#in which there is knitting and space battles

[crushmeeren]

♡ Todoroki/Fem Reader

♡ Master List Link

⇢ Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+.

⇢ Warnings; cursing, making out, dirty talk, Shouto is a champ at eating pussy/ass, fingering, vaginal sex, Shouto is a little subby in this

♡ Authors Note; I had to complete the headcannons for my favorite three MHA boys sooner rather than later. I love Shouto, he deserves all the good things and a lot of hugs.

Shouto who comes off as cold, uninterested, a giant dick — but who is so sweet and so loving it makes your teeth ache. Who is the kind of person that writes down facts about you so he doesn’t forget — you accidentally stumbled upon the list in his notes app and promptly cried.

Shouto who never ceases to buy extra of what he’s eating so you can have some too, even if you weren’t hungry in the first place.

Shouto who doesn’t understand social cues very well. Who tilts his head adorably when he’s confused. Who wears a blank, spaced out expression on his face often when he’s unsure of what’s going on.

Shouto who lets you teach him how to read the room a bit easier, to understand body language and tone. Whose pretty smile could melt icy glaciers with its tender warmth. Who is so comfortable with you he makes all sorts of facial expression, which you take as a triumphant win.

Shouto who you met in high school but didn’t date until after graduation. Who you crossed paths with while battling a villain and you caught mid air as he was nose diving from the top of a building. Who was probably a bit delirious because he swears he saw you with a halo, because he “fell in love with an Angel that day.”

Shouto who loves to drink strawberry milk. Who has so many cartons cluttering the fridge in your home it drives you nuts. Who compulsively brings you a glass when he’s drinking some because he’s learned he can show you he loves you by sharing what enjoys. It’s so cute when you get a glass out of nowhere.

Shouto who decides to be a bit “rebellious” after he gets out of high school. Who decides to cut his hair shaggy and short. Who gets a nose ring, pierces his ears and acquires a tongue ring. Who is with you when you get your own body modifications, and often wears jewelry that reminds him of you.

Shouto who claims his absolute favorite thing in the world is to snuggle up with you on the couch. Especially when it’s raining and the two of you are wrapped up in a fluffy blanket burrito, watching movies and napping. If it turns X rated, well who can blame you?

Shouto who is a dry texter. We’re talking Sahara Desert dry. Who does still take the time to send you pictures of things you love while he’s out on patrol, especially of dogs that he encounters. Who gets so happy when you respond in kind, forming your own language with one another.

Shouto who tends to wear a streetwear style when he’s not working. Who likes to wear matching clothes with you. Who even bought you both a pair of matching underwear with your faces on them. You’re unable to resist, you’re technically sitting on his face all day… right??

Shouto who is terrible at almost every video game, but who can annihilate anyone at Mario Kart. You’re definitely not bitter about that. Funnily enough, the best part of game night when everyone is over is watching Bakugou lose his mind when Sho decimates repeatedly.

Shouto who has remained tight knit with Midoriya. Who considers the man as his brother by extension, and who you’ve grown close to as well. Who goes to the #1 hero for help planning you a surprise party by sending Midoriya a series of increasingly concerning emojis until he agrees.

Shouto who loves to eat peach gummy rings. Who you have, on more than one occasion, woken up to eating the candy at 2:00 am. Who offers you one, which you casually eat and go back to bed. Who memorizes your favorite candy and leaves it for you to find everywhere.

Shouto who has told you the story of how he got his burn scar. About his father, his brother and all the horrors of his past. Who opened up to you, willingly sharing a side of himself others don’t get the privilege to see.

Shouto who has taken you to meet his family, to meet his mother. Who added you to the group chat with all his siblings, which is unbelievably entertaining. Who tries to fit his face with more than one expression when he meets your parents, but you make sure he knows he’s perfect for you just the way he is.

Shouto who loves you unconditionally. Who is your soul mate, your best friend. Whose love for you has grown bigger than a California Redwood tree. Who becomes your husband, who you love more than life itself. You’d start a goddamn war for this man.

Shouto who enjoys kissing. Who loves to lazily make out with you. Whose cock starts twitching in his briefs when the kiss turns messy. Whose lips get slick and puffy as they press together consistently with yours. Who eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it and sinking his teeth into your bottom lip so roughly it stings.

Shouto who likes to spread you out on your back in bed, stripping you until your only in one of his large T-shirts. Who leers at you when he pushes it up your belly, gently letting it catch on your tits until he can watch them fall and bounce. Who makes you keep the shirt up around your collarbone when he sucks on your nipples.

Shouto who bites the skin on your sternum, plush lips tickling your belly as he makes his way to your pussy. Who grips the bottoms of your thighs and presses them backwards to your chest. Who stares at you with heavy lidded eyes as he licks from your pussy to your clit, making sure to swirl the cold metal of his tongue ring around it.

Shouto whose eyes flutter closed while he eats you out. Who makes you cry out when he sucks your clit, tongue ring passing over it with each methodical swipe of his tongue. Who praises you murmuring “your pussy is amazing angel, will you let me eat your ass? pretty please?”

Shouto who strips you both. Whose flushed cock stands full and heavy when you see it. Who flips you, yanking your ass in the air and shoving your face into the sheets. Who spanks you unforgivingly and grips the thick flesh of your ass to spread you open. Who chills his tongue ring even more and kitten licks at your rim until you want to scream.

Shouto who shoves two fingers in your pussy without warning. Who curls and thrusts them as he sucks on your rim until you cum so hard you see stars. Who pulls away from you, stroking himself for relief and speaks with a wrecked voice pleading “I want to put my cock in you so badly, can I please princess?”

Shouto who is aware you’re a pillow princess, but has hearts in his eyes, cheeks flushing bubblegum pink when you tell him you’ll ride him for a bit. Who props his back up against the headboard with a couple pillows, allowing you to flip around so your back faces him. Who holds your wrists behind your back as you ride him, letting out delicate and whiny moans while you make his toes curl.

Shouto who spreads you with his free hand, eyes glued as his cock disappears into your pussy while you bounce in his lap. Whose dick throbs, breathing hitching when you throw your head back and you moan “fuck Shouto, your cock is so good, you’re gonna make me cum!”

Shouto who reaches his limit, pushing you off his cock and onto your back whispering filthy praise in your ear. Who grips his shaft, teasing your clit with the tip before slipping his dick all the way back inside with one fluid roll of his hips.

Shouto who bends you in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders and folding you into a mating press. Who fucks you roughly, hips curling up with the intention to bully your g-spot. Who makes sure you feel each drag of his cock, coaxing you into cumming with a handful of strokes. Who gets you to cum over and over, little water balloons of warm pleasure popping and coursing through you.

Shouto who produces low moans when your pussy squeezes his cock. Who desperately pleads with you to cum one more time because he can’t hold on for much longer.

Shouto who makes you feel dizzy as you chase your pleasure once more while folded as a pretzel. Who cums instantly when your sweet cries hit his ears, praising and encouraging him all at once. Who pushes into the hilt, grinding against you as he bursts at the seams, panting to catch his breath.

Shouto who giggles with you as he untangles your limbs. Who flops down beside you, lacing your fingers together as you enjoy the leftover bliss.

Shouto who eventually gets up to clean you both. Who finds the shirt you were previously wearing and some clean panties for you to wear. Who pulls you into a hug, murmuring how much he loves you, planting kisses all over your face. Shouto who then goes to the kitchen and brings you a glass of strawberry milk.

[savi0rr]

Dirty Cash.ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, you suddenly get a tone of money. Who knew that you had to do some dirty work for it.

a/n: hi divas!! I saw a lot of people liked my other Viktor oneshot so here's another one! this one isn't my fav cuz its lowkey short but I think its cute

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Where on earth did you get that?” Viktor exclaimed, his eyebrows knitting together in astonishment as he stared at the box of expensive, high-tech equipment you had just carried into the dimly lit lab. The box was adorned with sleek designs and the latest technology, a stark contrast to the cluttered workbench scattered with dusty tools and disassembled gadgets. You couldn’t help but smile, tilting your head playfully to one side.

“Do you have any idea how much these are?” he continued, his fingers delicately brushing over one of the intricate components, marveling at its craftsmanship. You held your breath for a moment, glancing off to the side as if considering your next words carefully, then shrugged nonchalantly. With a mischievous twinkle in your eye, you replied, “Don’t ask and enjoy,” punctuating the statement with a wink while leaning casually against the desk, exuding an air of confidence.

Viktor’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning as he sorted through the various parts, his mind already racing with possibilities. “You have no idea how rare these are…” he muttered under his breath, becoming engrossed in the treasure trove of trinkets laid before him.

After a brief, absorbed silence, Viktor paused, placing the delicate gear back in the box. He leaned back in his chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips, and regarded you with a skeptical expression. “Did you steal these?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinized your demeanor. The intensity of his gaze made you hesitate for a fleeting moment as you tried your best to maintain an innocent facade.

“I just had some… spare money. Why not spend it on my favorite inventor?” you replied, tilting your head slightly and pouting to soften the edges of the conversation. “Don’t you trust me?”

Viktor let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You? Have spare money?” he scoffed, a frown forming on his lips as he redirected his attention to the cluttered box. “And for one, I don’t trust you.”

You allowed a smirk to dance across your face, your shoulders shrugging in a carefree manner. “I had some… dirty work, let’s say,” you suggested with a hint of mischief in your voice. 

Viktor’s expression shifted, his curiosity igniting as he leaned forward, his body tensing slightly. “Dirty work?” he echoed, his voice trailing off as his eyes drifted over your figure, assessing you with a newfound suspicion. Your cheeks flushed under his gaze. “Of course not! I haven’t gone insane,” you retorted quickly, adding, “I just did some work. In the Undercity.”

“What kind?” Viktor pressed, his interest now piqued as he frowned, searching your face for clues. 

“Just covering some people’s tracks,” you replied, casual air about you, though the words hung heavy in the air. “They paid me a lot,” you added, throwing him a playful wink to lighten the gravity of the situation.

Viktor fell quiet, the surprise and concern battling within him. After a moment, he nodded slowly, his expression softening. “And you spent it all on these parts?” he inquired, a hint of disbelief creeping back into his tone. “On me?” 

“I didn’t spend all of it on you,” you giggled, slipping off the edge of the desk to approach him. Leaning slightly over his shoulder, you whispered teasingly, “Or maybe I did,” allowing your breath to brush against his ear, an intimate gesture that sent a thrill down both of your spines. You tilted your head again, your smirk widening.

“Have fun with your brand-new toys,” you said softly, stepping back to create space between you two as you turned to leave the lab. Viktor stood there, confusion swirling in his mind, a string of curses escaping his lips as he realized the complexities of your actions. “Damn it,” he thought, a flicker of gratitude igniting within him—he owed you one.

[kurooh]

☆ fluff, with mha spoilers about hawks’ fate (ch. 385&426)

“c’mon, stay still, keigo,” you remind him softly, adjusting the angle of his head with a hand at his chin. “i’m not gonna poke your eye out, don’t worry.”

“it looks really . . pointed,” keigo replies, eyeing the tip of the eyeliner pen cautiously. “and anyway, how’re your hands not shaking that bad?”

“practice,” you shrug, “but your talking is breaking up my concentration, y’know.”

“okay, okay,” he zips his lips and pretends to toss a key over his shoulder. you simply shake your head at keigo’s antics, bringing the tip of the pen to his eye again. this time, he manages to control his flinch enough to not mess up the wing you’re drawing.

keigo had been born with his birdlike quirk, fierce wings, which came along with many other avian characteristics. his astute, piercing golden eyes were a good example of what came along with his quirk. more interestingly, his eyes had always had dark markings around them—sharp lines and wings to further add to his birdlike appearance.

since losing his quirk to all for one on that vile day, in a battle that should’ve been won, keigo lost most of those odd little characteristics, the markings around his eyes being one of them. (of course, he never lost his penchant for fried chicken.) now, as the president of the hero public safety commission, he’s tasked with talking to all kinds of different heroes who certainly know who he used to be.

“you okay, kei? i’m gonna move onto the next eye, baby,” you whisper, so as not to startle him when he’s already gotten this relaxed. he nods, lost in thought.

not long after getting the job, keigo rushed to tell you the excellent news, and ask a simple request of you. he’d looked at you with his striking eyes, the skin around them empty and bare.

“so, y’know the marks i had around my eyes? the black birdie ones?” keigo seriously described it to you as if you’d never seen them a day in your life.

“of course, kei. why . . ?”

“so, i’ve gotta go into work and talk to people every day. i’m still hawks, the cool cool cool retired number two prohero, just without the wings and eye makeup.” his voice drifted off as he patted around behind him, momentarily expecting to be met with the softness of his downy vermillion feathers.

you nodded silently, heart squeezing sadly for him. he chuckled awkwardly and cleared his throat, “anyway, i’d like you to do the eyeliner for me each day. i know, i know, it’s kinda ridiculous, but it would really mean a lot to me.”

keigo looks back wistfully, turning the memory over in his head a few times while you color in the wing and prepare to add the detail to his inner corner, all from memory. as the tip of the pen strokes over the delicate skin, he loosens up more, letting you nudge his face left and right without that nervous stiffness from before.

he notices the way your brows knit in concentration, the tight grip you’ve got on the eyeliner pen, and the lightness in which you use it on him. it’s ridiculous how something so small can mean this much—warmth rises to his cheeks and colors them something rosy.

“and . . done!” you exclaim, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “kei, you’ll love this.”

“lemme see the mirror, dovey,” keigo chuckles happily, gesturing for you to step to the side. as he stares into his reflection in the vanity, he can see red feathers surrounding his shoulders and the space behind them. a squint of his eyes has them fading away, and he clears his throat shakily to focus on the makeup.

behind him, you rest your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them soothingly as though you know what he’s thinking. the black makeup around his eyes and in the inner corners looks natural, complimenting his face perfectly. you’d managed to pull something this accurate off, just from memory—keigo sniffles, rising to his feet from the chair. he envelops you in a strong hug, tucking his face into your neck carefully so as not to smear your work.

“you did such a great job, dovey,” keigo whispers into your skin, fingers squeezing you. “i can’t wait for you to do this for me every morning.”

“really?” you ask, swaying a little with him in your arms. “my makeup skills are that good?”

“of course they are!” he exclaims, “but seriously though, thank you. i felt naked without the eyeliner.”

your cheeks warm and you giggle; keigo’s heart flutters with adoration, no longer grounded. he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, but he steps back curiously, fiddling around with the eyeliner pen. you gasp accusingly—he’d swiped it from you without letting you notice.

he flashes you a silly smile, dangling the pen from his fingertips with mirth sparkling in his gold eyes. “hey, mind if i try on you? we can match!”

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: some swearing, sexual reference

IMESSAGE.

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y/nontour y/n in berlin tonight 🫶

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user she’s so slay

user the fact she was crying during the next song too 😭

user poor girl’s had her heart broken twice in the space of six months

user charles done fucked up big time

touring through heartbreak was quite possibly the hardest thing to be done. city after city, having to get on stage every night with a smile on your face, all while wondering what you had done wrong. thankfully, your fans were as supportive when you were sad as they were when you were happy.

but you’d never felt lonelier. after three years of a relationship with austin, you were sure you could never trust another like that again. and mere weeks later came charles leclerc, snatching up your heart and making you blind to any hurt you’d felt before. you were brand new with him, and he had trampled it under his pretty foot.

curled up on the bed of this week’s hotel, an old rerun playing mindlessly on the television, you stared straight ahead at the wall — only pulled out of such a trance when a knock sounded at the door. thinking it was only room service, you dragged yourself to the door’s entrance, only to find lewis hamilton stood on the other side.

“lew? what are you doing here?” you questioned, brows knitting together. he stepped inside, not saying a word other than pulling you into a hug. if it weren’t for the fact you were dried of tears, you’d have broken down.

“thought you could use a friend,” he told you, a fond smile on his face. but there was something in his eyes, something he was battling with. “but, about charles… i really think you should hear him out.”

“lewis, please don’t.”

“he fucked up, i know that. but i saw him with that girl the night of the party. he was practically trying to shove her off of him, and when he knew you’d been and left he went straight after you.”

you were crying now, afraid of what the real truth was. “what about the picture of him and her leaving together?”

“come on, y/n. you know the media better than anyone. she probably followed him out and they’ve made it look like something different.”

you sighed, leaning your head against your friend’s shoulder. your chest was heavy with a decision to be made. the risk of trusting him again, of trusting anyone, only to be caught up in a vicious cycle of heartbreak.

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yourusername life lately ❤️‍🩹 oh and my new single “opposite” is out now btw

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zendaya new music!!! my life is improved

user a song after the charles drama??? TEA

lizzo pop off queen 👑

lilymhe how can you still look so pretty when crying 💔💔💔

user charles leclerc better count his days

TWITTER.

IMESSAGE.

writers note: it’s concerning how attached i am to this parasocial relationship. petition for sab and charles to date because they’d be such a sexy couple

tagged: @leclercloml @vroomleclerc @gaviypedrisbride

[nerdallwritey]

Don't! Cross! This! Line! With Your Hand.

Summary: “I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’” You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too.  Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground.  Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him. “That’s what they called you?” you asked. Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.” OR Astarion asks for help with reading the scars on his back. You give him a hard time in the process. NOTE: This is a crack fic is based on this scene from Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!reader Rating: Mature Word count: 2.1k CW: strong-ish language, stupidity, Night at the Museum 2 Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3

a/n: I wrote this back in March of 2024, WAAAAAAYYY before I ever posted An Evening to Ourselves. It was never supposed to see the light of day and yet, here we are. I recently reached 300 followers on this account and was encouraged by @vividiana and @khywren to post this crack fic as a celebration of sorts. Here's what I wrote in the google doc I originally wrote this piece in: "I wrote this purely because I love this dumb scene a lot and I thought it was a funny dynamic between Astarion and my Tav. It’s bad. It’s good. It is what it is." Please enjoy!

There it was. Your precious lute. Wood worn from loving hands cradling it through years of song. Haphazardly shoved into the back of a tent with jars full of what you assumed was the blood of wild animals. Rags and other miscellaneous objects thrown on top of it to try and hide it from view. Nothing too heavy though. She’d sing another day.

You KNEW Astarion had taken it. The bastard.

He’d begged you to stop playing when you were working out a tune on the way to the Risen Road. He’d begged you to stop playing when you made your way back to camp. It hardly seemed fair that he would take it and hide it while you were helping Gale with dinner. You couldn’t help that annoying him was one of your favorite pastimes.

Still, he hadn’t destroyed the instrument as he had threatened to do so eloquently. That was something. Though Astarion rarely ever made good on his threats to you or your prized possessions.

Puffing out a short breath to move a strand of hair out of your face, you crouched, doing your best to mimic what your resident rogue might do in this situation. Looking around, Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Strange, given the time of evening - perfect time to ignore everyone and read something he’d picked up on the road - but you couldn’t complain. Here was the perfect time to take back what was rightfully yours.

On your hands and knees you crawled forward, ducking your head under the low flap of his tent. Gently, you removed the debris covering the beloved instrument, and scurried backwards again to make off with your loot.

“Stoooooop-” you heard a familiar voice bellow from the treeline, “-right there, darling.”

Spinning on your heel, you turned to greet an irritated, and shirtless, Astarion. His brows were knit together in a scowl as he marched towards you. Specks of blood littered his skin. He must have just come from a hunt.

“Evening, Astarion,” you chirped innocently. “Were you out hunting for a shirt?”

He ignored your quip and instead got up into your personal space. Thrown off by his proximity, you dropped your guard a bit, allowing him to reach forward and snatch the lute out of your hands.

“Give me that!” you lunged after his hand but he held the instrument out of your reach.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he tisked. “First, you’re going to do something for me.” He turned to give you a look at his back.

You were met with the intricate scar you’d only seen a handful of times before. Once when you’d accidentally come across him washing his shirt in a nearby stream, and another the morning following the Tiefling party after you’d spent the night with him.

The intricate patterns drove a dull ache through your heart. Astarion had mentioned it had been carved into his skin over the course of a single night by his ruthless master, Cazador. You scrunched your nose and scowled at the thought, then softened, feeling sympathy for the man before you. Speaking of-

“I know a few healing spells, but I don’t think they’d help with this,” you said, genuinely.

“Obviously not,” Astarion spat over his shoulder. Then he sighed. “Sorry, I- That’s not what I meant. I was wondering if you could help me read them. The scars. I’ve been trying to read them by touch, but I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashimi.”

You crossed your arms and examined his back. You recognized the language of the runes: Infernal. Your eyes zeroed in on the lute in his hand. Might as well have some fun if he insisted on being annoying.

“I’ll help you read your back,” you said, a teasing lilt in your tone, “when you release my lute and give it back to me.”

Astarion turned again to face you and caught a mischievous look in your eye. You saw him mirror it. He knew you’d read the scars for him. But a game was afoot.

He straightened his posture and lifted his head in a way you’d seen him do dozens of times now: I’m better than you. I’m looking down on you. Come here and I’ll snatch you right up.

“I shall release what I want to release the moment I want to release it.”

You snorted. “Great. And I’ll read what I want to read at the exact moment that I want to read it, okay?”

Astarion huffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me what it says right now or I shall destroy ALL your instruments, starting with the little worn out piece of driftwood here.” He waggled the lute by its neck lamely to punctuate his point.

“It’s spruce!” you feigned offense. “Fine, if you’re not gonna give me back my lute, then I’m never going to help you translate the Infernal on your back.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Infernal… what was that bastard up to?” His eyes flicked back to yours. “Alright,” he said. “Alright.”

“Good,” you said, leaning forward for the lute.

Astarion tilted back a little, keeping his grip firmly on the lute. You gave him a look of confusion.

“I’ll tell you what, they didn’t call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy’ for nothing.” He made to hand you the instrument, then snatched it back just as quickly. “They DIDN’T call me ‘Astarion the Trustworthy,’ they called me ‘Astarion the BLOODTHIRSTY, who KILLS whoever doesn’t give Astarion exactly what he wants in the moment that he wants it! Which is RIGHT NOW when I had better get my back read out to me!’”

You looked at him with wide eyes, trying and nearly failing to withhold a laugh. He was trying to play this game with you. He really was. But you could see how desperately he wanted answers, too. 

Astarion, in turn, puffed his chest out as if trying to stand his ground. 

Just a little longer with the teasing, then you’d help him.

“That’s what they called you?” you asked.

Astarion looked up as if trying to grasp what exactly he should say next. “It was… shorter in Elvish.”

“Great, well, I’ll read your back after you give me back-” you reached forward once more for the lute and your fingers brushed one of the strings, letting out a soft trill. 

“How dare you,” Astarion pivoted on his heel away from you. “If you touch that again, I shall kill you right now.” 

You playfully rolled your eyes. For all his talk, you knew Astarion would never hurt you intentionally. 

He pointed at the lute and continued: “Do not touch this. This is a no touching zone.” He waved his free hand in front of the lute, drawing an invisible barrier through the air. 

“Good! Well, then-” you reached out and strummed a few of the strings that were within your reach.

Astarion angled his body to cut you off. “Oh my gods,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe you reached across like that.”

Again, you tried extremely hard to keep yourself from laughing. 

Astarion smiled and kept going. “I can’t even believe it. Oh, gods, I want to kill you right- If I didn’t need you to read my back you’d be- you’d be so dead right now, it would be unbelievable.”

For all his practiced words and charm, he was failing miserably at threatening you articulately. You both knew it but neither of you would be the one to break first.

“Great, but you DO need my help to read your back.”

Astarion used his free hand again to dramatically redraw the barrier between you and his arm holding your lute. “Don’t! Cross! This! Line! With your hand.”

“No-”

“How dare you-”

“What I’m saying is-”

“If you speak again-”

“Nobody else-”

“If you SPEAK again, I’m GOING to kill you. Do you understand?”

You attempted to give an answer to this, but the vampire cut you off gleefully.

“Don’t say any- Oh gods I see you getting ready-”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh my gods! Don’t say anything!”

Sucking in your lips and holding your breath, you did your best to remain nonchalant. Astarion could see you were about to break. He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“I shall murder you if you talk again. Now would you please… read what's on my damn back?” He turned once again to show you the pattern in his skin. You took this as your chance to snatch your lute back.

Your hand connected with the instrument. “Okay, after you give this back to me.”

Astarion slowly turned back to you, feigning disbelief and using his free hand to clutch at his chest in mock pain. “You did both! You spoke, and you reached your hand across!” He whipped his arm holding the lute back to his side, forcing you to let go.

“Look,” you said, placing your hands on your hips, “I could do this with you all night, okay?”

“How about this?” Astarion moved his hand to the pegboard of the lute and brought his free hand to the base. He then kicked the back of your knee, making you shift off balance, and finally came around behind you, holding the neck of the lute against your throat. “How about I DON’T kill you right now like I really, REALLY want to, and I give you precisely five seconds to read what’s been carved into my back.”

“Oh my gooooooods,” came another voice. “You two need to stop flirting so loudly around the rest of us.”

Karlach meandered over, dragging her hands down her face indicating she’d heard enough. 

“Astarion, the infernal on your back doesn’t say anything specific. It’s part of some larger devilish pact or some shit. I can’t be fucked.”

You both looked to Karlach and then back at each other. Astarion released you from the “threatening” hold he had you in and the pair of you turned to face your tiefling friend. 

“Karlach,” Astarion started, “you know how to read?”

The flames that surrounded Karlach’s body burned brightly for a moment. “Of course I know how to read, you absolute twat hat.”

That made you start to laugh in earnest.

“And you, soldier!” Karlach focused her attention on you and you immediately shut up. “If you’re gonna bang fangs, good for you by the way, but if you’re gonna bang fangs, have the decency to keep it down? Some of us are really pent up and can’t do anything about it.”

You cringed inwardly. “So sorry, we’ll keep it down from now on.” you elbowed Astarion.

“Ow! Yes, sure, sorry.”

“Good. Now put a shirt on, fancy boy.” With that, Karlach made her way back to her tent. 

The both of you stayed quiet for another moment.

“Still feel like murdering me?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Great. Turn around.” You knelt down in the dirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Turn around,” you repeated.

Astarion did as he was told and turned to show you his back. You stared for a moment, then took to drawing it in the dusty ground in front of you. When you were done, you patted Astarion’s calf and he turned back to face you.

“What in the hells?” Then, after a moment, “What did he do to me?”

Looking at the runes you’d dutifully copied into the dirt, you weren’t exactly sure what to make of it, apart from what Karlach had already told you. You stayed silent.

“Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.” Disbelief and confusion coated his words. 

“You really have no idea what this is?”

“None at all… Cazador was only figuratively hellish - there were never any devils hanging about the crypt.” 

You rose to stand and joined Astarion by his side. 

He sighed. “Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me. But if this is part of a contract, it must be powerful. Or valuable. Or both.” Something hungry played in his tone.

You nudged him gently. Come back. “No wonder he wants me back. What have I run off with?” 

He spoke more to himself than you. You left his side briefly to rummage through his things not a few feet away from you. You tossed one of his own shirts at him, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“We’ll figure it out,” you walked back to his side. “I promise.”

“Will we?” He searched your eyes. “How… sweet.” 

You half smiled, then your eyes trailed down to your lute still in his hand. “Can I have that back now?”

“Not a chance, darling.”

[milswrites]

The embers that remain

~ Eris Vanserra X Reader

Summary: Eris tells you some unwanted news.

Warnings: angst, angst and more angst.

Notes: Gotta keep these break up fics flowing.

It started with the wavering touches. The way Eris’s usually firm hands now hesitantly hovered over your body, afraid to close the space between you.

Then it was the way he couldn’t quite look you in the eyes. His amber eyes always opting to stare elsewhere whenever he was in your presence.

The final straw was the stale turn your conversations had taken. The fact that no matter how hard you tried to pull answers from the male he remained as silent as the grave.

But what bothered you the most was the guilt ridden expression which failed to leave his face. His permanently furrowed brows and drooping frown marring his once handsome features.

For a while you allowed him to get away with it, accepting the new sullen persona of which he had adopted. Though once the dark bags had begun to grow under his tired eyes and his cheekbones had sunken into his pale skin, you decided that enough was enough.

That whatever burden Eris had opted to try and carry on his own needed to be shared. There was nothing you wouldn’t do for the Autumn Prince and if needing to share the weight of his problems would enable him to feel better, then you would hold up entire mountains for the male you loved so dearly.

It took numerous attempts for you to stir him from his turbulent thoughts. Your concerned voice and comforting hand coaxing him from his fortified mind. Gently squeezing his knee until the clouds which fogged his whiskey eyes had dissipated, his smoky orbs still failing to meet your own even as they cleared.

“Please my love,” you hummed softly, kneeling before where he was sat, hands clasped on both his thighs, as you looked up at the dejected male, “Share your worries with me. You needn’t battle them alone Eris, not when you have me.”

Your comforting words drew his pained amber eyes to finally meet your warming ones. His brows knitting together in distress, Eris slowly shook his head at you, the Prince tried to deny your gracious offer of help.

Trying to encourage the male to open up you pressed on, “My love there is nothing you could say or do that would ever change my opinion of you. You’re hurting Eris, let me help you.”

You didn’t miss the flash of anger which briefly crossed his harrowed face, the twitching of his nose and slight lift of his lips into a snarl. But you felt no fear, somehow knowing the fury wasn’t directed at you.

“I’m here to listen Eris,” you urged him to speak, begging eyes wide as they searched across his gaunt face, “I could never judge you.”

“But you will!” he finally seethed, teeth slightly bared as his chest rattled which each breath he took. “You will judge me” he cried, his voice breaking as the words fell from his trembling lips.

“No Eris. . . I’d never. Whatever it is it’ll be ok, we can figure it out together” you reasoned giving his thigh another reassuring squeeze from where you were sat on the floor.

“No we won’t” he denied, head still shaking lowly, that cursed expression of grief never faltering from his troubled face.

It was a tense minute of silence before either of you spoke again, but then the source of Eris’s worries tumbled from his lips, “I am to be wed to a woman from one of the outlying cities before the next harvest.”

His words were a knife to the heart. Whilst there had always been the hovering prospect that Eris would have to do his duty to his court and marry another, the two of you had been so caught up in the blazing inferno of your love to ever allow the doubts of the possible reality to cross your minds.

“How long have you known this?” You ask in shock, trying your best to recall when Eris’s sudden change in attitude had began.

The Autumn Prince blanched at your question, clearly having known the answer for longer than he has let on.

“How long Eris?” You repeated solemnly, slipping your hands from where they were resting on his legs to instead consciously knit them together on your lap.

“Two. . .three months?” He shamefully mumbled, a gasp catching in your throat at the revelation of just how long he had kept this secret, “I wanted to wait to tell you. I hoped I didn’t have to at all, that I’d find a way out of it. That it’d never come to this.”

“So you thought you’d just hide it from me for three months? When were you going to tell me you were to be wed Eris, when you were halfway down the aisle?”

“I wanted to tell you” he defended weakly, drawing in another long, shaky breath, “But telling you makes it real and that reality I just couldn’t bear facing.”

“But here we are” you stated, eyes lining with watery tears.

“Here we are” Eris sighed in confirmation, quivering hand reaching out to clasp onto your own. The burning heat from his palm a painful reminder of the comforting heat he had provided you these long years you had spent together.

“So this is it?” You croaked, voice already hoarse from the flood of emotion that had overcome your senses.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he reasoned stubbornly, “we can work something out, see each other still. I can buy a house for you where we can meet.”

You turned your face from the male in disappointment, “I won’t be your dirty secret Eris. I can’t be. Your wife-” your voice cracked at the title, “your wife deserves you in your entirety. Deserves the chance to love you as deeply as I have been able to.”

Flames raged in Eris’s eyes at your refusal to fight, at the dismissive way you had already written of your relationship as a lost cause.

“I won’t love her, never. She’s not you, she never will be. She may be my wife but she’ll never have my heart, that will be yours forever” Eris cried, the heat he was emitting in his burning rage was enough to boil the crystalline tears which fell down his cheeks.

“I’ve always thought you’d make the most wonderful husband Eris,” you weeped opting not to tell him that you had always assumed you would be his bride, “I know you’ll treat her right. That you’d be a good husband. A good father.”

“But it’s not with you!” He sobbed, cursing the gods for the cruel fate he was handed. Losing his faith in the Mother for her misguided choices.

“I’ll always be grateful for the time we were allowed to share my love” you consoled, bringing your free hand to brush back the red locks which had fallen in front of his eyes, “we’ve had such wonderful adventures and I’ll treasure them forever. But. . .we’ve always known your duties would have to come first in the end. We both just chose to become blind to it.”

“We’ve still got time” he begged, leaning his head into your soothing palm, “there’s two months till harvest yet.”

“No my love” you answered, words cutting deeply into Eris’s heart, “That’s not fair. It’s already hard enough as it is. Take the time to move on from me, to ready yourself for another.”

“I’ll never move on, not completely” he promised, warm lips coming to meet your tender palm.

“You’re so strong my love. You will find happiness again” you assured him, confident eyes meeting his own broken gaze.

Eris wasn’t sure how even in the face of adversity you were able to tell the male exactly what he needed to hear. But he was certain that no other woman would ever hold a candle to the force of nature that was you. And as the flickering flame in his eyes dulled into a pitiful ember, Eris swore that he would never allow himself to forget you. That despite your orders to move on, his heart would belong to you in its entirety until the day his fire extinguished.

[rockingrobin69]

of mice and man and man

“It’ll be a little crammed,” Draco said, hearing the apology and stopping the wince before it showed, “but I think we could—”

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, the smile in his voice thick enough for Draco to dare a look. He barely managed one, panting into his palm, tinier even than the space, smaller-smallest. But he did, and—Harry was indeed smiling, beaming, even, brighter than the fluorescent light. In a fight between Harry and the sun, Draco often thought, and stopped himself with quite a bit of force, because truly, what. What. What?

Cleared his throat. Harry was still holding onto his bag with both hands. It looked heavy; Draco developed a light sweat just from staring.

He said, “You can put that down if you’d like.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “I—oh. Yes. Here?”

“You can, ah, put it in the, bedroom? If you prefer? Of course you’ll take the bed; I changed the sheets and, ah.” Stopped at what was now clearly bafflement. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Harry frowned, an obvious lie. “I just thought—never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Which way to the bedroom?”

“Down the—”

“Actually, no, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take the sofa. I’m the guest.”

Draco refrained from smacking his own forehead. “No, no, I won’t hear of it. You just escaped possible mould poisoning; you’re taking the bed.”

“I would have,” Harry grumbled into his elbow in the world’s least-convincing cough, “if—anyway, I need some space for Rufus. The living room would do best.”

To call it a living room was either generous or offensive, Draco didn’t yet decide. It was barely a room, and not entirely designed for the living. It had been a crypt, after all, but renting a place in the city was ridiculously expensive and it did make for a neat party theme. If Draco had ever thrown a party in his life. If he had the slightest inclination to do ever do so. And the neighbours were not terrible either, once the old priest finally left. Very into cheese, which Draco could respect.

Blinking until he near-blinded himself: “You’re being silly. You and Rufus would have a great time in the bedroom. It is slightly more spacious and far less—what’s the word I’m looking for—”

“Dead?” Harry offered pleasantly.

“No, not that. Less drafty, maybe. Did you bring the jumper I knitted for Rufus?”

Again with that sun-challenging grin. “Of course. He never leaves the house without it.”

(Harry once said, entirely serious, that if Draco was a vampire, he would battle the sun if it bothered him. He said it in a straight face and a shrug). (He was mad). (And Draco didn’t allow himself to think further into the absurd, not-worth-his-breath concept). (Because, what). (Truly).

“Rufus is a good chap,” Draco said, and earned another smile for his trouble. “It was good of him to discover your flat was infested with black mould.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “it was Rufus who, er, discovered it,” even though he’d already told Draco that, three times over the phone and twice since he arrived. He was so bizarre sometimes.

“Mice have an incredible sense of smell,” Draco conceded, eyebrow raised, and Harry gulped a few times in a guilty sort of way, still clutching onto his bag. “Oh, come on, we can—share the bedroom. All three of us. It isn’t huge, but not made in miniature either, and Rufus doesn’t take that much space.”

Oh, the sun was ruined; no source of light could ever compare. “Great! Yes. Let’s do that. Yes. Did I tell you I love your place? It’s so strange and Rufus feels right at home and it’s great.”

Unable to look at him, “All right. Stop rambling. If they can’t get rid of the mould you’re more than welcome to move in, both of you.” As a joke, obviously.

Harry said, “Okay,” in a slightly-too-enthusiastic tone, and Draco, weakened already by smiles and close quarters, the smell of Harry’s appley shampoo, by how he was—there, in his space and terrific and so awful about it, Draco who had given up entirely said, “Okay,” right back.

They stood there for another moment in dead silence. Draco’s flat never felt less eerie.

Then he took man and mouse to his bedroom and hoped, against all hope, not to expire from sheer—that.

*

He didn’t expire. It was a close call, but not quite enough to push him over the edge. Harry was… so, so close and so, so himself and it was heady and wonderful and absolutely unbearable.

*

They went to bed early, both a little jittery, rustling covers and soft sheets. ‘Crammed’ was not a word that could describe the situation in any sense; Draco must have forgotten how small his bed actually was. Rufus, at least, had his own space on the dresser. Harry was right at his elbow.

When Draco found enough courage to look at him, he was… smiling. Of course.

Surrendered: “Good night, Harry.”

The bastard took his hand.

“Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Rufus.”

“Night, Ruf.”

He still held it. His hand. Harry was holding his hand and smiling about it like some—Draco hid his own terrible grin in the pillow, heart hammering in his chest, horribly, spookily, beautifully alive.

@short666bread, my dear friend, here's your treat!

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis surviving his knife wound and you patch him up.

“¡Joder! That hurts, you know?”

“Don’t have anesthesia, I told you. Stop moving.”

“Right, sorry- ¡Ay, Dios! Are you stitching with a knitting needle or something?”

You had to hide your laugh under a scoff, thankful he couldn’t see your amused smile at his attitude.

Luis was leaning against a crate when you finally caught up to him and Leon. The latter informed you of their encounter with Krauser, the Spaniard’s injuries confirmed by pain-filled groans. Not wanting to waste anymore time, you had Luis moved to one of the metal tables near the mine’s exit and stripped him of his shirt and jacket. He weakly made a teasing comment about you using his injury to get him out of his clothes, but you ceased his attempts at jest by gently making him lay on his stomach and dove right into the task of treating the gushing wound.

Thanks to your meticulous efforts and the medicinal herbs that Leon keeps around in his case, Luis was stable in no time. Able to breathe a little easier, he instructed Leon to fetch the key from his jacket pocket, saying that the agent will need it to gain access to his laboratory on the island where he and Ashley will then use the surgical equipment to remove the parasites from their bodies. After assuring him that the both of you will be fine and will catch up after Luis is completely patched up and ready to go, Leon made his swift exit, leaving the both of you alone. Which brings you to this point in time- you suturing him.

“Should consider yourself lucky. Any deeper and the blade would have struck your heart. Then… well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You call it “luck”, my friend, but I like to look at it as divine blessing.” Here we go, this you have to hear.

Curiously you ask, “Oh, yeah? And how do you figure that?”

“Es obvio, ¿no?” he gestures with a wave of one of his hands that he was using to rest his head on. “An angel is healing me.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling, but there was no denying the warm flutter in your heart at his suave words. “Sweet talker.”

Luis doesn’t respond, but you can tell the man was grinning ear to ear from your remark. Aside from a few more Spanish curses and colorful complaints about the pain, the rest of the procedure went smoothly. Once the final stitch was made, you gently applied antibiotics over the freshly closed wound before covering it with a clean bandage. You notice the man shiver under your touch when you placed a hand upon his broad back to keep him steady.

“There. Now try to sit up. Slowly,” you sternly advised. “Don’t want you opening that up doing something insane.”

Luis mutters under his breath, “Supongo que no debería saltar sobre más gigantes…”

“What was that?”

“¡Nada!” He jolts upright into a seated position, wincing at the sudden move that surely aggravated his injury. You would have been incensed if you weren’t so concerned for his wellbeing. After a careful reassessment to ensure that the stitches didn’t tear under the cloth, you proceeded to secure them by rolling more bandages around his torso. Your hands glided against the firm muscles of his defined chest and back as you did this.

You stood within the cage of his legs as you worked and can feel the heavy weight of his eyes on you. There was a concentrated look you tried to maintain to quell the nervous energy beating inside at your close proximity to him, but it was a losing battle. Luis’ body was radiating with an inviting warmth and a musky spice that delightfully filled your senses. You want nothing more than to drown in him, but willed yourself to keep your distance, internally conceding to give him space to recover from his near-death experience.

“This is nice,” Luis comments, breaking the comfortable silence.

You meet his eyes with an inquisitive look. “You find receiving treatment from an almost fatal stab wound to be pleasant?”

“I was not stabbed, the knife was thrown. There is a difference.” the man corrected with snark grin and you would have returned the witty remark had he not continued with his line of thought aloud. “Just thinking that it’s been awhile since it was only the two of us. Leon is good company, mind you. Pero, uh, he lacks your appeal.”

A snort escapes you, secretly giddy from his praise. “Think you’re so charming, huh?”

Mild amusement glints his grey eyes. “Have I not been this entire time?”

You shrug playfully, “Your game could use a little work.”

He returns your jest with an exaggerated pout, “¡Ay, mi orgullo! Your words cut deeper than the knife that struck me.”

Your chest heaves in hearty laughter. You shouldn’t have found it hilarious, but Luis had this innate ability to make a grave situation something to poke fun about. It’s what makes him so endearing. While you try to catch your breath, you missed the look of pure adoration he wore as he took in the sight of your smiling face. His usual coy smirk gently curving into something softer. Eventually you finish patching him up and help him back into his shirt and jacket. The man grumbles that the fine leather was now ruined, earning you another heartfelt chuckle.

Once he was presentable, he beholds you , “Gracias. Guess, uh, I owe you one, ¿si?”

“Your life, I’d say.” you nod, tone cheeky and good-natured.

It was his turn to laugh under his breath. He takes your hand in his, relishing in the feeling of touching you again. Soft determination flashes in his gaze as he mentally mulled over your words with newfound hope.

“Take it then,” Luis says. “It’s yours.”

[chishiyasbiscuits]

naked! || kyuma x reader xo

[3.2k words.] [Warning: Lovely smut. Public-fucking. Kyuma's so sweet. Wholesome, basic sex apart from the fact they're on opposing sides of a death game😕 Slight, slight bit of angst at the end, because...yeah.]

I wasn't too sure how I had reached this exact moment. Where the lights around me seemed to dim, with every passing minute, and with every sharp ding from the looming boards above us. As if I was already being granted death. Straight on a silver plate, gleaming with an array of not meat, but misery. 

Silence coated our once enthusiastic cluster. It had seemed almost like the calm before a storm, and my pessimistic self couldn't help but wonder if our party were bound to exit this game...or not. "There's still a way.." Usagi breathed. Whether she was speaking out to a particular person, the entire group or herself I wasn't sure, but her words were slicked in a sympathetic amount of wavering hope. Her frantic gaze met Arisu's in an awkward staring contest. He swallowed, before averting his gaze all while pulling his chapped lips into a thin line. "Come on.." Her voice became drained. Battered by the lack of interaction we bestowed upon her. 

Her straight posture slipped up, and her shoulders melted into a somewhat lazy position. "Arisu?" She questioned lightly. The male shrugged, and her breath caught the air as she exhaled. The deep sensation of dread within me had began to bubble down, and now I believe I had come to terms with my fate. Ever looming in both the present and future. It was bound to happen amidst these treacherous territories anyway. In a game, mixed with the members of a band - one of which, was extremely attractive - out of all likelihoods. 

My simple mind flickered back to those recent memories. Kyuma Ginji, or known to the participants as the King of Clubs. Being classed as royalty was attractive enough, but the man also had his appealing nature to add to the alluring mix. He appeared to us ass-naked, and showing off every inch of his glorious body. Tanned skin, luscious and gleaming against the glistening sunlight. Flexed muscles, with every subtle movement. The way his abs were so defined, and his features were so striking. Not to mention his captivating locks - medium length, dark and draped around his neck. The urge to knit my fingers within the strands was irresistible. There was also, of course, the mere and plain fact that although he possessed such bewitching beauty, this man was also charming. Polite, well-mannered, a gentleman, undeniably good in bed...

My eyes tore themselves from the concrete I had unknowingly set them on. Instead, flicking up to meet the one's of Usagi. Her lashes fell in the form of a few blinks, before she flashed me a downcast smile. Her spirit had been dampened, as I could tell by the way she questioned aid from the others, while being demoralized. "Y/n.." She whispered. The others glanced at me - their expressions dejected. 

"I'll help." I replied, and her forlorn look tilted up into a shocked, but also relieved grin. "Really?" She breathed in disbelief. I hummed, lowering my head into a nod. After all, I still had a good portion of my points, and so out of us all, I was least likely to be caught out in a battle. "Thank you, Y/n." She bowed, before twisting her energized body toward the maze of shipment containers. "I'll look for items." She explained, pausing to catch her increasing breath. Much as a result of excitement. "Would you mind finding any way to obtain points?" She questioned, eyes meeting mine for a split moment. "Any way?" I asked, wetting my lips with my tongue. I uncrossed my arms, and lifted my back into a straight, more engaged posture. "Yeah, okay. Good idea." 

It had been what felt like hours. Though in reality, as I had expected, the time I had spent searching neared to about...five minutes. My thoughts continuously drifted to the bare skin and flesh of Kyuma. His pecs, his biceps, his...

My lip entered the space between my teeth, while I captured my thought process and brought it back into the game. My body reached an area, where the containers seemed to have already been searched. A blue one, darkened by use and shades of coppery rust, sat in my vision. 

I was mere seconds away from entering the shadowed space, when the gorgeous, bare skinned man of my daydreams appeared from the shade. Kyuma Ginji. Fuck. My chest tightened almost instantly, and any words or breaths I could have dared let out were caught - pathetically - in the narrow of my throat. I swallowed desperately, in an attempt to clear the contracting my body was set on doing. 

The man gifted a kind smile. While he walked, confidence in his painstakingly slow step. From the way his eyes turned crescent-shaped, and his lips pulled further up his face, I knew he could clearly see my prying eyes. Dragging down his physique, and landing on his cock. So obvious, between his legs. Thick, big, tanned - like the rest of his glowing frame. A shameful gulp brought words to my ears, and I cursed, tearing my gaze from his length. "There's no need for you to be nervous." He spoke, casting me a knowing glance. I could have melted. I felt so miniscule beneath his stare. It was almost arousing - being in the presence of his godly anatomy. Who am I kidding, it was arousing. 

"Do you wish to battle?" He questioned, after he was met with puzzling silence. I flicked my gaze between his eyes. "Yes." The word slipped, almost without my intention. To be fair, I didn't really know why I had agreed to the offer. After all, if I screwed this our team were more than likely to be left limp and lifeless. Lost in this maze. Simple reminders to the next visitors that life was only short, and easily cut. He seemed amused by my enthusiasm to fight, even if all I had to do was set my palm on any expansion of his skin. 

"Very well then." He smirked. Moving into position with so much grace, I had started to think this entire plan was fucked. Why the king? Was I fucking dumb? Stupid? My mind returned to the heated moment, when he breathed out. Setting his arms in a simple fighting stance. "Are you nervous?" He questioned, and I arched my brows. "No." I muttered, positioning myself in return. My foot slid in front of me, against the smooth, grey concrete. His smile stretched, and my chest rose. Still feeling cramped beneath the anxiety I had first felt when I set my eyes on him. "Do I make you nervous?" He repeated. His strong, deep voice circled my ears, dripping against my mind like a sweetened honey. "Stop distracting me." I spoke abruptly. His brows raised and he slipped himself closer. Strutting toward me like a cat, about to pounce on it's well-deserved prey. 

"Am I not supposed to?" He questioned. "You're on the opposing team. Do you expect me to just give it to you, so easily?" 

I inhaled, breathing out the air through my teeth. My arms fell to my sides, and I lifted my head. Locking my glare with his patient eyes. He was in close proximity now, and any part of my body was accessible to him. Kyuma could have easily reached out and softly flattened his palm against my arm, but no. He hesitated. Plainly standing, centimetres from my figure, and caressing my form with his teasing eyes. So near, yet so far. "Why aren't you touching me?" I whispered, brows furrowing in complex confusion. Kyuma raised his thin brows, lips rising into a taunting smile. "Touch you?" He repeated. "Do you want me to?"

 I averted my gaze, searching my surroundings while I thought. "What if I do?" I smiled, and flicked my eyes to his once more. A slight sense of shock tainted his face, but really, his features seemed to light up at the straightforward reply. "You're a nice guy.." I started. My mind was brought back to Usagi's pleading stare. Her yearn for survival. It was us who deserved to win, however much it appeared as selfish. These were people who had the choice, surely. They wanted to be royalty. Citizens of this land. It was in no way my fault, nor Usagi's. I was going to get this information from him, and the points of course. For her, for me, for us. 

"Do you mind doing a deal with me?" I asked, feigning innocence through both my eyes and misleading smile. His gaze narrowed, just slightly, before he tilted his head - letting his stygian hair brush his well-built shoulder. "Interesting." His lowered face morphed into a smirk. "What might this deal be?" He asked, even when he was smart enough to know the answer. 

"I'll let you fuck me." I said sincerely, watching the tint in his eyes switch. His modest smile slipped to an unchaste smirk. "In exchange for both points and information." I finished. Hope flushed my features while he paused. Tilting his chin up to the sky, as his palm landed on his hip. He intentionally dragged out his reply, puffing air from his parted lips. Glistening with saliva. "That was unexpected from you." He returned, twisting his jaw and linking his stare with mine. "But?" I cut. "Deal." He whispered, softly bringing his arm to his front. His fingers were splayed, and waiting patiently for the warmth of my palm. I smiled in satisfaction, proudly lacing my fingers through his. Squeezing his skin, and shaking his calloused hand. 

The subtle chime sounded, and the board displayed the shameful point extraction. I, however, didn't dare shy away from the man's gaze. Too wrapped up in his bare beauty. I had the very clear option of removing myself - unambiguously stealing his points, and leaving the king in the dirt - but I didn't. Lust had completely bulldozed my common sense, and his body - flush against mine - was all I ached for. 

My hands buried themselves in his silky locks, while his palms found my desperate waist. He brought me against his pelvis, before dragging his fingers up my back and bringing them to rest on my heated cheeks. Kyuma never paused for a second too long, delicately pressing his smooth lips to mine. The act of lust turned ruthless, as if the desire was only just setting in. I gasped and my fingers folded through his hair. Clutching at the strands, where his tips were dampened by sweat. I could feel him. His muscles tensing, his heartbeat pulsing...His cock, growing harder by the second, and straining between the thin space of my stomach and his abdomen. 

Kyuma pulled away, taking a finger and softly sweeping any loose hair behind my ear. His head drifted to my jaw, and his breath pricked against the sensitive skin - sending shivers across my spine. "I'm surely making you nervous now." He whispered rhetorically. A smile formed against the skin of my neck, and I forced the build-up of saliva down my throat. 

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He questioned. His thumbs found my sides, and as his hands cupped my hips, they drew circles across the skin. I held my breath at the close proximity. How he continued rubbing the flesh, while trailing his soft fingers to my inner thighs. "If you wish for me to stop, do say so." Kyuma whispered, and when he earned a faint whimper, he moved on. His index finger - long and slim - trawled between the folds of my aching pussy. Still clothed, and begging for his bare cock. He then gripped my thigh with his hands, holding me up against his chest, and taking me cautiously toward the container. I was dropped, and my back met with the cool surface. The gentle cold only greeted me for a second before I was being handled once more. By strong, caring hands. Large and veiny. His long fingers wrapped across the skin of my thigh, and I was brought towards his pelvis, where my longing legs curved around the sides of his waist. 

Kyuma's hard cock pressed against my abdomen. Pulsing on my skin, and leaking with pure arousal. Pre-cum dribbled from his sensitive tip, and landed against the flesh. Painting me with his lewd pleasure. I tempted the thought before grinding down on his girthy length. Giving his patience a hard time, as I rolled. Bucking softly across him and smiling in bliss at the cute twitches his cock granted me. The strands of his hair were now slick with sweat, and they dangled across his eyes like darkened curtains. Shielding the thirst in his sensual glare. 

"Is there a way out of this place?" I asked between strangled breaths. Pushing my dripping core against his cock. He exhaled lowly, tossing his head back and clearing his vision. His head fell back. "Perhaps." He grunted lightly. I swallowed dryly, lowering my hands to tug on my clothes. Kyuma assisted, as the gentleman he was - lifting my t-shirt over my raised arms, and guiding my hands down my calves as the material was stripped from my skin. I was now bare, pressed against his golden skin. Gleaming brightly in the blinding sun. "Tell me." I commanded, throat swelling as his cock pulsed on my clit. Bringing me almost to a moaning mess. I was already leaking on this man's dick, and he was so composed. Back straight and muscles flexed with every movement he took. His hand dropped to stroke at his base. I bit my lip, and resorted to watching. Following his fingers as they folded around his shaft and positioned his swollen tip at my entrance. The head slipped between my folds and I whimpered impatiently, brazenly throwing my head back against the metal behind me. Kyuma slid himself inside, stretching my walls with his thick girth. His cock filled me so well, gifting me both the pleasure, and the soft twang of pain that came with his length. 

His hips moved forward, after allowing me to adjust, and his dick slid further, gracing my walls with it's smooth movements. "You're wise. Do you not already know?" He grunted. "I want to hear it from you.." I stated, letting my hands find his shoulders. I stabilised myself as he pushed into me. Rutting and bucking. Filling me to the brim with each thrust. Sweat glimmered across his perfect complexion, and my eyes scanned his focused features. Taken by concentration as he fucked into me. Our hips connected with each jolt of his lower body, and his cock was beginning to bury deeper. "You're correct." He breathed. "Whatever you believe you must do."

"Complete all the games.." I murmured, before tensing at the way my words became caught in my throat. I moaned lightly, and his bliss-taken face was enough to tell me he was enjoying the show. "Yeah.." He whispered, too caught up in the way he stroked my insides, catching my spot with his tip. "Fuck.." I cursed, moans muffled by my lips. "Don't stop.."

"Oh, I'd be ignorant if I did." The man replied, head dropping near my neck and shoulder. "You look so irresistible when I'm inside you.." Kyuma whispered, hair tickling my cheek while I gasped. My eyes flickered, and the pleasure was starting to rush through me, in waves of electric ecstasy. Shooting into my stomach, and twisting a knot against my organs. I was so close, and the deep breaths against my ear were orgasm-inducing. Just as much as his cock was, sinking into me repeatedly. He groaned, and the sound reached my head instantly. The pleasing sound went straight to my aching pussy, and I cried out. Feeling overwhelmed in the presence of this gorgeous man. In this dirty, lustful, sexual act, where he fucked me shamelessly in the middle of nowhere. Against nothing but a shipment container, and with every ram the metal shook. 

"Just like that." Kyuma whispered. His voice low and appreciative. "You take me so well.." 

"Kyuma, please!" I moaned, almost whining under the sensation of my oncoming high. My stomach tensed and I unintentionally clenched around his pulsing cock. He grunted, plunging deeper as I started to string out my pleasure in the form of high-pitched moans. "Ssh, just a little longer, love." He spoke calmly, still mindful of our location. "Good girl." He praised when I complied his gentle words, and held back the rushing moans that attacked the small of my throat. I hummed in bliss. Closing my lashes at both the name and the undoing thrust of his dick. The hum dragged out while I came on his cock. Dropping myself against his balls in desperation as I released and milked the remnants of my pleasure. 

Kyuma let slip a delightful groan. His hair fell, once more, across his eyes, and his lips were forced together. I could see the veins in his neck flex, and the expanse of his skin flinch with how hard he had been focusing. His cock slid in and out of me, bringing waves upon waves of gratification. Until he snapped. He released a soft, extended groan, which melted against my ears, and with that his cock twitched and spilling inside of me. My insides were undeniably painted white with his warm arousal, and even when his flaccid cock was removed from my soaked entrance, the cum slipped like pure slick down my thighs. 

The man swallowed, catching back his lost breath. Spent on fucking me useless. His glistening chest, and pecs heaved from the lack of oxygen. I followed his actions, slicking back the loose strands of wet hair, that blurred my already foggy vision. "I'm sorry." I blurted, back flushed against the container while I rested. "There's no need to apologize." Kyuma smiled. His features warm and not in the slightest condescending. He granted me his soft eyes, which I frowned at. Sympathy lined my tight lips. "You only wished to survive." He continued, dragging his hot palm against my neck. It landed on my damp cheek, where his thumb rubbed the skin of my face. "It's admirable of you." He praised before taking in my constant expression. Like a guilty picture, plastered to my phony smile. "You earned it, didn't you?" He asked and my lips twitched. "I want you to live." He brought our faces closer, and whispered. "I liked you, you know." I looked off, speaking between harsh breaths. "It wasn't...it wasn't just me wanting information.." 

"I figured." He released a breathless laugh at my confession. I smiled, and cast my eyes to the concrete floor. Kyuma gently set his thumb on my chin, lifting my head up with his forefinger. "If only we had somehow met in a different life."

I hummed, getting cut off by an update on the time our both teams had remaining. Kyuma raised his head to the side, showcasing his sharp jawline. He sighed softly. "You best meet with your teammates." He spoke, looking back to meet my firm nod. "When you are given the chance, choose to leave this world." He instructed, loosening his grip on my cheek, and slipping his warm touch from my skin. "Thank you, Kyuma." I smiled, stepping from his body, and casting his godly form one last glance. He dropped his head, smiling at my mannered response. 

"No. Thank you, Y/n." 

[jumexju]

REQ !! : Can you write a denji drabble/fic where denji sees readers SH scars and comforts them? if this makes you uncomfortable please ignore!!

COLUMBA

Pairing !! : Denji / Reader

Fic Type !! : One-Shot, Comfort, Fluff

CW !! : Mentions of self harm scars & depression.

Summary !! : Denji comforts you after seeing your scars.

Note !! : Depression/Self Harm scars shouldn't make anyone uncomfortable, we should accept people with their scars and not despite them. This blog will always be a safe space for my fellow depressed and anxious ppl.. ❤︎

✦ MASTERLIST

“_____?” 

You turned to look at Denji who was sitting at the edge of your bed, his eyes looking at you with curiosity. “Yeah?” 

“What are those?” the blond asked, getting up from the bed and walking towards you. You were in the middle of fixing your hair, wondering what he was talking about. 

“What d’you mean?” You looked around wondering what he could’ve been talking about. You were still looking until he softly took your arm in his warm hands and ran his fingers along the prominent lines on your skin. 

“These.” His honey eyes inspected the healed wounds, wondering how it is that you’d acquired them. 

It was then that you were reminded of your past. The moments in which you felt completely swallowed by the dark shadow of emptiness and solitude. “Oh.” You hadn’t meant for him to see them yet. It was hot so you had absentmindedly took off your sweater, completely forgetting about your scars. How could you explain it to him? 

Would he think they were ugly? 

What would he think of you now if he knew your past? 

“They’re scars,” You sighed, allowing him to see them instead of pulling your arm away from him. 

A look of curiosity flared upon his face, “Where’d you get ‘em? In a fight?” He seemed to think they were cool.. If only he knew. 

“They’re self-harm scars, I..” You looked away from his eyes and down at your arm. You couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized. “I did them.” 

Denji’s brows knit together, “You cut.. Yourself?” He tilted his head a little, struggling to understand. “How come?” 

“I was in a bad place, mentally. I felt like that was the only thing I could do..” You tried to explain it to him but you wondered whether he would understand. “I still feel the urge sometimes, but I don’t do it anymore though-” 

“You can come to me if you ever feel like that y’know? I don’t mind.” Denji’s amber eyes met yours, his hands holding yours while he assured you of this. You smiled a little and pulled him into a hug. Honestly, Denji felt bad that you had gone through all that, growing up the way that he did — he could empathize with you. Many times he wondered if he’d ever get out of the slums, but now that he had, he knew that there was hope. 

He only hoped that you had found the same hope now. “If you ever feel like doin’ it again jus’ come t’me, okay?”  You nodded and pulled apart from him before gazing into his eyes. 

“You really don’t think they’re.. Ugly?” 

A look of confusion washed across his face, “Ugly? Hell nah..! I actually think they’re kinda cool,” He smiled when he heard your chuckle in response to his words. 

“Cool? How?” 

“Well, they’re kinda like battle scars if y’think about it,” he smiled, his pointy shark teeth shining at you. He wasn’t always this optimistic but you could tell he wanted to make you feel better about your scars. 

“You don’t think they’re a little.. Off putting?” 

He shook his head, “They’re part of you n’ I care about all of ya, I ain’t gonna hate them jus’ cuz you were goin’ through a hard time!’ His warm words reassured you. Truly, Denji was being genuine. You could feel it through his words and the things he said. 

You could feel it through this moment. 

Denji hoped that his words were enough. That you could feel what he was saying and receive it well. He could never hate you for things that you couldn’t control. Maybe he was a little stupid at times, but he always knew the right things to say to you. 

He could always comfort you when you needed it.

[saturnville]

on the frontline, II

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: the bond between nessa and john begins to grow. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“You know, Dixon, you’re really pretty.” 

Nessa’s hands halted momentarily. She raised her gaze to meet his blue eyes, which twinkled with mischief and temptation. She squinted slightly and shook her head. She nodded toward his arm which he raised just slightly. 

Weeks had passed since the gunshot and he had made significant progress. He was able to start physical therapy early with her and a series of shadowing nurses, but, with his job, Nessa made it a priority to ensure he was in the best shape. He missed flying and she wanted to make sure he was able to get to at least one more mission before everything was said and done. 

“Is that so?” Nessa questioned, pulling the bandages off his healing wounds. Her gloved fingers traced the scar. It was healing nicely; the swelling was going down, the stitches were still in place, and the tissue was scarring healthily. She felt John jump at her touch. 

John nodded. Her knee nudged his thigh which prompted him to spread his legs just wide enough for her to stand between them. He hummed at the warmth that entered his space and fought an internal battle to keep his hand to himself. To run his fingertips along the curves that were prominent even with being covered by thick pants.

Nessa turned and swiped cleaning solution, cotton pads, and bandage off the side table. The cooling solution was ice against body, which seemed to heat in her presence. Nessa’s left hand held the cotton in place as her right placed the bandage across his chest. Her hands were small against his body and they felt so good. 

“Well, thank you. You’re too kind. Lift your arm for me, beloved.” That was new, John noted. He obeyed her command. “How does that feel?” Better, he admitted. Nessa started him out on light exercises to regain mobility, and while it wasn’t as painful as it had been in the beginning stages, he still felt discomfort. 

“Are you lying to me, Major?” She asked teasingly, tilting her head to search any signs of discomfort on his face. His eyebrows were slightly knitted together and his jaw was locked she poked his shoulder. He failed to meet her eyes. “Thought so.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, “I don’t want to deal with this shit.” Nessa hummed and removed herself from her position between his legs and crawled over the bed. She was positioned on her knees and she cleared her throat. “What are you doing?

She peeled the gloves off her hands and shoved them in her pocket. She moved her hair over her shoulder and placed her hands on his shoulders.“Relax, Egan.” Her touch was gentle as she used her left hand to control his elbow while stabilizing his shoulder with her right. Slowly, she moved his stiff limb forward, backward, upwards, and downward until the wincing was no more. 

It was painfully intimate, she noted. Two military professionals in the infirmary by themselves on a small bed together. Granted, she was doing her job, but something about the interaction felt different. She found herself enjoying it. Of course she enjoyed being a nurse; it was her passion. But this was different. Not only did she feel needed, but she felt wanted, too. It was an unusual feeling that she couldn’t shake. 

“How about now?” Nessa’s voice was hardly above a whisper. John turned his head though not far enough to look her in the eyes. She did see, however, the fullness of his lips as he replied, “A lot better.”

“Good,” she replied, seemingly infatuated with the ridges of his back. She tried to control herself, but it was a losing battle. Her fingertip traced the scar that went from the center of his back to his right shoulder. She remembered the story. His plane was struck and he needed to evacuate and a piece of the parachute contraption cut through his jacket and sliced through his flesh. “That’s good.” 

At the low groan he released, which sounded heavenly, she snapped back to reality and dropped her hand. She stammered embarrassingly and scrambled off the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Go ahead and get your shirt on; I’ll grab the ice, and get you off to bed.” 

John’s voice was stuck in his throat. “Nessa,” he called, but by the time the last syllable slipped from his lips, she was already in the neighboring room, gathering ice. 

She didn’t say much when she returned. She instructed him to lay on his back so she could properly ice his shoulder. John’s blue eyes burned holes into her head as she massaged the ice against his skin. 

“Are you okay?” he found himself asking. Nessa nodded once, “I’m okay.” 

He gave her a look. She gave him a closed-lip smile. She repeated, “I’m okay. We’ll ice for five more minutes and you can be on your way.” 

The five minutes passed quicker than he would have liked. They engaged in small conversation, being that’s all he could get out of her at the point. Her demeanor had shifted greatly, and while he wanted to question it, John didn’t want to pressure her to speak. 

“You’re good to go,” Nessa said, tossing the bag of ice on a nearby surface. 

As John prepared to leave the infirmary, Nessa's gaze lingered on him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. She wanted to say something, to express the thoughts racing through her mind, but the words remained trapped in her throat. Instead, she offered a small, hesitant smile, hoping he would understand the silent message behind it.

 John met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a similar uncertainty, yet tinged with a hint of desire. With a nod of gratitude, he stood up from the bed, his shoulder feeling much better than before. 

As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway, casting one last glance back at Nessa. In that fleeting moment, they shared an unspoken connection, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that was forming between them. With a final nod, John stepped out into the corridor, leaving Nessa alone with her thoughts, her heart beating a little faster than usual. What had she done?

[savi0rr]

Crystal Skies

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, the skies remained you of the Hextech gem. But Viktor’s eyes are locked on you.

a/n: i forgot to make the little summary part gradient and cute! also this is kinda short cuz i wanted to go play dress to impress…

⊹ ˖────⊹ ˖

⊹ ˖────⊹ ˖

"You're still awake?" you called out softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the lab as the door creaked open. You stepped inside, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Viktor sat hunched over his cluttered desk, absorbed in his work, his pen moving in smooth, deliberate strokes across the paper. He merely nodded in response, his eyes glued to the dense text he was composing.

You frowned slightly, concern etching your features, and approached him. "C'mon, Viktor," you urged gently, your tone echoing in the quiet space that was filled only with the faint scratching of his pen and the occasional rustle of parchment.

"I can't. I'm almost done," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, still not breaking his concentration to glance at you. You sighed audibly, leaning against the edge of his desk, your eyes drifting over the sprawling documents littered with intricate diagrams and notes, before settling on the lone window. Through the glass, the night sky unveiled itself, a vast canvas of deep indigo strewn with shimmering stars. You noticed the clouds, soft and billowy, as they danced slowly with the wind.

"The sky looks just like the Hextech gem," you mused, tilting your head to capture the view better, the corners of your lips hinting at a smile. Viktor's attention momentarily shifted to the window, his brow arching slightly as he contemplated your words.

"I suppose they do," he murmured, his voice still low and contemplative, before returning to his meticulous writing, the pen gliding effortlessly across the paper.

"You have a unique imagination," he remarked without looking up, his focus firmly entrenched in his task.

"You say that quite often," you replied, keeping your gaze locked on the celestial display outside, enraptured by the beauty of the night. 

Viktor let out a tired, weighed-down sigh. Finally leaning back in his chair, he glanced at you, the shadows under his eyes revealing his fatigue. "Did you need anything else?" he asked, his stern expression faltering just slightly as he met your gaze for the first time, his sharp features softened in the dim light.

"What if I said I needed you?" you teased, allowing a playful smirk to cross your face as you shifted to fully face him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Viktor tensed visibly, his expression shifting to one of concern and confusion, brows knitting together tightly. "Don't say such things," he muttered, his eyes darting away from your gaze as if unwilling to confront the weight of your words.

You let out a soft chuckle, the sound light and carefree in contrast to Viktor’s solemn demeanor. "Just teasing," you reassured him, your attention returning to the wistful sight of the sky beyond the window.

He continued to watch you, an intense look in his eyes as he assessed your features illuminated by the soft glow of the lab’s lights. The warm light wrapped around you, creating an almost ethereal aura that made you appear otherworldly. His expression softened, though an unsettling mix of emotion battled within him. He glanced back at his desk, biting his tongue, unsure of how to process what was unfolding.

Just then, your voice broke the silence again, filled with excitement. "Did you see that?" you exclaimed, your eyes brightening as you watched the stars shimmering in waves as clouds floated by. "A shooting star!" you gasped, beaming with delight.

"Yeah…" Viktor replied, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, though he hadn’t seen any shooting stars; his vision was solely fixated on you. 

"Beautiful," he murmured almost absentmindedly, his voice thick with a mix of admiration and something deeper.

"I know, right?" you replied, enthusiasm radiating from you as you gazed adoringly at the window, missing the way Viktor's eyes traced your form, endlessly captivated by the light dancing in your eyes, his attention unwavering and utterly consumed by you.

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Part VI

Synopsis: You would say that you grew up together. From children, to teenagers, to young leaders, you did nothing but be who you were and Tobirama would forever name his love for you as the reason he hated the Uchiha.

Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including physical child abuse, violence, and non-con elements. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: IT IS HERE! YES! i purposefully make it long and full of drama to make up for the amount of times I pushed the release back. I also put a lot of my own thoughts in the end author’s notes so please enjoy! I most definitely could not have written this content a year ago let me tell you—

The memory of you struck him like lightning, electrocuting him to his core with panic and disgust. He revoked his touch from you as you began to sit up on the riverbank in acute panic. 

He just stared at you. Tobirama had no idea how he remembered you, yet he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Yes, you were older, but as he considered the shape of your face, he could see the unmistakable look from the forest back then. You had the same nose, such a familiar laugh, and your eyes… even without your sharingan.

He had thought of you as a foul creature. 

That morning when he first saw you in the woods. 

Tobirama had come home much earlier that day in defeat. He hadn’t wanted to stay and train after his encounter with you. He tried to continue, to find another spot to collect himself, but he ultimately couldn’t help but feel that you were still there, watching him. Knowing an Uchiha lurked around in the woods, it was probably best that he didn’t go off alone for his safety.

He remembered how his father stormed toward him when he returned to the compound. Butsuma’s jaw was clenched as tightly as ever, battle-toned arms swinging with each step of his furious gait. He swooped in on his son, grabbing Tobirama harshly by the arm. Tobirama was tugged along awkwardly, his legs too short for the angle at which Butsuma dragged him.

“Where have you been?” his father scolded lowly between gritted teeth. He paid no mind to the Senju meandering down the same dirt road, and they paid no mind to him in turn.

The question nearly made Tobirama’s heart drop in his chest, the memory of you spreading terror like wildfire across his skin. He looked into Butsuma’s gaze with wide eyes, wondering how his father could have possibly known he had made contact with an Uchiha. His fingers unconsciously rose to the space under his right eye, almost trembling. He was sure that his father could feel the tremor through his hold.

“Training, Father,” Tobirama answered earnestly. He almost crashed into Butsuma as his father stopped suddenly, the child only tripping for a moment before he was pulled into a nearby stable. 

“Tobirama, where have you been?” Butsuma barked, repeating his question more harshly. He jerked Tobirama away by the grip on his arm, allowing him to stumble back into the hay. All Tobirama could do was stare, ashamed that he had disgraced the Senju name and that his father could see it painted on him. Promises piled up on his lips: if he saw you again, he would surely kill you that time! He would immediately set out and— “You better answer me now, boy, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”

“I was training with Grandfather’s kunai, Father! On the east end by the mountains like you taught me!” He nodded profusely, scrambling into a deep bow. Tobirama’s eyes knitted closed. 

The silence above him felt like it lasted for an eternity. Tobirama didn’t dare to look, and for a long moment, he couldn’t even meet his father’s eye. Somewhere between the seconds, he found himself mindlessly observing the small population of livestock grazing at the stable's far end. Tobirama glanced at them and their troughs. 

“You were not with Hashirama?” Butsuma spoke slowly, and Tobirama’s head carefully rose with a shake. 

“No, I was not.” Tobirama flinched as Butsuma’s hand came firmly down on his hair, placing just enough weight on his skull to ensure that all of Tobirama’s attention was on him. “I assure you. I was practicing my skill with the kunai.”

“Your elder brother has been acting suspiciously as of late. I want you to find him and report to me what he has been up to.” Butsuma landed a harsh pat on Tobirama’s back, ushering him away. He scrambled away as quickly as he could back into the forest, still gripping the pack of weaponry on his back.

***

It made more sense after that evening. 

Hashirama knelt on a cushion beside him, the two sons before their father. 

“About this boy you have been meeting up with. I looked into that young man and learned that he belongs to the Uchiha clan. Hashirama, you understand what that means, do you not?” The brothers stiffened, forcing on stoic faces so as not to let their discomfort show. Butsuma’s gaze narrowed. “If you do not want to be suspected as a spy, then you must shadow him after the next time the two of you meet. And if he should notice you… kill him.” 

Tobirama eyed his brother nervously. Undoubtedly, the conflict between the Senju and the Uchiha would mean this was the only way to rectify things. Tobirama stared down at his lap, guilt weighing down on his shoulders. 

There was no way for anyone to know about his encounter with you, and even if his father found out, Tobirama was different. At least he tried to kill you. That was enough, wasn’t it? Unlike Hashirama, he at least tried to do the right thing and kill the Uchiha on sight, no matter his level of success.

After a moment of preponderance, Hashirama spoke again,

“Are you completely sure he is an Uchiha?” 

Tobirama gulped, bracing himself for the heavy hit that awaited Hashirama. But it didn’t come. Butsuma studied him with crossed arms, bubbling rage mounting in his chest. He gritted his teeth.

“You trust a member of the clan who killed your brother?” Butsuma simmered. Tobirama stewed, praying for the moment that he was allowed to leave. Hashirama sat confused and still deep in thought on his cushion, not appearing nearly as worried as he should, in Tobirama’s opinion. “If he has been tricking you, you are putting every single Senju in danger.”

Despite Tobirama attempting to convince him otherwise, Hashirama was reluctant to comply. But after a lengthy beating from Butsuma, Hashirama finally agreed to be followed. As they eventually left the room, Tobirama couldn’t help but avert his gaze from the deep bruises and the forlorn expression on Hashirama’s face. 

***

“I am an apothecary,” you had told him. 

He didn’t ask you where. With the tumultuous clan wars, Tobirama assumed you were part of a smaller, nomadic group. As the more prominent clans and clan alliances fought, non-combatants traveled to safer ground, ironically forming their own larger herds for protection.

That was Tobirama’s first mistake: assuming.

“An apothecary,” Tobirama repeated. You wore his fur, curled up against a bed of river glass and hidden between a mess of boulders. He sat on a nearby rock, the headband you had confiscated and returned to him clutched in a ball in his hand. Tobirama cocked his head. “Is that a healer?”

“A woman healer?” you asked, hardly restraining the tiny smile that graced your lips. Your eyes glowed with wonder as you leaned forward, having never heard of such a thing. “No, I am afraid I only collect herbs for medicine. Although our current apothecary is very old, he taught me how to create medicines when we used to live by the coast. A rare honor.” Tobirama’s eyebrows rose on his forehead with an impressed blink.

“That is admirable. Your work takes a keen eye and a sharp mind.” You shifted against the grass to sit with your legs crossed as you leaned forward. A patch of small river flowers grew in a cluster where the gravel of the riverbank began. The white petals grew sporadically down the length of the land. You weaved your fingers through the tiny stems, the pure light color glowing against your skin. 

“You know about medicine?” you mused.

“Yes, my clan is well renowned for our knowledge of various medicines. The children are taught about these things at a young age, although, I possessed neither a keen enough eye nor a sharp enough mind for healing, to the disappointment of my mother.” You drew a bent knee toward your chest, rearranging your long robes as you gently collected the tiny flowers.

“Was she a woman healer?” You scooted forward to sit in front of him.

“No,” he said, letting you smooth back his hair. “She was a warrior like my father. Wove baskets—beautiful baskets— when she was with us. My grandmother was a master healer, though.”

“A woman master healer,” you breathed in awe to yourself, weaving the flowers into Tobirama’s hair. You couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips. “That is fascinating.” 

“My grandfather used to take me fishing in the northern streams before he passed. He always brought her herbs. Perhaps I could find some of her formulas. You may find them interesting.” 

“Really?” You leaned back on your ankles, admiring the little white flowers that adorned Tobirama’s crown. “I could not ask you to do such a thing.”

“If you are not allowed to learn of medicine and herbs, how else will you pursue being a great apothecary?” You blinked at him in disbelief, taken aback. “That is your dream, is it not? You speak of it often.”

“Do I?” You let out a light laugh, sheepishly averting your gaze. “I apologize. My good friend from home often tells me I speak too much.” Tobirama scoffed.

“Some friend,” he muttered, but his gaze softened as he adjusted the fur over your shoulders. “You do not speak too much. Especially when it concerns things you are passionate about. Therefore—” Tobirama plucked one of the flowers out of his hair and tucked it behind your ear. “Tell me about this flower.” 

You instinctively opened your mouth but quickly closed it when you noticed Tobirama’s expression chance. He held a glint in his eye and the beginning of a smile on his thin lips. He leaned forward, brushing your hand along another patch of little petals.

“I know you know this one,” he said softly before leaning back against the boulder behind him. His bright red eyes met your own. They held softness in them. “Please, I would like to listen.”

You almost laughed, your nervousness almost causing you to forget all your knowledge as his touch left you.

“They call this purity flower. It is incredibly delicate, and they only grow this big.” You stared down to where Tobirama had placed your hand. “You can do quite a few things with them. They are wonderful for sore throats, sanitizing wounds, upset stomachs…”

You brushed through them, and a few flowers crumpled under your fingers.

He would never forget that. The way your face fell as the flowers at the center of the cluster began to shrivel.

***

He was smarter than Hashirama. 

Tobirama wasn’t a traitor to the clan. Tobirama wouldn’t be caught fraternizing with an Uchiha like his foolish brother. He was stern, calculating. He was so careful. 

He had carried his prized Uchiha-killing kunai with him the entire time. 

It was strapped to his leg when he first chased after you. 

It was with him as you adorned him with blossoms. 

He held the same knife he had once held up to your neck as he screamed in your face that he would carve out your eyes the entire time. 

And he had another chance.

It was right in front of him, as you blathered on about the daylight. Your lips moved, but nothing came from your mouth. 

He had another opportunity to redeem himself. 

The moment of his childhood that haunted him for many nights could have been corrected. Tobirama was a true warrior now. He could have killed you. He could have carved out your sharingan, sinking his kunai into your skull as you screamed and kicked under him, just as he promised long ago. No one would hear you out here. 

He could do anything he wanted to you.

But he hesitated again, and now his only weapon was lost.

The time you had been sneaking around had hardly been long; the days in sum dwarfed compared to a year. 

And now he watched you in the morning sun, his heart and head doing a double take as his eyes hurriedly searched for the kunai he had pushed into the river. But it was long gone. 

“It is morning?!” You exclaimed, scrambling to your feet. Startled, Tobirama scurried up with you, stumbling back until one of his feet sank into the rushing water. You lurched forward instinctively to steady him.

“Do not touch me!” he barked, and the gruffness of his voice made you recoil. He faltered, sputtering with a vigorous shake of his head. Tobirama balanced himself as the cold, rushing current pushed at his knee. He looked up at you, staring into your wide, confused eyes. 

Looking upon you in the daylight made him view you in a way he never had before.

Yes, he could see it now. 

He could see the Uchiha in you… and it was ugly.

Every part of him burned. It was as if he had been coated in mud, leaving his skin irritated, itchy and inflamed. He wished he could scrub every inch of himself of you. Slice, scratch, and claw into himself to erase the ghost of your lingering touch. 

Tobirama burned with shame. 

You shifted, moving to speak, when something covered your eyes. You snatched it slowly in confusion, but as the silk ribbon slid from your hair to drape over your fingers, your eyes quickly widened even farther than they already were. Tobirama stood in the water, watching you with a pounding chest as you, too, stumbled back. Your gaze darted from the Uchiha crest to Tobirama, who, for once, did not hold any softness in his expression. 

“Oh.” You held your shaking hand up to your lips. You took another step back. Tobirama didn’t move.

He looked angry, the tension of his clenched jaw just about making the entirety of his body shake. His brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and rage. And all he could do was stare at you with fists balled up in mounting fury. Tobirama’s eyes turned glossy as he held back the burning tears that threatened to spill over his waterline. 

You weren’t thinking, not as you stepped forward and spoke his name.

You wanted to go to him, tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Something. You tried to tell him something, anything.

You stepped forward, and Tobirama planted his second foot in the water.

“Do not come closer, Uchiha!” he spat. His words halted you in your stride. Tobirama stumbled back, splashing in the shallows. His clothes were drenched with dark patches which adorned his legs and sides. He held his hand up, almost as a buffer between him and you. He shook, and droplets fell back into the rushing current of the water. 

His father’s words to his brother repeatedly played in his head. 

Tobirama had been endangering his clan all this time. He had been reckless and naive, just like his brother. He sat as the current rushed by, stuck and frozen like a cornered animal, trying to calculate how many of his kinsmen could have been saved if he had been more sparing with his tongue. 

You spoke in a meek voice,

“Tobirama—”

“Get out of here! Do not dare show your face back here, foul creature; I will kill you!” he screamed with all the weight of his guilt. Tobirama rose to his full height, hulking shoulders squared. You didn’t wait a second longer before you ran. You ran straight into the brush, and in an instant, you were deep into the forest. You could still hear Tobirama shouting behind you. “I will kill you, Uchiha! I will carve out your sharingan! I—”

He choked the moment he lost sight of you.

Tobirama dropped to his knees, splashing again down into the water. He heaved, his throat burning as he threw up into the river's current. Tobirama uttered a strangled cry, mucus dropping from his mouth and nose. Hot tears poured down his face as he gasped into the surface, nearly drowning himself in the water and his own mess. 

You continued to run. You ran through the woods, paying little mind to the scrapes you collected as you rushed back toward the Uchiha colony. Your foot snagged against a fallen branch, causing you to smack face-first into a nearby log. You scrambled to your feet, heart pumping as you continued back home, your breath rasping rhythmically in your ears. Wetness streamed down your face, combining tears, snot, and blood to cake your skin. 

But as you grew closer to your colony, the scent of smoke grew stronger. And as you looked up between the branches, you could see a dark cloud rising into the air. 

The weeping became clearer. Agonized weeping. 

You burst forth from the trees to your family’s garden. 

To where the garden should have been, but the garden was gone.

Your home was gone, and a smoking pile of charcoal was left in its place. 

A few structural beams shot out from the pile of char, like pleading limbs reaching up toward the heavens for a salvation that would never come. The paper walls were gone. The engawa had been reduced to rubble. The engawa that you and Madara stood on just hours before while your parents discussed your union.

…

Your parents.

You shouted for them, rushing straight for the ruins of your home. Large masses of char littered the streets, marking the resting places of other houses just like yours. Your eyes darted about in a frenzy, making eye contact with the mourning Uchiha, who littered the dirt streets for any confirmation that your parents had made it. 

“Where are my parents?” You cried to people who averted their gazes. One woman covered her child’s ears, holding him close to her chest. “Have you seen my parents? Please! Someone! Did they make it? Will you not answer me?” 

But no one answered you. 

There was just weeping.

You didn’t see their faces or those of your family. 

You raced toward the rubble, rifling through the mess with tears blurring your vision. You were howling something, letting words spill and tumble from your lips with the same liquidity as the water pouring from your face. Your fingers began to sting. Debris cut your skin, forming abrasions that filled with soot and dirt as you clawed at what used to be your home. 

A muscular arm looped under your torso. You kicked your legs as you continued to wail, pounding your fists at the back of red armor. You could only watch as you were slowly carried away from the wreckage of your home, the reminisce of other ruined buildings gathering into your blurry view with every step. 

You went limp about halfway down the road, hanging upside down with your cheek smushed against a bloody backplate. You cried, the compilation of mucus stuck in your nose, causing your sinuses to burn. You coughed, fist pounding a last time against armor before you were dropped back to the ground. 

Your knees gave out under you, and before you stood Madara. 

Tall, hulking, and imposing Madara with a somber expression on his face and a gaping wound on his side. He still held you by the hand, your fingers just barely hooked on his. His feet were stained with blood and caked with dirt, and sitting in the disturbed dirt road sat vials of herbs and a collection of your supplies from the apothecary. 

Only then did you notice what he was surveying behind you, letting your hand drop from his.

Bodies of the injured were splayed out on salvaged blankets in the middle of the street. The able-bodied scurried around with what little medical supplies could be salvaged from the remains of your village, tending to warriors, women, children, and elders alike. Your head snapped back toward Madara.

“You must make medicine,” Madara said in a voice barely above a whisper, although it was by no means gentle. He held a gruffness in his voice. Frustration laced his tone. You heaved yourself up, something about being on the ground making you feel more vulnerable than you already felt in your confusion.

“Madara, I—”

“What?” Madara snapped, jerking forward at you. You recoiled, lips closing instantly. “What now, woman? Can you not see the crisis laid out in front of you? You have received exactly what you wanted and yet remain stubborn even when a man is giving you direct instructions.” You were still dazed.

“Where is Makihara?”

It wasn’t hard for Madara to wrestle you back to the ground. Your head slammed against the dirt, the vials of herbs and medicine sideways in your vision. Madara’s lips touched your ear as he spoke venom directly into your skull. His words sent a submissive chill directly into your heart.

“For the sake of the gods, make the goddam medicine and cease your difficulty. Your clan head bids it.” He released your head, which was engulfed in his wide-handed grip. You stared dizzily at his back as he walked away, his form wavering in your vision.

“Clan… head?”

***

Madara was officially deemed the head of the Uchiha clan later that night, bare except for his loin cloth as his body was painted with sacred symbols. He sat like a king on the ruins of the Uchiha village, looking pensive and severe.

The ceremony was intimate, traditional, and without frills.

Somber.

What was left of the village wasn’t made to attend, but most showed their faces in the torchlight, gazing upon their new leader as Madara was adorned with red and white paint. The population of Uchiha gathered around him, squishing together to watch the decoration of their new leader. 

Madara sat amongst the ruins of what used to be your colony, looking solemn in the warm glow of the flames around him. He stared ahead. A surviving elder smeared two lines of red paint under Madara’s eyes with shaky fingers. Bandages covered the elder’s eye, wrapping all the way around his head. Another elder brushed his frail hands over Madara’s cheeks with white before anointing his forehead with his thumb. 

You had made that paint. You admired it from the back of the crowd. 

A few children had been sent to gather pigmented clay while you exhausted the rest of your herbal supply on medicinal remedies. Even with what you made stretch, you barely had enough to treat all the wounded. Burying the dead had taken all day. 

Madara stood in front of all the Uchiha, bare-chested and painted in holy symbols as the clan revered him. He barked, the deep, powerful sound resounding from his chest. His colored abs flexed with the call, and the Uchiha chanted back, filling the surrounding forest with spirited howling. 

He stood as the new leader of the Uchiha clan, yet the colors that adorned him were yours, as were the herbs that decorated his wound.

***

Your parents were dead.

It was a fact that you recalled often during the mindless time you spent crushing herbs, beseeching the weight of it to sink in. But instead, you were met with numbness, even as the mourners around you grieved their lost loved ones. 

You sat under your makeshift canopy on a rug of simple woven threads. The three sides of your new apothecary were draped with fabric, acting as a buffer to the light night breeze. And there you thought, pulverizing medicine with your pestle to replenish your depleted medicinal supply. As the clan’s only apothecary, you could no longer collect herbs. In a strike of irony, this in turn meant that you were too important and no longer allowed to leave the Uchiha’s new territory.

You hadn’t noticed Madara’s presence. Only when the torchlight from outside no longer filtered into your tent did you think to even blink. He stood over you, harsh shadows cast across his face from the lone lamp that lit up your workspace. Madara’s colors had faded from his skin, but the stain from the dye remained as the faintest of hues.

You could just barely see the holy symbols.

“Does the new location please you?” 

You stopped, the moment of distraction allowing the ache in your hands to set in. You nearly dropped your pestle, recoiling slightly as the tension froze your fingers. You had been working since daybreak.

“I cannot say I have been able to see much of it, Madara.”

“Come, then.” 

To your surprise, Madara extended his hand to you. You looked upon him with exhaustion, almost to ask if he genuinely meant what he spoke. He waited patiently for you to place your hand in his before whisking you into the surrounding woods. 

***

The Uchiha had retreated farther inland, upstream to the higher ground by the mountains. The trees were large in these parts, far larger than you were used to. They extended twice the height compared to the ones in your previous territory, towering large fans of leaves up toward the starry night sky. Even the vast constellations appeared brighter in these new parts. 

Madara walked a step or two in front as you strolled across the rocky terrain. You panted as you struggled up a steep incline. Madara hadn’t bothered to help you, instead moving along onto the level above. Small stones that littered the surface of the earth slid under your sandals.

“I am—” you huffed —“I am not as agile as I used to be.” 

Madara laughed somewhere above.

“You are in your prime. What is this talk of agility?” 

You pulled yourself up onto the dirt with the help of an exposed root. You fanned yourself, wiping the sweat off your brow as Madara chuckled somewhere in front of you.

“I meant that I no longer climb trees every day, Madara. Perhaps that is something you do, oh great clan head, but not I.” 

You turned to stand, suddenly struck by the view before you. Madara stood just ahead, holding up a branch with his forearm to expose the landscape. You hurried over, framing yourself in the window of leaves that Madara created. From up so high, you could see how the trees covered the land for miles, bisected by one of the Land of Fire’s many rivers in the distance. 

“Are you able to say if the new land pleases you?” You caught Madara’s eye for a split second, quickly averting your gaze at the sight of his sentimental expression, your aloneness suddenly growing palpable. You nodded.

“Moving the clan here was clever. Having the high ground and access to fresh water will only serve to be prosperous.” You offered him a gentle smile and a nod, glancing back at the scenery. “I know you will make a great clan head, Madara.”

“We will see about that,” Madara admitted in a rare moment of self-doubt. The confession made your forehead crinkle instantly. You cocked your head, taken aback. Madara sighed, almost as if reading your thoughts before you spoke them. “The elders— the remaining elders— believe that I am still quite young to be taking up the mantle. They still hold power when it comes to making decisions on behalf of the clan. At least, until they deem I have grown into my title as clan head.”

“Why make you leader at all if they are going to make such fuss?” you scoffed, knowing very well the answer. 

You sat down at the cliff's edge, watching the moon in the distance, and Madara came to sit next to you. He shifted, having more difficulty getting situated than you. The branch he had been holding up came down to smack him on the back of the head. 

“I have had similar thoughts.” Madara looked off with a troubled frown. “I worry for the future of the Uchiha. Our numbers dwindle with every battle. And with this last raid, the women will be forced to join the militia.” 

“Is this true?” you nearly exclaimed. You withdrew into yourself, brushing a finger across your bottom lip. The news rattled around in your ribcage. “How unorthodox!” 

Madara sneered, and it hardly took his admission of “I am against such things” for you 

to understand his stance on the matter. You let him grumble to himself, once again lost in a daze, as you took some of the dry dirt below between your fingers. 

“Madara,” you called softly, and he perked up with a hum. Between the chaos of the last few days, you were hardly allowed to give anything proper thought. Of all the terrible things to sink in, you only had one worry on your mind. “Do you believe I might be sent to fight the Senju?”

You stared into Madara’s eyes. Tobirama’s fearsome expression flashed across your mind as you recalled his promises to take your life. They made you shiver. 

“I would think not, given that you are acting as the lone apothecary of the Uchiha,” Madara answered, his voice deep and soft. “Besides, I forbid it.”

You didn’t know what to say as you let the bit of relief Madara’s words brought you to wash over your thoughts. Whether you intended it or not, you had made yourself invaluable to your clan. They weren’t about to put you on the front lines anytime soon. 

Madara spoke your name.

“Do you like it?” he asked. You weren’t paying attention again. You blinked to yourself, his deep voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Do I like what?”

“The new land, does it please you?”

“It is… not home,” you admitted. “But the landscape does please me, yes. I am certain it will be home soon enough.” Madara closed the space between you before gingerly placing two fingers under your chin. He turned your face toward him.

“I am clan head now.”

“Yes, Madara, I am aware.” You tried to subtly turn your chin away, but he held firm, boring into you with vigilant eyes. Nocturnal insects chattered in the forest behind you.

“No other bachelor in the Uchiha can provide better than I.” You had no other choice than to meet his dark gaze. He spoke to you earnestly. “Will you not reconsider marrying me?” A frown tugged at his lips. Worry swirled on his face.

“We are far too young, Madara.” You took his hand, gently removing it from your skin. You folded in on yourself, backing away from the edge as you bashfully gripped the fronts of your robes to dry your sweaty hands. Madara pivoted, leaning back to keep you in his sights, the moon’s slow, enshrining him in a silver silhouette. You curled into the earth. “Besides… too much has happened for us to think about such things.”

You could feel it: the urge to fight you on the tip of Madara’s tongue. Indeed, other Uchiha have married at your age and younger. Sometimes, young girls would be considered ready for marriage after their first menstrual cycle. But to your surprise, he didn’t fight you at all. Instead, he came to sit next to you. 

Madara could’ve fought you on several things. He hadn’t yet forgotten the mystery beau he was convinced was keeping your affections from him, nor was he thrilled that you had been named as the clan’s sole apothecary through a simple process of elimination.

You hadn’t forgotten his attempts to strongarm you into marriage or the terrifying outburst that caused you to run away. Although, with your parents gone, you were placed supremely in charge of your fate. Try as he must, not even Madara could force you into marriage. 

But when it came down to it, with your family dead and your lover disgusted by your bloodline, you were left again with Madara. That had been how it always was. Having lost so much during the clan conflict, you were always left with each other, weren’t you?

As you began to weep, Madara scooted backward to be with you. You leaned against him, placing your head on his shoulder as you continued to cry, holding his arm to bury your face into the sleeve of his robes—dark, round spots soaked into the fabric.

Madara held you in the dimness as the surrounding clearing filled with your sobs. It had been the first time you were allowed to cry. The first time you truly had to confront the regret that haunted you from the few days prior. For his capriciousness and overall little patience for sentiment, Madara nurtured your vulnerability. 

His fingers trailed lightly over your hair, rounding up stray strands behind your ear. He pressed his temple against the top of your head, caressing down your jaw to clear away the tears that slid down your cheeks with his thumb. Madara lifted your face, his second hand cupping the other side of your face as he continued to swipe away the wetness from your face. 

You held his wrists in your ginger grip, as he laid a tender kiss on your forehead. He gazed into your teary eyes in the moonlight, casting away another stream of tears as he offered a gentle kiss to your right cheek, and then your left. 

His nose nudged against yours, staring into your glassy eyes. You let them flutter shut, causing more droplets to splash against your face. Madara placed his lips on yours, holding the sides of your face as he kissed you with earnest. 

You kissed him back for a moment, only for a moment. The shape of his face was different than Tobirama in a way you couldn’t quite place your finger on. He had rounder cheeks. A longer bridge to his nose. Madara’s hair draped over his shoulders to tickle your skin.

You pulled away, just the slightest distance between your face and Madara’s before he leaned in again. You pushed against his chest, but his movements this time were more forceful. He held you firmly in his grip, his fingers pinching against your cheeks as he lowered himself on top of you, pinning you against the earth and his larger body. 

Your eyes went wide, the entirety of your body going frozen as Madara moved against yours, his once gentle motions now a gnashing of lips and teeth that made you press your head into the dirt. You tried to gasp his name in protest, but your words were muffled. His forearm rested to the right of your head, his breath hot against your skin as he smored your airways. His fingers tugged awkwardly at your hair, causing you to wince as he pulled the strands. You pushed on his chest again, kicking your legs under him, but Madara lowered more of his weight on top of you. 

A line of saliva connected the two of you when he finally ceased his assault on your lips. He gazed upon you with lidded eyes before he continued, tucking his head in the crook of your neck. You screamed as he sunk his teeth into your flesh, tears pouring from your wide eyes as you stared up at the pitch black night sky. Madara’s hand swiftly came over your mouth, to muffle the shrieks that tore from your throat.

You flailed violently, limbs lashing in adrenaline-fueled terror to no avail as Madara kept you pinned to the earth with his larger, heavier frame. And then you felt a hand dip into your robes, tugged the top material from your shoulders to grope at your chest. You cried harder, squealing like a pig at the slaughter as you finally managed to squirm an arm free.

You thrashed it around in a flurry of scratches and strikes. Your hand snagged on Madara’s face as you tried to scoot out from underneath him, causing him to shoot backward. Blood dripped from his nose, forming a nasty pool of red in tandem with the jagged gash that sliced diagonally across his upper lip. 

He looked at you in confusion and anger; blood streaked across his fingers. You scrambled to your feet, darting down the mountain and back to the new colony. 

You would never speak of that night again.

Madara dropped all speak of marriage.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Lots of fun author’s notes: I hated the pacing of this fic. It used to have really low notes in the early days so I think I got a little sloppy with it, and now it’s exploded out of nowhere! I hope this “retcon” fixes some of the plotholes!

I would like to think the teen years were made purposefully vague and dreamy so that the transition to the dark content is more impactful. Yes, yes we’ll say that!

I don’t always imagine what Reader looks like in my stories (I usually don’t) but this one I do! I usually picture Lupita Nyong'o. Not sure if that adds or takes away for any of you. Who I picture ultimately doesn’t matter

I’d also like to think the whole scene where Tobirama scares Reader off is like any movie where a protagonist has to scare off a loyal dog. Like, “Go on, boy! Git! You’re not welcome here! Git!” while like throwing rocks or something.

Also a reminder that I am not a smut author, so please withhold any thirst comments or requests. Thank you. 

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake​

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

—

They made their way back to the Harrington house in relative quiet. Steve didn’t feel as panicked as he had that morning thanks to the talk he'd had with Eddie. Though, whatever reaction the gate had to Steve was… concerning to say the least.

He felt grimy and sweaty as he trudged through the last few trees and into his backyard. Wearing the same clothes two days in a row wasn’t Steve’s best idea. He was glad no one had commented on it, though he was a bit surprised even Mike hadn’t said anything. He kicked off his muddy shoes at the back door, following the rest of the Jabberwocks into the house.

Yesterday he had felt too weird about going through OtherSteve’s closet, though right now he just felt kind of desperate to change. The others congregated on the couches in the living room while Steve headed straight for the stairs, calling out that he’d change and be right back down. It would be a bit before the rest of the party joined them anyway.

He felt a little more comfortable in the house on his second day, a little less worried that OtherSteve would pop out like some cosmic entity and scold him for the intrusion. It still didn’t feel like he belonged, would take a while for that to happen — if he even got the chance — and Steve was only just beginning to imagine himself staying long enough for that to happen. If Eddie was right, if they figured out a way for him to stay, if he didn’t have to leave, his life would be so different. Maybe he could be okay again.

He walked into the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him, and made his way over to the closet. It was a simple wooden door, nothing fancy, not even a mirror hanging from the frame.

He paused when he opened it, unsure of what he was really seeing at that moment. Half of the closet was full of henleys and soft-looking cable knit sweaters, light colored t-shirts and various colored jackets he’d expected from basically his own closet, but the other half was clad in leather and ripped black tank tops, band tees and torn jeans. It looked like Eddie’s clothes. It looked like Eddie lived here.

Did Eddie keep clothes in Steve’s closet? Why? He looked back over his shoulder at the wall of posters full of bands he didn’t know, eyes flitting back and forth between the few posters with names he’d recognized before, the bands from Eddie’s battle jacket.

Was this actually Eddie’s room? But then why didn’t Eddie tell him, force Steve into one of the other spare rooms last night instead of taking one for himself? He clearly knew this was the room Steve expected to be in. There were also trinkets that definitely belonged to Steve on the desk and nightstand, and half the closet were clothes Eddie would never touch, let alone wear in public.

Steve stepped dazedly into the small space, thoughts running around in confused tangles of yarn that weren’t quite connecting. He thought back to the photos on the kitchen wall with Steve and Eddie wrapped around each other, and the countless times since he woke up here yesterday morning where Eddie looked at him like something was missing, like he was thinking of something specific that Steve couldn’t put his finger on.

If Eddie had simply moved into the Harrington house for some reason, that still didn’t explain why this room seemed to be half his, like they shared it. It just… well, Steve wasn’t stupid, he was there when Eddie had come out to him just that morning, he knew what this room and these things implied. Everything here pointed to a life lived together, but Steve was straight as far as he knew so could that be right? Sure, Eddie was comfortable to be around no matter which universe he was in. He was… gentle, despite his loud demeanor, and he was good at quieting the bad thoughts rattling around in Steve’s mind.

Even throughout their first stint in the Upside Down together, a brush of their sides or a squeeze to the shoulder, the soft dimpled smile Eddie had tossed his way, it all settled something in Steve’s chest. He’d thought this Eddie and Steve were closer, really close judging by the way Eddie had disappeared the day before but this was more than he’d ever expected. Was it even possible? Was Steve just reading into things?

Slowly, he reached out to touch a leather sleeve in front of him. It was soft, worn. He thought about today in the woods, how he kept focusing on Eddie’s lips, how he remembered doing that before, too. How often had he been sneaking those glances? Even without realizing?

Steve brought the sleeve to his nose, slowly breathing in the scent of tobacco and leather, and hints of the cologne Eddie sometimes sprayed when he remembered. This was definitely Eddie’s stuff, no doubt in Steve’s mind. This single closet smelled more like home than Steve’s whole house ever did, and maybe that meant he and Eddie weren’t so out-of-left-field as he’d thought.

He stepped back, letting the sleeve drop and opening his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. He’d ask Eddie about this tonight, after the party left and they were alone. For now, Steve turned to the other side of the closet and swapped his shirt for a Hawkins high school band sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. If they were about to have another planning session that could change Steve’s life, he might as well be comfortable.

He tossed the dirty clothes into a hamper at the back of the closet and turned to leave, his eye catching briefly on a lone shoebox sitting on the top shelf. It was on Steve’s side of the closet, sitting among what he assumed were just boxes of clutter. It would be easily overlooked, a shoebox in a closet, but Steve had the same exact one in his own closet.

It was an old box, weathered at the corners but still sturdy. He’d put every happy thing inside of it; his favorite movie tickets, the yoyo his nanny bought him for his seventh birthday, a pressed flower from his first boutonniere. He’d put photos of him and Nancy inside, some sparkly rocks that Robin had just placed in his hand and called pretty, one of the miniatures the kids had painted and left in his living room one day. Little things. Things that mattered. It’s the box he would grab if the house caught fire.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward and tugged the closet door closed, arms reaching out to grab the box from the shelf before he had even made up his mind. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t look, he didn’t have the right to. But… he was Steve. He should know the kind of life he could have had, he should know what kind of things he’d find important or meaningful. Right?

He took the lid off the box.

It was full of trinkets, just like he'd expected, but the stories they told were of a different life. Instead of a yoyo, there was a little book of nursery songs for beginners to play on the saxophone. There were three miniatures instead of one, painted in matching color palettes. He found more sparkly rocks, different than his own, and friendship bracelets made from chunky beads.

In the corner of the box, tucked away neatly, was a small, clear container with polaroids inside. Steve turned his back to the closet door and slid down it, setting the box in his lap as he hunched over to look.

He picked up the little container with both hands, sliding the pictures out with care. They were just like the photos in the kitchen, of trips to the beach and sleepovers, of pool parties and birthdays. The party in various groups showed up, Robin was in most of them. Eddie was in every single one.

He and Steve stood close, draped over each other or with faces squished together. In some, they were looking directly at the camera or making faces. In others, they looked at each other. There were pictures where Eddie looked at the camera while Steve looked at him, and Steve… Steve looked at him like he hung the moon. Like the sun rose and fell only to see him, like the stars themselves couldn't shine as brightly. Like every other cliche that’s been written and sung and professed about since the dawn of time.

Steve had never looked at anyone that way. Nancy was right, he was just bullshit. Is that how she felt with Jonathan? Is that how it’s supposed to feel?

He traced his own expression, completely enamored. How many times had the Steve of this world sat right here, holding these pictures, seeing the way he looked at Eddie? Did they look at these pictures together? What did it feel like to wear that expression? It was hard to look away, to pull himself from the trance his own face had him in, but there was one more picture and when Steve saw it, it was like the world stopped around him.

They were kissing. He and Eddie. They were kissing. Steve's hand was threaded in Eddie's hair, the brown tendrils curling through his fingertips. Their eyes were closed, fully immersed in the other, lips together in what was definitely not a chaste kiss.

As he stared, he couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie’s lips tasted like, what they felt like to be pressed against his. Eddie knew what they tasted like, knew what he tasted like. Steve wondered if he thought of that every time they locked eyes. Was Eddie the type to kiss fast and hard? Would he push forward with the confidence of all his tabletop lunchroom rants? Would he press hard like he stamped his combat boots into the dirt?

Or did he kiss soft? Soft like the way Steve’s eyes looked in the previous pictures. Soft like the sunset over lovers lake, soft as the tendrils of hair OtherSteves fingers carded through as they kissed.

Steve squeezed his eyes together to stop the burning. He shoved the stack of pictures back into the small container, shoved the image to the back of his mind, too. The Steve in those pictures was dead. The man who looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes was dead. He shouldn’t be thinking about Eddie like that, it had only been six months, he couldn’t image what he was going through, how much Steve’s presence was fucking with him. No wonder he spent the whole first day avoiding Steve, he’s surprised Eddie had spoken to him at all.

He sighed, breath pushing through his lips in a shuddered rush while he tried to pretend his heart wasn’t clawing its way up his throat. Steve carded his fingers through his hair, shoving it out of his face. He reached out to put the Polaroids back into the box and paused. In the crowded corner he’d pulled the pictures from, there was another box. It was small and black, just a cardboard box with a lid, and it was just small enough for the Polaroids to cover up. Or to hide?

He swallowed, suddenly his mouth was too dry. He shouldn’t look. If OtherSteve was hiding it, he shouldn’t look. He shouldn’t be looking at any of this.

He reached out to it, fingers tracing over the plain black lid.

“Steve!” Robins voice shouted from the staircase landing.

He jumped, choking on the heart in his throat and worried that Robin would burst into the room to find him snooping, but no further noises wandered toward his ears. He quickly shoved the Polaroids back into the box, refusing to look at the little black box he just covered back up.

“Just a second!” He called out, carefully putting the shoebox back on the top shelf, hoping it looked like he hadn’t touched it at all.

Robin was waiting for him at the bottom landing of the staircase. The second he looked her in the eye, Steve could tell she was desperately trying to seem casually uninterested. She leaned against the banister, eyes trying to cling to his own but she kept taking glances at his sweatshirt. She knew. She knew he went into the closet, that he saw Eddie’s half. He kept eye contact, knew she would crack eventually, especially as she fidgeted more and more.

She glanced past the stairs, into the living room before darting her eyes back to Steve’s, then the door behind her. The other two groups would be back any minute.

She stepped forward, dropping the façade of ignorance, and put a hand on his arm.

“Ask him when the kids leave, okay?” she whispered, glancing down at the sweatshirt again. He nodded. He’d ask tonight, when the house was cleared and silent, and they were wrapped in the compelling embrace of the darkness. It was always easier to speak honestly at night, whether it was the calm brought by the silence or the dark that obscured your vision, it didn’t feel as vulnerable. It felt safe, like the darkness itself could keep your secrets. He’d wait until then to talk to Eddie.

—

More midnight talks on the horizon for our boys, but next up is figuring out what the fuck that weird tree is doing

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou @1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz

[talkfastromance4]

Alright, since I’m a big ball of stressy-drepressy lately, I was wondering how Jake would help Sugar through a day that she’s just not feeling it. ♥️ luv u fren.

I hope you like this bb! it's a little bit more descriptive, I hope you don't mind.

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 1.9k

warnings: migraines, bad moods

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

You’re not sure how it started, but whenever you were feeling down in the blues you always scampered off to Jake’s room. It was so big and open and he always had the fireplace on so it felt cozy all the time. His pillows were the fluffiest you’ve ever felt and the whole place smelled of him, rich and musky. Even with the fireplace on, his comforter was cool on your skin. 

The day started off bad as soon as you woke up because you slept through your alarm. It was also Rhea’s day off and Jake’s early day to fly so you were in the house alone. It’s been a bit stormy lately and the wind kept you up from outside your window. It must have hit a power line or something because the coffeemaker was off when you got into the kitchen thus the coffee was cold and tepid. 

You planned on taking a shower before work but now you were running late and your hair looked so gross. Even the luxurious dry shampoo couldn’t save the mess of your head so you opted for a messy bun. Then you got frustrated because your messy bun wasn’t the right type of messy. 

“Miss y/n?” Reynolds called to you from downstairs and you were rushing again to get dressed. 

When you were finally ready you asked Reynolds if you could stop at the coffee shop near Jake’s house before going to the shop and he said yes. That didn’t end up happening because the drive-thru line was obnoxiously long and Serena texted you that there were a ton of people in the store already wanting to do orders. 

Your stomach grumbled and you wanted one of Rhea’s muffins. 

The wind was still horrendous and you could smell rain, the clouds were dark and gray which matched your mood perfectly as you walked into the shop. Recognizing you, customers started bombarding you with questions and shoving phones in your face of what type of arrangement they needed. 

The back of your neck began to throb signifying the onslaught of a migraine. 

It’s going to be a long day.

***

By the time you got home your feet ached, your arms ached, you had bandaids on six of your fingers from thorns and yanking off leaves and your head was killing you. You worked through lunch and you know you didn’t drink as much water as you should have. The storm kept rumbling in the distance which only made you more antsy because the lights flickered every now and then in the shop.

Dom assured you he’d check that the back-up generators were up and running before he closed up. He sent you home early because he could tell how miserable you are. 

The whole drive home you were battling with yourself whether or not to text Jake asking if he could pick up food from your favorite restaurant. You don’t want to seem needy but he told you to ask him for whatever you’d like. Would he be bothered? What if he had a bad day and wanted to come home and relax and your request pissed him off? 

Not wanting to make him mad you stare at the contents of the fridge for a good twenty minutes before you nibble on some pasta salad. Your head was still killing you and you just felt so sad and tired and exhausted and your body ached–

It was like your feet were on auto pilot as you trudged up the stairs, down the hall past your room and walked right into Jake’s. The remote for the fireplace was on his nightstand so you pushed the button to turn it on, the flames engulfed the space quickly as wind roared on outside. You bit your lip as you contemplated going to his bed or the big couch on the other side of the fireplace.

You decided on the couch, it had a huge knit blanket that felt like a hug and you could watch a movie on the tv up above the fireplace. You settle in and pick some romcom from the early 2000s you haven’t seen in a while and wait for Jake to come home. 

Twenty minutes into the movie you hear the front door open and close and then torrential rain is hitting the windows. You keep your eyes on the characters in the movie but peek at the doorway waiting for Jake. Your head is pounding as loud as your heart as you wait for him, neck aching, body aching…aching for him. 

Jake finally appears in the doorway, his hair wet from rain and his flight suit is tied around his waist so the white shirt he has on is spotted with rain drops. In his hands is a carrying tray with two strawberry shakes and the other holding a big bag that you recognize from your favorite restaurant. 

“Reynolds told me you weren’t having a good day. I’m sorry I’m late, the roads are terrible and the line at the drive-thru was long. I got all of your favorites, and the dessert they had is the chocolate pudding you love so I got extras,” he explains making his way over to you. 

He sets the goodies on the coffee table in front of you then kneels on the floor, resting his elbows on your blanket covered body. 

“I thought I’d find you here. Migraine?” he asks and you nod. “Did you take anything?” A shake of the head. “I’ll get your medicine and peppermint oil. Start eating and I’ll change, okay?” 

He stretches forward to kiss your cheek, he smells like rain and then he’s gone. As he leaves, he yanks his shirt up and over his head; your tummy flutters at seeing his muscular back. You force yourself to sit up and grab your shake, the hearty sip and sweet strawberry flavor makes your taste buds sing. The coolness of the shake also feels good in your throat. 

Jake returns in gray sweats and a different t-shirt, his NAVY one that you secretly have a favor towards. The color looks wonderful against his skin. A small tub of lotion and bottle of peppermint oil is in hand, he keeps it in his bathroom because you normally retreat in his room during bad headaches. He likes to be prepared.

He touches your shoulder and you shift forward so he can sit behind you on the couch, it’s big enough that you can fit comfortably. He places your medicine on the table.

“Your head might feel better if you take out the knot of your bun, Sugar,” he says softly knowing loud noises hurt your head. 

“It’s all gross,” you shake your head which makes the throbbing pain worse.

“Want me to wash it?” his fingers probe at the base of your neck and up your head, his thumbs rubbing with just the right pressure to alleviate the pain. 

“How would you do that?”

“Well, I have a pretty nice tub in my bathroom…or yours,” he muses, continuing to rub your head. You continue to suck up your shake. 

“Maybe later,” you sigh.

“Okay,” he kisses the back of your neck delicately. His lips are cold and you sigh.

“Stay there for a minute .... lips are nice and cold.”

You feel his smile on your neck as he kisses you again and keeps his lips there, skimming them over your neck gently. The tip of his nose is also cold and you relax a bit from the temperature change. He pulls your shirt down a little so he can kiss even lower past your neck and onto your back. 

“Ready for the peppermint?”

“Mhm,” you hum and his lips are gone. 

He unscrews the lid of the lotion, you faintly pay attention because now that you’ve got some shake in you, you’re paying more attention to the movie onscreen. You can tell he adds the peppermint because you smell it, that even helps your head a little. 

Jake’s hands are cold as he presses the peppermint coated lotion onto your neck and he begins to massage you again. His fingers knead gently at your cranium, up into your hair and down to your shoulders, his thumbs paying extra special attention at the center of your head. A soft moan escapes and you tilt your head forward so he can really rub at the taut muscle. 

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he murmurs. 

“Everything just went wrong. This is helping…”

“Good. What movie are we watching?”

“50 First Dates.”

“That’s a good one.”

“It’s almost over…what do you want to watch next?”

“How about The Princess Bride?”

“As you wish,” you tease, quoting the movie. The throbbing in your head lessens but you grab your medicine and take it with your shake. “How was your day?”

“Busy, we kept waiting to fly but the storm prevented it. Had to stay grounded and I kept thinking of you.”

He massaged your head until the movie ended and joined you in eating the dinner he brought home. You selected his movie of choice, which was also one of your favorites, and cuddled up on the couch, he slipped under the big blanket with you and you rested your head on his chest. Jake’s fingers played with your hair and unworked the hair tie.

“No, my hair is gross–”

“Shush, I don’t care. I bet that feels better, huh?” he asks. The tightness is released and you burrow further into his chest. You start to skim your fingers over his forearm, creating designs. He sighs.

“What?” you ask stopping your tickling.

“That feels nice,” he sighs, his cheek pressing to the top of your head. “Don’t stop.”

You smile into his shirt and start tickling his arm again, jumping slightly when thunder cracks.

“I know you hate it,” he says, running his fingers down your back and waist. “But I think I like when it rains.”

“Why?”

“Because that means you’ll be here with me.”

He squeezes your waist and you tilt your head so you’re looking up at him. He’s already looking at you. Feeling brave and bold, you place your hand at the back of his neck pulling him forward so you can touch your lips with his. It’s slow building, this kiss, his lips soft and supple giving you full control. You part your lips slightly but when you don’t feel his tongue against yours, you slip yours against his. 

Jake groans when your tongues connect and he shifts you up higher so you’re more level with him. Your leg is fully over his waist, both your arms around his neck. His kiss is giving you shivers all over, his hands hot on your waist and back as your shirt rides up a little from your movements. 

“You taste like strawberries,” you huff, breaking away to take a breath.

“So do you,” he smiles rubbing your nose with his. He moves his hand to cup your cheek, tracing his thumb over your lip. “How’s your head?”

“Better. Thank you,” you kiss his nose. 

“You’re welcome, Sugar. Let’s finish the movie, hm?”

You nod and fall back into your original position, lips buzzing from his kiss, heart hammering from how it made you feel. While you watch Wesley and Buttercup fall in love, you secretly hope it rains every day so you can be in Jake’s room all week.

[bardic-tales]

10.21.24: Meet the Character: Bianca Moore.

Meet Bianca Moore, a mesmerizing figure that blends the realms of Final Fantasy 7 and original work bringing together love and devotion that transcends time and space.

👄 Appearance

After Bianca was infused with the S-cells and Jenova cells, she underwent a transformation.She stands five feet tall with an hour-glass figure (36-24-36) and waist length wavy black hair tied with a white (cream) colored ribbon. There are times when she wants to shake it up and appears with wavy brown hair instead. She has glowing indigo eyes with feline-like pupils. Her wings are black (and indigo not pictured above) and can spread to 9.92 feet. She has kept her small fangs and long, slender demon tongue that most of the succubi in the Abyssal Realm has.

Bianca likes to wear light pink lip gloss, as well as ‘elite’ eyeliner, and a smokey eye-shadow. Her face claim is Eliza González.

💫 Powers

All abilities are corrupted and either have either shadow or life draining nature to them. She has spatial, temporal, and reality bending abilities, along with being able to converse with departed souls since she is a celestial being.

At the height of her powers and only with her infusion of Jenova cells, she is able to summon a hypernova. She still has to master this.

NOTE: Weaknesses

Bianca’s abilities are severely corrupted, leading to emotional instability, reduced combat effectiveness, and vulnerability to manipulation. Her powers fluctuate unpredictably due to Jenova’s influence, shadow corruption, and life-draining effects, which impair her focus, endurance, and defensive capabilities.

⚔️ Battle Attire

Bianca wears a tight-fitting biker vest. It’s complemented by tight leather pants, while shiny silver triple-plated spaulders which are covered with Sephiroth’s fallen feathers adorn her black trench coat. A large leather obi with two large belt belts are tied over her trench coat. A black sword frog secures her weapons, including the Solstice great sword on her back and the hilt of the tachi at her hip. She summons the blades of both Solstice and Noctemaris from the space between time and space.

Note: She always wears her ribbon in her hair, as this was given to her by Sephiroth before the Nibelheim Incident. She views it as his last act of sanity before the descent into madness. Along side the ribbon, she wears a leather collar -- black with a chrome heart. This symbolizes both the strength and vulnerability that is at the core of their relationship.

👗 Everyday Attire

Bianca’s every day outfit consists of oversized knitted sweaters, mirrored sunglasses, and open-toed stiletto sandals (or boots if she is in the crater). She often pairs dark beige trousers cinched tightly with a chocolate colored leather belt. Her signature outerwear is her cream-colored trench coat. Her overall every day color palette ranges from white to earthy browns.

Note: She always wears her ribbon in her hair, as this was given to her by Sephiroth before the Nibelheim Incident. She views it as his last act of sanity before the descent into madness. Along side the ribbon, she wears a leather collar -- black with a chrome heart. This symbolizes both the strength and vulnerability that is at the core of their relationship.