#but i can NEVER remember them when i wake up
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Have you ever been at work and thought "man, this fucking sucks -- I wish there was some way for me to just switch my brain off when I came into work and just do the fucking job and then wake up on the way home and just be living my best life?"
That's what Severance is about.
For people who work jobs related to handling incredibly sensitive information, there's technology that acts as a memory block -- when they're at home, they can't remember anything that happened inside their work building. At work, they don't remember their home lives. This means that they can live lives unburdened by the experience of slow, annoying jobs. But it also means that there's another 'them' who, against their will and with no control over their situation, is trapped forever at work. And since they can't carry memories out and all information in and out is controlled by the company, who can say if the job your body's being put to work at is actually the job you're told you do? If the company decides to fire you, who can say if the reason they give is real? As for the instance of you trapped at work, how can they trust that their outer version would even care if they do know? After all, that's a person who condemned them to a life of eternal drudge work in the first place; why would someone willing to do something like that care if the conditions are bad? And even if they did quit and never subject you to that again, well, to you, that's death.
Also there's baby goats and gay Christopher Walken.
If I ever get fired from a job I hope all my coworkers get together to eat a watermelon sculpture of my head
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avaredava · 2 days ago
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Hey!!! So I was wondering if you’d be down to write Megumi smut for valentines or one of those posts with multiple characters (please include my man I would literally beg 🙏🙏🙏🙏) of doing lovey dovey things before absolutely DESTROYING y/n’s insides once the clock hits freak o clock
PUH-LEASE and thank you! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 LOVE YOUR WRITING POOKS 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥
MERCI my love, I shall gift you your request 😖
୨୧・・・・୨୧
MDNI
Master list's
Not proof read
⯌ Sum
Megumi on valentines day (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*.✧
⯌ Wc
1.1k
⯌Warnings
Oral (m! receiving), mating press, really sweet megumi, kinda a sappy one, Light Dom/Sub dynamics, Mentions of bodily fluids, cream pies, rough sex, some people might have heard it (thin walls), moaning + whimpering, intense thrusting, raw sex (wrap before you tap ya'll), sensitivity, cleaning up, cuddling, head massages, little bit of a breeding kink, Size Kink
୨୧・・・・୨୧
Megumi has never been romantic. But when he saw you pouting scrolling on Instagram looking at couples and flowers and shit like that. For some reason that made something light within him.
It made him slightly jealous, you looking at other men maybe wishing it was him. Yeah fuck, he has to change that. He quickly goes to the mall hoping Nobara wouldn't see him that would be fucking embarrassing.
He ran into a flower shop with a black hoodie on with the hood up and hands in pockets trying to get this over with. But then he saw the most gorgeous lively roses ever.
They were perfect just like you.
But they weren't special. So he went to a dollar store and grabbed some art supplies. He realized how down he is for a girl but then again, you aren't just some girl.
That's how he ended up sitting at his desk in his dorm with his tongue poking out more concentrated then ever making some flowers that you can always keep and they will never die and they are made by him.
Gojo walks in and he jumps out of concentration and burns himself with the hot glue gun. And he hissed and glared at Gojo. "I'm a little busy here."
"Aw, are you making stuff for your little girlfriend? You both are the cutest sorcerers! My little babies are getting so much older!" He wiped his dry cheeks like he was crying. God this man was annoying.
"Take her to the fancy Italian place she loves it! And take this." Gojo gives his black card to him and skips off. He rolls his eyes but he does remember you talking about that place.
_
He finished the flowers with different coloured and shaped paper made flowers, and pipe cleaners as stems. He tied them together with some pink string making a bow with the flowers in between.
He walks to your dorm and opens the door to sleeping on the ground. He lets out a smile and a huff. He shakes you awake with a kiss and kisses your forehead.
You wake up and get up and take the flowers. "Aw 'Gumi..." You kiss his face and he scowls. His heart was fluttering his cheeks with a pink haze, he did actually really like it so he didn't pull away.
"Okay that's enough." He mumbles with a grumpy look on his face but he kisses your head anyway.
"I love them they must've took so long..." He gently smiles and nods. "Why wouldn't I?" You smile then you like out a small gasp of excitement.
You grab a white hoodie with red lipstick kisses in sections on it and give it to him. "I love it baby." He does that small smile of his that makes your heart flutter.
He takes off his original sweater he had on without a shirt under showing his abs. You stop him from putting the new sweater on. You brush across his happy tail pulling at his sweats dropping to your knees.
His cheeks go that pretty red as you take his pale pinkish cock out. You kiss the tip and his hips jolt. He lets out a breathy moan that makes your thighs clench.
You both of your dorms are on either side of Yuji's and one bad thing is that Yuji is in it right now. You grab his thigh trying to make him more quiet. But god you love his noises.
You bob your head along his cock, he falls against the bed behind him laying flat with his eyes fully shut with you still sucking.
He's letting out harsh pants trying to get quieter but it just made the tension hotter. Him sexier. You sucked harder like trying to make the most purple hickey making him let out the sweetest moan and cum.
"Fuck- I love you, felt so good." He babbled. It felt good that he was in the position you're usually in. You crawl up beside him and tuck his sweaty head in your stomach caressing his hair.
His eyes are heavy, and of course they shut instantly after him falling asleep. His face is gentle and not scrunched up like normal. It's calm and cute.
You realized he was kinda loud and you chuckled softly. You know Yuji's gonna be a pain later. He's not the kinda neighbour that complains when it's loud sex. More make fun.
He eventually waked him and snuggled closer, completely oblivious to the fact he's being fucking adorable and not tough and stubborn.
_
After getting him cleaned up you both went to that Italian place with Gojo's card of course.
The whole time you both were eating he thought about how you made him seem pathetic and how he is gonna get you fucking bad.
Ruin every single part of you till everyone around the dorms knows you're getting dicked down.
That's how you ended up with your legs on his shoulders with your knees pushing against your tits and your hands rubbing his back. You would never scratch at his back his skin's too sensitive.
You love him too much for that.
But your hands on his skin is enough to getting him thrusting fast. His hips snapping at a frightening, fast pace. He pushes you into a tighter mating press his tip massaging your sweet spots making you whimper so sweetly for him.
His breath is hot against your neck as he pants making you holler more and tighten around his dick. "F-Fuck your tight!" He gasps into your ear.
Your throat is raw from moaning and screaming. Now you're just letting out little gasps and whining. "You're so deep." You muster up to say in a quiet voice.
Since Megumi's hitting it raw and of course he has manners he mumbles. "Let me cum inside please Y/N." With that tone how could you say no? You nod.
He cums inside warming your walls you squeeze around his cock cumming with him for the nth time tonight. But his dick was getting to sensitive and your joints were starting to hurt so he pulled out.
Cum drizzles out of your hole making him massage your thighs feeling slightly bad for wearing you out. But then again that was the objective.
He kissed your forehead while wiping your pussy with a warm cloth making sure you're clean. He pulled the blankets up holding you close. He massages your head whispering,
"Happy valentines day."
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lyn31 · 1 day ago
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🎼 Dress👗
Summary:
"Only bought this dress so you could take it off, take it off~" - Taylor Swift, Dress Starting with a secret relationship, stolen glances, subtle touch, marking each other and ended up with you waking up together. A collection of moment about your relationship with you childhood friend, best friend and as everyone else know him the stoic and strict doctor, Zayne. It's thrilling, it's sweet, and it's electrifying.
Disclaimer:
Alright listen, I love Caleb alright, as a friend, as a bro, he's like a brother that I never had so let me have this! My bro is still with me! But anyway... Fluff and technically AU Pairing: Zayne x Reader/MC
Ao3 link
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The room hums with conversation, laughter spilling over the clinking of glasses and the low pulse of music. Familiar faces, some barely changed, others worn by time, move through the dimly lit space, caught in moments of nostalgia.
Across from you, he leans back in his chair, effortlessly at ease. To everyone else, he’s just your best friend—same as always. The two of you, inseparable, yet nothing more. That’s what they think.
But then his eyes meet yours. Just for a second. A flicker of  longing that only you recognize.
You look away, pretending to listen to whatever story is being told beside you. He does the same, nodding along to a conversation he isn’t really part of. But the tension lingers, a thread pulling between you, tightening with every stolen glance.
No one here knows. Not your friends, not even the ones who know you best. And maybe that’s what makes this moment sharper, heavier. The secret tucked between smiles, the quiet thrill of pretending.
"Man, I still can’t believe it," someone says, shaking their head with a laugh. "You three? Still thick as thieves after all these years? How does that even happen?"
You barely have time to think of a response before Caleb jumps in, all easy confidence and that familiar grin. "What can I say? Some bonds don’t break. You spend enough time together, suffer through enough bad group projects, and suddenly you’re stuck for life."
Laughter ripples through the table, and you nod, playing along. "Yeah, at this point, cutting either of them off would feel like losing a limb."
"Aw, you’d miss us that much?" Caleb teases, nudging you lightly.
"You wish," you shoot back, and the group laughs again.
Zayne, as expected, doesn’t say much. He just sits there, quiet, unreadable, offering nothing but a small nod of agreement. To everyone else, it’s just him being himself—stoic, detached, not one for small talk. But you know better.
You feel it in the way his fingers tap idly against the table, a slow, familiar rhythm. You see it in the way his gaze flickers toward you, barely noticeable, but enough. It’s a reminder. A quiet acknowledgment.
And just like that, you’re back there—
Late nights spent in Caleb’s car, all three of you crammed inside, talking about nothing and everything. The glow of streetlights casting shadows over Zayne’s face as he stared out the window, quiet as always. You’d watch him, thinking about how unfair it was that someone could just exist like that—unbothered, impossible to read, while you sat there, heart twisted up in knots over him.
Inside jokes whispered across crowded hallways, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked side by side, the warmth lingering longer than it should. That moment in the library when he passed you his notes, fingers grazing yours, the briefest touch that sent something sharp and electric down your spine.
You remember waiting.
Waiting for a sign, for something solid, something more than the stolen glances and unspoken moments. But Zayne was always just out of reach, his walls too high, his silence impossible to read.
And you—too caught up in your own doubts to realize he was waiting, too.
You blink, pulled back into the present as Caleb keeps talking, effortlessly carrying the conversation. Around you, the reunion buzzes on—glasses clinking, old friends swapping stories, laughter rising over the hum of background music.
Zayne still hasn’t said a word. But under the table, where no one else can see, his fingers brush against yours. Just for a second. Just enough to remind you—
You aren’t waiting anymore.
A sharp voice jolts you out of your thoughts.
“Wait—hold on. When did you get that?”
You barely have time to process before Harper leans in, eyes locked on the ink at the nape of your neck.
“You got a tattoo?” she accuses, voice full of mock betrayal. “And you didn’t come to me?”
You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—”
“Wait—you have a tattoo?” Caleb cuts in, sounding equally shocked. His gaze flicks to your neck, then back to you, brows raised.
You wave a hand, shrugging like it’s nothing. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Caleb scoffs. “Not a big deal? You used to freak out over temporary tattoos lasting too long.”
Harper leans in more, squinting. “Hold on. That’s a smart ink heartbeat, isn’t it?”
Caleb pauses mid-sip, lowering his glass. “A heartbeat tattoo?” His brows shoot up. “Alright, now you have to tell me why.”
You roll your eyes. “There’s no story. I just liked it.”
Caleb tilts his head, grinning. “Right. Because nothing says ‘casual impulse’ like permanently inking a heartbeat on yourself.”
Harper snickers. “Yeah, whose is it?”
You shrug again, keeping your expression neutral. “Mine.”
Caleb gives you a long, unimpressed look. “Uh-huh.”
“What?” You fold your arms. “It is.”
“Sure,” he drawls, clearly unconvinced but not pushing further. Instead, he just grins wider. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day.”
You roll your eyes, but before you can say anything, you catch movement from across the table. Instinctively, your gaze flicks to Zayne.
He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t react. Just takes a slow sip of his drink, as carefully blank as ever. But beneath the table, his fingers brush against yours. Just a fleeting touch.
And suddenly, you remember exactly why you got it.
Not just because you liked it.
Because it was his.
And because every time you tie your hair up, every time his eyes catch on the exposed skin of your neck, every time his lips find the exact spot where the ink sits now—you remember.
You glance back up at him, but his gaze has already moved away, back to the rest of the room like nothing happened. Like he isn’t sitting there, knowing exactly what that tattoo means.
And Caleb—oblivious as ever—just leans back, shaking his head.
The night is winding down. The crowd has thinned, leaving only scattered groups of lingering classmates, voices softer now, laughter blending into the hum of the venue’s closing atmosphere. You weave through them, making your way back from the bar, ready to call it a night.
Near the entrance, Caleb is saying his goodbyes, but as soon as he spots you, his brows furrow slightly. “You’ve been drinking,” he points out, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t go home alone. I can drive you.”
You shake your head with a small smile. “I’ll just take a cab, Caleb. It’s fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah, no, that’s not a great idea—”
Before he can finish, Zayne stands. “I’ll drive her.”
The words are calm, matter-of-fact. He rolls down his sleeves as he straightens, glancing briefly at Caleb. “I need to head home anyway.”
Caleb exhales, look relieved. “Alright. Guess that works.” He turns back to you, pointing. “Text me when you get home.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.”
He smirks. “Damn right.” Then he claps Zayne on the shoulder in farewell. “Take care, man.”
With that, goodbyes are exchanged, and you and Zayne step out into the night.
The air is cooler now, crisp against your skin. You’re walking beside him, and without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his hands lingering for a second before he pulls away. His scent clings to the fabric, warmth still trapped in it from his body.
“Wouldn’t want you catching a cold,” he says, voice quieter now, almost absentminded—like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But there’s a softness to it, a quiet care that makes your chest tighten.
And yet, your mind is already drifting elsewhere—because damn, does he look good tonight.
It’s nothing over the top. With his jacket on you, he’s left in just a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, tucked into tailored black slacks. Simple. Effortless. But there’s something about it—about the way the fabric stretches across his broad shoulders, about the way his arms look unfairly good like that, veins subtly lining his hands—
You’re too busy swooning to realize he’s stopped walking.
You only notice when you take another step and find yourself suddenly alone.
Blinking, you glance to the side—and meet his gaze.
He’s watching you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a small, knowing curve to his lips.
Then, he says your name. Just your name.
And somehow, everything else fades.
The city sounds dull, the cool air forgotten. It’s just him now. The sharp cut of his jaw in the dim streetlights, the way his dark eyes seem to pull you in, holding you there.
Something shifts in them.
“You’re not making this easy for me,” he murmurs, voice low.
You swallow. “What?”
He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “I’m good at controlling myself.” A pause. His gaze drags over you, slow, deliberate. “But not when it comes to you.”
Your pulse stutters.
His eyes trace the thin straps of your dress, the way it exposes your shoulders, your neck—the backless cut hidden beneath his jacket, the slit running high along your leg.  
He already liked the dress when he first saw you tonight. You know that. But right now, under his gaze alone, you can feel it.
Then he leans in slightly, his voice quieter now. “What do you think this dress does to me?”
You should be embarrassed. Flustered. And maybe you are, judging by the heat creeping up your neck.
But instead, you square your shoulders and meet his gaze head-on.
“I hope it’s a good one,” you say smoothly. “I bought this dress so you could take it off, after all.”
It comes out steady, confident. But the second the words leave your mouth, heat spreads—your ears, your cheeks burning.
Zayne’s reaction is instant. His pupils darken, something unrestrained flickering in his eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you, unmoving.
Then you notice it.
His ears.
The tips of them, red.
A slow exhale leaves him, and then he steps closer, his voice lower now, edged with something rough.
“Then I better get started on that,” he murmurs. “Preferably not on the sidewalk.”
Just like that, the tension shifts—still charged, but laced with teasing.
You let out a breathy laugh, but your heart is still hammering.
Because the night is far from over.
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It’s rare for the three of you to get a day off at the same time.
With the way schedules clash—your shifts, Zayne’s surgeries, Caleb’s unpredictable workload—it almost never happens. So when it finally did, Caleb had immediately suggested the three of you hang out.
And you… may have dodged that invitation.
Just this once.
Because as much as you love Caleb, it had been too long since you and Zayne had a day off together. Just the two of you.
And now, here you are.
After spending the entire day lazing around at home, barely leaving the couch between naps, movies, and tangled limbs, you’re now soaking in the warmth of the bathtub, wrapped up in the scent of lavender and the heat of Zayne behind you, his chest firm and solid behind you, the rise and fall of his breathing steady—except for when his lips find your neck.
Again.
And again.
His mouth brushes lazily over your tattoo, lingering like he’s reminding himself it’s there. Like he’s claiming it all over again.
His fingers, damp and slow, skim down your arm, tracing absentminded patterns on your skin before they wander lower, teasing.
A shiver runs through you, and you tighten your grip on your wine glass, trying to focus on not reacting too much.
It was fine. Nice, even. Until suddenly—
His fingers shift.
And—oh.
The touch catches you off guard, a sharp, unexpected spark zipping down your spine. Your body jolts—and in the process, your grip on the wine glass wobbles.
Then, it happens.
The glass tips back.
A slosh of red spills right behind you.
Right onto Zayne.
There’s a beat of silence.
You turn slightly—just in time to see the aftermath.
Zayne’s expression is blank, lips parted slightly in delayed realization, his usually sharp features now half-covered in deep red. A drop of wine drips down his cheek, staining the pale skin of his throat.
He blinks once. Then, slowly, his tongue flicks out, tasting the stray droplet at the corner of his lips.
And that’s it.
Laughter erupts from you, full and unrestrained.
“You—” You can barely get the words out between breaths. “You look like a crime scene.”
Zayne exhales through his nose, lifting a hand to wipe at his face, but it only smears the wine further. You’re still giggling as you shift forward, already moving to climb out of the bath.
“Okay, I’ll grab a towel,” you say between laughs. “You should probably—”
Before you can finish, an arm wraps firmly around your waist.
You barely have time to yelp before you’re pulled right back against him.
The water sloshes over the edges of the tub as you settle on his lap, straddling him now. His arms tighten, caging you in.
You blink down at him.
Zayne blinks back up at you.
His eyes are slightly unfocused, his usually sharp demeanor softened by the alcohol in his system.
Oh. Oh.
You’ve seen Zayne like this before.
Drunk Zayne is rare, but when it happens, one thing is guaranteed—he clings.
And right now? That’s exactly what he’s doing. Sometimes you forget how much of a lightweight he is. Well, lightweight is generous—he really can’t handle alcohol at all, which is probably another reason he avoids it.
His lips brush your cheek, then your jaw, then your nose, peppering soft, uncoordinated kisses, like he has no plan other than covering you in them.
“Zayne,” you try, still half-laughing. “We should get out—”
He hums against your skin, clearly not listening.
His kisses trail lower.
The warmth of his mouth follows the curve of your throat, lingering just below your ear before drifting down.
Your fingers, still damp from the water, absently trace along his chest, gliding over familiar ink.
The thin, sharp line of his tattoo.
Your tattoo.
The heartbeat that matches yours, sitting right over his heart.
You trace the design slowly, feeling the way his muscles shift beneath your touch. Zayne exhales slightly, his body relaxing further against you, but there’s something more in his gaze now—something heated, something deeper.
Your pulse flutters.
Then, your lips curve, eyes flicking back to his.
“Want to continue this out of the tub?”
Zayne blinks at you, momentarily dazed, before letting out a soft chuckle. His hands tighten at your waist.
And then, his lips trail lower again, moving down—
And, well.
Looks like you’re staying in the tub a little longer.
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You wake up to the sight of Zayne’s face, close enough that you can see the faint traces of sleep still clinging to him—the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the way his lashes flicker slightly, the softness in his usually sharp features.
For a moment, you just watch him, warmth settling in your chest.
Then, memories from last night creep in.
Meeting up with Caleb.
Planning to finally tell him about you and Zayne.
You had expected some kind of shock—maybe even a dramatic reaction—but instead, Caleb had just grinned.
A big, knowing, downright cheeky grin.
And then, he said, “Took you long enough.”
That had been enough to send you into stunned silence. Zayne, ever composed, had simply exhaled through his nose in mild amusement.
Meanwhile, you had barely managed a flustered, “Wait, what?”
Caleb had just laughed, shaking his head. “Come on. You guys thought you were being subtle? I was just waiting to see how long it would take. Honestly, way longer than I predicted.”
You had groaned, covering your face with both hands as Caleb continued to tease, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
And then—just to really make a point—he had said, “By the way, if you two ever have a kid, I’m calling dibs on godfather.”
At the memory, a smile tugs at your lips, amusement bubbling up all over again.
That’s when you feel movement beside you.
Zayne shifts, his brows furrowing slightly before his eyes flutter open—heavy-lidded and still hazy with sleep.
He takes one look at you, then lazily scoots closer, burying his face against your chest with a soft sigh.
A chuckle escapes you.
“Good morning,” you murmur, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
He doesn’t reply—just hums against your skin, his arms tightening slightly around your waist.
You glance at the clock. It’s still early.
Cuddling for a little while longer wouldn’t be a bad idea.
So you settle in, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the steady warmth of his body against yours.
Zayne exhales, his hold on you easy, content, as he nuzzles against your chest.
And just like that, neither of you are in any hurry to move.
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You’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Zayne to arrive. The soft glow of your living room lamp casts a cozy warmth around you, and the smell of sweet tea lingers in the air. You’d already set out his favorite snacks—anything sugary, because your serious, stoic boyfriend has the sweetest tooth.
No alcohol tonight, though. As much as you want to... You have a morning shift tomorrow.
Your thumb pauses on the screen when a post about a dress catches your eye. It’s elegant, a little daring, and something about it reminds you of the dress you wore to your reunion a few months ago. That dress—Zayne’s reaction to it—how he looked at you, touched you...
You glance down at yourself now—loose, comfortable clothes, what you usually wear at home. Practical, sure, but maybe not the most exciting choice.
Thinking for a moment, you finally push yourself up and head to your room.
Just as you’re adjusting the fabric of your outfit in the mirror, you hear the front door open.
“I’m home,” Zayne calls out, his voice steady and familiar.
Something about hearing him say home makes warmth bloom in your chest. You shake the feeling off, smoothing down your dress before stepping out of your room.
Zayne has just finished putting his things away when he turns toward you—and stops.
His gaze moves over you, slow and deliberate, and you see the exact moment something shifts in his expression.
“Looks like I’m a little underdressed for the occasion,” he says, his voice laced with amusement as he starts walking toward you.
You don’t move—just let him take you in, knowing he’s enjoying every second of it.
When he reaches you, he lifts a hand, fingers sliding gently through your hair, gathering it together and lifting it up, exposing the nape of your neck.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin before he leans in and presses a kiss just below your ear.
A shiver runs down your spine.
Then he kisses you.
Your arms wind around his neck as his hands travel down—trailing from your hair to your neck, then lower, fingers brushing over your shoulders, playing with the thin straps of your dress.
Between kisses, he hums, teasing, “I’m supposed to take this off, right?”
You can feel his smile against your lips.
Your own smile mirrors his as you pull him in closer.
“Well,” you say, voice light, playful, “that was the plan.”
Zayne chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Then I better not waste any time.”
And with that, the night truly begins.
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Notes:
I'm framing this like a slow pace montage, following the song yk, which is why it's keep jumping, and If I do say myself it turn out alright! Love this song, love fluff and ofc love Zayne lol I just wish I can highlight more of Zayne's behavior but I feel like this fit the song vibes and lyrics more, next time then. If anyone has ideas about Zayne, I’m open to hearing them! This new hyperfixation needs to be quelled…....
64 notes · View notes
14dyh · 3 days ago
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Clueless | H.Z.
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Pairing: Hange Zoë x reader Summary: Your research partner, Hange, is clueless about romance. Or so you thought. Content: just fluffy research partners trope A/N: i survived college hell week so here you go. HVD HANGE LOVERS!!
"I didn't know you could walk slower," you remarked as Hange strode beside you. 
Early training was exhausting, coupled with the paperwork you have to handle after. Just thinking about it drains your energy.
Your ever-energetic Section Commander only beamed at you and responded, "Well, I have to match your pace more often now."
"Why is that?"
"Since we became research partners?"
Your head racked in confusion, gaze snapping back to them.
"Research partners? Since when?"
"I knew you still haven't read Erwin's notice," they said matter-of-factly, pulling a folded sheet of paper from their uniform. "He thinks your works are impressive and said we should work together on a new trapping device."
"That... sounds exhausting..." 
"Right! Exciting, isn't it?" Hange smiled, too deep in their excitement that they misheard you. You can never keep up with that amount of enthusiasm, try as you might. 
After pulling an all-nighter last night to organize files, your commander now wants to transfer you to the thinking team. Great. 
"When are we going to start?" you asked Hange. 
-
It turns out that working closely with Hange would present unexpected issues. You have no problem with Hange or the work itself as being with them brightens your day more than you cared to admit. Sometimes you wonder why they're so good at making you smile and laugh even at the face of mathematical formulas and complex design structures but that's a question for another day. Your real musings lie on the question of why they're so clueless about people hitting on them. Surely, the box of chocolates left on their desk with hearts scribbled all over it or the cadets swooning over them when they passed by the corridor weren't just people being friendly as Hange always liked to think. 
This present issue became more clear when Valentine's Day arrived. To think that your lot makes time to celebrate this event is amusing. You were with Hange the whole time that day, brainstorming and sleepless that you almost forgot about the day of love happening just outside your doors. 
"What if we try it? You know, outside?" Hange offered, sipping on their fifth mug of coffee. "See if it works?"
"Hange, it's a long-range weapon. And there are people outside," you muttered sleepily, yawning as you walked towards the window to allow some sunlight in. You drew the curtains and looked down. "People celebrating apparently."
"For what?" Hange asked absentmindedly, busy scribbling down a few ideas that you probably have to illustrate later. 
"Dunno," you yawned again, drawing the blinds back. "I'm sleeping. You can't stop me."
"Go ahead," they said, thumb pointing at the bed. "I'll wake you up later."
-
When Hange woke you up about an hour later, you hid under their pillows and bargained for another five minutes of sleep. 
"No, silly, we're not going to work. I brought something," their voice came, lifting the pillows you're hiding on. 
Their brown eyes beamed at you, holding up something as your vision cleared. 
Chocolate? 
No, not just that. They've got an armful of it. 
"Where on earth did you get all of that?"
"Outside the door," they muttered, opening one to munch on it. They offered you one. "Surprising, huh?" 
"Well, it's Valentine's Day." You only remembered about a minute ago. 
"It is?" Their eyes widened momentarily. "I thought it's tomorrow."
You laughed softly, taking a chocolate from their hand. "We've been staring at plans all week, we didn't know."
"About time," they spoke, sitting on the spot next to you. Their eyes met yours and for a moment, you were tempted to look away as if gazing any longer will melt you in a puddle. It's not helping that they seemed to enjoy looking at you more than anything else recently. "Let's have dinner. There's a new dinner just outside the quarters."
"Did, uh, did we miss dinner downstairs?" 
"Yeah... I forgot about it." A sheepish grin crossed their face. "Doesn't matter, though. It's only 9 PM."
-
It turns out that diners were occupied that day, couples swarmed the place as the buttery scent of baked goods wafted in the air. After the long queue, you managed to take back four sandwiches which you ate in your shared room. 
Hange sat on the bed next to you, scribbling equations, crossing them out, and starting over again. It was adorable how their brows crease when they think.
"Hange?"
"Hm?"
"Shouldn't you sleep?"
They smiled, "Later."
"Happy Valentine's Day," you mumbled sleepily, curling up next to them.
"You too." Hange's gaze lingered on your sleeping form, thinking of the reservation for two they booked yesterday.
They stayed up late that night, writing down equations, and dimming the lamp to allow you some sleep. They were asleep until afternoon slumped over their papers which you diligently put away when you woke up that morning. You only understood half of what was written, guided by Hange's short annotations on the page. It warmed your insides, knowing that Hange wrote these equations for your designs. The invention you're both working on felt more feasible and easier to envision.
"It's working well, Commander," you reported to Erwin later that day when he asked about the device's progress.
"It must have been, huh? Hange knows how to gather a great team," he smiled amicably. "They specifically requested for you."
Your cheeks heated up, smiling warmly even on your way out of Erwin's office.
Hange was waiting in the corridor, notebook discarded and eyes lighting up when they saw you. They half-run in your direction, energetic and beaming as always as though they had enough sleep.
"Ready to go?" They asked, walking beside you.
"Where?"
That same charming smile you always notice creased their cheeks.
"Maybe the diner has a seat for two this time."
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moonwalkingprincess · 1 day ago
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The red top
Summary: You slept with Marhall and in the morning, you meet the ray of sunshine: Kim Mathers.
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Y/N wakes up in a messy room, the sheets are a tangled mess and her clothes are scattered everywhere. She stretches out her right arm to the empty side, then opens her eyes. Marshall isn’t there. She sighs. But then she catches a glimpse of a post-it note on the nightstand. She picks it up and reads, “I’m so not a chef, so I went to buy breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Y/N smiles and gets up to explore. She tries to find her clothes. She lies down and sees a glimpse of red fabric on the floor. She picks it up—it’s torn up, lying on the ground. She blushes, remembering why... Marshall had ripped it and kissed and licked over her chest... She’s interrupted by the doorbell. She finds one of his shirts in his drawer and throws on the first one she finds. She also grabs her leather pants that aren't torn and puts them on.
She rushes out of the bedroom and takes in the view of his place. He lives in a gigantic penthouse. His penthouse was huge. There are no walls, only windows with a view of New York City. She heads toward the door and opens it. Her eyes widen when she sees it’s not Marshall. There are two little girls, around 8 or 10 years old. They look pretty alike. One of them looks a little older, though. Behind them stands a blonde woman, glaring at Y/N.
“Who are you?” she hisses.
“Uhh...” Y/N stutters.
“Hey!” says one of the daughters. “I’m Hailey. What’s your name?” she asks. Y/N realizes who they are and gasps. This is Hailey Jade, the one Marshall wrote ‘Mockingbird’ about?
"Oh my gosh, you're THE Hailey?" y/n said full of excitement looking at the famous girl infront of her. "Yeah yeah yeah, this is the girl he wrote Mockingbird for, can we come in? Or not?" asked Kim, trying her best to act kind.
“Uhh, yeah, come in,” y/n says, letting them in.
“Girls, go to your rooms and unpack. Mommy wants to have a talk with your dad’s friend,” says the woman to the girls, giving y/n a smile that sent a shiver to her spine. The girls ran upstairs and y/n heard the door shut.
“What are you doing in my husband’s penthouse, wearing his shirt?” the woman asks. y/n has never met her before, but this gotta be Kim.
Y/N scoffs, “He's not your husband anymore,” y/n says. She makes a face.
“We’re separated,” She says. “We were supposed to try to make things work, Hailey’s sake.”
Y/N raises her eyebrow and nods. “You really tried when you cheated,” she says. The woman looks like she’s about to attack her, but just then, Marshall walks in. His hands are full of bags from a bakery, and his mouth holds a holder with two coffee cups.
Y/N goes and takes the coffee cups from his mouth, and his face turns red. Y/N could feel the tension shift. It was suffocating. The woman stood with her arms crossed, lips curled in a scowl, her eyes scanning Y/N from head to toe with nothing but contempt.
”What are you doing here, Kim?” He asks. Yep it is Kim.
"Dropping of our girls” Kim spat, stepping further into the penthouse. "Like what the hell marshall? You bring some random girl into your home while the girls are visiting? Are you serious right now?"
Marshall scoffed, setting the bags of food on the counter. "First of all, Y/N isn’t some random girl." His eyes darkened as he turned to face Kim, his jaw tightening. "She grew up next to me. We went to high school together. You just never noticed her because she wasn’t getting high all the time."
Kim looked at Y/N for confirmation, and she nodded. Kim let out a sigh. "Oh, don’t start with that holier-than-thou bullshit. What happened with trying to fix things for Hailey’s sake?"
"Fix things?" Marshall let out a bitter laugh. "You mean pretend everything was fine while you fucked other guys? Yeah, real solid effort, Kim."
Kim stepped closer, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper, though the venom in her tone was unmistakable. "You weren’t exactly the perfect husband either. You were gone all the time, locked in the studio, drowning in your own demons. What was I supposed to do, Marshall? Just sit around and wait while you self-destructed?"
His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with controlled anger. "Yeah, well, at least I owned up to my shit. What did you do"
Kim let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, congratulations! You want a medal for finally getting your act together? Meanwhile, you’re still making the same damn mistakes."
A movement in the hallway caught Y/N’s eye. She turned her head slightly, and her stomach dropped when she saw Hailey and Alaina standing there, watching the fight with wide, nervous eyes. Y/N took a step forward, attempting to defuse the situation.
"Guys, stop. The girls can hear you," she said softly.
Kim’s head snapped toward her, her glare cutting like a knife. "Ohhh, now you’re the parenting expert?" She took a slow, taunting step toward Y/N. "What, you think you’re a better mom than me now?"
Marshall’s entire body tensed beside her. He stood in front of y/n. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Don’t. You. Dare. Touch. her."
Kim smirked. "Oh I hit a nerve there." She was smiling now.
Marshall inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as he tried to keep his composure. Finally, he exhaled and spoke in an eerily calm voice.
"Get out, Kim. Now."
Kim scoffed, grabbing her purse. "You’re pathetic, Marshall. Just wait till Hailey sees you for what you really are."
Marshall’s expression didn’t change, but his voice turned ice-cold. "Oh yeah, that's why she's begging to come and stay at my place all the time. Wondering why she doesn't like your place." he said.
Kim stormed toward the door, yanking it open so hard it nearly slammed against the wall before she disappeared down the hall.
The silence left behind was deafening. Marshall dragged a hand down his face before turning to his daughters. "You girls okay?" His voice had softened, losing all of its previous edge.
Hailey nodded but frowned. "Why do you always fight?"
Y/N knelt beside them, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Sometimes grown-ups don’t get along, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you."
Alaina looked up at her dad. "Dad, are you okay?"
Marshall forced a small smile, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, kiddo. I’m good. Let’s eat."
Y/N followed them to the dining area, relieved that the tension had finally passed. As they sat down, Marshall’s gaze landed on her, his expression softening.
"By the way," he said, smirking slightly, "where’s that top you were wearing yesterday?"
Y/N arched an eyebrow at him, casually taking a sip of her coffee. "You tore it. Remember?"
"oh yeah" he said as he gave her a big smirk. Hailey tilted her head curiously. "Why did you tear her shirt, Dad?"
His entire body stiffened. Eyes wide, he looked at Y/N like a deer caught in headlights.
Y/N grinned "He’s dumb. That’s why." she said dipping her spoon into the whipped cream on her plate before flicking a dollop onto his face.
The girls started to laugh. Marshall smirked. He leaned in to kiss Y/N, but she quickly pulled back, laughing. "No," she protested, giggling, trying to protest by stopping him with her arms. Marshall smirked at her attempt to stop him, grabbed her arms and put them away and pressed a kiss to her lips anyway.
"Marshall!" Y/N squealed, pulling back with a gasp. The girls laughter filled the room. She wiped her cheek, now covered in whipped cream. "I told you no!"
He just laughed, being pleased with himself. "Too late," he teased. Alaina leaned closer to Hailey and whispered with a grin, "I really like her."
Hailey giggled and nodded. "Me too."
Masterlist
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slavicdolls4mangione · 9 hours ago
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troubled lu healing through meeting you hc:
a/n: i’d like to preface that this is purely fiction because none of us know how lu’s relationship with his parents is, i’m sure he loves his family and that they love him just as much. that being said i hope you guys enjoy, especially the lovely anon who made the request <3
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- when lu first meets you, he introduces himself as “mark," an identity he’s crafted to protect himself in a way
- lu is desperate to be someone who’s not tied to the suffocating expectations of his family
- "mark" is the man he wishes he could be: calm, “normal”, free of the burden of his past; he’s a little rough around the edges, secretive, and distant, but there’s still kindness in his eyes that he tries to suppress
- it’s hard for him to trust anyone, especially with the guilt of what he’s left behind by running away
- over time, as you show him warmth and understanding, he starts to feel something he hasn’t in years: hope
- there’s a tenderness in your care, a kindness that doesn’t feel transactional like his family’s love did
- your laughter is a comfort to him, a sound he didn’t realize he had longed to hear, you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could have a normal life outside of his family’s demands
- and slowly, lu begins to falter, "mark" begins to slip and luigi emerges slowly, quietly
- at first, it’s just little things—his smile softens, his voice becomes less guarded
- one night, after a difficult day when the weight of his past feels heavy on his shoulders, he confesses to you
- it happens almost unintentionally as you’re lying together in silence, his head laying on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his breath shaky as he whispers, “i’m not... mark” his voice cracking with emotion he hasn’t let himself feel in months
- he would see your eyes widen, but there’s no judgment in them, only confusion and concern
- that’s when he tells you about his family, about the pressure to live up to impossible standards, to become the perfect “heir” to his grandfathers legacy
- his past was a life of suffocating rules that crushed every bit of freedom he could have had as a child; he feels like he betrayed everyone by running away, but at the same time he can’t bear to go back
- there’s a lot of guilt tied to his escape, he never wanted to abandon his responsibilities, he was raised to be the heir after all, the one to take over the family’s empire, to be perfect
- he was always told he could never fail, but the more he stayed, the more his soul withered, and he realized that living in that suffocating cage would mean losing who he really is
- lu would tell you he can’t help but feel selfish for running, and sometimes you would catch him waking up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping down his face, his heart pounding from the nightmares of what he left behind
- you can tell he’s terrified that he’s abandoned a life most people would kill for, and yet... you both know he can’t go back to it
- when he has emotional breakdowns, you’re always there to hold him, to remind him that he’s safe, even when he doesn’t believe it himself
- one of the most heartbreaking moments happens at the beginning of your budding relationship when you, unaware of the depth of luigi’s trauma, casually share a carefree memory from your childhood, such a simple and happy memory, but for lu, it’s like a slap in the face
- he can’t even look at you as you talk about your childhood, because in contrast, his own was filled with expectations; his parents didn’t care for him the way they should have
- they didn’t let him be a child, instead of playful summers, he remembers long and boring hours at his family’s estate, being forced to study, to work
- and he starts to feel this overwhelming sense of grief and rage, as if something fundamental was stolen from him
- lu would take a deep breath and tell you : “i remember... i remember being a kid, and one day my father caught me playing... he said it was a waste of time and scolded me for it”
- you would listen to him sharing stories from his childhood with tears in your eyes, but you refused to let yourself cry because you wanted to be strong for lu, didn’t want him to feel like you were pitying him, that’s the last thing he needed
- since that day, you’ve understood that his wounds ran deep and vowed to help him heal his inner child
- you became his safe haven, the one place where he could finally be himself without fear of judgment
- you listened without pushing, comforted him without trying to fix him all while staying firm in reminding him that he deserves happiness, that he’s not broken beyond repair, and that he’s allowed to let go of the past
- you encouraged him to find his own path, to rediscover joy and slowly with your help, lui began to let go of the weight of his guilt
- he knew that, although it would be a long journey, you’d be by his side every step of the way, loving him unconditionally for who he truly is
- through your guys’ relationship, luigi learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and that love can be a source of strength, not just something he has to hide from
<3
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kendrysaneela · 20 hours ago
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Let’s go through the events of Severance from Helena’s POV cause it’s wild from Helena’s POV as well as Helly’s. (I’m just going by memory so I may miss a few things or mix up the timeline a bit) I am not moralizing any of Helena’s actions cause this is just from her POV.
You get (presumably) coerced into splitting your consciousness in half by your abusive father to serve the cult you were raised in.
You then get the brain surgery and then you wake up in a hallway. Millchick says it’s cause you need time to adjust. But it’s okay because sometimes this just happens you’re not trying to leave.
Then you keep ending up on the other side of the door! Millchick comforts you and tells you about how grateful he is that you’re here and you’re happy to get any approval at all even if it is from your family’s cult. Maybe you’ll get some approval from your father.
Then you run through the door MORE! You’re pretty sure at this point that Millchick is lying to you when he says your innie is realizing she does want to be there but you run back through anyway.
Your innie asks to resign you reject that resignation (whether that was Helena’s decision or the board’s is not yet something we know)
Then on a later day you wake up in the elevator and your hair is all messed up your wrist is bandaged up and your makeup is running and you feel just such DEEP exhaustion but you don’t know why
Then you show up on another day and you’re in an elevator with a cd from a camcorder in your hands you watch it and your innie is asking to resign again. But this time she’s threatening your fingers??
So you record a video back (whether those were Helena’s words or words placed in front of her to say by the board yet to be seen)
THEN you wake up in an elevator GASPING for air not knowing what’s happening. I guess your innie tried to KlLL you??
The you’re forced to go back so when you do you crouch in the corner of the elevator in panic before you turn into your innie
THEN later you’re getting ready to do a speech about how great Severance is (you certainly haven’t had a good time but the board demands you do this so you’re gonna have to fake it)
Then all of a sudden you wake up being pulled off stage by Cobel you don’t even remember getting on the stage!
And you’re told that your innie took you over and said a bunch of bad stuff about Severance onstage so after your father insults you for a while you then you’re forced to read an embarrassing script in front of the whole country or the whole world talking about how you drank too much and thought it was a funny joke at the time.
THEN. You’re looking over footage of Helly who is your other consciousness and you see her kissing Mark. You see her being more free and more loved than you ever have. So you rewind that kiss over and over again.
You’re told you have to go back down there to the severed floor but it’s okay you can pretend to be Helly you don’t actually have to be her. And you actually are having a good time? You are having fun with them you’re feeling free youre feeling loved for the first time in your life, you’re making jokes about your family’s ridiculous lore it’s awesome. You’re trying to soak in the love they all have for Helly because you’ve never felt love and you don’t understand you can’t steal love because you’ve never had love before. You come clean with one of the innies about your self hatred.
Then one of the innies finds out you’re Helena and tries to DROWN YOU. To get back your other consciousness that lives in your body your innie who they love more than you. You thought they liked you but now you’re realizing that they just liked you cause they thought you were Helly you’re still stuck in a loveless life now. And now as a bonus you’re having an identity crisis about how Helly is essentially who you could’ve been if you weren’t weighed down by your family’s name.
Then you’re thinking “I definitely won’t have to go back now obviously I’ll tell my father” then you’re told that no you are going back down and you’re going back as Helly to the place where all of this happened because “The Board appreciates your sacrifice” and no one thinks the trauma you’ve faced so far is actually a big deal not even your father he won’t even talk to you about it. So you go back down against your will to the innie floor again and let the consciousness take you over again.
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hypnonerd1095 · 10 hours ago
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Contract
"Wake up Amanda"
Amanda blinked, confusion and drowsiness washing over her as she stumbled a bit, thankfully the man who had spoken to her was quick to catch her and steady her back on her feet.
"Easy there Amanda, I know it's disorienting, just take it slow. Good girl" the man said reassuringly
She shook her head a bit, trying to regain her bearings. She hadn't responded to the name Amanda for over a month now, it took a moment to even recognize the man was speaking to her, but being called a good girl sent a wave of calm and contentment through her that helped slow her thoughts enough to focus. That was right, she was Amanda, and this man had been her employer for the past month... what was his name again? The memory of that was fuzzy, the only name she could come up with was Master...
"Ngh... is it always this bothersome when we wake up?" Amanda grumbled, letting Master guide her to a chair as she rubbed her temples "no offense Master, but you should really work on this... also why can't I remember your name?"
Master chuckled "it gets easier the more used to it you become. This was your first time so it makes sense your thoughts are jumbled. As for my name, that's a bit of a safety precaution. Can't have you spreading word about this position around after your employment ends, everything is technically above board, but you never know what kind of protesters might show up on principle" he explained
"Right... the position... " Amanda mumbled "so I've seriously been your slave for a month? I can only remember bits and pieces. Guess that's part of it huh?"
"Yes, we can negotiate how much you do or don't want to remember. Some of my girls enjoy knowing exactly what is being done to them in their waking lives, some wish to leave their work lives separate. For trial runs like this we default to partial remembrance, in case you decide not to renew" Master said with a nod, providing her a laptop "feel free to confirm your payment was received and anything else you like. I'll have a servant bring you something to drink that should help. We can talk more when your head is fully clear"
Amanda nodded, logging into her bank account, wow, that was a lot more zeroes at the end of her balance than she was used to. Checking the transaction history, it was legit. Exactly the amount he'd promised, and a little more to boot for "extraordinary performance." She didn't know what that referred to but she blushed at the words, she had a decent idea.
A woman "dressed" in what one might classify as "underwear" if they were feeling generous came in with a plate of food and a fizzy drink. Amanda couldn't help but steal glances at the woman as she stood at attention, smiling down at Amanda blissfully.
"T-thanks" Amanda murmured, focusing on her meal. Is that what she'd looked like? The woman seemed so happy and content, didn't even seem cold from the lack of clothing.
It was hard to believe this job was real. Voluntarily be turned into a hypnotized slave for a predetermined length of time, all living expenses covered, and get paid a generous wage to use as she saw fit during her time off. She could even set limits on what tasks she'd be used for... though the less restrictions she placed on her service the more she was paid.
When Master had approached her with his offer she'd almost called the cops on him to have him carted away to an asylum. Only a sizable up front deposit had convinced her to humor him... but there was no denying it was real now.
When Master returned, he carried with him several different contracts. "Now that you've had time to clear your head, I've brought you options to review going forward. You can, of course, decide this job isn't for you. But you did quite well here, I'm prepared to offer you quite a generous starting wage." he said, putting the various contracts down in front of her.
Amanda looked over the contracts, various lengths, with varying amounts of time on and off duty. With what she'd made already she could easily walk away, this nest egg would carry her a long time. She could go back to her old boring job, serving customers with a fake smile, following inane orders from bosses who either didn't know or didn't care how impossible their expectations were. All for a pitiful wage that wasn't remotely worth it. It'd be better now, with these savings she had... but...
Amanda glanced at the slave next to her, that blissful expression mixed with arousal now that Master was here. Was being a hypnotized slave really worse than being a wage slave? She could feel like THAT all day, and live in luxury on her weeks off. Work this job for a few years and she could even retire!
She barely needed to think about it as she took the longest-term contract on offer, filled out her choice of restrictions, and signed her name. Probably the last time she'd be using her name for quite a while. Her Master smiled.
"Glad to have you with us, my Good Girl. Now then, slave A-42 activate"
Amanda smiled as the trigger took hold, she was going to enjoy this new job.
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kinardsevan · 3 days ago
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my heart, my life, will never be the same
maybe, someday, love - part 4 cw: hospitalization, helicopter crash, related injuries; word count: 1991, total wc: 6458 (sorry, yall. I got the flu and that kicked my ass for the better half of the past two weeks. But here's the next--possibly final--part!)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Three days. Three days and Burr holes is what it takes for Evan to stop seizing and wake up. Tommy fights for every minute he’s allowed to leave his own room and cross the hall the first two days, even though is body is far from capable of handling the movement. By the third day, his doctors are starting to discuss moving him to the telemetry floor, but every moment that he’s awake and confined to his own room is another fight with his doctors and their family to let him get to Evan’s side and be there for him. Still, being down a spleen and part of his liver is nothing to scoff at. 
He’s pushing his luck when he finally sees Evan’s eyes flutter, already exhausted and past the twenty-minute allowed visitation that his nurses have set him at. He straightens up immediately in his wheelchair, squeezing the younger man’s hand. 
“Come on baby, I’m right here,” he says softly. Evan tries to groan, still on the ventilator for his body to have one less thing to stress on in its healing state. His eyes flutter again, and Tommy strokes his thumb over the back of his knuckles, watching him with rapt attention. It takes a few more seconds, but Evan’s eyes finally slide open, quickly finding Tommy’s as he takes in his surroundings. They grow wide as he seems to realize where he is and Tommy’s current state, but his hands are still strapped down, keeping him from pulling at anything. 
“Hey, you’re okay,” Tommy tells him softly when Evan tries to pull on the hand he’s still holding. Evan squeezes it tightly, his eyes flooded with worry as his gaze shifts over Tommy, the IV pole he’s still attached to. Still, before he can get too rowdy or start asking questions, Tommy presses the call button purposely placed nearby so he can call for a nurse. 
The door opens a few moments later, and nurses are entering along with Maddie and Bobby. 
“You’re awake, Mr. Buckley,” one of the nurses says in a cheerful tone. He winces, and she apologizes, speaking in a softer tone. Evan looks back over at Tommy and tugs on his hand, drawing his attention back before moving his fingers as best he can to gesture at the restraints. 
“I think he’s asking why he can’t move his hands,” Tommy explains. 
“You suffered smoke inhalation in the crash,” one of the nurses explains as she checks his vitals. “Your lungs have taken longer to heal, and restraints were to keep you from pulling the tube out. I can remove them as long as you don’t try to remove the tube. We’re working on getting you off of it.” 
Evan nods as best he can, and quickly, his hands are slipped free from the bindings. He takes Tommy’s hand back quickly, looking back over at him with a concerned expression. He lifts his free hand and starts writing in the air. 
How?
“I don’t really remember,” Tommy answers him. Behind him, Bobby clears his throat, and they both glance toward him. 
“Fire investigation said by some miracle you managed to crash into a thick patch of trees, which cushioned the crash. You both still took some hard hits, and it’s also probably what made the fuel go up in flames, but without that, you both could’ve burned in the wreckage,” he explains. 
How long? 
“About a week ago,” Maddie interjects, stepping forward. She walks over to Evan’s other side and squeezes his forearm lightly. He looks up at her, and then down at her stomach, reaching out and touching it. She’s still months away from giving birth, but the prospect of having missed any of it…
Evan glances back at Tommy, looking him over again with that same worried expression. He squeezes Tommy’s hand again, holding on this time. Tommy nods, holding back with the same grip. 
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know.” 
. . . 
It’s still a fight to get across the hall, except once Evan is awake, the nurses station is getting it from both sides. For the most part, they end up having to settle for a continuous facetime video chat, given that neither of them is strong enough to be out of the ICU, and Tommy is still struggling to tolerate being out of bed for more than half an hour at a time.
Still, there are little wins. By the end of the first day he’s conscious again, Evan is taken off the ventilator. His neurological scans come back showing positive results, and Tommy’s blood counts are trending in the right direction, given the organ damage he survived. 
On the second day, they finally move Tommy out of the ICU. He doesn’t really leave, given that the minute he’s settled into his new room, he returns to Evan’s. The younger firefighter still can’t really talk, mostly due to the ventilator rubbing his throat raw, but he manages. It mostly leads to a lot of hand-holding and silent conversation with a fair amount of eye-fucking that drives their friends out of the room. 
And then on the third day, Evan is moved from the ICU to the neurology unit to allow for more observation before he can be discharged. It keeps him and Tommy apart more, mostly due to the need for both of them to be observed, but they stay in contact by text and video chat, at least as much as they’re able to when they’re awake. 
. . . 
“Evan, lay back down.” 
“I can-..” 
“Lay. Back. Down,” Maddie all but growls at him. She turns her head and scowls at Tommy. “And where do you think you’re going?” 
Evan smirks at the attitude Maddie is giving the pilot as he leans back into his pillows, wincing as he tries to shift his leg. 
“Why did I agree to come home with you,” Tommy grumbles under his breath. “My legs are fine, Maddie.” 
“Maybe so, but did we forget the whole ‘no spleen, damaged liver’, of it all,” she counters at him. “Your body needs to heal.” 
“I’m just trying to get some water,” Tommy complains. 
“Howie!” 
The paramedic pops around the corner a full minute later, carrying a tray with light snacks and two bottles of water, a knowing smirk on his face as he crosses into the guest room and sets it on the bed. 
“There you go,” Maddie states, gesturing at the tray. “Now. I better not hear any movement out of this room before dinner unless someone needs to go to the bathroom.” 
“I can take myself!” Tommy whines. “You’re impossible.” 
“Maybe,” she counters. “But Evan can’t, and you can’t take on his weight with his leg unless you want to rip your stitches.” She leans forward and pushes him with a featherlight shove, but it’s enough to get him to lean back into the pillows stacked behind him. She presses the TV remote into his hand after that. “Find something to watch and take the caregiving with a smile.” 
Tommy clenches his jaw before forcing a smile onto his face at her and grumbling a low ‘thank you’. Maddie pats his cheek dramatically before exiting, and Howie follows behind her, laughing quietly as he pulls the door closed until it’s just ajar. Jee-Yun has been told that her uncles aren’t really able to play, but they still need to be able to hear if Evan or Tommy need help. 
“This sucks,” Tommy states, glancing over at Evan briefly before he looks back at the TV. “I’m capable of-..” 
“You are literally the world’s worst patient,” Evan cuts him off. When Tommy scowls at him, it only makes him laugh, smiling at Tommy with an amused expression. 
“I’m not that bad,” he counters. “You-..” 
“I once tried to get you to drink tea when you got a sore throat after a three alarm, and you told me that you didn’t need me to pander to you,” Evan tells him. 
Tommy narrows his gaze at the younger man. “I was fine. And this is coming from the guy who wouldn’t take a nap with a hundred and three degree fever after working a full twenty-four under Gerrard. So who’s the impossible one here?” 
“You both are!” Howie yells from the hallway. 
Evan throws a pillow across the room, hitting the door with enough force to nudge it a few inches more closed. 
“Well. Shit.” 
Tommy snorts at him, turning towards him and pressing a finger to his own lips in a ‘shh’ sign. He slides off the bed and walks over to the door, wincing as he leans down to pick up the pillow. Still, he moves slowly, and returns to the bed a moment later, settling back into it gingerly before lying down next to Evan. He won’t say it out loud, but the five steps to the door was an exhausting trip. 
“Maybe we should just take a nap,” Evan comments, reaching out for the tray on the bed. Tommy grabs his water and sips from it before settling it on the nightstand along with the TV remote Maddie handed him. He glances back over at Evan as he shifts gingerly down on the bed. 
“Is your leg ok? Do you need the wedge adjusted?” 
Evan shakes his head. He reaches up for the pillows behind his head, and Tommy helps him ease down as best he can while keeping him from actually moving his leg. Once he’s settled Tommy moves in closer, but Evan is the one to reach his hand up and wrap his fingers around Tommy’s, given the way his sling has his arm pinned to his chest. 
“Still can’t believe I let you lot convince me to bring me back to Howie and your sister’s house to heal,” Tommy murmurs, his eyes already closing. 
“You can’t be alone right now,” Evan responds just as wearily. “And I can’t climb stairs. Suck it up, buttercup.” 
Tommy snorts, but he doesn’t open his eyes back up. Still, Evan is awake and when he doesn’t hear him nodding off, it keeps him from being able to. 
After five minutes, he cracks an eye open and raises an eyebrow at Evan staring across the room, looking befuddled. 
“What’s going on in that injured brain of yours,” Tommy murmurs. 
Evan turns his head toward him, looking slightly amused. “We survived a helicopter crash. In the god-damn mountains.” 
Tommy chuckles, nodding wearily. “Yeah, we did.” His eyes slide shut again, but he can feel Evan moving his thumb back and forth over the first knuckle of his fingers. 
“Kinda ruined my vibe though,” Evan says, his voice still sounding amused. “I mean, I told you I love you, and then we fell out of the sky.” 
Tommy opens his eyes, his expression deadpan as he looks up at Evan. “Are you really calling me out for trying to keep us alive instead of admitting a near-death love confession?” 
The corners of Evan’s mouth pull up just slightly, and Tommy rolls his eyes before closing them again. 
“You really are ridiculous,” he mutters, tilting forward and resting his forehead against Evan’s shoulder. 
“Seems like something that belongs in one of your romantic comedies, is all I’m saying,” Evan says back, his voice soft. 
“I love you, Evan,” Tommy replies, his voice lilting with just the slightest hint of annoyance, although it’s entirely affectionate. “Take that to your romantic comedy theories.” 
He hears Evan laugh quietly, followed by a soft groan at the pain it causes. Still, when he settles again, the way his breathing shifts tells Tommy that he’s finally starting to settle. Tommy shifts his head slightly, resting more against Evan’s shoulder. He continues to listen to the younger man’s breathing deepen, and for the first time in months, lets it lull him down the way nothing else has ever been able to. 
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leapingbadger · 3 days ago
Text
Unconditional Love
Happy Valentines Day!
This is my entry for Pabu's Festival of Love. The prompt was "Friendship Bracelets". I hope you enjoy!
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
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Read It on AO3!
Hunter woke with a start. It didn’t happen much these days unless a moon-yo had gotten into the house or Wrecker had forgotten to duck and whacked his head on the door frame into the kitchen while in search of a midnight snack.
This sound wasn’t any of those though. He reached for his vibroknife, more out of habit than because he thought he’d actually need it. The light was on in the common room and as he quietly opened the door to his bedroom, he saw Omega sitting on the floor in front of the caf table, her arms flying around her as she tried to collect something.
“Omega?” he asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He looked at the chrono in the corner, “Why are you up at three in the morning?”
“It’s okay, Hunter. She whispered, “Don’t come in. Go back to sleep.”
The sleepiness he was still holding onto disappeared instantly at her words. If anything was going to wake him, it was knowing his kid was trying to keep him out of whatever she was doing. He put down his knife and walked around the back of the sofa.
“No, no, no. You’re not supposed to see,” she said, throwing herself over the table in the hopes of hiding whatever she as doing.
She sat cross legged on the floor, Batcher’s sleeping head resting on her knee, colorful beads were littered all over the table and scattered on the floor.
Hunter again looked at the chrono, sure he had gotten the time wrong because there was no reason for her to be up at this time playing with beads.
“Kid, what are you doing? You have school in the morning.” He said, instantly recoiling at how much he sounded like Shep. He made a mental note to tell him he was a bad influence the next time he saw him.
“It’s for love day. You weren’t supposed to see. It was going to be a surprise.”
Hunter blinked at her, sighed and sat down on the couch behind her. “Okay, you’re going to have to start from the beginning. What is a love day?” he asked, grabbing the hair tie from her wrist and pulling his long, dark hair off his neck.
She turned to look at him, looking slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t a face she pulled often, maybe once or twice if her brothers came to collect her from school or when Crosshair tried to flirt with the woman who owns the bakery in the marketplace.
“Love day. It’s a day where you tell people you love them or something. I don’t know. It’s a Pabu thing. It’s this Saturday.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” he said.
“That’s because you don’t talk to anyone but Shep and Phee.” She said teasingly.
“I talk to plenty of people.” Hunter said with a chuckle. “I talked to your teacher the other day.”
Omega rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you need to stop that. She has a crush on you and it’s an embarrassment for all involved.”
“How is it an embarrassment to me? I don’t have the crush.” He said, not quite believing he was having this particular conversation in the middle of the night.
She gave him the look only a teenager could, “trust me.”
He sighed; the kind of sigh he used to reserve for conversations with Crosshair but had recently been extended to Omega. “Okay, so it’s love day. Why does that mean you’re up in the middle of the night?”
“Remember, Phee brought me that bead kit a while back? Well, I thought I’d make bracelets as gifts.”
Hunter smiled. She may be growing up too fast for his liking but there was still something of his little girl in there, even if it was usually hidden behind eye rolls and sarcasm these days.
“That’s sweet Kid, but you can make bracelets for your friends at school. You don’t need to be doing it tonight”
Now it was Omega’s turn to sigh and Hunter was suddenly struck by how many of his own mannerisms she had picked up over the years. If she pinched the bridge of her nose, it would be like looking in a mirror.
“They’re not for my friends. They’re for you. All of you.” She said sweetly. “But now they’re everywhere and the one I was making is buried in the rug.”
“Do you…need help?” he asked.
“Really? You’d help me with this?” she asked, her bright eyes wide.
Hunter couldn’t say picking up beads or making bracelets was what he really wanted to do at this time of the morning, but if it meant getting her back to bed sooner, he was willing to try. He nodded reluctantly.
“Well, first we need to pick everything up, then put them in piles according to color and then string them.”
“Omega, that’s going to take hours.” He said.
She nodded happily and started picking individual beads off the floor. Hunter rolled off the couch and got on his hands and knees, feeling around for the beads.
“You know, Crosshair would probably be more helpful with this,” he said jokingly.
“Should we wake him?” Omega asked, carefully reaching for a bead that had fallen on Batcher’s nose.
“I think you know the answer to that, Omega,” Hunter said with a grin.
She nodded and they continued.
It didn’t take long before the piles had been formed. Omega pulled out some thin cords and handed a piece to Hunter.
“Whose bracelet do you want to make?”
Hunter shrugged, “it doesn’t matter,” he said.  
She pushed a small pile of green beads across the table to him and then another pile of black beads.
“This is for Wrecker.” She said. “It’s Jade. It’s supposed to represent health, love and wisdom.” She said with her eyebrows raised.
“Who told you that?” Hunter asked.
She shrugged, “it came with the kit. All the stones have meanings. I didn’t have enough to go around so I bought some black stones from the market. They’re made from the rock of Pabu.”
Hunter stopped threading a bead and looked at her in wonder. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” he said in admiration.
She shrugged again but the apples of her cheeks turned pink, “it’s important to me.” She said, “You’re all important to me.”
“You’re important to us too, kid.” Hunter said, as he continued to thread the beads. “So, what do the other stones mean?”
Omega’s eyes lit up as she picked up the list from the packaging. “The Orange one, Carnelian, is for Echo. It represents courage and clarity. It can uplift the mind and improve the spirit.”
“Well, the courage part certainly fits.” Hunter said and he threaded another bead.
Omega nodded in agreement, “the clear quartz is for Crosshair. I didn’t think he’d like the other colors. Besides, it’s supposed to help with healing. Mental, physical and emotional…I just thought…I mean, it can’t hurt, right?”
Hunter smiled and nodded. “Yeah, Kid. I’m sure he’ll love it. What about the pink one? Is that for you?”
Omega hesitated. “No…” she said suddenly apprehensive.
“Oh, it’s mine?”
“No,” she said again, “It’s…It’s Tech’s,” she said.
Hunter blinked at her for a moment. Wishing he could think of something to say but failing to come up with anything.
“You’ll probably think it’s stupid,” she said.
Hunter sighed and put down Wrecker’s bracelet, “I would never say that.”
She smiled, the same sad smile that always accompanied a conversation about their lost brother. They tried to talk about him often, to bring him up in conversation to keep him alive, because to forget…well, they just couldn’t do that. He was a part of them, a part of their family, and no matter how much time passed, they always wanted him there, even if it was in name only.
Hunter had started to worry that he would soon forget the sound of his voice, or the distinct beat of his heart. He had all the heartbeats of his family memorized, initially out of necessity from their days as Kaminoan test subjects, but later as a failsafe. He could tell if something was wrong by the patter of their hearts.
He could hear Omega’s heart pounding against her chest, flustered at the turn in conversation. “What does the pink stand for, Omega?” He asked gently. He tried to keep his tone neutral, even though the devastation at the loss of his brother threatened to bubble up again. It was never too far from the surface, despite how many years had passed.
She smiled, her eyes suddenly watery, “It’s rose quartz. I…I chose it because it represents… unconditional love.” She whispered.
Hunter could tell her voice was getting stuck in her throat. She choked on a sob, and he crossed to her in time to feel the first tear fall on his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she dissolved, leaning into him as her body convulsed.
“Shh, it’s okay.” He said softly, rocking her back and forth.
After a few minutes she gave a shuddering breath and pulled away, wiping her nose on her sleeve, just like she used to when she was a kid.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
Hunter gently wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks and cupped her face in his hand. “It’s okay to miss him, Omega. I miss him every day.” He said softly.
“We didn’t get to say goodbye,” she said, her tears threatening to fall again.
Hunter nodded, “I know.”
“We didn’t even memorialize him,” she said, this time the tears won, and she started crying again.
Hunter paused and realized she was right. The time after Tech’s death was so fraught they didn’t have time to think about it. Hunter and Wrecker were so immersed in their search for Omega, Tech’s absence only came up during quiet moments in hyperspace when the vacuum of his presence could be felt more readily.
By the time they got Omega and Crosshair back they were on to the next thing, the next mission, the search for Tantis, and then Omega was gone again. Once they finally settled on Pabu, free and hopeful, Tech’s goggles remained a talisman, but they’d never really said goodbye.
“Maybe we should fix that,” Hunter said as he brushed her wet, tear-soaked hair from her face.
She sniffed, “what do you mean?”
“We’ll do something for Tech, on Saturday. Love day.” He said.
She nodded her approval, unable to vocalize it and sat upright, taking another shuddering breath.
They stayed there until the sunlight licked the horizon and the moon-yos started chirping happily,  talking and laughing as they threaded the beads onto the strings.
By the end they had four completed bracelets for Wrecker, Crosshair, Echo and Tech. Omega refused to let Hunter know what beads he was getting, telling him it would be a surprise for Love day.
***
Hunter chose sunset as the time for Tech’s memorial. It had always been his favorite time of day on Pabu, when the sun had started to sink below the horizon, scattering light over the sea, the waves twinkling in the light, while the sky was dark enough to see the flickering stars above.
Echo hadn’t needed any encouragement to show up. He arrived the day after Hunter’s comm, dropping his bag in the doorway and standing, arms wide for Omega to dive into. She brushed a hasty tear away as she buried her face in his neck and if nothing else came of this memorial, he was glad to have all his brothers back in one place.
Omega had spent the day with friends at the marketplace. Musicians had been set up along with a dance floor and special delicacies from the planets of Pabu’s refugees. It was a true community event, the kind of thing Hunter still struggled to fully partake in. He preferred to observe from the fringe, leaning up against the weeping mya tree. He noticed Omega’s teacher wave and waved back, careful to heed Omega’s warning. He appreciated having an excuse to escape early.
The beach was empty when he arrived, he could hear the music from the party pulsing in his enhanced senses. Could feel the rhythm in the ground and much as in his ears.
Crosshair, Echo and Wrecker were quick to join him. If they thought it was a silly idea, they hadn’t said anything. The memorial wasn’t really for Tech anyway, it was for Omega. For all of them.
Omega arrived at the beach breathless and happy, her cheeks pink for spending all day in the sun. Her long, loose, blonde curls hung past her shoulders. She wore a frilly pink dress she must have been loaned by Lyana. She giggled like a little girl as Wrecker twirled her around in greeting. Hunter clocked the green and black bracelet on his wrist.
He checked Crosshair and Echo and they too proudly wore their love day bracelets. He wasn’t sure if Omega had shared the meanings of the stone, and it didn’t much matter. She could have given them a rock and they would have carried it proudly.
Omega came to stand beside him at the shore. The clear waves rolling over his feet. She held up her dress slightly to keep it dry.
“You left before I could give this to you this morning,” she said, holding out her palm and showing him a turquoise and black bracelet. The beads were the color of his old armor and Tech’s favorite color. He wasn’t sure if that was an accident or not.
“Thanks, Kid. What does this one mean?” he asked, rolling the smooth beads over in his fingers before putting it on his right wrist.
“It’s called Amazonite. It represents Hope.” She said, her big eyes looking up at him nervously.
Hunter nodded and smiled, “Do you think I need hope? Or do I already have it?” he asked curiously.
Omega shrugged. She took hold of his hand, something she hadn’t done in a long time, and intertwined her fingers in his. “It said if trouble appears, this helps you navigate it with confidence and makes sure you’re on the right path. That’s what you do, Hunter. What you’ve always done.”
Hunter felt his voice catch in his throat, “thanks, Kid.” He said, pulling her into a hug. He held her hand in his, noticing for the first time the bracelet on her wrist. It was black, green, orange, pink, clear and turquoise. Omega’s bracelet carried the colors of all of her brother. Hunter wasn’t sure how he could possibly love her more.
Turning around he noticed the rest of his guests had arrived. Shep and Lyanna stood off to the side, talking to Crosshair and Echo.
Phee had cut a treasure hunting trip short, giving up a score for a formal goodbye to her beloved Brown Eyes. Hunter wished Tech had gotten his happy ending with Phee. But he was glad to still have her in his life and that of the rest of his family.
Hunter crossed to the others, picking up a small wreath made of purple vines that grew on some of the gardens around the island. Lyana had been kind enough to braid it together. He held it out for Omega and watched as her trembling hands twisted the pink and black bracelet in between the leaves, making sure the beads stayed in place.
With a jerk of his head, Omega, Echo, Crosshair and Wrecker followed him to the shore. He handed the wreath to Omega.
“Is there anything you want to say?” he asked.
She nodded and opened her mouth, only for words to fail her. Again, she had a sob stuck in her throat. Wrecker’s shovel sized hand patted her gently on the shoulder and tears fell into the sand.
“I…I can’t,” she squeaked, looking up at Hunter for support.
Hunter sighed. He had thought this might happen. He didn’t have anything prepared, wasn’t really one for giving speeches, Ironically, that had always been Tech’s job.
“We wanted to take this opportunity to say goodbye to Tech, or Brown Eyes, as some of you may remember him,” he said with a wink to Phee. Her cheeks blushed; her twinkling eyes downcast but a smile spreading on her lips as she stared at the sand.
“There isn’t much I can say about him that you don’t already know. He was forthright, stubborn and always the smartest person in the room. But he was also kind, thoughtful and caring in his own way. He loved deeply, even if he couldn’t always express it. He saved us all because of that.” Hunter stopped, hearing “plan 99” in the comm and the distance cries of Omega and Wrecker, the screeching sound of metal on metal. The crash. He physically shook his head to rid himself of the memory.
“He was the person I always looked for over my  shoulder. Still do, actually…” Hunter said, more to himself than anyone. “…and he was a great brother.” He turned to look at Omega, Crosshair, Echo and Wrecker in turn.
The bruiser wiped an errant tear from his cheek. Crosshair’s eyes were downturned while Echo’s amber gaze was attentive. He gave Hunter a nod of encouragement to continue.
“I don’t know what happens when you die. But I do know that sometimes, when the sea is still and the island is calm, I can still sense my brother. And if that isn’t love persevering, I don’t know what is.”
Hunter kneeled down and wiped more tears from Omega’s cheeks “Ready?” he asked. She nodded wordlessly.
The four brothers flanked her as they waded into the water. The skirt of Omega’s pink dress floated up around her, but she didn’t seem to mind. She carefully laid the wreath in the water, adjusted the bracelet of unconditional love she had created for her fallen brother, and pushed.
They watched as the sun continued to fall under the horizon, the purple wreath bobbing as it slowly wended its way out to sea. Omega took hold of Hunter’s hand, pulling his arm to her and hugging it.
“Thank you,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her cheek.
Hunter pulled her into a hug, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. They continued to stay there, in the water, watching as the wreath ebbed and flowed until it was out of sight, disappearing into the setting sun.
❤️❤️❤️
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quarterlifekitty · 1 hour ago
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König meets eldritch monster disguised as a cute girl, what will happen next?
Turned out it wasn’t to lure in prey or anything the monster’s preferred form is just girl and found pulling König into the crossfire funny
- @murderkittyz
You know, this reminded me, even tho no one asked—
cw: spiders
Maybe it’s because of his arachnid skin, but I think König would like spiders. He respects them as hunters and empathizes with them— they are often feared rather than loved just for being themselves.
König doesn’t destroy the spider webs in corners of room, despite his preference for tidiness and relative order. He doesn’t see the sense in destroying its home when it kills pests for him. Ironically considering his job— he prefers not to kill little things like that.
König is just the sort of man whose luck would have that the one time he meets a girl that likes him— it’s in his dream. A beautiful girl, sitting with him on a summer evening on the porch of a house he doesn’t recognize. There’s a delicate glass wind chime tinkling with the cool breeze.
You tell him that you’ve admired him from afar for a long time. That you have quite the crush, and that it’s making you a little giddy to meet with him like this for the first time. An infectious smile. Laughter that matches the wind chime.
He wakes up, disappointed to find himself alone again, but more or less content to remember the dream for the peace it gave him, however temporary.
But he sees you again the night after. It’s odd— he’s never had a dream that continued. Dreams that repeated, usually nightmares, sure, but never continued. So you continued to chat with him, growing bold and playful as the nights go on. Brushing his hand, leaning against him, putting your hand on his thigh. He begins to ask questions. He doesn’t expect answers from you.
“How can this really be a dream? It feels so… real.”
“Dreams are always at least a little real, aren’t they?”
Your lips certainly feel real.
“Won’t I ever meet you when I’m awake, schatz? I want to… I want to take you home with me.”
Your face falls a little and you withdraw, König preparing himself for the sting of rejection. It would be just his luck to be rejected by a projection of his own subconscious.
“You w-wouldn’t like me out there. I don’t look like this— I’m gross, you’ll think so too.” You start to sniffle and he’s able to overcome his frayed nerves to pull you against him.
“I could never think that about you, liebe. I know what it’s like… to not be accepted based on looks. Please, believe me.” You cling to the warmth of his chest. As if he would leave. As if either of you had any choice.
When the morning light wakes him, it cuts a path across the ceiling, glittering against the spiderweb spun into the corner above his bed.
(Lmao sorry I know this ain’t exactly what you wanted but you got me on those jorogumo thoughts yk lol)
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lau219 · 2 days ago
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Can you write something about how the boys will take care of Y/N on valentines? How they will celebrate it?
Of course! Happy Valentine’s Day! 💗🫶❤️
Answers for both the good boys and the bad boys are below the cut.
Cillian: Keeps it low-key but romantic. Sends you a text during the day to tell you he’s thinking about you. You then come home to him cooking dinner for the two of you, wine poured and a vase of flowers for you on the table. He also has bought you your favorite chocolates or dessert. After dinner, you’re snuggling on the couch beneath a blanket for a while, but eventually both of you have wandering hands, and soon, the snuggling turns into couch sex. It’s during your post-sex snuggle session that he’s softly stroking through your hair and telling you how much he loves you.
Emmett: Makes reservations and takes you out to dinner at the fancy restaurant that’s in the next town over. He’s even wearing a tie with his button-down, seizing the rare opportunity the two of you have to get dressed up. While at the restaurant, he gives you a beautiful necklace he’s bought for you, and the two of you are kissing across the table as he says how lucky he is to have you and how much he loves you. Once you’re home, things quickly switch from fancy to dirty, and you’re eagerly revealing your gift to him: some barely there red and black lingerie which he doesn’t leave on you for long.
Leonard: Has flowers and chocolates delivered to you while you’re at work, with a note telling you to meet him for dinner that night at the fanciest restaurant in town. Champagne is already at the table when you arrive, and the two of you are playing footsie beneath the table the entire time. As a romantic and mildly dom gesture, he’s ordering for you and making sure everything is perfect. When you get back home, he gifts you a beautiful bracelet or necklace, as well as some gorgeous and sexy lingerie. Soon, the lingerie is off, but the jewelry stays on… 😉
Robert: What doesn’t this man do for you on Valentine’s Day? From the crack of dawn to sunset, you’re being showered in gifts and spoiled rotten, starting with a diamond necklace that he somehow fastens around your neck while you’re still sleeping so that you have it on upon waking up. The rest of the day is filled with ungodly expensive flower arrangements, authentic, delicious pastries, divine chocolates, and gift after gift. We’re talking more jewelry, a designer purse, an afternoon of pampering at the exclusive day spa, and dinner at the restaurant that has a 2-year waitlist. When you two arrive home, you’re immediately all over each other, soon having sweet, intimate sex with plenty of murmured words of love and adoration, followed by as-close-as-you-two-can-get spooning.
Tommy: it’s hit or miss with him — sometimes he remembers Valentine’s Day, and sometimes he doesn’t. When he does remember, he sends you flowers and promises a night alone together. The gestures never get too grand with Tommy, but he also makes sure he shows you how he feels about you. As you know, he’s typically not one for voicing his emotions, but it’s after a sensual and passionate evening in bed that he’s holding you close and telling you how lost he’d be without you.
Raymond: Doesn’t spend much time indulging in Valentine’s Day or what goes with it, but knows that he should do something for you. Goes two towns over to buy you flowers so that no one recognizes him, then hands them to you without a word when he gets home, and allows you to love on him a little bit and mildly tease him (“Ray, you softie.”) Rolls his eyes at you and says nothing more, but later that night, he gives you some surprisingly soft, sweet sex, and is uncharacteristically affectionate and snuggly as you two lie in bed. Finally says something along the lines of, “You know I love you.”
Jonathan: Is actually very romantic and makes the day all about you. Has a couple of small gifts left on your desk throughout the day with little love notes attached. When you get home, he’s made a very elaborate and delicious dinner for the two of you, and he then prepares and draws a romantic, sensual bath for you two to enjoy together with candles, bubbles, and music. Eventually, he’s working you with his fingers beneath the water, whispering words of praise in your ear as he builds you up and makes you come…multiple times. He’s then moving the two of you to the bed, where he proceeds to let you recover as he gives you a full-body massage.
Jackson: Buys you a single red rose and gives it to you along with a quick, rough kiss and a smack on the ass.
What? Were you expecting more? 🤣
@breakthestereo @ennui-whimsy-and-me @newbarrel
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m4rv3l-girl · 2 days ago
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Bucky wakes up after a nightmare and asks the reader to sing for him, she has a beautiful voice and calms him down (the song could be Heaven by Bryan Adams) and he gets emotional with the lyrics, because she was the one who dedicated it. I hope you consider it, I love your stories.
Heaven
Bucky x Y/N
Warnings: None.
The first thing Bucky registers is the darkness.
Then, the cold sweat that clung like taut plastic to his skin and the erratic drum of his heart against his ribs. The phantom ache in his left arm, the one that isn’t flesh and bone. His breathing’s irregular and ragged, his chest rising and falling like he’d just ran through the streets of Bucharest again. Hunted and haunted.
It takes him a long moment to remember - he’s safe. He’s home.
And then there’s you.
Your warmth is the next thing he registers, your body curled against his, your arm draped loosely over his waist. You, you’re soft and real. The one anchor holding him to this world when the past threatens to pull him under.
Bucky let out a shaky breath and turns his head slightly to check you were still there. The glow from the streetlights outside seeps through the curtains, striking through your skin with silver strands. You look peaceful, lips slightly parted and your breathing soothingly steady.
He hates waking you. He’s done it enough times. But tonight—tonight, he needs something more than just grounding touches and whispered reassurances. He needs you in a way he doesn’t quite know how to ask for.
So he whispers, voice hoarse from sleep and something heavier. "Doll?"
You stir slightly, letting out a small hum before blinking up at him. "Buck? What’s wrong?" Your voice is thick with sleep, and God, he feels guilty, but the concern in your gaze washes over him like a balm.
"Bad dream." He swallows, forcing down the lingering remnants of the nightmare, the echoes of screams and bloodstained hands. "Can you... can you sing for me?"
The request catches you off guard, but only for a second. Because you know. You know what music means to him—what your voice does to him.
You shift, propping yourself up on one elbow, and reach for his metal hand under the covers, lacing your fingers through his vibranium ones. Your thumb strokes over the cool metal, grounding him further. "Of course, baby. Any song in mind?"
He hesitates. Then, quietly, "That one you sang before."
Your chest tightens at that. You’d sung it once, offhandedly, not realizing he’d latched onto every single word like a lifeline. That was months ago. And now, here he is, asking for it, needing it.
So you start, voice gentle, and soothing, flurrying through the dimly lit bedroom like a warm embrace. He always thought your voice sounded like dripping honey. It just itched that deep part of his brain that longed for a gentle kind of love.
🎵Oh, thinkin’ about all our younger years…🎵
Bucky’s breath hitches. His eyes flutter shut as he lets your voice wash over him, drowning out the ghosts, replacing them with something soft, something good.
🎵.. We were young and wild and free…🎵
He grips your hand tighter. His throat feels tight, a lump forming that he doesn’t bother fighting. The lyrics—it’s like you’re singing right to the deepest part of him, the part that still struggles to believe he deserves this. Deserves you.
You keep singing, voice steady and full of something that makes his chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with pain. When you reach the chorus, you squeeze his hand, eyes never leaving his.
🎵Baby, you’re all that I want..When you’re lyin’ here in my arms… 🎵
A tear breached his lower lid and quickly raced down his cheek, disappearing into the pillow. He doesn’t wipe it away, or try to stop the flow of the rest.
You smile softly, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to his knuckles before continuing.
By the time you finish, Bucky is quiet and his breathing is calmer. Yet his eyes are glassy (in a way that flooded over with emotion) when he finally looks at you. "Doll," he murmurs, voice thick, "d��you mean that?"
You cup his cheek, swiping away the dampness. "Every word."
"I don’t deserve you."
You frown. "Hey. None of that. If anyone in this world deserves love, it’s you." And that was earnest, serious, the most sure you’d ever been of anything.
Bucky huffs out a quiet - almost disbelieving laugh. But there’s something lighter and happier in his eyes now, something a bit more at peace. "Yeah?"
You grin, shifting closer until your nose brushes his. "Yeah. And you know what?"
"What?"
"You’re gonna have to get used to me singing to you whenever you want. No more suffering in silence, Sergeant Barnes."
He smirks, finally letting himself be wrapped up in your warmth, in your love. "Is that an order?"
"Damn right it is."
And for the first time that night, Bucky laughs, low and deep, and when he pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead, he thinks, yeah. Maybe this is heaven after all.
——————————————————————————————————
Hope you enjoyed this, my dear. I assumed this would be more fitting of a short-ish blurb. Let me know if it’s not what you imagined, or if you wanted something a bit longer. 🫶
Requests Open!
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cokoweee · 1 day ago
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COKO.
As SOON as I saw so many people freaking out about your newest update I KNEW this was going to be a GOOD one~
Broooo I was NOT WRONG.
Let’s begin. :)
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The biggest question tumbling around in my mind like a drunk hummingbird is… Why Raph? Why is Kendra having a dream positioned in Raph’s room? The first thing that comes to mind is the fact that Raph’s spirit is the only one Kendra has seen so far- not only seen, but SPOKEN to. And ever since their chat at that lake, Kendra has had a stronger connection to Donnie. (I don’t just mean feelings or emotions). After her and Raph’s talk, Donnie has his freak out moment in the barn. MILES away. And yet, Kendra could sense that something was WRONG.
As someone with three older siblings I can tell you right now that they have an INSTINCT to sense danger/discomfort to their younger sibs. Raph was no different. And I wonder… after their little chat… If he passed some of that to Kendra. Just the sense, the instinct that connects her further to the Hamatos and to Donnie.
Raph wasn’t just some spirit to her- He was slowly becoming like family- her own older brother. Which I think is why when she sees his sais on the ground, that she reaches out to them. Almost as if they radiate with familial warmth and safety. Something… Kendra probably hasn’t felt all that much. So she reaches out.
And then THIS HAPPENS-
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Something within her, (whether that be physically, mentally, or spiritually), FORCES her away from Raph’s sais. Pulls her away. Distracts her. It looks as if the inside of her skin is boiling and itching- forcing her to react by trying to claw it out.
And WHAT color is this sensation? This poison coursing through her veins? PINK. The same hue of the sickeningly, vibrant drink that she had five too many of at the party.
(I FRIGGIN KNEW THAT JUICE WAS BAD NEWS FJWIHCIWICJS)
As Kendra begins to panic in the dream, her breaths becoming shorter and more choked, two hands slither out of the darkness and cling to her wrists. As she looks up, trying to decipher who it is that’s attacking her, we get this nightmare fuel. 0-0
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Do yall remember what Kendra said at the party to Donnie? “That woman is an eldritch horror. She could peel me open like a grape.” Or something to that effect.. THIS image- the seven eyes compared to the one- looks to me like Big Mama right in the middle of transforming into her true spider form.
Poor Kendra ain’t never gonna sleep again. 0.0
Then just as the nightmare begins to climax into a full on horror show- She is awoken by Donnie calling out her name and holding her.
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And once again, Donnie used her FULL name. Not a nickname- He’s SERIOUS right now. He’s WORRIED. He wants her to be okay. And however tiny it is- Kendra shakily replies with “Tello?” Not a full name, but certainly not a hurtful nickname like she’s quite used to calling him.
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Here is one of my FAVORITE details of this update: How the colors return and fade with specific words. Here we see Donnie saying he was just going to wake her up- but then the word “gentler” becomes his inner purple. His soul’s hue. The color of his ninpo and his heart. 💜 If this were Donnie from weeks ago, he would’ve stopped at “I was going to just wake you up.” But things have changed since then, hmm? ;)
(Also HUUUUUBOI KENDRA MUST LOOK RED AS A TOMATO WITH DONNIE HOVERING OVER HER LIKE THAT HHOOOWEEEE)
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Here again we see the effects of color in the dialogue being used. At first, Kendra is speaking as herself, openly, admitting to Donnie that she had a nightmare.
And then as soon as Donnie begins to say her full name again, with worry and tenderness swelling within the violet hue, Kendra’s words become colorless again. Empty. Devoid of emotion. (Or at least fighting to be.)
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Then there’s THIS LIL NUMBER- And now I need to go and review all the past panels to see how long that scar has been there- heheh I shall return in a month’s time.
Kendra begins to get up, (much to the chagrin of worrying Donnie), and she says this. “I’d like to have some dignity left and not have you watch me struggle.”
SWEETY. Kendra. Darling. BOTH you and Donnie have had front row seats to each other’s struggles; dignity isn’t part of the equation anymore when it comes to loving others and being there for them. 💜 🩷
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AGAIN- Donnie says her full name. And this is after he has fought within his ever-computing brain and the sounds of his brothers’ spirits shouting at him to “ASK HER!!” Finally he succumbs, but man alive is he scared to hear her answer. As he mentally and emotionally grounded himself for the worst, he covers his face with his hand. (Something to somewhat protect him from what he thinks is coming and the shame that will flood down with it.)
He asks the big question all of us are PLEADING to hear the answer to.
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Now Donnie is completely slumped over, his hair a mess, and his tail protectively wrapped around his thigh. He’s absolutely terrified.
And here we see the colors shift in his dialogue again. Purple is BARELY present- FIGHTING to be seen compared to the all-consuming grey bleeding in.
Donnie’s trying to be the way he was before so he won’t get hurt: apathetic. Unaffected. Unfeeling. This was always how he reacted to emotional pain and things of the unknown. And right now, he’s so unsure of himself that he is thrusting himself back seven steps in his healing to somewhere where he thinks is more comfortable; Somewhere where he thinks he has control.
And what does Kendra say? What is her response?
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She remembers- THANK THE MERCIFUL HEAVENS SHE REMEMBERS!!! But she, like Donatello, is resorting to the easier, less complicated, less painful option: apathy. Denial. Fantasy.
And poor Donnie’s face here… Even while fighting his emotions he’s still losing to them. Horror mixed with unrelenting sadness is consuming him.
Because he was right. Why… would she ever love him?
COKO YOU INCREDIBLE NUTJOB. This was- THIS WAS- Just-
👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏
Incredible. Absolutely incredible. You did amazing. Holy crap. Make sure to drink water and go say hi to the sun sometimesssss~ Thank you for your story. I hope you had fun making it and driving all your fans batty with everything you hide in it. 🤣
Have a glorious day. :)
~ Melissa
I and WELDING MY BRAIN SHUT on that first half. I gotta. I can’t slap to much down or else I lose my brain hype to do the next update😤😤😤 I just wanna ✍️✍️✍️✍️
AUUGG MAN U REALLY WENT AT THIS UPDATE.third time someone’s brought up the scar and imma just sayyyyy…it’s been there for awhile. Tho it may have changed a bit.
Back to square one with these two. Or maybe not? Lot of squares left to be colored in yknow? AUGGHG I NEED TO
I NEED TO DRAW BUT JUST WRATATSTARRARARARARARR
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bookshelf-in-progress · 2 days ago
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For a Song: A Retelling of "The Lute Player"
For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge hosted by @inklings-challenge, here is a retelling of a fairy tale known as "The Lute Player" (also drawing from similar tales within the subgenre of "The Faithful Wife", like "The Tsaritsa Harpist" and "Conrad van Tannenberg").
Alexander
The world wants me to forget my wife. In the enemy's dungeons, I am not a man—I am a prisoner and a slave, with no past and no future. At dawn, I wake and am driven to the fields, whipped and worked like a beast. After dark, I collapse onto a pile of straw in a damp stone cell, too tired to think or dream.
Yet I try to remember. My Tatyana is a queen, regal and poised. She has hair as red as autumn, eyes the deep blue of a mountain lake. Her hands are elegant, with long, slender fingers. Her lips… Her lips…she has two of them, I know, but whether they are full or thin, rounded or tapered…I must…I will remember.
Even when the details of her face fade, her voice is clear in my memory. Rich and low, as sweet and resonant as a clarinet. I can hear her making speeches, reading poems, speaking words of love. Most of all, I can hear her sing. Her voice is a priceless instrument that she can tune to sound like a nightingale, an angel, a church organ, an orchestra. Her voice was the first thing I fell in love with, and it seems to call to me across the miles, across the years, giving me hope that she still lives, that she loves me, that she is waiting…
I left my kingdom in her care when I went to war. She is a queen who can wield her power well. She is intelligent, decisive, clever, compassionate. She can keep my ministers in check, guide my people, and guard my throne. But how long can she wait? How long can they go without word from me before they presume I died in the battle at that mountain pass? Before the woman I love consigns me to memory and gives her living heart to another?
These thoughts torment me on a stormy morning when I lay trapped in my cell. The weather is too wet for even King Vulric to send his slaves into the fields, but without the crushing labor to distract me, my fears are free to run wild. What if my wife has forgotten me? What if she prefers to rule alone? An unattached woman, with beauty, talent, power—what use would she have for a wretch like me?
I fight the thoughts as fiercely as I once fought enemy soldiers. Tatyana is good and true. I love her with all my heart and soul, and she loves me in return. If I get word to her, she will come instantly, with armies, caravans, banners. She will pay any price to redeem me. I must never doubt. Never forget.
I drift into a restless slumber, tossing and turning on my straw, wincing from the pain in my sores. I am woken by a shout, and I look up into the face, not of the usual witless brute of a guard, but a sharp-eyed man in silken robes—a messenger to the king.
It seems the messenger has remembered that I am no ordinary prisoner, even if his king has forgotten. He offers me pen and paper and urges me to write a letter to my wife. I know he hopes for a rich reward, and I promise he will receive one when the letter is delivered.
I take up the pen and write desperately, urgently, eagerly, pouring out years of pent-up love and desperation, at last calling back to the voice that has called me for so long.
Remember me.
Save me.
Come.
Come.
Come.
Tatyana
The world wants me to forget my husband. Three long years have passed with no word from him. My advisors urge me to give the crown and my heart to another. Men of rank and ambition offer me rich presents, whisper words of devotion, urge me to strengthen the throne with a masculine presence. Yet I am faithful. My heart is wholly Alexander’s. If my husband is alive, I keep his throne for him. If he is dead, I honor his memory.
His face is before me always—his dark hair, his thick brows, his crooked nose, his deep blue eyes. I first fell in love with his hands—strong enough to swing a sword, soft enough to soothe a child. He is strong and gentle, just and merciful. When he heard of how King Vulric oppressed his people, he could do nothing but go to war, and he went with my blessing. I never thought I would be alone this long.
Every day, I wait for word. Every day, I pray that he lives.
The prayer is answered on a hot, still evening, when I sit alone in my council chamber. Just as I consider returning to my private rooms, a guard comes rushing in.
“Majesty!” he cries. “A messenger! From foreign lands!”
I rise from my seat. My heart sits in my throat. My life hinges on this message. In a moment I will know if I am a wife or a widow.
A messenger enters, dusty and travel-worn—he places a letter in my palm. It is written in Alexander’s hand. Sealed with Alexander’s ring.
I laugh for joy, and soon, I find I am singing. My lost husband is found. He has risen from the dead. My heart is full to bursting.
I open the letter and drink in his writing. He lives. He loves me. He is prisoner in King Vulric's dungeons, put to work like a slave, but he is alive—and he can be redeemed.
Alexander urges me to sell all I can for the ransom. Jewels, horses, palaces, land—I am given authority to sell it all, if only it means he can come home to me.
I consider the problem through the long summer night. I would gladly give all I own to have my husband again, but who could I trust to deliver the bounty? The ministers loyal to Alexander are not shrewd enough to arrange favorable terms; those shrewd enough to trade I do not trust to serve my husband loyally. I cannot go myself—King Vulric would simply claim me as another of his wives.
But what if I were a man?
By dawn, I have my plan. I will not travel with armies, with caravans, or even companions. They will only slow me down. I will cut my hair, dress in a man's clothing, take on the disguise of a traveling minstrel. My voice is a treasure beyond all the gold in the world; it will be enough to redeem my husband.
In the morning, I leave the kingdom in the hands of my most trusted advisor. By afternoon, I have clothes, food, and money enough for a long journey. At midnight, I cut my hair, and save the red tresses in a trunk for Alexander to admire upon his return. At dawn, I leave the palace, with a pack on my back, a lute in my hands, and a song in my heart.
I’m coming
I’m coming.
I’m coming.
Alexander
Somewhere in the world beyond my dungeon, my wife is waiting. This truth keeps me strong through the long days of suffering. My heart is with the letter, following its path. Now, it is on its way to her. Now, it is in her hands. Today, perhaps, she is on the road, coming to ransom me.
I imagine her coming in full royal glory, showing the strength of the throne to this barbarian king. She will be radiant in queenly regalia, backed by a full company of soldiers. Her love for me will let her do no less.
My strength means that the overseers work harder to break me. I work for hours in the fields, forced to pull a plow through the dry earth. I am lashed for the slightest infractions. I suffer sunstroke and starvation.
One day, when I stop my work to help an injured slave, I am beaten by the overseer and left overnight in the fields, too weak to run away. Once, this might have driven me to despair, but in the freezing moonlight, I nearly laugh for joy. What does it matter if I cannot move? My Tatyana is coming.
At dawn, a hired worker finds me and leads me back to the dungeon. I am cast onto my pile of straw, shaking and burning up with fever. I see Tatyana’s face in a thousand waking dreams. She is dancing. She is crying. She is tending to my wounds. She is traveling to find me. She is entertaining suitors. She is laughing at my belief that she would leave her palace to rescue me.
At last, I fall into restless sleep. Shadows and sounds move around me. Strange hands tend my wounds, give me water, force me to swallow horrid concoctions.
After who knows how many days, I wake into cold reality. My muscles are withered. My limbs are weak. A fellow prisoner bathes my head with precious water. I am awake enough to know my danger. The delirium has passed, but my body lingers near the brink of death.
Will Tatyana come in time?
Tatyana
Somewhere in the dungeons below this palace, my husband is waiting. I have traveled for weeks, across plains, rivers, and deserts. I have slept on the hard ground. I have foraged for food, bargained for water.
Now, I stand in the palace of the cruelest, richest king on Earth. The walls are made of marble, every fixture made of gold. Precious jewels are inlaid in every tile of every floor. Golden tables sag under the weight of a feast that offers meat, bread, fruit, cakes, and vegetables from every corner of the world.
At the top of the room, King Vulric sits in a throne of pure gold, swathed in brightly colored robes. Despite the feast that surrounds him, he looks less satisfied than some of the beggars I have met in my travels.
His dark eyes glitter as I approach. My travel-worn red cloak and lute proclaim me a minstrel.
“Name yourself,” King Vulric demands. “From where do you hail?”
I have always been an able mimic. I answer in the tenor of a young man. “I call myself Karol, and I have no home save the one the music brings me to.”
“They tell me that you play the lute.”
“I have played for kings,” I say. I played for my husband nearly every night of our marriage.
One corner of King Vulric's mouth lifts in a cruel smile. “You have not played for me. I am a lover of music, yet there is little anymore that can please me. If your song satisfies me, I shall count you greater than any of the treasures in my palace. If it does not, you shall be whipped and left for the vultures.”
In answer, I smile softly, and take the lute off my back.
I sing in a voice that matches the tones of Karol’s. The notes flow sweet as honey on my tongue, ring around the room as though carried by angels. The guests at the feast, who had paid little heed to the ragged minstrel, fall silent after the first notes. By the end of the song, tears stream down King Vulric's face.
When the last notes fade, I bow solemnly. “If my music pleases you, majesty, I will take a bit of food and be on my way.”
“No!” King Vulric cries, but it is not a refusal. It is desperation—a child begging for the treasure of its heart. “No, you must not go!" He rises from his throne. "Stay and play for me, and when you leave, I will give you anything you ask, even unto half my kingdom.”
For the next three days, I am King Vulric’s honored guest. When food and wine and luxury fail to satisfy, music helps him to forget the sins that weigh upon his soul. I play whenever the king desires, which means I sing nearly without ceasing. Each song pleases him more than the last, until I begin to believe he would gladly give his entire kingdom for the gift of one more song.
At last, I take my chance. As the king reclines in his chambers, I sing a song of the open road, of a voice that calls the traveler to find the true desire of his heart. The king gazes out his crystalline windows, as if he would leave behind this palace to follow the road I sing of.
“Your majesty,” I say, when I finish the song. “I have been happy to serve you, but the road is calling to my wanderer’s soul.”
The king begins to protest, but I stand firm, and he—helped by the song—seems to understand.
I say, “You vowed that, when I left, you would give me my heart’s desire.”
“I did," he says, "and I will keep my word."
“I want a companion as I travel through these lands. Let me have one of your prisoners. Someone who speaks my native tongue."
King Vulric says, “It shall be done.”
*
Where is my husband? I have circled these dungeons three times, but I do not see Alexander. In this dark, damp hell, every man is a near-identical portrait of misery. How will I find my husband while maintaining my own disguise?
At last, I decide to stop at every cell and ask a question in my native tongue. Most of the men stare blankly, or reply in unfamiliar languages.
At last, in the dampest, darkest corner of the dungeon, I stop at a door and ask, “Are there any here who speak the Northern tongue?”
Two men turn and look at me, their eyes bright, but wary. In a mound of straw, a pile of rags stirs. A head rises, showing shaggy dark hair. Torchlight flashes in a pair of deep blue eyes.
“You have word from the North?” he asks, his voice weak and husky.
I gasp. My stomach drops. I barely recognize my husband. His strong limbs have wasted away until they are no thicker than my arm. His face is sunken—almost skeletal. His face and limbs are wounded and scarred so I can barely see any unblemished skin. How has King Vulric reduced my husband, the warrior king, to this?
I want to weep, to collapse, to gather Alexander in my arms, but in this moment, I am supposed to be a man who has no home or family. I let my face show only the concern that any good-hearted human would show for a suffering stranger.
In Alexander’s tenor, I say, “I desire a companion who speaks the language of my people. King Vulric tells me I may take any prisoner I choose. You speak like an intelligent man.”
Alexander raises himself up on his arms. “I am no common prisoner.”
I nod quickly and tell the guard, “I will take this one.”
As the guard moves to open the door of the cell, Alexander says, “Wait!”
The guard stops. Alexander meets my eye. “You travel to the North?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
He gestures to the other men in the cell. “Take us all. These men are all my s—” I don’t know if he tries to say “subjects” or “soldiers”, but he amends, “They are my countrymen. I will not leave without them.”
This is not part of my plan. I came only for Alexander. I do not have food, clothing, money to care for them all. If we travel with strangers, I will not dare to reveal my true identity. I will not disgrace the crown by letting these men know their queen has dressed like a man.
“I only came for one. I don’t know if the king—”
Some passionate emotion sparks in Alexander’s eye—beneath his wasted form, my husband’s soul is still alive. “Ask. Either you take us all, or I will not go.”
My plan is falling to pieces, but I know that Alexander is right. I can not leave these men behind.
I send word to the king that the slave I want will only come with two other men; to get my heart’s desire, I will need to take all three. An hour later, I get my answer—my request is granted.
*
At daybreak, I lead my husband and his fellows out of prison. Alexander can barely walk, but he rebuffs me when I offer him my shoulder to lean upon.
Even in daylight, he does not recognize me. He has not seen me in three years. I have cut my hair so short its color can barely be seen. I dress and walk and speak like a man. He has no reason to expect that I would come to him in such a guise. Yet to have my husband so close to me, and looking at me with a stranger’s eyes, pierces me to the heart.
I dare not reveal the truth to him. In these lands, women never travel far from home, and no merchant will bargain with one. I must remain a man if I am to keep our group safe and fed. Alexander is never far from the other prisoners, and I will not risk my secret being overheard. Alexander will not be able to protect me should any of his fellow soldiers prove untrustworthy.
The other soldiers are stronger than Alexander. Sometimes I wonder if they will run away in the night. Yet I have food, I am taking them closer to home, and there is safety in numbers. More than that, they are loyal to Alexander. They care for him as they would a beloved father—helping him to walk, allowing him to rest, helping him to eat and bathe. I understand why Alexander wished them to bring them out of of that dungeon.
Eventually, we join a larger caravan traveling toward the frontier of our kingdom, and it becomes even more important to guard my secret. Alexander grows stronger, but he still refuses to look at me; I never see a spark of recognition in his eyes.
Alexander
Where is my wife? I received no reply to my letter. Though time enough had passed for an emissary to reach King Vulric’s palace, I saw no sign of her. I hoped perhaps we would pass her on the road, but I have seen no royal caravans.
Has she forgotten me?
I fight against the suspicion, but it seems more sensible as time goes on. There are many women who would prefer to rule a kingdom rather than ransom a husband they have not seen for three years. I do not believe Tatyana is one of them.
Yet...she did not come.
Because of her delay, I have been sold as a common slave.
My new master puzzles me. For a man who claims he wanted companions to talk to, Karol speaks very little. He has the red hair common in my kingdom, eyes nearly as blue as my wife’s. He is built like a minstrel, not a warrior. In full health, I could have overpowered him with one arm and escaped to freedom. In my wasted state, I can only meekly follow and wait for my next meal.
Yet Karol seems to be a kind youth. He is generous with meals, respectful with words. He is mindful of our weakness, walking slowly and giving us ample rest. He tends our wound with his own hands.
At night, sometimes, he sings for us. His voice makes me forget there ever was such a thing as war. He sings of peace, of safety, of home. Sometimes, as I drift on the edge of sleep, I can almost believe I am safe at home with Tatyana, that all my suffering has been only a dream.
Karol travels always closer to the border of my kingdom, traveling on whichever road and with whichever caravan will take us there more quickly. Sometimes, I dare to hope that his purchase of us was only an excuse to get us out of King Vulric’s clutches, and that once we return to my kingdom, he will set us free.
Yet day after day, week after week, he makes no mention of it.
One late summer night, we cross the border into my domain. I remember this road from when we first traveled to war. It looks different now—empty, isolated, quiet. Not a road to glory, but a road to a wife who ignored me in my imprisonment.
As much as it pains me, I can no longer deny the truth. We traveled for weeks through the countryside between my palace and King Vulric’s, and we've heard not a word of my wife. We have spoken to hundreds of travelers; no one knows anything about a foreign queen come to redeem her husband. If Tatyana had come, if she had sent an emissary, someone would know. Such news does not stay secret in this land.
I can not stay near my companions when I am suffering such pain. I wander away from the fire and find myself, for the first time, alone with my master.
Karol stands on a hilltop, looking over a vast plain. He is as mysterious and silent as always. Who is this lonely, wandering youth who buys slaves with a song?
I do not ask for his story. I have not told him mine.
Perhaps I should. Though I’ve no true home to go to, we are standing in my realm.
“Minstrel,” I say, “I am king of this land. Set me and my soldiers free, and I will see that you are well-rewarded.”
I do not think that Karol truly wants slaves. A minstrel has no work for us to do.
The full moon rises, huge, above him. He does not speak.
For a moment, I wonder if I have misjudged him. Perhaps he only seemed kind compared to my previous master. Perhaps he intends to sell us.
Karol turns, and his face softens. “Do not speak of reward. Go with God.”
With those simple words, I am free. No chain, no law, no obligation binds me to any man. My name and life have been restored to me.
I owe it all to this wandering stranger.
Suddenly, I find myself unable to abandon him on this hillside. I take his hand in mine—surprisingly slender, smooth save for the calluses of his craft. “Come with me,” I say. “You have been good to me. I will have you as a guest and see that you are honored as you deserve.”
A new light dances in his eyes. A smile tugs one corner of his mouth. Perhaps he does not believe me.
“I must take my own road,” Karol says. “When the time comes, I will be at your palace.”
He bows, takes his pack, slings his lute across his back, and disappears into the night.
I wonder when I will see him again.
Tatyana
I travel quickly. I take short routes, sleep little, move with great speed. Alexander is much stronger than he was. He will be safe with his fellow soldiers. I must return before him and make sure his palace is ready to welcome him home.
I could not tell him the truth in that final moment. We traveled together so long as strangers that it seemed cruel to reveal he had been mistaken all this time. Better to let him see me first as the wife he has longed for.
After only three days, I begin to recognize the countryside. Joy bubbles in my heart as I see the river, the city, the palace. Before I approach the gate, I buy myself a gown from a dressmaker, cover my shorn hair with a veil. I do not look like a queen, but I look like a woman. For the first time in months, I move and speak as myself.
I am welcomed back with joy and with confusion. I am asked where I have been, what I have done. I only say, “The king is coming. We must be ready.”
I check with my ministers and learn the kingdom is running well. I order the palace cleaned, fine foods prepared. When the guards inform us the king has been seen at the city gates, I run to my room and dress myself in my finest gown. I dress my hair with diamonds, wear gold necklaces, earrings, rings. I want Alexander to see me first as a queen and his bride.
Though I saw him only days ago, it feels as though I have been waiting years. I have traveled with a stranger who did not know me. Only when Alexander comes through the palace gates will I be reunited with my husband.
I wonder when I will see him again.
Alexander
I travel quickly. My men and I have regained much of our health, and we are in familiar country. I must hurry home. I have been away for nearly four years. Even if my queen has not been waiting for me, my country has.
The people rejoice as I enter the city. I accept their praise, but do not linger. I hurry toward the palace, a new thought giving me hope. Perhaps Tatyana is not there. Perhaps she is still on the road, still searching for me.
When I step inside my gates, a woman runs down the steps of the palace. She wears a gleaming green gown, an elaborate beaded headdress. She is laden with gold and jewels.
Tatyana.
She never stirred from the palace. She lived in luxury while I rotted in a foreign prison.
Tatyana throws her arms around my neck and weeps for joy. The lie disgusts me.
Coldly, I lift her arms off of my shoulders. I hold her away from me and look her in the face. Her expression is a frozen mask—sorrow, heartbreak, fear.
She was always an excellent actress.
I turn her around so she faces the assembled crowd. “Behold a faithless wife!” I cry. “She throws her arms around me now, but when I wrote a letter begging for her help, she did not lift a finger!”
I release her, and she falls to the ground. I stride toward the palace, fury giving me strength to stand as tall as I ever did.
“Alexander!” she cries.
I do not look at her.
Tatyana
My husband does not look at me. I rush after him, calling his name, but he never turns his head. He disappears into his chambers and closes the door in my face—further from me now than he ever was in a foreign prison.
After so many months of deception, I was overjoyed to face him as myself. All the tears—all the sorrow, terror, fear and joy—of the past years poured out in a tidal wave of honest emotion. I was so glad to—at long last—have his shoulder to cry on.
I had built up this moment into a beautiful story, the glorious end of all our troubles. Now I know it is a fantasy—my castle in the air has fallen and shattered into nothing.
Because Alexander has built his own story. He is a man of action, honest and forthright in all his dealings. He expected to be openly redeemed, to be brought into his kingdom in glory. He does not understand trickery. His expectations have blinded him to reality—even when he stared me in the face, he did not see the truth.
I have a share in the blame. I told myself I kept my secret for my safety, for the sake of the crown, but there is part of me that only wanted to save my pride. I feared the shame I would face if it was known that I'd spent these months dressed as a man. I had hoped to delay the moment when Alexander knew of what I had done.
I have delayed far too long.
I rush to my own chambers. I throw off my gown, my jewels, my veil. I put on my traveling cloak and once more pick up my lute.
It is time to put an end to all deception.
Alexander
I never knew that any man could suffer such sorrow. After war, captivity, slavery, starvation, illness and near-death, I had hoped that homecoming would be the joyful end of all my trials. Instead, I have learned that betrayal—the lost love of a beloved wife—is the worst suffering a man can endure.
I had imagined her waiting for me. Weeping for me. Selling all we had to bring me home. Instead, I found her in silks and jewels, as comfortable as if she has never left the palace, as if I had never been away. There is no sign that she spent a single coin for my sake.
I could have come home as a king, dressed in royal robes with a queen at my side. Instead, I returned alone, on foot, no better than a common beggar. The shame of it overwhelmed me the moment I saw my wife in royal finery. She did not even mourn for me. All these months, I drew strength from the thought of the love waiting for me. It crushes me to know how wholly I was deceived.
I bathe and wash away the grime of travel. I shave my face, cut my hair, dress in royal robes. Then, for the first time in nearly four years, I see my reflection in a mirror. The man looking back at me is a stranger. No longer the warrior king and beloved husband, he is weak, wasted, heartbroken.
In my council room, I gather my ministers. I learn that they, at least, have been faithful. The kingdom has been well-stewarded in my absence.
I wish I could bring myself to care.
“Sire,” my steward says. “The servants say you have not spoken to your wife.”
I scowl. “I will not see that woman.”
“But sire, you judge too harshly—”
I laugh in cynical disbelief. “I am too harsh? How ought I judge a woman who left me to rot in a foreign prison?”
My steward says, “The day she received your letter, she left the palace. She only returned yesterday. No one knows where she went.”
My anger erupts. “She did not come in search of me! I was freed by a minstrel! A stranger showed me more compassion than my own wife! He I will remember with gratitude all my days, but my wife, I will not speak of.”
My ministers murmur, troubled by my outburst.
I storm out of the council chamber. I have no heart for politics today.
In the hall, I hear music. The sound of a lute, playing a very familiar tune. Suddenly, I am not standing in my palace, mourning a faithless wife. I am sitting by a campfire in foreign lands, safe among friends.
Despite everything, I smile. The minstrel kept his word.
Karol emerges from around the corner, looking just as he did on the road. His cloak is brightly-colored and travel-worn. His lute is now tucked under his arm. Under his breath, he hums the song he often sang as we traveled on sunny days.
I take his hand heartily. "Karol! You came!"
He gives a characteristically enigmatic smile. "I told you I would come to your palace at the proper time."
Here, at least, is one who I can honor. I take his hand and lead him into the council chambers.
“This,” I tell my ministers, “is truly a faithful friend. He released me and my men from prison and helped us all get safely home.”
While my minsters make polite greeting, I turn to Karol.
“My friend,” I say. “I said that I would reward you, and I will keep my word. Ask me for anything, even unto half my kingdom, and I will grant it to you.”
Karol bows his head. “Your majesty,” he says, “I want only the reward that I asked of King Vulric.”
I frown. “I keep no slaves,” I say.
Karol shakes his head and smiles. He places his lute on the floor, unlatches his cloak, and lets it fall to the floor.
I witness a transformation. The minstrel’s stance, face, voice, all shift. His aloof eyes light up with emotion. The stiff lines of his face soften into curves. The cloak reveals a woman’s gown, and the voice, when he speaks, is the well-remembered voice of my wife.
“I want only you,” Tatyana says.
Her words are like light breaking through clouds. The sorrow, terror, heartbreak of the last years fades away, thrown off like her minstrel’s cloak. All the time I thought myself abandoned, Tatyana was at my side. Not a faithless wife—the most faithful wife who ever lived.
Never, never, never have I been so glad to find that I have been a fool.
I laugh as I have not laughed in years. The sound of it rings through the chambers like a song. I throw my arms around my wife and press her to my heart.
“You shall have me,” I say, sealing the promise with a kiss. “For as long as we both shall live.”
Tatyana
I never knew that any woman could know so much joy. Alexander is radiant, singing my praises to all the world. For seven days we feast, celebrating his return and my heroism in saving him. Alexander begs my forgiveness over and over—for how he shamed me, for how he rushed to judgment, for ever doubting my faithfulness. I take joy in forgiving him, and, when we are alone in my chambers, I ask him to pardon me for keeping him ignorant of my true identity.
“You did what you must,” he says. “Do not apologize for being wiser than I am. I would have had you sell our kingdom to redeem me, and instead you bought me for a song.”
I laugh, then kiss him tenderly. “You are worth much more than that.”
He caresses my faces, strokes my shorn hair. The kiss he gives me tells me I am the greatest treasure he could have. I return the kiss to say the same about him.
Our love is priceless.
Never again will I let him doubt it.
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arbitrarykiwi · 5 hours ago
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Hii!! It’s my birthday soon (feb 17th to be exact 🌝) so i was wondering if you could do a nam-gyu x reader x thanos imagine where it’s readers birthday and they go all out, wanting her to have a special birthday
The Happiest of Birthdays!
OMG!!!! HAPPY (early when I’m posting this) BIRTHDAY!!! you've quite literally been with my lil page since the start so I had to quickly whip something up!!! I wanted to touch base on how they would go about the entire day of the readers birthday so I cooked up some various things to discuss!! I also had someone request a thangyu themed birthday smut sooooo that will also be coming down the line >:)
Warnings: sfw, mention of weed/smoking, probably definitely ooc nam-gyu and thanos
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While Thanos and Nam-Gyu both have their own likes and dislikes about their own birthdays- one things for certain they LOVE your birthday. They both will coordinate, saving months in advance to pull money together to spoil you on your special day (one of the few times they can work together and not against each other).
Thanos and Nam-Gyu both have multiple reminders in their phones about your birthday, they plan weeks in advance to know what they’re going to do for you as a celebration, and they love spoiling you! Over the years they learned that working together as much as they can on your birthday is the best- the times that they didn’t work together led to many duplicate gifts and many double reservations at the same restaurant. It’s what happens when great minds think alike and you’re so easy to buy for!!!
Nam-gyu is the type of guy to have an alarm set at 12am the day of your birthday to be one of the first ones to text you or tell you ‘happy birthday’. Thanos tries to do it too- wanting to beat Nam-Gyu at being the first to text you, but he always sleeps through his alarms. Nam-gyu also remembers the time you were born so the initial 12am birthday wishes are always followed by a ‘even though it’s not technically your birthday yet’
Thanos definitely gets a little upset that Nam-Gyu always seems to text you or tell you happy birthday first. Thanos always falls asleep right before 12am or is asleep in your arms, drooling on your chest before 12am. He sets alarms like Nam-Gyu but he always sleeps through them, he swears that his phone alarms don’t work (even though they do, and you often suffer the consequences of the blaring ship horn and flashing light that he has programmed as his phone alarm)
Let’s be real- they never text you happy birthday anyway. They’re always with you the day before and the day of your birthday (and probably the day after too) The day before your birthday, you’ll probably all find yourself in bed smoking a blunt, watching TV. Thanos is half asleep curled up by your side, nodding off every so often-he can’t help it when your thighs are so comfy. You are also half asleep, eyes fluttering shut then snapping open when the show you three were watching got too loud. Nam-gyu has his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side where you belong, kissing your head every time he passes you the blunt- he’s gotta spoil the (soon to be) birthday girl as much as he can.
When 12am strikes, Nam-Gyu is waking you up suddenly from your moment dozing off with a kiss to your cheek, mumbling a “happy birthday, pretty” into your skin. You can’t help but to giggle and blink open your eyes sleepily, turning to him. Your hands reach up to cup his cheeks and pull him in for a proper kiss. It’s slow, sweet and lazy. The movement and rustling of the sheets would inevitably wake up Thanos who is whining and nipping at your thigh, annoyed Nam-Gyu yet again, got to wish you happy birthday before him. You giggle, pulling away from Nam-gyu, turning to meet Thanos who’s sitting up to meet your lips in a kiss, one hand coming to the back of your head to cradle you and deepen the kiss despite you giggling against his lips. When he pulls away, the purple haired male is mumbling a “happy birthday, my beautiful flower” against your lips.
They also make it a tradition to make sure flowers are the first thing you see when they wake up. You’re the birthday girl- you get to sleep in! And with it being such a special day, more often than not they’re out of bed before you. They always struggle to get out of the bed and crawl away from the warmth of your touch but they know it’s a sacrifice they must make to make their pretty girl happy!!
One thing about the both of them though- you’re not gonna get any cards from them. Little keepsakes with a small note written on it….maybe. They both have shit handwriting and are horrible when it comes to writing down what they want to say. They’d rather just say it to you. Thanos likes to say cards are far too expensive for what they are (he’s right), that card companies are a scam (again he’s kinda right). Nam-gyu just doesn’t understand the point of them, he thinks you’re gonna read it once then throw it in a drawer that will eventually pile up with other insignificant cards you receive (he’s wrong, you’d cherish anything they gave you).
Nam-gyu always bakes you a birthday cake. He asks you directly what flavor you want and asks you to send him ideas of what you want the design to be. Somehow he executes it perfectly. Whatever design or shape you want- magically makes it happen. You genuinely don’t know how he does it but he has a unique gift for cooking and baking although he adamantly denies he has a talent for either. The catch you have you deal with when Nam-gyu makes your cake (and that’s every year you’re with them) is that you never get to see it early and only see it when it’s brought to the table. As much as you try to fight it, wanting to catch sneak peaks of the inevitable masterpiece of a cake, both Nam-Gyu and Thanos never let you see it before the time of presenting it to you while singing happy birthday because they simply adore capturing the picture of your adorable first reaction to the cake.
Speaking of bringing the cake to you, that’s one of the odd things they trade off doing year to year. It’s one of the strange intricacies they have but you can’t complain. They both love having their own pictures them handing you the cake. They can never get enough of the still images they have of you looking up to them like they hung the moon, mouth hung open or hands covering your mouth in shock, more often than not there’s tears welling in your eyes as you get your first glimpse of the cake Nam-Gyu had expertly crafted and decorated for you. If you don’t go out to eat Nam-gyu will also cook you whatever dinner you want!
On the occasion that you guys do go out to eat. They’d want to take you somewhere super nice. They want to help you pick out the dress, the jewelry, and even take you to get brand new makeup to specifically match your dress. Of course, you don’t pay. They’d sit patiently on your bed and watch you like you hung the moon as you do your makeup. They honestly love watching the whole process from start to finish- they both find it so fascinating. When you’re done and y’all go out and hit the town- they’re showing you off so hard. They know going into the restaurant as the trio you were, you three would get some looks. They lean into it, flaunting you like the prize you are. Nam-gyu would keep one arm wrapped around your back, hand squeezing lightly at your waist and the other hand is palm up, holding your hand to keep you upright while Thanos is kneeling down on the floor of the restaurant lobby to put your heel on his thigh to adjust the strap you minimally complained about- they want the onlookers to know how special you are, so special that you need two men to tend to you, that you’re a goddess to be doted on.
If it’s a year where Nam-Gyu cooks, while Nam-gyu takes care of the cooking, Thanos takes care of the gifts. They spoil you, truly. But more often than not they stick to a larger ‘combined’ gift, a personalized gift from each of them, and a few other little things. Nam-Gyu and Thanos wait till you leave your apartment while they’re both there to discuss their plan of attack. Nam-gyu hates the mall with a vengeance, also hates shopping- that’s why you got Thanos! (Best of both worlds!)- so they will sit together and make a list that Thanos goes out and searches for.
They both prefer to gift you experiences rather than material items because they both say it makes more of a memory. And they’re right. They’ll definitely get you materialistic gifts! But that’s throughout the year! They take you on shopping sprees all the time! (Nam-Gyu doesn’t take you to the mall or in-person stores he takes you on online shopping sprees) Throughout the year they will both work to sneakily try and find out where you want to go. Places on instagram you favorited, posts of cute air bnbs you found online, or even a as far as a city / country you want to go to- they make it happen for your birthday.
They also both post you! Both different in how they do it as always. Thanos normally will compile all the photos he’s taken of you on your birthday and post something at night before the day ends. He always says it’s the perfect way to commemorate your birthday on his social medias. The photos all showcase you, you holding your cake, you sitting across from him at your birthday dinner and smiling all pretty, a picture of your hand in his to showcase the diamond bracelet he got you. He always ends the picture slide show with a photo of him and Nam-gyu kissing your cheek, one of them on either side of you. It’s cute- you can make a slide show of the same picture over the years. It’s a tradition Thanos holds dear. He also doesn’t tag you- he will make the caption the sweetest thing imaginable, post your face twelve times over- but he won’t tag you, he hates that the one time he did you got 200 extra followers, most of which were men who obviously thought you were hot. He already has to share you with Nam-Gyu! He doesn’t want to share with anyone else (besides when he’s posting to brag about his perfect girlfriend).
Nam-Gyu posts a collection of photos he has of you from over the year so he can post it in the morning so you see it on your feed first thing when you open the app. He likes ones where you’re caught off guard, when he comes over to find you asleep on the living room couch or when you’re cooking with him and you’re attention is elsewhere and you’re busy brushing off the flour that Thanos had wiped on the tip of your nose. He also, like Thanos, has a similar picture he posts in the group of photos every year on your birthday. He makes you sit in front of his camera, his free hand not holding your phone to squish your cheeks together. You always end up laughing and that’s his favorite part about it, he captures your wide smile mid laugh. Unlike Thanos though, he tags you in the post- he wants others to see exactly what he has and that no one else (besides Thanos) can have you. He loves going through your requests and denying random guys himself.
It’s all about you on your birthday and that means even late into the night!! When you’re done with the adventures for the day, they’re taking you home and setting up a bath for you- albeit clumsily. They have to have you supervise, making sure they don’t add too many bubbles or overflow the tub. But they add whatever you want into the tub, make sure it’s the perfect temperature and light candles; the whole nine yards. They sit with you in the bathroom so they can roll you a blunt and pass it to you. They hold it up for you so you don’t even have to worry about it getting wet. When you’re done Thanos is grabbing you a towel that they had warming in the dryer. When you step out of the tub, you’re stepping into Nam-Gyu’s arms and he’s wrapping you in the warm embrace of the towel.
Needless today they just adore you and take your birthday as a chance to really show you just how much they appreciate you for putting up with them- everyone knows they’re a handful. But they love their pretty girl so much that they just have to celebrate your birthday in the most over the top ways!!
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Hi yall! Sorry for my brief absence I was sick for a bit! But now I’m back! I had to break up the request queue for this special request so hope yall don’t mind 🫶 I’m working on a few more requests at the moment and the next one posted will be the Babydaddy!Nam-gyu x reader smut.
Love yew all! - kiwi
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