#And pour one out for the dead (links)

[whuynh]

heads up y'all, only the second link and the second one from nero-neptune is working. The 3rd from from them is restricted and requires access, everything else is unfortunately dead.

This is definitely not a google drive full of the sleep stuff from the Headspace app, including sleepcasts, music, and wind down meditation, that normally costs 17.99 a month, no siree and you definitely shouldnt share this with people

[mydadleft471]

An Ailing Heart, A Shimmering Soul

Summary: Another Tarnished invades the Shadow Keep and Messmer takes care of them. But something seems off this time. You comfort him when he is most vulnerable.

Spoilers, per usual, for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Warnings for descriptions of violence and a slight amount of spice wink wonk ;D (I've never wrote anything spicy please go easy on my ass, I'm so down bad)

I had two requests, one from the lovely @asianbutnotjapanese and the other from anonymous, and I thought they'd go so well together! I'll link the posts here and here! Thank you both for the requests! I love writing comfort for this lanky man.

As always, thank you for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting! It makes my day every single time!

Another Tarnished had invaded the Shadow Keep today. This one made it to Messmer himself. Many others found themselves terribly outmatched by his many knights and guards.

You waited patiently in Messmer’s chamber for him to return victorious, just as he had done a multitude of times before. Fiddling with your hands, you tried to drown out the screams and thudding from the room adjacent to Messmer’s, but your thoughts did little to distract you. Your mind wandered, as it always did in these moments: would he come back from this fight?

You shook your head. Of course he would. He was a mighty demigod with more than his mother’s wishes to fight for now. He had you. It was something he whispered into your hair when you lay huddled against his massive form in his bed. You were drifting on the very edge of sleep when his voice, silky and smooth, cut through the silence.

“I will return to thee, beloved consort. This I shall promise.”

Your heart had flipped in your chest. You knew he meant it and he never went back on his word.

The large door creaking open interrupted the sweet memory. Pushing yourself off the bed, you stepped timidly until Messmer came into view.

Blood adorned his chest like rubies and his eye was glued to the floor. He had left his spear in the previous room.

You hurry towards him. “Are you hurt?” You grab his hands and clutch them tightly.

“Merely scratched and covered in blood that is not my own.” He sounds tired.

Carefully, you lead him over to his ornate washroom. He doesn’t say anything as you pull him behind you like dead weight. Even his serpents stay still as they’re perched on his shoulders. Dropping his hands, you hurry to grab some bath salts he likes and a fluffy towel. You turn the faucet and the tub begins to fill with warm water. Pouring some of the salts in and swirling them around, the room begins to smell sweetly of jasmine and vanilla. 

Looking back at your lover, you notice that he watches you tiredly. His eye droops and he doesn’t stand as tall as usual.

“Do you need help taking your armor off?” He merely nods in response, so you get to work.

You stretch your arms up to take off his helmet and he bows his head. You set it on the table behind you and comb your fingers through some of the rebellious strands of red. Carefully raising the cloak he wears, you allow the serpents to wiggle out of it before undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the floor behind him. Moving around him, you work on the various buckles on his armor and before long, it joins his cloak in a bloody, crumpled heap. 

“Come, my love,” you call out to him and his eye shimmers in response. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You take his hand and gently guide him into the bath, letting him go as slowly as he needs to. Once he settles into the warm water, he lets out a sigh of relief. You tilt his head back and pour water over his hair, just as you have done many times before. It’s become a daily thing to wash his hair and body. He loves the tenderness in every touch you lay upon him.

You begin to massage some of his favorite shampoo into his fiery locks. You take your time ensuring his scalp has been thoroughly washed and thread your fingers through the tips of his hair. He shudders and shivers in pleasure. 

You want to ask what’s wrong. He’s come back from fights exhausted and worried, but he’s never looked so dejected. Perhaps the fight was too close for his liking? When you took off his armor minutes earlier, you hadn’t seen any new bruises or wounds on his body, so that couldn’t be it. The Tarnished that came to his Keep enraged him, sure, especially if they had hurt any of his men, but they had never made him like this.

“Messmer?” His eye opens slightly. “What’s bothering you?”

“Whatever dost thou mean?” His voice is dejected and quiet.

“Did something happen during your fight?” You tilt his head back and wash the shampoo from his hair.

“‘Tis nothing. Thou needn’t worry.”

You sigh. “I thought we talked about this, about being open with each other. If something is bothering you, I want to help.”

He reaches for your hand and you gladly give it to him. He turns it over in his hand, seemingly marveling at how small yours is compared to his. He kisses your knuckles and moves your hand so you cup his cheek.

“That Tarnished held the belief that I was keeping thee prisoner here.” 

Your mouth hangs open. “Prisoner? My love, no! I’m happy here.”

“They did not thinkest so. Perhaps they imagined themself a protector, like I.”

“Messmer,” you make him look at you. “I stay here because I want to. I stay here because I love you. Okay?”

“I had never felt rage such as that. I lost myself.” He admits.

“I’d be angry too. It’s okay.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and a golden tear streaks its way down his pale cheek. You reach out to brush it away.

“I do not deserve thee, beloved. I am naught but a cursed monster.”

“You are so much more than that. I don’t care if you’re cursed.” You pull away from him and pour a generous amount of conditioner into your hands. You gently apply it to his hair. 

“You make me truly happy. I hope you know that.” You whisper those words into his ear.

“I shall try to remember that.”

You wash away the conditioner and wrap your arms around his shoulders, not caring about how the water soaks through your clothes. He grabs one of your hands and holds it. You lay a light kiss on his neck and he shudders again.

“Do you want me to wash your body, my love?” You ask into his hair.

“Please.”

“Okay.” You smile and unwind yourself from him.

You gather some soap and begin to lather it on his shoulders. You take your time and even knead out some of the knots in his back as you go. He lets out small gasps and you can see that his ears are a bright red almost rivaling his hair. You raise his arms from the water and squeeze his arms, feeling his muscles. He shoots you a look and you quickly look away, continuing to wash him as he requested. You tilt his head back, sweetly sweeping your hands across his neck and travel down to his collarbones, giving them the same treatment as the rest of his body.

“I ask thee stop this teasing.” His eye is screwed shut.

“Oh shush. You like this.”

“Perhaps.” You smirk.

Continuing down his body, you lather his chest in soap and delicately make your way to his stomach. He visibly tenses at this and you shoot him a puzzled look.

“Thou’rt cruel indeed. Continuing may force my hand.” He warns you, his eye shimmering a bright gold.

Oh. Oh.

As much as you would love to indulge in him, right now he needs comfort. You nod, face blushing as red as his, and you begin to wash away any remaining bubbles kissing his skin. Grabbing a fluffy towel, you wordlessly hand it to him and he stands. You tear your gaze away from him as he dries off and try to keep your thoughts decent. You go fetch his favorite robe from his chambers and grab his brush from where it sits on his bedside table. 

When you return, he’s sitting on the plush chair in front of the large vanity he had made for you. You offer him his robe and turn around, waiting for him to dress himself. He clears his throat and you turn around.

“Would you let me do your hair tonight?”

“If it would make thee happy.”

“Always. I love taking care of you.” That earns you a loving smile.

You begin to brush away any tangles he has, but since you’ve been giving his hair regular maintenance, it’s become easier to manage. The bristles gently scratch against his scalp and he lets out a pleased hum. You have such a lovable demigod.

Once you’ve ensured his hair is soft and smooth, you part his hair down the middle. You can see him watching you in the mirror. 

“I think you would look stunning in braids.”

He shakes his head. “Braids are intended for nobility and those with honor.”

“You’re a demigod, my love.”

He opens his mouth to say something but he stops when he sees you standing behind him with your hands on your hips, daring him to refuse you. “There is no sense in arguing with thee, it seems.”

“You are correct.” He rolls his eye. You were so stubborn.

Staring on the left side, you take three small strands and delicately weave them together. His hair is easy to work with and within a few minutes, you have a tiny braid.

You hold out your finished work. “Hold this, please.” He does as you ask, and you almost chuckle at the sight of him concentrating on keeping it pinched between his fingers.

Moving to the right side, you do the exact same thing. Strands of red dance in and out and soon, you have another braid. You admire your work.

You take the first braid from him with a small thank you and carefully lay them down on his head, making them join at the ends. It creates an oval-like shape and emits an air of importance. You grab a small hand-held mirror from the table in front of him and give it to him. He stands and faces away from the vanity, repositioning the tiny mirror so he could see the beautiful, yet simple, job you did. He eye crinkles and he seems to like it.

“Thou hast done a wonderful job. I thank thee, beloved.” 

You take the small mirror from him and return it to the vanity table. You gesture for him to sit, which he does without protest.

“Your serpents deserve braids too.” He chuckles and his companions look at you with wide eyes.

You open the drawer of the vanity and pull out two tiny braids made from some fabric. You had been practicing with these so your braids would look perfect.

The serpents come closer and you gently lay the strand of fabric on them. They shake a little at first, then flick their tongues excitedly.

“I think they look handsome, don’t you think, Messmer?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “They look quite ridiculous.” The serpents hiss.

You gently pat them both and they nuzzle into your touch. “Don’t listen to him. You both look wonderful.”

In truth, they did look a little silly, but they seemed proud to wear braids like their master.

“Thou always tends to my ailing soul, beloved.” He kisses the top of your head.

“Proud to serve, my Lord.” He rolls his eye at the use of his title.

He scoops your hands up in his and gazes into your eyes tenderly. “I shall say it now for fear that thou dost not realize: thou art free. Wherever thy soul wishes to roam, thou mayest go. I only request that thou returnest to me safe.”

You shake your head. This man. You lean up on your tiptoes and he bridges the gap, placing a loving kiss on your lips. There is no rush, no fight for dominance, just the both of you existing in the same space. Your hearts swell in admiration for one another.

There is nowhere else you’d rather be.

[lqveharrington]

Behind the Scenes | V.

summary: Being Vox’s girlfriend requires some patience after twelve hour work days.

pairing: Vox x fem!reader

includes: Vox and Velvette bullying one another, VALENTINO BEING A MENACE, mentions of Angel’s job, drinking, fluff, yelling, Vox being a baby, cursing, implications of being a prostitute, suggestiveness, both of them being teases (that’s it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i think writing hazbin fics is my stress outlet 😭

You were Vox’s. And Vox was yours. Every demon and sinner in Pride Ring knew due to Vox taking time out of his busy work day to shower you with compliments in every press interview or host show when you were brought up. Especially when Vox would be the first one to find you after you finished modeling for Velvette’s show, making sure the paparazzi had photos of him praising you with kisses and soft touches.

Of course, you reciprocated every moment… In the public eye. Behind the cameras and screens, Vox was very much loving. But he did work for almost twelve hours each day, which required patience from you whenever he came home to you in a sour mood.

“Do you need me for anything else, Vel?” You glance back at your phone as you pour red wine into your glass.

“No,” She scribbled down measurement adjustments for another model’s design, looking back up at her screen after hearing an electrical shock from your side of the phone. “But do tell your boy toy that you have a dress rehearsal early tomorrow morning, and that you have to be there on time.”

Vox wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at the young overlord through your phone. “Fuck off, Velvette.”

You feel him resting his head against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses on your neck, your dead heart fluttering. “I’ll be there on time.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes at your boyfriend’s actions before ending the call.

“What’s your damage today, handsome?” You ask before sipping on your drink, red lipstick staining the clear glass. You watch as he mutters something incoherent, static emitting from his hat. “Vox, talk to me.”

“That bitch Carmilla won’t meet up, and it’s been several days since our last update on Vox technology.” He sighs as he moves around you, his voice crackling with electricity. “Shareholders have been up my fucking ass all morning about it— Valentino keeps trying to get me to watch his stupid porn feels featuring Angel.”

He removes his suit jacket as he complains, walking toward the large living space including a minibar. Vox pulls at his tie and reaches for the whiskey underneath, “Now Velvette wants to be an ass and complain about me wanting to spend time with you—“

“My love,” You hand him a glass from the cabinets, letting your hand linger on his for a bit. “Vel’s my boss, and I’m her best model. She needs me for these rehearsals.”

“You’re really taking her side?” He tilts back his head and downs the drink in one go, pouring another.

You roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “I’m not taking sides, I’m pointing out a fact.” You sit on the stool by the bar, letting him slot himself between your legs. “If anything, I’m listening to you describing your day.”

“Mm.” He let one hand come down and rest on your hip, rubbing soft circles. “Tell me about your day.”

“Boring, tiring. Pretty much the same every day.” You grab his wrist to ensure he doesn’t go any lower or any higher. “According to your assistant, I do have a lot of things planned tomorrow. So that should be exhausting.”

Vox linked your hands together, “Sounds stressful.”

“Not as bad as yours every day.” You press a kiss on his palm. “I was gonna watch a movie while waiting for you, but now that you’re here—“ You shift your wine glass in your hand as he puts his own glass down, letting him trail his hands to your waist. “Want to join me?”

“Of course.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trailing after you. “What movie are we watching?”

“Whatever the first thing I find.” You let Vox sit on the couch before doing the same, swinging your legs over his lap. “You need a new rotation on Voxflix, I’ve watched almost everything.”

“I’ll get on that.” He mumbled as he ran his hand up and down your leg, occasionally squeezing.

You hum and shift your gaze to the television, scrolling through the different movies. “How do we feel about—“

A ringtone filled the air, both of you freezing at the noise.

“Vox—“

“Give me a second.” He let you pull your legs away and pulled the ringing from his screen to his phone, camera-ready voice leaving his mouth.

You sigh but find a movie worth watching, pulling your knees up. Around halfway through, you decided that the movie was meretricious, heavily judging the poorly made movie more than the other ones you’ve watched. You typed your review on your phone, giving the movie two stars before—

“—THEN GET SOME LOW LIFE SINNER TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB FOR YOU!” You heard Vox scream from the kitchen, making you wince for the poor soul on the other end. “AND IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHIT I GIVE YOU, JUST KNOW I HAVE YOUR FUCKING SOUL IN CONTRACT!”

You pause the movie and get up, taking slow steps to your hotheaded boyfriend. He shuffled across the kitchen, walking back and forth as his fans kicked on. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up like he was going to commit a crime.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—“

“Vox,” You come up from behind and wrap your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s outside of your work hours.”

“Fucking—“ He rubbed his temple as he heard the sinner go silent on the other line. Vox took one hand and laced it with yours, “You’re lucky my wife is generous you ungrateful fuck.” He ended the call before muttering more curses, turning you in his arms so you were facing his front.

You let your hands move up to his shoulders, massaging the heavy tension in them. “Am I your wife now? Is that what you’ve been telling those sinners?”

“Maybe.” He let out a loud groan from the sensation, fans still running. “The fucking bitch in accounting is—“

“You’re not working right now, stop.” You give him a pointed look. “I need you to relax.”

Vox wrapped his arms around your waist, walking you backward toward the living area once more. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too.” You chuckle as he peppers kisses on your face. You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you into his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Vox!”

“Yes?” He pressed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

You sigh in content but grab the corners of his screen, giving him a cheeky grin. “Tomorrow, my love. Velvette will murder the both of us if I show up late with bruises.”

“I’ll pay her to let you have a day off tomorrow.” He slipped his hand up your shirt, sharp claws bringing chills to your skin.

“So now you’re paying to be with me?” You raise a brow, stifling a laugh when he stops all movements. “Am I some kind of—“

“Of course not! Do not finish that sentence.” He pushed you down on the couch, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh at how protective he is over you from himself. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, I was kidding.”

Vox dropped his head down to your shoulder, “You’re such a tease.”

“I’m the best.” You squeeze his bicep. “But seriously, Vel will have our heads strung outside the tower.”

“Whatever.” He flipped you both over, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I’ll have you all to myself this weekend.”

You hum, pressing a kiss on the corner of his screen. “I’m sure you do, handsome.”

“My love, I will cancel all your plans this weekend if you tell me I can’t have you.” Vox traces his finger down your spine. “Don’t tell me you have any.”

“I don’t…” You turn your head as he runs his claws through your hair. You feel yourself warm as he wraps a blanket over the both of you, flicking the television to play with a snap of his fingers.

“What do we rate the movie today?” He played with the ends of your hair, face pulling a grimace at the movie’s corny script.

“Two stars.” You mumble as your gaze shifts to the television. As the television fades to black in an awkward transition, you see Vox staring at you rather than the screen. “What are you looking at, weirdo?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed your hip. “Who I love very much.”

You let a small laugh slip through your lips, grinning brightly at his words. “I love you very much too, weirdo.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[hannie-dul-set]

heartbeat conquest — day 0.

SYNOPSIS. you’re sucked into a reverse harem otome game, and there’s only one goal— say the right things to conquer as many pretty boys as you can. PAIRINGS. tomorrow x together x reader. TAGS. social media! au, modern fantasy, reverse harem (of fucking course), romance, humor, a whole bunch of weird dynamics maybe HUAHAHAHAHAHHAAH. inspired by the manhwa with the same title, “heartbeat conquest.”

it's pink.

no, literally. it’s all pink. one moment, you see the headlights of a van coming straight at you. the next moment, you open your eyes and see nothing but pink. pink floor. pink ceiling. pink walls (if there even are walls. you’ve been walking around for what seems like ages but you’re yet to bump into one).

you never thought that the afterlife was gonna be so bubblegum-y and barren.

but then again, you never expected that you’d be bringing your phone to the afterlife, either.

ding!

now, what in the otome isekai bullshit is this crap?

seriously, what the hell? is this actually real? you stare at your phone, eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion as the notifications keep pouring in— the same text over and over again prompting you to unlock, to start whatever this thing meant by conquest.

this really must be some weird post-death fever dream (can you dream when you’re dead?) but whatever mindfuckery this is, there’s one thing that’s clear to you.

if unlocking meant getting out of this pink-stained hell, might as well give it a damned shot.

your thumb presses the screen. you swipe up.

ding!

all your senses are swallowed by that dreaded shade of sickly sweet, bubblegum pink—

ding! ding! ding!

— and next thing you know, you’re now in an unfamiliar room, pink skies leaking through the sheer curtained window, trinkets strewn about the lived-in bedroom—

ding!

—with five new messages on your phone.

“—the natural talent to be loved and adored by all.”

ding! ding! ding! ding! ding!

how do you start your conquest?

NOTE. i have no idea what the fuck this is going to be, but let’s all have a blast anyway!!!

this is a choose your own adventure. click on the link above and answer the form to progress with the story. you’re the MC of this world who had just been sucked into wherever the fuck this is and have no idea who these five mystery men are, so just to your best in responding with the context that you currently have (none). after this one, more context will be provided, i promise BWAHAH.

honestly the only way to win this and get a “good ending” is to get a correct read of the boys’ characters and give the right responses— and if you’ve read a bunch of my stuff, you probably have a good idea on how i like my male leads HAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHA.

i will synthesize all submitted replies and move forward from there. the form will close once i get enough responses. this is just a little experiment that i’m doing and i have no idea how this gonna turn out HHAHHAHAHAHAHAH still, i hope you guys will participate!

DAY 0 | DAY 1

heartbeat conquest. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[revasserium]

Why does this scream second chance romance?

reqs are open!

at first sight

hayato suo; 6,284 words; fluff, slight angst, fem!reader, no "y/n", passing mentions of divorce, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort (a little), the slowest of burns, suo is a simp, introspection, more plot than not

summary: and isn’t it strange, that a person doesn’t have to be dead to serve a haunting, how there only need be absence and sorrow and the utterly world-ending ache of what used to be?

a/n: this was not supposed to be this long or this self-indulgent but welp.

He sees you sometimes in his dreams, in the spaces right before he falls asleep — that sweet, weightless, liminal space where anything and everything is possible, even probable. He sees the shape of your laughter, feels the weight of your breath, can almost taste the sugarplum sweetness of your smile. He’d lose himself, then, in the firefly lights of your eyes.

On those nights, he wakes up with a scream curdling up the back of his throat like soured milk.

Because no matter how hard he tries to hold onto the good memories, the ones bathed in the precious, pale gold of summer sun, truth always slips through like a sharp, silver knife. Cold. Ruthless. Unrelenting.

“— so, I know we don’t know each other very well but… you’ve done so much for our shop and my grandma is so grateful and… it always makes me so happy to see you come by —”

The girl in front of him is pretty, in the delicate, unassuming way that all young girls might be called pretty. She is dark, pin-straight hair and thin-rimmed glasses. Suo can tell that she’s put on a sparkly sheen of lip-gloss just for this occasion. Her cheeks are tinted sunset pink; there’s a letter in her hands.

“Thank you,” he says, dipping his head, his hand linked behind his back, his expression schooled into one of polite affectation, the most gentle rejection. He listens to her run herself out, babbling on about visits and admiration and the shape of him outside the shop window, how her heart would skip a beat. He finds himself, wistfully, thinking about the shape of you — when you were small enough to wiggle under the fence in his backyard, dirt caked under your nails, your hair always chopped short, one of your front teeth missing as you tossed pebbles at his windows.

“I’m… sorry,” he says, finally, when the girl presses the letter into the center of his chest, bowing low enough for her long silky hair to cover her face. He slowly folds his fingers over the letter, giving her hand a squeeze as he presses it back towards her.

“B-but…” she looks up; there are tears in her eyes, “why…?”

“I suppose,” he says, voice light and conversational, almost as if he were remarking on the weather, “I’m just not the dating type.”

The girl mumbles something before sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She is, Suo admits, not a very pretty crier. But then again, he thinks, most people aren’t. She nods again, as if to herself, clutching her unopened letter to her chest before dropping into another deep bow and dashing off. Suo can hear the clipped echoes of her sobs as she races down the near empty streets, and he sighs.

He turns on his heels and makes his slow way back to his own house, the place small and empty, but clean. The single wooden shelf is lined with books, alphabetized. His futon is folded neatly in his closet. He goes through the motions of making tea, pouring the boiling water over the dried leaves, watching them unfurl. He breathes in deep and thinks of you —

You were the one who first taught him how to brew tea, your small hands not yet big enough to hold a teapot proper, but whatever you’d lacked in skill, you made up for in determination. He’d always admired that about you, the sheer recklessness of your nature that bled, somehow, into courage in his young mind.

“Careful! It’s hot…” he’d warned, reaching out to catch your wrist, but too late, the water had already spilled a little and you wince, but you don’t let go, your arms quaking as you set the scalding teapot down, biting down on your lips to keep from crying out.

“I know it’s hot! But you gotta use hot water if you wanna make good tea!”

And there, through the misty haze of steam rising from the pair of cups, sitting across the table from you, Suo thinks you’re the most beautiful creature in the entire world.

He loses you, he reflects, the same way he loses most things in his life — accidentally and to the well-tempered beat of fate from which no one can escape. One minute you were right there in front of him and the next, well…

“Moving…?” he says the word as if he’d never heard it before. You sigh, nodding, staring listlessly into empty space, your knees curled up and pressed into your chest, your chin propped on your crossed arms.

Suo blinks, “But… where are you moving to?”

You shrug, “Tokyo, I think,” you say the word with a soft resignation only found in those who have seen and lost, seen and lost again. Suo thinks he understands; looking back, he’s not sure he did just then.

“Because of… your dad’s work?”

“Yeah. He says that if his company does well there, we’d be ‘set for life’ — whatever that means,” you say, picking at a bit of invisible lint on your sleeves.

“But… what about your mom? And the teashop?”

You purse your lips, mulling over your words as if you’ve got a sour cherry pit caught beneath your tongue.

“She says… she can’t leave it. So… she’s staying here.”

“Oh,” Suo says, sitting back against his bedroom wall. Even back then, he was smart enough to understand the implications.

You nod.

Judging by the look on your face, so are you.

“So… when…” he can’t really make out the words; there’s something stuck in his throat that feels oddly like an entire handful of sand.

“End of the month,” you say, finally looking up at him to catch his eyes. And there, he sees the insurmountable sadness, the longing he’d sometimes catch a glimpse of in the slanted summer light. As if you’re waiting for him to do something, to say something. He could never figure out what exactly it was you’d wanted him to do. To say.

Stay.

He’d later realize.

Please.

He’d repeat the words to himself in the encroaching dark, lying on his futon, watching the light cast on his walls go from white to gray to gold, and slowly, sinking into cool, hollow blackness.

Don’t go.

He mouths the words until he can almost taste the shape of them on his tongue. He swallows around them like a fistful of sand, flips onto his side, and tries to go to sleep.

You appear before him like a daydream, a near mirage in the summer heat. One second, he’s laughing with Nirei at something Sakura’s said, and the next, he’s standing stock still, staring at the end of the street where he’s sure he’d just seen you —

You look older now, but then so does he, and your hair is longer, but the shape of your laughter, the light of your eyes — he wouldn’t miss those anywhere. Not then, not now, not ever. Even after all these years.

“Suo-san…?” Nirei peers up into his face, tugging on his sleeve.

“Hm? Oh sorry — I just thought —” he glances back at the end of the street. Just a large van and a few young workers, hauling things out from the back.

“Oh, there’s a new teahouse opening in town! That must be them, moving in!” Nirei says, cheerful and oblivious as always.

“What’s a teahouse do, anyway?” Sakura asks, picking at his ear and flicking something off the end of his pinky.

“Uhm… make tea?” Nirei offers.

“Yeah, but don’t we all know how to make — where the hell’s he goin’?”

Suo takes off down the street, whipping passed their usual haunts, the taiyaki shop, the okonomiyaki stand, Pothos cafe, to the corner of the street, just where the sidewalk threatens to curve into some more residential place —

“Oi!” Sakura calls after him but he doesn’t listen.

There — that sound. Sugarplum and silver bells.

The space is undone, the door propped open with a wooden crate, the young men with the moving company tutting as they grunt and step around Suo to carry more boxes into the space, setting them down along the walls.

“— there’s good, oh no — not that one — that one goes… oh here’s good! Thanks!”

You.

He sees you like something from his wildest daydreams, the shape of you in smoke and stardust — the light twisting and twining around you as if it knows, treating you differently than it might all the other people and objects in the room, focusing around you to paint you in richer tones, in brighter lights and deeper shadows. The air seems to gather around you like a held breath.

And for a moment, Suo himself forgets quite completely that he himself might need to breathe as well.

You turn your eyes on him and the world seems to shift focus like a camera lens shifting zoom. Everything blurs, sound slows, drags, distorts. The room around you fades until it’s nothing more than a suggestion of shapes and space.

Suo sucks in a breath.

“Sorry — we’re not quite open y…”

Your voice trails off, and vaguely, Suo thinks that you sound different than you did before. But there’s still the same lovely cadence to your words, the rounded edges, the crispness of your diction, the sheer weight of your conviction in the things you say and how you might will them into truth.

“It’s… been a while,” he says. His own voice is weak, wavering, dry and scratchy and sounding nothing like himself but he sees the moment you recognize him, wholly and completely.

“H-Hayato-kun!”

“Oi, Suo — who’re you —” Sakura rams a shoulder into him at this exact moment, Nirei pattering close behind, trying to hold him back. Sakura blinks at you, his head flicking between you and Suo as if watching an invisible tennis match. And then, some understand seeps into the depths of his eyes and his cheeks go a ruddy shade of pink.

“Uh — sorry, I didn’t — who —” he looks bewildered and awkward all at once.

“We’re Suo-san’s friends — from Boufuurin!” Nirei cuts in, finally succeeding in tugging Sakura to one side and peering around the rather narrow door frame. He bows slightly before jumping half a meter in the air as a mover clears his throat loudly behind the group of boys now clogging the door way.

You jerk out of your reverie and point the mover towards an empty corner before making your way over, your steps steady. It takes everything in Suo’s being not to move, to neither shift forward, to press into your personal space just to make sure you’re really real, or to turn tail and run till he doesn’t have the breath to keep running any more.

He can’t tell which he’d prefer more, but he knows that neither is the best option right now.

So, he forces himself to stand still, to wait for you to come to him.

And you do, drifting over in a cloud of light linen and a flower patterned apron.

“Hi! Long time no see!”

Suo registers faintly that though your hair is longer, but your bangs are still choppy, and the ends of your hair badly cut, as if you’d gotten annoyed one day and tried to do it with kitchen scissors. He bites back a smile at the image. But there are other subtle changes too — the round babyfat on your cheeks slimming out to a sweet, heart-shaped face, the hugeness of your eyes, almost alien-like in your child years, now balanced out by the depths of your features. Your lips are small and plush as an overripe plum — that, at least, hasn’t changed in the slightest.

“Yeah… what… are you doing here?” he asks, still struck dumb by the sight of you here, in Makochi.

You raise an eyebrow and Suo almost feels the motion like a gut-punch, the familiarity of it overriding your older features until he can’t really tell if he’s living in the present or if he’s been suddenly and unwillingly shunted into the past.

You scoff, “Opening a teahouse, duh!”

Nirei laughs and Sakura lets out a snicker that kicks Suo out of his stupor. He clears his throat, having the decency to at least look abashed.

“Sorry, yes — that much is obvious. Is there… anything we can do to help?” he tries to ground himself in the established notions of aiding the citizens of Makochi. At least here, he knows what he has to do. His voice evens out, his smile returns.

You regard him with that same, questioning look before casting your eyes around the room.

“Sure! Plenty to do if you guys have the time —” and then you start pointing to the various tasks they might help with.

Nirei and Sakura jump to, already used to the pattern, with Suo trailing behind them, moving slower than usual, his limbs feeling heavy, as if they’re full of lead. It takes them the better part of the afternoon to help you set up most of the bigger pieces of furniture. And somehow, by the time they’re done, a good chunk of the freshman class is there, chattering and laughing, lounging at the newly built tables.

“Alright! Who wants some tea? Fresh and on the house — consider it payment for a job well-done!” you clap your hands, grinning as the boys all cheer.

Suo keeps quiet, sitting at a corner table with Sakura beside him, Nirei across. It isn’t until Sakura digs his elbow rather painfully into Suo’s ribs that he turns his face towards them, hitching a smile to his face.

“Hm?”

“What’s with you?” Sakura asks, never one to mince words. Across from them, Nirei nibbles on his lips as if debating on whether or not to add on to Sakura’s line of questioning

“What do you mean?” Suo asks, folding his hands carefully on the table. He’s not fooling anyone; he knows, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t at least try.

Finally, impulse wins out and Nirei blurts out —

“You’ve been staring at that girl all afternoon and — and I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that before. And you’re the one that gets the most confessions out of anyone in our year, so it figures that if this girl c-can capture your attention like this, she must be someone really special.”

He finishes slightly out of breath, before ducking behind his little notebook, even though he’s holding it upside-down.

Suo lets out a helpless laugh.

“I didn’t know you were keeping track of how many confessions all of us got — that statistic seems irrelevant to our fighting abilities, no?”

“Quit tryna change the subject,” Sakura cuts in, loudly.

Suo sighs, nodding, “I was getting there. We —” he cuts off, clearing his throat as he feels his entire body catch on the edge of the confession.

He takes a deep breath and starts again, this time, pressing a slight smile between his lips, taking on a tone as if telling a story about someone else.

“We were neighbors growing up.”

Nirei blinks, “Is… that it?”

Suo’s smile goes a bit stiff and plastic, “More or less.”

“Liar,” Sakura folds his arms, frowning as he stares Suo down. His cheeks are still pink, but there’s a determined glint behind his eyes that never bodes well.

“Ah… well,” Suo weighs his options, but then lilts his head and shrugs, “you caught me — we were a bit more than just neighbors… more like childhood friends.”

Sakura narrows his eyes but doesn’t push. Suo looks down at his hands, laced carefully on the wooden table before he speaks again.

“We… spent a lot of time together and… her mother owned a teashop like this one.”

“Oh! A family business!” Nirei says.

Suo opens his mouth to correct him but your voice cuts him off.

“You still have them!”

A finger slips along the long tassels of his earring and Suo nearly jerks away, casting his eyes up to find you, a familiar teapot in your now steady hands, your eyes somehow bright and dark at the same time as you look down at him.

“Oh… yes, I —” again, he feels his throat catch, “of course I did. You were the one who made them for me.”

You let out a light laugh, setting a few teacups down at their table and prepping their tea.

“You didn’t have to — I’m surprised they held up after all these years. You know I bought the red beads at the craft store right?”

“Yeah, you… you used your New Years money. I remember…”

“And you helped me pick out the tassels from the lady who sells lucky knots at the market!” you say all this as if it weren’t one of his most precious memories, as if he hadn’t gone to great lengths to make sure the earrings you gave him (one of the only things you’d ever given them, other than perhaps a broken heart) never came to any harm.

Across from him, he can see Nirei putting the pieces together. Next to him, Sakura seems stunned still by the same revelation.

“If I’d know you’d like them so much, I would’ve made you a few more pairs. At least that way, you can try to match them with your clothes,” you grin, leaning down to seep their tea. Suo watches as the hot water washes over the dried leaves, rehydrating them till they each unfurl into their own shape. A deep, floral fragrance fills the air and he feels his stomach both twist and settle in the same motion.

“Jasmine green,” he says.

“Mhm. Your favorite. It’s a little basic but I love it too.” You shoot him a surreptitious wink. Then, you pause, “Ah — but it might not be your favorite anymore, I guess —”

“It still is,” Suo says before you can second guess yourself.

The smile that re-alights your face is nearly blinding in it’s brilliance.

“Anyway, I’ll leave the water here for you guys, yeah?” you set the teapot down next to Suo’s elbow, flash them all one more smile before twirling around and going to serve the next table.

It isn’t until much after dark that everyone leaves and Suo, having made up some vague excuse to linger, finally has you to himself. You hum as you flit from table to table, wiping them down and pushing in the chairs. Suo watches you for a solid minute before moving to help.

“Thanks,” you say, as he helps you push in the last chair and you wipe a forearm across your forehead with a long breath, “phew! Ma really made it look easy back in the day, but this is hard work! And we’re not even officially opened yet!”

“We’ll come by to help whenever we can,” Suo says, the response automatic.

You nod, folding the tablecloth neatly into a square and setting it on the counter.

The silence thickens around you, swirling and charged. Suo grasps for something to say, anything to say. He wishes you’d do something — turn on a light, hum another song, say something strange and outlandish, punch him, perhaps.

You do none of those things. Instead, you wipe your hands on your apron and turn to look at him, your eyes huge in the darkness.

“I’ve missed you.”

It nearly knocks him from his feet. The quiet force of your words, the raw-edged honesty behind them. The way your voice doesn’t waver. The way you say them not like an accusation but an admittance. He thinks he really would’ve preferred if you punched him instead.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling breathless, heat cresting up his chest, and suddenly, he’s thankful for the darkness within the not-yet-opened teashop.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He feels hollowed out by the confession, as if just speaking the words had carved him clean, so clean that the words echo through him, reverberating through his bones till he feels it down to his marrow. He hadn’t known that missing a person could feel like this, or that the word could mean so much until he’d said it out loud.

Missing. The lack thereof. A nothing where there used to be something.

It is a wrongness in the matrix, a hole, an abnormality.

It’s as if he’d been sleeping on the mattress from the Princess and the Pea ever since the day you’d left, a subtle incorrectness that permeated every single moment of every day, so obvious in it’s presence that it had folded back into itself and become something.

That the lack of you was a presence in and of itself, a living ghost that had loomed over him, slinked behind his shadow, hovered over his shoulder until —

He reaches out to touch you, fingers skimming against the skin of your cheek.

You lean into his touch, the motion slight but he catches it almost immediately, and the force of it is the catalyst that propels him forward. He tugs you into his chest and holds you there, burying his face in your hair.

“I — I’ve missed you…” he says again, and you nod, fingers crumpling in his school uniform as you press your forehead into his chest.

“Y-you’re so much taller than before — it’s not fair,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. He laughs, ruffling your hair for a second before his fingers so soft and he’s running them through from root to end.

“If I had a sister, I’d tell her to keep her hair long, so I could braid it,” he’d once told you when the two of you were barely in elementary school. You’d tugged at the ends of your chopped short hair and frowned.

“Ugh — I could never grow my hair out long. It’ll just get in the way!”

“It’s longer,” he says now, tugging at the ends even as he takes half a step away, releasing you from his embrace. You glance down at the uneven bits, crinkling your nose in distaste.

“I — I tried to grow it out but… I kept getting annoyed.”

“Yeah, I thought so but… I’ve always liked your hair short.”

“You have?”

“Yeah —”

I’ve always loved everything about you.

He swallows, “Short hair… just fits you.”

You stare up at him for a second longer before nodding, your eyes flickering away.

“Yeah. Guess it does, huh.”

Something clunks in Suo’s chest.

You turn away and he has to physically beat down the panic rising in his chest.

“W-where do you live now? I’ll walk you back. It’s not safe to walk around alone in the dark,” the words tumble from him like a bag of spilled marbles, scattering across the hardwood floors.

You turn back to regard him with a curious look.

“I — I live above the teahouse. So…” you shoot him a lopsided grin, a finger pointed up towards the ceiling of the teahouse.

“Oh. Right.” Suo blinks, watching you watching him before he notices the flight of stairs behind the open door in the back of the room.

“You wanna walk me to the stairs?” you ask, grin slanting sideways till its positively devilish and Suo feels a shiver kiss it’s way up his spine.

“I mean, it’s dangerous to walk alone in the dark, right?” you tease, before turning and slinking towards the back room door. Suo hesitates for a second before he sighs, shaking his head and following behind you.

He pauses at the foot of the stairs just as you pause on the step right above him. You twist around to face him, and the sudden closeness catches his breath in his lungs. Like this, he can feel the heat of your skin, can smell the shampoo in your hair — the same one you’d used when the pair of you were still kids, apple blossom and aloe.

You cock your head, your faces now on a level, your eyes searching his.

It’s so dark, but even in this lack of light, he can make out every single feature of your face.

“I think I can make it up the stairs by myself,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, conspiratorial and low.

Suo lets out a small laugh, nodding, “Good. It wouldn’t be right for a gentleman to leave a lady feeling unsafe at this time of night.”

Your head slowly cocks the other way; he’d almost forgotten that habit of yours, like a sparrow listening for the rustle of leaves or the first breath of autumn wind.

“Since when’ve you been a gentleman?” you ask, still in that soft, whisper-voice, the kind of voice that compels the listener to lean closer, to tip forward until they’re falling into something they don’t even have the name for —

“And… more importantly, since when have I ever been a lady?”

He kisses you then. Or perhaps, you kiss him first. It doesn’t matter — or perhaps it does, or it will. But not now, not in the soft, nebulous darkness that surrounds you, not when your fingers are curling into his hair and his palms are settling at your waist.

And there are no fireworks, but there is light — electricity coursing through his body and yours, neurons firing and firing and firing. A cataclysm of yes and more and finally.

The first time you break apart, Suo is breathless; the second time, he feels punch drunk; by the third, he’s determined that this must be what it’s like to be thoroughly inebriated. His head is spinning, his face is hot, he has to remind himself of where his hands might be — oh, there — one in your hair and the other pressing you to him so hard he’s certain it’ll leave a mark.

The thought pleases him more than it should. Or perhaps it pleases him just as much as it should and always will.

“H-Hayato…"

“Mm — stay — please…” his voice is nearly broken as he drops his had into your shoulder; he takes a shaky breath, “don’t go.”

You let yourself be held, the pair of you propped awkwardly on the first few steps of the stairs, your fingers threading through his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere… this is my house now.”

Suo nods, vaguely aware that there are questions he wants to ask you — how’s your mother? Where’s your father? How are you here, alone, opening this teashop by yourself? Living here, by yourself?

But he will get to those later, tomorrow maybe. Right now, he forces his head up and regards you with hazy, blown-out eyes and kiss-slick lips.

“If I sleep on the floor, can I —”

You laugh, running a thumb along his cheek.

“We’ve shared a bed before and nothing’s happened. You don’t have to sleep on the floor — bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Suo presses his lips for a second before shaking his head.

“It’s not that. I just… don’t think I could trust myself.”

There’s a hoarse, ragged edge to his voice that has you chewing on the inside of your cheek. He glances up the stairs and offers you a weak smile. You consider him for a second more before nodding.

“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll show you where the futons are.”

Upstairs, your bedroom is silver and alien with moonlight. It seems too bright, too sharp. But you step into it and suddenly, everything is alright again. You both wash up in silence, and you dig up an ancient band t-shirt from somewhere in your closet. He wonders how long you’d been here already — how many days and night he’d spent mere minutes from you.

He lays down in the futon after you slip beneath your sheets. He watches the shape of you as you shift this way and that.

Finally, you say, “Night, Hayato.”

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

And he falls asleep counting the sound of your breaths against the rhythm of his own, thundering heartbeats.

“Y-you what?!”

Sakura’s face is tomato red and Nirei looks just about ready to go into anaphylactic shock. Across the classroom, Kiryuu, who’s obviously been listening in, catches Suo’s eye and gives him a cheeky thumbs up.

Suo smiles, cheery and unabashed.

“I slept over.”

“B-b-but — you — I — she just —” Nirei seems to be fighting against some invisible force inside himself even as Sakura continues to gape.

Suo chuckles, nodding.

“Yeah, she moved here last week — it’s a total coincidence that we met up again. She had no idea that I was even here.”

He thinks back to the quiet moments of the morning, of waking up to find you sitting up in bed, staring out the window, your hair mussed and a little frizzy. He remembers the way the morning light had dappled the soft of your skin, how you’d smiled and asked him how he slept.

“Well. Better than I’ve slept in…” he clears his throat, suddenly self conscious of the gravel there. And here, in the unforgiving light of day, the night before seems miraculous and distant. Had he really held you in the dark like that? Kissed you till you’d said his name like something of a prayer?

Had he really held your hand all the way up the stairs?

You catch his eyes and smile, and like this, looking up at you as the rising sun halos itself around your shape, Suo wonders if he still might be dreaming. Because surely, surely — heaven couldn’t have been so close as this.

“So, what do you want for breakfast?” you ask, swinging your legs out of bed, your pale feet pattering against the fresh tatami floors. Suo is momentarily stunned by the sight of your bare legs, the large shirt you wore to bed now somehow terribly short and insufficient as it brushes by the middle of your thighs.

He swallows and forces himself to look away, to shake his head and focus on the words you’d said.

“Whatever you want to make,” he says, by way of an answer.

You hum as you cook, putting a bowl of rice in the microwave and putting on a pot of water to boil. The kitchen here is smaller than the one up front, in the main body of the teahouse, but it feels more homely, every surface effused with a sort of lived-in quality — clean, but rounded at the edges as if worn down by the love of days and weeks and months.

“How long…” he tries his voice again, only to find it wanting. He lets his words trail off and hopes that you understand.

“Hm? How long have I been here? Just a week. It was weird — my mom had bought this place a while back, and started the renovations, but I’d never had time to visit.”

“And where…” again, his voice trails off, his palms pressing flat to the thin counter, his eyes tracking the shape of you as you flitter through the small kitchen like a bird or maybe just a trick of the light.

“She’s not here,” you say, your movements slowing as you take the boiling water from the stovetop and pour it over some rough tealeaves, letting them seep for a few minutes before straining them out and tossing them into the trash.

“She’s… in Tokyo, finalizing the divorce with Pa.”

“Oh.”

His mind makes several inferences at once, even as he watches you soak the rice in the steaming hot tea and split the ochazuke into two bowls.

“I thought they’d… already done that,” he admit, nodding his thanks as you hand him a bowl and offer him a container of store-bought furikake. He takes it and shakes some over his bowl before handing it back.

“Yeah. Most people did.” You don’t offer up anything more and the both of you eat in silence. He polishes off the entire bowl and feels the heat settle in his stomach like a gap being filled.

“So… will she come after… everything is settled?” he choses his words carefully, peering up at you over the empty dishes. You slurp noisily at your own breakfast before licking your lips.

“Yeah, but who knows how long that’ll take? Might be weeks, might be — years, or something…” you drag the back of a hand across your lips and reaches over to pluck the empty bowl from his hands, dropping everything into the sink to soak.

“C’mon, don’t you have school or something to get ready for?”

“So… she’s here to stay?” Nirei asks, his eyes a bit overbright as Suo relays a version of the story, skirting tactfully around the more tender parts.

“Yeah, as far as I know. I promised we’d come by after school today to help her set up some more — you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope! Not at all!” Nirei beams, but Sakura’s eyes are narrowed. Suo turns his gaze on Sakura and tilts his head with a questioning smile.

Sakura’s cheeks redden, “It’s just — ah, whatever — never mind!”

And no amount of prodding or teasing could tantalize him into saying more.

Time passes by strangely after that — at times slugging by slow as molasses, at others jumping forward in great leaps and bounds. Suo spends nearly every waking moment when he’s not at school or on patrols with you, sometimes simply sitting in the corner of the teahouse, flipping through a book, watching as you served your growing roster of regular customers, at times helping you catalogue new shipments of tea and organizing them by type, brew time, and temperature.

Sometimes, when the light catches you in just the right way, Suo finds himself arrested by the sight, and it’s times like these when he’d tug you forward, a finger under your chin, his lips gentle on yours till he can taste the tang of your smile.

“I heard you’re quite the lady’s man,” you say, casually one day, brewing a test batch of a new varietal of white tea.

“Oh? And where might you have heard such a thing?” Suo grins, pillowing his chin on the heel of his hand, watching you as he always does.

“Just the baker’s granddaughter — she goes the prep school I do, you know the one in the next neighborhood over?”

“Ah… that.”

Your grin goes lopsided as you carefully blow on the top of your teacup and take a dainty sip.

“You got your hair cut,” he says, smiling as he rakes his eye over the cut of your bob, tickling just beneath your earlobe. You go slightly cross-eyed as you tug a strand down over your forehead before blowing it away again.

“Yeah. Figured it was about time I got a proper haircut.”

“I liked it the way it was before.”

“You did?”

“Sure I did. I’ve always loved everything about you.”

Between you, a single column of steam rises in a slow, lazy spiral from the surface of your half-drunk cup. And like this, Suo thinks you’re still the most beautiful creature he’s ever, ever seen.

Your blush is quick and brilliant. Your eyes cut away; you push your hair behind your ears.

“Don’t changed the subject — so what’s this she said about you not really being one for dating, hm?”

Suo shrugs, “I’m not.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

“Then…” you blink at him, cheeks flushing darker and darker, “what do you call this?”

Suo fixes you with a steady look, and now, his voice doesn’t waver when he speaks to you, because he knows that he’d never let the certainty of you slip away from him again. This time, he knows the words to say — knows without the shadow of a doubt his truth, and yours, too.

“I don’t know what I’d call it but… I know that I’ve never really believed in dating.”

You lick your lips, setting the cup down with a soft clack.

“Then what do you believe in?”

Suo doesn’t miss a beat.

“I suppose… I’ve always just believed in soulmates.”

Your mouth falls open ever so slightly. Suo smiles as he reaches forward to tug the strand of hair free from behind your ear just to run his thumb over the smooth, silken ends.

“And, I’ve always, always believed in love at first sight.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

one free pass for the grumpy!logan and overprotective brother!wade plot bunny 🤝🐇

"So," Vanessa hummed, watching you stir pans, "how was the date you went on?"

"He stood me up," you shrug. "I did get some really good gyoza though-"

"Sweetie."

You shrug again. "It's not the first time. And let's face it. It won't be the last. I write romance books. I don't live them."

Vanessa gave you a look but kept her commentary to herself. The last few years had been hard on everyone. You'd thought your big brother was dead right along next to her. You'd been in the thick of it even though you were trying to start college. Still just a kid. And in a lot of ways you were her rock- and a link to Wade when he was gone.

"I don't want to spend my whole life like our mom. Just like Wade doesn't want to be our dad, Nessa." You shake your head like you're banishing a thought and turn off the stove. "Let's fucking eat. I'm starving."

"This looks incredible. I have sex dreams less erotic than this."

"I heard that, Ow," Wade said, clutching his heart.

Vanessa shrugged and poured stroganoff into a bowl before shoving it into his hands, "Go be useful. Y/N did the hard part."

"Logan," you call, "I know you probably don't do wine, I got beer if you want that instead?"

"I uh- thanks," he said, shuffling to the table, offering Trigger his hand to smell when the dog shot him a look. He sniffed it and shot him a distinctly dirty look before walking away to re-glue himself to your side. Good dog, he thought.

"No assigned seating here, Logi-bear," Wade said, taking a seat next to Vanessa as he finished putting portions on plates- leaving Logan nowhere to sit but next to you since he'd put Mary in the other empty spot.

He nodded and pulled out a chair and looked towards the kitchen. He could hear you still rattling around and the sound of a knife slicing through something. And then a clatter "Fuck!"

Wade was out of his seat in a second and in the kitchen, "What'd you do- Holy shit biscuits!"

"It's fine I just-"

"Where d'you keep you towels?" he asked, rifling through the drawers and throwing things around.

"Next to the sink, Christ, it's not that bad-"

When you walk around the corner with Wade's arm around your shoulder, Logan blinked, blood-spattered your shirt and your pants. For "Not that bad" it looked like you might have cut your fucking hand off.

"I'll get some Ice," Vanessa said, standing up, "Logan, keep pressure on that for a second?"

Logan nodded, "Easy bleeder?" he ventured. You weren't phased enough about it for this to be new.

You nod and sigh, letting him look at your hand. "I've done worse," you muse. "He's so fucking dramatic." A thud makes you look away from the wound and Logan wrapped it to press on it carefully. "I swear if they're fucking in my kitchen again-"

"We're not," Vanessa said returning with an icepack, "I dropped the ice cream trying to find the ice."

"And Wade is-"

"Debating on if You'd want the staple gun or just super glue," he answered.

"There's bandages under the sink you degenerate!"

"Ooo, secrets," Wade said, dropping the stuff he was holding and heading towards the bathroom.

"Nessa," you plead.

"I'll go get him," she said rolling her eyes.

Logan exhaled through his nose and adjusted the ice on your hand. "I think you'll live, kid."

"Probably. I can hold this, your dinner is getting cold-"

Logan snorted, "Not a complete animal. Wouldn't be polite to eat while my hostess is bleeding out."

[yandereunsolved]

𖹭 𓆝 𓆟 Poly Yandere Sage & Sidon 𓆞 𓆝 𖹭

Born of the Hylian race and always drawn to the water. It made you the perfect candidate to be the Hylian ambassador who worked with the Zora. You worked with them when Divine Beast Vah Ruta was pouring rain and flooding the domain. Now you work with Yona to take care of the Zora's due to the massive amounts of sludge suffocating the land and creatures.

You were one of the three Hylians that the Zora allowed to freely walk among them without special permission for each entry. You wished in these moments that it was more than three. Zelda was lost only the goddesses know where. Sage had lost his arm and now seemed to further distance himself from you. You, oh you, the Zora loved Yona but saw you as a stain upon them.

You weren't one of their own, a reincarnation of a goddess, or the hero fated to save Hyrule. You were simply a hylian that was appointed to their waters.

It kept you stuck, doing your best to find as many splash fruits as possible. You'd overwork yourself from dusk till dawn just to find some. You had to find them; it was the only way to gain even a smidgen of their approval. You even went into Lynel territory for them.

Prince Sidon wasn't the least bit pleased when he learned about your being so reckless. You were confined to your room and were only visited by guards and the prince. You recovered your physical health, but not your mental. You became addicted to his presence. He'd always give you the same comforting smile and soothing touch.

Sage was the same way when he finally made his way to you both. It was the first time you were able to leave your room in a handful of months. You practically collapsed into his arms. You didn't notice his stunned silence or the firey blush lighting up his hardened features, but Sidon did.

"Good friend, it's such a shame that Zelda is missing. However, it is good to see that you are no worse for wear. Except for that arm of yours—?" Sidon spoke in an elated tone, an undercurrent of a pleased growl bubbling up from his throat.

Sage did not answer after he explained his predicament. He stuck by the both of you like the sludge that coated Zora's Domain. He mostly communicated through Hylian sign. His Zonai arm, as you learned, was perfect for translating it into an audio version of what he was signing. It would occasionally glitch around the both of you, glowing bright and moving on its own to grasp either you or Sidon.

"My friend!" Sidon gasped as Link's Zonai arm caressed Sidon's midsection.

It was a common occurrence, and it was oddly cute.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

Both of them were needed to save the domain, and you once again were shut out from the outside world. You didn't learn until after Sage and Sidon had defeated the beast within the Water Temple that Yona had been slain by the Sludge Like Like that had attacked near Mipha's statue.

The only oddity of it all is that Yona had the distinct slash of a Zora Longsword across her throat.

You were the only one that seemingly picked up on this detail. This was because Sidon wouldn't allow anyone to look at her dead body except for you or Sage. It was a question that still lingers in your mind, but you don't dare ask it. Sage didn't see anything wrong with it, and he is the hero. 

It was one shock after another.

You were wed to Sidon in the place of Yona, and Link was married to both of you. You had no time to protest. It was seemingly a decision that was controversial among the Zora. However, anyone who voiced their displeasure soon had their gills cut. It wasn't as if you were against it. Both were truly handsome. 

You worried about the differences between Zora and Hylian anatomy.

Both didn't seem to have a care in the world about the finer details. You lay in bed with both your husbands. You are all saddened to know that Link must go to continue his journey of defeating the Demon King. At least he has Sidon's avatar. Sidon is able to feel, see, and hear everything through it.

Only one phrase was left to be said.

"I love you both." You murmur through your sleepy daze.

Both of their hearts almost stopped. They stared at each other in surprise. The same thing was on both their minds.

You love them. They won you.

[nvareim]

bite me, v. garza x fem! reader

tags; predator/prey, fearplay, dacryphilia, degradation, drugging, thigh riding, stalking, dubcon and toxic dynamics. MDNI w/c; 4.4k ao3 link | pinterest board a/n; never arguining with a woman with big brown eyes, whatever u say gorgeous

The streets of Las Almas are still blood-stained the day you escape.

It’s been quieter since the Shadows combed through the city, killing anything that moved. The dogs no longer bark, kids don’t play in the streets, and the armed men who roamed every alley are few and far between. It’s the perfect opening. You spend the morning preparing. 

You pack lightly, only the things you’re sure you’ll need. Clothing for layering, socks, underwear, and cash. It all fits nicely in a backpack you can easily carry. You leave both of your phones on the nightstand, the backs pried off and batteries neatly stacked atop each other. 

The better part of an hour is spent prying at the metal collar around your neck. You pry at the latch until your fingers are bloody, picking at the screw that holds it together. As a last resort, you use the point of a utility knife. You sit just inches away from the mirror, neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as you slowly unscrew the locking mechanism. You’re stock-still, barely breathing out of fear the blade will slip. 

 The second the collar unlatches, you rip it from around your neck and throw it aside. It slides across the floor, hitting the baseboard with a heavy thud. You take deep, ragged breaths as you study your reflection. The lack of weight around your neck is foreign. With it gone, your decision is final. There’s no turning back now.

Las Almas is teeming with Mexican soldiers. They pace the Greyhound station, X12s strapped to their thighs and rifles slung across their chests. Their watchful eyes follow you as you pay for your ticket in cash with shaky hands. The old woman in the booth hardly scrutinizes your forged papers, clicking away at her keyboard as she logs information. She slides your ticket through the opening in the plexiglass, wishing you a safe trip. 

You practically fall onto a bench, sighing as you hug your bag close to your body. Rain pours down from the roof, streaming toward the storm drains. The air is thick and warm with moisture, heavy on your skin. You bounce your knee nervously as you wait for the bus to round the corner. 

When it does arrive, you’re the first to board. You snag a window seat at the very back where you can watch every passenger enter. You hold your breath with each new rider, nervously anticipating Valeria or one of her men to be the next passenger. It isn’t until the bus is pulling away from Las Almas that you feel the weight lift from your chest, though just barely.

Your journey north becomes a slow crawl. The best ticket you could afford brought you just north of Denver. The rest of your cash is rationed out and stuffed beneath your clothing.

In the beginning, the kiss of cool air against your skin is refreshing. It’s a welcome reprieve from the sweltering Mexican heat. A reminder of how far you’ve gotten. But the novelty quickly wears off once the slight chill turns unforgiving. You attempt to adapt by picking up a free coat from a local church and bartering over warmer clothes from thrift stores, but they only do so much to protect you from the bitter cold. Homeless shelters aren’t an option, the lines are longer as the dead of winter draws nearer. By the time you reach Wyoming, you’re running low on money to spend. You resort to stealing food from gas stations and sleeping in alleyways. You spend your days in local libraries, reevaluating your route north and searching for updates on Valeria. Librarians typically quirk a brow at your peculiar behavior, but leave you alone until they close down for the night. 

As the nights grow longer, they become even more difficult to get through. You curl yourself into a ball, your money stuffed into the band of your bra and a knife clutched tightly in your hand lest anyone gets any ideas. Hostels are few and far between and only reserved for nights you’d surely die if you slept outside. 

In early December, you spend a decent chunk of your food budget on a cheap motel room. It’s a shady establishment just outside of a small city, the kind of place you pay for by the hour. Snow flutters down and gathers in the parking lot, the pure white flakes quickly soiled by the gravel beneath. Multicolored Christmas lights are wrapped around the wrought iron railings in honor of the upcoming holiday. A few women smoke in the shadows of the building, seemingly huddling together for warmth. 

Inside the room, The wallpaper peels away to reveal yellow-stained drywall beneath and the heating unit rattles when you turn it on, blowing a small cloud of dust into the room. You refuse to peel away the comforter out of fear of what you’ll find, so you toss a blanket overtop instead. The lingering stench of cigarette smoke and artificial lemon is nearly caustic. 

 You turn the TV on, upping the volume until it’s loud enough to drown out the noise of the heater. The throw beneath you is scratchy and thin, but the bed itself is comfortable enough that you allow yourself to sink into it. With so many miles between you and Valeria, it’s easy to lull yourself into a sense of false security.

You shrug your jacket off to use as a makeshift pillow. It’s a far cry from Valeria’s luxurious bed back in Las Almas, but it’s the best you’ve had in weeks. The steady flow of warm air filling the room thaws the stiff joints in your limbs and loosens the long-held tension in your shoulders. It’s easy to fully settle into the makeshift pillow, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. It’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

It’s pin-drop quiet when you wake up. The constant hum of the heating unit has ceased, though the room has long gone cool. The TV had been shut off, leaving the room completely dark. 

You blink away the last bits of sleep from your eyes, willing your vision to focus. Something primal stirs in your gut, fight or flight instincts urging you to move. The darkness comes into focus slowly, the shape of the furniture comes into focus. So does a figure sitting at the foot of the bed. 

Your blood freezes in your veins. You push yourself up from the bed, heart pounding in your ears. A firm hand wraps around your upper arm, throwing you back into the mattress. The springs squeak from the force. You kick and thrash in Valeria’s hold, desperate to land at least one hit. You refuse to go down without a fight, not after all you’ve been through. You manage to land a single scratch across her cheek. Blood bubbles up from her skin, smearing onto your fingers and her face when you push her away. 

One of her hands pins both your wrists to your sternum as she bears down on you. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in place. You take in a gasping breath, lungs struggling to expand under her weight. For the first time, you get a good look at Valeria and what you see terrifies you. There’s a feral glint to her eyes and not a bit of playfulness in her smile. Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a rabbit. 

“You scream and I’ll gut anyone who comes in that door,” Valeria hisses, hand tightening around your wrists as she wraps a zip tie around them. Tears spill from your waterline as composure crumbles. The edge of the tie presses into your skin uncomfortably, but Valeria doesn’t soften at your whining.

“It was a fun chase, sweetheart, but it’s over,” She fishes a small bag from her pants pocket, shaking a small white pill into her palm. Valeria holds it to your lips with one hand, the other pinching your nose shut. You go as long as you can without air, stubbornly clenching your jaw shut until your lungs burn. 

Valeria watches with interest, grinning as the seconds tick by. You barely make it a minute before you’re gasping for air. Valeria doesn’t waste a moment before she’s pushing the pill past your lips and pressing her palm over your mouth before you can spit it out. Her fingers still pinch your nose shut, her grip unyielding against the restrained fists that pound against her chest.

“Swallow, baby,” She goads as black creeps into the edges of your vision. By now, the pill is reduced to bitter white chunks on your tongue, but you make a show of swallowing to satisfy her. The reaction is almost instantaneous, her fingers prodding past your lips as you desperately gulp down oxygen. Her fingers taste like sanitizer and lotion as she inspects your gum line and beneath your tongue. You cringe away from her touch but with the bed beneath you, there’s nowhere to go. 

When she’s confident you swallowed, she gives you a quick pat on the cheek. The corner of her lips twitch up in only a ghost of a grin before she’s hauling you to your feet and bending you over her lap. You huff, balance thrown off kilter by the sudden movement and lack of oxygen. Valeria’s knee digs uncomfortably into your stomach and ribs. A hand wraps around your upper arm, holding you firmly on her lap. 

“You thought I wouldn’t hunt you down?”  She asks, free hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Her chipped and jagged nails drag across your skin, leaving raised lines in their wake. Fingers curl around the waistband on your sweatpants, gripping tight. You kick your legs, gritting out empty threats as she pulls them down. She tugs until the cleft of your ass is exposed to the stale air.

“I’m sorry,” You sob into the comforter, tears wetting the scratchy blanket. You sound like a broken record, the apologies spilling from your mouth only broken up by promises to never do it again.

“I don’t believe you,” Valeria coos, a condescending smile playing at her lips. She splays her hand against your ass cheek, lightly pressing into the soft flesh until it dimples beneath her fingertips. Her grip on your arm has tightened enough to be bruising.

The heat between Valeria’s thighs only heightens at the sight of you draped over her lap. Idly, she considers the merits of a more sadistic punishment. Purpled bite marks across your shoulders would certainly remind you who you belong to. Or maybe nice ‘V’ carved into the soft fat of your ass. Both would crush your little attitude beneath her boot. Ultimately, she decides to stow those thoughts away for now, saving them for when you’re back home with her. It’d be easy to go overboard now, with the adrenaline and anger rushing through her bloodstream. For now, she just wants to make you cry. 

The first hit comes when you least expect it. The impact sends a ripple through the soft flesh of your ass. Valeria groans lowly at the sight. Your hips jump at the sensation, skin going hot beneath Valeria’s palm. The strike has you screeching, thrashing beneath her in a futile attempt at an escape. You clench and unclench your restrained fists.

“Count.” Her brown irises are swallowed by her dilated pupils, trained in the spot where her hand met your cheek. The heat of your skin bleeds into Valeria’s cold palms, goosebumps popping up across your exposed skin. 

“What the fuck?” You squeal, humiliation and fear petering into indignation. It’s not a surprise to Valeria, she’d always known there was a bit of you that needed training. You were impatient, even selfish at times. A wily little thing she enjoyed wrestling into submission. The brattiness was endearing in her own bed, but after the past few weeks, it only stokes her anger. 

“Count,” She repeats, a little louder this time. “Count and maybe I won’t fucking chip you.” The twist of anger in your expression has her raising her hand again, coming down in a perfect arc to hit the same spot again. You shriek into the bedding, fingernails sinking into your clammy palms. Valeria’s arm tightens around you, dragging you even further into her lap. “Not gonna do it?” She brings her hand down three more times, alternating which side she hits to keep you on edge. “You think I’m lying? Tracked you down like a fucking dog, tell me why I shouldn’t treat you like one?” 

“Won’t do it again, Val,” You sob. “Please, I’m sorry!” Hot tears stream down your flushed face, mixing with the drool smeared across your chin and mouth. Your voice cracks with the force of your crying. Valeria grows impossibly wetter, slick dampening the gusset of her panties. 

“Then start counting.” Your fingers claw at the blanket as she strikes you again. There’s no screech or resistance when her palm hits you, just sniffling. The seconds drag by like hours as Valeria waits with bated breath, hungrily watching the tears spill from your eyes. 

“ One .” Valeria releases your chin and you press your cheek to the mattress. She groans at your thin voice, hoarse from all your yelling. Her palm rubs soothing circles over the spot she’d just hit, contrasting the rough treatment just seconds prior. A shudder runs up your body at the sensation, eyes screwed shut. 

“Good girl,” She murmurs, lips curling into a predatory grin. The next hit has you tensing up beneath her, stammering out a low two . There’s still some resentment buried beneath your submission. It shows in the impudent curl of your lips, the angry furrow of your brow. The quiet whimper that slips your mouth before three is delicious. It appeases Valeria’s growing appetite.  

By ten , you’ve run out of tears. The quiet groans spilling from your throat have a knot winding in Valeria’s stomach. Your ass is marred with her handprints, raised marks from the trauma. Come time, they’ll darken into bruises, the sting of red-hot flesh fading to an overwhelming ache. And every time you see them, you’ll be reminded of your mistakes. Valeria loosens her grip on you, knowing you won’t even try to run. 

By fifteen , your eyes have glossed over and your thrashing has ceased. The numbers are whispered through gritted teeth between quiet grunts, attitude fully snuffed out by Valeria’s hand. A little pain and you’re her good girl again, all sweet and pliant beneath her. Your inner thighs are dewy with the slick that leaks from you, dribbling down your cunt to your swollen clit. 

There’s no resistance as she hauls you to your feet, hands placed beneath your armpits like you’re a doll. You brace your hands on her shoulder, legs too shaky to keep you upright. Valeria tugs your panties and sweatpants up, brushing the bruised curve of your ass too firmly to be accidental. You shift a little, lurching forward to escape the pain. 

Valeria grabs you by the hips, dragging you into her lap. You let out a little yelp upon resting your ass against her thighs, the sudden weight against the raw skin overwhelming. For a moment, you hover, but Valeria presses you down firmly, ignoring the way you wriggle away. Once the pain subsides, you practically meld into her, head resting in the crook of her neck as you sniffle. Valeria brushes the hair from your face, damp with tears and cold sweat. Your limbs are loose, heavy with warmth that emanates from the pit of your stomach.

“Why’d you run?” She murmurs, dragging her splayed palms up and down your thighs. When you don’t reply, she tugs your head from the crook of her neck, hand cradling the base of your skull. Valeria studies you with her dark eyes, searching for a flicker of resistance in your lachrymose gaze. She finds nothing. “Hm? What was it?” 

“I was scared,” The words slip out before you can consider them. It’s an admission only made more pathetic by your thin voice. Something in Valeria’s gaze shifts as her lips press into a line. Her hand tightens on the back of your neck. The weeks of false composure fracture when faced with her dilated pupils, only a thin rind of warm brown surrounding them. The fear hits you like a cold wave, washing over your body as the words are spilling from your chest. 

“I-I didn’t know if it was safe for me to stay,” You stammer out, clenching your hands into fists in an attempt to ward off the tremors overtaking you. “I was worried that maybe they’d come for me next and you wouldn’t be there, Valeria, and I-” The corners of her lips tug up into a smug, satisfied grin and your words are cut short with a stifled sob. 

It’s not a lie, but not quite the truth either. Valeria can see it in the split second of hesitation before you speak. There’s fear there, but not fear of her enemies. No, she saw that terror in your wide-eyed gaze when you realized she had been the one to find you. 

“Oh, mi vida ,” Valeria coos, a hand coming up to cradle your cheek. Her thumb brushes away the few tears rolling down your face. Her other hand brushes up and down your side, dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. “You thought you’d be safer running?” You sniffle as she squeezes at the fat of your hip. “This,” She gestures to the room around you with a sardonic chuckle. “This is worse than if you stayed put. I can’t protect you when I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m sorry.” You say for the millionth time. It’s the only response your brain can formulate. She’s right, running only left you more vulnerable to people who would use you to reach Valeria. But she doesn’t take your fear of her into consideration, even with the marks spread across your ass cheeks. 

“I believe you,” She says, “But it’ll take more than an apology to make me trust you. You understand, right?” 

You nod, eyes cast downward in shame.

“Good girl,” She tugs at your lower lip with her thumb. “Missed you s’much, you know?” She purrs, pressing two fingers past your lips. Your jaw widens to accommodate the push of her finger against your tongue. “Was so excited to see my girl. Bet you can imagine how I took the news, hm?” Drool gathers behind your teeth, dripping down your chin as Valeria ‘accidentally’ bumps your gag reflex. You lurch, but her fingers remain firmly hooked in her mouth. You don’t have the energy to resist her, any coherent thought slipping from your grasp before you can make sense of it. 

“So pretty like this,” She muses. Valeria adjusts you like a doll, one hand grabbing and moving your limbs until you're straddling her thigh. “You know who owns this cunt, don’t you?” Her other hand grips your hip, rolling it against her muscled thigh. Valeria laughs at your garbled moan as pleasure sparks in your core. “Just my stupid little pet that doesn’t know what’s good for her.” 

“M’not,” You slur, fingers curling into the collar of her shirt. She continues the slow pace, occasionally bouncing her knee to relish in your yelps. The heat in your stomach only grows. Electricity shoots up your spine when Valeria perfects the angle, pressing the seam of your pants against your clit just right. You moan around her fingers, lips and chin shiny with spit. In the weeks you spent running, pleasure had been an afterthought. You never had the time or privacy to worry about getting yourself off. The neglect left you swollen, sensitive, and all too receptive to Valeria’s touch. 

“Really?” She coos, slowly pulling her fingers from your mouth. They come to rest on your other hip, fingers dampening the fabric beneath them. “Grinding your cunt on me like a dumb mutt, aren’t you?” With a firmer grip on you, she presses your cunt even harder on her thigh, rocking you back and forth. You mindlessly follow her movements, chasing your high. 

Valeria studies the pinch of your brow and pitch of moans, watching every minute expression that crosses your face. Your thighs tighten around her own, desperately humping at her. Quiet pants escape your swollen lips, your head hangs low, and your eyes shut. The languid pace is entirely your own, she’s barely moving you along.

When your moans take a higher pitch, fingers tugging at her shirt, she knows you're close. Valeria’s hand comes to pull at your hair, tugging your head back and exposing the bare column of your throat. Her jaw clenches upon noticing your collar’s absence. She meets your wide eyes, your scleras flushed red and pupils dilated. Your pace falters, but Valeria prompts you to keep going with a bounce of her leg. 

“Please,” You whimper. “Wanna come.” The desperation in your voice is palpable. It’s pathetic enough to have Valeria pitying you. It’s hard for you to keep your grip on her shirt, your muscles seem to have a mind of their own. Your restrained hands fall to your lap, numb and warm as you continue to grind. 

“Yeah?” She taunts. “You wanna cum on my thigh?” Her fingers dance up your shirt, calluses brushing over your fluttering abdomen as she makes her way to your breasts. You part your lips when her fingers toy with your hardened nipples, plucking and twisting the sensitive buds. 

“Mhmm,” You nod, eyes fluttering shut. Your tongue is too heavy to form a proper response. By now, your head has gone cottony and light, filled with nothing but Val. It’s hard to even remember how you got into this situation or even recognize the dull ache of your bruised ass on every grind. Her body heat is suffocating, the scent of her perfume leaving you drooling. Valeria can see the distant look in your eyes, so she lets your lack of verbal response slide. She dips her head to your shoulder, pressing wet kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Please,” You manage to wail, repeating the word until your voice gives out on you. Valeria’s teeth glint in the moonlight as you come, nipping at the thin skin above your pulse point. Your wetness soaks the crotch of your panties, leaving them wet and sticky along the curve of your folds. The heat bleeds through your pants, warming Valeria’s thigh. 

When your hips stop twitching and your breath slows, you slump into Valeria. The hand beneath your shirt traverses up and down your spine as you hiccup and cry. Shame curdles in your stomach, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Valeria presses soft kisses to your cheek, slowly making her way to your chapped lips. 

The kiss is sloppy and almost entirely one-sided. You struggle to keep up with her, clumsily tilting your head the wrong way and hardly moving your tongue. Her teeth knock against yours. When you cringe away at the sensation, she follows you, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to break skin. Hands wrap around your upper arms hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer to her. She licks along the sharp edges of your teeth, presses her tongue against yours. You squirm and whine through it all, only settling when she pulls away, a string of blood-tinged saliva connecting you. 

Satisfaction blooms in Valeria’s chest as she meets your teary eyes. You weeks of planning, the effort spent running, all of it was rendered pointless in a matter of minutes. The regret has your chest tightening, wishing you’d fought harder, bared your teeth. It’s too late, you realize as she heaves you to your feet. There’s no chance at escape with the way the room sways, legs weak beneath you. Valeria anchors you to her side just as you're about to fall, pulling you toward the door. Your mind desperately screams to push her away, but you can’t feel your arms anymore. You stumble and trip over the door frame, only held upright by Valeria’s arm around your waist. 

You can’t help but feel like a prisoner approaching the gallows when you see the idling car. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as she drags you forward, ignoring your attempts to dig your heels in. Each step is one step closer back to Las Almas, back to her mansion, to the gilded cage she’ll lock you in. Fear curdles in your stomach, but there’s nothing you can do with Valeria practically pinning you to her side. She pushes you into the car, quickly sliding in next to you and slamming the door shut. The click of the locks cements your fate. Valeria wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close when you try to shuffle away. She barks out orders to the driver. The car shifts gears, quickly leaving the motel and meeting the open road. Valeria murmurs something about going home as your body loosens, her knuckles brushing over your arm. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re sprawled across the seat, head resting in her lap. The promise of deep, dreamless sleep is irresistable. 

Valeria idly brushes the hair from your face, humming a quiet tune just loud enough for you to hear. For a while, she watches you fight to stay awake, eyes fluttering shut adorably each time you do. She smiles when you finally slip away, that pinched, fearful expression finally leaving your pretty face. It’s the culmination of weeks of work, countless outbursts, and more than a few deaths. You gave a good chase, she’ll admit, but she won. 

Valeria’s sure once the rohypnol’s effects wane, you’ll be back to your feral self. It won’t be easy to earn your submission, but to her, that’s half the fun. Valeria can already hear the foul threats you’ll grunt out from behind your gag, drool dripping down your chin as you pull against your leash. But that’s trouble for another day, another training session. It’ll take more than one session to fully domesticate you, but Valeria is eager for the work ahead. She’s always enjoyed playing with her food. 

[darkeralmond]

reader x conrad fisher where she/yn is belly’s bff and has been coming with them to cousins for the past couple summers.. one summer things change between yn and conrad and they kiss on the last night but she says they can’t (obviously bcos she knows how belly feels about him) next summer tho she gives in and they start secretly dating/hooking up and then belly finds out — v angsty with maybe some smut 💗

by far one of my favorite requests, anon! thank u sm for the request!! i love u sm!! ❤️❤️

Dead To Me

Conrad x fem! Reader

synopsis: conrad confessed the y/n last summer about how much he liked her, but y/n told him that they couldn’t date. this summer, the night when belly goes out with cam to a drive in movie, y/n finally decides she wants to be with conrad but only in secret. when y/n and conrad are getting hot and heavy at nicole’s party, belly walks in…

warnings: 18+, underage drinking, light smut, vulgar language, y/n playing the victim, angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i got a bit carried away, but this shit was SO FUN TO WRITE OML!! I laughed, I loved, and I cried when writing this. thank u sm anon for suggested this, I think this is one of the best works I’ve written in a while.

masterlist | request info

Cam parked in front of the house and looked over at Belly before glancing back at you. “You girls ready?” he asked with a smile on his face.

Belly turned back to you and nodded her head confidently. “Let’s go,” she said. You hopped out of the backseat and linked arms with Belly. Cam the two of you like a lost puppy as you and Belly both strutted into the house confidently. You held your chin up high as you walked up through the front door.

Loud music blared from the speakers when the three of you entered. There were people everywhere drinking and getting high. “Belly!” a girl called out to her. She ran up to Belly and hugged her tightly while squealing.

Seeing how happy Belly was with this other girl sparked jealousy in you. It made it seem like she’d be fine without you. Belly then let go and turned to you. “Y/N, this is Nicole! She’s my older deb sister!”

Nicole. You knew that name. It was the name of the girl Conrad took to the deb ball previously. “Hi,” you faked a smile. You spoke in a honeyed voice to throw Belly and Nicole off.

“Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you!” Nicole held out her hand to shake. You hesitantly took it and gave it a firm shake before quickly letting go. Something about her seemed fake, and you weren’t saying that only because of her association with Conrad. “Let’s go get some cake!” She grabbed Belly’s hand and dragged her off, leaving you standing alone.

“Well, great,” you muttered to yourself as you looked around for anyone to talk to. Jeremiah was on the couch flirting to some guy you didn’t know and Steven was just running around getting drunk. Your blood boiled as the feeling of loneliness settled in.

You needed a drink to wash away this feeling of anger. You slivered through everyone, making a beeline to the kitchen to find any sort of alcohol. Your eyes landed on the Pink Whiteley bottle on the counter. Something to wash it all away. You popped the bottle open and poured it into a red solo cup. You then started sipping on it while examining the people in the kitchen.

That’s when you met his gaze from across the room. He drank out of a beer bottle while staring at you. You wouldn’t… not with him. Not on Belly’s birthday. But Belky was occupied with her other friends, she wouldn’t notice if you disappeared.

Your eyes shot a look over to the stairs as you jerked your head over. He caught your gist and immediately stopped his conversation with the group he was talking to.

You couldn’t hear what he said to them, the word you could read off his lips was “bathroom”. You then snuck through the crowd and up the stairs. A minute or two later, he ran up the stairs to meet you at the top.

LAST SUMMER

You sat on the beach next to Conrad as the two of you stared out at the waves. “What’s it like…?” you asked, looking over at him.

He chuckled, “What’s what like?”

“You know… sophomore year.” You had been pretty nervous for your sophomore year, it was all you and Belly had talked about this summer. “Everyone says it’s way harder than freshman year and I’m really nervous.”

“Oh,” he smiled. He looked over at you, something about his blue eyes made your heart flutter. No, stop. This was your best friend’s crush. “Nah, it’s pretty much the same. Just have to take a couple APs and a few state tests.” He placed his hand on yours as he said, “You’ll be fine. You’re smart enough to make good decisions.”

Conrad then squeezed your hands. You felt a surge of electricity run up your arm and straight to your chest. You never realized how badly you wanted to hold his hand until now.

As the two of you sat there you thought about how wrong this felt. You had always felt this way about Conrad, you had always wanted to tell Belly, but she beat you to it. He always managed to give you an amazing feeling that you had to deny. Belly suggested you should get with Jeremiah since she thought he would be perfect for you, but you didn’t want to.

You always thought about Conrad. You thought about how cute he was, but it wasn’t just his cuteness either. Conrad really knew what he did and was confident in himself in ways no one ever had before.

“Y/N, can I tell you something?” he scooted closer to you to the point where your shoulders touched.

You froze, “Uh, sure.”

Conrad sighed softly and leaned toward you, his breath tickling your ear. His words sent shivers down your spine. They sounded almost seductive. “I like you. Like, I think about you constantly. Like, sometimes I dream about you when I’m awake. Like, all the time.” He pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry if that was weird, I don’t normally say things like that.”

The world fell silent around you. Even though there was nothing but crashing waves, the air felt charged. You looked down to where your feet were buried in the cool early morning sand. You could feel the warm blush spread over your cheeks. You bit your lip nervously.

“I really like you too,” you finally breathed out. “But we can’t be together.” You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Not when you knew what kind of expression he was giving you. If you glanced up right now you would make you feel even more guilty.

“What do you mean?” he sounded confused. Obviously he was, he probably didn’t know rejection like this. That’s if you could even consider your answer rejection.

“Belly…”  you swallowed, your mouth feeling incredibly dry. The words stuck in your throat. Your thoughts raced, trying to conjure the sentence together. “She…she likes you. She’s liked you ever since she was 10. I can’t do this to her. It’ll hurt her”

Conrad was quiet for a moment. “I don’t care about that, I care about you, Y/N.” Your heart sank. “I want to at least try.”

There was another long pause. You felt the tension build between you. “No,” you whispered softly. “I don’t think we should.” You didn’t want to hurt Belly. You just felt so conflicted about this whole thing. You stood up, your hand fell out of his. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this to her.”

You walked back to the beach house, taking long and quick steps. He called your name repeatedly, but you didn’t listen. You were a better friend than that.

THE BEGINNING OF THIS SUMMER

“Y/N,” Belly said as she walked into your guys’ shared bedroom. “I need to tell you something.”

You looked up at her while taking a sip of your Coke. “What?” You placed the can down on the nightstand, kicking your feet as they hung off the bed.

She plopped down next to you and put her hands on your thigh. “Well,” she had an enlarged smile on her face as her cheeks flushed red. “You remember Cam, right?” You nodded your head which warranted her to say, “He asked me out on a date!”

You gasped, grabbing her hands quickly as you turned your body to face her. “Oh, my God!” The two of you squealed and bounced with joy. “Belly, this is huge! Your first date!”

Her eyes sparkled happily as she gushed about her date. Her excitement was contagious; you also couldn't stop smiling. “Yeah! I need you to help me pick out an outfit for tonight.”

Your smile then faded a bit, “Wait, date tonight? Bells, who am I gonna hang out with?”

She shrugged, “You can hang out with the boys while I’m gone. I think conrad’s staying in..”

Right, she doesn’t know. You sighed, looking away from her. You were on the fence of telling her about what happened last summer, but you couldn’t. Not when she was this happy.

You took a deep breath in and met her gaze again. “Alright, but you have to promise you’ll tell me everything when you get back.” You grabbed her shoulders and shook them excitedly.

“Ok, ok.” She laughed as she got up. “Now, help me pick something out!”

Later that night, you laid on her bed. She still wasn’t back and you were feeling lonely. Not just because Belly wasn’t here, but you wanted to be with Conrad. You had since last summer, you knew it was the right time to finally do so. Belly had a crush on someone who wasn’t Conrad. You knew what you had to do…

You had to talk to Conrad.

You rolled out of her bed and snuck down the hall to his bedroom. The rooms felt closer than usual as you lunged for his room. You held your fist up to knock, but you froze. You couldn’t move anything. There was an invisible force holding you in place. It felt like you were being held against your will.

The door swung open and there stood Conrad in front of you. He looked a little bit disheveled. His hair had fallen down, covering some of his face. “Oh, hey,” he said while looking down at you, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to fix it.  “Did you… uh… need something?” he stepped aside and motioned for you to come into his room.

“Yeah actually,” you replied quietly as you followed him in. He went over to his bed where he sat down, tuning his guitar. You sat down in the rolly chair by his desk and patted your hands against your thighs. After a few minutes, you cleared your throat. “Listen, I wanted to talk about last Summer.”

Conrad looked up from his guitar for a second. “Sure. What about it?”

You bit your lip nervously. “I think we should do it.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“Belly’s going out with Cam now and she’s lost interest in you,”  you spoke slowly, unsure of where this conversation was headed. “And, well, I like the idea of being together.”

A nervous grin spread across his lips. “So we can do it?”

You nodded, “Yeah. We can do it, but only in secret.”

He smiled brightly, leaning his guitar against the wall. “Are you sure?” He asked, staring into your eyes intently.

“Positive,” you answered.

PRESENT

He lifted you by your waist onto the dresser before placing his lips on yours passionately. You felt every muscle in your stomach twitch. He kissed you deeply, making sure to pull you closer to him. As his fingers brushed against your chest, you gasped lightly.

Part of you felt guilty for hooking up with Conrad while Belly was just downstairs. Part of you felt angry for the way Belly ditched you to hang out with her “better friends”. Part of you felt scared that Belly would catch you two in the act of hooking up. Part of you liked the adrenaline that came from hooking up in secret. It made things more exciting between you and Conrad, and it sure as hell created more sexual tension.

As you pressed yourself closer to him, your hands found their way under his shirt. His skin was smooth and tanned. He hummed against your lips as your hands traced his skin.

He pulled away and quickly locked his lips onto your chin, leading down to your neck. His tongue trailed along it as he sucked lightly on a spot. You let out a small moan at the sensation. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch. You ran your fingers through his silk hair as he began to suck harder at your skin.

“Conrad…” you moaned, running your fingers through his hair again. He growled low. “Please,” you begged as you tugged gently at his hair. You tried to take control of the situation, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he took over.

You felt your mind slip into darkness for a few moments as you felt him press kisses to the side of your neck. His hands then moved to your breasts, caressing them gently. Your body jolted at the unexpected pleasure.

His hands were warm against your skin as they rubbed up and down the sides of your breasts slowly. His breath huffed against your neck as he began sucking hard. His teeth lightly grazed the skin causing your entire body to shake.

“What the fuck?” a voice yelled. You opened your eyes as Conrad quickly let go of you. Belly stood there with her mouth wide open, her eyebrows lowered as she stared at you two. “Y/N, are you fucking serious?!”

Conrad was frozen in fear. “Belly, let me explain!” You quickly hopped off the counter and approached her.

“You’re hooking up with Conrad?!” she yelled.

Conrad glanced down at you, “I think I should…”

“No! You’re staying right there!” She pointed at him as she cut him off. “Y/N, were you going to tell me?”

“I-I wanted to tell you earlier, but you were too happy talking about Cam,” you stuttered. “I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you!”

She scoffed, “You wanna know what hurts? You hooking up with Conrad to begin with!”

Your jaw tightened as you glared at her. “It shouldn’t matter now! You’re gonna end up dating Cam anyways!” You were starting to get upset as she stood in front of you with her arms crossed.

Her eyebrows raised in anger. “Don’t bring Cam into this! You know exactly why I don’t want you hooking up with Conrad.” She stared at you as she saw your expression turn even more guilty.

She noticed as Conrad turned his attention away from her. “You fucking told him, didn’t you?” You stayed silent, just staring at her. She scoffed, “Of course you did.” She let in a long inhale, she was on the verge of tears.

She shook her head as she paced around the room. You had never seen her this hurt before, you didn’t know how to react. She took in a long inhale. “How long…?” She turned to face you. “How long have you been hooking up?”

You frowned, “We started hooking up the night you left with Cam...”

She walked toward you while grasping onto her hair like she could pull it out. “Is this some kind of sick joke?!” Her voice cracked at the end as her fists clenched at her sides. “Why?! Why would you do this to me?!”

You flinched. “I like him, Belly. He likes me.”

“Oh yeah?” She was crying now, from a mixture of sadness or anger. “You’re dead to me…” She made her way to the door to leave.

“Belly,” you called out to her. “You don’t mean that…”

Her eyes flickered back towards you, “We both know I fucking mean it.” She turned and slammed the bedroom door shut.

You stood there, tears falling down your face as you turned to face Conrad. You could see the hurt and regret in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. He seemed hesitant to say anything.

When he finally decided to speak, he sounded almost ashamed. “This wasn’t my intention.” He looked away from you then.

You walked up to him and hugged him tightly. “I know…” You sighed, “Belly’s just heart broken.” You cried harder, “I’m such a bad friend!”

“Don’t say that” His arms snaked themselves around your waist as you buried your face in his shoulder. “I hate that this is how she finds out about us.”

“Me too,” you sobbed. This whole thing was a mistake. Not telling Belly was a mistake. You should’ve just been honest. Conrad rubbed his hand up and down your back as you cried. “I wanna go home…”

“I can drive you back to the beach house,” Conrad suggested.

“No,” you looked up at him. “I want to go home.”

[narcissistcookbook]

i get bummed out thinking about the decade or so between the late 90s and the late 2000s where there were dozens of different sites for hosting music which have all mostly crumbled and the music lost with them. songs i downloaded from soundclick or myspace, or some random server from a forum post, which i can still hear snippets of in my head but which literally Do Not Exist online anymore in any format

about ten years ago i tried tracking down a song from around 2005 called How Long Will I Wait For You ("you bring me down so much and i always lose") and could only find passing mention of it in old forums. archived posts, inactive accounts, dead links. now the forums don't even exist anymore and the search engines don't return any results at all.

someone somewhere in the world will have that song on a CD or on their old hard drive. someone somewhere wrote and recorded it. or maybe they don't. maybe no one saved a copy anywhere, and the person who wrote it is gone now, and the only way it exists at all is a faint memory of the chorus in my head and the way it made me feel.

it's the same story for millions of other songs, stories, art, videos. one day youtube will start deleting old videos, spotify will delete old songs, and then one day those libraries will shut down altogether and so much will be lost, some of it forever.

anyway. everything is feeling transient today. pour one out for that artwork you found that one time and could never find again

[her-devils-advocate]

In my arms is where you ought to be

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, eventual fluff

summary: In the dead of night, the anxieties that you had tried to keep bottled up have finally crept up on you. Bringing along all the thoughts you had tried to lock away with it.

Luckily for you, you're not alone.

note: Wrote this today since my own anxieties have been acting up and part of me wishes I could have my own Levi to help me through them, so I decided to settle for the 2nd best option: making it possible through fiction!

word count: 2,428

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55642015

You lie awake in bed, watching the shadows twist and turn on the flaking ceiling above. You are unsure of the time, having given up trying to chase the ever-elusive sleep hours ago. The moon hanging high above in the inky sky signals that it's still early in the morning, too early to be awake, yet the swirling sensation of panic keeps your eyes wide open.

The silence is almost deafening, a heavy weight on your ears as you strain to make out a single sound within the building full of sleeping scouts. The only sound to reveal itself to you is the frantic thumping of your heart, almost as if trying to escape from its cage of flesh and bone. You feel your hands tingle, like ants crawling under your skin before it fades to the familiar numbness you have come to know well. You sit up in the bed, finally fed up with staring into space and letting your mind run wild and as the blanket slides off your form, the bitter night air nips at your skin. You welcome the new sensation, happy to feel something other than the growing chaos within. 

Despite being surrounded by dozens of scouts, some of whom would easily relate to your current state, you have never felt more alone than in these moments. You have felt yourself drift over time, growing more and more distant from those around you until you can’t even recognise yourself in the mirror, feeling more and more like a poor imitation of the real thing. Fake smiles and practiced words have since become second nature as your heart does its best to drag you down with each frantic beat. 

You can’t remember when it started to creep up on you, but if the previous week of tearful nights has been anything to go by, it’s not a recent change. If anything, you should have expected its unwelcomed arrival, yet things had been going well recently and you had all but assumed it was gone for good. You swing your legs over the side of the bed with a small groan, bringing your hands up to rub at your face wearily. 

The room is too quiet and the beating of your heart is too loud.

Everything is suffocating and your skin feels too hot. You drag yourself out of the room, each step feeling harder than the last as you dart through the headquarters’ hallways with no goal in mind. The once familiar corridors now warp into unrecognisable labyrinths, beckoning you further into the unknown. You are unable to hold back the flood of tears that now silently pour down your cheeks, and despite your best attempt to wipe them away, they are instantly replaced with fresh tears now free from their mental prison. All you can do is hope there is no one else awake to see you in this state as you continue to pull yourself through the long corridors. 

“What gives you the right to feel this way when so many others have lost more than you?”

“They will think you’re pathetic if they were to see you in such a sorry state.”

With each passing breath, your mind grows into your own worst enemy, betraying you with stray thoughts plucked out of nowhere and perfectly aimed towards your heart. You pick up your pace, almost as if you can outrun the silent harassment.

“How did someone so unstable even get accepted as a scout?”“Titan fodder.”

The shadows of the hallway seem to follow your escape, doing their best to drag you back as you break out into a small jog. The moon watches bitterly from its position in the sky, remaining still and refusing to lower itself so the sun's forgiving rays can break through and grant you guidance.

You finally slow your pace when you reach a sign of life within the silent building and with a bated breath, you watch as candlelight escapes through the cracks in the wooden door. As you slowly approach the door, you can faintly hear the sound of a pen gliding over paper from within. Tottering on the spot, you try to gather the courage to knock, knowing who awaits behind the wooden shield between you. Despite your frantic run, your body has led you straight to the only person who can help calm your panicked state.

Your mind and heart are at war with one another as you stand alone in the cold corridor, your hand is raised to knock on the old wood and yet you can’t bring yourself to complete the action. The seconds feel like hours as you try to compel your body to let your fist connect with the door, but before you can, the choice is made for you. The door opens with a small creak and you are left gazing up into Levi’s steely eyes. You fidget under his stare, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the necessary words.

Instead, you hang your head, more than content to stare at the ground, taking in the stark difference between the dusty hallway and the pristine floor of his office. You can feel yourself shivering and you squeeze your eyes shut, as if doing so would block out the buzzing of your overactive mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” A cold finger lifting your chin causes your eyes to fly open, widening in shock as you stare at him once more. He takes in the still-damp tears that paint your cheeks and the way your chest rises and falls at a worrying pace.

His face holds the same expressionless mask, yet you have come to know how to read that mask well and can see the concern hidden deep within. 

He watches as you shift your weight from leg to leg, the unknown panic creeping up your throat and holding your jaws shut, condemning you to silence. He raises a single eyebrow before standing aside, holding the door open to you in a silent invitation before moving back to sit at his desk. 

You swiftly pad into the room, softly closing the door before manoeuvering to drop into the spare chair in front of his desk. You watch as he proceeds to pick up his pen and continue to work on the stack of papers piled neatly on the side of his desk. The quiet scratching of the pen against paper helps distract you enough for your heart to calm, no longer frantically hammering away from within, and for a moment you are convinced that you could manage to doze off within the safety of his quiet haven.

You watch as he carefully lifts his cup by the rim, bringing it to his lips with practised ease before placing it back down onto the coaster. The way he grips his cup has always confused you, yet you never thought to question it, simply narrowing it down to nothing more than a quirk of his. He catches you staring out of the corner of his eye, not once slowing in his battle against the paperwork.

“Are you ready to talk about why I happened to find you crying outside my door in the dead of night?” 

His steady voice rushes over you and you raise your knees to your chest, dragging your finger across the polished desk, drawing invisible patterns over the aged wood. With your free hand, you subtly wipe away what remains of your distress.

“It’s just… my chest hurts.” You whisper lamely as shuffle to get comfy, your hand pressed firmly against your chest while you speak.

You don’t miss the way his eyebrows rise or the way he goes rigid in his chair, “do we need to get you to the infirmary?”

Under any other circumstance, you would laugh at the confusion, yet you are far too drained and jittery to even try. You also don’t want to risk the lecture that would most certainly bring.

“No, not like that. It’s just a physical reaction to my mind, I think? I don’t know, there’s a reason I’m a scout, not a doctor.” Despite everything, that earns you a small amused scoff from Levi before you can continue, “I’ve been overthinking a lot recently… About everything and nothing at all, I don’t know, I’m a bit of a mess right now and it’s so hard to concentrate. I’m just… scared?”

“Why are you asking? It’s not like I can tell you how you are feeling.” Levi replies, silently placing the pen aside and leaning on his elbow on the desk, his head resting on his hand and giving you his full attention.

You rest your head on your knees, pulling them even closer towards you as you avert your eyes, “because I was hoping that you would have the answer.”

A small, weary sigh escapes your lips as you struggle beneath his calm stare, he is silent, letting you gather your thoughts without relying on his input to help you piece your emotions together. Your invisible drawings on his desk have ceased, instead morphing into impatient taps speeding in tempo.

“I think I might have just hit my limit, bottled up too much to save for later and later finally arrived. My chest feels like it's in a vice and I’ve been on edge more and more recently. I don’t feel like myself, I just want it to go away.” You bury your face in your hands, exhaustion fully washing over you as you finish your best attempt at explaining the tangled web of emotions swirling within you. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Levi asks, his question is quiet yet weighs heavily on you. You have always been close to him, trusting him with everything and in kind, he has always trusted you with his fair share of secrets and his past. Over time, you both came to love one another, stealing away time together whenever you could, slipping secret notes under his door when you couldn’t spend the evening curled up beside him. 

A part of you wants to blame your silence on not wanting him to see you in a different light, not wanting him to think you are weak and unfit to be a scout, let alone standing proudly at his side. But the rational part of your mind, fighting for control amidst the conflict, knows that to be lies fed to you by your current state.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you.” You finally lift your head to look into his eyes once more, the gentle glow of the candlelight reflecting within.

“Considering the fucked up world that we live in, I’m always going to worry about you.” This time he’s the one to glace away, the wax dripping down the side of the candle seeming to be a good distraction as he opens his shielded heart.

“You can always come to me. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’d prefer to have you in my sight during these moments. So I know you’re alright.”

You give a small nod, untangling yourself as you stand from the chair and move towards the small settee placed in front of the fire. Once you have gotten yourself settled on the plush fabric, you extend your hand, palm up, towards him. His eyes soften as he sits next to you, throwing one arm across the back of the chair behind you and you hear him let out a low chuckle as you shuffle closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

His arm abandons the back of the sofa, coming down to rest on your shoulder and your eyes flutter shut when he starts to lightly drag his finger up and down the top of your arm. The action causes your skin to tingle beneath his touch. You take his free hand in yours and he quietly watches as you play with his fingers, the fretfulness finally beginning to fade away. 

“How’re you feeling now?” He breaks the comfortable silence, his voice becomes a murmur as he rests his cheek against your head.

“Better, I can still feel it, but it’s a lot quieter than it’s been all week now. Thank you, Levi.”

“Tch, I’ve not done anything for you to thank me, it’s not like I can control what you feel.” You give him a small giggle in response, not even needing to see his expression to know he’s rolled his eyes.

“We both know that’s a lie, Ackerman. You’re the only one who’s able to get my heart to flutter like this, just for an entirely different reason.”

You are met with a small nudge, the action causes you to gasp as he perfectly hits your ticklish spot and you retaliate by turning your head, letting your cold nose connect with the warm flesh of his neck and drawing out an unimpressed groan from the man.

“You have the worst timing when it comes to flirting.” Despite his words, you can hear the small grin in his voice, unrestrained in the privacy of his office. He wraps his arm tighter around you, pulling you onto his chest and holding you tight. You bring your intertwined hands up to rest on your chest before letting your mind melt away, enveloped in his warm embrace and surrounded by his scent, the mix of his soap and the lingering scent of tea pleasantly washing over you.

You let your eyes drift shut, your body begging for a nap, at the very least, and you feel him shuffle beneath you, his fingers flexing over your chest. 

“Is it supposed to be that fast? I thought you said it was better?” He tries to sit up to get a better look at you, but you refuse to let him, pushing him back down with a small whine so you can snuggle closer. He relents with a small grunt.

“I am feeling better, please trust me on that. It doesn’t physically hurt as much now and I feel like I’m finally able to relax for longer than five minutes at a time.” You nuzzle your face against the soft fabric of his shirt, claiming him as your bed for the night. He lets out a small hum in acknowledgement and your eyelids grow heavier and heavier when you feel his hand come to rest on the top of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair with slow strokes as he lulls you into a well-deserved sleep.

[mothmanavenue]

In conjuntion with this art piece here

...

The war doesn’t end with a crash or a bang. Nothing explodes in a fiery shower the way he’d read about in books as a kid. There's no rocking of the ground as the world shifts under their feet, and a curling anxiety in his gut as he desperately reaches out in the link for a glimmer of one just one of his teammates, his family, his lover.

There’s just the dead drop of a falling lion as a ceasefire is called. It’s just the feeling of his fingers relaxing from a white knuckled grip on Red’s controls and his head falling back with a dull thud against the headrest of the pilot’s chair. It’s the unwinding of his spine as he slumps, all his strength and exhaustion collapsing in on him as he surrenders flight back to his lion, her battle roar softening to a gentle rumble in the back of his mind. It’s the gasps of relief and whispered gratitude of his family echoing in his ears, letting him know they’re safe, they’ve made it, it’s finally done.

Keith is completely unsurprised to note which one he prefers. 

Red’s purr is a constant source of comfort in his mind as he curls his legs toward his chest, eyes squinted in lazy, bone deep weariness, brain barely processing Shiro and Allura from their respective command stations outlining the conditions of ceasefire. He can barely think about anything outside the cramping in his fingers and the bleariness of his eyes from entire successive days spent raising Voltron’s sword, pouring his energy and willpower into convincing the strongest weapons in the universe to bend to his will.  

It’s ok if he misses something. The team will catch him up. They always have, when the tiredness consumes him, and he checks out of conversations and discussion, slumping against the nearest comforting shoulder. 

Allura’s voice is as sharp and clear as the crown that adorns her head; the queen of Altea in all her glory commands her troops from the midst of battle. Keith’s attention had been laser focused on ensuring Voltron’s continued presence, but nothing in the world could keep him from watching for Allura’s flashing blue light as she approached Haggar, now withered and raging, and knelt in front of her. Keith missed what was said, the words exchanged. But he saw the tightening of his Queen, his sister’s, shoulders, and the hand wrapping tight around the witch’s neck. 

It’s been a long eight days on this earth of his.

His brain clocks out in that moment, and he rides the warm haze he’s in, letting the satisfaction of success settle into his bones. It’s not time for celebration just yet. It will come later once the dead is counted and the shrouds are laid. Keith knows better than most the toll of war, and he dreads the time that will come when the lists of the dead will be handed to them, and he will need hours, days, weeks, to grieve people he did and didn’t know and names he’s cherished and ones he’s never heard, and each loss will still hit like a blow to the ribs. After that, the celebration will come. The ballrooms of the castle will glow with life and Hunk will dress in gold, Shiro’s white hair will gleam in the light, and Pidge will protest that she just won a war, she deserves a drink. Allura will stand regal at their side, and her shoulders will be light, free from the burden of an avenger, and she will turn to them with a gleaming grin and they won’t have any choice but to smile back at her. 

And lance.

Lance will be so handsome in his blue suit, golden and silver threaded in painstaking embroidery in the bed of deep sky. His hair will fall loose and natural in his eyes, heavenly blues, and earthy brown under the string set of his eyebrows, and he’ll gleam like a freshly lit candle. 

He’ll take Keith’s breath away and Keith will never want it back. 

But that comes after.

Right now, here, Red lands on dusty earth and grumbles in his head about doing all the work. He’s sure none of the other lions give their other halves this much shit. He loves her so fiercely it burns his throat and eyes. He can’t believe he ever spent a day outside of her. Can’t believe he wasn’t raised alongside this wonderful, temperamental, protective, grouchy cat, who bossed him and fussed him, and purred and cooed when he screamed in his dreams. Can’t believe there ever was a time he resigned himself to not having this. What a fool he was. 

The wave of emotion fills the cockpit in a lilting hum, and she lights up around him, Voltron blue piercing through the chunks in his armour. Red is as alive as a blaze and warm as a hearth in his head. 

Her mouth drops open with one final swell of affection, as she releases her paladin to his home ground. 

Keith murmurs a breathy thank you i love you you’re everything to me, as he stumbles out, hand grasping the cool metal as he comes to a rest on the shifting sands. The sand is warm from fire and fighting and it hits him all at one.

He crouches down, head hanging as he pants and gasps for breath. The emotion of the past few days shutter his eyesight till all he sees in the grains of sand sticking to his gauntlets. His head spins and his hair is falling out of the ponytail he’d tied it back in, and his breath is coming hard now. 

Something is missing. Somethings not quite right.

The swords have fallen, the helmets tossed to the side, red looms protective behind him. The shields are down the guards are dropped and he can feel the press of the Voltron bond that lets him know his team is landing nearby, drawn together with a gravitational pull.

He draws in breath, cool and refreshing and tinged with the scent of burning. Around him the sand is interspersed with freshly formed glass. 

He raises his head, expecting to see the heavens above him. He wants to take in the freshly healed scar of the newly collapsed Rigel star system. Wants to know how the blazing lights of thousands of planets worth of warfare look set against the familiar earth sky. He think he might look at the constellations, like he did not far from here a hundred years ago, tucked into his dad's strong, solid arms, the scratch of a stubbly chin accompanying a moving mouth as it named Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini. 

He looks up expecting to see stars, and instead, he sees the sun.

Lance's smile is crooked, and his breath comes fast, like he ran, as he hovers over him. Their faces are so close he can count each individual freckle on this boy’s face, as precious to him as the gleam of moonlight cutting paths across the castle hallways. Oh this boy, this absolute death of him. 

“Hey lover,” the words leave Lance’s mouth with ease and anticipation, years of pent-up adoration spilling out with every vowel, “we did it.”

Keith feels his own smile steal across his face, “yeah, we did.” 

If possible, Lance's smile grows wider, crinkling the already forming smile lines at his eyes. Keith thinks of the products that line the counter of his bathroom sink, just waiting for a pretty bronzed hand to pick them up when the separation hits, and their resolves are softened by the press of late hours and long silence. 

A silly waste. Keith likes this look on Lance.

Aging.

What a wonderful thing he never thought he’d get to have. 

“You know what that means?” 

Lance's voice is smooth, the tremble that only a practiced ear could pick out masked by the sincerity and anticipation that has dogged their every conversation since that night on the dais. 

“We’ll wait.”

“Until when, Keith?”

“Until it’s done. When it’s done then we can have this. We can’t lose everyone for each other.”

“I’m yours?”

“When it’s done then. And when it’s done, I’m bringing you home with me. I’m putting a ring on your finger and I’m never letting you go. You’re it for me, Keith.”

“I’m not asking you to wait, that’s not fair-“

“I followed you into space Keith. I followed you to the point of no return. You aren’t asking me anything and that’s a damn shame. I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“When it’s done lance, when it’s done, I’ll ask you anything you want me to. I’ll come home with you, I’ll share a bed with you. I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t joke, honey,”

“I’m not. You’re mine, lance”

“And-“

“you’re mine.”

The words reverberate in his head, and oh. This is what it was. The smooth slot of this thing that’s been so long coming.

Lance drops to his knees in front of him, one warm hand coming to rest on his cheek. Keith leans his head into it. He’s too tired for restraint, or shame, or any other useless emotion that would’ve held a younger him back. He’s got nothing to lose. He’s won. There’s no reason left to hold back. What a novel idea. It coats him and leaves him shivering at the feel of a gloved thumb running gently over his cheekbones.

His eyes fall back open from their unconscious close, and Lance is so close.

Honest, sweet, honourable lance. The sandpaper to all his rough edges. The iron that absorbed his burning heat. The shore that meets his rocking tide. 

Keith can hear the thunder of Pidge’s feet as they run across the uneven terrain. Hunk is following after her, his voice a cacophony of relief and joy. Shiro’s laughter is warm and thick as honey, coming easier than it has since aliens were a late-night story. Allura is giggling, high and bright, and a little hysterical. It’s ok. She’ll pull herself back together and they’ll be there to fill the cracks with liquid gold.

(Or glitter. She’d like glitter.)

Lance is watching him, and Keith’s eyes drift back to him. Lance hasn’t looked away in years. Something, some last resistance hidden away so deep he didn’t even know to search for a cure, falls away. 

He leans in and closes the gap.

...

posted on ao3 here

[brucewaynehater101]

Hi again!!!! Older brother JJ annon here

So i absolutley LOVE your take on this and ive got stuffs to add >:D

So the Joker finds the alternate universe Damian so JJ just- kills him right?? And then Damians bats come to get him and all that but WJAT IF instead of them going back to their dimension JJ sees these other people he vaguley recognizes and decides "fuck it. Im keeping them ALL."

So he does. And it doesnt matter that most of these guys are older than him, he treats them almost exactly like he does with Damian. (Except for bruce. Junior doesnt know what to do with bruce) JJ doesnt give two shits

And like- all the bats are weirded out because what????? Who is this mini joker??? And then they find out its a version of TIM. So they just...kidnap him back. Its bonus points because they dint have a Tim (anymore [i decided that because angst and yes. {id imagine their tim died from the widdower on Brucequest or smth along those lines but the evidence he collected still got sent back? Who knows. Deff not me}])

So its like a win-win for everyone involved!!! Tim JJ gets the bats back (even if he doent really recognize them) and the bats get a Tim back!!

(Thank you for listening to my insanity ted talk.)

Here's a link to the OG post!

Oh? ~ I like the way you think, Anon. Let's crank up the angst, shall we? As much pain as possible :) :D

TW: Major character death, dead body description, toxic obsessions

We'll refer to one Tim as Alt!Tim and the other as JJ!Tim (or JJ) for simplicity sake.

Alt!Tim was never caught by Dick when Ra's kicked him out of a window. Dick was right there, mere centimeters away, but Tim slipped right through his fingers.

Dick was forced to watch as another one of his family members fell to his death.

It's not the sound of bones impacting cement that haunts him so, nor the sight of his baby brother hitting the ground from over 80 stories tall.

No. It's the look of contentment, the small reassuring smile, the instant forgiveness, and the relief that poured from Tim's body when he noticed Dick was trying but would fail to catch him.

Tim dying at this time, when he still hasn't repaired any of his relationships with his family, absolutely obliterates the remaining Bats. They either feel guilt for how they treated him, for not being there for him, or for what he sacrificed for them.

[Whether or not Ra's scraped his body off of the ground and lugs his corpse to a Pit only to brainwash and hide him from the Bats is a separate storyline. In this case, Tim, who finally manages to escape, realizes that his Bats (and Tim is mentally not well. He's kind of obsessive post-Pit) are gone. Alt!Tim goes to track them down only to find them chumming it up with another version of him :) ]

JJ is also obsessive with the Bats. These newcomers are all his younger siblings (minus Bruce), and he will not let them go. The Bats, who miss Tim/feel guilty and desperately want him back, are also super obsessed with Tim. It kinds of works out for them.

[bunnylove1]

.*•Alastor HC!•*.

~.•Alastor x reader HC!

~.•warnings! Smut and fluff!, praise from alastor to reader, visible hickeys!, throw up! Sickness,

~.• My first like head cannon post You darlings enjoy it! (Not a lot of smut HC but still my HC on are good old al)

•Alastor isn’t the physical touch in public kinda guy but he definitely does kiss the top of your hand and like to link arms together while your out in cannibal town

•I like the idea of his ears being sensitive since he’s a deer! You definitely already knew this from how long you guys have been together for so you know the right spots, Alastor definitely only lets you do this and will go all yk radio demon to whoever try’s to touch them that isn’t you

•he likes your company definitely more of a quality time guys

•going in with quality time, he loves when you sit in his broadcasting room doing your own quiet thing while he’s on the air, he enjoys your presence

•He will spoil you rotten with tiny little perfumes and necklaces and will always get you roses

•he definitely loves when you wear red to match his outfit

•I don’t see him as a jealousy type of guy but if someone’s to close for his liking he’ll “politely” tell them to say there goodbyes and leave

•he’s a night owl it’s just a fact so while you are dead asleep he’s reading his book and gently running his hands threw you hair

•okay man doesn’t have that big of a sex drive but when he’s in the mood he’s in the mood, he likes to nibble and leave purple hickeys on you collarbone and neck he likes to make sure everyone knows your his and his only

•he doesn’t like it when you drink he’ll grab whatever beverage your drink is and pour it out and just simply walk away

•he likes to give forehead kisses and maybe a small peck on the corner of your mouth just a tiny quick on and then go off to whatever he was doing

•if you doing your own thing quitley in the lobby of the hotel he’ll pop out of nowhere and just whisper a tiny boo~ and then turn around to talk to Charlie or whoever is there acting like he didn’t just scare you.

•he’s not a big fan of movies like he don’t like tv at all so slow dancing to jazz/old timey songs on his radio is his favourite thing to do with you

•dates with Alastor are nothing special just simple romantic a nice walk to dinner and maybe a nice stroll after dinner

•he’s not the best with cheering you up but I feel like he would try his best maybe by simple “your okay little fawn” or “tell me what’s wrong my dear”

•even though he’s not the best at cheering you up he knows how to take care of you when your sick, if your throwing up he’ll softly rub his thumb on your back going up and down with his hand as he does and with his free one getting your hair out of your face, hell make you soup and make sure you stay in bed till your better

•Alastor likes to tease your weakness like if you’re terrible at being on time he’ll say “don’t be late my dear we all know your bad at telling the time” he only does this because 1) he thinks it’s funny how you scramble to do the thing better and 2) he wants you to get better at what you bad at!

•if you haven’t seen this man with his hair up your missing out!, if your bored he’ll allow you to do his hair like in ponytails pigtails anything he doesn’t care cause your his darling!

•he loves seeing you and Rosie getting along!

•but he didn’t know that you and Rosie would end up being friends dragging him along to late night shopping sprees and tiny dinner tea parties and gossip nights

•he admirers when you dance he finds it funny and cute to see you dance and stumble a little on your feet while you do so

•when he’s tried you know he’s tired he’ll snuggle up into bed and wisp you down with him knowing he only sleeps well when your near

•hates coffee and milk for some reason I think he would hate the bitterness of coffee no matter how much sugar you put in there and wouldn’t like the taste of milk because it has no “flavour” to him and he’d rather “just eat the cow”

•definitely a tea and biscuits guys

•hates the colour pink just because people mention he’s wearing pink all the time even though it’s clearly red

•he HATES when you interact with the vees he’ll spin you around and take you straight back to the hotel and won’t tell you why but you’ll know

•he’s not great at communication but you guys figure out a way to understand y’all’s needs,wants and matters

.*•Thank you darlings for reading this if you want more just send me some requests and I’ll will do them!<3

[screamingcrows]

Start Carvin' Darlin' - Dottore x f!reader

Note: I've never suffered this much anguish just to make a single bad pun. I do want to write their first encounter buuut we'll see if it ever happens. Bear with me, I know it makes little sense. By all that is important- please heed the tags.

~7k words

Tags: dead dove do not eat, nsfw, dark content, fem!reader, cannibalism adjacent thoughts, manipulation, coercion, noncon, drugging, medical malpractice, power imbalance, age gap, somnophilia, sexualised dissection, fingering, needles, blood, gore, dacryphilia?, drowning, no aftercare, thoughts of death, thoughts of murder, brief choking, no pleasure for reader, Il Dottore centric MINORS DNI - I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

There were few things, and even fewer people, Dottore would consider faithful companions. The world had made clear that nothing could be trusted and any gesture of kindness was bound to come at a price. The rest were blind to their perils. After all, so long as it was woven tight enough, even a tapestry of lies would be beautiful.

Hunger was different in that regard. Its claws had always nestled deep within his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew to carve out a space for itself. He'd known every flavor it had to offer, from light tingles creeping down his spine to the dagger that had been lodged and twisted between his ribs, unbearable when he'd dragged himself through the scorching dunes that refused to be a home.

His eyes flickered to the scalpel held loosely in his gloved hand, the light reflected in the metal devoid of warmth. There was no real reason to wear them, the broken husk atop his table served no threat, and contamination from himself was a wholly irrelevant concern to the present analysis.

Force of habit was what he reasoned, the motion of putting them on coming almost as naturally as shushing the commotion in his, their, mind. There had been quite enough of that lately, only worsened by his own souring mood. Cutting the link off for the day would be best for them all.

That torment and the hunger accompanying it was but a faint memory now. Much more vivid were the tendrils that had coiled around his gut so long ago and punctured the fragile organ, leaving holes that would never be filled no matter the knowledge he devoured.

Every form of craving was a base need that Dottore had long since catalogued and archived in the back of his mind, giving him control whenever they surfaced. Desires were a potent tool when wielded right, something to use and then push away, a drive he'd discovered far more difficult to replicate mechanically.

What good was fear of decay to something that had never truly been alive?

It wasn't before you entered his life that Dottore understood what it meant to be truly starved. Four weeks. That was how long you'd been gone, a speck of dust compared to his solitary existence. It would likely be another two before you returned. Living as a famished man had been all too easy before the taste of sunsettia lingered on his tongue in the dead of night, the sweet fragrance in the air cloying despite every window letting in the frigid Snezhnayan air.

Ichor poured forth from the incision, rich in color as it stained everything in its path. Light reflected across the surface of the syrupy liquid, creating millions of constellations one second and replacing them the next. How would it feel on his tongue? Look running down your throat? It enveloped his fingers in a welcoming embrace, spilling over the edges as it made way for curious probing.

Crimson eyes refocused under the mask, shattered remnants of crystalline mimicry laying separated from the sharp casing. Rarely did a delusion crack. Even in death, the poor thing still clutched it with fervor. Each delusion was a testament to progress, every shard a strict reminder to never grow complacent. In time, he'd examine the shards for impurities, but for now, the cold flesh bearing the consequences was his priority.

Selfishness ingrained after hatred burning too brightly, his recklessness had long since settled into carefully calculated moves. Still, the temptation of your flesh had been too much. By no means were he a weak man, yet the promise of warmth in the otherwise cold halls had caught him unaware.

It's lungs were expanding almost desperately to accommodate the growing pressure of death upon the air. That was another faithful companion, silent and ever watchful, no doubt waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The ashen skin was beautiful and had he known no better, it would've seemed obvious to write off the limbs as carved from stone. But there was no reasonable way to make that assumption, not with how the remaining muscle still moved under his touch. How it stretched when tugged. As tenderly as a lover, the sharp metal severed a piece to call it's own.

It hung from his palm, no longer part of anything that could have held importance, the tempting pink that was so familiar tainted by a vulgar discoloration, no doubt caused by the elemental energies it had been forced to absorb.

It bordered on obsession with how his thoughts would always circle back to you. He'd seen that color in the bruises he left on your body, in the plums you so enjoyed, pearly whites ripping through the skin and piercing the soft flesh underneath. You were always messy, with juices running down your chin while you perched so prettily on the cold metal tables of his workshop, nodding along to anything that left his lips. His eyes focused on a single drop running down his arm, deceptively anonymous in origin if seen in isolation, it might be a believable substitute for licking sweet nectar from your lips. He wondered if you were still as sweet as your favorite fruit. If it would sate the longing that gnawed at his insides the same as your presence did.

"Lord Harbinger? I- please excuse my intrusion, I'd been led to believe you weren't otherwise occupied."

You'd come to him as a wide eyed recruit, having had the misfortune of being made a cog in their machine. Such had become the fate of most, ironic that all they would see accomplished in their lifetime was trading who held the reins of their suffering. His wooden doors had creaked on their hinges as you tried to be discreet, trembling and clumsy with the salute, clearly still trying to come to terms with this new fate. You were everything he'd despised; weak, helpless, naïve, and so willing to throw yourself at whatever would have you and keep you safe. It fed something selfish.

"I am always busy. Quit wasting my time and state your purpose."

"I'm supposed to report for a health examination before they finalize the recruitment…"

Under normal circumstances, he'd have punished a disturbance like that, especially when paired with such ignorance. A medical exam. That was what you inquired about, and while he knew it to be true that every acquired asset must be examined, it was laughable that you'd fallen victim to some superiors directing you to his space.

Dottore had been in a good mood, finding himself willing to entertain the misunderstanding, if nothing else, it had provided a good distraction from the failures that had haunted him. Not even an hour after you'd left had he requested your transfer to his command, deeming you suitable for a few impending projects.

There was nothing sentimental left in him, all that had been forsaken, turned to dust when he broke himself into pieces. That was the truth as he willed it.

Another chunk of red left the body on his table, nimble fingers peeling back a layer of epithelia to trace the vessels that permeated it. They too had been contaminated, their walls glittering preciously in the sharp light. Steady hands held a syringe filled with water, letting it perfuse the artery before he gingerly collected it. A sample of blood for purification would be necessary as well. A pity the body had been left long enough that tracking the spread of energy would be useless through the crimson liquid, tissue damage would be the most reliant evidence.

Nothing remained of his past self, the parts that still clung to a desire for belonging, not satisfied by only the unity of ambition. It had been your eyes that revived it, looking upon him as if he held the sun in his palm and brought forth the dawn. As if he held all the secrets that would bring salvation.

Undoubtedly, you were one of the healthiest subjects to find themselves on his tables. And that was the justification he'd used that first time his hands had roamed the expanse of your skin, checking for any deformities and writing down scribbles on a sheet of parchment. It was both to placate your nervous mind, betrayed by the wobble in your lips and fidgeting hands, and to record your initial state, in case an opportunity to bring you back regularly and monitor any changes presented itself.

His fingers pushed inside, pliant flesh parting around his digits and swallowing them whole. It was a mesmerizing sight, his free hand twitching briefly before mindlessly wandering to unclasp his mask, as if the removal of it somehow made the wetness now coating his fingers glisten all the more. A shuddering breath passed his lips, forced out by the growing pressure in his chest as he remained unable to pry away his eyes. How utterly beautiful a sight it was. Unable to hold back, his fingers spread out to better stretch the opening, viscous liquid slowly oozing out as he engaged his other hand.

"a-ah I don't think that-"

"Good, keep it that way, there's no need for you to think. The more you squirm around, the longer this will take. Although, from the sounds you're making, it almost seems as though you are enjoying yourself?"

"No I'm.. Hurts.."

"Relax for me then."

Dottore had wondered since that day whether you were truly that clueless, or if you'd excuse yourself with the anxiety he'd seen choke your thoughts so often since. While he could grant you the benefit of doubt concerning the implications of his title, surely you'd know that a Harbinger had far more important obligations?

Entertaining whims had a habit of bringing more trouble than the brief euphoria indulgence could ever warrant. That had been his first mistake pertaining to you.

A flick of his wrist and the liver was easily removed, threads of adipose tissue clinging to the engorged mass as if unity would somehow save it. How tragically still it all was, the clockwork driving it forward had long since ceased operating, leaving only obsolete parts in the wake. The liver had been discolored, electro particles having seeped into the matter, it was made even more noticeable by the crisp white fabric it came to lay on. One of the segments could prepare biopsies from it, check if the energies had disrupted or otherwise changed the structures.

They already had an understanding of elemental overloading in organic matter, but it was a rare chance to observe internal damages caused by high loads over a short time rather than the prolonged use cases of their regular agents. Dottore had come to understand that no matter his insistence and want for knowledge, the soldiers wouldn't carry their dead with them, and he hardly had time to waste collecting material himself, no version of him did. Not with how close they were to their objective.

You had understood his desires and promised to try. The distaste had been palpable in the slight twitch of your eyes and wrinkled nose. It was the desire to try that fed his hunger. The silent promise of wanting not to understand, for how could you ever, but believing when he said the benefits were worth the hassle.

That he was worth the hassle.

Ah, how lovely you were. Keening moans and gasps of his name feeding into his budding obsession. The sounds had been enough to distract him from the churning feeling in his gut, barely able to handle how warm your insides had been, how tightly you squeezed his fingers. The feeling reminded him of reaching into a bed of roses, thorns puncturing his being and forcing his breath heavier.

It had been nothing but slow, languid movements, meant to explore and not fulfil, the sweet pleas that left your lips were simply a tacked on bonus. Dottore could only hope that you were left aching and wanting far more than him and that you hadn't seen how his cock had strained against the front of his pants, throbbing in tandem with your mewls. It was unbefitting.

"Two doors down the hall, on your right. You should fix your attire, it wouldn't do for a recruit to look as disheveled as that on their first day."

"I will, Lord Harbinger, and thank you… Did you fill out a form or something I should bring?"

"Consider this a preliminary inspection, the actual one will be done by a physician two doors down the hall."

How unfortunate that those The Mayor promised a better future were also the ones who would never see it come to fruition. They gave their lives, some more willingly than others, for a reward they could never reap. It had already caused a disease to run through Snezhnaya's people, unrest and distrust filling the veins of their nation instead of the wealth and prosperity they'd been assured would come. Dottore had found it most useful in handling you, a little taste of false certainty accompanied by the promise of power to protect yourself. Your gaze had rested upon him with nothing but devotion.

Another chunk left the body on his table, almost tossed aside without the faintest hint of grandeur, the heart was of no use to them This was far from his preferred medium, more durable constructions would always be at the forefront of his interest, yet there was still appreciation behind his mask at the delicacy. It had stopped the moment a flash of electro singed the nerves. He briefly wondered how its now blighted lifeblood would feel atop his tongue, would it prickle? Burn the roof of his mouth?

How he longed to taste yours again, feeling the tension in his jaw at the memory of biting a little too hard, that's what he'd called it anyway, an accident. In truth, he would not hesitate to drain your blood in seconds, the thought of your reliance on something apart from him made a feeling better left unidentified carve a path through his lungs, leaving the structures to collapse without air.

Every time his hands had touched you, tears had been rolling down your cheeks. How long before you learned that compliance was the logical path, that he wanted to gag every time his hands were forced to harm you?

Threats of missions far above your qualifications kept you in line for the most part, pliant enough that the restraints kept for livelier subjects rarely saw use.

Despite his best efforts to keep everything under wraps, Tartaglia had grinned brightly, not a care in the world when he'd approached, having the gall to simply barge in, to inquire about what promising new people he'd taken on. 'It had barely been a week' was what he argued, commenting how surely you must be something special to rouse The Doctor's interest so. Any reaction to his taunts would simply play into the ginger's hands, a game he was always surprised the young man knew how to play.

Something wet slid down his wrist, immediately drawing his attention back as he pulled his hands from the bloody mess. His lips curved downward, observing exactly where the edge of his glove had been pushed down, leaving the marred skin beneath vulnerable. With a huff, Dottore stepped away and discarded the gloves, letting cool water rinse away the icky feeling now writhing under his skin.

"Come now, Doc, why won't you let me have a friendly spar with you newest acquisition? It's so rare for you to take a special interest in anyone, surely you can understand why I'm curious?"

"That is exactly why. She shows promise, and I cannot have you breaking her prematurely."

"That's a promise then! When the time is right!"

"Get out, Tartaglia."

"I heard she's been coming in for regular 'inspections', you have to admit, that sounds a little unsavory. Does she actually think you're a real physician? Oh I know, tell her you studied medi-sin."

"That was an order. Out, now."

The water in Snezhnaya had an edge to it, as if pieces of glass were contained within. It left one feeling raw and aching despite no physical proof persisting. If it did, his hands would've been torn open days ago. There had been too many small mishaps lately, too many times he'd needed to cleanse himself after his mind had wandered. Despite how clearly the words echoed in his mind, no part of him would admit to their truth.

You'd done this to him. You'd instilled in him a weakness, a beast that wouldn't let him rest when you were gone.

A soft knock followed by the click of a lock behind him cleared his head in a flash, clean gloves swiftly tugged into place with newfound anticipation bubbling under his ribs. None of his segments knocked. No one else had a key. His body remained still, awaiting an announcement from the intruder, willing patience to persist even if the idea of feeling your skin under his uncovered palm was clawing at his muscles to move them.

"Doctor, I don't feel so good," weak and pitiful was the voice that reached his ears, it should've made him recoil.

Instead, Dottore found himself struggling to keep his movements languid, the image of a predator barely conserved in the slow turn of his head. He had no doubt you'd be scared if you could see how his eyes lingered upon your silhouette.

"You're making a bad habit of returning in a state of disrepair, there is only so much I can do to keep you patched together. Disrobe while I clear a table."

It would be a shame to discard the rest of the opened body already, there were still so many secrets to be pried from its cold grasp. Perhaps he could get you to-

No.

You would adamantly refuse, already he could sense the unease rolling off of you in waves at the putrid stench of death. Instead, the remains were wrapped tightly and brought to an adjacent room, the air misty from the cryo applicator installed inside, ensuring it could rest unaffected by decay while he tended the living.

A chuckle passed his lips upon seeing the way you were eyeing the metal surface as if it'd dissolve skin and bone. The sound alone was enough to stir your body, movements stiff as you sat on the edge. Such obedience was an admirable trait, one that would make the investment well worth it when he would one day enhance your form. He would. That's what he had to tell himself, even if the thought of peeling back your skin and rewiring everything inside was tied so intimately with an odd sense of loss.

"Finally…" his words had no real bite, only mild impatience.

Still, you hid yourself from his gaze, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around your chest. As if he hadn't seen it all already. Dottore let himself take a moment to simply rake his eyes down the shapes constituting your body, careful to let none of the flames eating away at his insides show. Would you be able to discern it in his eyes should he discard the mask? Light fingers traced down the mock beak, briefly contemplating if he should let you try, it would be nothing but torture no matter what.

Being able to put a monstrous form to everything you'd heard about him, everything he'd done to you, it coiled in the pit of his stomach and upheaved anything on its way. He would never admit to being afraid, but the thought of being regarded with repulsion by you sent a shiver down his spine.

The injuries you'd sustained were minor, shallow and located at safe distances from anything vital. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to play a little, the table had already been cleared and he might as well take the break. Lips set in a scowl, his hands found your shoulders and pushed you back, already relishing in how perfectly the curvature fit against him, how little resistance there was in the movement. Made for him. That's what he would make of you. Scarlet lines had been drawn along your skin, urging his fingers to trail along the wetness.

"Do explain what, precisely, led to you looking like this," he kept his voice frigid for now, knowing how much more responsive the thought of having upset him made you.

"We were on our way back from taking care of-"

"I'm aware of your assignment, do not forget who signs off on your outings, give me the specifics."

A curious finger brushed over your hardened nipple, hearing the words catching in your throat.

"Treasure hoarders. I failed to block a strike and-" your body tensed as it wrung out the words.

"You failed to block a strike from such vermin?" He tutted, hand squeezing a little tighter around the soft flesh of your chest, seeing it spill out between his fingers, "That hardly warrants returning all cut and bruised, clearly, you lack the perseverance I thought I'd observed in you. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but nutrients for the wayside flora, is that what you'd like?"

Dottore wanted to laugh at your pitiful expression, a kicked puppy laying at his feet and wordlessly pleading for forgiveness, unknowing that it had already been granted. It was deliberate that you were never sent away far or for long, but there was no reason for you to know. Fear fostered obedience and your obedience was always pleasant, speeding up the process of cleaning the wounds you'd sustained with minimal squirming.

That didn't mean one hand wasn't constantly splayed over your sternum, pressing down to keep your body pinned. Already, a faint buzz was crawling along his bloodstream, months of conditioning catching up in the most frustrating manner as the front of his pants tightened. He had to swallow hard, forcing his fingers to relax before he left bruises. How would it look, he mused, if his nails could dig into your flesh? At the mere thought of those red crescent, a wave of heat washed over his body, accompanied by images of what other marks he could leave upon the canvas of your body.

Could he replicate and improve how pliant your thighs were under his grasp, would new vocal cords make sweeter sounds, added nerve endings would no doubt make for interesting results, if your muscles were synthetic the force they could exert would be greater meaning-

Not yet.

Dottore willed his focus to return, threading a needle as his disinterested voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

"Do I need to strap you down?"

There was no need to look, knowing you were already oh so bravely shaking your head. An amused smile graced his lips upon seeing your teeth sink into the dirty uniform. Such foresight deserved praise, a small nod of his head accompanied by a finger rubbing along your collarbone in an almost soothing motion.

Having done it countless times before, the needle went effortlessly through your skin, thread pulling the flesh tightly together whenever he tugged. A hand kept returning to your no doubt soft locks of hair, carding through it and pushing back the urge to give a tug. The few tears that had fallen were swiftly brushed away by his fingers, the taste almost cloying upon his tongue.

Dottore sighed softly, tapping your side to get your attention back to the present, seeing your glassy eyes and the small shivers that ran down your body. He could already smell your arousal in the air, the scent growing in strength every time your hips shifted.

"That's it for now," his hand skimmed along your bare stomach, ending atop your sternum and keeping you down, "however, some of the lacerations appear to be in early stages of infection."

How he'd missed the little hitch of your breath, the stutter of your heart underneath his hand. Unceremoniously, Dottore put more weight into the hand, feeling your pulse echo throughout his own body and letting every beat slowly fill the gaping pit beneath his ribs with hollow promises.

There was no infection, of course, but he needed something to placate you before an injection. And the sedative would be invaluable. After weeks of being famished, there was no guarantee your comfort would be at the front of his mind, and it was so much more pleasant when you didn't struggle. Last time had bitterly taught him as much.

"But you can make me okay, right?" There was a sweet tremble to your voice, always so scared of death.

"The mere question is an insult to my abilities," he practically purred, excitement bubbling as his chosen objective for the day moved closer, "it'll just be a little prick and then you're safe. Now, sit up for me."

He'd already turned around, hands aching to return as he rummaged through a few drawers, eventually pulling out both a vial and syringe. Your body came into view reflected in the clear liquid, barely having sat up and already exploring the stitches.

All it for your eyes to lock on the syringe was two taps to the glass, unease so plainly written across your face while he pressed the plunger to clear excess air trapped inside.

His hand encircled your arm, tugging upwards and tutting at the grime that clung to you. With the syringe between his teeth, he wiped the area down, satisfaction flooding his system when goosebumps spread. It had been so long since he'd had you properly.

"There. Now, you need to stay here a little so I can ensure that there are no immediate adverse effects. The blanket is in the usual spot."

It would have been far more practical for you to put the uniform back on, but Dottore trusted that you'd follow his directions regardless and without fuss. When he caught the rattling of metal buckles, he wanted to laugh at your naivety, were you truly not accustomed enough by now to know what he wanted?

"I said; the blanket is in its usual spot," the icy sneer left his lips without a second thought, and oh how beautiful your widening eyes were.

"Well, I know, but it was just-" your voice was already a pitch higher, the irrational fear further irking him.

"Should I consider this insubordination?"

Already, Dottore had crossed the distance and wrapped a large hand around your jaw. It was no secret what happened to cross subordinates. He was well aware that your little slip hardly warranted this reaction, but it was difficult to hold back when the urge to sink his nails into your skin screamed and begged, fighting to drown out every other thought.

"N-no, please…"

It would be all too easy to squeeze a little tighter, hear the crack of your mandible as it would threaten to give out. His fingers stretched to move further up, pressing against the condylar processes, feeling around the joint as images of you with your jaw agape crashed over him.

Dottore knew how little force it took to break. And how a replacement could be crafted and implanted in less than a day, stronger and sturdier than what occupied the space now.

"Remember your place, and be thankful I don't leave you to wilt," the words were spat out with more disdain than anticipated, his fingers giving a last wanton squeeze before releasing your jaw.

With a small scoff, Dottore returned to one of the workbenches that lined the walls, feigning disinterest as his hands automatically began tinkering with the closest contraption, barely willing to divide enough attention to ensure it wasn't something that required further protective equipment for handling. Of course you'd know there were proper medics within the ranks, the most accessible ones located a few rooms away, but they couldn't offer what he did, and the reassurance that you always came back for him to lick your wounds with his barbed tongue, it was enough to pacify any frustrations with your brief moments of hesitation.

Five minutes of pretending to be distracted and Dottore found himself a little impatient.

Ten minutes and it had built to irritation, glassware scraping along the surfaces as he pushed it around, mindlessly 'reorganizing'.

By fifteen something would have been thrown were he a lesser being.

Sweet relief came at the quiet sound of your voice shattering the thick air, the words slurred as if you couldn't quite make out the correct shapes with your lips.

"Am I s'posed to feel tired?"

A small chuckle wormed it's way from his lungs, nonchalance fully restored now that he could turn to gaze upon your slumped body, fingers tightly clutching the fuzzy blanket that enveloped you in a flimsy haven.

"You've just returned after weeks in the field, having sustained injuries and all," Dottore spoke calmly, betraying none of his greed as he gestured to the trace remnants of blood on the table, "it is no wonder that exhaustion would begin to take hold now that you are safe."

The question was plainly written in your eyes, making Dottore incline his head in silent motion to continue, preemptively stepping closer to catch what would no doubt be a whisper.

"Should I go back to the barracks?"

"Would you prefer to go?"

You wouldn't be given the opportunity to go, of course not, but there was no need to be forceful when he could already see how valiantly you fought to keep your eyes open, how your body seemed drawn downwards. It couldn't be more than a few minutes now.

Irritation briefly sparked in Dottore's chest at the little shake of your head, it would've been far more fulfilling to hear you say it.

No attempt was made to make your way through the laboratory to reach the modest cot that stood tucked away in a corner, crates of supplies and projects on hold usually hiding it from view. How ethereal you looked, head lolled to the side and the blanket slowly slipping from your shoulders as a false slumber curled its gnarled limbs around you.

Whatever conclusions you mind would reach were of little consequence, the sedative would take care of that, countless tests indicating that it always left the recipient's memory riddled with inconsistencies, making it easy to dismiss any unpleasantries as imagined.

Dreams.

The risks associated with using the modified Akasha were still too great, even if the possibility of directly rewriting the barrier between truth and fantasy was a tempting one. This way would be more satisfying in the end, having had to put in a little work and flex muscles that had been allowed to atrophy since his days in The Akademiya.

Dottore showed extra care when he hoisted up your unconscious form, grip unyielding as he closed his eyes to revel in the weight against him. In a past that mattered little, others had sworn the ego he carried around was inflated enough to see him ascend in any way but the desired, perhaps this would've been enough of a tether to their reality. For this alone would he allow himself to be held down.

Perhaps things could have been different had that lone island in the sky not decided for his fate to be nothing but misery. Thus logic dictated that you too would be lost. A soft tremor reminded his fingers to relax, gently stroking over the crescents they'd left.

Your breath warmed him far more than it had any right to, coaxing forth memories of a soft summer breeze, rose petals velvety between his fingers as they were plucked from their stem and plummeted to their inevitable demise. And an inviting sound, bubbly and sweet that had, for just a night, filled his veins with the toxin your presence had reignited.

Having you clean would be preferable. The emergency shower would hardly be sufficient, not with how the filth seemed to have embedded itself in your skin. With you unconscious, there was no reason to school his expression, the notion only serving to exacerbate the scowl his face set in.

A soak would be easiest.

There was nothing pompous about the washroom attached to his quarters, and a pang of regret had the idea of bringing you to The Regrator's briefly surfacing. The sentiment didn't linger, an unwillingness to be indebted quickly reigning in the myriad of thoughts cluttering his mind in much the same way towels and clothes were currently strewn around the room.

It made a pretty picture, your body curled up against the side of the tub, a few rays of pale light slithering through the lone window to caress your face. A feeling that had never quite been within his grasp lingered in the rays of light, coaxing something painfully unfamiliar to tug at his shriveled heart.

Just a little longer before the tingling in his fingertips would be sated.

Quick work was made of disrobing himself, a watchful eye making sure your head remained above water. Dottore let a weary sigh hang in the otherwise empty silence, hating the hesitation that riddled his movements as his clothes fell to the floor. There was no reason to be reserved about the results of a life lived, the chances of you regaining consciousness would remain negligible for a while.

Finally settling with your weight in his lap was undoubtedly the closest to rapture Dottore had found himself. Arms securely around your midsection, your back flush against his heaving chest, had every uncertainty draining into the water.

Dutifully, one hand tore itself from your form to reach for a clean cloth, struggling for a moment before muscle memory took over, fingertips gracing the fabric without the need to tear his eyes from your parted lips. It was nothing short of tranquil, letting the cloth scrub away the remnants of your excursion with meticulous care.

Dottore saw how your skin turned red from the continued friction and consciously ignored it, some small voice wanting to rub it off completely and leave you a blank canvas.

He looked instead at his reflection in the water, vermillion stare drawn to its counterpart, noting briefly how it wasn't nearly as comfortable as being under your gaze.

At least his subconscious mind had the decency to have left the few areas he'd stitched together alone, not that they mattered in any practical sense, but you'd be distraught if they were gone when you woke. With time, would you be as broken as him?

Only once you'd been scrubbed clean were thoughts of his own desires acknowledged, cock throbbing against your back as soon as attention was diverted to the feeling. A small hiss mingled with the steam from the water, Dottore easily repositioning you to let his length slide between your thighs.

Already, satisfaction rumbled in his chest, vision engulfed by white for a moment upon repeating the soft motion of his hips. Your thighs easily gave way when tugged apart, body every bit as pliant as previously. Having made peace with his impatience long before, his lips were immediately descended upon the crook of your neck, stifling the groans that spilled forth as he aligned himself.

The water provided additional friction, a slight burn dancing against his sensitive tip upon breaching your tight entrance. Soap met his tongue, disgustingly sterile as it danced along his taste buds, only spurring him on to mouth at you with renewed vigor, desperate to taste the sweetness he knew lay buried underneath.

His hips snapped up as the familiar taste invaded his senses, eyes rolling back at the pleasure of being buried to the hilt. Had his faith been intact, a prayer to the archons for your silence would have tumbled from his lips. Warm droplets carved out paths alongside old scars, gathering at his chin before being caught in the soft locks of your hair. Dottore felt his skin crawl as traces of a pained howl bubbled in his throat, body trembling in time with every squeeze of your insides.

If time would remain forever frozen as the land just outside the walls perhaps everything would be more bearable then. Would it banish both the threat of separation and the burden of remaining what he'd made of himself in spite of reality?

Another sound crawled from his lungs, foreign and intrusive when it met his ears, wanton in a way that caused nothing but dissonance. Dottore curled his body around you, panting heavily against the nape of your neck as he sought out some form of relief, his muscles straining with the increased pace.

Stagnating would be of no use, pleasure was fleeting, worthless without contrast.

Dottore felt euphoria flood his system, spine tingling mercilessly as his sharp teeth tore into the pliant flesh beneath. It was a thoughtless action, driven only by the need to claim and consume, satisfying the desperate desire to be whole. Water sloshed against the edges with every rut of his hips, driving himself deeper into the warmth you so selflessly provided.

How much time had passed felt secondary, the only thing truly worth attention being the rapid tightening in his abdomen, pleasure steadily building with every movement. Seeking more, Dottore found his hands had moved down to grasp the curve of your hip, easily hoisting you up to twist your body around.

With a ferocity that should by all means have been concerning, his lips sought a home against yours, relishing in how they had already parted for him. A hand in your hair was all that was needed to stabilize your head enough that he could delude himself into thinking you awake.

That the little puffs of air that passed into his waiting jaws were instead keens and broken moans spilling forth. His tongue pushed into the waiting heat, wanting if he could to explore deeper, have your throat squeeze around his tongue as your body did his cock. Before he could hesitate, the curve of your nape rested in his calloused palm, the appendage twitching with budding excitement.

A light press was all his mind would allow, knowing all too well how little it would take to snap such a precious thing. As intoxicating as holding the fate of another in his hands were, this was wrong, without reason.

It was the way your thighs quivered around his hips that brought order to all those thoughts, tugging your head away for a breath of fresh air to stifle his burning lungs. Only a single breath afforded, diving back in for more as all else lost meaning. He needed more, needed to hear you beg him, needed your hands to tug at his hair, needed-

Water splashed over the edges as he pushed forward, hands grasping for the back of your knees to push them against your chest. His chest heaved at the sight underneath him, growling like a wounded animal as he reaped what he'd cultivated, one hand keeping a leg pinned while the other covered your nose and mouth.

He was so close.

Close enough that every clench of your slick heat choked his thoughts. Close enough that he threw back his head, willing the image of your eyes briefly opening from his mind, focusing instead on the water soothing his burning skin as he gave a last few thrusts, cursing as the thread snapped and released washed over him.

It would've been no surprise if the tub had cracked from the force, even less if you had cracked, his body still shaking from the force of his release, milky white leaking out into the water and dispersing. Your body was swiftly pulled above the surface as Dottore sat back, once more cradling your head to his chest, trying to ignore the emptiness that wanted to force itself along the clarity that came in the wake of euphoria.

He laid your no doubt exhausted frame onto the cot, hastily tossing the grey blanket over your form. The harsh light of the laboratory did little to hide the marks that littered your body, blooming purple along your thighs, fierce red at your shoulders, already tempting him to reach out and touch again. It was a matter of creating distance, unwilling to let attachment fester and consume more, already now the gnawing had returned, weaker than before but far from sated.

By all means, he should've swung the door shut with more force, knowing at the back of his mind that the lock never clicked. It did nothing to stop his body from collapsing onto his unmade bed, pushing at the covers before crawling further up. He didn't find himself opposed to having you drape yourself against his body, rest in his arms.

Would you seek him out by yourself once the sedative wore off?

Would that finally stave off his hunger?

[wowcatboys]

i rlly like your work, heartsteel needs more content tbh,, so ty!! ANYWAY,

i liked the general relationship/kiss hcs w kayn, would u be able to do that for the other two as well?? if that makes sense

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HEARTSTEEL YONE: RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW, with light touching/sensuality ♡ TW: Some alcohol usage/food mentions ♡ I've done Sett's kisses here (X) and relationship HCs here (X), and Yone's kisses here (X) ! (will I remember to come back and edit those links in??? only time will tell)

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YONE

No matter where you go, Yone brings you on fantastic dates. It's never popular tourist-trap type outings, either. If you ask how the hell he even found out about your date locations, he smiles coyly and says he can't reveal his sources. Regardless, expect lots of breathtaking, original dates—hidden trails that spill into breathtaking clumps of wildflowers, a hole-in-the-wall burger joint with the best fries you've had in tour entire life, tiny sculpture parks with some truly absurd statues (he absolutely refuses to delete the unflattering pic of you squatting next to a caked-up stone Sasquatch).

He isn't on his phone often, so don't be surprised if Yone doesn't text you back quickly or is overly-formal with his messages. Wild horses couldn't drag a silly emoji or a meme out of him. If you're lucky, you'll get a red heart, but that's about it. He tries not to make you feel neglected just because he's a dry texter, though. Especially when he's on tour, he calls you to check in whenever he's got a spare moment.

Yone's a chronic meal-skipper so he really appreciates if you share your food with him. Be warned, though, if you force him to step away from work and sit down for dinner you're either getting five minutes and a cup of instant ramen, or he's cooking you a three course meal complete with different appetizer, entree, and dessert wines. There's no in-between.

While Yone's not a fan of PDA, he holds your hand through every big event you're forced to attend. He doesn't appreciate the attention and flashing lights, but your warm, reassuring grip keeps him calm and relatively content.

Matching outfits are a little bit too much, but Yone is all for wearing clothing that compliments yours. Think similar textures, colors, and cuts. If you're wearing athleisure, he'll throw on a pair of stylish sweatpants. You're rocking the all black fit, so is he (with a pop of color in his earrings, probably—if he's completely monochrome, Kayn accuses him of "stealing his look"). Though he thinks it's a little cringy to be exact matches, he's definitely down to coordinate.

Whenever Yone makes himself a coffee, he whips up a glass of your favorite beverage as well. Nothing is too complicated—if you want a latte, he can make any flavor, and he'll pour the foam into a heart shape on top. Boba? No problem, he's got tapioca pearls in your favorite flavor and large straws on hand, to boot. A mimosa? Okay, he might raise his eyebrow at that one and point out that it's like eleven A.M.—nevertheless, if it's a mimosa you want, then it's a mimosa you'll get. Part of this is because he loves you, of course, but also? He hates sharing his coffee and figures that you won't ask for a sip if you've got your own drink.

Yone absolutely melts when you take care of him. He's used to looking after everyone else's wants and needs, so it's a pleasant surprise when someone extends that same care and attention to him. Cook him his favorite meal or take care of his laundry when he's been extra busy, and he looks at you like you're the eight wonder of the world. "You didn't have to do that for me," he cups your face gently, sweeping an appreciative kiss over your forehead. "But I'm glad that you did."

Chivalry is not dead and Yone's the man giving it CPR. Count on him to be the perfect gentleman. He opens every door for you, takes your coat whenever you drop by his studio, and no, under no circumstances will he let you pull out your own chair.

Yone's pet-names are sweet and classic. Most often, he calls you 'my darling', but he'll occasionally pepper in a 'dearest' or 'lover' for variety.

One of Yone's favorite ways to spend a free evening with you is sneaking into underground music shows. The two of you will turn up to somebody's house where the living room has been cleared to throw together a makeshift stage, or an abandoned warehouse with people clustering together and swaying to synthetic beats blasting through mid-grade speakers. More often than not, the musicians aren't that good (but that's par for the course with these kind of shows). The atmosphere can't be beat, though. And, when you do stumble upon somebody's garage band that actually goes hard, it's always an exciting surprise. Yone always keeps cash on him in case somebody's selling merch. He snags two stickers, one for you to keep and one to paste on his guitar case. What better way to commemorate shitty bands and crowded house shows than with matching stickers?

If you tag along with him on tour or business trips, Yone's first mission is to scout out a good coffee shop. Of course he takes you along, and buys you whatever little treats catch your eye. Sweets, sandwiches, snacks—anything he notices you ogling behind the glass, he orders for you.

Even with his massively packed schedule Yone NEVER, EVER forgets an important date. Expect gifts on birthdays and anniversaries, and extra love and support on dates that might be difficult for you.

Since Sett's a master crocheter, Yone pays him a frankly absurd amount to make you a plushie that looks like his fox mask. Yone knows that it can't be easy for you, with him away touring or on business so much of the time. The stuffed snuggle-buddy, he hopes, can ease your loneliness when he's away. Before he sets off on a long trip he makes sure to spritz your stuffie with his cologne, so that you can squish it in your sleep and dream that he's right there with you.

Yone's not a huge cuddler. Too much physical attention can make him feel smothered. The exception is when you sit on his lap. He loves when you settle onto him while he's working. As long as you're quiet and still (he doesn't want you to disturb his flow, after all), he basks in your comfortable warmth and the adorable way you tuck yourself into his chest.