crazy fan. but gonna be honest as long as i didn’t scream” you say laughing. he just nods.

“what if i wanted you to scream for a different reason?” he looks at you with a curious expression.

“w-what?” you are embarrassed with your stuttering but yeosang’s words are far more important at this moment. he just moves closer to you in the bathroom.

“need me to repeat it angel?” he chuckles a little stopping after seeing your still shocked face. “did that make you uncomfortable because if it di-“ you cut him off with a addicting kiss. him now being caught off guard but kissing you back nonetheless.

your towel falls of your body due to yeosang pulling you to lay back on the bed. you moan into the kiss at the cold air against your damp body. “what do you want pretty?” he asks as he leaves a trail of wet kisses against your shoulders. “f-fuck me yeosang..” you don’t care about your stuttering anymore. just wanting the boy to touch you. you are beyond to needy to care.

he nods at you. “are you sure?” he caresses your cheek. “yes please..” you squirm as you feel him spread your legs. “you’re fully dressed and im naked! take these off.” you pull his shirt over his head.

beyond shocked at his chest. its not like you haven’t seen some of it. but all of him in front of you. he looks so sexy you might die. he’s just laughing at you as he kicks off his pants. leaving him in his boxers hovering over you slightly.

you feel his hand move down to massage your thighs softly making you moaning quietly. “let me prep you alright pretty?” yeosang’s words making your arousal drip onto your thighs slightly. the nickname fully making you submit. “p-please yeosang touch me.” he doesn’t waste anytime. his fingers collecting your arousal as he rubs them up and down your slit teasingly. “touching you now pretty.” he smiles at how his actions cause to get a pout out of your for more. “y-yeosang please…” you are now crying out for him and he’s barely done anything.

you feel a finger slide into you causing you to open your legs more as he starts to fuck it into you. “you think you can cum from this angel?” he looks down as your expressions are just changing with the pleasure. he mentally takes that as a yes answer. he begins to speed his fingers up faster curling them to hit the spot you need him most.

“fuck yeosang don’t s-stop!!” he has a smirk on his face as he pulls his finger out. you whining at the loss of pleasure. “be patient pretty. giving you what you want hm?” he smiles at you as he looks at you. “let me grab a condom.” you nod watching him grab it out of his bag. he is already back to you.

you watch him as he pushes his boxers down to free his dick. him groaning at the new feeling. his dick looks big. bigger than you thought it would be. it makes you a little nervous but you want it. he rolls the condom onto his dick before he lines up with you. “ready pretty girl?” he questions you again. “yes yeosang- f-fuck.” he hears the first part of your sentence cutting you off by pushing inside you.

he starts to fuck you shallowly and slowly causing you to moan. you head is thrown back as he lives kisses against your neck. “you okay pretty?” all you can do is nod with closed eyes and your mouth open spit spilling just a little bit.

yeosang thinks you look beautiful like this. seeing you fucked out and its all for him. his hips speed up causing you to moan out.

you look at him through clouded eyes. taking in every little detail of the boy in this moment. he is using your waist for support. chest and head sweaty causing a few strands of hair to stick. his face is in a pleasured expression as it mixes with his focused one. he is making sure you feel good always checking your face for any sign that you were uncomfortable.

“yeosang r-right there please don’t stop.” you pleading out to him as every thrust he is hitting the perfect spot. you’re mind is so fuzzy you can even think of your name. you are completely lost in pleasure.

“yea pretty? this spot feel so good?” he teases slightly now stopping his movements. him hitting the spot over and over. you feel him start to kiss your neck again. you’re moaning at all overstimulation of touch. you love it. you love his touch and his words. he knows how to make you feel perfect.

“s-shit pretty im gonna cum.” you hear him say causing you to open your eyes a little more. “me too yeo.” he curses at the nickname as he continues to fuck you. “fuck angel so fucking wet.” his eyes are on your cunt watching his dick fuck in and out of you. “im cumming yeo!” you yell out coming undone on his dick. his cum shooting into the condom. as he slowly rocks his hips inside you. getting both of you to ride out your highs. he pulls out of you. pulling off the condom and throwing it in the trash. you watch as he heads into the bathroom coming back with a damp rag.

you smile at his gesture. “this okay?” he asks before you nod. him cleaning you up gently.

“maybe it was a good thing with hotel messed up the room huh?” he asks causing you both to smile. he finishes cleaning you up before standing up. “im gonna shower! after you want to cuddle?” he asks grabbing a few things out of his bag. “sounds perfect.” he smiles at your response before running off into the bathroom.

#ateez yeosang #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #yeosang fic #yeosang fluff #yeosang smut #yeosang #yeosang ateez

86 notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 10 months

Text

kicking myself to keep from crying

Once again, huge shoutout to @whimsical-roasting! This is pt. 2 to your mind is not your friend and although it kind of works as a standalone, maybe read that first. Like before, I def used entire chunks of our conversation😅 so really this is her fic. I just filled in some of the gaps. Love u bae!

kicking myself to keep from crying

You wake up feeling weird. There’s soft light streaming through the windows, and something warm half on top of you. You blink away the sleep from your eyes, and realize it’s Jamie. He’s on his stomach, with one arm thrown around your waist and a leg hooked around you. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re a little uncomfortable, so you carefully roll onto your left side. You now have a clear view of his face, features softened by sleep, and you’ve somehow managed to keep your legs intertwined.

Reaching out with your free hand, you trace a line from his eyebrows down his nose, to his jaw, then his lips. You can’t help yourself, because when will you get the chance to wake up in Jamie Tartt’s bed again? His chest is rising in a steady, comforting beat.

He likes me, you think with a sigh, and the thought is enough to dispel most of the weirdness from the night before.

How did you go from crying over a bad hookup to sleeping in Jamie’s bed? God, you still feel so tired and drained, but not as much as last night. You don’t ever want to get up.

Your hand is resting on Jamie’s neck, and you can feel his heartbeat pulsing; you resist the urge to kiss him but fail, lips on his neck.

Last night was fucking awful, you think. You’re feeling like a car with an empty tank, pushing yourself up the hill to get to Jamie’s house. All you can think about is how physically and emotionally drained you’re still feeling, when you feel Jamie’s breathing change.

He blinks once, twice, then smiles at you.

“Morning, love,” he says, and you feel his rough morning voice doing something to you.

“Afternoon, more like,” you reply in a whisper.

Jamie just smiles, and you return it with a small one. He stretches all his limbs as best he can, unwilling to move his arm from around you. “You sleep ok?” he asks.

You nod.

“You feeling better?

You nod again.

He frowns. “Are you… do you not wanna talk?”

You give a small shrug and sigh. It is not easy to shrug while laying on your side, so you roll onto your back.

“I’m sorry,” you say, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I just… my headspace is going to be kinda fucked for a bit, but I feel better.”

Jamie just nods and pulls you closer (if that’s even possible). He has an unfamiliar ache, one that makes him want to protect you and take away any bad feelings you still have.

You do enjoy the feeling of his body around yours, but of course, it can’t last. You shift out of his grasp and sit up. You notice that you’re still in his hoodie and sweatpants.

For some reason, the realization makes you want to cry.

“Oh, Jamie,” you say, still unable to look at him, “thank you. For, like, everything… especially last night.”

Jamie’s propped up on his elbows now, and looking at you intently.

“Um, I can be out of your hair,” you continue, staring at your hands in your lap. They look like strangers hands. “I bet you had plans for today.”

Jamie’s frowning again now, and you decide you hate yourself for being the cause.

“What d’you mean?” he asks, and you’re unsure what he means.

You laugh nervously. “What?”

“What are you on about, why would you fucking leave?”

He looks so confused and indignant, but you don’t understand why.

You laugh again. Damn your nerves. “What else would I do? Stay?” The thought seems utterly ridiculous, and all too much like heaven

Jamie’s sitting up now, rolling over in a flurry of sheets to imitate your position. Your heart rate climbs at the feel of his arm pressed against yours.

Pull yourself together, you scold. Why is a simple touch scrambling your brain when last night’s literal sex felt like you’d had a bucket of ice water dumped on you?

You suppose it has something to do with the person.

“Love,” he says with the urgency usually reserved for someone telling you the building’s on fire, “what would you like me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll fucking do it.”

His raw emotion is throwing you off. You’re not sure how to respond, but your mouth is opening apart from your free will and saying, “I want to stay,” so you catch yourself and follow it up with a hasty, “but only if you want me to! Not out of pity or anything, because I’m ok, truly.”

You think that if you say it out loud (fine, it was a mumble), it will be true. You’re not ok, still thinking about that goddamn pity fuck, and you’re not a pity fuck, and there’s absolutely no way you’re going through those emotions again. Especially not with Jamie.

Jamie, who is closing his eyes, and letting out a deep, annoyed sigh with his jaw clenched.

A flash of fear jolts through your body, as well as the ever-present, ever-painful déjà vu. Jamie’s mad at you, and you start to get up to go.

You’re stopped by his hand on yours.

You look back to see Jamie rub his free hand over his face and mumble, “Oughta kill that prick,” before fully taking in your expression. His entire face softens, and he squeezes your hand once.

You can still feel anxiety coursing through your veins, which Jamie can see in your face. He changes his grip on your hand, and he lifts it to his lips to press a kiss on your inner wrist.

Your brain short-circuits at the pure intimacy of that gesture, something you have never experience and were pretty sure just existed in books and movies, not reality. Certainly not your reality.

Briefly, you wonder how Jamie got like this.

You remember hearing stories about how he had been a prick himself, and had tried to reconcile that with the person you knew today.

You’d seen a bit of it on the pitch during matches, when his eyes would glint and he’d stick his tongue out, right before doing something completely insane and gravity-defying that would cause the entire stadium to erupt in joy.

You knew Roy Kent called him the “prince prick of all pricks,” and that Jamie had definitely deserved that nickname once upon a time.

Still, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s the same Jamie who is sitting in bed with you, eyes looking at you so softly you think you might cry. Again.

He says, “Love, I meant every word I said last night,” and you can tell he’s trying to make his entire face show how much he means it.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. “Goddamnit, Jamie,” you whisper, “This is the most I’ve cried in fucking forever. What the fuck?”

Jamie just smiles and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

Everything he’s doing is so intentional, with no malice and no ulterior motives. You’ve loved him for ages, so this just feels… it feels like it’s too much. You’re feeling the swirls of good and bad emotions and you don’t know how to sort them, so you just hold his face and fucking breathe because yes you’re crying, but it’s not really out of sadness now, is it?

You say, “About what you said last night…” to which his face drops in anticipation of rejection.

“I really fucking like you too,” you say. “I have for too long and I thought I should’ve gotten over it, hence the shit with that guy, but every time I’d drive home I’d just think about how the way your face lights up when we see each other felt more fucking meaningful than anything that he would do to me. He barely even acknowledged my existence, but you…” you trail off. “You made me feel like the entire sky shone just for me.”

You see Jamie try to school his expression, but he can’t control the wide grin breaking across his face. He puffs out a sigh of relief, or maybe it’s one of the distaste he feels every time you mention that prick. Maybe distaste isn’t the right word. What’s a good word for when you both want to puke and kick the shit out of someone?

Jamie doesn’t dwell on it too long because that shitbag is nowhere near now, you’re right in front of him with those absolutely kissable lips and wearing his clothes with his name on them, and maybe you’d both be alright to stay in bed all day. After all, you still look tired and he thinks maybe you’d sleep better if you were the big spoon this time.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

329 notes · View notes

geeminz · 15 days

Text

ᯓ A CHANGE OF HEART // giselle x oc ; smau

00 | as long as it's you

↳ in which: mihye has been secretly dating giselle, her best friend’s older sister, for four months. what happens when their relationship turns toxic, and their secrets become public?

word count: 1.7k

taglist: @thefckghost @emphobics

a.n. i was literally so nervous while posting this cuz im not too confident about the quality of the writing T^T but anyways yeah! here's the prologue guys 🥹

───────────────────────── flashback

───────────────────────── now

it’s now 9 in the evening, and mihye is tired of waiting.

she could no longer count the times giselle’s stood her up. she knows her girlfriend is busy — after all, she’s a junior in college. mihye’s well-aware of the fact that giselle’s coursework is much more demanding compared to hers. mihye tries her best to understand — she tries her best to be sweet, to not get mad or outwardly frustrated, but couldn’t she spare a minute for her girlfriend? can’t she just send her a tiny little message? or maybe even call her if she’s too busy to type?

giselle’s lack of communication gnaws at mihye’s heart like a persistent ache, a relentless throb that refuses to dull, no matter how hard she tries to ignore it.

she’s been forgetting a lot lately… how long until she forgets she has a girlfriend?

mihye wonders if normal relationships are like this — after all, love is all about giving and taking, right? it’s about adjustments, understanding. shortcomings are normal — but at this point, shortcomings from giselle are everyday.

it wasn’t just the missed dates that mihye was frustrated about — it was the constant cycle of disappointment from all of giselle’s broken and hollow promises. mihye wonders if she’s done something wrong to make giselle act so… detached.

frustrated, mihye sighs deeply. the side of her head crashlands on one of the throw pillows on the couch — while a plethora of emotions swirls inside her. right now, mihye’s stuck.

should i text or call her?

mihye doesn’t want her girlfriend to think that she’s being too clingy — giselle has told her that before (even though giselle only said it indirectly, mihye isn’t dumb; she knows what giselle meant when she told her about how ‘they’ve been spending too much time together lately’ and that they’ll be ‘tired of each other at this point’). but what else can mihye do? she hasn’t seen giselle for the past three days.

three days too long, the girl thinks. i miss her so much.

a ding! sound popped from mihye’s phone, and mihye swears she’s never gotten up that fast before. reaching out for her phone, she checks out her girlfriend’s reply.

frustrated, mihye puts her phone back on the coffee table. it was violently buzzing from the endless stream of phone calls that giselle was spamming her with.

mihye misses her girlfriend, for sure. but despite her desire to just crawl into her girlfriend’s arms and just forget everything else (just like how giselle forgot their own date), mihye also doesn’t want to listen to her poor excuses about how she didn’t forget — she just had a lot on her mind.

hearing those poorly thought out reasons over and over again was gradually draining mihye. not only did it wear her out, she was also hurt by giselle’s lack of a proper and valid explanation to justify her absence.

mihye glances at her buzzing phone once more. let me let her suffer a little, just this once. i’m too frustrated to listen to her right now.

mihye sighs, tired from the endless train of thoughts that looped inside her brain. she lets her phone ring — knowing very well that giselle will stop calling her soon. she always does. she listens to her ringtone as if it were a broken record playing again and again, and her empty pair of eyes stares at the rose petal-filled and candle-scented room she had set up two hours ago. with blank eyes, mihye observes her living room, her body stunned and her heart empty upon the realization that her best efforts to impress her girlfriend were all going to waste.

i really thought we’d get to spend a little time together today.

due to a force of habit, she subconsciously grabs one of the plushies near her — the one that giselle gifted her for their first monthsary — and mihye clutches it against her chest. her nose brushes against the fur of the plushie, and she smells giselle’s signature perfume on its surface. just like that, giselle invades her thoughts once more.

her phone, which was perched on top of the glass surface of her coffee table, stopped ringing after a minute or so. mihye could only lay like that in silence and in solitude, heart heavy, pained and empty. she must be tired now, mihye thinks. but after that thought, three notifications pinged at her phone.

mihye lazily reaches for her phone to check the notifications.

mihye’s eyes widen at the text, and before she could even register the texts and respond to giselle, a series of familiar knocks came from the front door.

mihye makes no sound to address the knocks, but she recognizes the voice coming from behind the door.

“hye, i know you’re in there. open the door for me, please?”

mihye doesn’t respond to giselle. she stays mum and stuck at her place.

“mihye, baby. please. let’s talk, love.” giselle pleads once more.

mihye slowly shuts her eyes in defeat. she knew she couldn’t resist giselle — she could never. it’s giselle, after all. and mihye loves her enough to get up from her sofa and walk towards the door to open it for her girlfriend, who was currently pleading for her on the other side of the door.

once the door was opened, mihye sees giselle, clad in all black, leaning on the frame of her doorway.

why does she have to be so goddamn pretty!

with her big brown eyes, and pouty lips, giselle still looked breathtaking to mihye, even if she did make her cry multiple times before. right now, the older looked like a kicked puppy with the way that she was furrowing her eyebrows. giselle’s glossy eyes stared deeply into mihye’s, and just like that, mihye had no choice but to let giselle in her apartment.

mihye stretches her arm to open the door wider for giselle to enter the premises of her apartment. but instead of immediately going inside, the older girl pulls mihye into a tight embrace.

“baby,” giselle whispers, burying her head into mihye’s neck. “i am so sorry. i’m such an asshole.”

at least you’re self-aware, mihye says in her mind, but she stays quiet as giselle continues to hug her, grasping at her body as if mihye will disappear once giselle loosens her hold on mihye’s waist.

“i just had a lot of things on my mind, hye.”

tell me something you haven’t already told me, gi.

“and i was just so tired today, our prof is literally trying to kill us. i almost fell asleep the moment i got back to my condo.”

i’ve heard that one, too.

“i’m sorry, hye. please forgive me.”

when will you ever stop saying sorry?

“you know i love you, right? i love you, mihye. i’m sorry for fucking up.”

“...”

“hye? please talk to me.” giselle’s warm breath hits the skin of mihye’s neck. due to the closeness of their bodies, mihye could feel the quick thumping of her girlfriend’s heart. she could sense the quickness of giselle’s breathing; as if she just ran a marathon and is running out of breath. mihye could feel how tightly giselle has shut her eyes from the feeling of giselle’s long lashes against the surface of her neck.

she’s sorry — she always is.

and you always forgive her.

that’s how this goes.

mihye sighs, slowly giving in and reciprocating giselle’s hug. just like that, mihye feels the older girl’s heart rate increase tenfold, but after a few seconds, the girl relaxes in her arms.

“gi, let’s go inside first.” mihye suggests, but giselle doesn’t budge at all.

“gi,” mihye calls out to her girlfriend again, and this time, she lightly taps the girl’s back to call her attention. “gi, let’s get in. someone might see you here.”

“so?” giselle replies, not wanting to interrupt the position they were in.

it is comfy, mihye tries to justify in her head.

“so… someone might see you. some of your blockmates are my neighbors on this floor, you know. they might get the wrong idea if… if they see us like this.”

giselle stays frozen for a few moments, before pulling her body away from her younger girlfriend. mihye looks at her, and deems giselle’s expression as unreadable. she neither looked happy nor sad — instead, she looks like she’s just been hit by a ton of bricks.

did i say something wrong?

the couple walk toward the living room together — giselle observed the place with the same unreadable expression. at this point, mihye couldn’t read her, she could only observe. despite everything, giselle was still careful so as to not step on the petal of roses sprawled around mihye’s floor.

when they got to mihye’s couch, they both stayed silent. mihye — truth be told, did not want to speak. she was far too tired to do so.

we may not be okay, but at least she’s here with me now.

no matter how disappointed i am.

it was giselle who broke the silence between them.

“hye… i’m sorry for putting you in this setup.”

mihye looks at her girlfriend with concern. giselle stares at her lap, unable to look her girlfriend in the eye.

“i’m sorry that i can’t publicly show how much i love you. i’m just not ready yet. i hope you understand that.”

mihye nods before responding. “i do, gi. i knew what i was getting myself into.”

mihye stays silent as giselle continues to rack around her thoughts to pick better words to tell her girlfriend.

“i just need more time, hye. please be patient for me.” giselle says, and mihye’s heart has no other choice but to accept what giselle gives her.

mihye has a lot of questions that she wanted to ask — gi, are we okay?

gi, why are you so confusing?

why are you so cold and sweet at the same time?

what happened to us?

but as soon as giselle pulled mihye into her warm embrace, all of mihye’s questions and thoughts dissolved into nothing, as giselle’s tom ford perfume swoops into her sense of smells and floods her thoughts with how good her girlfriend smells.

she's here. with me. and she does care. she's just been busy.

giselle loves me. and i love her.

turns out, no matter how disappointed mihye is in giselle — one word, one apology, one hug from giselle, and mihye’s melting into her touch again.

as long as it’s her, i’ll endure the pain.

go to: masterlist | next

#⸻ a change of heart.#⸻ vice:aus #aespa giselle x reader #giselle angst #aespa giselle #giselle imagines #giselle x reader #aespa smau #aespa angst #aespa x reader #kpop smau #kpop wlw #kpop idol x reader

56 notes · View notes

mngo-jii · 9 months

Note

Okay but I really need to fill the gap as to WHY Daniel was casually carrying Amortentia around during that erumpent event. I don't think he'd use it, but maybe it's because his smell just like MC? 👀

Perhaps the reader finally gives into their curiosity and asks over why Daniel had *that* potion, and he gets too flustered to even give an excuse? Btw I really loved your crushing hc, these were adorable! 💖

“ AMORTENTIA. ” d. page

wc: 1k

letter ✉️: i rlly was also wondering how i’d turn the amortentia scene into a fic without having him turn into a maniac and use it on reader 😭 ty for this idea 🙏🏻 idk if i did it justice though because this kinda sucks um *scratches head*

“Right. Let’s see. I’ve got... Amortentia, that’s a love potion, definitely not. Essence of Dittany, hm... Ah, here we go. A calming draught.”

You narrow your eyes at a peculiar potion he just mentioned. Yet the situation at hand is more important than the question as to why he has the most powerful love potion in existence. You digress.

Of course, it’s not hard to catch onto how Daniel is a potions prodigy. It’s particularly impossible to miss it. Given how much time he spends in the Potions Classroom brewing maybe nearly every potion in existence. Sometimes, you tend to question how he doesn’t get exhausted from the hours he spends in front of the cauldron. But you suppose it’s just a passion of his that differs from everyone else’s.

Like how Lottie, herself, can spend hours painting anything that comes to mind. A wave of creativity just happening to hit her at some random time, like how the light shines oh-so perfectly down into the classroom windows, or when she realizes how fascinating the flames look when she casts the confringo spell.

But there are times she exhausts herself too, like times she’s mentally drained from an art block she’s been desperately trying to escape.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen Daniel tired of creating potions. It’s quite impressive—no, farther than that, that you sometimes find yourself admiring how well he can work his way around the cauldron with little to no errors.

And because of how well he ferments potions and how much time he spends on doing so, it’s no surprise to find that he has quite the collection of distinctive potions. However, he always either gives them away, displays them on the Potions Classroom shelf, or keeps them somewhere in his dorm.

So why did he so casually carry Amortentia, of all potions, in his pocket?

Of course it isn’t as bad as the Death potion, but your point still stands!

After that day you couldn’t help but let your mind wander on the possibilities on why in the world he would have such a powerful potion easily-accessed. After all, he doesn’t seem like the type to use it on someone. Actually, does he even have a ‘someone’ to use it on, nevertheless?

Maybe it’s not your place to ask. But as time goes by, you can’t look at Daniel without being reminded that he literally has the most formidable love potion known to man in his pocket.

“...W-What are you looking at?” He asks you, aware of your unwavering, however thoughtful gaze.

“Daniel,” you lean towards him, taking note of the crimson hue spreading his cheeks, “Is there any reason for you to be carrying the Amortentia potion right now...?”

Daniel visibly panics. He stammers out an incoherent response that’s cut off by Professor Flitwick.

“Please pay close attention to the instructions. Today we will be learning a disarming charm known as Expelliarmus.”

The two of you gently shuffle back to place, turning your attention to the man standing atop a very thick book. You suppose he can answer you later.

Daniel scampers to collect his belongings the very second Professor Flitwick dismisses class, unbeknownst to you. He scoots towards the very edge of the table and races out the door, stumbling into the hallway for an escape as if he had just seen a dementor.

Very quickly, he scans his surroundings, paying no mind to his classmates who barely glance at him as they walk by. He decides to draw himself a little farther from the doorway and towards the stairways of the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom, where he presses his side against the wall.

Unluckily for him, you just so happened to be reaching to grab his hand right now, making him feverishly twirl around to face you.

“Daniel, I’ll keep it a secret, I promise !” you whisper-shout, bouncing a little in place.

“It’s nothing—” He backs away from you in an attempt to escape your clutches, but you only step forward.

“Then why run? Why are you sweating so much?” You furrow your eyebrows, clearly concerned for your friend who is, yes, sweating bullets now.

“It’s just—”

“Pleeease tell me, Daniel.”

“I—”

“Pleeease.” Now both of your hands are grabbing his. You muster up the best pair of puppy eyes you can do at the moment, and lean yourself towards him trying to get him to just tell you.

Daniel’s face, which is inches away from yours at this point, is basically red.

“It’s— I— For—..” Why is your face still leaning in?! Why are you so close?! Haven’t you heard of personal space? (He kind of doesn’t want you to back away.) He shuts his eyes.

Before he could process it, his mouth moves on his own, blurting out the reason of which was not on your list of possibilities at all.

It was like a survival instinct.

“It smells nice...! It smells like you—your-robe-that-you-lent-to-me-last-week.”

Daniel wishes the floor would swallow him up.

He barely opens his eyes when you slowly let go of his hands and back away, and he only snaps them open when he hears a familiar hysteric laughter from above and behind him.

He slowly turns around, as if he hadn't already known who it is.

“You cannot be serious!” Robyn wipes a comical tear from her eye as she dramatically leans over a stone wall, “Ahhh, you’re daft, Page!”

Daniel doesn’t bother to say anything as he somberly stares at her above the staircase. His arms falling limp and his entire body stiff.

“I can’t believe I witnessed this at such a perfect timing...!” She drunkenly makes her way down, clapping her hands slowly in such passionate amusement despite the silence between you and him. “I can’t—” She pitilessly snickers at Daniel.

She gracefully turns to the opposite side of where you two came from and slowly disappears into the halls, her voice fading out in the distance—“I can’t wait to tell everyone else about this!”

Daniel stares as her figure slowly shrinks in his vision, as if he were trying to make her explode with his mind despite the distracting and repetitive sounds of her claps and cackling.

However, he’s taken aback when he feels a familiar piece of clothing gently wrap around his shoulder. He looks over, noticing that you’re no longer wearing your robe.

“I’ll gladly keep lending you my robe if you want me to...”

a/n: this is short ohmyy im sorry 😞

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ— written by lnr #hpma x reader #hogwarts magic awakened x reader #daniel page x reader

250 notes · View notes