#(it's sewing wrist/hand wraps to keep warm)

[neverendingford]

.

[maracujatangerine]

85. Chunk of clay

CW: NSFW, violence, forced nudity, forced medication, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

The hash glare from the overhead lights glinted off the tabletop. The young man stretched out on the metal surface was completely naked. His golden-toned skin pricking with goosebumps. His every muscle taut with fear and anticipation.

The two handlers with him, the man and the woman, were both fully clothed.

The woman, dark-haired and brown-eyed, just completed her slow circle around the table.

“Give me your hand.”

Her tone was quiet and very calm. When the man on the table tremulously reached out to her, she took a roll of thin, dark blue sewing thread from her pocket. She methodically wrapped the end of the thread around the leg of the table and then looped it around his wrist so that his hand, palm upward, was tied to the table. A red and white tattoo of chrysanthemum flowers circled his forearm, the beautiful imagery at odds with the clinical surroundings.

“Now, your other hand.”

Slowly circling the table once more, clockwise this time, she tied his other wrist. The WRU barcode tattoo clearly visible. Then she carefully tied down his ankles. It was as if he was bound to the table with gossamer strands.

If the young man had but twitched, the thread would instantly have broken.

She took a step back, surveying her handiwork with an air of satisfaction.

“That’s good.” She smiled. “You are doing good.”

She brushed her hand across the dark, curly hair covering his chest, gently, as if petting a cat. Then, she moved her hand down his chest in a languid caress, following the string of hair down along his rib cage, pausing to stroke her hand a few times over his flat stomach. Then, decisively, she moved further down.

The young man jerked involuntarily, his muscles trembling with the effort of keeping himself completely immobile.

She just rested her gloved hand there, between his legs. Her skin warm beneath the thin, black rubber of the glove.

He is hardly breathing. Rolling his eyes to watch her without turning his head. Fear written in every line of his face and body.

“Now,” she said, “I know you haven’t been trained for this. But, what if I wanted to have you? Or… what if my colleague here did? What would you do?”

The young man’s bottom lip shivered, his eyes glassy with tears. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I… I w-would do my best, Trainer Álvarez.”

”That’s good.” She nodded. “What if I asked you to break the thread that I used to tie you to the table, would you be able to do it?”

The young man blinked, clearly surprised.

“Yes, Trainer Álvarez.”

“And what if I - or your future owner - would tell you that this is a magic thread, totally impossible for you to get out of. Would you be able to break it then?”

“Eh…” He looked at her, bewildered. “…no?”

“That’s right. I’m telling you that this is a magical, unbreakable thread. What is the rule? The owner…”

The pet on the table relaxed visibly. This was home ground.

“The owner is always right, Trainer Álvarez.”

“That’s right. Good boy.” Letting go, she instead reached out and cupped his cheek affectionately. The young man eagerly leaned his head to press into her touch.

With her free hand, she fished something out from her trouser pocket, holding it up for the man on the table. His dark eyes instantly fixed on the small, white pill, tension returning to the set of his jaw.

“It’s time for you to take your medicine.” She said, deceptively gently. “Now, open up, but don’t swallow yet.”

He instantly opened his mouth, dark eyes wide with fear. It was clear that resisting was not an option he even considered. He held the pill on his tongue, while she turned and took a few steps to the sink in the corner of the room. She filled a glass of water and returned to the table.

“Now you can swallow.” She said, carefully cradling his head and raising the glass of water to his lips. It was an uncomfortable position, spread-eagled like that, but her raising his head helped and he quickly swallowed the pill with the water. Afterwards, she gently lowered his head to the table.

“I want you to lay here and just relax for a while. Unbreakable thread, remember?”

The fear was back with full force in his eyes, but he nodded immediately.

“Yes, trainer.”

*

The trainers fill their WRU-branded mugs from the coffee machine, a double espresso for her, an Americano for him, and watch the naked young man shivering on the table from behind the sound-isolated two-way mirror.

“I always like to teach them all the ways to take their medicine.” She explains. “Pills, liquids, eye drops, through their nose, up their bum… you get the drill. They should be fine with all of it. You never know what an owner will need or enjoy. It is also important to train in different situations, you want them to be absolutely rock solid in their ability to obey.”

“What about injections?”

She nods.

“Of course. Well. Not for this one at the moment. This is a trust-building exercise, not punishment. We want him to learn the lesson that good dogs get rewarded… sometimes.”

She smiles again, this time with an edge, like a hidden knife glinting in the dark.

“Just give him that hope for ‘sometimes’. He is going to chase that high so hard. There’s no limit to what he will do.” She pauses. “Anyway. Needles, he has a bad time with those. That is something we’ll have to deal with, but this is just an exercise reinforcing focus and obedience. There’s no need for torture.”

The man nods respectfully.

“What drug dig you give him?” He asks.

“It’s just a mild painkiller. Punishment pills should be reserved for special occasions only.” She takes a sip of her espresso. “They need to know that the pain is a possibility, but there’s no…” Her explanation is interrupted by the door opening.

“Hey.” The large man in a black handler uniform rolls his shoulders and stretches before stepping up to the coffee machine.

“Harris.” Trainer Álvarez nods in curt greeting.

He chooses an Americano and glances idly out the two-way mirror while waiting for the machine to finish his drink.

”I see you’re still playing your little sewing games, Gabriela. How’s that coming along for you?”

“It’s going great. Thanks, Harris.” Her tone is carefully neutral.

“Mhm… Well, I guess…” He turns and nods to the younger man. “Don’t worry, Jason. Next rotation you’ll be shadowing me, and I’m not afraid to show you the ropes of the real, hard work.”

He grabs his coffee and walks towards the door. “Later, guys.”

As soon as the heavy door falls closed behind him, trainer Álvarez scoffs.

“Jesus, he’s such a prick at all times. I’m sorry you’ll be stuck with him.”

She turns full on to face the younger man.

“Listen, Jason. You are going to meet a lot of guys like Harris here. They talk a lot and they think they are so great at their work, but actually they’re just getting off on their own fantasies of violence and domination. But really….”

She pauses and shakes her index finger back and forth in a ‘no’ gesture.

“They have no finesse. You need a light touch with this job, you might not think it, but it is true.

If you like to just break someone, his methods are just fine, but that… I think that is not enough. We should aim to create works of art.”

She gestures out at the bound man behind the glass.

“I like to send them out to love their master. Not just fear them. Jason, do you know what a golem is?”

“Ma’am?” Confusion is written all over the younger man’s face. Gabriela smiles.

“In Jewish mythology, a golem is a figure created by clay or mud. It can do tasks, but it is mindless, without a soul. That is what Harris and his ilk does. He makes the pets into empty husks. They obey, all right. But no one is home.”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes shining.

“I want to make them beautiful. When I am finished with them, they will obey, yes, but more than that, they will feel and love and desire. I don’t trample all over their hearts. I cultivate them, strictly, but carefully. It is like trimming a fruit tree, or cutting a hedge. There is violence, yes, but also gentleness. In the end, with all their being, they don’t only fear, but they yearn to please their master.”

She walks over and puts her empty mug in the dishwasher.

“Come on, it’s time. Let’s go shape our chunk of clay.”

*

This post has really been a long time in the making. I have had several people asking about Brutus. (Thanks for the asks! ❤️) I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse into his past.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: New Neighbor

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[Word count 1210 Cw: blood, foul language]

————————

Even while recovering, Alastor had to be dramatic. So when he dropped you both into the group in front of the rebuilt hotel, his joining the song and grand gestures did not surprise you. What did was Charlie suddenly hugging him and Alastor allowing her.

The princess was stronger than she knew. Alastor was more stubborn than anyone but you realized. So even though his theatrics and her squeeze tore some stitches, he refused to show it. The benefit of entirely red clothing was that a bit of blood wasn’t noticeable.

As soon as you could manage, you insisted the pair of you look over your new suite. Walking to the top floor would have been a struggle and you weren’t up to flying again yet. Fortunately the new building had elevators installed.

Alastor had recreated his broadcast studio on a corner penthouse level and naturally had claimed the closest rooms for you both. He hadn’t recreated the bayou yet, but there were more pressing concerns. Namely redoing his stitches.

Once in the room you ordered, “Sit down Alastor.” You didn’t let him argue as you removed his jacket and shirt. The bandages wrapped around his torso had absorbed most of the blood but now they definitely needed replacing. “Zut alors, you just had to overdo it out there.”

You brought out both a last aid kit and your sewing kit. As you gathered up towels, warm water and disinfectant, you continued to vent. “I know you like to cultivate an air of invulnerability, cher, but that was too much.” Returning to his side you started unwinding the bandages. “Granted you didn’t expect Charlie to hug you like that, but all that flailing about did not help.”

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. “That’s enough,” he growled hoarsely. His antlers were starting to grow in anger but he didn’t put any pressure on your wrist.

“No Alastor, it’s not,” you replied firmly. You didn’t pull your hand away but you did turn his head to face you. You locked eyes with your husband, staring straight into the radio dials. “If you get hurt, I’m the one that patches you up. If you get hurt doing something stupid, I’m still the one patching you up, but I’m allowed to be angry about it.”

He huffed and released your wrist. You continued unwrapping and cleaning that gash across his chest. “I don’t want to be stitching you back up constantly because you’re pretending to be invincible.” You might have said more but a voice at the door interrupted.

“Lover’s quarrel? You really should close the door if you’re going to do that.”

“Fuck!” you screeched, reflexively launching a stiletto at the voice.

“Whoa!” The figure blinked away in a burst of sparks, popping back into existence next to you. The blade thudded into the hallway.

“Careful there!” Lucifer admonished. “We just built these floors.”

You hissed at the fallen angel. “I wouldn’t have to be careful if someone wasn’t eavesdropping.”

He just smiled as you returned to focusing on Alastor. “Someone wouldn’t be eavesdropping if someone else had closed their door properly.” He leaned down to look at the wound you were starting to stitch together again. “Oof, that from when Adam swung at you? You took quite a hit there buddy.”

Alastor glared at him furiously. “GET. OUT,” he snarled, his ever present smile straining in his anger.

As much as you agreed with him, what Lucifer said made you start. “How did you know Adam hit him? The only ones that saw the fight were the exorcists and me.” Some of your flock might have seen it, but they were rather occupied.

“I was watching the whole time,” he replied blithely. With a snap, he produced an ornate set of opera glasses on an elegant handle. “Had to keep an eye on my little girl in case she needed help.”

“You were just watching?!” You and Alastor yelled together. If he had shown up before the angels arrived, he could have handled everything.

“Yup! Charlie didn’t ask me to join the fight, so I wanted to give her the chance to take care of it.” He paused. “I do feel bad about the snake guy, though. Oh, and that you two got banged up by that douchebag.”

You hissed again, feeling your feathers turn metallic. Still, you turned back to the curved needle in your hand. Alastor’s claws dug into the chair; you couldn’t be sure of it was from anger or the feeling of needle and thread sliding through his skin. Probably both.

“GET OUT,” he repeated, now looking like he’d enjoy tearing Lucifer’s throat out if he wasn’t stuck in place.

“And leave my new neighbors in their time of need?” He shook his head mockingly. “Charlie would never let me hear the end of it.”

You did your best to focus and finish quickly. “Got it back together, cher.” His grip on the chair didn’t ease up. He really is a terrible patient, you thought as you placed a gauze pad on the gash. You reached for a roll of bandages, only to find Lucifer holding it out to you.

Annoyed, you grabbed it with a quiet “merci.” Winding the bandage around Alastor to keep the pad in place, you could feel Lucifer’s gaze on your back. Your husband was getting more and more irritated as the king of Hell kept watching you.

Then, as you finished securing the bandage: “You’re gonna need a splint on that wing.” You blinked in confusion. Alastor was similarly surprised at Lucifer’s statement.

“Never had a wing injury before?” he prodded. You shook your head. “You’re one lucky gal.” He clapped his hands and a small pile of supplies appeared. “It’s got to be stabilized. And no attempts to fly until it’s fully healed if you want it back to normal.” He gestured for Alastor to get up, not caring at all that he was ordering the Radio Demon around. Of course he didn’t, he ruled over all of Hell. He outranked every Sinner, Overlord or not.

With permission, he examined your wing. “Alright deerboy, I’ll show you what to do so you can take care of your missus.” That did seem to calm Alastor down a bit and he begrudgingly let Lucifer demonstrate. Shortly, your wing was braced by thin rods and bandages. “Remember, no flying at all.”

You grumbled, only for Alastor to lean down (slowly, taking his wound into account) and say with exaggerated sweetness, “I’ll be patching you up, cher. And if I have to resplint your wing because you did something stupid, then I’m allowed to be angry, yes?”

Dammit, you thought to yourself. Aloud you said, “Fair enough,” with equal sarcastic sweetness.

Satisfied, Lucifer grabbed his apple topped cane with a twirl. “I’m making pancakes if you two want any.” He sauntered out, humming contentedly.

You sighed gustily. “Let’s get you a new shirt, darling.” As you helped Alastor button up the bright red shirt, he realized something.

“He said ‘new neighbors,’” he stated, the static disappearing from his voice. You both stopped dead, processing what that meant. Meeting each other’s eyes, there was only one thing to say, in unison again.

“Ffffuck!”

———————

Taglist: @whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

[javierssidechick]

In Rough Hands

Summary: After Arthur comes back bruised and battered from a rough fight, the reader takes it upon themselves to patch him up. Amidst winces and small talk, the two share quiet, intimate moments, and the reader realizes just how much they care for this rugged gunslinger. Arthur, too, feels something he can’t quite put into words, but it shows in his softened gaze and reluctant smile.

Word Count: 894 words

Arthur stumbled into the tent, his figure slumping against the canvas with exhaustion. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, soaked through with dried blood, and his face bore a fresh bruise around his cheek. His eyes, always so sharp, looked a little softer with fatigue.

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Arthur, what the hell happened?”

He managed a small, almost sheepish chuckle. “Ran into some trouble out there. Got roughed up a bit, is all.” His attempt at nonchalance might have fooled others, but not you. You could see how he favored his left side, holding his ribs as if every breath pained him.

“Sit down before you collapse,” you sighed, motioning him to a stool by the washbasin. Arthur complied with a grumble, wincing as he settled onto the seat. You gathered a bowl of water and a clean cloth, setting them beside him.

Arthur looked up at you, his smirk slightly crooked. “Y’know, you don’t gotta fuss over me so much.”

“Somebody’s got to,” you muttered, dipping the cloth into the water and bringing it to his cheek. He flinched as you dabbed at a scrape, but he didn’t pull away. Up close, you could see the cuts and bruises in all their rough detail, the remnants of whatever brawl he’d stumbled into.

Arthur let out a low groan as you pressed gently on a particularly swollen spot near his jaw. “Dammit… it ain’t as bad as it looks.”

“Arthur, you’re a walking disaster. Hold still,” you replied, trying not to laugh. He met your eyes with a smirk, that same gleam of defiance, though now softer, less guarded.

You took your time, carefully washing each cut and bruise, Arthur’s breathing steady but shallow as you worked. Every so often, his fingers twitched or his jaw clenched, but he kept his gaze on you, silently watching your careful movements. His rugged face, so often hardened by the world, seemed gentler in this rare moment of calm.

When you reached the gash on his arm, you could tell it was deeper than the others. Blood had crusted around the edges, and you could see the torn skin beneath. “This one’s gonna need stitching,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. You pulled out a needle and thread, and he chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

“Ah, don’t worry. Been stitched up plenty of times,” he said, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, preparing the needle and sitting back down beside him.

“Try not to move,” you warned, threading the needle. As you began to sew, Arthur let out a shaky breath, his fist clenched tightly at his side. You could feel the tension in his body, muscles coiled under your hand as you steadied him.

You kept your touch as gentle as possible, your fingers brushing over his skin. Arthur’s breathing slowed, his gaze softening as he watched you work. There was a quietness between you, a peace neither of you had quite expected. It felt oddly intimate—the two of you in this quiet tent, bathed in the faint light as you tended to him with a tenderness he wasn’t used to.

Once the stitching was done, you reached for a clean bandage, wrapping it around his arm with careful precision. Arthur sat there, silent, his eyes fixed on you, though you could feel his thoughts drifting somewhere else. When you were finished, he reached out, gently grabbing your wrist.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice rough but warm.

You looked at him, heart fluttering, as he kept hold of your wrist, his thumb grazing your skin. For a moment, the tension melted away, leaving just the quiet hum of something unspoken. The kind of feeling neither of you could fully acknowledge, but both of you understood.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered, barely daring to breathe.

[auxiliarydetective]

⛅ Experiments ⛅

Guess what! I finally wrote something for Cora again! We're continuing pretty much where the last fic left off and just before where Season 2 will probably start. You can read the fic in full length on Ao3 - but here's a quick snippet to get you warmed up <3

It was a lazy afternoon aboard the Merry, the crew gathered in various corners of the galley and passing the time. Well, all but one. Luffy and Usopp were sitting on the floor just next to the door to the quarters, playing a board game they had found in one of the cabinets. Nami was reading a book on the sofa and Zoro was drifting in and out of sleep opposite her, his sword leaning against his shoulder. Sanji, as per usual, was busy in the kitchen – and Cora, meanwhile, had locked herself in her quarters for a while now. It wasn’t unusual for her, of course. She was a person who needed her space and that was alright. When she got an idea for a new project, she usually wanted to get to work on it straight away and that formal attire for the crew was still on her mind. Knowing her, she was probably sketching away behind closed doors, not wanting anyone to ruin the surprise. But it was getting really hard to keep Luffy from asking about her every five minutes.

Just then, the door to the quarters opened and Cora came into the galley, her hair messily pinned up, the belt with her sewing utensils fastened loosely over her dress, and a stray piece of thread wrapped around her hand.

“Hey, Cora!” Luffy called.

“Cora!” Sanji beamed. “Fancy a snack?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Cora quickly stammered. “I, uh, I actually wanted to ask for help.”

“Sure, anything.”

“Could you cut this for me?” she asked, holding up the thread around her hand.

“What, you broke your fifty pairs of scissors?” Zoro mumbled, shifting around in his corner of the sofa to find a better position.

“Shut up, mosshead,” Sanji cut in before Cora could try to defend herself. “Is that a way to treat a lady? She still has an injured wrist and fingers, so of course she’ll have to be careful with some things. Not that you know anything about being careful, you gorilla.”

Zoro just scoffed. Meanwhile, Nami eyed the exchange over the top of her reading glasses, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. As Sanji took the thread from Cora’s hand, Nami noticed that the thread was black and shiny. Something struck her as odd about it, but she blamed it on the lighting.

Swiftly, Sanji grabbed a clean knife from his knife block and laid the thread over the blade. Then, he gave a sharp tug – but the thread wouldn’t budge. Confusion was immediately rampant on his expression and he gave the blade a scrutinizing look before trying to cut with it once again. Nothing. It still didn’t work.

“Maybe it’s blunt,” Usopp suggested, the board game with Luffy long since forgotten.

“Can’t be,” Sanji mumbled, “I used it just yesterday.”

Still, he took out his sharpening tools, in the same motion grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Or maybe you’re just weak,” Zoro commented.

Sanji shook this off with an annoyed side-eye, but then his expression softened when he looked at Cora again. “Why don’t you drink some water, princess? You’ve been sitting in there for too long now – and I’ll deal with this, alright?”

Cora nodded. “Just don’t hurt yourself. Thread can be pretty annoying to cut sometimes and when it does come apart, you’re likely to cut yourself alongside it - speaking from experience, I’ve done that too many times.”

“Can’t be any worse than chopping carrots, right?” Sanji smirked, covering his ingredients to work on the issue at hand.

He sharpened the knife within seconds and, by now, everyone in the room seemed more focused on this little oddity than anything else. How come a master-class chef, with a set of razor-sharp knives that he valued more than gold, couldn’t cut a simple piece of thread? Despite the rampant confusion, Cora stayed silent, sipping her water as her eyes sparked with unmistakable curiosity. Luffy had gotten up from his spot on the ground and was now crowding around Sanji so closely that the cook had to swat him away out of fear he’d get himself sliced. Usopp, too, had moved over into the kitchen and was leaning on the isle so his eyes were on the same level as the knife and the thread.

Finally, after having convinced himself of the sharpness of the knife multiple times, Sanji made another attempt at cutting the thread – but it still stayed strong.

“This is pathetic,” Zoro grumbled, untangling himself from the couch. He trudged over to the counter and unsheathed his sword, causing Usopp to flinch backwards. “You and your damn butter knife.”

“This is not a butter knife,” Sanji protested, “it’s a—”

“I don’t care what it is, okay? Just hold the damn thread.”

“Alright, maybe—” Cora stammered, but she didn’t get very far.

“And don’t budge or I’ll gut you alive.”

Sanji was standing directly opposite from Zoro now, both of them in a wide stance, with Sanji holding the thread between his fists and Zoro lifting his sword, ready to strike.

“Zoro,” Nami hissed adamantly, but it was too late.

Zoro’s sword came down like a guillotine and hit the thread with what almost sounded like a metallic clang. In a second of shock, Sanji tumbled slightly forwards, but then he was steady, and the two of them were caught in a shuddering battle of strength. But not for long.

“That’s enough!” Nami yelled and, at the same time, Cora’s scissors came up from below, clashing against Zoro’s blade and prompting him to swing back upwards.

“Oh hey, you got about halfway through,” Usopp mumbled, his voice about halfway gone.

As her scissors floated back into their holster, Cora came up beside Sanji, soothingly running her fingers over the indents the thread had left in his skin. Hopefully, it wasn’t rope burn.

“You should maybe cool that, just to be safe,” she murmured, not even daring to look at him as she took the thread back.

Just this once, Sanji was too stunned to speak or to even do anything in return. He just turned around to the sink, letting cool water run over his hands as he looked over his shoulder every now and again. Luffy stared at Cora and the thread with saucer eyes, blinking in confusion.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“Okay, what’s the trick?” Nami smirked, snatching the now damaged thread from Cora and eyeing in intently. “This isn’t your regular old thread, is it?"

- continued here -

Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats - let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Also tagging: @supermarine-silvally

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 39: Take Me to Church (2)

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: The god of her world is dead and gone. Only Jashin can save her now, the woman who is in too deep over her head, the lover who sings of starlight.

Author's Note:

The song is Take Me to Church by Hozier. Please note that the nature of this chapter is much more NSFW than before and proceed accordingly.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In…

…

Out...

A body. Two bodies. One is laying in front of her, pinkish and red, while the further is staring at them, stance wide as his eyes.

In…

…

Out...

The first body staggers in its attempts to get up as the second draws close. Kakuzu's face is recognized, and for once in this time together...she can tell he doesn’t know what to do.

No. That's not true.

This isn't that far apart from when he cared so much that his hand branded her skin.

In…

…

Out...

The hilt of the knife is sticking out of her thigh. He holds her wrists, palms up. They are hot and sticky.

The sighs of ocean’s tide draw in and fade out once again.

In…

…

Out...

He’s yelling at him. He yells back. Hidan’s face twists in pain as he holds his stomach and tries to keep upright. She sees her fingers twitch up to reach him, to try to help, and the two bodies visibly gasp and flinch towards her.

In…

…

Out...

The view of her thigh, Hidan’s knife slowly...carefully...slipped out by a hand with a rust-toned ring. Another with the color of aged turquoise pinches the open flesh shut, but not before you can see the layers that make up a poor sinner’s flesh. Skin and fat and muscle and bone.

A thin, black, featureless snake crawls from Kakuzu’s leather skin and enters her own. It goes in.

In…

It goes out.

Out...

It goes in.

In…

It goes out.

Out...

Her vision fades with the fragile whims of a shocked mind and the dreams that have haunted her many a night. She hears it, the bubbling, distant laughter underneath the surface of the water that drowned her long ago. Or maybe it’s just the blood in her ears.

Bare arms with circled tattoos frame her view of the wound now, reaching around her. And then her body feels light.

In…

…

Out...

Trees. Passing through them, like flying birds or falling leaves. Air is rushing past her, through a cloth that feels barely wrapped around her cold self. Her head is resting against something. Another rush of liquid, a soothing, slow blink in her reality...and she knows someone is looking at her.

In…

…

…

…

…

Out.

And the tide pulls back, leaving her on the bank of the conscious and living. The shade of light is warm, wrapping around darker features of this space she exists within. A blink of her own eyes...and she can tell she is laid on top of something soft. Flicker, flicker. Her vision passes from one object to the next, different directions and depths away. She doesn’t recognize this place...although…

...It also somehow feels...familiar.

“ACK—!”

She hears her first sound, Hidan grunting despite gritted teeth and bracing for the impact. Kakuzu has no remorse for how harshly he sews the pin cushion man all back together. Damn fool deserves this and so much more.

“What the HELL were you thinking?!”

She tries to answer but she can’t, tongue mute. Fate has decided this is not a conversation for her to partake in.

“Kakuzu, I—FUCK!”

The thread loops into him, though the exclamation may be from the way the named man grips Hidan’s shoulder tight.

“What in your perverted, twisted brain made you THINK-?! No. No. You didn’t think at all!”

“Kakuzu—!”

“Do you know…?!” he leans in close, nice and close so Hidan can see nothing but haunted gemstone eyes, the spirit in them aflame with fury. “Every day...we are one inch away from being THROWN OUT and NEVER seeing her again,” he hisses, deep and low. The reaper’s sneer could be from either his physical suffering or his emotional one. It isn’t enough. Nothing will be enough.

“We started this...with everyone being suspicious,” the rag doll continues. “And we nearly. Lost. It all. When they found that bruise.”

The damn bruise. Maybe that was enough. Maybe they did deserve to never be near her again, if this is what was destined to happen. Maybe then they wouldn't be cowering, recovering where no one can see, in the inn where Hidan tried fish, where Kakuzu began to wonder if he could still find some semblance of a good life. Good fucking riddance to that.

“We were let back in," he seethes, burning and burning with coal of hatred in his chest. "And YOU… You…!”

The grip gets tighter. Hidan hacks again, but no fighting back.

“You may have ruined everything we had.”

Bit by bit, shaky violet eyes unclench, a stutter in the reaper's throat:

“I…” he tries to explain, as best as he can, “I...tried to save her—”

A smack as Kakuzu holds him by the collar and cracks his knuckles into Hidan’s head.

“FUCK!!! Asshole, that HURTS!”

“HOW DO YOU THINK SHE FEELS?!”

And just like that, he’s awake and coherent, at the spur of a woman’s autonomy on the line. “THAT SHE HURTS! THAT’S WHY! That is WHY—!”

His punctured, mutilated chest heaves up and down, a still weary set of lungs catching breath now that it’s been injected with righteous fury. Mask over Kakuzu’s face, all you can see on him is his green, red, glittering anger. Hidan spits, blood in the saliva from somewhere in his impaled guts.

“Kakuzu…!” He needs to understand; Hidan HAS to make him understand. There HAS to be a way—! “She...she’s sick. She’s sick real bad, Kakuzu…”

Kakuzu barely has enough tact to keep the thought of “of course she is” held back from his lips. Through Hidan’s quivering, determination, as ever, overtakes his being, even when he’s bloody and cut and beat up and at the mercy of the world’s most fucked up surgeon, literally holding him together by a single thread. Through the shake eyes have in their sockets...there lies something the old man has never seen before— not in him.

A secret can't be kept any longer.

“I ask her to hurt me to stop her from hurtin’...herself.”

And something in Kakuzu clicks. Little...by little...his iron hold laxes. More...and more...until Hidan is let go. Wide-eyed for a new reason, the masked man now grips onto his own head and falls back against the wall. Hidan’s brow curls as he watches this happen, a long pause of silence until the priest's partner manages to speak again. The rage, perhaps, is gone...or at least redirected.

“...How long?” he asks.

And Hidan knows what he means, though he hesitates to tell. “...Since we got back from the desert," the answer is mumbled. Days and months and full seasons away. And he knows— he knows before Kakuzu beats him to the punch:

“Why?" And then, more urgently, confused. "Why? Why didn’t you...—?”

But he can’t finish the thought, wretched as this all is, barely under wraps like a bedsheet trying to hide a corpse. It’s the reaper’s damn responsibility. His gaze casts down in shame.

“Never felt like the right time.”

Ironic how Kakuzu heard her say the same thing just some hours ago. Finally, finally, the man pulls off his mask lest he suffocate any more, raises his gaze in search for connections and answers. “Hidan…” he mutters. Unsure what to ask next, he simply states thoughts as they come. “There’s no way she asked for this.”

Blood rusting against the stitches on his neck, his chin tilts diagonally away. “...That’s right,” he admits. “I just...told her. I told her she could. I...showed her...she can.”

“And you thought this would make her better.”

...Hidan knows an accusation when he hears one. A magenta stare flickers up to meet the challenge, though head stays meekly down; the man is contradictions, the very thing the woman admired him for. “Better,” he repeats. “...Not perfect. But...”

Kakuzu sighs. “...Better.” Against his better judgment, he understands. He understands much more, now. His skull rests against the planks of wood that make up the inn room’s wall. Heavy lungs exhale. How naive. How stupid of him. The woman he named Takara told him so clearly how her story finished. But Hidan...Hidan…

...He looks at Hidan now, cloak open and barely draped around him, hastily thrown on pants with red seeped into its cloth. On the few missions they shared...since they started to live in that house...Kakuzu had noticed the marks. They always healed so fast. But they were still there. New and fresh and already fading. It had been noted but information not made use of. What did it matter what the guy did in his own spare time? A lot, evidently.

And that is how Hidan got to see how the woman tumbled her way towards the end.

And the rag doll presses his fingertips to his forehead, the sliced headband that eternally reminds his own betrayal and loss, and closes his eyes. Now that the girl is stable and the priest has explained...the exhaustion in him begins to overtake. He needs a second...he needs a moment lest something in him break when his strength is needed most. In this break it provides, Hidan’s spirit too searches for respite; it only makes sense he looks to the thing that’s always calmed him down.

He looks to the side.

There she is.

Laid up on the bed. Kakuzu’s cloak underneath, opened up so you can see the way her chest goes up and down when she breathes. In...out... Like a zombie, he staggers forward mindlessly, without realizing he is until he's already there.

She’s just in her underwear. Used to be something clean and pale, so it wouldn’t show under her dress. It’s a shade of pink now, splotched in different depths of it, based on how long and deep the blood got to soak. He’s standing over her now, and his stare traces all the way down, top of her head...her half open eyes...and lips...neck and breasts...stomach, cunt...thigh. The skin there is angry and reddening. Normal bodies resist the healing process so much more than Hidan’s does; he can already feel the insufferable itch that comes as cells reattach, layers close back in on their own. Hers, though...it isn’t going to be so fast.

Even with Kakuzu’s mending, it’s going to hurt for a while.

Hidan takes a deep breath and feels himself bob side to side, still struggling to focus. His grasp reflexively goes for his neck, but not finding the intended target, instead combs up into his hair, providing a sensation to try and help him concentrate, stay awake. “My necklace…” he murmurs, “My damn necklace…” To pray over her. To ask for forgiveness. Lids crack open...and something is different.

She is looking back at him.

And the whole world stops.

...And he feels like the luckiest man alive.

“Look at her…” he whispers. Because he certainly does. He’s helpless but to lean in, put his hands forward in her space until, as before, they figure out what they want to do. “That’s my angel…!”

Gentle, his palm cups her cheek and Hidan begins to sink closer down. He can feel Kakuzu watching. And it isn’t that he doesn’t care, no...

He’s asking him to see.

“Look at our girl…” And for the first time, this whole time...somehow...someway...Hidan begins to smile. His knees get onto the bed and he looms over her, closing in..and in...and in...until his forehead is pressed so reverently onto hers.

“Isn’t she something…?” he asks, a tremble in his voice. All this time, he's never forgotten the first day he met, how he felt his lord Jashin place a hand on his shoulder and behold...behold the one who will change your whole life. His eyes screw back shut, and she can feel his sharp inhale, both in pain and in marvel. “Isn’t she beautiful…?!”

And she wonders if she’s dreaming, as tears fall on top of her face. Is he...? Is he really...?

“She did such a damn good job…!” a pious soul struggles, gritting his teeth, sneering his lips with effort and overwhelming, holy emotion. And Kakuzu can only watch, no idea what to make of this, no idea what— if anything— he can do. The reaper's lone confidant is begged for once again:

“Kakuzu…”

And the man's breath hitches, a witness in the corner. The Jashinist is all but a puddle, barely held up by his own scratched arms.

“It’s our girl, Kakuzu…!”

The named man remains where he stands, entirely dumbfounded. The most selfish person in the whole world is praying over her, to her, and asks him to do the same. Stitched lips part but can’t find words to speak. He watches her...as she watches him. Even half closed, the big starry eyes are so soft, so knowing. She looks then at Hidan, and Kakuzu can already tell there’s no anger in that heart at all.

She manages...her first words.

“I’m...s-...s-..." Though inevitable, they let her finish. "Sorry.”

And quivering, trembling with adoration, Hidan tells her through sobs, “...Shut up.”

The stars begin to well at the bottom of her eyes, and the ocean, drip by drip, escapes in the saltwater that falls down her face and stains onto the pillow.

He’s only being like this because he feels bad...right? Right? She remembers what he said. “I’m not...beautiful…” she corrects, barely audible at all. “You...don’t..have to…”

And with only Kakuzu and Jashin as his witness, Hidan can't take this anymore shuts her up himself. Overtop of her, in this dingy little inn, he does what he should have done from the very start. His palms hold her face...and with all the gentleness in the world…

He kisses her.

He kisses her.

He kisses her.

In…

…

Out...

The sigh of breath as he pulls back, just enough to look her in the eyes, push stray locks off of her forehead. “I don’t care anymore,” he says, only now that they’ve reached the brink, the edge of universes and fate and faith and chance. “I don’t care about that fucking book. I love you. I love you! Jashin, damn me, I—!”

He.

Kisses.

Her.

And this time as he pulls back, she finally knows how to speak. It takes a moment of furrowing her brow and thinking past both bliss and throbbing pain. “...Book…?” she repeats, dizzy with the taste of him on her lips, blood and all. His eyes narrow but his grin widens, both adoringly and spitefully.

“So you didn’t read it. That’s it.”

A gasp. Her mouth opens.

Despite himself, Kakuzu can only watch. These idiots will figure it out, after all, despite everything and themselves in their way.

“I...I don’t…” Finally, finally. “I don’t...know...how to read.”

…

A stutter.

A twitch.

And a laugh.

Hidan laughs, slamming his fist into the pillow, bitter and relieved all at once. Before she can apologize again, he sits up, winding in an inhale of air and rolling his shoulders, finally feeling like a free man.

“Babydoll…! After all this time...!”

And she can feel every inch of him shake with the next rough, roar of a laugh, as Hidan kneels over a woman who hardly believes this is happening at all.

“Angel, baby…” The word takes on a new meaning now, next to these others. She thought it was just a nickname, an extension of sorts of their relationship...and well...it was. But it was a lot more than that, too.

But it’s hard to outright call someone your love, your light, your everything when you aren’t sure what they feel back. Finally, his eyes roll back down, and he looks more like his usual, coy self...maybe even then some.

“...You could have saved us a lot of trouble.”

Us.

...Wait.

Hidan flinches, visibly shifts. His smile drops. “Wait,” he realizes. And all of a sudden, he feels so wrong. Shit...shit...! She didn't even SAY! “I— do you—?”

A woman's too stunned, stuck within dreams of the beach and heavenly touches come to life, to fill in the blanks for him. He has to ask. He has to be the one to stop assuming, and to save them some trouble. And so he swallows his pride and he begs, one word at a time:

“Do...you...love me...too?”

In the way that he loves her. Because he never figured out what she meant when she said "love" before.

And weight of his shadow on top of her, heat of his body, the sweat on his stomach...the kindness of his face…

Silly. Silly things, they are.

“Yes,” she tells him. And she swallows the ‘but’. “Yes,” she promises him, no backing down. “Yes,” she exclaims, in spite of everything in her telling a woman that she doesn’t deserve it.

And, savoring every inch of it, Hidan comes down and kisses her yet again. Her eyes close, and it still doesn't seem real.

She does not see as Hidan turns his head to look at Kakuzu...not only acknowledge him but beckon him here. The stitched man’s jaw drops; he had thought his fun, the little bit of delight, was all over. Even if Takara was willing to share, Hidan wouldn’t.

Oh how wrong he was.

“Look at our girl,” Hidan tells him again, a cock of his head used to gesture, soon as Kakuzu stands at the foot of the bed. “Isn’t she somethin’?”

And she is. Kakuzu feels himself losing his breath, the twitch in his hands and the blood rushing in his veins. He sees what is happening—

“Hidan,” he mutters. “Be careful.” No, indeed, no rage at all, not even a bit. “She’s still hurt. She’s still scared.” The reaper snorts, giving a lopsided smirk.

“But you fixed us up so nice…!” the silver-haired demon coos, and as he combs into her locks again, the woman’s eyes open. He smiles at her, so very devilishly, longingly. There's no stopping him and Kakuzu can tell. Another secret has to be told:

“She’s never kissed before.”

...

...

Hidan rolls his shoulders and looks back; the lust in his eyes is not reserved just for one, and Kakuzu wears a target on his forehead. Fuck. “...And how do you know that, you old bastard?”

That shuts Kakuzu up right quick.

“You make it to her before me?" the younger man retorts, relentless. "Kakuzu...I’m hurt!” And before she can mumble a sincere apology, Hidan presses a thumb onto the lips of this conversation's subject. “Well...baby,” he turns to ask her now...and all of a sudden she's noticing him stripping off a cloak of black and red clouds. “You ever fucked?”

And of course she hasn’t.

He knows she hasn’t.

Couldn’t have if he was the first person she saw nude. And he’s looking right. At. Her.

"Then I get to be the first at something else."

All of a sudden she remembers how naked she is. That and the glimmer in her eyes makes Hidan so very, very excited.

“I’ll be the first to make you cum, baby.”

A gasp and her heart pounds so heard it hurts. Hidan continues, pinning her down with hooded purple irises as he talks it out to Kakuzu, lest he ruin the moment, make her even more scared.

“I promise...I promise I’ll be gentle... We'll talk it out and nothin' happens she doesn't want..." The tongue that sips blood comes out, swirling slowly over his lips. "And ain’t gonna touch that cute little garter you put on her pretty leg...no matter how much I wanna.”

She looks down. The stitches of her wound do look like a garter. Pulsating pain or not...it…�� Oh shit. It took all this for her to realize what is about to happen.

...Just as Hidan places one knee...over the other side of her pelvis...and begins to straddle. That's what it takes.

“Lost your tongue, eh angel…?” he leans in close. His nose rests into her neck. “Then do what you do best…” he instructs her. “Sing to me instead. The first one. The one you said in the woods about prayin’. I wanna make you feel that way...”

So even since back then, not even a full day. That’s all it took for lonely Hidan to change his mind about whether or not she’s pretty. She swallows, and worries try to resurface and explain.

“I...I’ve never…”

“She’s scared.” Kakuzu repeats himself in interruption, and suddenly he’s so much closer, too. Hidan opens one eye and glances up to his partner, daring.

“Then help me show her,” he says. “Help me show her she doesn’t need to be.”

And then the rag doll and his duckling lock eyes. Her lips part with nothing to say but disbelief, sighs and grunts and gasps. She looks so innocent...is so innocent...but as Kakuzu sees the bob in her throat to swallow again...as she sighs...as she begs with eyes alone…

...He just needs to be sure and actually ask. No more assuming. Not this time, especially not when they're her first.

“Do you want me? Us…?”

The line between reality and fantasy blurring is the only thing that holds her back. She looks at them, two men as different as night and day… She went from having the worst day of her life to...to...this…! She’s dreaming. She has to be dreaming.

...And if that’s the case...

Then...

Then there will be no regrets.

Then she can say...yes.

The permission is mouthed and that’s all it takes. The world's most hellish want a bite of heaven. Hidan dips in first.

The man eases into it, trying to keep advice in mind, trying to go slow, starting at her forehead...then her mouth...over the length of her neck, down to her breast. She stutters...and that's when the woman catches as Kakuzu gets onto the bed, easily residing the little free space left. That gorgeous brown hair of his is free, dreadfully long and brushes the top of his muscular bust. A glance of admiration— or perhaps, rather, amusement— and a big hand tenderly takes one much smaller. The man at first just holds it, noting how soft, how selfish he is to know it at all, then raises it next to her head, pinning it by the wrist as he begins to bend down.

“You can say stop at any time,” he reminds, behind her ear in the low voice that sends tingles down her spine. But why on earth would she do that, she thinks, when she's longed for so long? “You’re in control here.”

But is she? How can she be when she is being touched, caressed, held by two men she’s wanted so desperately all this time? She’s going to lose control entirely...but she can appreciate what he means by that.

“Just...don’t...touch my leg…” She’s already whimpering; they’re going to have to draw this out, lest it end so soon. Kakuzu nods, his silky hair bobbing with the motion. He picks her hand back up and traces it onto his stitches...over his chest...down his stomach.

“Do you like this?” half sincere, half teasing. “Don’t flatter me for its own sake.” Of course she nods. And on her own, to answer that question, her hand moves further down.

For someone who hasn’t handled a man’s cock before, she’s damn good at it.

The stiffness already forming firms even more, Kakuzu so hard underneath his attire, coddled in her touch. How many times has he touched himself, imagining something like this? In the bath, getting undressed...one hand balancing himself against the wall while the other pulls?

Maybe as much as Hidan has. Maybe as much as she has.

As Kakuzu moans, so does Hidan. “Angel…” he praises, a palm over her other tit with his mouth takes a break from the first. Not even sex can keep this bastard from talking, though she doesn't mind, not at all. His words just make it all the more incredible. “Look at us, angel. Two of the biggest and baddest and you’re gonna make us cum in our pants like it’s nothing… What a good girl, eh…?”

And he raises up, if only to watch the cute expression she makes as he squeezes, sees the give of flesh between his fingers. The bra just gets in the way.

“Let’s get that nonsense off…”

A flick from his pocket and she’s set free. Kakuzu hums in satisfaction. “Damn kunai...good for something after all…” All the same, he watches the woman for a reaction, just in case it’s too much, being reminded of the weapon. A bit of a glint in her eye, a vocalization of startle—

Hidan catches on first. It’s thrown to the side, far away from where the blade can touch her again. Doesn't need it anymore. “Rest I’m gonna do myself," he says. "Gonna make the old man watch. Can you do that, girlie? Come on...show us how wet we make ya... I'm sure you are...!”

The strap of her underwear is pulled down, and it confirms how right he is. A big, big grin stretches in satisfaction. With that, there's only one question left:

“How do you want it, angel?”

…

It takes a moment for her to realize what that means.

“Face up? Face down? Me? Him? Both of us?” So quick he goes back on his word, his desire to tease the partner he wants so much to beat. Just the sight of the mounds of Venus and all a man wants is to get her off. Choices given, they both give her time to collect, to coherently choose. With some reluctance, Kakuzu takes her hand off his crotch, and Hidan lifts himself up by the palms to get a good read on her face. Sweet little thing...already so hot and bothered. She really hasn’t fucked before. If there was any doubt before, certainly isn’t now…

The woman looks at them both, two men radiant with adoration and lust after holding it in for so long, no outlet for it until everything fell into place. A perfect storm. Surely they want to get inside her...and she nearly asks for this—

...But.

But.

She is still afraid. Even if a little. Even if only because she does not yet know her own body quite so well as they may. And so, despite how much she wants to give, it has to be okay if she takes, instead. Surely they won't mind.

“T-t-touch me,” she pleads under her lost breath, words she’s held back for so long. “P-p-please…!”

And she’ll be touched with hands and mouths as hungry as they are vicious.

Darker lips hold onto hers, matching palms taking their turn massaging nipples and feeling her moan into his mouth, letting her feel the moan from it, too. Her legs are spread open as a man tastes the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tracing his tongue around. In between kisses, she sings as requested, even if soft, even if broken up, even if hardly said at all. Even if it feels a little bit silly. It's all that they asked for, so it's what she's got to give. She begs of them:

Take me to church

Waves of her are ridden, unintentional bucking of hips. Her breath quickens...and raises...and loudens... Until she’s begging, until the sound of her crying and screaming in pain is far, far away. Now, it is ecstasy.

Kakuzu holds her hand as she grips tight, and he pulls away just enough to see the look on her face for what comes next.

A moan.

A clench.

...And with her lovely, lovely voice...a release.

Hidan looks up at her, magenta eyes hooded and something thicker than saliva dripping from his lips. A drop of blood is staining into the rest of the liquid. Just as the story started, the girl gets her finish with a reminder of Jashin, of the blessings he bestows. He laps it up, long and slow to savor the taste. To show her how good it is to be in his position.

But a good girl still needs a break before it’s the old man’s turn.

She gets to soak in the hot spring and watch as Hidan decides to finish, next, what she had started, holding his partner's dick like that, getting him nice and hard with nowhere to go. She holds around Kakuzu as he pulsates and moans, and he stretches one arm and pulls her in to brace himself. She whispers to him that it's okay, she likes him holding her tight. The rag doll, with that permission leans his full weight, cheek pressed against her head as he uses his other hand to grip Hidan by the hair as he so wonderfully sucks him dry. Kakuzu worships no god, but he can see the appeal in having a goddess. A goddess and her dutiful priest with a big mouth to shut up.

He can at least understand now...what makes someone worship something outside of themselves.

An exhale and the woman is there to feel his entire body relax. Silver locks drip as they emerge from the surface, a lingering kiss on Kakuzu's jaw and Hidan inhales deep, catching his breath, and wraps around him and his angel, legs and arms and all. His nose finds home in the other side of her, so she is so warmly, snugly flanked by two S-rank missing-nins who will never let her go.

Three of the undead, three who by fate...or luck...or whatever the hell makes life work...ending up like this, together. Fucked up, fucking, and fucked. Sensations unending at least until it’s time to go, lest the others wonder where they ran off to.

But not just yet.

If anyone asks, though? They have two zombies to get through. That assurance alone...helps their treasure feel safe.

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, good God, let me give you my life

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Heyy can you write something with the “Bandage you up” trope for NedCat. After an injury or something :)

Of course I can! Loved the suggestion so I hope you’ll like this little drabble. Enjoy!

Ned’s hands were so gentle they barely touched her, still Catelyn had to fight to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over. By the gods that hurt, the pain was terrible. The only thing she had been through that was more painful was childbirth.

If only her horse hadn’t been spooked by that squirrel. She had believed his temper to be better than being frightened that way, he had never bolted like that before. And she had been riding him for years.

“Ah!” she said through gritted teeth.

She had to close her eyes as Ned continued wrapping the bandaging around her swollen and bruised wrist. It had been broken in the fall.

“I know it hurts” Ned said softly. “I’m sorry, but it’s necessary.”

They had not brought the maester with them for their journey south, though Catelyn had reason to regret that. She trusted Ned, she merely wished Luwin had been the one to do it instead.

Even as Ned showed great care she had to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from making noise. It was embarrassing, as if she was a child and not a woman grown. The pain didn’t grow any easier to handle simply because she was aware of that she should have taken it better.

“I’m almost finished” Ned said after what felt like an eternity.

“Oh thank the gods.”

Both old and new.

There was such pity in his gaze when she opened her eyes to look at him. It was accompanied by a frown so deep no one else in the world would have been able to do it. By the gods could her husband frown.

“You need not look so worried” she told him even as the pain was making her sweat a bit.

“You are in pain” he simply said. “I wish you were not.”

“It will pass.”

He gave a low sound at that. It could have been agreement, though it also could have been disregard. She couldn’t quite say.

He fastened the bandage and very slowly laid her hand down on the table between them.

“Thank you, my love” she said, moving her fingers a little just to see what it felt like.

When he was no longer touching the wrist and she didn’t move it the sharp pain was replaced by a dull ache. Better, yet still awful.

“You needn’t thank me” he answered.

He left the chair and leaned over to kiss her cheek before going to put more wood in the fire. She was glad for that they had not been far away from the inn when her horse bolted.

She was tired and hungry, would have liked to leave her chair, but stayed seated. She didn’t want to move just yet.

“How come you can do this?” she asked.

He had always had a maester close, the same way she had always had a maester close.

Ned seemed to take great care with putting more wood on the fire before giving her an answer.

“I have seen two wars, I had to learn.”

Of course. She should have understood.

When he turned to face her and stood upright again she held out her working hand towards him. He didn’t hesitate before returning to her and taking her hand.

His hand was so warm and it felt so right to hold. As if her hand had been made for his.

“You did it well” Catelyn mumbled, leaning against him.

Ned laid his free arm around her shoulders. When he held her to him he took care to leave her injured hand perfectly still on the table. Her left hand.

“That’s my dominant hand” she sighed.

“It will heal.”

“Before that I will not be able to do much.”

She would not be able to write or sew or embroider or do anything that required precision or using more than one hand at a time. It would be far from pleasant.

His fingers brushed over her cheek. She barely had time to look up before his lips were against hers, kissing her softly.

“You will have help” he said when they parted.

In a moment of forgetfulness she moved her hand up to touch his cheek and immediately came to regret it.

As the pain shot up her arm she grimaced and she noticed the change in Ned’s expression as soon as he saw it.

“Would you please fetch something for us to eat, my lord?” Catelyn asked. “I’m starving.”

He needed to occupy himself with something that was not looking at her. Worrying so much would not do him well. And her pain would not lessen because he stood there and frowned at her.

“Of course, my lady.”

Another kiss before he left, then Catelyn was alone with her broken wrist. Gods be good, she was already tired of it.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Imagine

Taking care of your stupid reckless Slasher S/O.

Holding Michael's hand gently in yours as you watch him carefully for any sign of pain that you know he surely wont feel when you drop antiseptic onto the stubs where his fingers used to be. Wrapping them up nice and neatly afterwards in gauze, and then rubbing your thumb ever-so-lightly over where the injuries are. You're silent together throughout this process; You biting your tongue and him thinking about when he can go at it again.

Flicking Freddy's jaw every time he tries to look down again and tease you when you're focused on trying to sew his head back to his neck again, sighing and rolling your eyes when he shows little-to-no care for his own predicament even though he asked you to do this favour for him. Squeezing his shoulder whenever you get uneasy from the gore of it all or the thought of him putting himself in a situation where someone was able to hack his head clean off his neck- either one.

Giggling and shaking your head at the silliness of it all when Stu comes at you in the hallway in school, holding his pointer finger which has a paper cut on it, declaring quite publicly that you have to give him 'True Loves Kiss' or he'll die. You're all too happy to do so, having him dip you in the middle of the corridor and other students- then taking him to the med bay when he whines that it actually does sting and he requires a band aid.

Giving Drayton the best production of Bambi Eyes you have ever mustered just to get him to stay in his damn bed when he's gotten sick. Telling him you'll cook for his brothers, you'll tidy up after them, you'll bring him some tea later. Just please stay in bed. Then stroking his hair until he falls asleep, because he secretly likes it and sometimes, when he's feeling really dreadful, he'll admit it.

Peeling moss off of Jason when it becomes uncomfortable for him (When it creeps into his eyes, or has gotten too thick around his neck, or... other, uncomfortable places). Taking you utmost care to peel it away carefully, then rubbing a thumb over the skin to soothe it and giving him warm smiles every now and then. He knows he can take some pain, but he appreciates the effort.

Making sure Billy goes to his doctors appointments when he breaks his arm after his mum leaves. Also retying his sling for him, asking him casually if he needs any Advil or not, looking at the injury with a deep frown when you're under his other one and he's busy talking to Stu- then him giving you a kiss on the head every time, as thank you even though he cant say it.

Giving Bubba massages when his muscles get stiff or he's tired. Digging your thumbs into his forearms as you massage upwards in circular rotations and having his eyes follow your movements in pleasure and curiosity, scraping your fingers back over his scalp when he's got a headache and effectively turning him into snoozy mush, sliding your knuckles up his back and watching how his fingers dig into his hair to keep from losing his mind with how good it feels, etc. Just making Bubba feel good and cared for.

Using tweezers to dig another bullet out of Chucky's torso and stitching it up, making him swear and twist to try and get away from the sharp steel, before you spray the wound with antiseptic and wrap it up. Then hiding your face in your hands as exhaustion washes over you (The thought that one of these days he's going to die and there will be no saving him weighing heavily on your shoulders), but a moment later he leans down to you kneeling between his legs and pulls your wrists away from your face. He flashes you one of those uneasy, ghost-blue grins of his and tells you you did a great job on that one.

[lale-txt]

🍭 sharing a dessert w/ Perona & gn!reader

a/n: for my darling @sugxrslushy <3 this was my first time ever writing Perona, i hope i did her justice ;w; but i enjoyed it a lot! i was very looking forward to writing this because she was the only gal that got requested and also bc i looove writing my friends‘ favs hehe.

word count: 977

„You‘re not on breakfast duty, what are you doing that early in the kitchen?“

Perona yawns and wraps her arms around you from behind, burying her tired face in the crook of your neck. Her lips kiss your bare skin softly, sending a warm shiver down your spine. You can‘t help but smile, taking her hands in yours and closing your eyes for a bit, enjoying the sleepy kitchen cuddles. Earlier you were careful not to wake her up as you sneaked out your shared, cozy bed but apparently she had noticed your absence immediately.

„It was supposed to be a surprise… but since you‘re here, let‘s do it together?“, you suggest and hand her a whisk. She looks curious over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the recipe.

„Flan? Oh, I‘ve heard of that, you told me all about it!“

She shuffles to the other end of the kitchen (the tiredness from ten seconds ago completely forgotten) and comes back with two aprons. She sewed them herself for your first anniversary. After you had spent many date nights together in the kitchen, it was just fitting. Hers was black with lavender frills and a little pocket to keep a tiny plushie, yours was in your favorite colors and had her jolly roger on it.

You help each other tying the aprons behind your backs, paired with lots of kisses on the cheek and forehead, both of you giggling like the fools in love that you were. Not a day has passed where you didn‘t feel like the luckiest person walking on earth with her by your side. With a gentle kiss on the lips you take the two scrunchies from her wrist, carefully tying her messy bed hair in two ponytails so it doesn‘t get in her way.

With one of your favorite vinyl playing softly in the background, the two of you finally get to work. You knew this recipe by heart, how could you not? It has been passed down for generations through your family and something that always reminded you of home, just like she did. Carefully you instruct her step by step. She was eager to learn more, it was a delight to watch her in the kitchen. Perona knew what she was doing when she prepared the caramel and also watched you carefully when you explained how to do the filling. During the time the flan was baking in the oven, you worked together to clean the kitchen again, feeding each other the sweet leftovers.

„Is it ready to eat yet?“, Perona asked eagerly as she watched you take the flan out of the oven, tiptoeing around you in anticipation. You shake your head and smile apologetically. „We need to cool it down in a waterbath first and then put it in the refrigerator for a few more hours.“

The disappointment from her face vanishes when you suggest making a few sandwiches together and play some video games meanwhile. This girl was easy to motivate and was happy as long as you could spend time together— but so were you. Hand in hand you run back to your shared room, greeting Mihawk and Zoro cheerfully as you pass them in the long hallway, letting them know that you left them a few sandwiches ready to eat in the kitchen. None of them were questioning where you were running off to — probably your usual Kuraigana Island shenanigans.

Time flew by, you spent hours playing and napping together and as the sun started to set outside, you snuggled closer together under the warm blanket. If only you could lay like this forever, with all the worries being shut out, just pure bliss and a love that was as soft as cotton candy.

„Do you want to do something forbidden?“, you whisper into Perona‘s ear, your thumb drawing small circles on her hand that lay in yours. She gives you a look and instantly knows.

„Food in bed?“

You nod and let her pull you into a sweet kiss, her excitement almost spilling over like that big strawberry milkshake once did that led to the food ban in bed in the first place. But tonight, you didn‘t care.

You pick a handful of flowers through the open kitchen window and put them in a small vase on the tablet, next to the finished flan. Carefully you balance the whole thing back to your shared room where Perona was already waiting eagerly with the biggest smile on her face. Her eyes widen when she sees the flan gently wobbling from side to side with every step you take and your heart feels so full and warm. That was all you ever wanted. By now, the memory of her big smile had burned itself in your heart forever.

„It‘s so cute, I don‘t want to eat it!“, she exclaims, giving the dessert a small jiggle with her spoon, grinning from ear to ear.

„But the first bite is the best. Here…“

You dig in with the silver spoon in your hands, taking a small piece from the side and turn to Perona, smiling when you see her open her mouth to let you feed her. She takes her time to taste it, overexaggerating in her gestures until she dramatically flops back to the bed, yelling out loud that it was the best damn thing she had ever tasted and that she demanded more. You spend the night feeding each other, cuddling and kissing in between until you fall asleep next to the almost eaten flan, waking up in the morning and remembering why you had that food ban in bed in the first place… but it was all worth it, because once again you were reminded that your love tasted sweeter than caramel, melting your heart as if it was made out of sugar.

[adi06lena]

Snow wear

Natasha Romanoff x fem reader

word count:699

warning: none?

summary: y/n makes sure Morgan doesn't freeze

A/n: i finished this a couple days ago but yall are getting it now. this is the only thing i got done/started during my extra week of break so imma work on the request i have and maybe some blurbs. also i totally forgot to put snow pants oml.please reblog yall. enjoy!

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

I sat there with Nat watching pepper get Morgan ready to go in the snow. She's doing it all wrong. If my mama had dressed me like that in Russia I would be dead from hypothermia. she is wearing good pants at least. She still can't go out like that. She's only got a sweater and mittens on. 

“Hey pepper your doing it wrong let me show you” 

“Sure” 

She steps aside. 

“Can you grab me one of her thick coats -you'll need to get her proper winter coat-, a beanie, a good pair of gloves and a scarf?”

“Isn't that a lot?”

are she kidding me?

“No. Have you seen it out there?”

We both look out the window seeing huge swirls of powdery snow flying around.

“Okay i'll go grab those then”

She walks off to Morgan's room.

“Are you excited to go outside morgan?”

She lets out a very loud squeal.

“YES YES YES”

I giggled at her excitement. I keep her distracted till I see pepper in my eye shot. 

“You got the stuff?”

“Yes. I have a coat, beanie, gloves, and a scarf. Will that do?”

“Yes”

 ll walk her through it for next time.

“So you start take the mittens off then with a sweater zip it all the way up”

I crouch on my knees and start. She nods as I finish zipping it. I stretch out my hand.

“Gloves next”

She looks hesitant but hands them to me anyway. 

I slip the first glove on and tighten the velcro.

“Get a hockey lace and sew it to the gloves so if she decided to take them off they don't get lost”

She nods.I slip on the other one and do up the velcro. 

“Okay next her winter coat”

She hands that to me. I put it around her shoulders.

“Alright love first arm in”

She slips it in and wiggles her arm a little.

“That comfortable, hon?”

“Mhm”

“Good. next one”

She slips the last one in and wiggles her arm again. I start doing up the Velcro on the jacket.

“You need to make sure you do up the Velcro on the wrists. It keeps snow from getting snow in them and the gloves”

She nods along. I zip up the jacket to her chin. I can feel nat staring at me. I smooth out the jacket. 

“Okay now the scarf”

I gently wrapped the scarf around her neck and secured it by tucking it in her jacket.

“Are you still comfortable?”

“Yes”

“Good”

Next is the beanie.

“Okay pass me the beanie”

Pepper hands it to me. I slip it on her head making sure it covers her ears and the back of her neck. 

“You need to make sure it covers the back of her neck and her ears okay?”

I look over at her to make sure she's listening. She nods.

“Okay”

 I pull the hood of her jacket over her head and secure the button.

“Always secure the button so it covers her chin”

I assume she nods. I make sure everything is covered so she will be warm.

“As well as going over everything to make sure she stays warm”

“Okay”

I stand up and walk over to nat.

“She's good and can go outside”

She looks kinda funny, but she will be warm. Morgan can't stay still. All i hear is Morgan asking if she can go play

“You better get going or she's gonna drive you nuts”

They both quickly head out. 

“You know that was a lot right?”

I look up at Natasha.

“Was it really though?” 

“Well-”

“Don't fight over this with me. You'll lose”

She puts her hands up in surrender.

“Okay okay. Im sorry papillon”

“That's what i thought”

Nat just laughs and pulls me in by the waist. I wrap my arms around her neck. She pulls me in for a kiss.

“She looks like those kids in the snow suits”

“Is she warm?”

“Yes”

I peck her lips.

“Then that's all that matters”

She laughs against my lips. I love her laugh.

“It's just gonna get worse with our kids isn't it?”

“You got that right baby”

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

make sure to drink and eat. get some sunshine!!

Adi out<3

[ofhouseadama]

Ed gets drafted into the Navy right after high school, and in between finishing basic and getting shipped out to the Pacific, he promises Lorraine that the next time he sees her, he's going to propose.

after high school, Lorraine needs something to do so she gets a part time job as a secretary at the Diocese of Bridgeport helping wrangle parish finances and correspondence and other clerical and administrative work.

(this is where Lorraine first meets a young Father Gordon, who occasionally borrows her because she knows her way around a files room and takes excellent notes; he hears a lot about her boyfriend who's away on a ship in the Sea of Japan)

Ed and Lorraine write... a lot of letters during this time, which range from very chaste and heartfelt to NC-17 horny teenage screeds referring to their 3-day sojourn when they were seniors in high school, their many misdeeds in the back of Ed's car, and the time he snuck her into the Alamo Theatre after it closed so that they could have a "private showing" of a movie they remember very little of

when Lorraine is too anxious to sleep, she sews her wedding dress. she saw the pattern a few weeks after Ed left, and liked it, and bought it. she's been slowly buying yards and yards of satin and lace and tulle.

Ed squirrels away all the money that he can towards buying a wedding ring set for Lorraine. after he buys them while on shore leave in Tokyo, he keeps the rings in the breast pocket of his uniform shirt, next to his heart, to feel close to her.

his ship strikes a mine and goes down in the small hours of the night in June of '53; the rings are in his shirt pocket, and Lorraine feels it immediately. Father Gordon has to drive her home from work, and believes her immediately when she says she knows something bad happened to her boyfriend.

Ed makes it home to Bridgeport ten days later; he gets in a taxi at the Navy yard and immediately goes to Lorraine's house. she meets him at the front door before he can even knock and tackles him on the front lawn.

he proposes to her while very exhausted and not exactly coherent.

technically, she proposes to him because she tells him they're getting married and she's not waiting any longer.

these are two hotly contested facts for years to come.

they get one very hasty pre-cana session in as the Moran family (+ Father Gordon a little bit) cash in all their political capital with the church to expedite a wedding as soon as humanly possible.

Georgiana and her friends plan the wedding, everyone is very concerned about Lorraine's dress. Georgiana tells them they should be more concerned about Ed's dress uniform, currently at the bottom of the ocean.

(He wears a suit from Sears. It's fine.)

the story of Ed Warren, hometown boy, as the sole survivor of the sinking of the USS Saint Paul makes the local papers and absolutely no one remembers to tell his father that he made it home until a full 24 hours later.

Ed and Lorraine get married exactly two hours after the end of the legally-required 72 hour Connecticut waiting period elapses. it's a Friday afternoon.

when he sees her in his dress, Ed absolutely cries.

their wedding readings are Romans 12:1-2, 9-18 and Sirach 26: 1-4. it's not a full wedding mass, due to time restraints. it's actually nothing like Lorraine thought her wedding would be like, but she's so relieved Ed is alive, and he's not allowed to go back to the war without being her husband.

their reception is some cake and champagne in the parish hall, Ed's hands have been shaking so badly all day that he can't manage to get cake in her mouth off a fork so Lorraine grabs his hand and sucks it off his finger.

by this point she's had three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

it's over by the middle of the afternoon, and they're speeding off to the same aunt's beach house that they ran off to when they were seventeen, this time with permission and this time knowing the whole drive down that they're finally going to have sex.

Ed spends much of the four-hour drive from Bridgeport, CT to Cape May, NJ rucking the many layers of the skirt on Lorraine's dress up her legs, running the hand not on the steering wheel of the car up and down the inside of her thigh, keying her up.

they arrive shortly after dinner, having eaten cheeseburger and fries in the car in their wedding clothes, and are suddenly very very nervous.

even though they've done everything except the technical deed itself.

as Ed peels himself out of his suit and tries to not psyche himself out, Lorraine goes into the bathroom and changes into the peignoir and robe she made for her trousseau. she comes out of the bathroom to grab her brush to take her hair down, but Ed asks her to sit on the bed and pulls all the pins and flowers out himself, gently brushing her curls.

when he's done, he moves onto gently touching her. the last time he saw her naked was also in this bedroom, as they shook with restraint. now they're shaking for other reasons, hands rediscovering each other's bodies and warming themselves on each other's skin.

kissing her neck, he reaches one hand in-between the halves of her robe as the other moves her hair off her shoulder, exposing more skin.

he rucks the hem of the sheer white peignoir up to her knees, then her thighs, then her hips. Ed decides that he needs to make her orgasm before they have sex, because if he doesn't last long, then at least she'll be satisfied.

he eats her out like a man with a point to prove, because he's nineteen and very much is one in this moment.

it's been almost eighteen months since they've been physically present together, and they didn't have much alone time together before their wedding, and Lorraine feels like her body is on fire. it's been so long, and she feels like a bullet leaving a gun. it doesn't take much to make her cum, and Ed manages to do it several times before she's hauling him up her body.

he's still not done getting her ready, unable to not think about every horror story he's heard about bleeding and pain and discomfort and the terrible jokes from his bunkmates.

(they're all dead now. he tries to not think about that, why he lived and they all died. why did he survive, if not to make Lorraine feel good? if not to make them both feel alive? he needs to feel alive, and when he drinks her with his mouth and feels her clench around his fingers, he finally does.)

he sucks hickeys into Lorraine's neck and chest and breasts, keeping her high as he circles her clit with the fingers on one hand as he plays with her nipples with the other.

he is harder than he's ever been in his life, he thinks, pumping two and then three fingers into her. she's wet and all over his hand, dripping down onto his wrist. he wants to eat her out again, taste her again. his mind is a feedback loop of her pleasure.

Lorraine is trying to touch him, but her hands don't feel entirely attached to her body. she ends up curling her fingers into his hair and pulling. the sharp pain is delicious, and he moans while lapping at her nipple and thinks he might see God.

eventually he realizes that she's begging, chanting "now, now, please now, Ed, please--"

they both feel lust drunk and clumsy, all limbs as they take their clothes off, as Ed slots himself between her thighs.

she hasn't touched him at all, and he thinks if she does he'll cum immediately.

he pushes into her slowly, incrementally, watching her face the whole time.

she gasps, bites her lip, scrunches her face up. then, it starts to feel good, and her eyes flutter closed, and she moans.

he doesn't want to move. he wants to move more than he's wanted anything in his whole life. dropping down on his elbows and forearms, he shakes while hovering above her.

Lorraine's mouth is a perfect "o," and slowly she tests out how she wants her legs, first pressing her heels into his calves, then his hamstrings, before pressing her knees in at the sides of his hips. it feels incredibly intense, and she's not quite sure what to do with herself. she no longer feels in control of her body. all of her gifts of perception narrow down to hyper-perceiving Ed, the red sheen to his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, the sweat dotting his brow, his heart in his chest. his racing thoughts, his love for her. she feels him inside her body and inside her head. she shivers.

she squirms, trying to get him to move.

he does not, burying his face in her neck.

eventually he realizes that, as she traces her hands up and down the side of his spine, she's whispering, "move, honey, you gotta move, oh God please move, Ed honey please--"

something in his head breaks loose a little bit, and he snaps his hips into hers. when she moves with him, it breaks loose entirely.

it's entirely unskillful and uncoordinated, but Lorraine is already so close to orgasming again that it doesn't matter. when she cums again, Ed's entire brain malfunctions and he stops, watching her, feeling it and feeling her. she reaches down and straight up spanks him, telling him to keep moving.

doubling down, he sucks on the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder, and doesn't last much longer than her.

he thinks his vision almost whites out, gripping her hips tightly as he cums inside of her before pulling out of her and collapsing, happily burrowing his face into her breasts.

Lorraine laughs, wrapping her arms and legs around him, holding him to her tightly.

the insides of her thighs chafe a little, and she feels a bit raw, but she likes it.

they almost fall asleep that way, but Lorraine knows that's probably not a good idea. her mother knew enough about their relationship to know that Lorraine needed a little bit of motherly advice before her wedding night, but not that much. after rolling him off her, Ed promptly falls asleep on his side of the bed.

he didn't sleep the night before.

Lorraine takes a quick shower, washing the shellac out of her hair and scrubbing the make up off her face. she doesn't bother to redress, just gets into bed with him. he feels her weight on the mattress and rolls over, blearily reaching for her to pull her against him. he's half in between dreaming and wakefulness, and slides his hand up to cup her breast in his hand.

"can we do it again?"

[shadow--writer]

Please do cuddling hcs with the main six! You’re headcanons are so cute!!🥺🥺

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!! I’m so glad you’re liking them! I hope you like this little blissfilled cuddle headcanon mess I have created XD

oh and headcanons close this friday (Jan 29th) so I can work through the ones in my inbox! AND!!!! We hit 100 followers :DDDDD I was asleep when it happened but the ungodly shriek I let out omg.

I’ll make a separate post on a fun little thing I have planned to celebrate, but until then please send in headcanon requests before I close them! Once they’re closed I’ll probably open something up to ask about my apprentice.

Headcanons will not be closed forever, just until I get what I have in here done but I’ll make another post lol. Enjoy cuddles!

Main six x MC cuddles

~~~~

Julian

Full body cuddles my dudes. Legs tangled in yours, hands running through hair I mean full body

His favourite cuddles though, are when you two are facing one another

Chest to chest cuddles, with your arms around him and his around you

It means he gets to look at your beautiful face and it means even cuddling for both of you

He loves it when your limbs get tangled together, especially when it’s too the point where he can’t tell where his legs start and where yours end

Kiss him

Do it

Kiss that nose of his

I dare you to

He’ll let out a high pitched squeak and turn bright red

After seeing you giggle at the squeak his eyes will narrow and you can feel the chill of uh oh

Revenge kisses

He’ll kiss your neck softly, but leaving before you get what you want

He likes seeing you pout

Cuddles are some of his favourite things in the world. It’s no secret he likes being little spoon

But I raise you this

Big spoon Julian letting out little whimpers as you kiss his arms and lace your fingers together over your stomach 

Asra

Asra loves being big spoon

Loves it loves it loves it

He loves holding you close, pressing kisses against the back of your neck and running his hands down your stomach

They just love holding you, and if you fall asleep in their arms they’ll just listen to you breath, face buried in your neck

Lace your hands together and he will straight up die and go to the afterlife

He loves holding hands he just...loves touching you

Faust will curl up on your head making it triple the cuteness

When you big spoon they like snuggling right into you 

The way you two curl around one another it’s like putting on a nice pair of warm socks

So many blankets and pillows

If you two move around too much while cuddling the pillows you stacked up with fall on you

Making a pillow cave

Plant kisses along his neck as you spoon him, go on and do it

He’ll let out a small squak, before nuzzling into the touch

They fall asleep very easily in your arms, but they do love chest to chest

But spooning is their fav kind of cuddles

Nadia

Nadia loves spooning you 

She’s never been the little spoon before but she’s open to try it

She loves it

She loves the feeling of your arms around her, and she’ll press soft kisses against your hands and wrists

Things are very soft and quiet during the mornings

Nadia likes cuddling with you, she doesn’t get to do something like this often 

So it’s a real treat being able to spend this time with you 

She enjoys talking to you while you’re settling into the sheets of your bed

When you spoon her make sure you kiss the back of her head, and keep your voice soft when you talk 

She’ll fall asleep like that, holding onto your arms and tangling your legs together 

When the two of you do mundane tasks together, like read, sew, etc she’ll settle her shoulder against yours

Soon that turns to you lying down in her lap while you do whatever you’re doing

She likes that type of cuddling the best

Silently doing tasks while being near one another

Muriel

Poor baby hasn’t cuddled with anyone besides Asra

He’s so scared to cuddle with you, last time you spooned him he rolled over and squished you

He misses your touch though, so you decide to come up with a system

Chest to chest cuddles are really nice

But having his head in your lap

mmmm that’s where it’s at my guy 

Running your hands through his hair while he falls asleep, reading to him as he’s curled up on your legs

Domestic bliss

If you can, play jetpack for him

Run your hands down his arms as you hold him, kissing where his neck meets his back and his shoulders

He’ll melt into your arms

It’s so quiet and blissful he loves it so much 

When he holds you it’s like a giant holding onto a small stuffed animal 

Prepare to to become the teddy bear

Kiss his hands and arms and he’ll squeak (like Julian)

But don’t stop touching him, he’ll sink into the touches

He loves holding you, that’s his favourite kind of cuddle

Portia

As I have said many, many, many times before (and it is canon!) she has tons of pillows and blankets

So cuddles are amazing covered in blankets (a purring Pepi) with tons of pillows piled under and on you two

Portia likes hanging on your side

She likes messing with your hair, braiding it and combing it out with her fingers

She really likes it when you hold her hand and settle into her body 

Pepi will curl over your guyses legs, purring gently as you two talk and doze off

When you’re cuddling in bed she wraps her entire body around you

She sleeps like a starfish much to your amusement and dismay 

You love her but you’ve gotten kicked off the bed twice in one night

She’s very cuddly when awake but not as much when she’s asleep

Unless you hold her which she’s not opposed to 

She likes it when you hold her, your legs braiding together in a way

Hold her hands, kiss her ear

She’ll let out a little sigh, falling asleep in your arms as you shower her in affection 

Spoon her and maybe you’ll be spared from falling on the floor

Lucio

Lucio is VERY pro touch and cuddling

He loves it when he’s holding you and you snuggle into him

But he really really likes the quiet almost intimate silences of cuddling

Playing with your hair, playing with his

Taking his prosthetic off and kissing the skin and scars there very gently while murmuring compliments

Putty in your hands

When he holds you he’ll kiss wherever he can reach

Neck, head, shoulders, spine everywhere

He loves it when you do it back to him, kissing his arms, fingers and hands, neck, face

He loves chest to chest cuddles, arms wrapped around waists and holding one another close

Kiss his nose, the corners of his mouth 

Play with his hair while talking softly

He really likes talking with you like this. It’s nothing serious just stuff about one another's day, the weather, a funny story or two

Anything

everything 

He loves hearing your voice and feeling you close to him

He’ll fall asleep to the sound of your voice as you run your hands down his arms in slow circles

[lene-loki]

Underneath Your Clothes

Summary: (Y/N) is a custom tailor on Asgard, assigned to design a new suit for Loki. Although feeling intimidated, she finds it hard to resist the god of mischief.

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff :3

Word Count: 1,498

A/N: Hey guys! I hope you'll like this imagine. Let me know ❤ With Love, Léne xx

Y/N = Your Name Y/L/N = Your Last Name

Your stomach grumbles in anxiety. Entering the castle of the royal family of Asgard with a bag full of the sewing supplies you'll need, you can't help but to already feel intimidated.

This morning you got a call from the speaker of the royal family with the request of a tailor-made suit for the prince. Of course you have gotten all excited to not only meet the royal family but to have one of your works being worn by the prince is just marvelous. You are a custom tailor and have a little tailoring on Asgard so you're a little astonished about the fact that they wanted to hire you. And of course it'll be a great advertisement for your little dressmaking. Somehow you assumed the entire morning that they meant Thor when they told you to make a suit for the prince. But you got the awakening just an hour ago that it can't be Thor, since he's on Midgard - and everyone on Asgard knows it. So there's only one prince left. You swallowed hard.

Now you are standing in the gigantic hallway, not knowing where to go or what to do. Are you supposed to just wait or do they excpect you to search someone by yourself? "Miss (Y/L/N)?" A voice from behind you startles you. You turn around and are being met with a friendly looking woman. Her voice reveals you that she is the one who called you earlier. "Yes." You smile and shake her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." "The prince is already waiting in the dressing room. Please follow me." She says in a friendly tone and you nod. Your legs are becoming wobbly because you are going to meet Loki. The younger malicious prince doesn't really have a good reputation on the planet. You wouldn't say that you are frightened of him but you're respecting him. And you are scared. The only thing that calms you down is the fact that this won't take long. You'll just taking his measurements, make notes, ask him if he has any imaginations about the piece of clothing and then you'll leave. Until you see him at the fitting of the finished suit again. But that is laying ahead in the future. The woman knocks on a huge door before opening it. "Your royal heighness, the custon tailor arrived." You are shaking when she turns around to you. "You can go in now, Miss." You nod and insecurely walk inside. The woman leaves you alone and closes the door behind her - what is not helping your anxiety at all. Loki is not paying attention to you so you softly clear your throat. "Your royal highness." You mumble unsure. This makes the god of mischief look up. He eyes you up and down - looking surprised. "I didn't expect a woman." He simply states, not greeting you. "Well, last time I checked I was one." You try to joke and let out an akward laugh - embarassing yourself in front of him. Loki starts to grin, enjoying how nervous you are in his presence.

You are setting your bag on the floor next to a desk. Loki is already standing in front of you, waiting patiently for you to tell him what to do. "I.." You don't know how to tell him the next sentence without blushing furiously. "I need you to get undressed." You avoid his gaze, knowing very well that he is grinning again. He doesn't hesitate and starts to take his clothes off. You try not to stare as he unbuckles his trousers but you just can't look away. Your face is burning from a mixture of embarassement and sudden attraction. Loki is now fully undressed besides his underwear. Holding your breath, you're rummaging the tape measure out of your bag. Feeling insecure you look up at Loki as if asking him for permission to touch his body. He lovingly holds your gaze - something that takes your breath away. With shaking fingers you put the tape around his abdomen, brushing his soft and warm skin. You carefully look at the numbers of the tape measure and write them down. You repeat the progress with his cleavage, his upper arms and chest. The whole time he is watching you with a fondly smile. It makes you blush even harder and it's getting hard to keep your composure. He is being so nice to you, it makes your stomach tingle. But then you have to measure his waist and upper legs. With twitching fingers in nervousness you put the tape around his waist right above the hem of his underwear. Loki notices how much you're shaking and you press your lips tightly together, being ashamed of how unprofessional you're looking right now. His hand softly engulfes your wrist. "You don't have to be so nervous, darling." He smiles, his voice making you weak while his soft fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. Absentedmindely Loki starts to tenderly caress your skin with the tips of his fingers. You are still holding the tape measure around his bare waist, your eyes now locked with his and it feels like time has frozen. You grow into pudding the more he gives you his warmth. A trail of goosebumps appear all over your skin. You feel like you're falling in love right on the spot with Loki. Swallowing hard, you try to continue your work while the prince watches you in awe. He touches you lovingly from time to time and his silent praises make your belly tingle.

After you're done with measuring his body, you put the tape away. "You can get dressed again." You smile softly what he returns. "Before I go, I brought some fabric samples in different colors." You say, rummaging them out of your bag. At the end, Loki is choosing an all black suit out of the finest asgardian silk. You pack your things up and smile a last time at him before saying: "I'll return as soon as the suit is done." He smiles brightly. "Thank you very much. Now, I never caught your name, darling." He says and you know what he is trying. "I'm (Y/N)." You say shyly. "A beautiful name, dear. I've been extremely pleased to make your acquaintanace." With burning cheeks you leave the castle.

You spend the next week in your dressmaking, sewing the suit for Loki. But now you have reached the inevitable point of having to go back to the kingdom. You are still feeling fluttery inside your stomach from the last time you've been together with Loki. Deep down you are excited to meet him again. You wouldn't admit it but when you were working on your sewing machine, you would often daydream of the feeling of his tender touch on your skin. With the suit in a protective cover draped over your arm, you are entering the royalty.

Loki smiles as you come into the huge dressing room. The sight of him again after a week without seeing him, knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your knees almost buckle away, the tingling in your stomach is overwhelming you. The emotions you are feeling right now in his presence are intoxicating your mind and you feel like you've drunken too much asgardian alcohol. "(Y/N), how lovely to see you again, darling." He immediately says. You just smile shyly, not trusting your voice. You give him the suit and he gets undressed and dressed again in front of you, making you break a sweat. He is changed now into the satin suit and looks so handsome that your mouth starts to water. You clear your throat to make your thoughts disappear. This is not the right time to lust after the prince like some pubescent teenager. He grins widely and does a little turn, self-confidence dripping from his voice as he asks you: "How do I look?" "A-Amazing." You stutter, not being able to think before you talk. You take a step closer to him to set the collar of the shirt. You are so close to him now and he is looking down at you again with that loving twinkle in his eyes. Your hands are beginning to smooth out the fabric on his shoulders even though there is no need to. You just want an excuse to touch him. The suit really fits him perfectly, there is no reason to change something. But you can't take your hand away from his body nor your gaze which is studying the soft features on his face. You somehow want to stay. You have this urge deep down inside of you to be even closer to him than you already are. Your whole body is consuming after him. And you just know that in the moment he places his hands on each side of your hip that he is just as attracted to you as you are to him.

[ahatintimepieces]

In Want of Stitching

I am delighted to present another little fic for the build-a-bear au by @smieska-draws​‘ and me! Smieska generously offered to let me post her incredible art above^ with this fic where Hattie is reunited with her favorite doll from her childhood! The doll is worse for wear, but Hattie knows just how to help! Be sure to give Smieska your love, and if you missed it, the previous fic is here. Without further ado, enjoy!

Words: 4,180

Hattie kicked her legs as she perched on the table in the breakroom. One hand was propped back, nestled between Dimitri’s bag and her backpack, and the other held her dwindling milkshake left over from dinner. While she waited for her dad to finish up with the last customer before closing, she watched Dimitri fuss with the supplies on the shelves.

He struggled to pull out one of the drawers and the sharp jostle of the handle caused the whole structure to shift. He froze and Hattie’s eyes widened as they waited to see if the cleaning items up top would tumble. While the bottles wobbled like a spinning toy wavering to a stop, they stilled without any avalanche and Dimitri and Hattie relaxed.

“I’m just going to deal with that in the morning,” Dimitri huffed, turning around. “Don’t tell your dad.”

Hattie gave him a thumbs up as she reached the dredges of her milkshake and the straw gurgled as it sucked air between the last of the frosty cream. While he crossed over to the rack of aprons, her gaze drifted down to the floor. The off-kilter shelf had shifted away from the wall, revealing a large dust bunny.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to get a better look at the mound of grey that seemed to cover something else.

“See ya tomorrow, kid?” Dimitri prompted, snapping his name tag against the magnet on the wall.

“Probably!” She lifted her chin.

“Boss says a daycare center has scheduled a trip to the mall, so we might be busy,” he sighed, reaching for his bag. She scooted out of his way and nodded.

“That could be fun. But also noisy,” she offered, glancing up as she mentally noted to warn Belle, Mu, and Timmy that they needed to avoid the food court for lunch. Maybe hide in the café connected to the bookstore.

“Noisy is right.” Dimitri swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Will Dad have to work on the floor?” She lowered her empty milkshake.

“I imagine so,” he paused on his way to the door. When she placed the cup down and blew a raspberry as she slouched, he prompted, “why?”

“It just means I have to keep Mu and Timmy away. They’re trying to prove he’s magic and can blow things up with his mind.” Scowling, she swung her legs a little too hard and the table creaked underneath her.

“Is that why they asked him to heat up their—”

“Lunch?” She crinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

Dimitri sucked in air before bursting into laughter.

“They looked so mad when he used the microwave!” he wheezed, gesturing to the other table with the offending appliance. “Mu’s stink eye nearly killed me!”

“It’s dumb,” Hattie grumbled.

Catching her frustration, Dimitri reeled in his laughter and cleared his throat.

“There’s no harm in it,” he tried. “The boss can be a bit eccentric, and it can be fun to pretend, but I’m sure even Mu and Timmy know he’s not actually able to light things on fire or…” he paused, giving her a curious look, “steal souls.”

“They sure act like he does.” She turned away, cupping her chin in her hands.

“Have you told them it bothers you when they fixate on it?” Dimitri asked sympathetically.

“Yeah, and they ignore it because they think he actually does all of those things.” Her glare hardened.

“You could talk to the boss?”

“I don’t want him to know about the rumors.” After a beat, she looked up to meet Dimitri’s blank expression. “What?”

“He knows,” he said dryly. Her jaw dropped and he softened. “Listen, you might want to just talk with him about the whole Snatcher myth if it’s getting under your skin, but it’s not harming anyone. I think it also gets the store more foot traffic from teens, which isn’t usually our intended demographic. So, in a way, it even helps!”

Hattie groaned, flopping onto her backpack and staring at the ceiling.

“Hang in there, kid.” His shoes tapped against the tile as he walked towards the door. “But just talk to him. See you!”

“Night, Dimitri.” She gave a halfhearted wave as he left. Once the door shut, she fixated on the faint buzz of the lights in the breakroom.

Seconds ticked by.

She heaved herself up, bored with staring blankly and too tired to stew in her frustration any longer. After scooting to the edge of the table, she dropped down with her flipflops slapping against the ground. She intended to toss the milkshake cup and pester her dad while he closed the workshop, but her gaze shifted back towards the shelves. The oddly large dust bunny piqued her curiosity once more and she crossed over.

Crouching down, she prodded the clump of hairs and silver dust. A dead fly was caught in the webbing and bits of dirt or crumbs were suspended on the hairs. But when she pressed down, a firm something lay between her and the tile.

Shifting, she pressed her cheek against the wall and peered into the crack between it and the shelf. Behind the dust bunny lay a small doll, crushed and crumpled.

After a precursory check for spiders, she reached back and pinched one of the doll’s puffy sleeves. The dust bunny tickled her finger, and she crinkled her nose in disgust. As soon as the doll was pulled out into the open, she batted the wad of grey from its mitten hand, and the cloud of minuscule debris floated harmlessly to the ground. She gasped when she held the doll out in the light.

Beneath the grey streaks of grime, a missing button eye, the torn right arm, and a left hand hanging by a single thread, was the prince doll that she had loved so dearly when she was younger. Her heart soared, but the doll’s state soon had guilt souring her joy.

It had been ages. The last time she saw the doll, he had been a bit worn, but still intact. She had been near inconsolable when she lost him. Her dad promised to get her a new, better doll, but she loved the prince doll because of all the memories they shared. Despite all her searching and tears back then, her dad urged her to move on as the doll had continued to elude her. And no wonder! All this time, the doll had been in the breakroom rather than home. He must have somehow fallen behind the shelf at the workshop when she had been playing, only to be shoved deeper and deeper into the dark over the years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, frowning at the frayed threads where a button used to be. When she poked the remaining button, it wobbled, threatening to soon snap away as well. She brushed back the yarn hair, covered in dust that caused the chestnut hue to appear murky. The felt crown looked more brown than yellow, and ashen stuffing dripped from the doll’s arm and broken wrist.

But… it was still her favorite doll. Though it had been years, relief surged through her chest.

“I’ll clean you up!” she promised to herself, gently giving the dusty, dilapidated doll a soft hug.

She knew how to sew, at least! And she had the materials at home. She could even surprise her dad! He always reacted positively when she showed him the hats or masks she made.

Scrambling to her feet, she carried the doll over to the table. She grabbed a couple of tissues to wrap him up, both hoping to keep him protected and intact and to prevent the dust from spreading in her backpack. She was just tucking him safely into her bag, nestled between new fabric she got from her millinery lessons earlier and a graphic novel that Timmy recommended, when the door thrust open.

She turned, noting her dad’s slouched posture as he removed his apron, which was common on days he had to both open and close the workshop. Holding his hand over his mouth, he tried to cover a wide yawn, but his sharp fangs still glinted in the light.

“Time to go?” Hattie prompted while zipping up her backpack.

“Finally, yes.” He paused, glancing towards the shelves. “Did Dimitri refill the sewing kits?”

She shrugged in Dimitri-solidarity when her dad turned back around. He accepted it without further prodding and tossed his apron onto a hook.

Hattie slipped on her backpack gently to keep from jostling the doll as her dad pulled out his hair tie and scratched at his scalp. He grabbed his keys and waited for Hattie to shuffle over.

Once he finished locking up and took her hand to lead her through the dark parking lot, she mentally went through the list of supplies she needed to fix up the prince doll. Neither she nor her dad said a word as their footsteps tapped against the still warm gravel. But that was normal for them. Her dad didn’t usually have much to say unless otherwise prompted by people or work, especially when he was tired. So, she continued her quiet pondering all the way home, staring blankly at the streetlights as the radio played family-friendly tunes at a hushed volume.

As soon as they got home, Hattie dashed into her room. She swept her arm across her workbench to clear away the new beret she was making and placed her top hat on the hat display stand her teacher had given her. Since she only had one, it was her favorite top hat that got the place of honor. Then, she dropped her backpack onto the ground and retrieved the prince doll.

He lay on the tissues that were now smeared with grey. Even just folding back the material caused Hattie to swiftly turn away and sneeze, jostling him as he perched on her palm. She’d need to clean the doll, but the open cuts in his arms worried her. After prodding around, she decided it might be better to pluck out the dusty stuffing, since his arms were closed off from his main body anyway. The loose button, too, she thought to remove to ensure easier cleaning.

She got to work, walking back and forth between her room and the bathroom as she ferried supplies. If her dad wondered what she was up to, he didn’t comment as he settled down in the living room to quietly read.

Setting up a doll bath in the sink by lowering the plug, she submerged the doll into the water with iridescent bubbles lining the porcelain. His one arm threatened to come off and his other hand floated at an odd angle. Undaunted, Hattie stuck out her tongue as she scrubbed the dust and cobwebs from his hair. The felt crown popped off at one point, and while she rescued it, the original gilded color seemed beyond saving so she decided to replace it. But she kept the crown nearby so that she could copy the size and shape.

Once the years of neglect were scrubbed away, Hattie drained the sink and rinsed the soap suds from the doll. The chest felt heavy with the water, even more than the lolling head. But hopefully the doll would dry just fine.

While wringing out the water, she tried to squeeze the doll gently, intent on preserving the fragile threads. Finally, she laid him out on a towel and used another to dab up as much water as she could. Wondering if she could borrow her dad’s hairdryer to speed up the process, she hurried into the living room.

“Da-ad,” she called as she padded onto the carpet. “Where’s your hairdryer?”

“Under the sink in my bathroom. Why?” He turned the page of his novel without looking up.

“It’s a surprise.” Arcing around the table, she peeked at the title. She recognized it as Ember’s latest recommendation from her book club. Curious, she slipped over to the armrest where he reclined. She leaned over his shoulder and identified Ember’s annotations that lined the margins in pencil, confirming that she had loved it enough to lend him the book.

“Should I be worried about this surprise?” he asked, unbothered by her hovering.

“Nope!” she chirped cheerfully as she jumped back to face him.

“Carry on, then,” he muttered, his golden eyes flittering back and forth as he read.

The amber light from the lamp behind him skipped across the strands of his hair, painting the coal-colored locks with flickers of iridescent violets. With his cheek pressed into his palm and his elbow on the armrest, his gaze momentarily flickered away from the book as he used his pinky finger to turn to the next page.

“Need something else, kiddo?”

Instead of answering right away, she hopped onto the couch and crawled onto his chest. He held still as she flopped onto her back, staring up at the book.

“Is the story good?” she prompted.

“It’s crafted well.”

“But are you enjoying it?” She tilted her head back into his shoulder. He kept his eyes ahead.

“Not really.” He sounded calm as he said it.

“But you don’t hate it?” she clarified.

“No.” He turned the page.

She sighed, not expecting anything different.

Usually, it didn’t matter. But she didn’t want the same reaction if she asked how he felt about the rumors of the Snatcher. She knew Dimitri thought she needed to talk to him about it but…

“What would you do if you had magic powers?” she asked instead.

“What?” That got him to look down. He quirked a brow and she shrugged.

“If I had magic powers, I would make my top hat like a bag of holding. I could carry all my stuff everywhere and be prepared for anything.”

“Oh.” He relaxed and lifted his gaze back to his novel.

“So, what would you do?” she repeated.

“Hm?”

“What would you do with magic?”

He hummed, lifting his head and reaching over to help steady the book as he turned the page. Once he settled back, he shrugged.

“I’d use it to heat up my coffee.”

For a split second, she wondered if he was also privy to Timmy’s and Mu’s speculations.

“That’s boring.” She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m a boring person,” he provided.

She grumbled and he continued to read. Scooting closer to his arm holding the book, she wedged herself into the crook formed by him and the back of the couch. He shifted slightly, but otherwise let her get comfortable. She curled up so that the side of her head pressed against his chest.

There was a muffled crackling sound, like crinkled paper.

“Hey Dad, do you know about the Snatcher?” She tensed.

“You mean what everyone calls me at work?” He managed a snort. “Or do you mean all that talk of soul-stealing?”

She snapped her head up, baffled.

“Y-you’re okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He met her gaze, though from the way his palm squished his cheek and he leaned back, he seemed far from interested.

“Because it’s not true!” She gestured wildly. “Isn’t that something your dumb books talk about? Unfair deformation of character.”

“I think you mean defamation,” he corrected with a sly grin.

“That too!” she insisted.

“It gets us more customers and makes my job more interesting. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.” He started to tear his gaze away, “But speaking of my dumb books—”

“But you don’t snatch souls or eat them!” She sat up, knocking his book back. He huffed as he lowered his arm. She perched on his stomach. “People are scared of you!”

“There are worst things,” he said in a lackadaisical tone. Since he couldn’t read, he swiveled his head in his chin to look out at the living room. He tapped his sharp nails against his cheek pensively.

“But Dad—”

“Hattie, it doesn’t bother me,” he interrupted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Didn’t you have something you were in the middle of? The whole Snatcher thing doesn’t matter. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line to keep from pouting.

“But why doesn’t it bother you?” she tried once more after a moment.

“Kid, that’s enough.” He wiggled his arm trapped behind her back to coax her off. “Go run along.” He suddenly sucked in a breath and covered a noisy yawn. The creases under his eyes deepened as the shadows stretched away from the light.

Hattie deflated.

“Fine,” she grumbled, scooting forward.

He grunted when she leapt off his stomach, but his focus returned to reading without another comment.

Hattie retrieved his hairdryer and returned to her bathroom, where the prince doll remained drenched. She turned the setting to no heat and plugged it in. While the drone of the hairdryer filled the bathroom, she zoned out.

All this time, she had been trying to shelter her dad from the rumors but apparently, she was the only one who cared that people thought he could suck souls out with his fangs like some sort of vampire who loved to sunbathe and didn’t mind garlic.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered under the whirling hairdryer. She glared down at the faceless prince doll. His mitten hand fluttered precariously while the gash in his bicep caught air and caused his arm to fluff up like it had stuffing again.

Her features softened as she carefully tilted the dryer back and forth.

She would rather her dad wasn’t upset by the rumors, which is why she waited so long to say anything, but somehow it felt lonelier than ever when she was the only one who cared.

With a slight slouch, she turned the dryer away and then carefully rolled the doll onto his stomach. She finished drying him out and placed him on a fresh towel while she cleaned up. And though she passed her dad as he returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug while she was on her way to the laundry room, he didn’t question her bundle of towels under his hairdryer.

Her step gained an enthusiastic bounce when she was finally ready to fix the doll. She carried him back to her workbench and gingerly set him down. For reference, she carefully pried the old storybook from her shelf and opened to the most crinkled set of pages, worn from love and constant rereads under her covers at night.

“Here it is, Prince!” She presented the first illustration of the kindly character with puffy sleeves greeting bluebirds, bunnies, and deer. She winced at the doll’s blank face. “Whoops. You can’t see. But don’t worry! I’ll fix that!”

She propped the book back against the worktable and used the beret and open sewing kit to pin it open. After she grabbed a handful of stuffing from her reserves in one of the drawers, found a button to match his eye, and sorted through the spools she’d need, she finally sat down.

Now that the doll was clean, his vibrant crimson coat and purple boots looked just like the illustration. But the blush on his cheeks had faded and one of the stitches meant to look like laces on his boots had frayed. With steady hands familiar with detail work from all her hat making, she looped thread through a sharp needle and got to work.

Fixing the boot and resewing the buttons was a bit tricky, but once the prince had his eyes again, his blank features regained the warmth she remembered. She stuck her tongue out as she restuffed his arms. At first, she wondered if she could add a little muscle definition but no matter how she finagled the lumps, she couldn’t get them to look right.

“Sorry, you’re stuck with noodles for arms,” she lamented dramatically, tugging out the extra fluff.

His large button eyes stared at the ceiling.

The final challenge was stitching his hand back on, and only because the mitten hand was so tiny. She struggled to keep it in place as she threaded the needle through his wrist. After having to backtrack and redo the area a couple times, she eventually got the hand snuggly back into place. The stitches lined his wrist, mostly concealed by the edges of his sleeve.

Then, she only needed to close the tear in his bicep and was able to hide the work under the gold band of his puffy shoulder. Once she placed the scissors down after snipping the final thread, she leaned back with an exhale. As she stretched out her back, she appraised her work.

“How do you feel?” she asked, cupping the prince doll and giving his arm and wrist a few squeezes. When she tapped his button eyes to ensure they remained firmly in place, she glanced up at the illustration to compare. She jolted.

“Your crown!” She whirled around, looking for the dull accessory that had popped off during the cleaning. Her head snapped down and she heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed it had fallen onto her carpet.

She grabbed the felt crown and procured a piece of scrap cloth leftover from the bright yellow beret she intended to give to her dad when it was finished. Snipping the dull crown to flatten it out, she traced its pattern on the scrap fabric. After she cut it out, she glued the edges together, careful to keep it seamless as she held the ends with tweezers.

“Perfect!” She held the new crown next to the prince’s head. She found a lump near the base of the yarn hair where the other crown had been glued previously and glued on the new crown its place. Once the glue had dried and the crown remained fastened to his head, Hattie beamed at her work.

“You look perfect!” She leapt to her feet, hugging the doll to her chest. “Let’s show you to Dad!” She darted over to the living room, shouts of excitement welling from her pride, but she skidded to a stop when she found him fast asleep on the couch.

She heaved out a sigh that dissolved into a blown raspberry.

Oh well.

Since even the book flopped open on his chest visibly quivered from his shivering, she crossed over to the wicker basket filled with throws and blankets and grabbed his favorite from the top. She dragged it over him with one hand, but when she reached the book with pages folding at odd angles, she looked from the blanket pinched in one hand and the prince doll cradled in the other.

“Watch him for me for a second,” she whispered to the prince, dropping the blanket and trading him for the book.

Her dad flinched in his sleep at the sudden shift, but she was too busy locating his bookmark on the coffee table to notice. After guessing where he left off, she placed the closed book next to his mug, which still had a puddle of coffee. She turned back around to find her dad twitching.

“Dad?” She reached out but recoiled at how much heat he radiated.

While his eyes remained squeezed shut, his chest jerked under the limp doll. Panicked panting gripped his restless slumber but before Hattie could try to wake him, he turned to his side, flinging the doll away as he twisted. Hattie bent to catch the prince as her dad’s breathing slowly returned to a calmer pace.

She placed the doll back on the table, fretting as she watched her dad’s tight brows relax. His long, spiky black hair tumbled over his sweaty features, but once his exhales fluttered out like a flickering ember, he began shivering again. Hattie crinkled her nose, holding the back of her hand to his forehead covered by hair and then to his clawed fingers.

Almost like ice.

Unsure whether she wanted to wake him after that, she tugged the blanket the rest of the way and watched him for a few seconds longer. He usually felt colder at night, often kindling the image of a campfire dwindling as those around it slept, but his sudden spike in temperature concerned her.

Was he getting sick?

A few more moments passed, and he remained steady. Hattie gnawed on her lip but decided not to worry. If she woke him up when nothing was wrong, he’d just get grumpy. She’d make sure to check on him later, though.

When grabbing the prince doll, she found it trembled in her palm. She tried to meter her own breathing to soothe herself, thinking her dad’s temperature spike had left her more shaken than she realized. She calmed enough to stop shivering after nestling the doll into the plush pile next to her pillow. But as she walked away to get ready for bed, she did not realize that the prince doll continued to tremble on his own.

Slowly, and like a heartbeat that just remembered its pulse.

[dreamofthe-wild]

pouring out a cold one for your homie

Fandom: Linked Universe Words: 1,176 Characters: Twilight & Warriors, (Wild mentioned) Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury and use of alcohol

If Twilight had a rupee for every time the group somehow got split up after a battle, he’d probably have enough to buy the potions he currently desperately needed. It wasn’t the first time he found himself up shit’s creek without a paddle, but it’s the first time he’s been responsible for the safety and wellbeing of another person while being completely out of medical supplies. Not even a proper bandage was left in his bag. His spare tunic would only last for so long before it would need to be replaced, and they hadn’t been able to wash their clothing in anything other than wild rivers or lakes in who knows how long.

“I got nuthin’,” he sighs as he tosses his bag against the wall of the small outcropping they squatted in, “ya got anythin’?” 

“Not that I know of, you can check,” Warriors answers weakly from his spot on the hard ground. He waves his free hand in the general direction of his bag, that was also tossed haphazardly against the wall. His other hand presses Twilight’s tunic, now more red than green, against a deep cut along his collarbone. Twilight bites his lip as he leans over to grab the bag.

“How’re ya holdin’ up?” He asks while he digs through the captain’s bag. He knows the answer, but keeping Warriors busy would hopefully help him stay awake longer. 

“How do you think?” Warriors snarks back, but there’s no bite to it. 

“He looks like shit.” Twilight observes. A glistening sheen of sweat dots Warriors’s hairline, and his every breath is noticeable in the way he takes short small inhales to not jostle the wound any further. He looked like he hadn’t slept well in days, and dark bags formed under his eyes like fresh bruises.

Twilight’s hand touches a glass bottle near the bottom of the captain’s bag. He almost cries out in relief, but when he pulls it out it’s a bottle of scotch whiskey. Pretty good quality too, actually. Being a captain had its perks, it seems.

“You sending me off with a party?” Warriors jokes half-heartedly. 

Twilight sets the bottle aside and digs his arm back into the bag, an idea forming in his mind. He likes to pretend he doesn't know how, but Twilight had seen Warriors take a needle and thread to his scarf on more than one occasion. A long piece of cloth would not still be in one piece on a battlefield otherwise. He finds the small sewing kit hidden amongst other supplies and, to his luck, a roll of clean gauze. He pops off the lid of the whiskey and holds it out towards the captain.

“Yer gon’ want some o’ this,” he says. 

Warriors is not a dumb person, at this point he knows exactly what Twilight was planning on doing. He knocks back the bottle and takes a few swigs, enough to make his cheeks warm. Twilight scoots forward on his knees as he’s drinking, mentally preparing himself. 

“A waste of good scotch.” Warriors comments, taking one more big gulp. It burns his throat in the way only alcohol does, he can feel it all the way down to his stomach. Cheeks red and feeling tipsy, he pushes the bottle into Twilight’s open palm, “hurry up and get this over with.”

Twilight uses a bit of the alcohol to disinfect the biggest needle he could find in the kit, and gently peels off the soiled fabric. He’s about to pour the rest onto the wound, when Warriors stops him. 

“Wait, give me your belt.”

Twilight feels stupid for not thinking of that. He pulls off the leather strap that holds his scabbard in place and lets Warriors bite down on it. 

“Okay, count of three.” Twilight says, and Warriors shuts his eyes tight in preparation. 

“One.”

“Two.” He dumps the alcohol on Warriors’s chest early. The scream his friend lets out is muffled by the belt, but the pained wail that follows breaks his heart. 

“I know, I know.” He tries to soothe as he sets to work.

It takes longer than he would’ve liked, and his needlework is not as steady as a seamstress’s, but soon enough he’s wrapping it tight with the bandages he found in Warriors’s pack. Warriors himself passed out half an hour into the procedure, and Twilight is honestly surprised he even lasted that long. The sun is beginning to set outside of their alcove by the time he’s done cleaning up. 

He lightly slaps Warriors’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, “oi, wake up.” The tapping rouses him and he blinks slowly in the dim light. Twilight gently tugs the strap out of his mouth and pats his arm. 

“Yer all patched up now, Cap’n, let’s get some water in ya and ya can go back ta sleep, aight?”

Warriors just nods weakly and lets Twilight help him hold the water pouch to his lips. The water is lukewarm, but feels like heaven to his abused throat.

“Slowly.”

Warriors takes a few sips before Twilight pulls it away and sets it aside to grab Warriors's blanket out of his bag. 

“You rest up, now. I’ll keep watch tonight.” 

He leans over Warriors to lightly tuck the corners of the fabric under him to keep it in place. He’s about to stand when a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

“Wait.” 

Twilight looks up at Warriors’s piercing blue eyes. The captain’s mouth upturns in a small smile when they lock gazes.

“Thanks, Twi.”

Twilight responds with his own smile and a nod. Warriors releases his grip and pulls the blanket up to his chin.

“Don't stay up too late,” he says, although he knows Twilight will be up until the morning doves cry and the crickets sleep. 

“Goodnight, Wars.” 

Twilight keeps diligent watch through the night, ignoring the deep yawns and the weary drooping of his eyelids. He sits against the opening of the cave with his sword nearby, watching the world around him wake with the sun. Rabbits chase each other through the underbrush; birds swoop down and peck at exposed soil, hoping for a juicy worm for breakfast.

He peeks back at Warriors sleeping soundly behind him, watches the slow rise and fall of his chest. He always looked so peaceful when he slept. His intense eyes, under furrowed brows, that scrutinized every battlefield was no longer present. He looked as young as he really was; and wasn't that a kicker, how young they all were. How half of them had started their journey when he was still drawing in the dirt with sticks and wrestling in the mud. 

He sighs openly into the crisp, cool air, pulling the edges of his pelt tighter over his shoulders to fight off the shiver running down his spine. 

“Warriors will be fine,” he tells himself. And when a familiar shout sounds through the trees, and the bright blue of the champion’s tunic makes its way into the clearing, he knows it to be true.

[kaekiro]

The Two of Us

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: T II Words: 2334 II [AO3] Warnings: Manga Spoilers for ch138 and mentions of sex A/N: Snippets of the life Eren and Mikasa could've had. Eren's POV. 

He had long forgotten what peace was, what it felt like to be free of burden, and what it meant to be normal. But he rediscovers it in the songs birds sing early in the morning, the scent of pines just east of their home, and in her quiet but discernible breaths when she falls asleep at his side. He’s never seen her rest so much or known her to be the sleepy kind, but having led the life they did before finding this place, he thinks that she deserves the sleep more than anyone. The warmth of her body at his side is reassuring in its own way, and for once he doesn’t feel guilty for deciding to spend the day resting alongside her, because now they simply could. 

They quickly established a routine once they had settled, taking turns with chores and cooking and small tasks in between. Bit by bit and day by day, the familiarity of it all puts him at ease, but it’s the changes between them that truly give him a sense of peace. It’s the softness of her hands and voice that makes him feel incredibly safe, and he relishes in how she relaxes when he reaches for and draws her near. 

He learns and memorizes little things about Mikasa, her small habits and talents in sewing and embroidery, and how well she could carry a tune. She had been slightly embarrassed and shy the first time he had asked if she could sing for him, and he wondered if she was even aware of her own talent. During that time, they had decided to have lunch in a clearing she had found some time ago while hunting, one that was decorated with foliage and the greenest grass he had ever seen. Rays of sunlight seeped through and between the leaves of the tree they sat beneath, and he had reached a hand up to study how the light spotted his skin in an array of shapes. She took that hand in hers, and he looked up at her from where he lay against the trunk. Wordlessly, she coaxed him to rest his head upon her lap, closing his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. He could have never imagined being like this, unable to believe how different his life is compared to mere months ago. But he starts to become restless when the thought reminds him of everything they left behind, the pending consequences behind it. 

“Sing for me,” he heard himself ask quickly, focusing all his attention on the light blush that colored her face. “Please.”

“You… you want me to sing? But… why?” 

“I…” he began, tightening his grip on her hand when he failed to explain without going back on their promise to not bring up such things. But maybe it showed on his face because her expression shifted into a soft one, and she thumbed a short lock of hair away from his forehead in understanding. 

“What would you like me to sing?” 

“Anything,” he murmured, resting their joined hands on his chest, “anything you want.” 

She nods, and he closes his eyes again, the beautiful melody of her voice lulling him to sleep. 

---- 

They both wonder if they’ll ever be able to fully remedy the nightmares that plague them. He feels awful every time his yells or sudden movements scare her awake, and she apologizes when he wakes to find her crying. Perhaps there is nothing that will fully prevent such things from happening, but it brings them closer together anyway. The cabin had two rooms across from one another and, afraid to cross some unknown boundary, he originally slept separately from her. But soon enough, they found themselves walking across the hall in the middle of every other night when one of them had a nightmare. Sleeping next to one another from then on became normal, almost a necessity, and she didn’t question him the first night he went into her room unprompted just to lay beside her. Instead, she turned to wrap her arms around him and he fixed himself so that her head was tucked beneath his chin. His heart beats a fast but content rhythm at how natural it was to be like this, and though it scared him a bit, he sensed deep down that it was because he was somehow falling even more in love with Mikasa. 

Over time, the furniture in his room collects dust.

----

Sometimes, they argue. The reasons range from small mistakes that come off as careless to things that have either of them venomously questioning whether they made the right decision in running away together. Though it very rarely happens, the latter argument cuts so far deep, effectively silencing and reducing them to stare at each other in a mix of hurt and anger. The argument never progresses farther than that though, and instead ends with her closing their bedroom door behind her and him engaging in work to distract himself. But when their emotions wind down, they seek one another out, and they work to resolve the issue no matter how long it takes. He knows that the hurtful things said were out of anger, but it does little to assuage that constant fear that deep down, a part of her regrets their decision. 

“Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we stayed back there?” he asks her one night as he lays next to her, looking at the book at her lap and then up at her.

The question visibly startles her, and she stares at him with more concern than he expects. She promptly closes the book. “What?” 

“It’s just that… sometimes I worry if…” 

“If what, Eren?” 

“If you are really okay. Being here with me. I’ve made a lot of mistakes… and I still don’t fully understand why you choose me.” 

It’s silent for a moment as his words hang in the air, but then she twists her body towards him, taking his face in her hands. “Eren, listen to me. I choose you… because you’re you. I meant what I said that day, that hasn’t and won’t change.” 

His eyes begin to sting as they look over her thoughtfully, and she implores him to believe her by kissing his forehead and lips and encasing his body with hers, whispering the only three words that could put his fears to rest. 

----

He accidentally stumbles upon her as she dresses for the day, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of her clad only in a skirt and bra, her blouse in one of her hands. He quickly turns away while apologizing profusely, feeling his face burn hotly as he drags a hand down the length of it in shame. There are sounds of clothes rustling, and then her footsteps as she crosses the room to stand in front of him. Her own face is tinged, but she offers a sweet smile when he finally manages to look at her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

She walks out of the room then, leaving him to stand there, confused and unsure of what to make of her words. He swallows around the dryness in his throat, forcibly distracting himself with thoughts of other matters. 

Though after the incident, he senses another change between them. Without realizing it, the few reservations they still had despite being together had disappeared, and they became comfortable with one another in ways they hadn’t before. More often than not, they get ready for the day and for sleep alongside each other instead of separately, and their affections are no longer prompted solely for consolation but within the little moments of their life. Sometimes she kisses him upon thanking him, and he takes her hand in his when they travel somewhere together. And sometimes, they crave more than chaste kisses and innocent touches.

The night had been like any other. She had just finished changing into her nightgown as he entered the room, feeling too lazy to get ready for bed just yet. He sat at the edge of the bed and fell back, unsure why he was more tired than usual. She moved to sit and plop right beside him, voicing the bit of concern she had. In turn, he insisted that it was nothing, but as he spoke, something caught in his throat that sent him into a coughing fit. He had to put his hand up and wave her off so that she’d know it was nothing serious, but she gets up and returns with a glass of water to help him anyway. He sits up and downs the entire thing in a few gulps, feeling instant relief. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, tugging on her hand and looking pointedly at her mouth. She leans over and kisses him, humming against his lips. She pulls back slightly, and they gaze at one another until she kisses him again, again, and again. 

Mikasa uses his shoulders to balance herself, and he lightly runs his palms over her forearms. His eyes open in somewhat of a daze when she suddenly stops, and he gives her a questioning expression when she suddenly looks somewhat nervous and contemplative. Before he can ask if she’s okay, she kisses him fiercely and slips her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. It takes him by surprise but he hardly thinks much of it as he returns her kisses with equal fervor, his hands moving from her forearms to the small of her back. It when she pulls back and she shifts to straddle his lap and press her body completely against his that he begins to pick up on what’s happening, and the room starts getting too warm because he is acutely aware of how her nightgown has ridden up on her thighs, how the heat of the newly exposed skin is easily felt through his own clothing. His wide eyes convey questions and concerns, and she answers by taking his hands and kissing his knuckles, guiding his fingers to the edge of her gown. 

“Mikasa—” he whispers somewhat urgently, stilling their movements and she pauses, averting her eyes as she leans back. 

“Sorry. I… didn't ask if this was okay.” He shakes his head immediately, keeping her from moving away. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says more firmly, curling his fingers around her wrists. 

“It’s…” a sigh escapes him in a heavy, nervous breath. “What if I hurt you?” 

Her mouth hangs open a bit, but then closes with a small but reassuring smile. 

“I trust you, Eren,” she answers before kissing his cheekbone, her lips very close to his ear when she adds “only you.” 

Her words and silent affirmations send a jolt through his heart and bones, and within moments they are nothing but a tangle of limbs as their mouths mesh and gasp for air between kisses. She helps him remove the thin cotton of her gown and undo the buttons of his shirt, and he leans back against the bed to feel the pleasant weight of her above him. They take their time in mapping out the expanse of bare skin, kissing nearly every scar and birthmark, and though their touches and movements are clumsy, it is nothing less than perfect because it’s with her. 

In the morning, he finds her neck and chest dotted with light purple marks. It’s the ticklish sensation of his fingers smoothing over the marks that wake her up, and he feels relief when she says that they don’t hurt. He apologizes anyway and she shakes her head, moving her body to fill the space between them before falling back asleep. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more content.

---- 

He tries so very hard to mask the effects this curse has on him, carrying an extra handkerchief in his pocket to quickly wipe away his nosebleeds, or alter his breathing to stifle his harsh breath after carrying something. But he should’ve known that not even this could slip past her. His days are dwindling, and she watches over him intently and holds him even tighter. If they had been younger, he probably would’ve snapped at her for it, assuming she thought him to be weak. But that was never the case. He knows she’s scared of what’s coming, and it devastates him. The last thing he wants is for this, for them to come to an end. He became so angry and frustrated because the closer he was to dying, the more he wanted to live. He carried guilt for having ended up this way, but it was her who told him that none of it was his fault, that life had dealt them a tragic and unfair hand. 

“Hey…” she murmurs one night as they sit in front of a fire, looking up at the glittered expanse of sky. He moves a bit in her arms, letting her know that he was listening. 

“Do you think we’ll get to meet again? In heaven? Or maybe in another life?” 

The question stings. She sounds so tired but hopeful, and he does not want to lie and say yes when in reality, he had no clue. He tells her exactly that, and she only hums in response. 

“Well… if there is… I’ll find you. And maybe we’ll have better luck then.” 

The fire crackles, sending a cloud of embers into the sky. 

“Not if I don’t find you first,” he answers after a few moments, his attempt at lightening the mood successful when she huffs in amusement. He pulls away from her, prompting her to meet his eyes. 

“Mikasa… no matter what happens, we will always be together. Afterlife or not, I’ll be with you, and you’ll be with me.” 

Tears pool in her eyes and cascade down her face, her voice choked as she says, “promise?” 

He wipes away her tears, and though his own throat tightens, he smiles. 

“Promise.”