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narnian-neverlander · 3 days ago

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Would You Fall in Love with Me Again [Machine Herald Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 10,7k

Warnings: slight body horror/modifications, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence (injuries and blood, mentions of torture, mentions of character death, alluded murder)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Does a broken rib from too much coughing count as the AO3 curse yet cause wow this took way longer than expected. Anyways, Epic x Arcane has been bouncing around my head since Season 2 came out, but this was inspired by this post from @le-fruit-de-la-passion cause I saw that and I’ve been internally screaming over it ever since 💁

Happy Valentine’s everybody 💞

Nothing had been the same since you woke up.

It’s to be expected, it had been almost two years after all.

Two years since the explosion. Two years since half the council had died. Two years since any attempt at peace between the two cities had been shattered. Two years that you had spent blissfully unaware of all of this; a coma keeping you trapped within the confines of a hospital bed and your own mind.

You’d expected pain after coming back to your senses; it was the last thing you remembered before the world had went dark. But you’d slept through most of your recovery. Through your wounds turning into scars. Through your muscles growing weak from disuse. Your hands were a different story, though. They didn’t so much hurt, only at times, as they were simply numb. Shattered bones and nerve damage had made them mostly useless and that was not something any amount of time would simply fix.

Not everything had completely changed, though, you’d found. You’d been awake for not more than an hour when Jayce had burst through the doors of your hospital room. And sure, he’d looked different: his hair longer, a beard, the white and gold that had always dominated his outfits replaced with black and silver, a brace on one of his legs and a cane at his side. But the relief in his hazel eyes when he’d found his friend conscious was familiar. The way his hug had felt. And how he’d completely avoided your gaze when you’d asked about your lover.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

He’d expected you to cry, scream, anything. But you hadn’t. You’d merely nodded, as numb as your broken hands, and had thanked him for coming to see you. Had told him to go back to his work, he must certainly be busy after all. And it had torn him apart, to see you, someone he’d always known as energetic and joyful, so tired, so apathetic. The very least for him to do had been to offer his help in any way he could, including finding a doctor that would fix your hands. He’d been more than reluctant to leave you, but you’d asked for some time alone to rest and he could hardly deny you that - it had still taken him a good ten minutes more to actually take his leave, with promises of a soon return and to simply send for him if you needed anything.

You’d settled back into the bed, fully intent on going back to sleep and pretending you’d be able to wake up in a different world, but the sun had caught on something metallic on your bedside table, hidden behind flowers and cards. You’d reached for it with stiff, unsteady fingers, almost sending the small, scratched up, mechanical cat crashing to the ground; luckily it had just ended up bouncing off your leg and then settling in your lap.

You’d stared at the little robotic feline in astonishment for a long time, unblinking amber eyes staring right back, like it would tell you who had brought it here, when it should’ve been sitting on a shelf in your apartment. Like it would give you all the answers and solutions in the world. An answer to your pain. To the hopelessness creeping in. To the feeling of your heart slowly shattering.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

It had almost made you drop your precious possession all over again, breaths heavy and migraine pounding in the back of your skull. And your racing mind had very clearly told you that there’s no recollection of ever having heard him say anything like this, your aching heart replying that it had been an idle wish, nothing more.

This idle wish comes back to you know, lying bruised and bloody and dazed in a ditch somewhere in Zaun. The people you’d been sent to for help had turned out to be anything but the kind, generous researches they’d made themselves look like; only interested in their own profit, gained on the backs of the helpless and the beaten. And after months of more pain and suffering, once you’d no longer been of use, your body even more mutilated and damaged than before, you’d been discarded like the trash they viewed you as. Face in the dirt, body and mind exhausted and screaming for rest, just a small respite, you consider letting go. Consider closing your eyes and just letting eternal rest take you; you don’t have anything left, after all. No home to go back to. No loved ones waiting for you.

Your shattered psyche seems to welcome the idea more than anything; through blurry vision you swear you see your lost beloved right in front of you, like it’s just another lazy morning spent in bed together. A warm hand cupping your cheek, gentle amber eyes, voice still raspy and accent thick from sleep. Telling you to go back to sleep. That it’s okay to rest. You blink and he’s gone.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

A cry for help, created from a desperate mind and a broken heart. A fantasy. Wishful thinking. Nothing more. No one would be coming for you. Nobody would know or care if you just laid down to die right here. But there’s still a part of you, tiny as it may be, that wants to live. That under no circumstances wants to die on the same streets you once crawled your way out of, while your tormentors get rich on your suffering and are left with no consequences. Your blood’s starting to boil, powering you like a steam engine, getting you up on your hands and knees, groaning and whimpering in pain as you hopelessly try to get your feet back under you.

Peace is for the dead, revenge is for the living.

It’s what forces you towards the city limits on wobbly, clumsy legs, one stumbling step at a time. If revenge would be your only reason to live, then so be it. You’d take it over simply giving up and being forgotten; your body left to rot in the dirt.

So you live off scraps and garbage. Get your quick bouts of rest on dark, dirty street corners. Collect herbs from the riverbed, as scarce as they may be, to fight off the infections you incurred. It’s not pretty or elegant and you can barely call it living, but you’re alive. And eventually you catch rumors, whispers, only spoken in the same shadows you’ve now spent months living in: rumors of a healer. Well, some call him that. Others revere him as a god. Others fear him as a monster, more machine than man. But they all agree on two things: that he’s the one to go to if you’re in desperate need of help and have nothing left to lose. And where to find him.

The gate to the house on Emberflit Alley is old and bent and rusted. Not locked, but your stiff, useless fingers have enough trouble opening it anyways. The front door is a different story entirely, encrusted with interlocking gears to keep you and anyone else out unless invited in. So you knock and you wait. And then you repeat that process. Until it becomes clear that either no one is home or that a disturbance isn’t currently wanted. You’re not about to give up so easily though, so you step off the porch and start making your way around the house in search of any windows to knock on instead or maybe even break if necessary. It’s dusk by now and the ever present fog that always seems to cling to this area of the Lanes isn’t making your job much easier; your foot inevitably catches on something, a loose brick or a protruding pipe maybe, and sends you stumbling, falling and while you manage to catch yourself against the brick wall, your flailing palm ends up going straight through a window.

Perfect. You hadn’t actually been serious about breaking and entering. Not entirely, anyways. Trying to assess the damage to your hand in the dimly lit alley, you’re distracted enough to not pick up on the sound of a door opening and you only notice the heavy footsteps when they stop right behind you.

“You’re persistent if nothing else, I will give you that.”

The voice is deep, warped, with a mechanical echo to it, but it’s the accent that sends an unwelcome and unexpected twinge to your heart. You turn around very slowly and carefully, prey about to get caught by something terrible, and gulp when you actually need to crane your head back and look up cause fuck, he’s tall. At least a head taller than you, with a broad frame, all heavy armor and pieces of metal, a sharp, three pronged claw pulsing with energy pointed right at you from over his shoulder and a mask with only two hollow, glowing, yellow eyes staring back at you. He’s an imposing, unforgiving presence and you’re starting to understand why people only come to him as a last resort. But you’d come this far and he’s right, you’re persistent, stubborn, if nothing else, for better or for worse.

“I was— No one was opening the door and I was just trying to— Are you the Herald?” It’s a redundant question, really. “It’s what they insist on calling me.” Okay, you’re having a conversation. Sorta. That’s progress. “They also say that you… help people?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side and while you might not be able to see his eyes, you can feel them taking you in from head to toe. “To the best of my abilities. What would you need help with?” You falter for a second. “It’s uhm… a lot, really, but mostly my hands?” Most people have always reacted with disgust or pity and you don’t expect him to be much different, so the way you bring your hands in front of you for him to see is slow and hesitant. He leans forward for a better look and you fight the urge to back away and flee. It’s quiet, too quiet, the way he’s so intensely studying you and your injuries unnerving and the metal claw that looks like it could tear you in half opening and closing and rotating as if in thought is most definitely not helping your anxiety. Finally, he straightens up and turns around. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he check to see if you actually do follow him, merely strides back inside the house, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

The halls that he leads you through have dozens of motionless automatons leaning against the walls, the room you eventually arrive in is lined with shelves of glass jars containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid and in the far corner a leather gurney with a mechanized drill laid upon it and stains you don’t want to think too hard about. Fortunately, he doesn’t lead you over to that, but instead to a workbench cluttered with machinery and tools and blueprints. He sits in the old, rusty chair and then drags out a little stool from under the table, gesturing for you to copy him while he reaches above his head and fiddles with what is revealed to be a bright, neon lamp when it finally flickers to life, blinding you for a moment and leaving spots in your vision. You do as your told and finally place your hands in his when he holds out his own, one gloved and from what you can tell human, the other solid metal.

There’s a certain gentle diligence with which he conducts his examination, something you most definitely didn’t expect, but it puts your frayed nerves at ease. It also triggers a memory from long ago, an accident in the lab, that had ended with you curled up against your boyfriend’s shoulder while Jayce had carefully picked glass shards from your palms. A slight shake of your head brings you back to the present; a different life, it no longer matters. It’s silent between you two, except for the occasional question from his side that you answer truthfully. Eventually, he sits back and switches off the lamp above you. “Your hands can not be salvaged; the damage is too severe and was left insufficiently treated for too long. If you want full use of them back, they will need to be replaced.” He says it like it’s the most logical, natural thing in the world and to him it must be, but to you? It leaves you stunned, mouth going dry. “So I’d lose them entirely…?”

“You already have,” he states matter of factly. “Now it’s just a matter of wether you’re insisting on clinging on to broken, useless flesh and bone for the sake of sentimentality or if you’d rather exceed your human limitations and be able to return to a normal life.” It takes everything you have not to laugh bitterly; new hands or not, you weren’t going back to your old, normal life anytime soon. But he’s right nonetheless. “And you can do that? Replace them? Make them work like before?” You can’t be certain, with the mask’s filter and all but it almost sounds like he scoffs in offense. He waves his own hand in front of your face and flexes his fingers for show; dark, solid metal, expertly welded and crafted together to create a perfectly functioning hand. “Naturally.”

There’s nothing for you to think about anymore. “Okay. Yeah, I… that sounds good. Except…” Maybe there is one thing to think about. “I can’t… pay you for it. B-but I can work it off! Or I could—“ he decisively cuts you off with, “I do not take payment for my work.” And your jaw actually drops, because there is no way anyone in this world would offer services like this for free. There always has to be an angle, something to be gained. “Right. So you just do this out of the goodness of your fucking heart? Do you even have one? A heart, I mean.” He stands to his full height and it hits you like a ton of bricks that you just followed a complete stranger into the confines of his home. A stranger twice your size that would have no trouble turning you into parts for his future experiments. A stranger that has a reputation on Zaun’s streets as an unhinged monster. And it seems like you might’ve hit a nerve.

But he merely reaches past you, for something behind you on the table and comes back with a pair of tweezers and gauze and then proceeds to remove the parts of his window that are still stuck in one of your palms. Right. Since you can’t really feel them, you’d forgotten all about them. “Of course not. And to answer your question, no, I got rid of my heart a long time ago; it was of no use to me any longer. I only ask that you stay here during your recovery so I can oversee the adjustment process. Document it to further my research. You will be paying me in information, knowledge, progress. That is worth more than any gold or jewels you could throw at me.” Your own heart is going a mile a minute after that scare, but you’re slowly coaxing your body to calm back down. If he truly wanted to harm you, he would’ve done so by now. “And you’re sure that’s enough?” A sigh, as if he’s forced to explain something overly simplistic to a child over and over again. “You can bring any scrap metal you may find on the streets to me, if that will make you feel better.” You snort in amusement. “Okay, sure, you got yourself a deal. Sooooo… now what?”

He pauses wrapping your hand for a moment and turns his unblinking gaze to you again. “Malnourished, sick or overly exhausted people make for greater risks, both during surgery and recovery.” You flinch because you damn well know that you check all of those boxes. And you’re sure he knows it, too. “Yeah, well it’s not like I can snap my fingers and magically be healthy again. If I could, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, do you know where you live? You can’t tell me that every Zaunite who comes in here is of picture perfect health?”

“No, I just thought you should be made aware. We can perform the procedure tomorrow, at least get some sleep before that; surely that’s not too difficult?” It almost sounds patronizing and you realize you’ve gained back, or rather are rediscovering a part of yourself you haven’t used in a long time in the few minutes you’ve been talking to him: the defiant smartass. “Of course I can do that, I’m not an imbecile. There’s a brothel owner who owes me a favor, I’m sure I can get her to cough up a bed for the night.” He’s doesn’t look up from putting the finishing touches on your bandages, but apparently he still feels the need to state, “And leave with more diseases than you came with?” Had he just called you diseased? “I’ll have you know I don’t have anything contagious, thank you very much. I don’t think. And it’s that or sleep out on the streets again, so…”

“Or you could just stay here.”

You barely manage a very intelligent ‘Huh?!’ in return.

“You will return here tomorrow anyways. And stay here for your recovery. One night will not make a difference.”

Your eyes flit over to the leather couch in the corner; it’s clearly old and worn, missing an armrest and has obvious tears in the leather. Truly, you shouldn’t be this comfortable around him so quickly, but it’s still the closest thing to an actual bed you’d had in months so you’d take it.

“If it’s okay with you.” you shrug and quickly walk over to the sofa, dropping the bag that contains whatever little belongings you have left to the floor and then promptly collapse on it in an exhausted heap of limbs. That seems to break some of his composed facade as you catch him physically startling in your peripheral while you’re busy shrugging out of one of your coats and turning it into a makeshift pillow. “There is a room upstairs, with a bed, entirely unused. You can sleep there.” But you’re drowsy already, the worn leather surprisingly soft and pliant against your battered body. “So you don’t sleep, I assume; noted. And don’t worry, I don’t snore, so I won’t interrupt your… your work. You won’t… even know… I’m…” You’re out cold before you’ve finished your sentence and it takes all of half a minute before you’re lightly snoring. Liar. But he knew that already.

A heavy sigh and then he’s up, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the bed upstairs; replacing the bunched up coat under your head and pausing before he covers your body with the thick, warm fabric. Your skin has lost color, you’re underweight, he most definitely caught you limping earlier and those are just the things he could tell from a first glance. Your hands would be an easy enough matter to fix, but the rest would take time and care. He covers you with the blanket and you immediately snuggle up into it until only your hair is barely poking out. So you still hate the cold, then. Just like you’re still defiant and mouthy. It’s ridiculous how much you haven’t changed in direct contrast to him; changed so vastly and completely, of course you wouldn’t recognize him.

Carefully dragging down the blanket and the backs of your several layers of clothing, he indeed finds a series of numbers and letters branded into the skin at the back of your neck, as expected. He recognizes their shoddy handiwork by now; you weren’t the first Zaunite to come through his door after they’d fallen victim to that group. But you’d most definitely be the last. He gathers some things from around the lab and finally grabs his staff from where it’s leaning against the wall, gem at the top crackling with energy; one last look at your curled up form and then he’s out of the door, leaving you resting in his lab.

You’re warm, comfortable. It’s quiet and you actually feel well rested. All of that is so utterly foreign to you, it frightens you back to consciousness, makes you startle awake and fall off whatever you’d been asleep on in the process. Blind panic as you untangle yourself from a blanket you don’t remember having and stagger back to your feet, wild eyes searching for the closest threat.

Dim lighting breaking through murky windows, shelves stocked organs, a bloody gurney in the far corner and a hunched over figure at a workbench, their back currently turned to you as a clawed contraption over their shoulder emits a thin, precise ray of light.

“I do not appreciate getting lied to.”

There’s a part of your mind screaming at you that you know this voice, this person, this place, but the terrified haze you’re in yields little room for rationality as he shuts off the laser and turns around to face you, features covered by a mask with nothing but a set of glowing yellow eyes.

“You do, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a switch gets flipped, the haze lifts as you realize that you’re safe and you collapse back into the couch in a relieved heap, breaths still frenzied and heart still trying to jump out of your chest. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t comment any further, simply gets back to whatever it is he was working on before, leaving you to recover by yourself. It takes a few minutes, but once you consider yourself sufficiently calmed, you sit back up on the couch cross legged, blanket draped over your shoulders, wanting to apologize and thank him properly, but looking at him gives you pause.

He seems… smaller somehow than the night before. You find your answer in a heap of metal scattered around his workbench: big, cumbersome pieces of armor. Armor that you remember seeing on him yesterday, that you’d just assumed to be irremovable parts of his body. What you most definitely do not recall are the dents, scratches and the dried blood all over the metal. Nervously flitting your gaze back to him, you see what he’s working on is actually himself; laser directed at a part of his chest that he seems to be welding shut. And you’re taken aback at how much skin there is - human skin. The entirety of his chest and his right arm are sleek steel, interlocking gears and mechanisms, flawlessly shifting into each other as he moves, thin glowing panels pulsing with energy from hidden engines. And there’s definitely more metal at his right hip, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, but other than that…

His left arm is mostly pale skin, scarred flesh at his shoulder connecting to the dark steel; a wired glove slipped over his slender fingers seemingly controling the movements of the claw over this shoulder. His stomach and waist are still incredibly human too, if nothing else because of the dark purple bruise forming against his skin. He’s nowhere near as much machine as you’d expected, not to mention he looks… hurt. Had he been in a fight? Gotten attacked?

You open your mouth to ask, but think better of it before any sound can come out. It really has nothing to do with you; what he does in his own time is none of your business. It still feels off, to infringe on his time and help and not even ask if he’s alright when clearly, something that you’re not privy to has happened. Never one to leave well enough alone, you grab your bag from the floor and start sorting through the collection of herbs you’ve managed to acquire over time. Once you’ve found the ones you’re looking for, you package them into the most clean rag you have in your possession and tie it shut; uncrossing your legs you walk over to him and place the haphazardly made package on the table, careful not to disturb him. The movement still gets his attention and even with the mask’s filter, confusion is clear as day in his voice as he asks, “What is that and what is it doing on my workbench?”

“It’s an herbal remedy, for uhm… bruises and the like?” you explain, vaguely gesturing at his waist. “You soak it in boiling water and then put it on the effected area; it helps with swelling and pain.” It’s silent for a few long seconds, then, “I see. Thank you.” Not even remotely close to anything you were readying yourself for as a response, but it makes something within your chest beam with pride. You don’t even realize you’re still staring until he points it out and is met with, “You’re just… not exactly what I expected.”

“A monster?”

The laugh you let out is so shockingly soft, it almost startles him. “You’ve got a reputation, sure, and you’re… intimidating at first glance, I’ll give you that, but… I’ve met plenty of monsters in my life and none of them were anything like you. In fact, all of them looked and acted remarkably, ordinarily human at first.” There’s no further elaboration from your side and your gaze is distant, mind somewhere far away from here. He almost calls your name, but it occurs to him in the nick of time that you never actually introduced yourself. You’ve been here for less than twenty four hours and already he’s slipping, making mistakes; he can’t have that, so he drives the conversation in a direction he has control over. “I am almost finished with my repairs, I can get the general anesthetic started so we can proceed with your surgery as quickly as possible.”

Wild, hot panic takes over your gaze and he fully expects you to bolt out the front door with how you flinch and take a step away from him. “I need be under for the surgery? Can’t you do like, local anesthesia on my arms?” He hesitates; he’s never known you to be afraid of medical procedures, so what’s the problem? “First off, I will not be replacing both of your hands at the same time. Too risky and you’ll be completely incapacitated; we’re going to start with only one today. And no, in theory, you do not have to be under full anesthesia, however, we are talking about a delicate and unusual kind of surgery; I can not promise that it will be painless while you’re still conscious.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind the pain, I just… I wanna have some agency in what gets done to my body from here on out.”

Ah. So that’s it. One glance at the dried blood still clinging to his armor on the floor and he feels the rage from last night raise it’s ugly head again. He shoves that right back down, cursing internally, before he answers you, voice level and betraying nothing. “All right. It will not be a pretty sight, though.” You shrug, as nonchalant as if he’d just told you about dinner plans. “I mean, I don’t have to watch directly. But I’m gonna admit, I am curious.”

The curiosity lasts for all of the first cut into your flesh, then you turn your head away and simply let him work in silence; wouldn’t want to distract the man currently flaying you open and re-wiring your nerve endings. Luckily, there’s only the occasional pinch and pull, but you stay pain free otherwise. Recovery after the procedure is a different story entirely though; painful and arduous and time consuming. And you’re more than a little surprised at how diligently the Herald takes care of you. Keeping a close eye on his newest test subject, that’s what you write it off as at first. But as the weeks go by there’s a certain familiar domesticity that sneaks into your routine and you find yourself talking with him more and more. Well, it’s mostly you talking, but he listens; you know because the day after you complained about the room you’d been staying in feeling too dark, you’d come back from an errand to find the windows cleaned, the curtains gone and some mismatched lamps placed around the room. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of constant reassurance and you can’t help the way your heart warms at it; so much like what you’d been used to from your lost love.

The day you pick up a glass of water all by yourself, without spilling anything and the glass noticeably cold against your fingers, you almost weep with joy and just barely hold yourself back from tackling him in a hug. Instead you busy yourself with touching as many things in his lab as you can get your one properly functioning hand on - which means you miss the way he so openly stares at you, obvious even with his mask hiding his features. He hasn’t seen you this happy and energized since you showed up on his doorstep. It makes some part in chest whir conspicuously and it almost feels like something is overheating, so he quickly turns away and grabs a random, discarded project from his workbench to fiddle with.

“Do you… ya know, eat?”

It’s a random question, even for you, but he answers nonetheless. He’s used to it by now.

“I no longer require it as a form of energy replenishment, no.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, that doesn’t answer my question, though. You don’t have to, but do you? Sometimes?”

“I fail to comprehend why we are having this conversation in the first place.” He doesn’t put down his tools, nor does he look at you.

Okay, fair point.

“Well, I uh… I used to be a chef, had my own restaurant and everything? And since one of my hands finally works again I figured I’d like to give cooking something a try? And if you have a favorite, I could make it for you? As thanks for… well, for giving me a hand?” It’s not one of your finer jokes, you will admit, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t laugh. Not that you’ve ever heard him laugh at anything, for that matter. He doesn’t react at all, except for, “I told you, I do not take payment for my work. Are we done with this fruitless conversation now?” It stings more than you’d like, to have him dismiss your tries at kindness like that, even though you know it’s not personal.

“Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just… cooking’s the only thing I’ve ever been good for and I like to be some sort of useful so… but you’re right, it’s stupid. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better.

It was years ago, he shouldn’t remember you saying it as clearly as he does. Nor the way you’d looked then; all teary eyed and vulnerable, in front of him and only him. He shouldn’t remember and much less should he still care. He finds himself putting down his tools anyways.

“Sweetmilk.”

It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to you at first, considering you’re already halfway out the door to give him some peace and quiet. “P-pardon?”

“Sweetmilk.” he repeats. “It’s technically not food, but a weakness of mine and it’s still made on a stove. However, I am out of—“

“I got it! I’ll go get everything; I know how to make it!” The biggest grin on your face, you’re out of his lab in an instant and he hears the front door open and close not long after that.

There’s an actual skip in your step as you make your way down the street, there’s no other way to put it.

You are no fool. It’s in the way he hyperfocuses on his work. In the way his place is always a mess, right down to how his tools and notes clutter his desk. In the way what little sunlight manages to reach this part of the Lanes catches in his chestnut hair when it filters through the windows. In the little vocal mannerisms and gestures that you remember oh so well, that he apparently was unable to remove, no matter how much of a perfect machine he claims himself to be. It’s all right there, it had been from the start, this had just been the final push you’d needed. The final push to actually let yourself hope.

You are no fool. He knows this. He knows this and yet he let you have this. This tiny, obsolete, aggravating piece of information that has now turned him into the fool instead. He’s certain you’ve already figured it out, how could you not have? With the way you were immediately way too comfortable around him? With the way you sometimes talked about yourself, your past, just naturally assuming he’d be able to fill in the blanks, cause to him, they weren’t blanks at all? With the way it had been so easy to slip back into old, dangerously domestic habits with you? This had simply been the final nail in the coffin, yours or his, he isn’t sure; he is sure, however that you do not belong here in his oh so carefully crafted solitude.

Over two years. That’s how long it had taken him to put himself back together again. To rid himself of the parts the Hexcore had already infected, tainted, taken from his control. To replace his dying lungs. To make sure he didn’t fall apart again after every second step. To ensure he was no longer weak. And then he’d come for you, intending to save you, make you whole again, but you’d been gone. Disappeared from your hospital bed, from Piltover all together it had seemed. He’d crossed several lines in his search for you, even the ones he’d set for himself; namely never asking for help from his former best friend and partner again. In the end, the only thing he’d accomplished had been to widen the ever growing rift between them, no step closer to you. So he’d done the only thing he could still think of: rip his heart straight from his chest to maybe, hopefully, get rid of the agony right along with it; erase the joyful memories that held nothing but misery anymore. And it had worked; everything inside him dulled and numbed enough to simply drown himself in his work with no interferences. Until you’d stumbled back into his life. And things should be different, he shouldn’t care about you anymore outside of how you can further his research, but they’re not. The way the two of you still fit together so effortlessly is disgustingly, hauntingly familiar and he has to put a stop to it. He has chosen to live like this, in isolation and loneliness, he would not force it on you in the name of some long forgotten affection.

Perfect opportunity strikes some days later, while he’s in the process of replacing your second hand and you question him about his own augmentations. So he tells you about his weak leg and his collapsing lungs like you don’t already know. Watches the smile vanish from you lips and your face fall as he explains how he removed his connections to people from his past.

“So you… you don’t remember anyone who used to be a part of your life? Family, friends, lovers?”

“I remember them just fine, I simply got rid of any unnecessary emotional attachments associated with them. I remember my mother’s lullabies, I do not miss them any longer. I remember the discussions with my old partner, yet I no longer look at them fondly. I remember the lazy mornings spent with my lover, but I don’t yearn for them anymore.”

You visibly flinch at that last one and he merely warns you to stay still, like he doesn’t know what hearing all of this must do to you. It goes quiet between you two afterwards and any glance he steals at you confirms his theory, proves that his action had the desired reaction: the cogs are turning in your head and the longer they do, the more the despair and grief start to show on your face; realization that he is no longer the man you knew and that you no longer have a place by his side. It’s quick, simple work to finish your surgery and he decides to leave you be, give you time to let the new information he provided you with sink in and with some trivial errands used as a quick excuse, you’re left sitting alone on a rickety old stool in his lab.

And you stay seated for a long while, still and unmoving, blankly staring off into the distance as you hopelessly try to process what he just revealed to you. The love you hold for him hasn’t diminished in the slightest, no matter how much he might claim to have changed, but what’s it worth if you’re nothing but a stranger to him now? If the affections he’d had for you in return were lost to his quest of a perfect evolution?

You’re unsure what compels you to rise from your seat, to stroll across the room and absentmindedly trail your fingers across the books on one of his shelves. Maybe you’re simply trying to distract your mind from spiraling further down into the dark abyss of hoplessness it’s currently headed for. Maybe a part of you already knows that this is not meant to last and you’re trying to commit everything to memory through touch alone, now that he’s returned that sensation to you. The very last thing you expect is for one of the spines to catch your attention and for just a moment, you’re back in your old apartment, your old life. Hurriedly pulling the book from it’s spot you find that you are in fact correct, this used to belong to you. The corners of the dark blue cover are frayed and the golden lettering faded, but you recognize it anyways; you’d lent it to him years ago and he’d just never gotten around to giving it back. Which still doesn’t explain what it’s doing here, surely he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. You gingerly dust it off, careful not to over exert your new fingers, and crack it open only for a little slip of paper to immediately come fluttering out and land on the floor in front of you. Picking it up, you find only two words written in a handwriting you know all too well.

Lavender = devotion

The memories flood your mind wether you want them to or not; memories of your absolute mess of a first date. Of the meticulously crafted bouquet of flowers he’d gotten you, based on the book you’d lent him.

Putting the paper back with the page containing it’s corresponding flower, you quickly rifle through the rest of the book and find plenty more notes still left within the pages, all in his handwriting.

Iris = hope, trust

Alstroemeria = mutual support, fascination

Carnations = sincere love, respect, new beginnings

The last entry you come across doesn’t have a written note with it. Instead you find a picture: the two of you, slumped together on the sofa in the lab, all tangled limbs and sleepy intimacy, blissfully unaware of your friend sneaking this picture. It’s marking the pages for camellias and you don’t need a note or a proper look at the information in the book to know what they symbolize; not when you can clearly remember him telling you.

Eternal love. I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.

The book slips from your fingers, landing open on the floor with a dull thump as you go right along with it, knees hitting the wood beneath you hard as you curl in on yourself and sob, photograph cradled close against your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve cried, some still coherent part of your mind realizes. Since waking up. Since being imprisoned and tortured. Since coming here. Since being forced to accept stroke after stroke of fate that had irreversibly changed your life entirely against your will or control. So you cry and you weep and you scream at the top of your lungs. For yourself and everything you’ve had to endure. For all you’ve lost. For the life you could’ve had.

You have to leave. You have to. Or you’d spend the the rest of your life desperately trying to rekindle a love that no longer exists. A final glance at the picture still held in your hands and you consider taking it; he wouldn’t miss it, he probably doesn’t even know it’s still here. But the people in that photograph are long gone and it would cause you nothing but more grief, so what’s the point? You drop it between the pages you’d found it in and shove the book back into its’ spot on the shelf before scrambling to your feet and beginning to gather your things strewn across his house. And you could’ve left then and there, things packed and mind made up. You probably should have. But it doesn’t feel quite right either, just disappearing without a trace. So you sit on the bed you’ve called your own for the past weeks and you wait. Until you hear him come home in the middle of the night and the urge to sprint downstairs, throw a quick goodbye and thank you over your shoulder and slam the door on this entire sad, miserable chapter of your life is there. But you don’t. You can’t. Because despite everything, you still want a proper goodbye - you didn’t get one last time, after all. Except you have no idea how you’d go about that, so you stay right where you are and rack your brain. Until dawn breaks and you’re no closer to a solution, so you drag your tired body off the bed and make your way downstairs; you’re just looking for more excuses to stay at this point.

Of course you find him at his workbench, where else, most of his heavier armor discarded and Hexclaw dimantled in front of him as he diligently solders wires to metal. Pausing in the doorway, you wait for him to acknowledge your presence, giving yourself some more time to think, but when several minutes pass and he doesn’t even look up you clear your throat, receiving a quick ‘Morning.’ in return and nothing else. No point beating around the bush, is there?

“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?”

Too busy fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of your shirt to distract yourself, you don’t notice the way he almost flinches, everything he’s doing coming to a halt. It’s quiet for only a moment before he says, “You are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you wish to.”

Not the answer you want, not the answer you long for, but an answer nonetheless

“I… now would be good for me, I think.”

“Very well.”

And that’s the end of it. The room is blanketed in silence once again, except for the scrapes and shuffles of his tools as he goes back to work. No grand, emotional request for you stay and why would he? You’re a stranger, an experiment and there’ll be others like you; others to further his research and learn from. He doesn’t need you anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, you realize. Oh how you wish you could feel the same. You go to grab your bag from the hallway in apathetic, almost mechanical movements, nothing but muscle memory driving you at this point and you expect to walk out the front door without another word exchanged between the two of you, but surprisingly enough, he calls out to you again.

“Where will you go?”

Stopping in your tracks, you come to lean against the door frame, gaze falling anywhere but him. You’re not sure what he’s even asking for, it won’t have any impact on his life after all, but you answer honestly anyways. “As far away from this city as I can get, probably. There’s no one— there’s… nothing left for me here anymore.” A pause as the faces of your tormentors flash before your inner eye. “Not before making the bastards who used me pay for it, though.” He unscrews a panel at the base of the Hexclaw while posing another question. “And if that costs you your life?” You shrug even though he can’t see. “Just as well. I’m not sure I’ve got the will to build something new for myself anyways…”

Silence falls again and you interpret it as the natural end of the conversation and your cue to leave. Except there’s one last thing you need to get off your chest - quite literally, in fact. Slipping off the chain around your neck, ring still safely attached to it as always, you approach him and place it on the surface of his workbench. To your utter surprise, he actually interrupts his work and picks it up with careful fingers; his face might be hidden from you by his mask, but he radiates confusion so you explain before he has a chance to ask. “When I first came here, you told me I could pay you in scrap metal if it made me feel any better about encroaching on your space and time. You can melt this down, throw it out, I don’t care; I’ve carried it around with me long enough and it was always meant to be yours.” You truly don’t have the strength to wait for his reaction, or probable lack thereof; this means nothing to him now, you mean nothing, and that thought makes you hurry towards the exit, tears burning in your eyes.

Despite better judgment, you pause in the doorway, fingers tight around the strap of your bag and swallow around the growing lump in your throat. “Thank you…” It’s barely above a whisper and it’s not enough. You were the one who wanted a proper goodbye this time, weren’t you? So you turn to fully face him, met with the same blank, hollow eyed stare you’ve grown oh so used to and you smile, genuine and grief stricken. “Thank you for everything, Viktor.”

Part of you wonders when he last heard his own name. If he even still remembers it.

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in his quiet lab, with only his research to keep him company, just as it should be.

The front door is as far your shaky legs get you, bag slipping from your shoulder as you slump against it, forehead pressed to the cool, worn wood as you press a hand against your mouth in a desperate attempt to to stifle the sobs. The man you’re leaving behind is the love of your life no matter what, you’ve known that for ages; there was a before him, but there was never supposed to be an after. And yet now you have to figure out exactly what that after is going to look like, because he’s gone and at the same time he’s still here and that, oh that aches something awful. It’s unfair and it’s cruel and it makes you want to claw your own chest open to strangle your heart with your bare hands just to make the pain stop. It makes you envy him for the first time, no heart left in his chest to ail him. And it makes you despise him, because how dare he leave you alone with the burden of this love you were supposed to share?

The heavy footfalls behind you should jumpstart you into action, make you wrench the door open and get out or at the very least compose yourself, but you can’t. You find that you simply don’t care anymore either. Let him see what he’s done to you, what he’s turned you into, even if he wouldn’t shed a single tear over it. A mechanical hand comes to rest next to your head, his presence right at your back, so close and so very much like the first night you came to this place and yet everything’s so incredibly different now.

“What? Did you forget some kind of last diagnostics test on the new hand or something?” The tears are obvious in your tone. “No. But you should know that the people you plan on taking revenge on are already dead. I made sure of it.” Breath catching in your throat, the memory of your first morning in this house comes back to you: the bruises, the blood on his armor, the way everything about him had screamed violence and death that day. “You… Why?” It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s making your head spin and he’s not answering, until, “That’s hardly a concern for you now. I simply thought it consequential for you to be made aware of the fact that if you wish to depart from this city you may do so. There is nothing—“ It’s the first time you’ve heard him falter and fumble in all your time here and when he speaks again there’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite place, accompanied by the hand against the door clenching into a fist. “There is no one keeping you here anymore.”

The clock in the corner counts down the seconds, loud and echoing in comparison to the quiet that has befallen you both. A quiet you decide to break, tentative and scared.

“Isn’t there? My tormentors might be gone, but what of the man I love? Could he still find it in him to love me if I stayed?”

“I don’t believe that still matters, does it? You’ll leave either way.”

And something inside of you snaps.

You brace your forearms against the door and shove backwards, catching him so off guard he stumbles back a step or two, creating just enough distance for you to rear back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. His mask gets knocked clean off his face, loudly clattering to the floor; your freshly operated hand sparks and creaks ominously, fingers now bent at odd angles while searing pain shoots up your entire arm, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the white, hot fury that’s boiling you alive from the inside out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

He doesn’t even deem it necessary to look at you; completely frozen to the spot, head turned away from you and hair covering his eyes from your view. He will have to listen to you either way, wether he wants to or not. Wether he still cares or not.

“You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

You slump back against the door for support, chest heaving and unharmed hand coming up to cover your face; a desperate and all but pointless attempt to hide the tears and stifle the sobs.

He’s a scientist, an engineer. Solving problems, fixing things, improving lives; it’s what he does. What he thrives in. Yet he doesn’t know how to fix this. So he zeroes in on the one thing he can fix.

“Let me see your hand.”

But you don’t let him. Curl in on yourself and angle your body and injured hand away from him; it makes you seem so much smaller. So vulnerable. So defeated. Good. Maybe if he can drive you away even further then…

“You are… a distraction. A hindrance to my work that I can not tolerate. You do not belong here and it would be better for the both of us if you left and never returned.”

With the mask gone, the mechanical edge to his voice is missing as well, but every word still stings like the cut of a blade.

“So turn around and let me go. You’ll never have to see me again, I promise.”

He knows all too well how seriously you take that; every promise, no matter how small or menial, a solemn oath, never to be broken. He can not let you make this one; every part of himself rebels against the very thought of letting you walk out that damn door, even if it would be the logical thing to do. Drive you further away, he’s not capable of that any longer, who is he trying to fool? Himself, most likely.

Stepping closer he gauges your reaction and when you don’t recoil from him any further, he rests his hands on either side of you and drops his forehead against the old, worn wood above your shoulder.

“I can’t.”

It’s spat through grit teeth, like it physically pains him to admit it. But it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in his voice during all the time you’ve been here.

“I removed every function that wasn’t vital; every memory that was redundant to my work. Affection, jealousy, admiration, anger, joy, sorrow; any emotion that would’ve proven an aberration sooner rather than later. I clawed and prodded and scraped at my own insides until nothing remained and yet you refused to let go.”

Your sobs have reduced to sniffles, your body still beneath him; except for the hand you’ve dropped from your face that he now feels running up his back, titanium fingers gliding over the metal ridges that make up his spine until they settle at the nape of his neck.

“Your face, your laugh, your favorite color, the way you’d look cooking breakfast in the mornings, the way your body would feel against mine; every detail, no matter how minute stayed. Etched into the fissures of my brain, burned into the steel I used to rebuild myself, regardless of how many times I replaced it. Carved into my being, my very soul; I could not remove you any more than I could remove the engine beating as my heart. And I can not go back to how things were before you came here. Before you found me again.”

“Why not? You seemed perfectly happy in your solitude with your work.” Your voice is small, but genuine. And you almost squeak in shock, wind knocked out of you, when his arms come around your middle to hold you tight, almost too tight, flush against him as he buries his face into crook of your neck.

“Because you are in every fraction of skin, in every blood vein that still remains within me. In every bolt, every wire, every piece of metal I welded to myself. I do not… function properly unless I know of your whereabouts. Unless I know you’re safe and cared for. And it was maddening, to surpress it, to ignore it all these years; a clear error constantly rearing its’ ugly head, telling me that I will never get any further in my research, my work, my vision, unless it’s resolved. Constantly running on loop in the back of my head, reminding me that I am incomplete. I need you, you are an essential part of me, right down to my very atoms and it makes me, all of me, no matter what else I might become, yours.”

There’s fresh tears streaming down your face, because he sounds so tired. So desperate. So upset. So painfully human. You find yourself doing the same thing you’ve always done when you’ve had him in your arms, worried and anxious about something; gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and lean your head against his carefully. “Viktor, if you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask. You know that; if you want something all you ever had to do was ask it of me. But I need you to ask me, all right? I need to hear you say it.” He doesn’t answer right away, only draws patterns into the small of your back in thought; a habit of his you remember all too well. This close, you can feel the heat coming off him, generated from the several engines powering him and a barely there hum and whirr of machinery against your chest; a sound that comes in regular intervals, akin to a heartbeat. When he does speak, his voice is weary. Conflicted. Unsure. Scared.

“I am not the man you fell in love with, my heart. Not gentle, nor kind. There is no coming back from the lines I’ve crossed and I don’t— I can not love you the same way I used to. The way you’d deserve. And yet… I want to be selfish.” He pauses for a bitter, ridiculing bark of laughter and shifts in your hold and it’s only then that you realize the skin at the slope of your neck and your collarbone is wet. Shame threatens to choke you when it occurs to you that up until now you didn’t think he still could cry. “I shouldn’t want for anything. Machines do not want or desire or long for things. But… they need all their components to operate as they’re supposed to; to perform at their full potential.” He’s rationalizing it, you know and you’ll be fucking damned if you interrupt him. “And I need you to stay. Here, with me. Then maybe in time you’ll be able to love me as I am now.”

Your chuckle is weak; you’re exhausted physically and emotionally. “What a silly thing to say. That’s assuming I ever stopped loving you in the first place.” It should be impossible, for his embrace to become any tighter, but it does and it’s almost starting to hurt - good, because the pain makes it real.

It’s in the way he buries his face against you further, a noise oh so very similar to a sob escaping him, and how your gaze catches on his mask left discarded on the ground that it finally dawns on you: he’s hiding. From you or from himself, you’re not certain, but you’re not having it any longer. “My love, let me see you.” He doesn’t move; if anything he freezes up. “Please?” You try again and are met with the same result, except for, “You will not like what you find.” Irritation flares up in your chest, manifesting itself in a harsh tug on his hair and, “That’s for me to decide.” It takes him a few very long, agonizing seconds, but eventually, he sighs in defeat and pulls back enough for you to be able to get your first proper look at his face after all these years.

No wonder you managed to break your hand, his jaw and cheeks are all solid, dark, smooth metal, connecting to the column of his throat. Your fingers are moving before you can stop yourself, trailing along his cheek bones where hard steel meets soft, scarred flesh. Still as pale as always, almost deathly so, faint blue veins under his skin now in plain view and the contrast to the two moles you adore all the more prominent. The ever present dark circles under his eyes have evolved into lasting bruises. And oh his eyes. The same beautiful gold you remember, except now they’re rimmed with a thin ring of bright pink, courtesy of the Shimmer you’ve seen in his lab no doubt, bright against the deep, dark, purple-ish black that now makes up his sclera. But dissimilar from your memory as they may be, the look in them is one you recognize: careful, poised for rejection, but the remaining tears betray him. It’s strange, how he can look so utterly different yet so hauntingly the same.

He had imagined this moment plenty of times, but never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with this. Yes, there’s several emotions at once crossing your face when you finally see him, yet none of them negative. It’s genuine, innocent curiosity at first, reflected in the careful fingers that reach out to touch him. And before he has time to fully register your touch against his skin, your expression shifts and it’s nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration and affection. “Still so beautiful. Still all mine.”

Just like that, all the tumult and chaos and noise in the back of his head that hadn’t once stopped in the last few years finally seems to silence and he can actually fucking think in peace again for the first time - and the first thing he thinks to do, the most logical thing to do, really, is to curse under his breath before crashing his lips to yours. It’s needy and filthy and all tongues and teeth, your back making abrupt contact with the door again as he shoves you against it, hands coming up from your waist to cup your face. The gesture is tender and sweet and entirely contrasting to the way he’s kissing you; to what he claims to have become. It’s more than welcome nonetheless, giving you a sense of security you didn’t realize you needed as your intact hand moves away from his hair to cover his. It just so happens to be the one that’s still mostly flesh and blood, warm against your skin, except for a thin, cold sliver of metal you feel that you can’t place at first. You don’t remember seeing any augmentations that would feel like this on his hand before. Curious despite the adoring, addictive haze that’s starting to cloud your mind, fingertips try to make out more detail and you find it in tiny little ridges in the metal sitting specifically on his ringfinger that feel suspiciously like letters. Letters that spell out one word: Unconditional.

Your ring. He’s wearing your ring.

It makes you kiss him harder, wanting him so much closer even though it’s hardly possible. You could stay like this for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ever need for anything else. How unfortunate it is then that one of you both still needs air to fill their lungs to live. How unfortunate that that someone is you; personally you gladly would’ve suffocated against his lips, but he seems to have other plans as he pulls back to let you take some much needed deep breaths, chest heaving while he settles for leaving chaste pecks against the skin of your face.

“Still all yours,” he confirms and you mirror the smile you can hear in his voice. “Now and always.”

#arcane viktor x reader #gender neutral reader #machine herald viktor x reader #epic the musical #would you fall in love with me again #hurt/comfort #angst #childhood friends #past established relationship #viktor arcane #machine herald viktor #machine herald #viktor the machine herald #league of legends #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane imagine #SoundCloud

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freeluigihesbae · 1 day ago

Text

𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 6

(3,685 words)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝖺𝗇��𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗏 (𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽), 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖽𝗈𝗆!𝗅𝗎, 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 (𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌), 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅, 𝖭𝖮 𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖮𝖥𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦

"How can I do this?" You're crouched on the ground, trying to get through the next minute without feeling ridiculously guilty. It was harsh to shut the door on Luigi because your point went both ways.

Neither of you are hurting alone. You're both hurting because it impacted you both.

When you saw those texts, it tore at your happiness because you knew Luigi would be getting dragged too. You figured it was the same, and you were right, because you didn't know about how he punched the wall, screamed at the students, and stomped through the halls in reaction to everything that was going on.

For Luigi, all of this was representing a sense of immaturity that he hated. For you, you were just in pain.

But you loved him.

Upon checking your phone, you realize it's only been 15 minutes since you slammed the door closed. The raindrops will still slamming down on the pavement outside, akin to what you'd call torrential rainfall. After all the pain, the pettiness, the ridiculousness of it all paired with Luigi holding those flowers-

There is no way in hell you were going to lose the one chance of having someone right for you. You certainly made mistakes and honestly, how fair was it to keep twisting the knife in the flesh when the point has been made?

You stand up, wobbly but ignoring the feverish sensation pulsing throughout your body. Slowly, the irritations trying to claw at your energy seemed to melt away the more you think about Luigi.

Luigi Mangione.

The man who stole your heart the moment you stared at him with your glossy eyes.

The man whose heart you stole the moment he looked at your glossy eyes.

The feeling is mutual.

You just had to be sure of it.

In the same clothes, drenched in the rain water that's making your skin itch, you open the door and step outside, determined to limp as fast as possible and give zero care to how idiotic you'd look trying to romantically visualize your intense pining for Luigi by making your way to his place.

But before any of that can happen, your heart breaks a little more than you possibly think it could.

Luigi was there the whole time, slid down on the ground and seemingly asleep, unbeknownst to the water that has made his clothes practically useless, as the t-shirt has now drenched to the point of showing his creamy skin that's breathing in and out with a wonderfully melancholy innocence.

The flowers have fallen over the steps up to your apartment, face down in the puddle that's likely pooled down in the grass. The bag, however, is still saddled to his hand, luckily protected because of its material.

"No no no no no, Lu." You drop to your knees, crying as you shake him hard. His body is jelly in your hands, moving side to side but showing no sign of solidifying in an effort to combat your movement. You hike a leg over him, sliding a hand underneath the side of his cheek that's stuck on the pavement, sobbing his name out repeatedly as you clasp his face and lower yours down.

You watch the water drops rapidly drip from his eyelashes, which are perfectly curved. It's splayed itself all over his cold, weak body as you curse at yourself, wondering how things got so horribly deteriorated to this point.

"Luigi I'm so s-sorry I'm so stupid-" You whisper towards the end of your apology, feeling lost with how you're going to fix the situation in front of you. He's breathing fine, but he just won't wake up no matter what you do.

You should be calling someone. What if he's just not okay?

But you're selfish. You can't help but scoop his head into your palm and let your teardrops only add to the streams of water that have been trailing his beautiful face the entire time, feeling ashamed to see the flowers that he picked out getting buried under mud and rainwater. You can't help but look at him and forget what has been happening so far, only wishing that he just looks back at your with those illuminating eyes and tell you he loves you as much you love him.

"L-Lu I'm so sorry. I'm sorry things h-have happened like this I j-just-" You pause, imagining that he's listening to you, before swallowing and continuing. "This is so stupid but I'm in love with you. Don't you get it I don't just love you I'm in love with you Luigi and everything that's happened is-is- I'm not going to let it come in the way of us but is it s-s-so stupid to think that you love me too?" Your straighten yourself out before draping your body over his, sobbing into the crook of his shoulder as you let the sobs racking your being present themselves as the best attempt of trying to wake him.

"Is it so stupid to think you're in love with me too?" You lift your head up and whisper into his ear, rolling your eyes at the thoughts flooding your mind, which keep wishing this was a situation that could be pulled straight from Beauty and the Beast or some other fairytale where just the right kiss or words would awaken him.

But you're left dumbfounded and heartbroken when Luigi is still peacefully breathing, giving you no reassurance that this situation could be fixed. You stare at him, swallowing and closing your eyes in defeat, before grabbing your phone to call someone. Your fingers are shaking as you trying to clean the water off of your phone, worsened by the water droplets coming out of your eyes and making everything harder.

You finally manage to find the campus emergency number, shaking as you press the number and the phone asks you to confirm your action. You gulp and close your eyes, sobbing harder with new waves of heartbreak as you press-

"Bambi." You feel a hard, steady hand wrapped around your wrist and it sends you into shock, your mouth agape as you let your phone slide out of your hand, lurching into his arms. You didn’t realize, but he was sitting upright, fully awake, now circling around your body as you cry into his chest, repeating apology after apology and looking back up at him.

With the same eyes that brought you two together in the first place.

“Oh bambi,” Luigi feels himself nearly pass out, seeing the way your eyes glistened and yet, he didn’t waste a moment before smashing his lips onto yours, smiling at the way that even in shock, you let him in.

The desire to taste was mutual.

Luigi’s tongue explores your mouth, sliding over your lips and back inside, never entirely detaching as you let out little gasps, fighting the confusion, arousal, desire, and pain all at once. It was a lot, but through all of it, the one thing that stood out was happiness.

“L-Lu.” You forcibly and reluctantly pull back from his lips, watching his expression morph into slight irritation which get the words tumbling from your lips quicker than you expect.

“I’m sorry I was so har-“ “No.” He says a single word that silences your coming apology, leaving you wide-eyed.

“I’m the one who has to fucking apologize, bambi. I should’ve been a man, holding you and comforting you and instead all I did was slap you like everyone else did. I am sorry. I am so sorry and as much as I love holding you,” you listen while noting how dangerously close his lips are on yours again. “I need to show it to you. Need you to let me make you feel like I’m sorry bambi.” His lips are upon yours once again, ravaging every sound and movement you make as you feel yourself shiver at the authority in his touch and tone.

You nod fervently as he kisses you, and it does the trick in making him pick you up, strong hands on either underside of your thigh which makes you yelp.

“L-Lu you’re s-sick we shouldn’t d-do this.” You grab his collar as he has you taut against the door, your own top having been soaked, making you shiver when it’s cold, cool surface sends shivers throughout your body. Luigi stops his ministrations, grabbing your chin with one hand to force your sight down to his.

“I’m the one who decides that bambi. I’m the one who’s g’nna do whatever I want as long as you want it. So tell me, d’ya want this?” His hand releases your chin, now moving ever-so-lightly down your neck and between your breasts, which make your back arch. He watches you whimper and close those beautiful eyes, before the residual tears in them run down your face as you nod.

He tuts in disapproval.

“Say it. Say that you want me to show you sorry I am bambi.” He orders it, really, for you to order him back but you can’t help but think the actual authority is his hands.

“Want it.” You breath it out, still squirming in his hold which gets harder when he grabs your neck, pulling it closer to his face.

“I said use your fucking words but to make a sentence.” Luigi slaps the side of your thigh, pinning you to the door with even greater pressure. The sting makes a little cry escape your lips. “Let them fall from those lips bambi. Let the words hiding behind those perfect, beautiful little doe eyes of yours free because those will be the last coherent words you’ll be saying for a while.” Luigi’s voice becomes impossibly deeper, warning you of the consequences that lie if you dare to miss the chance to demand reparation from him.

So be it. Because you know you want him bad.

“I-I want you to show me how sorry you a-are Luigi.” You whimper the words out as coherently as possible and thankfully, that does it, because your door is wrenched open and slammed shut before you can comprehend the speed, and you’re (gently) placed on the bed, contrasted with the haste in which he’s once again kissing your lips, biting and pulling at them as if taste every inch that you have to offer.

“O-Oh.” Your moan is divine, sickly sweet to his ears as his own eyes nearly flutter from how angelic and dirty it sounds, the paradox sending his philosophical mind into dizzy circles as he repeats his actions, letting his hands dig into every nook and corner of your skin.

“’M sorry bambi.” He mutters these words before ripping your soaked top off, earning a soul-deep gasp that makes the blood rush between your legs. His eyes are trained on yours, smirking as he watches the confusion and desire swirl your eyes.

“Y’know why I call you bambi?” Luigi is kneeling on the bed, between your outstretched legs that are limp over the top his thighs on either side. He takes his shirt off, displaying his toned abdomen for you to feast on but you remember his question.

His hands are on you in an instant, but this time, they both press down around your windpipe.

“Need to answer. F’ckin’ use your words bambi because I’m desperate to hear you.” There’s a pleading so obviously and desperately aching in his voice, that your eyes widen further because how is he exerting so much control while submitting his guilt to your dirty and nasty desires? You nod your head, opening your lips to get a word out but he’s crushing you harder, tightening with every second.

“It’s ‘cause of those eyes. The way your eyes are goin’ all wide on me ‘n you’re so lost?” He ends his tone rhetorically, cooing as your eyes roll from the lack of air. He lets go before watching you cough and you breathily let your words out.

“D-Didn’t know that.” You let out an ah almost immediately after, tilting your had back before his hand is in your hair, pulling you up towards him.

“Keep those eyes on me. I need to see those bambi eyes while I’m saying sorry.” His hands grab a pillow to support your neck so you can obey his wish, whispering a yes after he speaks. His fingers then travel to your breasts, pulling at the buds without any mercy. It’s hard, as you try but you can’t help but arch your neck back, trying to get away from the pain that’s also making your core even more wet.

“’Said don’t fuckin’ take your eyes away.” Luigi pulls particularly hard and you scream, gasping for air as you attempt to close your legs but no, his hands are coming down, pinning them to the bed as your bottom lip quivers and he bends down, speaking filth into your face.

“Want you to see how sorry I am. That means you take everything I give you baby. Y’ understand?” Luigi asks and you respond.

“Y-Yes Lu.” You gulp and he watches, noting how your throat slightly expands and contracts at the saliva you’re swallowing down, making him breath in hard as his own pants are straining against his cock.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.” Upon which, gets to work, letting his mouth go slack as he sucks on the sensitive breasts that are shaking, side-to-side with the aggression he exerts which prompt him to always keep a free hand on the one his mouth is not on. Your eyes flutter but you try your very best to keep them on his curly hair and smooth forehead, which are in constant movement as he sends waves of pleasure through your body. You bite your lip, almost sure you’re drawing blood.

“You f-feel so good.” Your voice goes higher because he just happen to place a finger under your skirt, making small circles that elicit beautifully inspiring whimpers, that only drive his fantasies further.

“Do I? I’m g’nna make you feel better bambi ‘cause I’m so sorry.” Luigi bites down on a bud that makes your teeth dig into your lip and you feel a drop of blood tickling you as it slides down your neck. Luigi raises his eyebrows before sticking his tongue out, licking a thick, moist stripe up your neck and jaw to swallow it. His fingers are now rubbing faster on your clit and you wiggle, wanting more friction.

“Keep track of how many times I saw I’m sorry. If you remember correctly,” Luigi gives your cunt a hard slap that makes you shake, making him smile in satisfaction. “I’ll let you cum. But if not, we’re g’nna do this all over again until you get it right ‘cause if not, it means you don’t get how sorry I am.” He takes the liberty to slap your face, just enough to get his point across.

“F-Fuck.” You moan out while you feel your skirt being tugged off with care, Luigi taking his time while it rides over your cast and once it’s off, he takes one hand to pull your gusset to the side before using his other arm to circle your waist and tug your legs over your shoulder.

He stares, licking his lips at how glorifying your wetness is, watching your entrance clench and unclench in anticipation.

“Oh bambi,” He leans in closer, keeping his eyes trained while you whine and stare at his narrowed, darkened eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Count one, because after that, his lips are devouring your sensitive cunt, licking and lapping up the juices that you produce as you throw your head back and attempt to grab his hair, which prompts him to quickly shift his position and give you better access.

Which he does all without detaching his sticky lips from your cunt.

“’M fuckin’ sorry. You got that?” His speaking against your folds, feeling the way you tighten before sticking a single finger inside and pumping you. “’Fuckin’ sorry ‘cause I’m an idiot right? Jus’ a fuckin’ idiot.” He keeps up, pulling the hood of your sensitive spot back and narrowing his lips on it, making you shiver and cry from pleasure. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot. Say it.” He commands you while licking around the dub, watching your eyes widen a little more every time. It invigorates his already frenzy-filled mind.

“L-Lu- f-f-f-“ “Say I’m a fuckin’” He pauses before biting the spot and you let out a drawn out cry, panting as it sends you just a few seconds away from your orgasm and you cry it out.

“Y-You’re a fuckin’ IDIOT L-Lu y’r so f’ckin’ dumb oh FUCK!” He pumps in a few more fingers with impossible speed and sucks even harder, which sends your orgasm to literally crash into you and down between your legs as you shake and squirm at how skillfully he continues to assault your cunt, desperately trying to get away but his firm, unrelenting hands keep you right in place.

“You’re going to take it because I am sorry.” But he lets go, lifting himself up and lowering himself down onto your lips, forcing you to taste his essence as you gift him with high-pitched little whimpers that drive him insane.

“I love you so much. Love your eyes. Love your body. Love how innocent and fuckin’ adorable you are. It’s all in those eyes.” And you think he’ll give you a break, a moment to re-coop. But no.

Actually, you’re the one who can’t wait.

You push yourself up, yanking his belt and button off which Luigi complements, before letting his length free and your mouth water, going down to taste but the hand in your hair again lets you know better, pulling you back to tell you better as he speaks.

“I’m gonna make you feel good bambi, not the other way around. On your tummy.” He lets go but you’re still looking up at him, whimpering from how overwhelming this situation is.

Suddenly, your cheek stings because he just slapped you.

“Said on your tummy pretty girl.” And instead of waiting for you, he grabs your waist and spins you around before using a palm to shove your head into the bed and ripping (once again) your panties off, before plunging himself straight inside and you scream.

Your words, ones that you wanted to scream, practically dissolve as you feel yourself becoming consumed by the exponentially increasing pleasure that pounds throughout your body.

“So sorry baby. Gonna pound you so you remember that, m’kay?” He asks you carelessly, groaning himself as he tries to fight how tightly you’re clenching around him.

Eventually, he makes his way inside, entirely claiming your sanity and ramming inside, repeating words of how he loves and adores you, rambling on about how your eyes remind him of galaxies but it all comes to a point when he’s letting his hands rain down on your ass, making your sychonized ngh ngh ngh noises get out of hand and irrationally out of pattern.

“I fucking love you bambi. I heard you. Heard you ‘cause I’m in love with you too.” He pulls you even tighter against him and you’re absolutely sure he’s bruised your cervix, panting as the sensations drive you crazy.

“Oh L-Luigi I love you- g’nna- AH!” He delivers a particularly hard slap and it makes you lurch forward, making him pull you back by his hand, which is eventually replaced by his bicep, flexing to make it harder to breathe.

He’s got you in a chokehold.

“How many times did I say ‘m sorry bambi? Hm? How many c��mon.” He takes his hand on your waist to slap you clit, making you pant harder as his biceps flex and tighten your neck.

“F-Five.” In truth, you actually guess, but he ends up humming, groaning with even more intensity because he drills into you faster and before you know, you’re babbling out words to beg him.

“Lemme cum lemme cum-“ And Luigi only squeezes harder, fucking up into you as he whispers in your ear.

“You’re the princess t’night. Cum for me.” And that does it, as you sob out from overstimulation because of his fingers rubbing incessantly over that pleasurable spot and his hand is retracted, letting you fall forward and support yourself on your arms.

He flips you around gently, lying you down on the bed before lying down next to you and tugging the sheets up to cover you both.

You’re still breathing heavily, picking up the pieces of your shame before you’re staring back Luigi with adoration.

“I’m so sorry bambi. I really mean it. I didn’t want to speak to you that way because I was just so out of my head and-“ Luigi is cut off by your finger coming up to touch his lips.

“It’s okay Lu. It’s completely fine. Entirely okay.” You smile before scooching forward to kiss his lips and he reciprocates, going soft and simple unlike his demeanor from earlier. His hand circles your waist and drags you closer before you realize.

“You didn’t c-“ “Don’t want to.” He cuts you off and your eyebrows furrow.

“I only wanted to make you feel good bambi. That’s enough for me for this homecoming night.” He says and it takes you a few seconds before your eyes go wide.

“Wait. WAIT. Homecoming is like-“ You look at the clock and realize it’s an hour past 7, which means it’s started already.

“Yeah-“ Luigi scratches the back of his head. “I actually brought a dress and suit over so we could celebrate homecoming but-“ He stops and you lean forward incredulously.

“But we could go out and celebrate ourselves.” He adds and somehow, you still don’t get it.

“Alone.” He supplies again and your mouth goes wide, shocked. But at the same time, it doesn’t seem like too bad of a proposal.

You stare at Luigi and at a loss of words, only lean down to kiss him again before pulling apart.

“I’d love that Lu.”

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#angelluigiposts #luigi mangione #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione imagine #hi everyone this fic is OVER

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dubiousanon · 1 day ago

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Naruto doesn't even know the names of some colors. He wasn't taught them growing up and it's not something the ninja academy figured they needed to bother with, so anything outside the rainbow, he has no clue. What the fuck is periwinkle? What's magenta? He's got no idea!

Zero concept of time. His understanding of yesterday, tomorrow, the day after is super skewed and not correct. He measures time by the length of shadows in position to the sun and can mentally grasp how long it's been, but can't verbally translate that into minutes. He also doesn't keep track of the date well, measuring by seasons, not months.

Nobody has ever asked his name, so he doesn't realize he can ask other people's names either. So, if someone doesn't introduce themselves, he's not going to inquire. That's why Lee is "Bushy Brows" until corrected, and Jiraiya is "Pervy Sage" at first.

He collects totally useless things like they're treasure. Bottle caps, pretty napkins, old shoelaces. He didn't have toys growing up and would make his own games, and things like this were gold to him. He regularly dumpster dives and doesn't see anything wrong with it.

He thinks the sun, moon and stars are living entities. They're glowing and he heard that the sun gives Earth life, so he figures the sun must be consciously choosing to do so. Thanking the sun for his meals is common. Appreciating the moon and stars for light at night is habit.

He can't tie shoelaces. No idea how. He never learned. On top of that, he thinks everyone has two outfits— pajamas and their day clothes. You wash one while wearing the other. When he goes over to Sasuke's and sees his entire closet and dresser full, he's so lost.

He hates socks and can barely stand sandals. He grew up without shoes of his own and is so used to being barefoot that anything else is wildly uncomfortable now. It's an entire fight for Kakashi to get him to wear standard issue sandals on missions.

Expanding on the animal thing, he doesn't know about subspecies of animals. All birds are just birds, the distinction of falcon, pigeon, crow doesn't even occur to him. A zebra is just a horse with stripes to him, what do you mean it's an entirely separate thing?

Au where Naruto has such weird social expectations from his childhood isolation no one can figure out exactly what he’s thinking at any given time because it’s so skewed from normality

#naruto #naruto uzumaki

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arolesbianism · 6 months ago

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Time for more eternal gales isat au, this time featuring Sier as Isabeau, creating a sprite I can never use next to Aris’ because despite my best efforts it would make them look tall

#keese draws #eternal gales #oc #oc art #isat #in stars and time #this one didn’t take nearly as long as the aris one but I think I suffered for it more from the clothes alone #siffrin made me forget I suck at drawing clothes rip #this was also harder because of how much trickier it was to try and adapt siers design to feel fitting enough for my standards #they have a very stylized design compared to most of the others #I kind of took the lazy route out by keeping most of their original shapes in tact but it’s fine #sier in this au would serve the needed role of emotionally intelligent bestie who is also too scared to cross boundaries to do much #but despite this I do think they’d actually get the suspicion quest in this au #mostly because mase is a furry artist not a nerd and sier would be more likely to look at aris and go bro. are you in a fucking timeloop.#it also differs in that aris doesn’t yell at sier abt it instead looping before they can finish because she can’t handle hearing them be #right on the money about this thing that she thought she was handling perfectly #she doesn’t want to fail them she doesn’t want them to realize she’s failed them she doesn’t want to be a burden she doesn’t want them to #‘realize’ they’re better off without her #aris is Incredibly resistant to accepting help on most serious issues because shes convinced that it’s her responsibility to deal with it #by herself and that if she can’t then she’s a failure and worse than useless #I mean in canon eternal gales she literally loses her eye and arm because of that #in this au she just lost them how sif lost his eye but she still has. complexes abt all that.#but yeah sier also differs wildly from isa in many Many other ways as does the rest of the cast from their assigned characters #for sier they rly aren’t the jock of the group at all instead being more of the guy who keeps the mood lighthearted at all times lest they #die of stress because the others haven’t said anything in a whole 30 seconds #aka they’re the self assigned peacekeeper who doesn’t actually need to constantly keep the peace because no one’s fighting but they still #feel like they need to so they dance and dance and dance for their friends until they collapse from exhaustion #metaphorically ofc #this is why they’re both terrified to confront aris when she starts acting a bit fucked up but also why they still do sometimes anyways #they talk abt this a lil bit in their friend quest as they talk abt how they want to change but are scared to

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maraeffect · 2 months ago

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hi everyone, this is my monthly check-in <3

#not feeling so great lately...there's a lesion on my other knee now #and it most likely is cancer.#they want me to wait another 10 days for an mri???? like ur crazy #if u think i can wait that long.#sighhhhhhhhh.#anyway.#some cool things have happened #like spending all day in nyc with my partner on friday <3333 #and um. i did wnt to vent about smth so uh.#ED tw #lately #my energy has been too low for me to wanna cook. which in turn made my stomach shrink a LOT #since i've been surviving by grazing on snacks.#and i didnt even realize i lost weight until i went to the doctor.#i didnt realize though that it would be even MORE lost when i weighed myself without my winter clothes #and uhhhh. i currently weigh what i weighed in my senior year of high school #which is the FIRST time i've been under a certain number in over SIX YEARS.#and i havent struggled at all w body negativity or ED thoughts in over a couple years. but.#now that my ideal gender expression has shifted more to the feminine side. and now that ive lost weight.#my brain INSTANTLY latched onto that #and was like omg YES do more of that #and it feels nice. this time im FINALLY not struggling to suppress my appetite!!! my body is doing that for me!#and obviously im still eating enough to live on #but still a huge caloric deficit. and rn my wheelchair shit keeps breaking on me. my mobility company is INCOMPETENT.#and my insurance might tell me i have to wait FIVE MORE YEARS for another type of chair......I WILL DIE BY THEN.#ugh everything is so complicated now. and im ALWAYS exhausted bc the sun sets at 4:30. i've just stopped binging and i replaced it with+#a LOT. of retail therapy. i've easily spent probably 1500 of my credit limit in the last 2 months. but you know.#that and not eating are 2 of the ONLY things i can control rn. out of all the fucking bullshit these useless people and my body put me thru #anyway. i'm sure you can tell how i feel rn. i'm just going to try doing anything else today.#vent

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bloodypeachblog · 1 year ago

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This will go amazing with my bathtub that is just full of eyeballs

#w...why would you even do this?#i thought it was gonna be a way to clean a toilet bowl #but why?#how do you keep going without thinking of how useless this is?#what are you trying to accomplish here? what's the purpose? why waste so many materials for this?#maybe as a prank sure #but there are easier ways to pull a prank involving a toilet #im sorry #im just baffled

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du-hjarta-skulblaka · 10 months ago

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So yeah avoiding my phone didn't work and also meant I sat on the kitchen floor staring into space for about 3 hours before Alfie woke up but hey at least I didn't break anything

Them being around is helping a little but they're also struggling and it fuckin sucks bc I know we're both just. Rotating money stress in our minds

#like. i went out earlier to get bread #just bread bc we cant afford anything else #got just enough in the bank to cover the work thing but since management stjll hasnt gotten back to me on HOW to pay it its like #our electricity is already in debt lol it has a thing where you can go £10 into debt before it switches off #and it usually wont switch off over weekends #presumably bc all but 1 places nearby thst we can top it up at are shut on weekends but anyway #so we're like. okay. it MIGHT last today and if it does thst SHOULD mean itll last till monday.#but then itll be at least a tenner in debt #then we only have to last till thursday but its. do we keep this money thats for The Thing that is once again unclear on how urgent it is #or do we spend it on the Soon To Be Immdiately Urgent thing #and thats not even CONSIDERING food lmao we. i got 2 loaves of bread so we can at least survive on toast for a few days #we got 3 maybe 4 meals worth of stuff still in the kitchen #like...at this point i dont even care if i have to go a few days without eating at all to make it to thursday but its.#its so fucked up those are the terms im thinking in #and this isnt asking for more donations i really cannot take that today im at the fuckin bottom of my barrel #and already feel hopeless and useless and an active drain to everything around me #but its. like. how. why. why is it still like this. why is it looking extremely unlikely its ever gonna change.#whats the point if its all for a few scattered handful hours of actual peace and comfort never mind happiness #tldr yes i am once again suicidal but small s #like in the sense of i would feel immense relief if a truck came at me on my way to work tomorrow and would not step out of the way but #dont have it in me to actually consciously act upon

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sensitivegoblin · 5 months ago

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Vent

Tw: SH and su!c!de

#:(#another day of feeling useless #my life is going by and all i do is rot :(#i just want God to posess me with an Angel so i can be done failing my family #im so broken i need to talk to someone but my dad n sister cant help me :(#im just so fucking lonely and i treat therpy like a drug fix like im in hives waiting for thursday #my sister is too cold and my dad just...cant not say the wrong thing #i think im gonna have to SH to avoid a meltdown :(#i dont like doing it chs i get so fuckin itchy #but i have 0 outlet #....well #my therapist told me to use sex as an outlet #but i really dont wanna do that right now #s-x is about loving yourself and rn i hate myself so badly #sh just lets me open up cus im literally physical breaking at the seams cus of how much i keep to myself #its just not right to unload my stuff onto friends or helpless family #especially since my shit has no answers or hopr #i mostly just wanna be held #the only reason im not attempting to end it all is cus i already know what a burden a failed attempt causes #i xant watch anything or do anything without zoning out minutes later.....#all i can do is spiral and sleep #im just so fucking sad i hate this life i wanna start over i keep failing evrryone around me #i wanna be posessed by an agel so my soul can rest but my body can now actually take care of evrryonr #i dunno what to do :(#my dad says the hospital isnt a good idea but im so fucking sad n tired n wanna die #it feels like no one actually takes me seriously cus ive never sucessfully tried or been to the hospital #feels like my family thinks im lazy depressed imstead of very deeply depressed #everytime my dad says “youre looking for an answer thats not you.” or “i guess i gotta fix things without you” I WANNA FUCKIN DIE #i wanna rip my whole skin off n jjst die....thats how he sees me..#..

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itsalwaysdark · 3 months ago

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so to do my testing i need a state id but to get my state id i need a social security card bc i lost mine so im waiting up to 15-20 days for social security to send me a verification number in the mail so that i can apply for a new social security card and then ill have to wait for that to get to me and then i can go get my ky id and hopefully not get in trouble for taking so long to get my id changed and THEN i can schedule my ged classes. and by then ill probably have finished my math and science ged readys which is good and ummm i think thats all. itll prolly be a permit rather than a state id so i can work on learning to drive since we have a nice Not horrible car . and then ill know how to drive which will be helpful to me even if it takes me a while to actually own a car... but itd be helpful to Be able to drive yk. even if i am quite late... and once i get all of that done then thats like finally finished and then i can get a job again and start saving up money for when i am ready to move out...

#and once i am Making money again ill feel better going to the dr for all of my stuff bc my mom says itd be covered by insurance but im #rly rly paranoid abt there being copays or something yk . so id like to Have money jic since i currently have. 3 dollars at all #but yes. and im rly lucky im able to live with my family bc like. they wont Make me pay rent they might ask for help which ill gladly do bc #1. yk and 2. i have been living here free of charge for almost a year 3. even all that aside i want the kids to be able to keep living here #and also be able to eat so idm helping with groceries and the mortgage or whathave you... and itll all be cheaper than paying rent at my #own place anyways so i can build up a good net AND ill have money to start donating again bc i hate not being able to donate it makes me #feel so useless. that was the best part of living in wa was that i Had money to be spending and donating was one of the like. bc i have a #lot of hangups abt money so pretty much spending any money made me feel sick and i had to punish myself for it BUT donating bypassed that.#not that the benefit of donating is that i can spend money without feeling bad but it is something i Want to do because i want to be able t #help however i can . obviously. i am rambling now but basically yes im excited to have a job again #idt ill have money to get people gifts this year for xmas Which sucks but hoooooooopefully i will have a job by february.......... dependin #wewill see how it all works out. im hoping february bc thats the start of the 1st wave of bdays. well . technically january is but thats My #bday so it doesnt count.... bc tag feb father mar weeman may. and then lamp sep and mother oct and i couldnt get either of them gifts and #Yeah i feel evil #BUT!!!! next year i will be able to afford everything all of it ill have money and a job and i can get ppl gifts i love buying ppl gifts #even tho im bad at it i fear. bc i dont have much experience last year was the first year i got to buy xmas gifts for everybody... and bday #for some even :] but ya. ive loved buying gifts since 8th grade which was the first time i was able to buy gifts for my friends bc my dad #gave me his credit card for the dc trip. bc we were on kiiiiind of difficult terms in 2018 LOLLL. so he was doing pretty much anything to #get me to talk to him again the perks of having to go to court against your parent. and also girl that restraining order was meaningless bu #whatever i cant think abt it or ill get kinda mad so were moving on Oh im cramping that sucks okayyyyy. anyways. YES so thats your connor u #date i think these tags are gonna get cutoff in a major way. wait nvm i only had like 22... ok well ending it here goodbye my diary

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gooobraghhh · 3 months ago

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1,000 follower kink vote post: 1st place, Somno

Sleeping pups make the best toys. It’s so fun to tease a cute things body while they’re unconscious. You get to hear their honest, unfiltered noises, usually little breathy moans that react to your every move once you start gently rubbing and playing with them while you feel them get hard and messy on your fingers.

I just love the perverse intimacy of it. There’s no lying, no altering your reactions, just the honest results of my touch and you don’t even know you’re functioning as entertainment for me. You don’t know that I’m studying every little thing you do in response to my fingers and mouth. Learning what feels the best based on your reactions.

It’s so rewarding to feel the mess you’re making, to feel you needily throbbing as I play with you. If I can get you to cum even better. It’s so cute to hear you cum when you aren’t awake enough to control your voice. To make you twitch and clench and squirm infront of me while you’re none the wiser.

Maybe I’ll leave it at that. Let you wake up in the morning either oblivious to my actions or I’ll have done something to let you know I used you in your sleep. You might wake up without your underwear, or maybe you notice dirty words written on your skin in some very intimate areas, if I’m feeling cruel there could be a toy left in you that teased you all night.

But I think it might be more fun for you to wake up. To watch you try to process what’s happening. Seeing your little useless groggy brain try to catch up with the pleasure your body has been experiencing. And while you’re pathetically trying to understand why you feel so horny and sensitive I’ll make sure to start fully fucking you now that waking you up isn’t a concern. God it’s so attractive to see you beneath me, getting overwhelmed by the intensity of what you’re feeling while you’re barely even awake.

Hearing the little words you try to say that just get lost in between moans. I’ll make sure to use you until I’m satisfied, as is your purpose. With how primed and sensitive I made you I’m sure it wouldn’t take long for you to cum again, but I’ll keep going for as long as I want, without a care for how intense it is for you. And of course I just can’t stop myself from getting in your ear and telling you how cute you were in your sleep, how loud you got from my touch, what specific things made you react the most. I’ll watch your little face get all flustered and embarrassed before your eyes roll back and you just can’t keep your voice down.

Once I’m finally done with you I’ll make sure to hold my little plaything and let you know how good of a toy you were for me, how amazing your body felt. I’ll keep you nice and tight while softly praising you to sleep in my arms, at least until I feel the need to play with you again <3

#trans nsft #mtf dom #t4t nsft #ftm ns/fw #mtf nsft #ftm nsft #gooobraghhh text #somno k!nk #somno fantasy #t4t puppy

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loveanddeepthroat · 6 months ago

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Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts.

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself.

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly.

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence.

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.”

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?”

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry—”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

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