#and it turns out maybe... he can bear the weight of caring again

[cathnospam]

When Bakugo is mad at you he pouts and stares.

Bakugo is kind of a brat, now that you think about it.

He never admits his anger he just waits for you to point it out. But unluckily for him you don’t and he always is the one to falter first.

You’re fresh out the shower and he’s laying on your bed just watching you. Angrily, Same little face he did when you smiled at him going in the shower.

His arms were crossed now though.

“I feel so much better now.” You speak your thoughts out loud as you toss your dirty clothes in the hamper, “felt icky all day.”

Bakugo doesn’t say anything, just looks at your figure facing the tall mirror, you notice, also noticing he was upset, and though you love him, his lack of communications skills can be a pain in the ass because you know once you ask him “What’s wrong” he’ll be bratty and say nothing.

So you instead decide to tease him, why not? You were kinda horny today anyway.

You take off your bun and scarf and let your braids fall down your back, while also dropping the robe that was loosely draped over your body anyway down to your ankles. In an instant you see Bakugo shift in his seat to try to look away.

“It’s so colddddd.” You fake burr while tip toe’ing to the thermometer, “Freezing in here.”

“Maybe because your tits are out.”

Finally. He speaks.

“I thought you liked my tits? You did last week, see. Still have the hickey for it.”

“Shut up.”

Smirking, you lightly prance your way over to him, he noticed the bed dipping under your weight and that damn intoxicating scent of your body wash bearing his nose, Bakugo knew if he turned he’d be face to face with you.

“Look at me.”

Only his eyes gracing your with a second glance he stays still for a moment until you take his chin and force him to.

“Put some damn clothes on.”

“Make me.”

Bakugo didn’t wanna accept defeat, his pride wouldn’t let him. No matter how sexy you look to him right now, how good you smell, or even how badly he wants to stuff his face between your thighs.

He’s still mad at you.

“Why are you mad at me? Did I do something?”

“‘M not mad.”

“Liar.” You bark back quickly, his gaze went down to your chest, when you realize you adjust yourself on his lap, your bare damp cunt taking its place on his semi hard dick already through his sweats, “What happened?”

Your breath fanned his lips, Bakugo felt his will breaking, his determination to stay angry at you, but got damn you and those big doe eyes you have with such need and curiosity.

Those same eyes he wants tearing up under him again, “…..You…you didn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” You started to look and search over his face and body, no new haircut or anything.

“…I got the highest score on the final exam and you didn’t even congratulate me….”

Blinking at him he starts to grumble and shuffle in his seat, relaxing his arms to land on your hips his cheeks begin to flush.

You typically do praise him with every accomplishment he has whether big or small, but you didn’t mention it once today after you both left the lecture to check your scores. He don’t know why it made him so upset but it did.

And that was just so fucking cute to you.

“Oh baby…..” You practically whine out to kiss all over his face, “I’m so sorry baby c’mere. I am so proud of you. i knew you could. My smart, amazing boyfriend.”

Your voice had some teasing undertone to it, but Bakugo didn’t care to point it out feeling on your naked body grind and press against him, he closes his lips with yours, almost greedily sucking your bottom lip and licking your own tongue in your mouth he holds you closer, lower growling, still annoyed feeling in his chest, but it begins to get ignored when your fingers traced against it.

“Can i make it up to you?”

He pulls away not saying anything, but watching you adjust your body between his legs, you pat his thigh to lift his hips, dick springing up embarrassingly to slap against his lower body with prickles of pre cum, your eyes practically glowing at the sight.

“Wait.” Bakugo uses the last bit of sanity he had to cup your cheek, “Turn around.”

“Baby….” Already knowing what he was implying he wanted to do you begin to get flushed, “That position is embarrassing.”

“Not to me.” Shaking his head he already begins to pull up your body to adjust yourself on top of him, nothing, but your pussy and asshole right in his face, “There we fucking go. Shit—- You just drooled on my lip Y/N-“

“‘Suki!” You whine, “You better watch your fingers too this time—aah!”

Shutting you up he latches onto your dangling little clit, aching for a suckle, you felt his hands spread your ass out further for more access, ignoring how slutty he must look right now you take as much of him as you could.

69 is typically Bakugo’s go to, he loves be smothered by you completely, the way you shake your ass in his face when he begins to tease you with the tip of his tongue only doing figure 8 shapes on your clit, when you moan on his dick when you’re close, the way he just sometimes gets away with licking your ass too, he was a freak, and he doesn’t care how embarrassed you might be because at the end of the day he really loves all of you.

Even if he gets mad at you sometimes.

[alchemistc]

"How is he doing?" Maddie asks, and Tommy doesn't know how to answer that.

The thing is, he's watched Evan put on a mask. For a week and a half now, Evan has curled into Tommy's arms and taken the support Tommy offers, but the moment anyone else reaches out he's a different fucking person. Steel spine and marble face, not a wobble or a stutter to his words, the consummate professional.

It's startling to be the one who gets to watch the mask fall away. See the marble melt, the steel bend under the heat and the weight bearing down on him.

He knows that song and dance. He's perfected it.

To see Evan take up that mantle makes his chest feel caved in, and sometimes it happens so quickly and purposefully that Tommy wants to gag, to scream, to sob.

"He's grieving. We all are." It's not enough. But Evan has made it clear that he will not bend or break in front of the people Bobby asked him to take care of, and Tommy can't betray that.

Maddie rolls her jaw. Her expression is half-teary, half-murderous. Like she should be the one who has to witness that flint-strike change in her baby brother. Like she should carry that weight when Evan can't manage it for another minute.

Maybe she should. Maybe Tommy's stepping in where he doesn't belong.

Except Evan has been shockingly explicit, and honestly a little fucking demanding, about what he wants from Tommy.

Tommy's just grateful there aren't any uncertainties, in this moment in their lives. Tommy knows exactly what he's here for right now.

Beyond that...

"Has he talked to you?" She's still on the verge of tears, watching Evan out of the corner of her eye, brow furrowed in concentration at the kitchen island, garnishing whatever dish he's brought his family this evening.

Tommy blows out a breath. "Maddie..."

She shakes her head. Turns to look at him, head on. Even sitting he's nearly a head taller than her, but she has a fierceness to her that makes the size difference meaningless. "If you leave again it will break him." It's an accusation and a promise all at once. The fire in her eyes tells him she knows intimately what it's like to be on his side of the equation. She's also wrong.

Evan is one of the strongest people Tommy's ever known. He'd survive it. He'd thrive, eventually.

The rub is that Tommy has seen behind the curtain now, and decided on his own that he wants to be the one Evan can trust to pick up his pieces.

And that means Tommy has to confront his own shit head on. Quickly, and in a fashion that somehow allows him to share that piece of himself with Evan in a way that won't have Evan trying to be strong for Tommy, too.

Tommy contemplates how he can phrase what he wants to say without sounding like an ass. Without sounding like Maddie should mind her own business - of course Evan is her business. "Right now what he needs is to be the one taking care of things."

He'd watched Evan meticulously rip a funeral program to shreds last night, the pieces getting smaller and smaller until they were nothing more than mulch on the coffee table. He'd spent the previous hour crying, and the following one setting up a fucking catering line of casseroles they'd cooked one by one until about four in the morning because the oven was too small to handle the load.

Forty minutes ago he'd watched Evan paste on a smile when his sister answered the door, and Tommy had removed the steadying hand he'd had at his back, and received a grateful elbow nudge in response.

"What happens when that changes?" Maddie asks. Less accusatory, this time, though no less seeking.

Tommy manages to hold her gaze without spontaneously lighting on fire. "Then he'll need us to take care of things, for a while."

It's not enough. He knows it. She knows it. But the only factor he's not entirely sure of is who Evan Buckley will be once the mask slips somewhere he doesn't mean it to. The only thing he isn't sure of is where he'll be allowed to be, once Evan comes out the other side of this.

Stealing a second helicopter was as good as locking in for the long haul. Tommy will need to explain that, at some point, even if the response he gets rends him limb from limb.

"And you'll be there. To take care of things."

It's the worst kind of kinship imaginable. Two people so terrified of being hurt they'd prefer to be alone.

"As long as he lets me," Tommy murmurs, and pastes on a smile of his own when Jee-Yun clambers up into his lap to show him a doll with half its hair ripped out at the root.

[kaivenom]

Hi! Can I request telling the One Piece Dilfs to make you pregnant? :d

Asking the One Piece Dilfs to make you pregnant HCS

Characters: Doflamingo, Mihawk, Crocodile, Smoker, Shanks

A/N: OMG this week people are going crazy with requests for these amazing men. I hope you like it

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

He got really turned on.

He put his weight on you, his chest on your back and his thrusts starting to become painfully slower.

His hot breath now on your neck, bitting and kissing.

"So you want my seed? you want to bear my lineage," you nodded, suddently embarrased of your words, "i would like to do that with you, filling you up and seeing your round belly."

He continued with that filthy speech impulsed by his recently discovered breeding kink.

Every thrust being more powerful and intoxicating than the last one, until he came inside you, a lot.

He rolled over and put you onto his chest.

"I don't know how good i will be with children but since i had Zoro and Perona around here two years, i think i have a little experience. Prepare yourself, this night you will end up pregnant."

You were so flustered and turned on that you couldn't answer, but you know tomorrow you won't be able to walk.

Donquixote Doflamingo

The perfect excuse to be more rough with you.

He simply didn't really care about the thing of making you pregnant, he was just turned on about being able to cum inside you over and over.

That night was really exhausting for you.

"Ohh, my little slut wants to be a mother? then you should be able to take it, if you can't take my dick how would you take my child?"

When he finally stoped getting his multiple times with you, you passed out of exhaustion.

You didn't notice how he got up and went to the window with a bottle of alcochol.

"Stupid woman, how would you want my child... i can't deny anything to you, even that. It would be bad like me or good like Corazon." he spent the rest of the night thinking about every posible future for the child and for you two, "at least i can try to be funny and get them whatever they could think of... better leave the education to her."

Sr. Crocodile

"You have everything you want from me, my money my house, my love and know my child? you are a very vicious one, my woman."

His thrusts were deep and rythmical, with all the conversation he didn't stopped or changed his way with you.

"How would think of people if they saw you have my child? I am a criminal, a very wanted one, i am dangerous. How could someone like you think it's a good idea to have a family with me? How could you think i want you to have it with me?"

That last phrase was really cruel and you made him stop, flipping yourself and force him to look at you in the face, to see how angry you are.

"I am dating you, idiot, i love you stupid Crocodile... it is that strange that after a couple of years of dating i want a family?" you wanted to slap him but he stopped you with a strange face.

"It's not strange, in fact i thought about that too but think, i am a wanted man with a really dangerous environment, do you really want to expose yourself like that? and a child?"

"I am already exposed, there is no going back, just continue and take the next step. We know how to take care of ourselves, right?"

"Yes, youre right... and sorry for talking rude to you."

Smoker

It awaken something on him.

It was in the middle of the act and you say it in the heat of the moment but that froze him.

Suddently you are turn over and you are facing him again, his eyes full of insecurity and awkardness.

"Do you really want it?" you blinked a couple of times, all the hornyness going away, this is serious "I have a stable job, we've been together for a long time and well... maybe it's not so bad the idea of being parents."

Yo nodded with a sincere smile while stroking his cheek slightly.

"I would love to be a parent with you."

Then he started again with his thrusts, this time more tender and full of love.

Akagami Shanks

You were riding him and he put his hands on your thights, stopping you from moving.

"I don't oppose to the idea of filling you up until you can´t take it anymore but do you really think we are capable of raising a child on a pirate ship?" his face was halfway into laughing but you know he is being dead serious.

"I think yes, you were raised on a pirate ship and you ended up well."

He couldn't deny that, you were absolutely right.

"If we think of doing this, you won't get out of the ship while pregnant or you will be accompained everywhere and when you give birth you will take care of the child while i..."

You pinched his cheek frustated.

"This would be OUR child, i get it will i am pregnant but after that we take turns, i won't be in lock down like the child is a virus."

You didn't stopped pinching his cheek until he agreeded with you.

"I love you and we will take care of she."

"She? You already put a gender?"

"Then i will have my queen and a princess... if we have two? a prince and a princess?"

"Step by step."

[mssishipi]

❝ ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ❞

my stories are work of fiction and is not associated with enhypen or its members in real life. the characters, events, and settings in this story are fictional and do not reflect the real personalities, actions, or experiences of the people mentioned. please remember to separate fiction from reality

nsfw content — minors do not interact! most of my stories contains mature content and is intended for adult audiences only. If you are underage, please do not read or interact with my work. 𓀐𓂸

i appreciate feedback and comments, as they help me grow as a writer! however, please do not translate, copy, or repost my stories on any other platform. these works belong to me, and unauthorized distribution is not allowed.

also, i’m still figuring out how to use tumblr, so please bear with me! thank you for your support!

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[wendichester]

⭒˚.⋆ sacrifice,

summary. you make a deal to save dean's life but he's not having it

pairing. dean winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 558

The second Dean walks into the room, you know you’re screwed.

His eyes are wild, shoulders tight with rage, jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack. He storms toward you, fists balled at his sides, and for a second, you think he might actually punch the wall.

“What the hell did you do?” His voice is raw, shaking.

You swallow hard, but there’s no point in pretending. He knows. He must’ve found out. Maybe from Sam, maybe from the demon itself—doesn’t matter. The secret’s out.

“I did what I had to,” you say, keeping your voice steady even as your heart hammers in your chest.

Dean laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just something broken, something desperate. “What you had to?” he echoes, stepping closer, eyes burning into you. “You made a deal for me.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep your ground. “You were dying, Dean. There was no other way.”

“There’s always another way!” His voice rises, shaking the walls of the motel room. His breathing is heavy, uneven. “Damn it, you think I’d let you sacrifice yourself for me? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Like you haven’t done the same?” you snap, voice sharp. “How many times have you thrown yourself in the line of fire for me? How many times have you died for Sam? For everyone? But the second I try to save you, suddenly it’s a problem?”

Dean’s nostrils flare. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I can’t—” His voice breaks, and he stops, squeezing his eyes shut like he can force the emotion out of his body. His hands are trembling. When he opens his eyes again, they’re glassy, rimmed red with something too painful to name. “Because I can’t lose you,” he says, voice quieter now, rough and raw and full of a kind of desperation that shatters you.

Your chest tightens, the weight of it all pressing down on you.

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” you whisper.

Dean exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really thought I wouldn’t? You think I wouldn’t tear apart the whole goddamn world trying to figure out why you were acting off?” He runs a hand down his face, and when he looks at you again, he’s a mess of anger and devastation. “How long do you have?”

You hesitate, and that alone is enough of an answer.

“Goddammit,” he chokes, turning away from you like he can’t bear to look. He presses his hands to his knees, breathing heavy.

“I didn’t do this for you to waste time feeling guilty,” you say, stepping closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I did this because I love you. Because you deserve to live.”

Dean turns back to you, and before you can say another word, his hands are on your face, cupping your cheeks like you might disappear if he lets go. His forehead presses against yours, and his breath is shaky, uneven.

“I’m getting you out of this,” he swears, voice trembling with determination. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if I have to burn Hell to the ground. You’re not going to die for me.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t fight him.

Because if there’s one thing you know about Dean Winchester—it’s that when he makes a promise, he damn well keeps it.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @KayleighWinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf

[nastybuckybarnes]

Date Night

Pairing: dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky makes a big mistake.

Warnings: Angst, Language, yea sorry

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: teehee whoops. im gonna have a ghost one coming out soon for you guys, and then maybe some more teddy bear picnic but we'll see

~*~

"Hey kid, wanna grab a beer and watch the game with your old man? Or are you too cool for that?"

You grin at your dad and slow your steps, glancing at the hockey game on TV.

"Where's Bucky? I thought he was your game night date? He finally realize hockey sucks?"

Your dad gives you an offended look then rolls his eyes playfully.

"Nah, he had to cancel last minute - he's got a hot date tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, unaware of the fact that those six words have flipped your night upside down and caused knots to form in your stomach.

You don't remember having plans with him tonight.

As casually as you can manage, you head into the kitchen, pulling out your phone and tapping a quick text over to the man in question.

'Not coming over tonight?'

It's read within the same minute, and then the telltale three dots pop up before his message spawns.

'Sorry baby, not feeling too hot.'

The knots in your gut are quickly crushed by the boulder that settles there, and you need to take a few careful breaths to stop yourself from crying in the middle of the kitchen.

~*~

"Everything okay, James?"

He huffs out a sigh and glances up from his phone, smiling weakly at the woman across from him.

"Listen, Dot... I can't tell you how grateful I am that you managed to make such a beautiful cake in such a short amount of time. And, while I'm flattered that you'd want to go out for dinner, I had you make that cake for a woman who means... quite a bit to me. I don't want to make things awkward but I do want you to know that I'm out with you tonight as a friend and nothing more."

The woman across from him blinks blankly a few times, then takes a sip of her martini, stands up, and leaves the table.

Bucky watches helplessly as she leaves the restaurant without another word, dropping his head back for a moment as he feels onlookers stare.

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back, but by the time she does, he's got a wad of cash ready for her and his keys in hand.

He all but runs out of the restaurant, a new lightness in his shoulders like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Immediately, he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text off to your dad.

'Room for one more?'

It takes a few minutes for your dad to respond, which Bucky uses to put on his helmet and straddle his bike.

'Date not going well?'

Bucky chuckles softly.

'Something like that. I'll be there in five.'

He swipes out of the conversation with your dad and then clicks on the only pinned conversation on his phone.

'I'm feeling a bit better now, gonna pop by for a bit.'

With that, he locks his phone and brings his bike to life, eager to be in your presence again.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you from your pity party, and you frown at the text on it.

You turn your phone off and drop it face-down on the carpet, ignoring this text the way you've ignored the last three from him.

You can hear him downstairs chatting with your dad as if he's done nothing wrong. As if he wasn't out with another woman less than an hour ago.

Grinding your teeth together, you decide that enough is enough, and it's time for bed.

At the very moment you open your door to head to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Bucky decides to raise his fist to knock.

Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, you forget that you're mad. You forget everything.

And then he opens his stupid mouth.

"Hey, what's with you tonight?" He asks gently, reaching forward to grab your hand.

You yank away from him and take a step back, levelling him with a steely glare.

"How was your date?"

You watch as he deflates, as his face falls and his shoulders slump forward the tiniest bit.

"Sweetheart, it's not what you think, I swear."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you murmur, pushing past him and heading downstairs to watch the game with your dad. At least down here he can't talk to you.

He can't try to justify him willingly going on a date with another woman.

Well, not until the game's over, at least. And it seems like it's only a few minutes before your dad is yawning, turning the TV off and heading upstairs to go to bed himself.

This leaves you alone in the living room with Bucky, tension building with every silent second that passes between the two of you.

"Honey, I had to," he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

You whip your head around, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

He holds his hands up, a desperate and pathetic attempt at pleading with you, begging you to hear him out.

"It was the only way for me to get your birthday cake. Dot is an old friend from high school and... she wanted a date as payment for the last-minute cake," he explains quietly.

You purse your lips, nodding as if it all makes sense now.

"Oh, I see! So, not only do you admit to forgetting my birthday, but you also agreed to go on a date with a woman who has had a thing for you since high school! Buck, that is so not okay on so many different levels!" You exclaim in a whisper.

The last thing you need is your dad overhearing any part of this conversation.

"I know. That's why I left. I told her I couldn't, that the cake was for someone important to me and that I was only having dinner with her as a friend."

You shake your head at him and rise to your feet, unable to stay still while he spews nothing but nonsense at you and expects you to forgive him.

"You shouldn't have even gotten me that cake if that's what she wanted as payment! You should've told her to stick it and then you literally could've gotten me a Starbucks cake pop. I don't need fancy cakes or expensive things, James, I thought you knew that." Your voice gradually loses its anger, disappointment and exhaustion taking its place.

"I know but... I wanted to do something special for you." He looks like a kicked puppy, and it takes a serious amount of self-control to hold on to your anger.

"My birthday was special. Even without the cake it still would've been special. Especially if I'd've known it would mean that you would be going on a date with another woman in order to get it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he pleads, reaching for you again only for you to shake your head and step away.

"No, Bucky. Sorry doesn't fix this. Can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I had to go on a date with a guy who's been wanting me for over a decade just for the perfect steak? And then, what if I lied to you about it and you found out from my dad that I was out on a 'hot date'? A date with someone that the general public would deem more appropriate for me to be with? Someone who would fit me better. How would that make you feel?"

He stands there silently for a moment, fists clenched tightly as he imagines everything you just said.

He imagines you laughing on a date with another man, a young man, a man far more appropriate for you to be with. He imagines sitting waiting for you, only to find out that you're out getting hit on by some young punk who wouldn't know how to please a woman like you. His imagination runs wild, to the point where he can almost feel steam billowing from his ears, but all he says is

"Shitty."

"Shitty?" You laugh, "Try worthless. Embarrassed. Humiliated. At least that's how I felt. And-and maybe I'm just reading too deep into this. Maybe this 'exclusivity' that I thought we had is one-sided."

"It's not," he interrupts quickly, taking a step forward only to pause when you step back again.

"Maybe I just thought things were more serious than they were," you continue, eyes stuck on the ground as your thoughts spill out before your mind has a moment to realize what you're saying.

"They are serious-"

"Maybe we should just stop... whatever this is that we're doing."

Silence hangs heavily in the air when you finish speaking, and you feel tears sting at your eyes when he says nothing.

You count thirteen heartbeats before he finally says something.

"Is that what you really want?" He asks softly, his voice discouraged.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to his.

"What even are we?" You ask breathlessly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. "What are we doing?"

"You're my girl."

You sniffle and shake your head.

"No, I'm your dirty little secret, that's what I am. And I'm tired of it. I wanna be something you're proud of, not something you have to hide," you whisper, your chest aching with the weight of your confession.

Bucky's heart breaks at your words, and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms and kiss away any insecurities you have in your relationship. If you can even call it that.

"I am proud of you, sweetheart, beyond proud. I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he whispers, desperate for you to understand just how much you mean to him.

"Why haven't you told my dad about us yet?"

The silence that follows your question is answer enough for you, and you nod.

"I... I think you should leave," you finally whisper, hugging yourself and keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

He stays rooted in place for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting for you to break. When you don't, he takes slow steps toward the door, waiting, praying for you to change your mind.

But you stand firm.

Never able to deny you, he leaves you standing alone in your kitchen, your dad peacefully asleep upstairs while your entire life gets turned upside down.

[aventurineswife]

Can I request a Jing yuan with an injured s/o, like a broken foot or arm or something and like how he would help them out and do things for them. I’ve been thinking of that bc I lowkey fractured my foot snd sprained my ankle and times have been tough with crutches and a cast💔💔😔

In the Arms of the General

Summary: After suffering an injury that leaves you struggling with crutches and a cast, you try to push through on your own. However, Jing Yuan refuses to let you bear the burden alone. With his usual lazy charm and surprising tenderness, he insists on taking care of you—whether you like it or not.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Injured Reader, Protective, Soft Jing Yuan, Domestic Bliss, Lighthearted Banter.

A/N: I hope you get well soon! 😭🙏

Pain was an unwelcome companion, yet it clung to you like a stubborn shadow. The simple act of moving had turned into an ordeal, each step sending a dull ache up your leg. Your foot—swollen, wrapped tightly in bandages, encased in a cast—was a reminder of the unfortunate misstep that had led you here.

Jing Yuan, ever the observant general, had noticed immediately when you tried to hide your discomfort. You had insisted it was fine, that you could manage, but the weight of his golden gaze told you he wasn’t convinced.

"Must you be so stubborn?" he sighed, arms crossed as he watched you struggle with your crutches. His voice held that familiar lazy drawl, but his eyes—sharp as ever—betrayed his concern.

"I'm not stubborn," you muttered, trying to maneuver onto the couch without making it seem like a battle against gravity. "I just don't want to be a burden."

Jing Yuan chuckled, a low, warm sound. "A burden? My dear, if anything, this is an opportunity."

You blinked. "An opportunity for what?"

He leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. "For me to finally make myself useful to you. You do so much on your own—it’s about time you let someone else take care of you."

Before you could protest, he had already scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. Heat crept up your neck. "Jing Yuan—!"

He only hummed in amusement, settling you onto the couch with utmost care. "See? Much easier this way."

You huffed, but the warmth of his touch lingered. His hands, though strong and calloused from years of battle, were incredibly gentle as they adjusted the pillows behind you. The moment you tried to reach for the blanket, he tsked softly and draped it over you himself, making sure you were comfortably tucked in.

"I can—"

"Ah, ah, no arguing," he chided, pressing a single finger to your forehead. "Doctors' orders. And mine."

You sighed in defeat, though you couldn’t hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. "You're really going to fuss over me this much?"

"Absolutely." He knelt beside you, eyes unwavering as he took your injured foot into his hands, adjusting the bandages with practiced ease. "You think I would allow my most precious person to suffer alone?"

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, and he noticed—of course he did. He always noticed.

Jing Yuan chuckled again, softer this time, his fingers brushing over your ankle with care. "Rest, little sparrow. I'll handle everything. Meals, paperwork, anything you need—just leave it to me."

You arched a brow. "Even your own work?"

His expression turned downright mischievous. "Well, I never said I'd be efficient at it."

You laughed despite yourself, the pain momentarily forgotten. Maybe being injured wasn’t entirely terrible—not when it meant being doted on by Jing Yuan.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself rely on him a little longer.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒸𝑒𝒶𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: THIS IS PART TWO! If you haven’t read [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], make sure you catch up first! Again I'm sooo sorry—I didn’t realize Tumblr had a word count limit, so I definitely went overboard. My bad. (Also, the header? Just for fun—just me being forever haunted by this art.)

Summary—where the tension between you and Geo thickens like venom in the air. What binds you brews slow and sharp, a toxic mix of unspoken truths and something neither of you can name.

It’s fragile. Addictive. And as it sinks deeper, you both know—this isn’t something you can walk away from.

But can you survive what it’s turning into?

Or will it devour you both?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Again, this is for my dearest mutuals, @mint0hhh artist of the [ header picture ], and @lu-dao-writes who gave me the setting and plot—plus a few add-ons from anons who asked for angst (you know who you are).

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x gn and self insert! reader, angst (like. hella angst. cried while writing it.), slow burn, in vino veritas, mutual pining, enemies and lovers (kinda), first kiss, queerplatonic relationship, aroace rep, mentions of OCD, hyperawareness anxiety, emotional damage, (i really hurt my own damn feelings with this one.)

Every breath you took carried the bitterness of it.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much you tried to show who you really were, there was always something hidden beneath. Something toxic, something no one ever bothered to understand. 

You were a plant no one cared enough to take care of, a mind no one ever wanted to see, only the surface—the mask you wore to keep yourself intact, the version of you that was palatable, easy to digest.

It wasn’t about your thoughts, your ideas, your emotions—it was about what they could take from you, what they could mold you into. 

The soft, sweet persona they wanted you to be.

The version they could control.

The version they could consume.

You were always a belladonna—a striking, dark berry with soft, inviting green leaves, so beautiful in its deadly way, yet filled with a poison so potent that no one could ever truly consume you.

Too much to handle. Too much to bear.

A dangerous allure, a beautiful venom that no one could take in without choking on the truth of who you really were. And maybe that’s why no one ever truly saw you. They only wanted the delicate bloom, the surface—the easy parts. The parts were simple to look at, and simple to admire.

They never wanted the poison.

The world didn’t want you for your mind. It wanted your beauty, the image of you, soft and harmless. And no one could handle what was really inside—what you really felt.

They wanted what they could touch without being burned. The pieces of you that were easy to handle, easy to mold, the parts that could fit into the illusion they’d built around you.

Because no one could ever truly swallow the poison.

No one could bear the weight of the truth that came with it.

The pain clung to you, heavy and suffocating, a reminder of everything you couldn’t escape—of the poison everyone seemed to see in you. 

You wondered if you’d ever be more than that, more than the mask you wore, more than the pieces of you that people could control, twist into something they could digest. Before you could even retreat into the quiet of your mind, that damn poison of his move.

Your eyes catches Subaru moving closer, his unreadable gaze settling on you. 

There was something in his eyes—a flicker, something fleeting, like guilt, frustration... maybe even fear?

No, no, no—It definitely unsettled you more than it should have. He reached out, his hand, but the moment his fingers came near you, a surge of panic coursed through you, and you stepped back instinctively as if his touch could kill you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice barely there, trembling with the weight of everything you couldn't say. “Don’t touch me, Subaru…”

But, of course, he didn’t listen.

In a breathless blur, Subaru closed the space between you—his body pressing into yours with a force that felt more like a warning than comfort. He cornered you against the closet wall, his presence overwhelming, his eyes sharp as blades as they bore down on you. 

The tears you’d already let go many times before, finally broke through again, slipping past the mask you'd worn for so long, unraveling everything you’d kept so tightly wound. You stared up at him, your voice lost somewhere between shame and embarrassment, feeling small—so small—beneath the weight of his stare. 

Exposed in every way you hated. 

The words clawed their way up your throat, scraping against the ache in your chest as you beat your fists against him—soft, frantic, useless. He didn’t even flinch. 

“How dare you pull me into this...” you choked out, voice hoarse, each word punching through the silence like shattered glass. “How dare I pull myself into this…?”

You turned your face away, shutting your eyes tight—trying to dam the rising wave inside you. But it didn’t stop. “And yet... you won’t even be in it with me?” Your voice cracked as it dropped lower, almost trembling. “You’re so fucking possessive—but you don’t care. You never even cared how it feels on my end, did you?”

Subaru’s eyes narrowed as your words hit him—sharp, accusing, too full of something he didn’t know how to handle. His brows knit tighter, not in empathy, but in growing discomfort, in the weight of an expectation he’d never invited.

He hadn’t seen it coming. Not like this.

The breakdown—the crash out—was worse than anything he’d ever warned you about. And for a split second, Subaru genuinely thought you’d lost it. Very much unhinged, unpredictable. Maybe even dangerous…? He wouldn't admit it, but yeah, it scared the hell out of him. You looked like you might kill him… And still, he didn’t move.

He just stood there, eerily calm, arms at his sides, expression carved from stone as you unraveled right in front of him. Your voice broke. Your fists hit his chest. And he didn’t flinch. Not once. As if the chaos couldn’t touch him. As if you weren’t even real.

No sympathy. No guilt. No warmth. 

Just that same unreadable stillness he wore like armor.

Then finally, his voice cut through the silence—precise, and cold.

“…I never said I didn’t care.” 

It came out like glass—sharp and brittle as if it scraped against something frozen inside him just to be spoken aloud. His hand reached out—not gently, never gently—and tilted your chin until your eyes met his again. There was no softness there. Just a flicker of restrained emotion, sharp around the edges, as though feeling anything at all was beneath him.

“Not care?” he repeated, his tone suddenly bitter. “Of course I fucking care. And I fucking hate that I do. I don’t even know what the hell it means either. I never wanted this. Any of this.”

Subaru had always kept his distance from things like this. Again, Romance. Sex. Intimacy. They were irrelevant distractions—useless, messy, and stupid. People who chased that sort of connection always ended up weak or dependent. That kind of vulnerability disgusted him. 

And the idea of being part of it? Being someone’s something? 

It made his skin crawl.

“I’m not built for that,” he said flatly, voice lowering, almost like he was confessing something he shouldn’t. “I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. Not with anyone.”

There was no apology in his tone—just cold honesty.  

Not cruel, but detached, like he was stating a fact you’d simply failed to see. “I don’t think about people that way. I don’t want anyone like that. Never have. The idea of it—it doesn’t make sense. It’s not worth the time. Not worth the energy. And it’s beneath me.” But there was something else in his voice, buried under the frost. Something like confusion. Or maybe even fear. 

He looked at you then, fully—your tears, your tiredness, your pain—and for a second, it almost cracked through. Almost.

“Why do you care so much?” 

He asked suddenly, and his voice wasn’t sharp this time. It was quieter, rawer. Like he didn’t understand any of this—like he couldn’t fathom why you would put yourself through it.

The question hung there, heavy and quiet.

Why did you care?

Because to him, it was all just poison.��

And he’d never asked for a taste.

You stared at him. For a long, aching moment, the silence stretched so thin it felt like it might snap in half.

Your breathing was still shaky, your hands trembling slightly by your sides now instead of pressed to his chest. You weren’t crying anymore—but that didn’t mean you weren’t hurting. The tears had stopped only because there was nothing left to spill.

You swallowed, hard. 

“Because I see you,” you said finally, voice hoarse but steady.

You glanced down briefly, eyes catching the space separating you both—close, but not close enough. “I know you didn’t ask for this. I know you never wanted anyone getting this close. And you probably hate that I did. That I saw past the version you keep showing the everyone.”

You shook your head slowly, not in regret, but in something quieter. Sadder. “But I care, Subaru. I care because somewhere along the way, without trying, you got to me. Not the cold, calculated guy everyone thinks you are. Not the one who always acts like he’s in control, above like nothing sticks. I’m talking about you. The one who still bleeds, even if you pretend you don’t. The one who freezes up when something actually gets under your skin.”

Your eyes found him again, and your voice lowered, softer now, not pleading—just honest.

“I never wanted anything you couldn’t give. I wasn’t trying to change you, or fix you, or force you into something you’re not. That was never the point.”

You paused for a breath, but it barely helped. 

Everything in you felt tight, coiled, like this confession had been clawing at your ribs for too long.

“I just… couldn’t ignore what’s between us. Like, forget fucking Crowe, like he didn’t convince me shit—I wanted to talk to you on my own. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it’s messy and complicated. I feel it. And I know you do too, whether you admit it or not.” You released a soft sigh, tired, wistful. 

“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t make me feel safe sometimes. And maybe I’m the only person who’s ever gotten under your skin enough to make you feel anything. You try to hide it, but I’ve seen it—how you act around me. You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

Another pause, this one laced with something like resignation. 

Your shoulders dropped just a little.

“I know this isn’t love. Not like people think it should be. That’s not what this is. That’s not who we are.” You took a step back—just one. Just enough to breathe without brushing against his walls, the ones he always keeps up, even now.

“But whatever this is?” You gestured vaguely, helplessly, between your chests. “It’s real. It means something. Even if we never name it. Even if it irritates or scares the hell out of you. We’re both emotional, but we carry it differently. You bury yours. I try to make sense of mine. And somehow, that created something here—between us—that neither of us planned for.”

You hesitated. 

You weren’t sure if your voice cracked or if it just sounded cracked from the inside.

“And maybe you’ll never feel it the way I do. Maybe this will always taste like something bitter to you, something wrong.” You gave a small, bitter laugh—empty, aching.

“Maybe to you, it’s just poison.”

You looked at him then, like you were finally letting something go.

“But even poison has roots.”

Subaru stood there, frozen—your words weighing down on him like they’d been waiting for years to land. His fingers, still wrapped around your wrists, began to loosen. Not because he wanted to let go, but because he didn’t know what the hell else to do.

Because suddenly, nothing made sense. He didn’t get it.

Why you? Why now?

Why here—in a goddamn closet, of all places?

You, with your eyes that didn’t flinch. You, who always said too much and still somehow knew when to stop talking. You, who never looked away from him like the others did.

And now you’d gone and seen him. The version he never let surface. The one buried beneath a thousand deflections and a mask carved so clean he’d started to believe it himself.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to shove it back down like he always did. But your words had already split the surface. The cracks were showing. His armor was rattling loose at the edges, and you—you—weren’t looking away.

That rattled him more than anything else.

His gaze locked on yours, desperate to catch you in a lie. To find some sign that this was just another manipulation, another twisted game. Because that, at least, would be easier. Easier to destroy. Easier to forget.

But you weren’t bluffing.

You stood there, tired and unshaken, not trying to fix him, not trying to win—just being. And that kind of honesty, that kind of quiet truth, scared him in ways he didn’t have names for.

His jaw clenched. His grip faltered.

“…Why do you have to do this?” he muttered, voice barely audible. It wasn’t laced with anger. It was too soft for that. Too lost. Like he was begging you not to pull him further into something he couldn’t control. 

You exhaled a hollow sound that echoed like a laugh stripped of joy. Tired. Real. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t push forward. You just looked at him, like you already knew what he was trying so hard not to feel. His hands dropped from your wrists completely now, hanging at his sides like they didn’t belong to him.

And in that fragile silence, you were still there. Unmoving. Unafraid. 

Just you—the one person who had already called him out, stripped him bare, and still hadn’t walked away.

“Because I wanted to,” you said, quiet—like the answer should’ve been obvious. Your eyes didn’t waver. “You and I… we’re not stupid. We catch on fast, we read people faster. It’s not hard for us to figure out what most others miss.”

our voice dipped lower, steadier now. “And most people? They look at you and see exactly what you want them to. Controlled. Rude. Cold. Untouchable. Like you’re made of stone or something.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a strange sort of calm. “But I’ve been paying attention. Really paying attention. And whether you admit it or not—you’re not as unreachable as you pretend to be.”

Seconds passed.

Heavy silence.

You let out a small breath and shook your head just a little, the barest trace of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Subaru Oogami. Ambitious. Intense. The type of guy who holds his breath until he wins or breaks trying. Always chasing something bigger, something higher—like staying still might kill you.”

"And me?” You shrugged, casual but not careless. “I’m the charming, assertive, overly expressive one, right? Social. Playful. Emotional.” You leaned in a little, tone softening. “But I’m not here to mess with you. I’m not here to fix you either.”

You met his eyes again, unwavering. “I’m here because I see you breaking. Not all at once, not dramatically. But slowly. Quietly. The kind of breaking that no one notices until it’s too late.”

You took a step forward. No drama. Just steady. Just close. 

“I’m not trying to save you, Subaru. I just… I don’t want you to be alone in that silence. That’s all.” You gave a small, sad laugh. “People like us—we don’t scream for help. We just learn to live with the noise in our heads.”

The air between you felt fragile—like if either of you moved too fast, it might all fall apart.

“I’m not asking you to feel the same. I’m not trying to label this, or make it something it’s not.” Your words came softer now like they were just meant for him and no one else. “But whatever this is… it’s real. And I think you feel it too, even if it makes you sick to admit it.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of your words finally settling. 

“That’s all.” No demands. No strings. No expectations.

You just said it. Because it was the truth.

And maybe, if all he knew was poison—then this was the first drop of something clean. 

Something honest, just to feel.

Outside, just beyond the thrum of bass and drunken laughter, Sol moved through the house like a shadow with purpose. The party noise dulled behind closed doors, leaving only the faint echo of the chaos below as he climbed the stairs—each step quiet, controlled.

His movements were calm on the surface, but just under his skin, something was stirring. That familiar pull in his chest, too stubborn to name and too loud to ignore. He told himself he had it handled. That he had a plan. That this was just another situation to manage.

But his hand flexed at his side.

He hated how unsure he felt.

The hallway was dim, lit only by a soft flicker from motion detected overhead, the scent of cheap cologne and spilled alcohol still clinging to the air. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly where he was going.

And if he was being honest—something about this moment felt like it mattered more than it should have.

Find you, pull you aside, lay it all out. Simple.

He’d waited long enough. He’d seen Crowe with you earlier—grinning like an idiot as he tugged you by the wrist toward the staircase. Sol had caught just enough of the conversation to know Crowe had sent you to grab the party games from one of the upstairs rooms. 

Games. Right. He told himself that’s all it was.

You’d probably grabbed the stuff and got distracted. Maybe sat down. Maybe needed a breather from the noise. Maybe you were waiting for him, even. A small smirk tugged at his lips at the thought… then faded as quickly as it came. Because it had been too long.

He hadn’t seen you since. 

And Crowe had come back downstairs alone.

Sol’s brows pinched together, his fingers threading through his hair in frustration. Okay… okay, chill. You’re overthinking again. You always do this. But that silence—it wasn’t normal. Not for this kind of party. 

Not when it came to you.

It started scratching at the back of his mind. That creeping, whispering kind of worry that didn’t speak in words—just pressure. Gnawing, anxious pressure.

So he started looking.

One room at a time. The spare bedroom—empty. The office? Nothing. The upstairs bathroom—just towels and the scent of cheap soap. The balcony? No sign of you. Just wind and a couple discarded solo cups.

His jaw flexed.

Next came the hallway closet. He tugged it open—still nothing. 

His steps picked up. Sharper. Quicker. His heart started to thud in his chest in that uncomfortable, too-loud kind of way. His palms were sweating now, and that usual smirk? Gone. Stripped off like a mask.

Where the hell were you? He tried one last room—completely empty. 

He cursed under his breath, quiet but seething. Then he stopped. Froze. He heard something. 

Not loud—just a faint sound. Voices, maybe? Soft. Muffled. Like someone trying not to be heard. His eyes narrowed as he followed it. His boots were soundless over the rug as he crept toward the end of the hall. 

The closet door. The very last one.

Sol’s steps faltered as he approached it. Every movement was deliberate, but slow—as if his body already knew what he was about to find. His fingers brushed the cold metal of the doorknob, the chill of it sinking into his skin. He didn’t turn it—Not yet. He just held it there, like if he waited long enough, he could will the entire situation away. 

But his instincts screamed at him, urging him forward.

With a subtle tilt of his head, he leaned in, listening.

Your voice. Soft. Strained. Like you were trying to hold something together, but it was slipping through your fingers. Tired. Was that…? His stomach twisted as he heard the exhaustion in your tone. The words weren’t clear, but the weight of them was. 

You were drowning in something you couldn’t say.

Then came the second voice. 

Not Crowe. Not some random, stumbling idiot from the party.

Geo. Fucking Subaru Oogami.

Sol’s breath caught, his body frozen in place, muscles locking up as a wave of disbelief washed over him. His stomach dropped, a feeling of cold emptiness spreading through him, hollowing him out—No way.

Sol didn’t dare blink. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sliver of light between the door and frame. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to turn and walk away. To pretend he didn’t hear anything, didn’t see anything. 

But he stayed. Sol’s shifted his body slightly, pressing the side of his head closer to the narrow gap, the cool air from the closet wafting over his face. 

His breath hitched in his throat as he glimpsed you and him inside. 

Subaru, who had always carried that cold, invincible air, was barely holding himself together. sharp, brooding features. His usual unflinching demeanor cracked at the edges, the sharpness in his eyes dulling into something almost fragile. 

His shoulders hunched forward, like a man on the verge of collapse. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, trembling as if he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

He didn’t speak. Not a word.

But the silence was louder than anything. It was heavy, oppressive—filling the space between you two with more tension than any words could ever create. He didn’t need to say anything. His silence was all-encompassing. 

It told Sol everything.

Subaru was lost. And so were you.

That realization hit harder than any argument. Because at that moment, Sol could see it clearly. Subaru didn’t just look like a man caught in a moment. He looked like someone who had already lost the battle and was too proud to admit it.

The thing that hit Sol the hardest?

You weren’t fighting to get away. 

You were just standing there. And Subaru?

Subaru wasn’t pushing you away. He wasn’t trying to run. He was just... frozen. Struggling to stay grounded in a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

It was everything Sol feared. And it made him feel small. It made him feel like he wasn’t the one who belonged there. 

What the hell was happening?

You stepped in—just a little. Not because you felt sorry for him, but because you saw things clearly now. 

Subaru wasn’t just being cold for the hell of it. He was worn down, running on fumes. Tired in that soul-deep kind of way. And yeah, maybe those words you dropped hit harder than he’d ever admit. Truth always tastes like poison to the ones who swallow silence for dinner.

You let your eyes stay on him. Really look.

Was he always this pale under bad lighting? Lips parted just slightly, like he was about to say something but couldn't find the words? And those aquamarine eyes—usually so sharp, so damn good at cutting people off before they got too close—now just looked... dazed. 

Not by you. But by the weight of being seen.

He caught it. The look on your face. No pity. No judgment. 

Just… recognition. That unspoken I know what it’s like.

That—more than anything—shook him.

He let out this scoff, low and tired, like the world had finally outed him and you were the last person he expected, “Why do you always do this?” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges. “Look at me like I’m not a fucking mess. Like you get it.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

You’d already said enough—maybe too much.

Any more honesty and it’d either finish him off or push the whole thing straight into cringe territory. So you just stood there, holding space for someone who didn’t even know how to ask for it.

“Damn it,” he hissed softly, voice fraying. “You're not supposed to understand. You’re not supposed to see me. Not like this.” He took a step forward, close enough that you could feel the slight tremble in his breath, his walls crumbling in quiet pieces. “You look like hell,” he murmured, deflecting—but his voice was soft. “And you still have the audacity to act like you’ve got everything figured out?”

You sighed faintly. “I never said I did.”

That hit him like a punch to the chest. Whiplash, but not from the words—from you. From the way you looked at him like you already knew the parts, he didn’t show anyone. 

Like you’d swallowed the poison and called it by name.

Subaru’s brow twitched, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. That unreadable expression cracked—just a little. Like he didn’t know whether to flinch or lean in.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t run, didn’t push, didn’t spit venom to make the moment disappear.

He just stepped forward, slow and almost hesitant, like his body moved before his mind caught up. You barely had time to process before he leaned in—close, closer. The space between you shrank until it barely existed at all.

Then—quietly, almost like it startled even him—Subaru kissed you.

There was no warning. No dramatic pause. Just the tiniest shift forward, like gravity pulled him in and he didn’t know how to resist it anymore. His lips pressed to yours, and for a second, time just… paused.

No sparks. No heat. No cliché breathlessness.

Just weight. Heavy, quiet, real.

It wasn’t a kiss meant to ignite anything. It wasn’t desire. It was something else entirely—like he was reaching out with the one thing he did have, even if it didn’t make sense to him. A wordless gesture of, “I heard you.” Of, “I don’t know what this is, but I’m still here.”

He kissed you like he was testing a theory.

Like maybe, just maybe, this didn’t have to hurt. Like maybe everything he’d buried—every dark, rotting thing he never let out—wouldn’t destroy the first person who’d seen it all and didn’t flinch.

And you kissed him back. Softly. Once. Steady. Not because it was romantic, or thrilling, or even something you needed to do. But because it felt like the right response. Like saying, “I get it.” Like keeping the moment still enough for him to breathe in it.

When you pulled back, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t cold.

It was just… quiet.

Subaru blinked, the faintest crack in his usual blank armor showing through. He took a half-step back, not like he was retreating—just trying to figure out where the hell he stood now. His voice came out low. Barely there. 

“…Didn’t feel like poison,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, like he was still deciding if that scared him or not.

You just stared at him, wide-eyed, trying to process what the hell just happened. Then nodded slowly. “…Yeah.”

Because deadass yeah—same. You didn’t expect that. Not from him. Not like that. You weren’t even sure if it was a kiss or some weird emotional exorcism wrapped in lip contact. 

But whatever it was—it didn’t kill you. It didn’t kill him. 

And that was... something.

Then—Click.

The door creaked open, sudden and sharp like a gunshot in the silence. Both you and Subaru flinched—not visibly, but in that gut-punch way where your bodies backed away from each other before your minds even caught up. You were both expecting Crowe, maybe Deryl. Someone familiar. Someone stupid enough to laugh and shake their heads and make it a joke.

But it wasn’t them. It was Sol.

And his face—It told a whole damn story in one glance. Your eyes noticed everything quickly—knew it. Shock, plain and raw, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Nah—he definitely saw the Hurt, carved right into the way his mouth parted like he couldn’t breathe for a second. Confusion, was visible in the flicker of his eyes like he was trying to make sense of what the hell he’d just walked into.

And then—rage.

Simmering. Controlled. Trying hard not to boil over. Trying so damn hard not to let it turn ugly in front of you. But it was there, all of it, coiled tight in his jaw, his clenched hands, his silence that said everything.

You didn’t move. Neither did Subaru.

And Sol just stared at the two of you—his red-orange eyes burning holes in your skin, trying to carve out an explanation that didn’t exist. His gaze flicked from you to Subaru, and for a moment, there was something almost obsessive in it, like he was weighing the truth of what he'd just seen. 

Subaru was always been the problem.

Subaru was always there. Always hanging around, always too composed to be trusted. That calm demeanor, the way he acted like he was untouchable—like he owned everything around him. Those sharp eyes, those casual touches, those little looks he always gave you—Sol saw them all. He finally noticed it all. Every little thing that made Subaru seem just a little too comfortable around you, too close.

The pieces clicked in his mind, sharp and jagged, and the rage burned hotter. Sol’s voice snapped through the tension, low and furious, but with an eerie calm. 

“You… you really think you can just have them?”

His words were a direct challenge. He wasn’t even looking at Subaru now. His eyes were fixed on Geo, a bitter fire lighting up his pupils.

Geo raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly glancing at Sol, but there was a flicker of something deeper there—recognition. He had caught it. The look in Sol’s eyes. 

He wasn’t just pissed. He was dangerous.

“You really think they want you?” Sol spat, his words dripping with venom. “You think you can just play with them like this? Control them? Manipulate them?” His voice rose in volume with every word, an ugly distortion of what used to be affection. "You’ve been poisoning their mind, haven’t you? Telling them lies to turn them against me. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?"

Subaru took a step forward, fists clenched. “Look—“

“I know you’ve been sneaking around behind my back, trying to worm your way into their head,” Sol interrupted, stepping closer, his body tense like a coiled spring. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? Think you can just take what’s mine?”

In a split second, Sol’s hand shot out, shoving Geo hard in the chest. Geo barely moved, but the force of the shove sent the tension in the room spiraling out of control. 

Everything felt like it was about to snap.

“You’re batshit crazy emo-ass dude, like I always knew,” Subaru muttered, shaking his head. But there was no fear in his voice—only disgust.

And that was all it took.

Sol lunged. His hands shot out, grabbing Geo by the collar and slamming him against the hallway with a violent crash. His grip tightened, nails digging into the fabric, pulling Geo’s face close to his with a snarl. “Don’t you dare act like you’re innocent. I saw the way you looked at them. Saw the way you touched them like you had a right to.”

The two of them were close now, too close—breathing in the same air, teeth gritted against each other.

Subaru didn’t flinch. 

Didn’t give Sol the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

With a growl, Sol shoved him again. This time, Subaru reacted. He swung—hard—hitting Sol square in the jaw with a heavy punch that sent his head snapping to the side.

The pain bloomed like wildfire, but Sol didn’t back down. He felt the blood in his mouth, but it only made him angrier. His vision blurred with fury, the edges of everything distorting as the fight burned through him.

With a roar, Sol tackled Subaru to the ground, fists flying. He was relentless—pounding into Subaru’s chest, his knuckles connecting with skin, the blows harsh and fast. But Subaru didn’t give up. He fought back, flipping them over with a growl, using his legs to pin Sol to the floor. His hands grabbed Sol’s wrists, forcing them down, using all his strength to keep him under control.

But Subaru was wild now. The rage was consuming him, burning everything else from his mind. His body writhed under Subaru’s grip, trying to break free, thrashing to land another punch, to hurt him.

The sounds of the music pounding downstairs seemed, like again, miles away, distant as the world outside continued without knowing the mess unfolding upstairs. 

You couldn’t let this happen. Not here. Not now. This wasn’t the time or place to be tearing each other apart—especially not with the party happening right below you, people oblivious to the mess unfolding up here.

You stepped forward, voice forced out through clenched teeth. “Enough, Sol,” you snapped, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady the rising panic in your chest. “This isn’t the time for this. The party downstairs—someone’s going to hear us!”

But Sol wasn’t listening. 

“You think you’re better than me?” Sol’s voice was barely a growl as he tried to get his legs free, to push Subaru off. “You think you have the right to touch them? To take what’s mine?”

Subaru’s eyes narrowed as he tried to hold Sol down. His breath was coming fast, but there was a clear determination behind his gaze. “You need to get a fucking grip,” he snapped, voice low. 

“They don’t belong to anyone.”

The words—those fucking words—hit Sol like a slap in the face. A crack in the dam. He threw his body forward, slamming his forehead into Subaru’s with a sickening thud, forcing him to stumble back. Blood leaked from his nose, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t stopping.

His rage was deafening, drowning out everything but the need to destroy. He lunged at Subaru again, not caring about anything else. And you acted on instinct, grabbing his arm to stop him, trying to hold him back, but before you could even register what was happening, a sharp, sudden pain exploded across your face.

Sol’s fist hit you square in the jaw.

The shock of it was immediate, but it wasn’t the pain that struck hardest. It was the fact that it was Sol—Sol—the one whom you thought you could trust, who’d been there for you in his own twisted way.

You stumbled back, your cheek stinging with the force of the hit, but before you could catch your breath, Sol was already there, his hand reaching out to you with a panicked, desperate expression.

“Shit—shit, I didn’t—” He quickly stumbled toward you, his voice soft, frantic. “Pumpkin... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

But the words didn’t land. 

You pushed him back with all the force you could muster, sending him stumbling backward until he hit the ground with a dull thud.

The hallway went eerily quiet for a second, the only sound was your ragged breath and the thundering beat of the music from downstairs.

Sol sat there, looking up at you, his breath shaky. He didn’t move. 

Didn’t try to get up.

You stood over Sol, your chest tight with disgust, a slow, suffocating poison filling your veins. Every inch of you wanted to scream, to shout every truth you could at him, but the words felt so small against the weight of what had just unfolded. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t undo the mess.

Subaru moved to take a step forward, but you held up a hand, voice as cold as ice. “Stay back, Subaru. I’ll handle this.”

But even you knew you were barely holding it together.

 The truth was, you didn’t want him to control this any longer. You weren’t going to let him break you and then apologize his way back into your life like it was nothing. You weren’t like that.

With a sharp breath, you began, words laced with finality. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” You let the silence hang in the air, letting it sit between you like a thick, unspoken truth. “And I sure as hell don’t belong to you.”

Your gaze never wavered from his as you continued, each word deliberate, a cold shard of truth cutting through the tension. “What makes you think you and I could ever work out? I don’t even like you, Sol. Hell, I don’t even like art enough to care about that little thing you latched onto. Yeah, we both like horror stuff, but that's not some magical bond that makes us compatible. Do you think that’s enough? That I’d somehow fall for you because you want it?”

A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow and devoid of warmth. 

“It was never going to happen, never in a million years. I don’t have feelings for you, nonexistent. Like whatever past life you and I had together had to be simply a pity, but even modern terms that have been long gone now.” You saw the flash of confusion in his eyes, the shock written all over his face as your words sunk in, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Sol just stared at you, like he didn’t know what the hell hit him. His mouth opened as if to speak, but the words never came, hanging in the air uselessly.

“You need to understand something, Sol,” you continued, stepping back just slightly, making sure your words hit home. “You’re so desperate for the poison that you think it’ll save you. But I’m not the one to give it to you. We were never meant to be anything—certainly not this. I don’t want you. I never did. And you... you’re just looking for something to destroy yourself with.”

You didn’t care that it hurt. 

You didn’t care that his feelings were crushed.

This wasn’t about him anymore. This was about clearing the air—about making him face the truth, even if it shattered him.

Sol was quiet. Instead, he looked down, fingers twitching like he was about to reach for you again. But his movements were slow, hesitant. He could see it now—could see the shift in you, could feel it in the air between you.

And that was enough to stop him.

For a moment, he just sat there, his eyes not meeting yours, his chest still rising and falling with every ragged breath. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he muttered, voice strained, unsure. His words were softer now, quieter. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

But the apology didn’t feel real. Not after all of this.

You didn’t even flinch as you looked down at him, your eyes cold, your heart colder. “Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sol opened his mouth like he was about to say something, maybe try again, but you weren’t going to let him. 

Not now. Not after everything.

Sol's eyes flickered between you and Subaru, rage still bubbling beneath the surface, only now, it was simmering in a way that suggested he was ready to snap at any second. He was convinced Subaru was the issue—he was the one who had interfered. 

His hands clenched into fists once more, and before anyone could react, he launched himself forward toward Subaru.

But in a blur of motion, a hand shot out, grabbing Sol’s arm and twisting it behind his back with brutal force. Sol's breath was ripped from his lungs in a strangled gasp as he was forced down to the ground, his face contorting in a mix of frustration and pain.

You froze. Subaru froze. 

Neither of you had seen it coming.

“Hyugo?” you called out, a mix of confusion and shock in your voice. That’s right he came with Sol to the Halloween party.

The once-MIA student, the carefree and elusive presence you barely expected to have your back, stood there with Sol’s arm twisted at an impossible angle, his face unreadable. He wasn’t the cheerful, playful version you knew—this was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. 

Cold, decisive, and completely in control.

Subaru’s confusion mirrored yours. His eyes flickered between you and Hyugo, his expression clearly saying the same thing: What is happening right now?

Hyugo didn't respond, his grip tightening on Sol’s arm, pressing him into the ground with unyielding force. For a second, it seemed like the entire hallway was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

"Don’t put your hands on my little brother," Hyugo growled, his voice low, the words carrying the weight of a threat so heavy it could’ve cracked glass. You could feel the tension in the air as his eyes flicked between you and Subaru, before landing back on Sol, pinning him like he was already dead in Hyugo’s eyes.

Hyugo then turned his gaze to Subaru. "Get them out of here," he said, tone cold, like he wasn’t even fazed by the chaos. "I already called the cops. Leave now."

You glanced at Subaru, and fuck, his face was a mess of emotions. 

It was pale as hell, looking like he’d just seen something he couldn’t unsee—disgust, anger, confusion, all mixed up into a look you couldn’t even describe. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. But he didn’t say a word. Just took one last look around, then grabbed your arm, pulling you out of the goddamn chaos.

You both made your way downstairs, and as if on cue, the flashing lights of a police car lit up the night, blinding and warning everyone at the same time. Oh shit. The entire party started scattering like cockroaches, people rushing out the doors, running in every direction, looking for an escape. It was a mess.

Crowe was standing near Deryl, Brittany, and Jess, already looking stressed the fuck out as he scanned the scene. “Who called the police??” he barked, looking around for answers like someone had just committed a crime.

Before anyone could respond, he saw you and Subaru, and his eyes went wide. “Did I miss drama?” he asked, “Wait—how did you get out of the closet..?” but when his gaze landed on your face.

“Hella, broken lock” you replied, your tone flat.

Without waiting for any further questions, you turned and started heading straight for the back door, already feeling the weight of everything press down on you. 

“Sorry Crowe, but we gotta dip,” you called back, barely slowing down. “I’m on scholarship. Party planner out.” You didn’t even glance back as you slipped out into the night, leaving the chaos behind.

You moved through the darkened streets, not looking back, your footsteps quick and steady. The cool night air hit your face, but the adrenaline kept you warm. 

Subaru was right behind you, shouting over the noise of the night, “Hey! Slow the fuck down!” He was still trying to catch up, his voice tight with a mix of concern and annoyance, but you were too far gone in your own head to care.

Before you could even make it to the end of the block, Deryl, Brittany, and Jess appeared, practically sprinting after you. Brittany looked pissed off, her hair falling out of place as she muttered curses under her breath as Jess held on to her. Deryl, for once, was being useful—grabbing Crowe by the arm and dragging him along in a half-assed attempt to keep him from falling apart.

When you all finally arrived at the diner, it was like a collective exhale. The neon lights above the early breakfast spot flickered in the darkness, offering a sharp contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

You all shuffled inside, and the scent of greasy food and fresh coffee hit you like a wave. Everyone was wiped out, some still catching their breath. Deryl and Subaru seemed to be the only ones still standing strong, while the rest of you were just... trying not to collapse.

No one said a word as you slid into the corner booth, settling between Crowe and Subaru. Their presence was a solid weight on either side of you—comforting in its own, strange way.

The six of you settled into silence for a second, trying to process what had just gone down. Everyone’s eyes were darting around, unsure of where to start, like it was some sort of unspoken rule to not bring up the mess of the night just yet.

Deryl was the first to break the silence, though his voice was still full of energy like he didn’t just witness a fight that nearly ended in a disaster. “So, who’s planning the next party? Because that shit was hype, even if the cops came. I’m just sayin’,” he grinned like the whole thing was some sick joke.

Brittany, on the other hand, was visibly disappointed, slouching in her seat and poking at her menu. “I was gonna get soooo wasted by the end of the night,” she muttered, glancing out the window like she was mourning the loss of the evening. “But nooo, gotta get the cops involved. Real fucking fun.”

Crowe was sitting there, rubbing his forehead, looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole. “This is why I don’t throw parties in my guest house,” he grumbled, clearly stressed. “What the hell was I thinking? My aunt’s gonna kill me.”

You looked at him, blinking for a moment. “Guest house?” you asked, half in disbelief. “You threw that entire thing in a guest house?” You couldn’t help but sigh under your breath. “That’s rich people’s problems right there.”

Crowe threw you a look, leaning back in his seat like he was trying to disappear into the booth. “Yeah, well, I’m not throwing a party at my real house. Not a chance in hell,” he muttered, sinking deeper into the cushions.

You grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Got damn rich people,” you teased, but your mind was already working. You motioned to the table with a nod. “All right, since our night is fucked, how about you all pick up the tab?”

Crowe’s head snapped toward you, eyes widening. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” you said with a smirk, “pay for the bill. I did all the work to make sure it was perfect until the cops showed up. So, unless you wanna keep wasting my time, I’m cashing out.”

Subaru, still processing everything, threw you a confused look, but you were already counting the minutes in your head until this night would be over.

Crowe sighed, finally giving in, rubbing his temples like he weighted the world on his shoulders. “Fine, fine, I’ll pay. You guys are seriously killing me, but yeah, I’ll cover the food,” he muttered, glancing at the menu like he wanted to melt into it. Everyone at the table perked up at his words, though you could tell they were still in a bit of shock from everything that went down earlier.

The waiter moved through the group, taking orders as the quiet hum of conversation settled in. The usual noise that felt uncomfortable you first felt when it came to hanging around this friend group.

However, now?

More like the peaceful weight of a night that had finally caught its breath. The chatter that followed was filled with clumsy attempts to fill the silence, like people fumbling to catch up with the rhythm of a moment they hadn’t quite grasped.

Deryl was as animated as ever, his voice loud and scattered as he rambled about finding a new spot for the next party—praying it wouldn’t end with sirens again.

Brittany, still jittery from the night’s chaos, was looking forward to her drink like it was a lifeline, a simple comfort she could hold onto.

Jess, the usually quiet observer, seemed lost in thought, her hands absentmindedly picking at her food. Her gaze was distant as if the events of the night had nudged something inside her—something she wasn’t sure how to deal with just yet.

It was like that—the way the conversation naturally folded into a silence that no one rushed to fill. Something about the way this group connected felt like solanaceae, that fun, intoxicating beauty wrapped in a delicate skin of thorns.

You could feel it in the way each of them interacted—like this quiet understanding of each other’s complexity, how the rawness of who they were was met with unspoken acceptance.

They were like a vine of nightshade, one that, if you got too close, could prick your skin with its sharp edges, but if you leaned in just right, it would wrap around you, tender yet fierce.

Even though they were different, even though they weren’t perfect, being here, surrounded by this strange blend of warmth and edge, felt like finding a place where you could just exist without the weight of expectations.

They cared—maybe not in ways you could always understand, but in ways that were real. There was a comfort here, but it was the kind you had to lean into, the kind that could hurt, but also heal.

And somehow, it felt safe.

Even in the moments of tension or silence, there was a knowing that this was where you belonged—among the thorns, wrapped in the strange, bittersweet beauty of something real.

And then, as if to stir the pot once again, Crowe dropped the topic that no one had thought to touch.

“So,” he started, his tone more casual than before, but you could tell there was an edge to it, like he was trying not to seem too concerned, “you two…” He nodded toward you and Subaru. “You guys locked in that closet, huh? What the hell happened in there?”

You froze, instantly wishing you could sink into the booth. 

You didn’t want to talk about it.

Not with Crowe, not with anyone. 

Whatever happened in there—it stays between You and Subaru. 

The weird, messy thing that didn’t need explaining. But Crowe wasn’t letting it go, his eyes glancing between you and Subaru like he was trying to piece together the puzzle.

Subaru shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but before you could say anything, Crowe mumbled more to himself than anyone else, “I didn’t mean to put you two through that. But... watching you both not talk to each other? It’s messing with my head.”

The weight of the words hit you, and you could feel Subaru’s eyes on you, waiting for your response. You didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to give Crowe any satisfaction of knowing what had gone down. You shrugged it off, pushing the conversation away as best you could. 

“It’s whatever,” you said quietly. “We’re fine now.”

You didn’t say more because, honestly, you weren’t sure what more to say. The tension was still thick between you and Subaru, but that was something you’d handle on your own. Again, you didn’t need Crowe or anyone else trying to meddle.

Just as the conversation shifted back to the party, you absentmindedly picked up your food, taking a bite, only to have Subaru’s hand shoot out in a flash. His fingers brushed against your face, and you barely had time to react before he wiped something off your cheek with a napkin, his voice low and careful.

“Don’t eat with your mouth full,” Subaru said in that familiar, borderline nagging tone, like he was scolding you but in the softest way possible. He wasn’t angry, just a little too invested in making sure you didn’t look like a mess in front of everyone. 

Then, without missing a second, he placed a napkin neatly on your lap, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture that no one else at the table seemed to miss.

The entire table fell silent for a second. 

You could practically hear the wheels turning in their heads. Everyone was staring, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. Subaru’s quick, unexpected affection caught them all off guard. It was strange, watching him be so… attentive in his own blunt, rude way. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but there was something undeniably tender about the way he took care of you, even if it was just wiping your face.

It was the little things that made it all so damn confusing.

“Yo,” Deryl finally broke the silence, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “What the hell was that?”

Brittany blinked a couple of times, eyes narrowing. She shifted her gaze between you and Subaru, like she couldn't figure out if she was witnessing something cute or downright creepy. "You two... are weird."

“Are you two together?” Jess asked, her voice cutting through the awkward tension. The whole table went quiet, their eyes immediately flicking between you and Subaru.

You let out a sigh, leaning forward in your seat with a smirk. 

“I don’t know, are we together, Subaru?”

Subaru froze, suddenly stiffening. His eyes darted around, probably realizing for the first time how damn odd everything must've looked. His mind must’ve been racing, trying to come up with an excuse, something that could make sense of all this mess. 

He shouldn't have done that.

Especially in front of everyone. 

He scowled, trying to brush it off, but still couldn’t pull his gaze away from you. “Oh, shut it,” he muttered, scooting away from you slightly as he turned to face the others. His eyes went sharp.

“It’s none of your damn business, you nosy fucking idiots.”

“Bruh, they deadass called you by your first name,” Deryl threw in, clearly trying to rile Subaru up.

Subaru’s eyes darkened at the mention of it, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. He gave a low huff, but his voice had that bite to it.

"Shut your mouth, Deryl."

Crowe was staring too, but his gaze was different. More thoughtful, like he was trying to piece something together. He glanced at you for a split second, then back to Subaru, before letting out a deep sigh. Finally, Crowe couldn’t resist adding his two cents, his voice laced with amusement.

“Looks like someone’s acting soft~”

Subaru’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking under his skin. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Crowe’s face, but he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Not yet.

You couldn’t help but laugh—soft and genuine. You knew it wasn’t really funny, but the ridiculousness of it all just hit you at that moment. Maybe it was the weird energy between you and Subaru, maybe it was the whole mess with the party... or maybe you just liked the idea of breaking the tension, even if only for a second.

But right when the atmosphere lightened a little, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced down at the screen, seeing Hyugo’s name flashing up. Without missing a second, you excused yourself.

“Hold on a sec,” you said, standing up from the booth. Subaru instantly furrowed his brow, watching you.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice a little too sharp.

Of course, everyone at the table immediately jumped on him, teasing. "Yo, Subaru, you can’t just let her leave like that?" Deryl grinned, leaning forward. "What, no ‘be careful’? No ‘call me later’?"

Brittany and Jess were quick to jump in too, their eyes practically glowing with amusement. "What's up, Subaru? You need to go after her?" Brittany asked, barely suppressing her grin.

Subaru growled low in his throat, clearly irritated. "Shut up, all of you."

You bit back a smile as you glanced at him. 

"Relax, I’ll be back in a minute."

Subaru’s eyes didn’t leave you as you made your way to the back area, heading toward the bathrooms. You could feel their eyes on you even as you stepped away, but you didn’t care. You needed a moment to yourself, a quick breather before dealing with more of whatever was happening at that table.

Once you were safely out of their line of sight, you took a breath and reached into your pocket to pull out your phone. 

You needed a moment to clear your head, to get away from the chaos. Pressing the device to your ear, you stepped deeper into the quiet corner near the bathroom, the noise of the party just barely audible through the walls.

"Hey, Hyugo," you said, lowering your voice, feeling the tension still clinging to you like an unwanted weight.

Hyugo’s voice crackled through the speaker, steady and calm, but you could still hear that subtle edge beneath it. "Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay after all that? Did you and my little brother make it out?"

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the cold wall, letting his voice ground you for a moment. "Yeah, we’re fine. We got away with the others. Things got... little messy, but in a fun way. Our friends are straight up messing with him, and joking about the party."

Hyugo let out a laugh, and you could almost picture the happiness pulling at his lips. "That’s so funny. I bet he’s all red in the face. He flushes easily, you know." His laugh rang through, light and genuine, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

But then his tone shifted, softened. "You know..." he began again, more quietly now, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

"Don’t listen to Sunny, well… Sol. He’s just…" He trailed off, and you could hear the unspoken understanding in his voice. "He’s complicated. You don’t need to let him drag you down into whatever mess he’s dealing with. You’re better than that."

You felt a weight lifting from your chest at his words. The heaviness of everything that had happened—the chaos, the hurtful words, the confusion—seemed to dissipate a little. 

"Okay," you muttered softly. "I’ll try."

You hesitated for a moment, “Where is Sol?”

Hyugo sighed before saying, "We both got out before the cops saw us,” he said. "But don’t worry, I handled him. I made sure." There was a quiet assurance in his words, like he knew exactly how to deal with his younger brother, even if the details were something you weren’t sure you wanted to picture.

His words were comforting, but it was more than that—there was a dangerous edge to them, a possessiveness that spoke of a bond you knew better than to question. Hyugo wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to protecting those he cared about. 

You breathed out slowly, glancing down at the phone in your hand. Time was slipping away, and you couldn’t afford to be away from the table for too long.

"Thanks, Hyugo," you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. "I appreciate you looking out for us.”

He laughs softly, clearly hearing the warm of his voice, "Of course," he said, his tone light but full of that familiar teasing warmth.

"I’d be a terrible older brother if I didn’t."

There was a pause, and you could almost hear him considering something, weighing his next words carefully before he spoke again, his voice lower, quieter.

"But as his older brother..." he said slowly, almost thoughtfully. "Just... take care of my little brother for me. And of course, take care of yourself, okay?" His words were soft but firm like he was entrusting you with something important. "I just want you two to have a better life. A peaceful one, if that’s even possible, with… Subaru."

The sincerity in Hyugo’s voice lingered in your mind, a warmth that pushed away some of the tension you’d been holding. Even with everything that had happened, his words gave you a small sense of reassurance.

Maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Maybe things with Subaru could be… different.

You sigh softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you respond. “I’ll try. We’re perhaps compatible. Like, he’s a handful, you know.”

Hyugo’s laugh came through again, deep and knowing, like he was in on some unspoken joke. "I know, tell me about it... Thank you, and I’m sorry, I’ll see you sometime around,” he added before the call ended.

For a moment, you stood there, the soft hum of your friends in the background, Hyugo’s words hanging in the air. There was something about him, something different when it came to you. And even though you couldn’t quite place it, one thing was clear—Hyugo doesn’t play about his little brother.

And maybe he did it for you….

Nah, that’s a lie because—you frowned your brows—thinking about Hyugo must know of Sol god awful obsession with you, because ain’t no damn way. Maybe that’s why he said he was sorry at the end once he realized that you have a connection with his little brother… hmm.

Anyway—you were about to head back to the table, the sound of footsteps approaching snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you even saw him, you could feel Subaru’s presence. And then his voice—quiet but piercing.

“Is he gone?”

You jumped, the suddenness of it making your heart stumble. Spinning around, you found Subaru standing there, his figure looming over you like an unspoken warning. His gaze was piercing, searching for something, maybe for a crack in your calm exterior.

“Subaru, please don’t do that,” you said, your voice strained as you tried to steady your racing pulse. His unexpected closeness, that tension between you, still hadn’t fully settled, and now he was standing there, making everything feel worse and more complicated.

“Yeah, Hyugo’s gone,” you muttered, trying to make your tone sound as casual as possible. But your voice was flat, betraying the way your chest still felt tight from the earlier conversation. 

You glanced up at him, a wave of curiosity creeping in. 

“You heard everything?”

For a moment, Subaru didn’t answer. His gaze locked onto yours, unreadable—cold, but with something sharp lurking beneath. Something almost… worried? The intensity of it made the air around you crackle with unspoken words. But instead of responding, he shifted slightly, looking away, as though something was clawing at him that he refused to face.

“I didn’t want to sit at the table with them while waiting,” he muttered, his voice edged with irritation, but there was something else there too—a softness, a crack in the armor. 

“Too many idiots messing with me...” He scowled, as though frustrated by his own vulnerability, and you could see it in the way he tried to pull away, afraid of showing too much. But then, almost as an afterthought, his voice softened again, and his eyes flickered toward you, sharper now but tinged with something unspoken.

“But I came to check on you,” he added, and even though his tone was still laced with that cool indifference, you could hear the slight hesitation beneath it. 

Like maybe, just maybe, he was just worried.

“Don’t need to be so dramatic,” you said, almost laughing. “I’m fine.”

Subaru shot you a look, narrowing his eyes at your comment, but then his posture shifted. “Text that short shit I said thanks,” he grumbled, “but don’t—I swear to god, make it over the top or he’ll never leave me alone on campus.”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh, “Sure,” you muttered, nodding as you looked at him. His expression was still cold, distant—like a layer of frost between you two. 

But his eyes? They told a different story.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of it all, the strange pull between you two. “Anyway,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the moment. “Let’s get out of these nasty-ass restrooms. I’ll give you hand sanitizer once we’re back at the table.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Subaru…”

“And you need to drop that art class,” he continued, oblivious to the way you’d called him out. “Start taking your major classes. Plan a better route. Just in case that fucker tries to mess with you.”

“Subaru…” you interrupted again, a little more firmly this time, trying to catch up with his rapid-fire thoughts.

“I’ll start walking with you to your classes since ours aren’t far apart. You can stay with me at my place until we find you somewhere else. I don’t care what my bitch-ass father says. I’ll handle it. That emo-fucker... I don’t trust him. I can’t—”

“Subaru,” you called, cutting him off mid-rant, a touch of annoyance slipping into your voice. “Shit, you're way ahead of my ass.”

He stopped in his tracks, his words trailing off. He blinked, clearly realizing how much he’d blurted out. His face turned slightly reddish pink, his eyes flickering away from yours as he tried to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, muttering under his breath. 

“I know. Sorry,” he mumbled, his tone a little gruff as he avoided eye contact, his usual arrogance faltering just a bit.

You felt a little smile tug at your lips, but it wasn’t out of mockery. More like a realization, something that settled in your chest, warm and heavy. Subaru—despite the tough shell he put up—was starting to show you pieces of the person he used to be.

Or maybe, just maybe, the person he was becoming. 

Perhaps, in that very poison, your truthful words had managed to move him. 

Subaru looked down at you, the faintest laugh escaping his lips, mixed with that little annoyance in your voice. 

The crazy part? 

You were his, and he was yours—something neither of you could quite wrap your heads around. He leaned in slightly, his gaze softer now, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor starting to fade. 

“A Belladonna, you know," Subaru said almost lovingly but annoyed, the words falling between you like a secret just for the two of you.

You blinked at him, momentarily lost in the meaning of it before your eyes softened. The shift was subtle, but it made you appear more alluring than ever. Belladonna?—dangerous, intoxicating, wrapped in mystery and allure.

A poison, sure, but not the kind that burned. 

You were the berry, sweet yet deadly, something Subaru never thought he’d be so drawn to. And yet, here he was, tangled up in the wild, intoxicating forest of campus and your presence.

The kind of danger that didn’t destroy, but wrapped him in its pull, making him crave more. Always more. Subaru was immune to it, somehow, able to take on everything you were without being consumed. And that? That made you even more captivating in ways he couldn't fully explain.

"Didn't think you knew Italian or plants like that," you teased, an amused glint in your eyes.

Subaru sighed, that arrogant confidence of his never fully gone. "One, I speak five languages. Two, I like plants."

You rolled your eyes at his answer, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “Aw, first you call me a beautiful plant, now you're pulling out the fancy language?” you scoffed, crossing your arms with mock offense. “Weird, but okay.”

Subaru gave you that look—the one that danced on the edge of a challenge and a confession. “It’s belladonna,” he said smoothly, his voice low, rough with sarcasm, “It means deadly nightshade, a poisonous plant. Don’t go twisting my words like I called you ‘beautiful’ or anything. Don’t get cocky, smartass.”

And yet… the way he looked at you as he said it—his eyes sharp and unreadable, lingering a bit too long on your lips, on the curve of your smirk—betrayed him.

His mouth said one thing, but his gaze? That told the truth.

You weren’t just a poison to him.

You were a craving. Addictive.

Dangerous in the kind of way that pulled him closer, even when he knew he shouldn't. Not toxic—no.

Just potent enough to blur the line between warning and invitation.

You caught the look in his eyes—the way they softened for just a second like he'd forgotten to keep the mask on. That wall of his, the one he built so carefully, cracked without a sound. And in that silence, something honest slipped through.

Then he said it again, quieter this time, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard.

“…My belladonna.”

No smirk. No smug edge. 

Just the weight of his voice brushing against your skin like a whisper no one else could claim.

The words settled into your chest, blooming slow and warm, stealing your breath without asking. He didn’t have to mean it like that—but something about the way he said it made your heart stumble anyway.

Beautiful poison. Deadly nightshade.

But what Subaru didn’t know—what he clearly didn’t realize—was that you knew that belladonna also meant beautiful lady in Italian. And you weren’t about to tell him. Never. Let him pretend he wasn’t sweet. Let him keep thinking he wasn’t calling you beautiful. 

You arched a brow, biting back a grin. 

“Didn’t think you were the poetic type.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing like it physically pained him. “I’m not. You’re just dramatic. And annoying. And smug as hell.”

But he didn’t deny it. And he didn’t take it back.

Instead, he glanced away with that familiar scowl—half exasperated, half something softer, "You're lucky I even tolerate you," he grumbled, voice low and rough, but you heard it—that warmth sneaking in like it always did when he got too close.

You were his poison, no doubt—but the kind that lingered sweetly on the tongue. Addictive. Secret. Worth every risk.

You tilted your head at him, a slow smirk tugging at your lips.

“Vice versa,” you hummed. “And yet here you are, still choosing to ‘tolerate’ me. Such possessiveness.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough to see the back of his skull.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, but his mouth betrayed him—edges twitching up, just barely.

You both knew what was happening. 

He wasn’t running. Wasn’t pushing away. He was already caught. Wrapped up in everything you were. Falling—grudgingly, carelessly, completely—into the mystery of you.

His belladonna.

[pomefioredove]

hey hey, claudette! nice twst-cafe! can i please order a chocolate cookie #3 with frosting and powdered sugar :3? happy holidaysssss

hii I had fun with this (it turned out to be kinda silly but BEAR WITH ME!!)

order #3, chocolate with frosting, powdered sugar

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ cat cafe

summary: heartslabyul's poor attempt at cheering you up tropes: only one bed couch, coffee shop au characters: che'nya additional info: romantic or platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

"Well. This was a bad idea,"

"YOU'RE ONLY REALIZING THIS NOW?!"

Ace cringes at Riddle's reddening face, and he looks to his friends for help.

Deuce is busy decorating the foyer, stringing up fairy lights and streamers. He shrugs as Riddle chases Ace around the room, shouting and chastising him.

Trey comes out of the kitchen with a tray of tiny tea cakes, Cater following with a few cups of coffee (trendy latte art included!)

"What's the problem?" Trey asks. "Ace, what did you break?"

"WHAT? NOTHING!"

"Grim got out," Deuce says plainly, stepping down the ladder. "And the Prefect's due at any second. Sam can't stall them forever."

Trey sets down the cakes and cradles his chin in his palm, calmly contemplating the situation while Riddle continues chasing Ace around the room. "Well, this is certainly a problem. How can we have a cat cafe with no cat?"

"HELLO? WHO CARES ABOUT GRIM! SOMEONE REIGN IN THE HOUSEWARDEN!"

"Riddle," Trey says. "We need Ace to help us find Grim. Collaring him won't help anyone."

Riddle finally relents, plopping down on the couch with a frustrated hmph!

Ace collapses on the floor.

"He's... just concerned about the Prefect," Trey tries, much to Ace's annoyance.

Cater puts aside the coffee cups he was carrying. "Well, we're not gonna find Grim just sitting around here. If we all split up, we can cover campus. I'll DM for some backup,"

Trey nods, helping Ace to his feet, and the four of them follow him to the door.

"Sam'll keep them busy for a few more minutes, at the least. Let's not waste any time,"

The five Heartslabyul helpers split off in five different directions from Ramshackle's door, determined to make their final minutes of preparation count.

Unfortunately, it was more like their final seconds. After an impossibly long sales pitch from Sam (who else could manage to spin a potato-flavored soda into a two hour discussion?) you dragged yourself back to Ramshackle's door, pulling out your key- only to find it unlocked already.

Can't be good, you think, but when you come inside, it's...

...Well, clean. And pleasantly warm. And everything smells like coffee and vanilla. And there's cat-shaped confetti everywhere. And...

...No Grim. No one at all, actually.

"...Grim?" you call out. "Ace? Deuce? You guys upstairs?"

No reply. Maybe they're going to surprise you? You take a seat on one of the sofas and wait.

And wait.

And... wait.

Finally, you figure the coffee is getting cold, so you help yourself to a cup. And the desserts are going to go bad if they're left out too long, so you have a few treats. Definitely Trey's baking, but no Trey.

It's felt like half an hour when you hear humming over your head.

"Guys?" you ask, but there's no one beside you, or behind you.

"One "guy", actually," the hum says. "All alone, are you?"

More NRC nonsense. You nod, anyhow.

"Pity. A party with no playthings, a cat cafe with no cats... except, ah, that's right. Me!"

There's suddenly a weight on your shoulders, and you look up to see Che'nya sitting on the back of the sofa behind you, both legs slung over your body.

"Hello, again. You look just as lost as when I met you, even in your own home. How mad!"

You blink, wide-eyed, and he boops your nose.

"I was invited, at your behest- not as a cat, but as a guest- though, as it goes, I suppose I may as well fill both roles?"

"You- I-"

He slips down to sit at your side, poking at your perplexed expression. "I can purr, if you'd like. You'll have to ask nicely, though, and in iambic pentameter!"

It's hard to tell whether or not he's being serious- especially with that smile of his. He drapes himself over your lap.

"...Thank you," you manage, patting his head. He purrs, despite all of the terms and conditions he'd just given you.

"Oh, no need, it's for the others. They're worrying themselves sick, thinking they're going to miss that surprised look on your face when you see all this! Though... I suppose it's a bit late for that. I'll have to describe it to them, hm?"

"...Poor guys,"

"They'll live," he says, curtly, encouraging you to pet him more by leaning into the touch of your hand.

You scratch behind his ears and he bites at your fingers, though they're only playful nips (Grim likes it when you pet there, after all, and aren't most cat-creatures the same? ...Er, maybe you should keep that thought to yourself).

It's nice, for a time. You wonder what it would have been like, if things had gone according to plan; all of your friends, eating and laughing and shouting and fighting and... perhaps this is a bit better. But only a bit.

Che'nya does nothing but nip at your hand when you're not petting him, and purr when you are. He picks at the fuzzies and dust bunnies on the ancient, decomposing couch, and lets them float away in the indoor draft.

Curious, how the unexpected, unexplainable chaos of things going wrong can actually be the most calming path to take.

It's been a chaotic week. But... this is welcomed chaos.

Somewhere between your third tea cake and your first finger sandwich, you fall asleep, comforted by the warmth in your lap and the fullness of your stomach.

"PREFECT!"

OW!

You hit your head on something hard, fully awake in a half-second just to feel the hurt on your forehead. You had bumped against Ace when you shot up in bed, and he was, too, cradling his bruised head in his hand.

"Ah- are you okay?" you ask, and he ignores you.

"How long have you been here?!"

You glance around the room- you're in bed, in your room, in your school clothes, though you were sure you'd dozed off downstairs...

And here are Deuce, Riddle, Trey, and Cater- but no Che'nya.

"I-I don't know. I suppose I got home around six..."

The boys breathe a sigh of collective relief. "Then we're only a few minutes late,"

"A few minutes?" you ask, sitting up in bed. "I'm sure it's been much longer than that."

"We left just before six to find this thing," Trey taps his watch.

Riddle holds up a struggling Grim. "LEMME GO! I DON'T WANNA BE NO PET!"

You blink, and Ace clears his throat, clearly trying not to burst into laughter. "He was trying to hide in the cafeteria- he got stuck in a teapot!"

"Was a really big one, too," Trey mutters. "Ahem- anyway- we came back just now and noticed someone had eaten half the food, the drinks were all gone, and you were asleep up here."

You rub your head again, brain still fuzzy and foggy from sleep. "...Did Che'nya not explain?"

The boys go silent and still, looking between each other.

"...Che'nya? He's not here," Riddle starts, tentatively. "He was invited, but he said RSA has their midterm exams this week. He never came."

You laugh. "But he was here. He must have taken me upstairs when I fell asleep, and eaten all that food- I barely had a bite!"

Your friends all exchange frightened looks, and then their eyes fall on you, sparkling with suspicion, as if you had gone mad.

"...Alright, then" Ace says. "Uh, I'll get you an icepack for your head."

"I'll go with him," Deuce continues.

"I'll bring up some painkillers," Trey murmurs.

"I'll put on tea! I knew coffee was a bad idea!" Riddle announces, following after the three.

You look between them as the leave, one by one. Before Cater can follow, you call out. "But he was here. You believe me, right?"

"Aw, hon, you've had a long week," Cater says, smiling sympathetically. "I'm sure it was just a weird dream."

He leaves, and somewhere, above your head, you hear humming.

This is going to be an interesting night.

[juicegremlin]

Literally sobbing my eyes out because Jean wanted Neil to stay at The Nest so. Bad. Someone barrels into his life—the "what could have been" of Jean Moreau if his mother had saved him instead of sold him—and tells Jean that he doesn't deserve to be treated this way. Jean-Yves "Starving Dog" Moreau doesn't deserve to starve, doesn't deserve to spend his whole life chasing safety and approval. For the first time in a long time, Jean has someone to protect and be protected by—a partner who won't throw him under the bus the first chance he gets. Someone to hold his fucking hand.

And then Neil leaves. Neil leaves, and Jean shatters into even more pieces than before. His partner—the one and only bright spot in Evermore's relentless sea of bad—has gone back to the Foxes, a group of people that would never treat someone the way Jean has been treated. Jean has been abandoned, yet again, by the only person capable of being there for him. Kevin got out. Neil got out. They find homes and lives and families while Jean is forced to stay and let Riko beat him into the ground, day after day after day. What makes Jean so different? So unworthy? Why can't fate hand him the same cards?

He watches Neil flourish from behind black walls, watches Kevin grow and heal and thinks why not me? And he's glad they are safe, but Jean can't help it—he wants them back. Wants someone to bear witness to his pain, even if it means putting them in danger. And is that so awful to crave? A partner in punishment? Someone to promise him hope when all he can see is black?

Kengo dies, and what little bit of hope Jean had allowed himself to cling to dies with him.

I am going to die here, Jean realizes, bleeding out onto the dormitory floor. I am finally going to die here.

When he spots Renee, he thinks he has died. Who else would come for him but an angel without wings?

But no, this is real. Jean is alive, and this is real—after years of battering, it is finally his turn to be saved, and it's all because of the Neil Josten. Jean may have been left, but he was not abandoned. He was in the back of Neil's mind the entire time. Jean watches from behind the Foxes' safety net as Neil takes Riko's resolve and dismantles it with unforgiving hands, as Neil helps return Kevin to his former glory. Watches as Neil drags Riko's life to a screeching halt. Neil cuts a deal for Jean with the Moriyamas—gives him a place outside of Evermore for the first time since Marseille—and Jean can barely breathe under the weight of himself. It's real, but it doesn't feel like it.

And then Kevin—that beautiful, unattainable piece of bitch—sends Jean to the Trojans, repayment for helping Kevin escape all those months ago. Neil takes care of the last piece of Jean's painful past, repayment for Jean's life-saving support at Evermore. And perhaps there is no real way to settle the score between the three of them, but they're free. They're safe. They're alive, and they never could have done it without each other. Maybe that's enough for now.

[alchemistc]

you know what is currently Wrecking me about all this? buck's whole thing this whole show has been that people keep leaving him. abby, ali, maddie, eddie, tommy. but this time, bobby asked HIM to leave, and he did. the one time it's permanent, buck's the one who left. because bobby asked, of course, but still. he left bobby there, and bobby died.

Hey nonny? Hey?

With absolute love and adoration in my heart, fuck ALL THE WAY OFF.

"I think I need to, like, talk to him?"

Tommy's already reaching for his keys, like he understands, like he's there in the same place as Buck, like -

Buck wishes he knew who Tommy had lost.

It's been a month, and this anger has surfaced out of nowhere - he's been short at work, mean on calls, he was an asshole to Jee yesterday, and he just spend twenty minutes absolutely tearing into Tommy.

Buck hadn't even told him what 'he' he meant, but it's not like Tommy wasn't - there, or hasn't been here since. Everything lately distills down to Bobby.

("I just want it to get better."

"It doesn't really get better, sweetheart. You just...learn to manage it. Learn to appreciate what you had, and be grateful for the time you had it."

Buck had been so pissed off by the idea of being grateful that he'd picked a fucking fight about Tommy's habit of romanticizing things instead of living in them.)

The ride is quiet. Tommy doesn't say anything, doesn't defend himself from all the -now that he's had a second to think about it - truly rancid shit Buck just spewed at him. He keeps his hands at ten and two and his eyes on the road and he doesn't complain when Buck leans forward to turn off the radio, NPR fading out into a silence that doesn't seem as heavy for Tommy as it does for Buck.

"He made me leave," Buck says, three minutes out from the long lines of headstones, the gated swaths of green and grey. "He made me leave, Tommy."

Tommy's eyes don't leave the road - it's close to rush hour, and LA roadways are insane even without that added rat trap - but his right hand reaches out, palm up across the center console. Buck grasps it like the lifeline it is.

---

"Did you really kick his headstone, or was I imagining that?"

Evan has the grace to look abashed. "It's, uh... solid. Good handiwork."

"Do we need to make a stop at Urgent Care before we head home?"

Home, he says, and tries to remember when that had sent him into a panicked tailspin. It's still there, simmering, waiting for him. Waiting for the time he decides he can take a break from being the only solid thing in Evan's life besides his captain-cum-dad's headstone.

Evan eyes him carefully, red rimmed eyes and swollen nose, beautiful in the dying rays of sunlight. Tommy wants to crack open his ribcage and tuck him inside. Keep him safe. Keep him warm. Allow him to shove his way through all the viscera to cling to the center of him. "Are you staying, again?" he asks, cracked voice and tentative hope, and Tommy had left him to his private rage, stayed in the cab while Evan paced and gestured and yelled and knelt to trace the curves of a bold B. So he doesn't know, exactly, what Evan had said to Bobby. What he needed so desperately to get out.

There'd certainly been some context clues, though.

"You'll have to make me go," he says, and Evan's face is a whirlwind - pain, fear, disbelief, understanding. It settles somewhere around hope.

"You, uh... You don't mind? That that's never gonna happen?"

Evan's had that mantle ripped from him in the worst way possible. Maybe it's Tommy's turn to bear the weight of it, until they can share it together.

Tommy curls a hand around his neck, awkward though it is in the space of the cab. He's choosing to allow himself to read into the way Evan's whole body relaxes. "I don't mind at all."

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hitman // Accident

Imagine you wake up tied to a chair ducktape over your mouth and the weight of gravity weighing on your chest. Finally gaining your bearings you realize you are haphazardly hanging from a rickety-looking bridge above a raging river by a man in a black compression shirt a bored look on his face and a phone to his ear. You don’t try to struggle only watching wide-eyed as you hope this Hitman doesn’t drop you 

“Really…the wrong one? Fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Breathing is so much easier when he pulls you from the edge with one hand by the way. He doesn’t untie you sighing exasperatedly while running a hand through his hair. Finally, he takes the ducktape off your mouth waving off your barrage of questions. 

“Look things happened and I was supposed to kill someone who looks a lot like you but not.”

“So you're a hitman and you made a mistake?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to kill me for knowing you then?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Then can I go home?”

“Er no.”

“Because I’m going to talk?”

“No more like you wouldn’t be able to get into the country anyway.”

Turns out the hitman who happened to target you was incredibly too thorough and ended up burning your ID, crafting up a reasonable missing persons case for you, and making it hard for you to do anything in the country that you can’t properly even find on a map. So to combat the absolute mess of having to go through all the legalese and interrogation you’d go through to get back to your life he comes up with his solution.

“How about you just stay with me? I’ve got more than enough room.”

And he does. It's a place that’s like a small castle, he reasons it’s best that you just help clean the place and maybe make a meal or two. You accept not that you had any other choice at this point so he’ll untie you and take you there. Wherever this backwater country is he’s got a home filled with villagers who are happy to care for it. And in a language you don’t recognize they celebrate it when he brings you home, cheering and excitedly holding your hands. He can’t help but laugh at you while you try to figure things out.

“Hey! What was she saying before?”

“You really shouldn’t just blindly nod to what people are saying. That’s what gets you in trouble.”

“What else am I supposed to do?! She was smiling so wide it must’ve been something nice, right?”

“Hahaha, you're hopelessly adorable.”

When this Hitman is not sitting around laughing at you or mistranslating your requests, he’s not so bad. As the only one who understands what you’re saying and can actually respond to you in a rewarding way. Dismissing that he ruined your everyday life, he’s decent company usually smirking to himself while he makes fun of whatever you're doing. 

“That hat is way too big for you and so are your clothes. It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s not cute! For whatever reason nobody will give me anything other than your clothes it’s really inconvenient.”

“How do you know they're mine?”

“Because they smell like–”

“Awwww are you smelling me in your free time (Y/n)?”

“NO! Wait it’s just an observation—”

“Ewww so perverted (Y/n)~”

When he’s not around to mess with you, he’s off to work. Wearing those same tight-fitted pants he did when you first woke up. It’s…a little sad sometimes. He is the only one you can easily communicate with but you manage to enjoy the thousands of books he has in his home, hang out with the kittens of the farm, and slowly but surely get a grasp on the language all the villagers speak. Maybe one day you can surprise him by being able to call him out the next time he tries to humiliate you to the villagers. It certainly keeps you occupied from thinking about going home anytime soon.

“That’s another body in the ground. Where’s my money?”

The hitman once again casually dismembers another target for his client, taking a quick picture before hurrying to the store. You did say you were a fan of a certain gaming system, he’s got more than enough to spend now that he’s completed another job. Not that he really needed to that amount he had could very well pay for the entire lives of generations to come. That is if he hasn’t budgeted for a luxurious life with you.

“Mmm, which one should I get? Hmm?”

“Oh, are you interested in some of our AAA titles?”

“Not for me but for my partner….I’m just worried they’ll leave me and our kids out while playing.”

“Well if you like we have some lighthearted multiplayer games.”

“That’s perfect!”

He does plan as though you already have kids. He doesn’t need to know if you two will conceive with him or adopt but it doesn’t matter it’s happening. Because to him, you two are already bound to be happily married—all according to his plan. He’s just glad it’s going off so far without a hitch.

“Hi I’m back!”

“Welcome welcome hope everything went well for you chief!”

“How are their studies coming?”

“Decent but they’ll never fully be able to grasp the codes, just as you planned.”

“Perfect. (Y/n) they’re saying you should be the one to massage me this time.”

“What?! There is no way they said that.”

Your hitman’s greatest power is his nonchalant attitude. It’s what allows you to accept that it was his carelessness that led to you being targeted in the first place. It’s what have you not looking twice when ‘the villager’ demands you both feed each other. It might take a while before you fully become the you–he envisioned in his plans but he can wait.

After all your hitman’s waited this long. He doesn’t mind waiting a little more.

“Don’t think too much and let’s just let fate that I’ve chosen decide.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

((plush anon))

them owning the plushies :3 like. opening the velcro on the back, flipping the switch to on, and squeezing them, hearing them talk… not living/sentient, just phrases the characters would say yk ?

Rex Sloan, Mark Grayson, Shapesmith, Scott Duval and William Clockwell, and plushies

I hope i did this justice anon, hopefully a good meal. Wasn't sure if this involved boinking the plushies, so they aren't, lmao. 

Rex Sloan 

Rex hasn't ever had much comfort, after his family sold him into experimentation and all that. Maybe one of the scientists felt bad enough to give him a plushie, and it becomes a big comfort to him even now. 

I see him owning one of those traditional plushies. Think a fluffy brown bear with soft fur and a red bow around its neck and a smile stitched onto its face, as well as those warm brown eyes you see on some bears. 

Rex is way too embarrassed about the perceived weakness, so he doesn't actually pull the plushie about a lot, only when he's completely alone and needs it. 

Rex curling around his plushie, taking his gloves off and brushing his fingers against the velcro on the back, rubbing his face into the soft fluffy fur as he pulls it open and flip the old switch. 

The bears voice is a bit slow and scratchy but the affirming loving words make Rex feel so warm and comforted. He keeps squeezing it over and over until he has to turn it off, not wanting to wear it out too soon. 

Mark Grayson 

Mark owns at least two or three plushies but hes also got a bit of a mental image he wants to keep for himself, so he hides them under his bed. He didnt want to bring them to college at the time, but Mark felt all torn up leaving them at home, so they get brought along. 

At least one of them is seance dog, and says quotes from the comics, or if there is an animated show, its from that. The others are different animals, like a white tiger, and a weighted mascot lizard from some kinda zoo. 

He holds the plushie against his chest, squeezing it to make it speak its phrases over and over, maybe even repeating along for comfort or need.  

Mark kisses his plushies on the forehead too, rubbing his fingers against the velcro on the back as he gives them another squeeze. 

Shapesmith 

Shapesmith is real excited about plushies, especially the ones that can talk, because they dont have that kinda stuff on Mars, ya know? He ends up with a whole pile, laying on his racecar bed. 

He spends way too much time lying in bed, kicking his feet and squeezing his plushies, smiling to himself as they repeat their programmed phrases. 

Hes so careful as he opens the different pockets to access the battery and tech inside his plushies, as some have their velcro on their back, and others have small hidden pockets. 

I can imagine Shapesmith even asks to get original phrases placed into plushies, because why not. He was given a racecar bed, so why not the plushie of his dreams. 

Scott Duvall 

Scott would deny any of his draw to plushies or need for them. Hes too focused on revenge and being tough, ya know?  

Well, he would be, if the plushie on his bed wasnt calling to him. Not literally, obviously, but like, spiritually, or whatever. The plushie is one of those easter bunnies, with soft blue fur, and a big over the top bow. It used to have a basket with candy in it, but it doesn't anymore. 

It doesn't have any batteries, so Scott has to sit down with the plushie and dig out batteries, chewing his lip as he turns it over, opens the velcro, and pulls out the little voicebox inside to slot the batteries inside. 

Hes bouncing his leg as he closes it back up again, flipping it over and staring into the plushies glass eyes, before he squeezes it, exhaling at the holiday-themed voicelines. 

Scott starts rubbing his face against the fluffy blue fur as he squeezes the plushie over and over. 

William Clockwell 

William has one plushie on his bed, and that's his best plush. Hes not ashamed of his bond to his plush or his need for it, so what. Hes still embarrassed about acting on it around others though, so he only does it when hes alone. 

The plushie is a red panda with a bandana around its neck. William made the bandana himself, and its his favorite color. 

William returns home from class and flops down on his bed, pulling his plushie to his chest and giving it a squeeze, only to frown when it doesnt speak like normal.  

It results in him having to go digging for batteries, carefully pushing fluffy faux fur aside, opening the velcro with care, and replacing the batteries, ending it with a kiss to the plushies head. 

When thats said and done, William lays back on his bed again with a sigh, squeezing it in his hands and smiling as the familiar loving words leave the plushie. 

[girl-lostconnection]

Snow is soft under his hooves, quiet creaking of it disturbing otherwise peaceful night when König shifts his weight from one leg to another.

It’s a good night. A proper night.

One that gets darker and darker with each hour, stars shining in the sky, not even moon strong enough to disperse the darkness.

He’s been waiting for some time now to get her back in his hands.

Again his, again with him.

Yeah, it’s a good night. One when he can hold her again.

König can see the glimmer of lights down in the valley, sounds of singing groups going from house to house — people are celebrating.

König knows it’s not his territory. These are not his mountains.

Even if they were — he is not working tonight. It’s her time.

Her holiday.

Melody pours in the air, clear as a tear, paper mache stars turning and turning, being carried from house to house by laughing groups of teens and children.

This night is magic.

Malanka comes just after Christmas, bringing carols and rituals, bringing signs and omens.

Giggly and girlish, she’s every girl that asks to see her future spouse in a dream, she’s every mother feeding her family, she’s every child caroling.

Malanka is so much younger than he is but somehow so much stronger. Buzzing with excitement and full to the brim with wonder, she is pure magic.

Or maybe he’s just not used to being away from his Alps.

König hums the melody of recurring carol, tree branches moving with wind above him.

Rare person might see the way his horns touch the branches. Most would just look away, blame what they saw on the play of shadows and their own imagination.

They don’t know him here. They don’t believe in him here.

He’s tall and burly, wrapped in a coat made out of goat’s hide, wooden mask of a horrific grimace on his face, horns curling.

Anywhere else he’d stood out like a sore thumb. But here?

Here are dozens dressed just like him.

König shifts his weight, rolling his shoulders and crouches down, watching passer-biers.

Even crouching he’d be taller than these teens that fool out in the snow without a care in the world.

König is big.

Big omen. Big god. Big warning.

König huffs out air, vapour escaping his nose — white hot and ephemeral — child on the other side of the road gasping at the sight of him.

Yeah, children see him better than everyone else.

He comes for them after all. He is their god.

The kid is young, wrapped up in thick winter coat, bear’s mask tugs to the side of her face, scarf red and obviously made by someone who loves her — König can sense care in every hook of it.

She grins at him before scurrying off. It’s too cold outside for someone this small. Too dark.

König breathes in and out, tasting air — magic sweet on his tongue, coating it like sugary treat.

Not a naughty child.

She behaved well this year. Good.

König stands back up, stretching in his full height — throws a coin up in the air and watches it disappear with thin ding.

Maybe the kid will find it in her tiny boot in the morning. Maybe.

After all these are not his mountains and not his people. Who knows if it will work.

Night stretches out, dances around him like a velvet ribbon, crystal charms-snowflakes of it dingling in the air.

He knows it’s not his mountains.

He also knows that Malanka is willing to share.

You on the other hand know that until 6th of January he’s in full power.

It may be not his place, but it is his time.

Melody of the carol weaves itself through the air — clear and beautiful, voices getting louder.

König can practically taste it in the wind, can feel it coating him along with snow, soaking him in cheer.

He doesn’t know the words but he knows the meaning. It’s always the same no matter how many decades pass.

It’s always hope for the better.

Night is young, darkness pooling around him, his coat heavy with goat’s hides, and it’s almost peaceful. Almost good enough for him to fall asleep.

Voices boom louder, snapping him out of trance, making him shake snow off his coat, turning his head around.

But there are no one outside.

The streets are empty.

Carol gets louder and louder looming seemingly out of everywhere, melody filled with power and joy, until it goes down to just one voice.

Languages mix, words ever changing, magic thickening.

For a moment he can almost understand it.

For a moment he’s part of it.

But it slips through his fingers and out of his mind, leaving him grasping for more, foreign magic imprinting on the tips of his claws.

Steps right behind him making snow creak.

König doesn’t turn around staying just where he is. There is no one else who’d be able to come this close.

König will let her have her fun.

There’s dingling of the bells, carol circling around him, cheerful giggling getting closer.

She’s never in a rush, drunk on cherry liquor and her people’s love.

A well-fed god is a powerful god.

Her ribbons wrap around his arms and throat, get tangled in his furs, pull him back deeper in the woods. Lead him.

He lets her.

It’s her night after all.

“Вийди-вийди господарю,

Подивися на кошару”

The voice fills his ears, snow falling and falling, his coat more white than the usual dark — dusted with silver, frost painting incredible patterns over him.

“В тебе товар весь хороший

Будеш мати мірку грошей”, is now even closer, breath of winter sending shivers down his spine, everything in him thrilling — old magic feeding him.

She is feeding him.

“Хоч не гроші, то полова

В тебе жінка чорноброва“

Your hands wrap around his shoulders, bells at the tips of your goat horns swaying with the wind that’s picking up.

König doesn’t understand what it is you just breathed out, but whatever it was you seem awfully pleased.

Eyes shining and warm when you look at him, your ribbons soft on his skin.

You are different every time — tall and tiny, goat-headed and human, monstrous and impossibly beautiful.

You are winter and cheer, you are endings and hope.

You are the start of the start.

“Having fun, Schatz?”, König breathes out, head tilting so you can pull off his mask, runes on your face shining.

You are shining.

“Christmas is here, I’m bringing good cheer”, you muse practically in a sing-song, your eyes crinkling when he pulls you closer, perching on his forearm.

Your coat is big and warm, fur of it long and white, tickling his face a little. It was a beautiful goat before you started wearing it.

“Have you been good this year, meine Liebe?”, König is dusted with snow and heavy with furs, uncovered cheeks now pink from winter winds.

Instead of answering you kiss both of his cheeks, grin widening when he rumbles softy, tilting his head from side to side so you can do this again.

You are his favourite night.

You are his loveliest holiday.

“You look good”, praise slips off your tongue easily, vowels rolling with the remnants of your people’s language, carrying the memory of carols. Your carols.

“You feed me well”, he’s never this soft with anyone but you. Always with you.

König’s horns are heavy, that’s what he tells himself as he leans his head closer to yours, silently asking for another kiss.

Your lips press it to his forehead, smile warm against his skin.

It’s blissful for a fraction of a moment — perfect and sweet.

Then his whole body gets rocked with a shiver, warm foreign runes bleeding off your face onto him, wrapping around his horns.

A blessing.

“Merry Christmas, happy New Year and happy holidays”, you breath out — eyes shining and laughter bubbling.

Cheeky little thing. Filling him up, making him comfortable, making him stronger.

König presses his nose to your cheek for a moment, before he huffs air out — vapor hotter, his whole body uncurling, his horns (all three pairs) longer and hooves heavier — he’s taller now. Big enough to cover miles with a single step.

“Ready to go, Göttin?”

You grin, perched comfortably on his shoulder, bells on your horns singing in the air.

“Yeah, I’m done. We can go home”

König hums, turning around, shadows wrapping around his ankles, your ribbons tickling his cheeks.

It’s time to bring his pretty wife home. It’s time to celebrate properly.

“Then off we go, Schatz”

[wendichester]

omg this is by far my favorite acc! Could u do a part 2 of take one,forever? Set in the future when they’re married. Reader left the show in the early seasons but came back again towards the end.

But shes now married to Jensen. And they really act like those fun married couples. Maybe they even bring they’re kids on set sometimes ?

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ take one, forever²,

summary. you were once the star of the tvshow supernatural, alongside jared and jensen. eventually, you quit the show but you'll come to find out that a decade later, no much has changed.

pairing. jensen ackles x actress!reader genre. extra fluff!!

wordcount. 681

notes / warnings. oh, to be jensen's wife 🤭 thank you for the request sweets!

ᯓ★ read part 1

Years later, the forest's still freezing.

You’d think they’d have figured out how to warm up a damn set by now, but no—Vancouver’s still doing its icy, pine-scented thing. Only difference?

Now you’ve got his jacket and his ring.

“Careful,” Jensen calls from across the clearing, “you’re about to bust your ass on that moss.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me.”

He laughs—deep, warm, easy. That laugh you’ve known for over a decade now. “Promises, promises.”

You flip him off, and he winks back like the absolute menace he is.

They talked you into coming back for the final season—“full circle,” they’d said. “Nostalgia,” they said. Really, it was just Jensen, smirking over his coffee one morning and going:

“C’mon, babe. Just one more run. For old time’s sake. Plus, the kids’ll love seeing Mom on screen again. We can make it a family adventure.”

And like always—like always—you’d caved.

So now you’re here. On the same damn show you started all those years ago. Same woods. Same demons. Only now, there’s a wedding band on your finger and a pair of tiny boots sitting by the craft services table, covered in mud and jelly donut glaze.

“Mom!” comes a squeaky voice from behind you.

Speak of the devil.

You turn just in time to see your youngest barreling toward you, arms outstretched like a missile of pure, joyful chaos.

“Hey,” you laugh, bending to catch her. “What happened to staying with Daddy?”

“She wanted gummy bears,” Jensen answers, jogging over with your son balanced on his hip and a juice pouch between his teeth. “And apparently, that was more important than, you know, listening to instructions.”

“She’s got your stubborn streak,” you tease.

Jensen huffs, shifting the weight of your son, who’s now trying to unzip his coat with sticky fingers. “She’s got your everything, babe. I’m just along for the ride.”

You brush a kiss to her forehead, holding her close while she babbles about a giant fake demon head she saw near the props truck.

Jensen watches you the whole time—fond, smug, like he still can’t believe this is real. Like he’s still falling for you even with a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and applesauce on his hoodie.

“Y’know,” he says casually, “you in flannel again is doing things to me.”

You arch a brow. “Jensen.”

“What? I’m just saying. It’s nostalgic. Sentimental. Romantic.”

“It’s sticky,” you deadpan, pointing to a spot on your sleeve where your daughter’s wiped her face. “And covered in god-knows-what.”

“Still hot.”

You laugh, trying to swat him, but he leans in and steals a kiss anyway—quick and warm, just enough to make your heart flutter. Ten years in, and the man still kisses you like it’s the first time.

“Okay, people!” the AD shouts. “Places for rehearsal!”

“Duty calls,” you sigh, passing your daughter off to Jensen and smoothing your hair as best you can.

“You got this,” he says, squeezing your hand before he steps back. “Go remind them who the real badass of this show is.”

You flash him a grin, cheeks flushed, heart full. “Try not to get upstaged by a toddler while I’m gone.”

“She already owns me. It’s over.”

As you walk toward set, flannel flapping behind you, you hear Jensen whisper something to the kids. Then a tiny voice calls out:

“Go, Mom! Kick the monster’s butt!”

You look back—and there they are. Your whole world, waving at you with gummy-sticky fingers and juice-stained smiles.

God, how did this all happen?

How did freezing woods and flirty banter become marriage and two wild kids and a love story still unfolding?

You don’t know.

But as you step back in front of the camera, same forest, same show, same smirk from across the set—you know one thing for sure:

You’d do it all over again.

Even the Wendigo.

Maybe.

If there’s coffee.

And if Jensen promises to keep looking at you like that—like you’re still the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.