#isolation and coldness can be things to desperately long for

[badboydevotee]

His Heart, Once Frozen

Summary: Jin Kamurai, the once formidable ruler of Frostheim, finds himself tormented by feelings he can no longer ignore—you. As he isolates himself in his chambers, he struggles with his emotions, longing for the warmth you bring into his cold world. Unable to resist any longer, he ventures into the night, determined to see you. Finding you at the Academy, exhausted from work, he awkwardly offers his presence, unable to admit the true depth of his feelings. Despite his aloofness, one thing becomes clear—no matter how much he denies it, he will always return to you.

The frost-laced halls of Frostheim were as eerily quiet as ever, the chill in the air settling deep into the bones of those who dared linger. 

Jin reclined on his bed, cigarette balanced between his fingers, the tendrils of smoke curling up towards the ceiling in lazy spirals. His icy blue eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, held an unusual softness as he gazed at the ornate portrait hanging on the wall across from him. 

A sigh left his lips as he flicked open his lighter, the flame momentarily illuminating the solemnity in his gaze. The soft flicker of light cast shadows over the contours of his face, highlighting the conflict that warred within him.

He had tried, so desperately, to shove down the emotions that had been clawing their way to the surface. To ignore the way his thoughts drifted to you more often than not. To dismiss the warmth that spread through his chest at the mere mention of your name. But it was futile. He had fallen, and there was no climbing back up from the abyss that was you.

He had always been confident, sure of himself, unwavering in his decisions. But this—this feeling—rendered him utterly helpless. You had become an enigma he couldn’t decipher, a mystery he was drawn to unravel. And yet, the mere thought of baring himself to you, of showing you the depths of his affections, left him feeling exposed in a way he had never known.

“Damn it…” Jin muttered, dragging a hand through his silver-blue hair, frustration evident in his tone. He was the heir to the Kamurai family, once the formidable ruler of Frostheim, and yet here he was, lying in bed like some lovesick fool, unable to focus on anything but you.

What were you doing now? Probably busying yourself at the Academy, drowning in endless paperwork after years staying in the Academy. The image of you, brows furrowed in concentration, lips slightly pursed as you worked, flashed through his mind, and Jin felt his chest tighten.

He wanted to see you. To hear your voice. To feel the warmth that only you could bring into the cold world he had shut himself in. But he knew better than to act on impulse. He wasn’t the kind of man to simply admit his feelings outright—not when he wasn’t even sure how to deal with them himself.

With a heavy exhale, he let his gaze drift back to the portrait he imagined. You were unlike anyone he had ever met. The way you carried yourself, the way you never let his sharp words push you away, the way you saw him—not as the heir to a powerful family, not as the ruler of Frostheim, but simply as Jin. It terrified him. And yet, he craved it. Craved you.

His fingers absentmindedly traced the cool surface of the lighter as phrases played in his mind, unspoken confessions hidden within them:

Mona Lisa, a sight to see her…

Immersed in endless flattery…

A bitter chuckle escaped him. You weren’t like the countless admirers who fawned over him for his status, his power, his name. No, you saw through the icy exterior, past the carefully constructed facade. You saw him, and somehow, that was both the most terrifying and most exhilarating thing in the world.

The room suddenly felt too suffocating. He couldn’t stay locked away in here any longer, not when his thoughts were consuming him whole.

With a resolute sigh, Jin pushed himself off the bed, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray before grabbing his coat. He didn’t know what he would say when he saw you. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was ready to say anything at all.

But one thing was certain—he needed to see you. To remind himself that you were real, that this wasn’t just some fever dream he had conjured in his loneliness.

And maybe, just maybe, he would find the courage to tell you the truth.

That you had become the warmth in his cold world.

That you had melted the ice around his heart.

That he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

Jin didn’t waste time. Before he could second-guess himself, he stepped out into his room. His breath came out in pale wisps, but the chill did nothing to cool the fire that burned inside him.

He reached the Academy faster than expected, his mind too preoccupied to register the journey. The halls were dimly lit, most students having retired for the night, but he knew exactly where to find you.

Papers were scattered across your desk, your brows furrowed in concentration as you worked beneath the warm glow of a lamp. You looked exhausted, but still, you persisted, biting your lip as you read over another report.

Jin hesitated at the doorway, suddenly feeling ridiculous. What was he even doing here? Barging in like some desperate fool in the middle of the night. But before he could turn back, you looked up—and your eyes met his.

Surprise flickered across your face, followed by curiosity. “Jin?”

His throat felt tight, but he forced himself forward, stepping into the room. “You should take a break,” he said, voice softer than usual, betraying the turmoil inside him.

You blinked, tilting your head. “Are you worried about me?”

He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But there was no bite to his words, no sharpness in his tone.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you stood, stretching your arms. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you keep me company for a while?”

Jin exhaled through his nose, pretending to consider it. “Tch. Fine. But don’t get used to it.”

But even as he said it, he knew the truth.

He would always come back to you.

Song Inspo:

Ao3 vers.

[happyheidi]

𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 & 𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Woman Beyond the Wall

Cregan Stark x Wilding!Fem reader

Summary: Cregan must go beyond the wall to aid Castle Black after a large group of Nights Watch men are killed under strange circumstances, only for him to discover the “strange circumstance” is a beautiful and mysterious wilding woman that will make him forget everything he thought he knew.

not proof read yet!!

cw: angst, smut, dom fem reader, dom cregan, freaky cregan, reader is kind of odd 😭

word count: long af

part 2 , masterlist

⛫ ⛫ ⛫

Cregan sat, contemplating the decision before him.

“Forgive me, sirs. The kingdom greatly appreciates the sacrifice you men have made to serve the Nights Watch, but I cannot abandon my duties as a lord to go beyond the wall for Gods knows how long.” He tells them, hoping they won’t take offense to his declination to participate.

“We wouldn’t ask if we were not desperate, my lord.” The maester says, “But 15 men have disappeared just in this past exhibition. The Nights Watch grows scarce of fighters the more men beyond the wall continue to disappear.”

Cregan sighs, not wanting to go beyond the wall and leave his kingdom without a lord, but also not wanting to leave the Watch vulnerable.

“Alright, Maester Devron.” Cregan sighs, “We owe you men a great debt… I need to know what are these strange circumstances you speak of?”

“Men have reported finding the abandoned bodies with arrows in both their eyes, perfectly positioned every time. It’s rather… unusual how perfectly calculated the shot is. It never changes. Then, the bodies are positioned in circles, with no footsteps left behind. We fear it to be witching.”

A shiver ran up Cregan’s spine, but he hid it well. Witches were almost always stories told by Septs to children in an attempt to get them to behave, so to hear a maester say it was unnerving.

“Don’t be ridiculous, maester.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. When you find the group of men who disappeared only a fortnight ago, you’ll see.”

“When? Not if? How can you be so sure I’ll find them?” Cregan asks.

“She leaves them in the same place every time. About 20 miles beyond the wall, facing north.” The maester says.

Cregan sighs, already frustrated with the venture, and eager to kill a wildling.

———

3 days later, 15 miles beyond the wall, and alone in the blistering cold, Cregan couldn’t help but contemplate his decision. Although he was miserable, he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He wouldn’t have done it, if otherwise.

His horse stopped suddenly, its hair raising and body becoming stiff.

“Dusk.” He said her name. “Move.”

His horse ignored him, standing her ground. “Dusk!” He yelled at her.

She sensed something, but he didn’t know what.

They sat there for what felt like hours, but what was merely seconds.

Finally, the horse began to tredge forward… very, very, slowly. Cregan groaned in frustration, his hands gripping the reins.

They walked like that for miles. No matter how much Cregan tugged the reins, Dusk maintained her slow pace, as if anticipating something was nearby, ready to pounce on them at any given moment.

Night eventually came, and Cregan was forced to set up camp.

“Bloody horse.” He mumbled to himself as he tied her to a nearby tree.

He set up a fire nearby Dusk, then leaned against the tree she was tied to. He fidgeted with the dagger he kept in his armor, carving little dire wolves in the bark. He spoke to Dusk, hoping the already timid horse would comfort his feeling of isolation in the barren icy landscape. It didn’t help.

He eventually fell asleep standing up, leaning his weight against the tree, too on edge to leave himself vulnerable on the ground.

The fire near him had gone out, leaving nothing but the red glowing embers.

The wildling who had been following them for miles used this to her advantage.

She stalked quietly, her boots making no noise or crunch as if she weren’t even there, floating like a ghost.

She made no attempt to immediately kill him, but kept her bow poised, ready to grab an arrow and fly it into his eye if he woke. Normally, any crow out here would’ve been dead miles ago, but this man wasn’t a crow.

She believed him to be a lord, and when her fingers grazed the dire wolf on his chest she knew him to be a Stark. Excitement fueled the fire burning in her veins. She had never seen a lord, especially one so handsome.

Her fingers twirled one of his brown locks, but when he shuffled in his sleep she quickly backed away like a scared bunny.

She decided she would let the cold kill the handsome man, but not before taking a souvenir to remember him.

Her slim, dainty fingers wove into his furs, silently snagging the dagger strapped to his chest. She twirled it in her fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. No smith she had ever met was as talented as the one who made this dagger. She traced the wolf sigil on the handle, then ran the sharp tip of the blade along her finger. A drop of blood hit the snow in front of their feet, and then she ran, snow immediately falling to cover her tracks.

When Cregan awoke, he immediately knew someone had been in the camp. But, how? How could someone have even passed through without him waking?

He looked down, and picked up the snow with the drop of blood on it. His blood immediately ran cold, colder than it already was. There were no footprints. Where could this have even come from?

He checked himself, but was free of any cuts. It was here he noticed… his dagger.

“What in Gods…” He mumbled, feeling all around his body to make sure he hadn’t misplaced it.

He angrily yells into the trees, cursing and violently threatening the woman who stole his dagger, hoping she heard him.

And she does. She quietly giggles in a nearby tree at his brutish behavior. He kicks the burnt wood from the fire, startling his horse.

He mounts the horse, slowly trekking onward to find the bodies of the missing men.

Within the hour, he finds himself at the base of the men’s camp, their bodies positioned like how the maester said they would be.

Cregan sighs, dismounting his horse and staring at the corpses, their bodies frozen and not yet decomposed from the harsh cold.

He was, for the first time in his life, unsure of what to do. He knew the woman had already found him, but how was he to find her? He assumed she left him alive out of mercy, but he knew there was no chance of finding her unless she wanted him to.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, slightly embarrassed at his desperation. “Alright, witch! I know you’re out there!” He yelled into the trees, not actually knowing if she was out there.

She was, and she paid attention as he continued.

“I don’t know your goal, if you even have one!” He paused, not even knowing what else to say. “Stop killing these men!” He said, lacking in confidence. She giggled again. Quite an entertaining man he was.

He gave up, tired of feeling foolish. He began dragging the bodies into a pile, preparing to burn them. It took nearly half of his day, and when he was done he finally sat, sweating, despite the cold.

After his brief rest, he burnt them, saying the custom words, “And now their watch is ended.”

He watched, silently mourning the fallen men who gave their life.

Afterwards, he mounted his horse and started his journey back to the wall. There would be no finding the woman. She was rogue, didn’t run in a pack. He’d be searching for the rest of his life if he stayed.

He didn’t make it far, only a few miles before night fell upon him and his horse. He didn’t want to rest, but he had no choice. The day had worn him, and traveling at night was unwise when he couldn’t see his surroundings.

He set a fire again, and sat down, forcing himself to stay awake.

Suddenly, his horse whined. He whipped his head around, standing to his feet quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He said, trying to shush the mare. The horse bucked, breaking its reins from the tree before scurrying off.

“Fuck!” Cregan cursed, angrily. What in Gods names was he to do now?

A voice rang out behind him.

“Pretty little beast you’ve got there.”

He whipped around again, unsheathing his sword.

A woman knelt across the fire, her bow and arrow already drawn. She wore gray, thick pelts and gloves, and a pair of fur clad boots. No wonder she was so silent. She pulled her thick hood off, revealing the most beautiful set of eyes Cregan had ever seen. The woman was gorgeous, ethereal. She literally took his breath away.

“Suppose I should say had there.” She teases.

“It’s you.” He finally says, after a moment of silence.

“Mm.” She hums in response. “And who might you be?”

“I think you already know, given you raided my camp last night.”

She laughs. “Raided? You southerners.”

“You’d do well to mind your tongue, witch.” Cregan spits at her, tightening his grip on his sword.

She notices and stands, raising her bow, “And you’d do well to mind yours, crow.”

“I’m not a crow.”

“And I’m not a witch.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Sharp little tongue on you. Ain’t you lords supposed to treat ladies with respect?”

“What kind of lady are you? Killing good men and desecrating their bodies?”

“I never desecrated them. In fact, I left them better than I found them.”

“Those were noble men.”

“Please.” She laughs. “Those crows were rapists and thieves. The north is better without them coming into our land.”

Cregan says nothing, so she continues. “I suggest you watch how you speak to me, Lord Stark. I could shoot this arrow right through those pretty gray eyes before you’d even realize what happened.”

“Try it, witch.”

“I already told you. I’m no witch!” She lets the arrow fly, only intending to let it kiss his ear and hit the tree behind him, but he raises his sword, and the arrow shatters against the Valyrian steel.

She lowers her bow, shocked, before her features return to their stoic form.

“It appears I’ve met my match.” She smirks, impressed.

“Perhaps you have. For that reason, I’d suggest returning my dagger.”

She pulls it out. “Oh, this pretty thing? I think I’ll keep it… Unless you’re brave enough to come take it from me.”

Heat flushed through his stomach. For the first time in his life, a woman repeatedly left him at a loss for words. He did not know how to approach her, or how to respond.

“You obviously walk these woods often. How do I get back to the wall?”

“Simple.” She smiles, “South.”

Cregan stomps towards her. She nervously laughs, backing into a tree as he presses himself against her, his height towering above her own.

“Show me the way or I’ll put your pretty little head above my mantel.”

She breathlessly chuckles, “All you have to do is ask nicely, Stark.” She places her hand on his broad chest, giving it a light push yet keeping her hands entangled in his armor straps. He grabs her wrist, pulling it from him. He removes her quiver from her back, tossing it on the ground. He takes her bow from her other hand, going to give it the same treatment before she stops him.

“No, wait, please don’t leave my bow.” She asks, genuineness in her voice for the first time. He searches her eyes, but finds no answer there.

“You won’t need it where you’re going.” He responds.

“Leave my bow and you’ll die in these woods. And trust me, southerner, you’ll die long before I do.” He looks at the darkness that clouds her eyes, then grunts and puts the large bow around his body.

She smirks as he ties her wrists together, dragging her along behind him. “We’re going now? These woods aren’t safe at night.”

“The sooner you’re no longer my problem, the better.”

She stops in her place, but he gives her a yank that pulls her to the ground, dragging her body behind him. “I’m serious! We need to stay at your sad little camp.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll cut out your tongue.” He says. He takes a few more steps, still dragging her, before stopping. He knows she’s right, but refuses to admit it. He growls in frustration, turning back towards the camp.

She laughs, still being dragged on the ground. What a strange woman. He thinks to himself.

He sits back in front of the fire, still holding the rope attached to her wrist as she crawls towards him.

“Do you have any food?” She asks. He sighs, taking out a little sack of dried meat. He holds a piece out to her, and not moving from her knees, takes it from his hand with her mouth.

“You’re bloody off.” He mumbles to himself. She laughs, a strange and wicked laugh in an attempt to scare him, as well as mock him for thinking she was a witch.

It works, as it startles him into giving her a confused look. He picks up a big pile of snow, throwing it into the fire to put it out.

He lays down on the snow, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. She crawls towards him, opening his arms and lying against his chest.

“Get off me, woman.” He says, pushing her.

“I’m cold! You’re telling me an honorable Stark is going to let a woman freeze to death?”

“Witches don’t get cold. Your blood runs with fire.”

“You southerners and your silly little-“ He pulls her into him, wrapping his big arms around her. He hates to admit it, but her warmth comforted him from the cold.

“I’ll keep you warm if you shut up.”

She listens for once, saying nothing and nuzzling her head into his chest. He sighs, not having the strength to push her away… but not really wanting to either.

Her knee forces his legs apart to push her leg between his, slowly lifting it towards his crotch. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing?” She says, playing dumb. He doesn’t respond. She wiggles her knee more, rubbing her thigh against the leather covering his manhood.

“Stop. Moving.” He says.

“Was I? Sorry, didn’t notice.”

He shifts, trying to keep her from noticing the bulge growing in his leathers.

———

Cregan awakes before her. He stares down at the woman against his chest, her cheeks are tinted from the cold, and her lips are parted slightly. He admires her for a long time before she stirs. He pushes her away, thinking she’s awake.

“Ow.” She grumbles, sleepily. “Why’d you do that?”

“We need to get moving.” He stands, brushing the snow off him.

“Can’t we just lay a bit longer? I didn’t sleep well with you poking me with that thing all night.” She says, running her hand up his knee.

“I wasn’t.” He responds quickly, pushing her hand down. She stands, stretching as best as she can with her hands tied.

They begin walking for a few miles, with her trying to make conversation with him.

“You’re a rather quiet man.” She says, when her previous questions get no response.

“I just don’t have many words for a woman like you.”

“I leave you speechless?” She says, with a smirk.

“Try annoyed.” He responds flatly.

She steps close to him, pressing her chest into his back.

“What are you-“ Before he can realize what she’s doing, she cuts the rope on her wrists on his sword.

He whips around, prepared to knock her unconscious, but she’s too quick. She ducks, kicking his ankle and sweeping him down.

He hits the ground hard, but is back on his feet almost instantly. She runs, fast, beyond him.

He chases after her.

“Witch!” He yells, turning to look for her in every direction after she seemingly vanished.

“I told you I’m not a witch.” She says, stepping from behind a tree.

He stomps towards her, grabbing her by both of her arms, itching to give her a good smack across the face.

He looks down at her, that sly little smirk on her face, her cheeks red and flush, staring back up at him through her wet eyelashes.

She moves her arms from his grip, tracing her skinny fingers up his armor.

“You’re…” He whispers, starting to lose his strength. “Unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

She grabs him by his neck, and he gasps in shock, but it’s quickly cut off as she pulls him down to meet her lips. Her kiss is harsh and fierce. Cregan had known women, but never one so blatantly unapologetic to be herself. She growls like an animal, ripping to get off his furs and leathers.

He matches her intensity, kissing her with the same energy. He lets the anger she ignited in him release itself unto her by biting and kissing her neck. She tugs at his hair, grinding her hips into his.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” She responds, taking a step back to remove her own furs. He steps back towards her, pulling them off her himself.

“I only ask for your comfort.” He growls, frustrated with her attitude.

“Comfort? This isn’t the south.” She pushes him back, standing before him naked and unashamed. He breathes in the sight before him, his length growing at her beauty.

She practically pounces on him, pushing him to the snow before he’s even fully undressed.

“You are a fucking witch.” He moans, as she crawls her way up his body to rest her wetness above his face.

“Are you hungry, wolf?” She asks him.

“Starving.” He whines, wanting to taste her.

Her grip on his hair pulls him towards her, finally bringing his mouth to taste her sweet cunt. He can’t help but look at her as he eats her. Her nose and cheeks are so red from the cold, all he wants to do is warm her up. His large arms have a hold on her thighs, his fingers resting between them. She pulls off his gloves, letting his fingers grip into her warm legs.

She moans and whines in ecstasy. The sound turns him into a wreck, clawing and gripping at her thighs to the point he draws blood. She doesn’t even care, relishing the sweet pain.

She pulls and tugs on his hair so harshly, forcing his face so deep into her cunt. If he even thought of stopping, she’d kill him herself. She grinds her hips into his tongue, crying and whining into the cold air. It seems as if everything has gone silent, even the winds, the world around them stopping to hear her sweet ecstasy. He moans her name into her cunt every time she pulls his hair, wanting to be her release. He’s desperate to taste her release, she’s desperate to give it to him.

Cregan, the man he was, never having been with a woman so lust driven, couldn’t help but urge his own desires to see her writhe in his arms. One of his hands left her bloody thigh, grabbing a cold chunk of snow to rub against her warm cunt. She gasped at the feeling, whining from the cold. He rubbed his fingers against her sweet spot. Her nails dug into the arm still on her leg, moaning his name as she finally let herself go onto his tongue.

He swallowed every drop, only wanting to taste her sweetness for the rest of his life.

When she came down, he shoved her off him, mounting her and positioning himself between her legs.

Her body was growing red from touching the bitter snow, but it seems like she hadn’t even noticed.

Cregan wrapped his hands around her throat, leaning in and giving her a deep kiss. “I could kill you right now if I wanted, get this whole mess you’ve caused for me over with.” He whispered into her lips.

“You won’t.” She whispered back. “Not before you get to even fuck my sweet cunt.” She reaches her cold hand down, snaking it into his breeches and rubbing his length.

“You’re right.” He kisses her again. “I want all of you.” She unlaces his breeches, pushing it down along with his soft clothes.

She glides him along her wet entrance, and Cregan groans. He pushes himself into her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her lips. He gives her no time to adjust, immediately thrusting his hips back and forth.

She moans, tears brimming her eyes, having never been fucked by a man so large as Cregan.

“What? Why are you crying? Never been fucked like how you deserve?” He growls. She does nothing but nod.

“Nothing?” He asks. “Have I finally shut you up?” He fucks her harder, and she pulls on his brown curls, using her other hand to scratch all along his back. Cregan loved the thought of it, coming home with battle scars from her. He kisses her jaw, licking her salty tears.

He stands and picks her up, worried about the cold getting to her skin. He pins her to a tree, her back scraping against the bark. It hurts in such a sweet way, better than the cold snow. She cries out his name so loud as he fucks her against it. His hands roam her body, wanting to feel all of her but also wanting to warm her up.

“Tell me it true, Cregan.” She moans, her naughty attitude returning with a smirk. “Are you going to kill me?”

She knows his answer before he even does. He growls as a response, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that sweet cunt bested the Lord of Winterfell.

“I hate you.” He growls, fucking her even harder so she shuts up. “You killed innocent men.”

She laughs and moans at the same time, “I killed crows, My Lord.” He moans at ‘My Lord’ “I’d never… fuck… harm an innocent man. That’s why you’re here now, fucking my dripping cunt.”

He wraps one of his hands around her throat, the other holding her up, his thrusts growing sloppy as he nears his peak. “Fucking witch.”

To his surprise, her hand finds his throat too, but he loves it. He loves her aggressiveness. She matches him, she’s practically a savage wolf herself.

He wants to pull out, knows he should pull out, but he can’t find the strength. All he can focus on is the wetness surrounding his length. His hands grip her waist in such a harsh way it’s bound to bruise, and he relishes in the thought of marking her so those other wildlings knew she was his now. He had claimed her, and any other man who dared try to touch her would meet the Gods.

He grabs her and pushes her back into the snow, falling on her hands and knees. His hand takes a grip in her hair, pulling her head back toward him and forcing her to arch her back. He fucks her in such a shameful way. If any lady in Winterfell were fucked like this, she’d nearly be a whore. But she was not a lady, so he felt no guilt fucking her how she deserved, and how she eagerly wanted. Her hips bucked into him, matching his rhythm.

She cried such sweet moans at the pleasure, finding her peak so close. Her fingers spread into the snow, shaking, and she released onto him again, and he growled, fucking into her until he found his own peak.

His spilled into her so deep it touched her womb. She rested her face in the snow, panting. He pushed her off of his length, her body falling into the cold. Cregan stood, out of breath, staring down at the woman in the snow, her body curled into a fetal position as she laid there catching her breath. He was hooked. Obsessed with her beauty and madness, even as she laid there sweaty and cold.

He grabbed his furs and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping the warm furs around her.

“You might catch a chill.” He whispered, slightly worried now that their lust had subsided.

“I’m a witch, right? My blood runs with fire.” She breathed. He laughed softly.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Lord Stark.” She smiled, a soft and sweet smile. His heart nearly melted.

After dressing, they began walking again.

“Can we make a quick stop?” She asked, not letting him answer before she ran towards a cave in the not far off distance.

He sighs, not making an effort to chase her.

He walks into the dimly lit cave. It appeared lived in. He eyed the area, while pulling at his collar, due to the heat in the cave.

“Is this where you live?” He asked, his voice echoed back to him, making him feel alone.

She nodded, undressing herself again. “It’s a hot spring.”

She jumped into the water, moaning at the warmth. He twitched.

“You gonna just stand there lookin’ pretty?” She asked, her thick northern accent appearing. He sighed, slowly taking off his furs and armor before stepping into the hot water. She spit some of the water at him with a little smirk. He tried to hide his smile, but couldn’t. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and into his lap. She curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s stay here.” She said, voice unsure. “You’re a wolf. You belong out here, not in the south.”

He took her hand in his. “My place is in Winterfell.”

“Then stay with me just for tonight.” She said. He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her hand and nodding. She rested her wet head against his chest.

“I won’t cause any more trouble for you, Lord Stark.”

He sighed, knowing what it meant.

He yearned to bring her back to Winterfell, to give her a place in the castle, and to take her in his bed at night, but she was too wild. She would cause too much trouble for the servants and handmaidens. She would never be happy either.

He made it count, fucking her over and over again in that cave. When they slept, he held her close to him, refusing to even let her roll over. Her head fit perfectly against his neck. It felt like a crime to let her go.

———

They had been walking for three days to return to the wall, only growing closer and closer with each moment they spent together.

“I thought you said it was a day’s journey.” Cregan said.

“On horse.” He shot her a look, frustrated with the forgotten mention. She only smirked. He didn’t want to part from her just yet anyway.

“Lord Stark!” A voice yelled. He quickly pushed her behind him, unsheathing his sword and searching for where the voice came from. He was terrified for her, but she showed no fear. He knew if they seen her, they would kill her immediately.

4 men in black, all on horses trotted up besides them, encircling them.

“Gods, I can’t believe it.” The Lord Commander said, “You Starks, damn it. You put the rest of the North to shame. I can’t believe you found the witch.”

“I’m not a witch.” She said, but Cregan only grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing her from starting a fight. She kicked and growled into his hand, but eventually submitted.

“Why is she still alive, m’lord? You should have taken her head the moment you found her.” A boy said.

“It’s not that easy. She’s strong, more useful alive.” Cregan said.

She kicked her foot back into his shin, stealing his sword from his hand. Cregan yelled and grabbed his leg. He grabbed her arm with his other hand with a harsh grip. Her elbow met his face, knocking him on the ground as blood pooled from his nose.

“Took you long enough to find your own way back here, crow.” She said, looking at the Lord Commander specifically, the heavy valyrian steel sword dragging from her hands onto the ground.

He only snickered at her.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to lift that sword. I’d rather watch Stark behead you himself.”

“Can’t do your own dirty work?” She sneers.

Cregan sensed the tension but said nothing. He stood and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her back and taking his sword from her. He stared her down, breathing angrily, his eyes fuming with rage. He wanted to take her on the snow again as revenge for breaking his nose, but restrained himself.

She looked back up at him, anger in her own eyes, his hand lingered on the back of her neck.

Cregan turned back around to face the Lord Commander. “I will not behead her. She is a prisoner of Winterfell.”

The Lord Commander fumed. “She’s killed half our men-“

“You killed half your men when you sent them searching for me.” She spits.

“Enough!” Cregan yelled, but she ignored him. She broke from his grip and ran at the Lord Commander. The horses spooked, bucking the other men off them and scattering.

She jumped, using the stirs of the saddle of his horse to mount it. She pulled out the dagger she stole from Cregan earlier, and slit the Lord Commander’s neck.

Hot blood spewed onto her face as he weakly grabbed at her throat. She smiled, that wicked smile again, licking the blood that spat across her face, her eyes wide with madness.

“Goodnight, crow.” She whispered.

Cregan ripped her off the horse, throwing her onto the ground.

“Do you understand what you have just done?!” He screamed at her. She smiled up at him, blood staining her teeth. She kissed him, the blood on their faces smearing. He briefly matched her love with the kiss, before pulling away.

He tried snatching the dagger back from her, “No, it’s mine!” She yelled.

He pulled her by her collar close to his face, “You have to go now… or I’ll kill you.”

Sadness swept across her face, her lip trembling like a scorned child.

“Keep your fucking dagger, then!” She yelled, stabbing it into his shoulder.

Cregan cried out, letting her go, and falling to the ground. He ripped the dagger from his shoulder. She used this as an opportunity to take her bow back from his body.

She reached into her boot, pulling out an arrow. She knocked it and drew it back. Cregan weakly jumped on the Lord Commander’s horse. The other Night’s Watch men were returning on their horses, having calmed and gathered them.

“Back to the wall!” Cregan commanded them. He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew if he had, she would’ve shot the arrow right through his eye. Instead, she hit him in his rib, perfectly hitting where it would hurt, but wouldn’t kill him. Cregan yelled in pain again.

The men rode off, not stopping until they made it to the wall. Cregan passed out multiple times on the way, visions of her flooding his thoughts as the men had to drag him to the maester.

She stayed in the same place for hours, sobbing and sobbing, as the icy cold froze her tears. Only when night fell then did she turn and leave, knowing she would never see the Lord again.

[chirrups]

I feel like I have nothing to ask, I simply would love to hear more about them fucked up mermaid and murderer

And I would absolutely love to tell you about them, Tin.

This AU takes place somewhere vaguely in the Pacific Northwest (circa. 1970s-80s) in an isolated fishing town along a storm-wracked coast.

Fisheries in and around the bay have collapsed due to extreme winter weather patterns + overfishing + an oil spill from a tanker run aground down the coast, leaving most of the bay's inhabitants to live pretty much hand-to-mouth off contaminated fish in recent years.

get ready for LORE (and more drawings but mostly the LORE)

general warning: this is pretty long

The "story" as it were, kicks off when Gem finally gets fed up with another fisherman in the area, Grian, over continued conflict about ownership of fishing grounds in the mouth of the bay.

She orchestrates his death (with the eager assistance of Scott and Impulse) out at sea and passes off his death as a tragic accident in the winter swells with her being the unfortunate finder of his remains.

And it works.

See the thing is: Gem has a history of causing disappearances. It started with some accidents with out-of-town poachers. She would chase these people off and one or two would just slip overboard and happen to drown. It wasn’t her fault and besides they deserve it. But things start to escalate from there. Poachers become outsiders become fellow townspeople. Grian is someone Gem’s known for years, whose friends are tangentially her friends or acquaintances. His death is a cold-blooded murder driven by hatred and frustration. This time something is different about what she's done and Gem knows it.

But Gem is a reputable and well-known person. Her prices are fair, she drives poachers out of the bay and maintains order around the pragmatic fishing ground policy that undoubtedly helps everyone to survive.

She is the type of person to look to for guidance when things get hard because she can make those hard choices. So how on earth could it be her fault?

No one is wiser until Grian's funeral brings an old friend into town who is more than a little suspicious about the circumstances of his death.

Scar was one of Grian's crewmates when they did trawling much further south. They split when Scar took up (illegal) whaling and Grian moved into the bay.

As an outsider, Scar isn't so swayed by the goodwill the town has around Gem's name. He's no detective but for the sake of an old friend, he might as well try.

In this AU, mermaids are social mammals part of the Hominidae family that went back into the ocean similar to Cetaceans. They live in matrilineal family groups or in any other female-led organization of pods and have a very "survival-oriented" global culture (with regional variation).

Pearl is a lone mermaid whose pod lived in the bay until they were starved out by the collapsing fisheries. PNW mermaids are more territorial than other ecotypes and value strength over anything else. Pearl's inability (read: unwillingness) to oust other pods for better fishing grounds and the loss of one of her pod members summarily lead the other two to abandon her.

Without a pod to help her, hunting enough in her dwindling territory has been difficult and lonely, leading her to slowly starve just as the humans in the bay have begun to.

She took to trailing fishing boats to steal from their catch, which is how she met Gem who was mid-throwing some unfortunate soul overboard.

They have an interesting relationship.

Gem is enamored with Pearl at the halfway point between a person and a large apex predator. She loves the way Pearl needs her to live and the way Pearl, as a social creature with no pod, craves her attention. It's thrilling to have a predator at her beck and call like this and, in turn, to be so desperately needed. She also loves the way Pearl doesn't look at her like she's dangerous (the way Scott and Impulse have begun to when they think she doesn't see them). Her interest in Pearl seems to be leaching into something more than just wildlife admiration. She's begun to learn the mermaid language just to talk to her. For what? Who really knows. Meanwhile, Pearl is hungry enough to eat just about anything Gem throws her (including human bodies) and desperate enough that she lets Gem get much closer than many humans in this area have ever been to a mermaid. (They even touch, scandalous for mermaids.)

It's skewed for sure. From Gem's perspective, they've got something special going on. From Pearl's... not so much.

This being Secret-Life based, you can imagine how this story ends...

Bonus piece: Pearl and her old pod.

IN GENERAL, Biological females are generally larger with a set of rotated tusks protruding from their lower jaw for dominance displays. Biological males are commonly smaller and more agile, with more dexterous hands due to decreased adipose tissue distribution over their bodies. (They actually have 3 biological sexes and tons of social gender variation but that's a talk for another time). Pre-cultural awakening, these pods would form around a biological female and their harem for reproductive purposes. That female would then protect the harem from other females looking to "steal them" or their territories (like horses but reverse-style). In modern times, these pods are often composed of groups of friends/related family members as sort of "platonic life partners" and stealing other pod members is seen as a very archaic sort of thing. Territory stealing, however, is still up for grabs.

[twilightkitkat]

I feel like Logan is oftentimes written as a character who wants a large amount of distance and space in a relationship but I think that wouldn't really be the case. Obviously he can't be around anyone every waking hour of the day and he's his own person, but I'm convinced he'd be clingy once he got into a relationship. He knows to function on his own, he knows he can go through the motions but he just... doesn't want to.

One of the main arguments I see for him wanting a lot of space is that he has an eternity to live so he doesn't feel constrained on time when it comes to Wade, who's also immortal like him. And yes, that's true, but I raise you this: he's already had 200 years without him. He's had time to do all the things he wanted to (and didn't want to) do alone—he's traveled to different countries, explored his own origins and backstory, learned about different people and places. And sometimes he enjoyed it, even if most of the time he was desperate and angry and isolated from the world.

He already spent enough time being alone that he knows how it feels. He got it out of his system. He was forced to be alone for so long that he almost forgot what it was like to have a companion, let alone someone like Wade. Someone he genuinely connected to for the first time, who understood him and wanted him.

Logan knows what it's like to be alone. He lived through it almost every day of his hellish life in one way or another. He's tired of it, now. He had 200 fucking years to stew in his own company, 3 times longer than most humans even lived.

But this? The feeling of curling next to someone and feeling their warmth? Burrowing so close you can hear their heartbeat? Waking up next to Wade and seeing his bleary-eyed smile? Fighting next to him, trusting someone to watch his back? Waking up from a nightmare and being held and comforted by someone who understands him?

It's so much better than anything he could've imagined. Why would he ever go back to how things were before, when he knows what it feels like to be next to Wade and be loved just for existing? (How could he go back to being alone after finally tasting happiness?)

He'd want to savor it. To lean into the relationship hard and memorize all of Wade's little habits and routine and quirks. He'd be clingy, letting himself demand affection and attention because he knows he can get it. And he's been starved of it for so long.

He knows he could leave, if he wanted to. That he could go out on his own for a while, back out into the cold. But why would he voluntarily do that when he has a perfectly nice fireplace to keep himself warm? If he really wanted to go out to marvel at the snow, now he could bring someone with him and share that joy together. What could be better?

[kassiekole22]

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

His Angel

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Josh Washington x Fem!Reader

Description: Desperate to save your boyfriend, Josh, you travel through the mines alone to find him, soon to have a bittersweet reunion...

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mention Of Death.

Word Count: 735

A/N: The queen of fluff and angst is back, bitches!!! Haha, just kidding. I'm not the queen. 😂 But I am back and plan on delivering some brand new fics to the Until Dawn fanbase to celebrate the remake, starting with this fic here. I hope you enjoy it. 🖤 (Find all my fics at #kassieuntildawnfanfics until I can fix my masterlist, and comment to let me know if you want to be added to the new taglist!)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

She screams his name, her voice echoing off the rocks walls and dirt pathways, traveling for miles through the underground tomb but falling on the deaf ears of the dead. She runs through the rugged maze that is these old mines, while fear grips her heart tightly. But she isn't as afraid of the possible dangers that lurk in the shadows as she is afraid of losing that one person she searches for.

Jagged stones scrape and cut her flesh as she climbs, painting the environment crimson with her blood. The harsh cold air bites fiercely at her skin, freezing through to her bones enough to cause nothing but a painful numbness to course through her limbs. The agony she feels is more intense than anything she has ever been through, but she must keep going. Her love for him fuels her strength as she pushes through and bears it all.

She won't stop until she finds him... Death wouldn't even get in her way...

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

He sits with his head in his hands, his body trembling from the freezing temperature and his deep fear of isolation. He wishes for redemption—to see her again and make things right. It is the only thing that keeps him holding on anymore. He chews at his dry and cracked lip while familiar voices echo in his brain. Are the memories? Did he create them? Were they even real? He doesn't know. Though he hopes that some day he can get some answers.

But suddenly—amist the sadist voices swirling around his mind—another voice calls out. It's much sweeter than the rest, with a hint of sorrow and a broken sob mixed within it. Though it still sounds warm, just like home. It takes him a moment before he can comprehend the voice, until she is crouching before him and taking his bruised cheeks in her icy, frostbitten hands.

His pale blue eyes lift up, and a gasp of a shaken breath leaves him at the sight of her. Soaking wet hair frames her dirty face, and a few trickles of blood drip from a wide cut on her forehead and a few more from falling from her lips. Then his eyes glance back down to see even more blood covering her clothes. He wants to ask what happened to her, but he can only muster up one word to speak...

"Angel..." He whispers, which filters through a cold breath, parting his chapped lips ever so slightly.

She smiles faintly at this as her glistening eyes light back up with life. It was a word that always made her heart flutter, just as long as it came from him. She wraps her arms around him, embracing him like it will be the last time she ever gets to. And he rests his head on her shoulder while returning the embrace, sighing happily now that he is right back where he belongs. Although she looks a mess, she couldn't look better to him in this moment. His angel—the girl who had saved him time and time again—was finally back in his arms. He couldn't be more grateful for it.

And she is grateful that he didn't hear it—the screams that tore from her blood-stained lips as her stomach and other vital organs got ripped out by the wendigo. He didn't need the guilt weighing him down any further than he had already sunk. She may have died trying to find him, but she reached her goal in the end. She vowed that not even death would stop her. And even though it tried right before she got to him, she continued to push through due to her overwhelming love for him. 

Now she will watch over him while he waits to be saved, maybe even while he tries to heal in the hospital and longer if she's allowed to leave this place. She would hold his hand while he learns of her fate, even if he doesn't know of her presence. She knows that deep down, he would still feel her near. She would watch him find love again and raise a family like they had talked about in the past. Despite the pain of that future no longer being with her, she would watch with a tearful smile, proud of him for all he overcame. She would continue to protect him from beyond for years—she would continue to be his angel.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

[gtgbabie0]

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

[innerfare]

Law Leaving - Part 1

Summary: Law is leaving for Punk Hazard/Dressrosa. Reader is a Heart Pirate and marine biologist. Features mutual pining and unrequited love. This thing I wrote here could be considered a prequel if you want to read it.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // None

Word Count: 978

———

You entered Law’s cabin and closed the door behind you, leaning up against the wall with your arms folded over your aching chest. You wore his hoodie, the yellow one with black sleeves, the smell of your captain lingering on the soft fabric the most comfort you could find as he packed his things for his trip. 

His clothes were folded meticulously, his blade in mint condition. He looked as prepared as ever, completely put together. And yet, he lingered, refolding the same few shirts several times over and inspecting his blade for flaws you both knew were not there. 

You knew to expect this sort of opaque communication with him. Everything with Law at the moment was a gray area, your relationship included. 

Were you captain and crew mate, operating on a strict hierarchy? Were you colleagues conducting research together in the laboratory aboard the Polar Tang? Were you friends brought together by a shared love of adventure? Were you victims of isolation and long nights alone, the few chaste kisses you’d shared in the shadows of the lab nothing more than a mistake, something you’d done because you were lonely and tired? Were you on your way to becoming lovers, with deeper kisses soon to come? Was there something more permanent, more serious, to be eked out, or was it purely physical? 

You made him snacks when you were up late working together, and he always brought you matcha without asking. He borrowed your books and returned them with an origami swan or flower in the pages, and you kept wearing the hoodie he’d given you when you got too cold one night. The two of you discussed what books and papers you’d been reading as of late, shared song recommendations, and even offered each other the parts of your meals you didn’t want. 

Whatever your relationship was, it was a relationship. 

And he was leaving. 

“It’s for your own good,” he said, pushing the last of his things into his bag and drawing it shut, an unreadable expression on his face. 

You swallowed your scoff but couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “Bullshit.” You looked up from the floor and met his gaze head on. “What’s the point of having a crew if you can’t trust them to have your back?” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I’m leaving you in charge.” 

You rolled your eyes again. “I didn’t join your crew to babysit a bunch of nurses. Sure, I love them, but I joined for you, Law.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, y/n-ah. I really am.” He turned away from you. “We can talk about it more when I get back.” 

“I joined for you.” You pushed off the wall and took a step forward, clenching your jaw at the sight of his turned back. He couldn’t even look at you while he relegated you to the sidelines. “And now you’re leaving.” 

“I can’t lose you!” He snapped. When he turned around, there was a fire in his eyes you’d never seen before, a desperation that terrified you. He looked as if he was hanging off the side of a cliff, his fingers barely curled around the edge. He looked as if he was about to lose everything. But in typical Law fashion, he recovered quickly, guarded expression returning. “I can’t lose any of you.” He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but your face. “I won’t risk it.” 

You wanted to reach out and grab him. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, if you would pull him in for a hug and try to cradle him in your arms despite his superior size, or if you would place one of those chaste kisses on his lips, perhaps another on his cheek. Maybe you would run your fingers through his hair. But that uncertainty kept you from touching him at all. 

You stepped out of his way, wrapping your arms tighter around your body. You stared at the ground, eyes burning. You refused to shed any tears, though. You’d never been so angry at Law, and you didn’t want to let him see just how deep he’d cut you by not even asking for your help. And after all those times he’d told you he trusted you. 

Despite you no longer standing in his path, he didn’t leave. He remained glued to his spot by the bed, sword and bag in hand. 

“Tell me you’ll still be here when I get back,” he said without looking at you. “I need…” When he trailed off, he seemed unusually vulnerable, and you thought he might offer you some kind words. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I need to know Bepo will be safe. He buckles under pressure.” 

You wanted to push him, to give him some sort of ultimatum, to force him to come clean and say what he meant rather than leaving you wondering, but you knew that was selfish considering the position he was in; he had more important things to deal with. 

So, you clenched your jaw and assured him, “Bepo will be safe.” Putting your feelings aside was worth it when you saw a little bit of tension leave his body. 

“Thank you, y/n-ah.” He brushed past you, and that should’ve been the end of it. 

But just as he reached the door, you whirled around and stated, “You’d better be safe too, Law. You have people waiting for you, people who care about you. You know that, don’t you? We all care about you.” Your voice cracked painfully toward the end. 

Law stopped in the doorway. Again, you couldn’t see his face, but you saw how he lowered his head, and you thought perhaps your words had landed. 

“When I get back,” he promised once more, and with that, he was gone. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! Parts 1.5 and 2 will be up tomorrow and the next day! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[corviiids]

fic prompt: light in a final day of the yotsuba arc timeloop where he loses and regains his kira memories every day (but retains awareness of the loop).

It's not until the fifth time around that Light slips up and answers the question before L's asked it.

L is staring at him.

Light clears his throat. "Sugars," he says. "Right? You were just picking up the bowl."

"Right," says L after a short pause, though his hand is nowhere near the sugar bowl. He plucks two cubes out with his fingers and plops them into Light's coffee, just like he'd asked. "I always forget how intuitive Light-kun is."

Those cold black eyes don't leave him for some time. Light stares at his hands, trying not to think about the yawning hole in his memory. Over the past five Thursday the 28th of Octobers, it's only grown deeper.

--

The traffic officer dies every time. Light's tried to stop it, but there's little he can do. He doesn't know the fellow's name to call ahead on the radio. He's never stuck around long enough for the investigation to complete, so he's never seen the man's ID. The day always resets before then.

He does, at least, manage to prevent his father from being shot. It's Wedy instead. The next time around, Light closes his eyes to his father's pained shout.

On one occasion, Higuchi dies before they can arrest him. L takes up his--

--something. Something. Something, and. They reclaim something from Higuchi every time they get him. It's small enough to fit in L's hands and every time someone touches it they scream. Something. Each time they reach the helicopter, Light reaches across L and plucks the thing out of L's limp hands, and then his memory goes white and the fourth day of the week begins again. It's the thing Kira uses to kill, it's the only important thing he's learned. Why can't Light remember what it is?

On that one Thursday, Light shouts a new instruction and Higuchi shoots himself in the head before anyone can comply. L takes up the something as Higuchi's body bleeds out. Light tugs it from his hands and his memory whites. With the white comes something else: panic, the likes of which Light had never felt, sickness somewhere deep and coiling. He wakes up on Thursday the 28th of October with the heavy weight of a damning failure resting in his gut.

But it's morning again. The sun warms L's pale, sleeping face and lights up the dark blood vessels under his eyes. Light swallows down a gag.

--

"You've been agitated today," L comments.

It's lonely not having a confidant. It's isolating. Light has thought about telling his father, but their relationship isn't confessional like that. He's thought about telling Ryuk, or even Misa, or Aizawa. But then, anyone he told, L would hear it too.

Light isn't sure why he's keeping the loop from L. He has nothing to hide from L. No reason to hide from L. The two of them, after all, are going to catch Kira.

"Did Light-kun--"

"I slept fine," says Light.

L's expression doesn't change. "I was going to ask if you had any questions for me," he says.

That isn't true. "Oh, sorry," says Light. "No, I'm good."

Each time the white fades and he wakes, L is the first thing he sees. Some remnant of the night before draws back hissing from his sleeping face like grease from soap. Light will watch him sleep until the revulsion eases, until it fades, and L's eyes open wide again. The man never blinks. The skin on his eyelids is thin. Light will not get to see them again until they sleep, so while L sleeps, Light watches him and tries to forget everything L had asked of him the day before, and fails.

--

Higuchi enters the office and takes out Matsui's CV. He pulls out a pen and writes the name down, then he leaves. Light is forgetting something.

"It has something to do with the name," he says desperately, casting about. "Something to do with the way he wrote down that name."

L looks at him strangely. "We know that, Light-kun," he says almost gently.

"No," Light says, frustrated. There's something. Something. Deep in the recesses of his memory, there's something he can't find, something that will lead them to Kira. Higuchi wrote Matsui's name and all the tension left his body.

In the helicopter, he snatches at the something like a vulture at dead flesh and the world goes white again.

--

What if, wonders a small voice. What if he didn't pick it up? What if, whatever the something is, Light left it in L's hands? Perhaps the dark would stay dark and Light might be permitted to see his next Friday. It's worth a try, at least. It's worth a shot. The cuffs slap onto Higuchi's wrists and Light lunges for the thing in L's hands once more.

[waterfal-ling]

zenin's shadow - gojo satoru x reader

SYNOPSIS: Y/N, the outcast daughter of the Zenin Clan, a weapon forged from a forbidden union and raised in isolation. Gifted with immense cursed power, she is treated as little more than an instrument in the clan's pursuit of dominance. Her existence is one of obedience and sacrifice, a life defined by brutal training and a relentless drive to serve. Yet beneath the surface of her rigid purpose, a quiet curiosity about the world beyond the Zenin estate begins to grow. Despite the clan’s control, her strength, independence, and the haunting longing for something more are forces she cannot easily suppress. As she grapples with her role as a pawn in the Zenin Clan’s ruthless games, she must confront the delicate balance between her duty as a weapon and the desire for a life outside their cold walls. In a world where power, control, and family define everything, Y/N must explore the internal struggle of a girl caught between the chains of her bloodline and the faint hope for something beyond the shadows of her clan’s ambition.

GENRE: 18+, angst to eventual fluff

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, profanity, self-harm, abandonment, mental health struggles, violence, abuse and trauma, gender discrimination (it is the Zenin's afterall), self-discovery -- will probably add more and the warnings for individual chapters if needed, grammar issues here and there - but I will try to catch them if I can.

TAGS: f!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, very slow-burn, angst to comfort to eventual fluff (but angst will be a very on-going thing), gojo being super mean - until he isn't, NOT-ADJACENT (will follow aspects of the original timeline, but I have changed the timings of things - e.g., Haibara and Nanami's mission happens on this chapter prior to the Plasma Vessel mission).

TAGLIST: OPEN

a/n: I have been looking for a story like this and thought "why do I not write it myself." I have not written an actual story in a minuteeee, so forgive me for the lack of dialogue in this chapter - or going forward. I will try to improve my grammar as I go (also shout out to grammarly). Additionally, I want to add that I will try to update every week, but I do have a full time job, so updates may be slow. The first chapter should be posted soon, once I figure out how to post anything since tumblr is not letting me share anything.

COMMENTS, LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED

CHAPTER 1: The Unseen Edge > next

The Zenin estate stood in eternal silence, a monolithic cold stone structure with a shrouded purpose. With its aged, worn flags, the courtyard stretched out before her like an empty battlefield, the sharp, frigid wind cutting through the air. It was a place where the sunlight seemed unwilling to linger as if even the skies above could sense the weight of the tragedy below. The estate was a labyrinth of oppressive halls and dim corridors, each corner hiding the darkness that held the Zenin bloodline together—secrets buried in the foundation of this ancestral house, its walls as cold as the hearts of those who inhabited it.

Her only companion was her training ground, a narrow courtyard with uneven stones. The world outside the Zenin gates was something she had never seen, never touched. Her hands were pale and practiced, the weight of her cursed tool familiar, though it was more of an extension of her body than anything resembling a possession. Her movements were precise and calculated, but no joy was found in them. There was no pride. There was only the quiet desperation of someone raised to obey, to serve, and never to question.

The Zenin Clan was a machine, grinding its members into a single purpose: power. And yet, she was something of a glitch in the design, a pawn with the potential to shatter the very foundation the clan had built its empire.

She had been born out of wedlock, a consequence of a fleeting affair between her mother—a woman whose name had long been erased from history—and a powerful Zenin man. Her birth was an event hidden from the eyes of the clan, a shame that would never be acknowledged. The moment her cursed energy had manifested, however, it had been impossible to ignore. It surged through her like an ancient, untamed force, a power that could not be contained by the delicate web of family politics.

Despite the tumultuous nature of her origins, her father had been forced to bring her into the fold—though not as a daughter, not as a person of value. She was a tool, a weapon to elevate the Zenin name. To him, she was an asset—a cursed daughter whose energy could be used to tip the scales in the clan's favor. Her mother had given her a name, a gift of love and identity, but that was stripped away with no regard for her. She was only the Zenin daughter, a pawn without a face or voice.

Her father had no interest in her humanity, and the clan, in turn, had no interest in her existence. She was not a daughter—she was the embodiment of their ambition, the living proof that the Zenin Clan could control the most powerful forces, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

From the moment her powers were recognized, she was severed from everything that could have made her feel whole. She was trained in isolation, pushed to the limits of her endurance, her strength honed not for survival but for the singular purpose of being a weapon. There were no games for her, no childhood pleasures. The other children in the clan played and laughed in the sun while she was in shadow. The difference between her and them was glaring and cruel: the boys were the heirs, the future of the Zenin bloodline, while she was nothing more than a tool to be wielded.

Her instructors, cold and distant, did not see her as a person but an instrument. They taught her obedience as much as technique. When she asked why she was always kept apart, the answer was as swift as harsh: "You are a woman. Play is a luxury for those who are born to rule. You must train, or you will never be anything."

Her mind, like her body, was forged in that same fire. Years of such words and training had worn her down and conditioned her to accept this path. But inside, the seed of something dangerous had been planted—curiosity—the longing for something more, for something beyond the endless cycle of pain and obedience. But a longing had to be hidden, buried deep, because the Zenin Clan did not reward curiosity. It punished it.

She had been forbidden to venture beyond the courtyard's walls, but sometimes, the pull of the kitchens would bring her close to the laughter of children, to the food she would never taste. Their joy felt like an unbearable weight on her heart, a reminder of the life she would never live. She had learned to keep her distance, to ignore the hunger gnawing at her soul. It was easier that way.

Her punishment for curiosity came swiftly: a slap across the face when she ventured too close, a reminder that her place was far from those who lived freely. "You are not like them," one of the higher-ranked women had sneered. You are here to serve, to be useful, nothing more."

And so she continued her training, her cursed tool always in hand, her movements becoming sharper, more deadly each day. Her only purpose, as always, was to serve the clan.

The courtyard was empty that day, but the stillness felt like the calm before a storm. She stood motionless, waiting for the mission to begin. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed the presence of cursed energy nearby—an unusual, twisting force that hummed with malice. Her heart quickened, her cursed energy thrumming in response, but she had no time for hesitation. When the mission was assigned, it was simple: eliminate a cursed user. A clean task. One that needed no questions, no emotions—just a job to be done. She didn’t need to know why, or who.

The early morning air at the train station felt sharp against her skin, the quiet hum of the platform interrupted by the steady shuffle of people. She stood at the edge, her gaze distant, feeling the subtle hum of cursed energy around her. She kept her awareness sharp. Her eyes scanned the crowd, but she had little interest in the everyday interactions around her. The sound of chatter, the clattering of train wheels, the laughter—it all blurred into the background. But something in the atmosphere today made it linger.

She noticed two figures standing near the end of the platform, moving in sync, their cursed energy standing out from the rest. Their presence was hard to miss.

One of them was a tall, serious figure—his posture straight, his expression calm but focused. The other was the complete opposite: relaxed, easygoing, his energy light and unburdened. His laugh was effortless, and his easygoing manner was a stark contrast to the first.

The two were talking in low voices, the carefree one laughing at something the other said, a genuine sound of amusement. It made her pause. The first man’s stoic composure was the complete opposite of the second’s casual ease. There was something about the second man—his laughter, his warmth—that made her wonder.

She watched them longer than she intended, but their eyes met for a brief moment. The serious man’s gaze swept across her, holding no judgment, but there was a quiet wariness. The moment passed, and she quickly averted her eyes, returning her focus to the world beyond.

She looked out toward the busy streets. The train station buzzed with life, the sounds of people moving, laughing, and talking. Children played, couples shared moments together. It was all so ordinary. But it felt so alien to her. She had spent so much of her life detached from these small, human experiences. She could only wonder what it would be like to be a part of it—to laugh for the sake of laughter, to live without a mission hanging over her.

Could that ever be her?

She shook the thought from her mind. She had a place, a purpose—moving forward, serving the clan. There was no room for such distractions.

The train ride passed by in a blur, the steady rocking of the carriage almost calming in its predictability. Upon arrival, the routine followed. The serious man and the carefree one stepped off the train together, but their path took them in the opposite direction. They were headed elsewhere while her mission awaited.

She didn't spare them another glance as she moved toward her target—an infamous cursed user whose trail had led her here. Her mind focused, her steps determined. The hunt was all that mattered. There was no room for hesitation or doubt.

As the evening drew near, the streets darkened. She walked through narrow alleys, her movements precise, like a well-rehearsed routine. The pulse of cursed energy was faint, but present—just out of sight. Her senses sharpened as she moved forward, aware of every detail.

But then, something strange stopped her in her tracks.

The veil.

Her cursed energy flared for a moment as the veil shimmered in the distance, a presence far beyond anything she had encountered before. It was overwhelming, ancient. She felt its oppressive weight, and for a brief moment, something inside her hesitated.

She had always been alone—detached from the world and its simple connections. But now, something stirred inside her. The serious man and the carefree one—they were already near the veil, facing this overwhelming presence. Were they truly capable of dealing with this?

She paused. Her instincts tugged her toward them.

For a brief moment, she was torn. Her mission was still the priority, but curiosity held her for a second longer.

The hesitation passed.

She moved toward the veil.

From the shadows, she observed. The two men were already in the midst of the challenge, their energies fighting against the overwhelming force. The carefree one, usually so lighthearted, now had a determined focus. The serious one remained calculated, but neither could match the power of what they were facing.

Her gaze narrowed.

She could end it.

Without a word, she stepped forward. Her cursed energy flared, cutting through the air with precision. In a single motion, the veil was shattered, the overwhelming presence dissipating almost instantly. She barely used any of her power; just enough to break through.

The two men looked at her in surprise.

The carefree one stood frozen, his mouth slightly open, caught off guard by the speed and power. He almost seemed like he might speak—perhaps thank her. But she didn’t wait for it.

With swift, decisive steps, she turned away. The air around her felt charged, like a storm about to break. She didn’t need their questions or gratitude. There was no need for thanks. Their curiosity wouldn’t change anything.

The serious man watched her walk away, suspicion beginning to flicker in his eyes. She could feel it—the shift in his focus.

Their gaze lingered, but she didn't look back.

The hunt wasn't over.

But as she searched for her target, the familiar pulse of their cursed energy faded. The trail was gone.

Had they sensed her power?

A feeling of unease settled in her chest, but she dismissed it quickly. There was no time for questions. The mission would continue, as it always did.

The mission was over, and the Zenin Clan responded swiftly and brutally. They were enraged by her actions, her audacity in interacting with the other sorcerers, and her independence. But their anger was muted by something deeper—the fear that her power was a force they could no longer control.

She was summoned back to the estate, her punishment inevitable. The scars would form, as they always did, the pain a constant reminder of her place. They believed this would break her. But they underestimated her.

The fire in her eyes could not be snuffed out by pain. It was a fire that would burn brighter and hotter until she would rise above them all.

She healed swiftly, the reversed cursed technique working magic on her body, but the scars on her soul remained. They could not touch those.

And so she endured.

She was a weapon, a tool of unimaginable power, but she was not finished yet. Yes, she was a Zenin daughter, but that was not all she was. And she would find a way to be more.

No matter the cost.

But the truth was, she was finished. The Zenin estate had no place for her beyond her usefulness. The fleeting moments when she could glimpse at something beyond the shadows—those brief seconds of curiosity—were long gone. The world outside was an illusion, a dream never meant to be hers.

She would always return to the cold stone, the empty courtyard, the echo of footsteps that meant nothing to anyone but herself.

The Zenin Clan had made her, and they would break her. And in the end, she would be no more than a footnote in the history of their ambition.

A shadow, always watching but never seen. A tool, always wielded but never acknowledged.

In this world, she was extra. Always a part of the background but never indeed seen.

[emilsendo]

YANDERE!Headcanons

For: Draken, Tengen(without his wives), Kyojuro Rengoku, Mitsuri, Gyomei, Asahi, Bokuto, Kuroo, Baji, Mikey, Tsukishima, Tomioka, Mitsuya Takashi. (Part 1) (It's so long that my brain stop working 💀)

Warnings: Yandere Tendences, sick obsession, killing, beating, blood, aggression, tears, abusing, manipulation, threats, and all this type of madness xDD

_______________________________________

DRAKEN:

● Guardian-Like Possessiveness – Draken sees you as someone who needs his protection, even though you are perfectly capable of handling yourself. He justifies his possessiveness as “keeping you safe,” but in reality, he doesn’t want anyone else getting too close.

● Unwavering Loyalty – Draken’s yandere tendencies are rooted in devotion rather than insanity. He isn’t the type to hurt you, but he will mercilessly eliminate threats—whether it’s rivals, enemies, or even friends who get too close.

● Hiding your secrets - he personally ensures no one ever discovers it, even going as far as intimidating or silencing anyone who gets suspicious.

● Overprotective to the Extreme – If Y/N gets injured, Draken loses all rationality. The one responsible? Gone. Even if it's something minor, he'll act as if Y/N is fragile, forcing them to rest and refusing to let them out of his sight.

● Subtle but Unbreakable Control – Draken never chains Y/N physically, but emotionally? Different story. He subtly manipulates situations so that Y/N relies on him more than anyone else. Other people will always seem unreliable compared to Draken’s steady presence.

● Jealousy is Dangerous – Draken isn't outwardly possessive like some yanderes, but his jealousy is lethal. A simple conversation with someone else can result in that person suddenly disappearing from Y/N's life—whether through intimidation, threats, or worse.

● Knows When to Give Space—But He’s Always Watching – Draken isn’t suffocating in the usual yandere way. He lets you be independent because he knows trying to control you outright would backfire. But no matter where you go, Draken knows.

● Whispers of Manipulation – If Y/N ever tries to leave or distance themself, Draken plays the long game. He won’t beg or act desperate; instead, he’ll plant seeds of doubt, subtly making you feel like the world without Draken is cold and unreliable.

● If Y/N Ever Tried to Escape… – Draken would let them go—at first. He knows chasing them down immediately would make Y/N rebel more. Instead, he waits. He watches. And just when Y/N starts feeling like something is missing, Draken appears again, acting like nothing happened, but ensuring Y/N never tries leaving again.

TENGEN:

● Obsession Hidden Behind Glamour – Tengen is naturally charming and flamboyant, so at first, his obsession with you might not be obvious. He showers you with attention, gifts, and grand gestures, making it seem like he’s just being his usual flashy self. But beneath all that, his love is possessive and dangerously deep.

● You’re His Most “Flamboyant” Treasure – He sees you as the most precious thing in his life, even above his career as a Demon Slayer. The way he talks about you to others is almost reverent, as if you’re some rare, untouchable jewel that only he is worthy of admiring.

● Overprotectiveness Disguised as “Caring” – Any interaction you have with another man is met with Tengen subtly interfering. He’ll throw an arm around your shoulders, make exaggerated jokes about how you’re “already taken,” or if he’s feeling especially possessive, he’ll straight-up intimidate the other person with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

● Soft Yet Threatening Possessiveness – Unlike a violent yandere, Tengen doesn’t lash out in a fit of rage. Instead, he manipulates the situation to keep you close. If you try to leave, he’ll guilt-trip you with that charming smile, whispering things like:

“You wouldn’t want to make me unflashy by running away, would you, (Y/N)? I might just lose all my flair without you.”

●Isolation Disguised as Luxury – He makes sure you have everything you could ever want, so there’s no “need” for you to go anywhere else. Exotic foods, expensive clothes, private performances—he drowns you in pleasure and attention to keep you dependent on him. But if you ever express wanting to leave, his usually playful expression darkens.

● The “Loving” Jailor – If you ever try to run away, he doesn’t get angry. Instead, he gets... disappointed. That hurts more. He’ll sigh dramatically, shake his head, and remind you in the sweetest yet most chilling voice:

“I love you too much to let you go, you know? So don’t make this difficult.”

● A “Happy” Ending, Whether You Want It or Not – In the end, no matter what you do, Tengen ensures that you stay by his side. He won’t hesitate to use force if necessary, but he prefers making you so emotionally and physically dependent on him that you don’t even think about leaving. After all, why would you ever need anyone else when he can give you everything?

KYOJURO RENGOKU:

● Devoted and Protective to an Extreme- Kyojuro is already fiercely loyal, but as a yandere, this devotion becomes overwhelming. He sees you as his greatest treasure and will stop at nothing to keep you safe. The moment he senses danger—whether real or imagined—he steps in without hesitation, cutting down anything that threatens you. He constantly watches over you, even when you don’t realize it. If you’re on a mission, he somehow always finds an excuse to accompany you or, at the very least, check in with you before and after.

● Overwhelming Affection - He’s always smiling, but that doesn’t mean his grip on your wrist isn’t just a little too tight when he’s leading you somewhere "safer." Hugs that last just a second too long, lingering touches, and words of encouragement that sound more like vows of eternal devotion. He praises you constantly, talking about how incredible you are, how much he admires you, and how honored he is to "protect what is his."

● Subtly Controlling - He doesn’t outright lock you away, but he always finds ways to make sure you’re by his side. He insists that training together will make you stronger. He convinces you that traveling with him is safer than being alone. If another slayer or Hashira gets too close, his smile doesn’t waver, but his aura shifts. His voice is still warm, but there’s a quiet, underlying menace when he asks them why they need to be so familiar with his dearest companion. He discourages you from forming deep relationships with others, subtly steering conversations so you rely on him alone.

● Jealousy Burns Like Fire - If someone flirts with you, they mysteriously find themselves sent on the most dangerous missions—or, if they’re particularly bold, they might not return at all. He doesn’t threaten you directly, but his presence alone makes it clear that you belong to him. “I will always protect you,” he says, and the way he grips his sword makes it seem like he's not just talking about demons.

If you ever try to leave him, he’s heartbroken but doesn’t let you go. He insists that it’s for your own good and that the world is far too dangerous without him.

● Unwavering Devotion - Despite his possessiveness, Kyojuro never stops being a warm and radiant presence. His love is suffocating but never cruel. He truly believes everything he does is for your happiness and safety. If you ever reciprocate his feelings—even just a little—his obsession intensifies. The idea that you love him too fuels his delusions, making him even more convinced that you were meant for each other.

No matter what happens, Kyojuro will be with you. Whether you accept it or not is irrelevant—he’s already decided that his place is by your side, forever.

MITSURI:

● Love at First Sight, Intensified - Mitsuri already falls in love easily, but when she meets you, it’s something different. It’s as if her heart was made just for you. She’ll blush, giggle, and become completely infatuated—except this time, it doesn’t fade. Instead, it deepens into something much more intense.

● Extreme Devotion & Affection - She showers you with love—constant hugs, compliments, homemade meals—but it’s overwhelming. You’ll never go a day without her telling you how much she loves you, how much she needs you. Even if you try to distance yourself, she’ll find ways to stay close, whether it’s through small favors or inserting herself into your daily routine.

● Jealousy That Burns Bright - Mitsuri is usually sweet and bubbly, but if she sees another person getting too friendly with you? Her smile falters, her grip on her sword tightens, and her usually warm gaze becomes unsettlingly sharp. She doesn’t lash out violently—at least, not at first—but she’ll subtly intimidate anyone who gets too close, wrapping herself around you like a vine to make it clear that you’re hers.

● Clinginess Turned Possessiveness - She adores spending every moment with you, and if she could, she’d keep you by her side forever. She’ll start with small things—holding onto your arm longer than necessary, ‘accidentally’ showing up wherever you are. But soon, she won’t even want you leaving her sight. “You don’t need anyone else, right? Just me!” she insists, her voice laced with a desperate kind of love.

● The Soft, Guilt-Tripping Captor - If she feels like you’re pulling away from her, she doesn’t react with anger—she reacts with heartbreak. Tears well up in her big, bright eyes as she asks, “D-Do you not love me anymore?” The thought of hurting her is unbearable, and she knows it. If she ever has to restrain you (whether physically or through emotional manipulation), it’s always accompanied by apologies and kisses. “I just want to keep you safe, that’s all! Please don’t hate me…”

● Lethal When Necessary - Mitsuri isn’t naturally violent outside of battle, but for you? She’ll make exceptions. If someone keeps getting in her way—or worse, tries to take you from her—she won’t hesitate to ‘deal’ with them. You might never even know, as she’d rather keep that side of herself hidden. But if you do find out, she’ll simply smile through the bloodstains and say, “I only did it because I love you so much~!”

● Her Idea of a ‘Happy Ending’ - Mitsuri doesn’t want to hurt you, and she certainly doesn’t want to lose you. In her ideal world, you love her just as much as she loves you, and the two of you can be together forever—whether that means running away together, living a peaceful life in a secluded place, or even something more... restrictive. “I’ll do anything to keep you by my side, okay? No one will ever take you from me. Ever.”

GYOMEI

● Overprotective to an Extreme Degree- Gyomei already sees the world as cruel and full of suffering, and the moment he realizes he harbors feelings for you, his protectiveness reaches an alarming level. He sees himself as your guardian, shielding you from all possible dangers—even imaginary ones. He refuses to let you fight, even if you're a skilled swordsman. "You are too precious to risk, even for the cause," he says, his large hands trembling with emotion. If you're a Demon Slayer, he will find ways to subtly sabotage missions that put you in danger—delayed crow messages, reports "accidentally" misplaced, or even outright demanding Kagaya Ubuyashiki to keep you at the estate.

● Isolation Through ‘Love’ - Unlike some yanderes who might chain their beloved up, Gyomei believes he is doing what’s best for you. He limits your interactions with others, not through force, but through sheer emotional weight. "The world outside is cruel, full of loss and sorrow," he tells you in his soft, prayerful voice. "Stay by my side, where I can keep you safe." He convinces you that others wouldn’t understand your bond, that they don’t appreciate your existence as he does. He guilt-trips you without realizing it, making you feel as though leaving his side would be an unforgivable sin.

● Physical Affection as Restraint - Gyomei's strength is beyond human, and when he holds you, it feels both secure and inescapable. His embraces last too long, his hands firm as if afraid you’ll slip away. If you try to resist or argue, he holds you just a bit tighter, not enough to hurt but enough to make you realize you can’t escape. "I only wish for you to be safe," he whispers against your hair. He is constantly touching you—whether it's resting his heavy palm on your shoulder, holding your wrist when walking, or brushing his fingers over your pulse as if to confirm you’re still there.

● Devotion That Borders on Worship - Gyomei is deeply spiritual, and in his mind, his love for you is almost sacred. He prays for your safety, your happiness, and even for forgiveness—because he knows his obsession isn't normal. At night, he kneels in prayer, murmuring your name like a mantra, asking the gods to grant him strength to protect you, even if it means going against your will. He compares you to something divine, untouchable by anyone but him. "You are my guiding light," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I would die before I let darkness reach you."

● Absolute, Unquestionable Possessiveness‐ Despite his gentle demeanor, Gyomei does not tolerate threats to your bond. Anyone who gets too close is subtly warned—he doesn’t need to say much, just standing near them is enough for them to feel the sheer pressure of his presence. If someone confesses to you, he will intervene before you can answer. He won’t get violent, but the quiet authority in his voice makes it clear: You belong to him.

If you ever try to leave, he will weep, his body shaking as he begs you not to go. If you still resist, he won’t hesitate to restrain you, holding you in his powerful arms until you’re too exhausted to fight. "I cannot let you go," he whispers brokenly. "Not when I have already lost so much."

● Soft-Spoken, but Unbreakable - There’s no reasoning with Gyomei once his obsession is solidified. He truly believes everything he does is for your sake, and no amount of pleading will make him change his mind. If you cry, he will hold you, pressing his forehead against yours as he reassures you. "One day, you’ll understand," he says, voice thick with emotion. He hates making you unhappy, and it pains him to see you resist, but he genuinely believes you are safest in his care. He doesn’t need chains, locks, or threats—his sheer willpower is enough to keep you bound to him.

● If You Ever Accept Him… - If you eventually stop fighting and return his feelings—whether out of genuine affection or resigned acceptance—Gyomei will be ecstatic. He will treat you like something fragile and precious, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. He will shower you with quiet praises, murmuring how grateful he is, how he thanks the gods every day for allowing him to keep you. If you initiate affection, he will be overwhelmed, silent tears streaming down his face as he holds you close. "You have given my life meaning," he whispers, voice trembling. "I will never let you go."

ASAHI

● Asahi isn’t the typical yandere—he’s not overtly violent or sadistic. Instead, his possessiveness manifests as overwhelming protectiveness and paranoia. He constantly worries about your well-being, convinced that the world is too dangerous for you. He overthinks everything, imagining worst-case scenarios where you get hurt or taken from him. Because of his gentle nature, he doesn’t resort to extreme methods right away, but his obsessiveness grows over time, especially if he feels like he’s losing control over you.

● Obsession & Possessiveness - Asahi has severe anxiety when it comes to you interacting with others—especially other guys. He won’t outright forbid you from talking to them, but his mood visibly sours, and his grip on you tightens (literally and figuratively). If you’re close to someone he deems a “threat,” he’ll start subtly manipulating the situation to keep them away—spreading rumors, “accidentally” interrupting conversations, or guilt-tripping you into spending more time with him. He has an irrational fear of you leaving him, even if you reassure him. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, and he’ll start acting even clingier.

Expect lots of apologetic affection—he knows his overprotectiveness might seem suffocating, but he can’t help it. Every time he gets too intense, he buries his face in your shoulder, mumbling, “I’m sorry… I just don’t want to lose you.”

● Jealousy & Control - He tries so hard to be reasonable, but his jealousy eats away at him. When he sees you smiling at someone else, he feels physically sick. He doesn’t lash out violently, but his emotions come out in passive-aggressive ways—long silences, avoiding eye contact, or suddenly clinging to you in public.

His biggest coping mechanism? Marking you. Not just physically (hickeys, tight hugs, etc.), but also with his things—his jacket, his scarf, anything that makes it clear you belong to him.

● Breaking Point - Asahi snaps when he feels like he’s losing you—maybe you start spending too much time with someone else, or you try to set boundaries. His desperation overtakes his guilt, and he’ll resort to more extreme methods, like isolating you. He might convince you that no one else understands you the way he does.

At worst? He might lock you away, justifying it with: “It’s for your own good… I love you too much to let anything happen to you.” His gentle voice cracks with fear, his hands trembling as he grips yours. Even if you resist, he’ll break down into tears, begging you to just love him back the way he loves you

● He genuinely believes he’s protecting you, even when his actions become dangerous. You could try to talk him down, but if his obsession has already taken over, he won’t listen. At that point, you’d have to either escape or accept him.

BOKUTO

● Obsessive Affection: Bokuto is already naturally affectionate, but as a yandere, his attention toward you becomes suffocating. He constantly clings to you, texting and calling you non-stop, making sure you’re always thinking about him. If you don’t reply quickly, he spirals into insecurity, showing up at your house or practice unannounced.

● Extreme Mood Swings: Bokuto's emotional highs and lows are even more intense. If you praise or acknowledge him, he’s on top of the world, showering you with hugs and endless compliments. But if he feels ignored or senses competition, he crashes hard—sulking, guilt-tripping, or becoming dangerously possessive.

● Overprotective and Jealous: He gets visibly upset if you spend too much time with someone else, especially other guys. If you talk about another player’s skills, he immediately tries to prove he’s better. He’ll puff up his chest and challenge them to a match, just to "remind" you who’s the best.

● Physical Possessiveness: Bokuto enjoys casual touches—slinging an arm around your shoulders, ruffling your hair, or pulling you into a tight hug. But as a yandere, his touch becomes more insistent. He’ll hold onto you longer than necessary, grip your wrist if you try to walk away, and wrap himself around you as if to shield you from the world.

● Emotional Manipulation (Unintentional, but Effective): Bokuto doesn’t mean to manipulate you, but his emotional outbursts make it difficult to deny him. If you try to set boundaries, he’ll look devastated—eyes wide, voice trembling as he asks, “Do you hate me?” It’s almost impossible to say no when he looks so broken.

● Overwhelming Devotion: Bokuto genuinely believes you’re the best thing in his life. He dedicates victories to you, tells his teammates about you constantly, and even starts tailoring his playing style to impress you. He lives for your approval and craves your presence like oxygen.

● Childlike Dependency: Bokuto’s worst fear is you leaving him. If you ever hint at needing space, he panics. He’ll grip your arm tightly and beg, “But you promised we’d always be together, right?” His desperation is raw and heartbreaking—making it feel almost cruel to pull away.

● Subtle Isolation: He doesn’t outright stop you from seeing others, but he makes it difficult. He’ll insist on walking you home, dragging you into late-night training, or even guilt-tripping you into skipping plans. He frames it as “I just want to be with you more!” and it’s hard to argue when he looks so eager.

● Unshakeable Loyalty: Despite his possessiveness, Bokuto isn’t cruel—he’s just overwhelmingly intense. His love for you is all-consuming, but it’s genuine. He’ll do anything to make you happy… as long as you don’t leave him. Because if you ever try, well—Bokuto doesn’t know how to exist without you.

● Sudden Bursts of Aggression: Bokuto is usually playful and upbeat, but if he feels seriously threatened—if someone flirts with you or tries to get too close—his aura shifts. His usual golden eyes darken, his playful grin tightens, and his voice drops into something dangerously serious: “Back off. He’s mine.”

KUROO

● Charming but Possessive - Kuroo is a smooth talker, using his natural charisma to keep you close. At first, his affection seems harmless—lots of teasing, playful jabs, and flirtatious remarks. But beneath that laid-back exterior, he's deeply possessive. He doesn't like sharing your attention. If anyone gets too close, he'll subtly insert himself into the conversation, redirecting everything back to himself or making the other person feel unwelcome.

● Subtle Manipulation - Kuroo is a strategist on and off the court. Instead of outright controlling you, he makes you believe that being with him is your best option. If you try to make new friends or spend time with others, he’ll guilt-trip you in a way that doesn’t seem too aggressive. “Oh? You’re hanging out with them again? Guess I’ll just third-wheel my own best friend, huh?”

● Overprotective Streak - If anyone makes you uncomfortable—even unintentionally—Kuroo will be the first to step in. He’ll throw around snide comments and passive-aggressive remarks, making sure the person knows they’re not welcome in your life. If they don’t take the hint, he’s not above fixing the problem in more underhanded ways. A few rumors, some well-placed insults, and suddenly, your other friends don’t seem so reliable anymore.

● Jealousy Disguised as Concern - He hides his jealousy behind “looking out for you.” If you talk about someone too much, he’ll start planting seeds of doubt: “Are you sure he’s not using you? People aren’t always what they seem.” If you insist that your other friends are trustworthy, he’ll play the “I’m just trying to protect you” card. It’s frustrating because he never outright forbids you from seeing them, but he makes sure you second-guess every interaction.

● Physical Affection as a Claim - Kuroo uses physical closeness to stake his claim on you. An arm slung around your shoulders, leaning in just a little too close, ruffling your hair—he wants people to see that you belong to him. If he’s feeling particularly threatened, his touches become lingering. A hand on your waist when guiding you somewhere, fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels too deliberate. If you pull away, he’ll pout and guilt-trip you into letting him do it again.

● Gaslighting and Mind Games - If you ever call him out on his behavior, he’ll play dumb. “What? You think I’m controlling? I’m just looking out for you. That hurts, y’know?” He’s an expert at making you question whether he’s actually in the wrong. He never raises his voice or gets aggressive, but his disappointed tone is enough to make you second-guess yourself.

● A Slow Descent into Isolation - Kuroo won’t force you away from others, but he makes sure you naturally drift away. He convinces you that he’s the only one who really understands you. If someone does try to warn you about him, he’ll flip the script. “They’re just jealous of what we have.” And he says it with so much confidence that it’s hard not to believe him.

● Breaking Point - If you ever try to distance yourself, that’s when his composure cracks. He doesn’t snap immediately, but there’s a shift in his tone. He’ll give you space at first, but behind the scenes, he’s watching you. Every interaction, every movement—you’re never truly alone. When he finally makes his move, it’s not forceful, but firm. He’ll corner you somewhere quiet, his usual playful smirk replaced with something darker. “You don’t really think you can leave me, do you?”

BAJI KEISUKE:

● Violent Protector – Baji is the type of yandere who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone to a pulp if they so much as look at Y/N the wrong way. If someone flirts with them? Broken nose. If they touch them? Someone might end up in the hospital.

● Brutal but Loving – Despite his aggression toward others, he is soft only for Y/N. He knows that you can fight and handle yourself, but Baji still insists on stepping in when things get too dangerous. "I know you can kick his ass, but let me do it instead."

● Possessive and Territorial – Baji is constantly marking you as his, whether by throwing an arm around you, biting your neck (as a warning to others), or just outright stating that Y/N belongs to him. If someone asks if Y/N is single, Baji will laugh and crack his knuckles.

● Worships Y/N's Strength – Baji is obsessed with how Y/N fights, especially when they go brutal. Seeing Y/N lose control makes Baji grin like a madman—he loves watching the destruction unfold. He’ll even encourage it, whispering, "Go on, baby, show them what happens when they mess with you."

● Destructive Jealousy – If Baji ever feels like Y/N is getting too close to someone else, he won’t hesitate to pick a fight. He might even do something reckless, like challenge a whole gang just to prove he’s the only one Y/N needs.

● Would Die for Him – No hesitation. If Y/N was in danger, Baji would throw himself in the line of fire without a second thought. He’s already reckless, but with Y/N, he’s even worse. "If it means keeping you safe, I don't care what happens to me."

● Tries to Control His Rage (for you) – If you hate unnecessary violence, he'll do his best to hold back his impulses—but it’s hard. If Y/N asks him to let something go, Baji will, but it takes everything in him not to go back and destroy the person later.

● Only Soft for Y/N – Baji doesn’t care about looking scary to the world, but with you, he’s different. He’ll let you touch his hair, lean against him, and even listen when you tell him to calm down. He’d never admit it, but you're the only one who can get through to him.

MIKEY

● Obsession Disguised as Protection - Mikey convinces himself that Y/N needs him to stay safe, even though Y/N is fully capable of handling themself. Whenever Y/N fights, Mikey watches closely, both proud and possessive, thinking, They're mine, and no one else should see then like this.

● Hiding His True Nature (At First) - Mikey acts playful and carefree around Y/N, pretending to be just a friend or a leader who cares. But behind that grin? His mind is always scheming to make Y/N more dependent on him. He starts isolating you subtly—making sure you spend more time with Toman, ensuring that your world starts to revolve around him.

● Extreme Jealousy & Controlling Behavior- The moment Y/N talks to someone else too much, Mikey goes eerily quiet, his eyes dark. The next day, that person either disappears, gets beaten, or suddenly avoids Y/N. If Y/N refuses to listen, Mikey's first instinct is to guilt-trip them:

"I just want you to be safe. You trust me, right, Y/N?"

If that doesn’t work? Mikey threatens people Y/N cares about, not directly, but in a way that makes it clear: Stay close to me, or bad things happen.

● Denial of Reality - Even if Y/N rejects him, Mikey won't accept it. He’ll say:

"You're just confused. You love me too, you just don't realize it yet."

If Y/N tries to escape or cut ties, Mikey hunts then down and gaslights them into thinking it was all just a misunderstanding.

● Clinginess & Emotional Manipulation- When Mikey feels Y/N pulling away, he suddenly becomes vulnerable and sad, making Y/N feel guilty. He’ll say things like:

"Everyone leaves me, Y/N… But not you, right?" He clings to Y/N physically, draping himself over them, holding onto their wrist just a little too tight. If Y/N tries to resist? Mikey's childlike demeanor disappears, replaced by a cold, terrifying aura.

● Would He Kidnap you? - If Y/N pushes him too far, Mikey wouldn’t hesitate to lock them away somewhere "safe."

"You don't understand, Neon. The world is cruel. Only I can keep you safe."

● His Soft Spot for Y/N- Despite his possessiveness, Mikey adores everything about Y/N—their looks, behavior, speed, strength, even rage. If Y/N ever leans into the darkness, Mikey encourages it, seeing them as two people who understand each other completely.

However, if Y/N tries to fight back against Mikey’s control, he sees it as a betrayal… and betrayal means punishment.

TSUKISHIMA

● Denial at First – Tsukishima doesn’t see himself as the obsessive type. He thinks he’s above that, but when he notices how his mood sours every time you talk to someone else, how he memorizes your schedule without meaning to, and how he gets irritated when you don’t text him first—he realizes something is off. He hates the idea of being clingy, but when it comes to you, logic takes a backseat.

● Possessive but Subtle – Unlike other yanderes who might be openly aggressive, Tsukishima is more subtle in his control. He doesn’t physically stop you from seeing others, but he makes sure you don’t want to. He’ll drop sarcastic comments about how your “so-called friends” don’t actually care about you, planting seeds of doubt. If you start isolating yourself because of it? Good. That means he doesn’t have to do much.

● Emotional Manipulation – He’s a master of guilt-tripping. If you’re about to hang out with someone else, he’ll sigh and mumble something like, “It’s not like I needed you today or anything.” It’s not a direct command, but the disappointment in his tone makes it hard for you to leave him alone. He wants you to choose him every time.

● Jealousy is Dangerous – He rarely lashes out in public, but his passive-aggressiveness skyrockets when he’s jealous. He won’t confront the person you’re close to—he’ll just make them uncomfortable enough to back off. A sharp glare, a sarcastic remark, a well-placed rumor—Tsukishima knows how to make people not want to be around you without you realizing it’s his doing.

● Silent Monitoring – He memorizes your habits, knows your usual routes, and always keeps an eye on you, even if you don’t notice. If you mention that you're going somewhere, don’t be surprised if he just “happens” to show up. And if you forget to text him about your plans? Expect a passive-aggressive text along the lines of, “Oh, so I have to hear about your whereabouts from someone else now?”

● Breaking You Down – If you ever try to push him away, he knows exactly how to hurt you emotionally. He’ll act like you’re overreacting, make you question if you’re imagining things, and even imply that no one else understands you like he does. If that doesn’t work, he’ll act cold and distant, making you crave his attention again. He wants you dependent on him.

● “It’s for Your Own Good” Mentality – If you ever catch on to his manipulative tactics, he’ll act like he’s just protecting you. “I’m the only one who actually cares about you,” he’ll say, voice dripping with feigned indifference. And when you see how much effort he puts into keeping you by his side, it’s hard to argue against it. Maybe he really is the only one who truly understands you.

● Endgame? – Tsukishima isn’t the type to kidnap you or resort to extreme violence, but he will ensure that he’s the only constant in your life. By the time you realize how deep his influence runs, it’s too late—he’s already your closest friend, your confidant, your everything. And once he has you like that, why would he ever let go?

TOMIOKA

● The Silent Possessiveness - Giyu doesn’t openly express his feelings, but he watches you closely—always aware of where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. He rarely initiates conversation, but his eyes are always following you, like a silent shadow. If anyone gets too close, his presence becomes even more unnerving.

● Isolation Through Subtle Manipulation- Giyu subtly ensures that you spend most of your time with him. He doesn’t outright tell you to avoid others, but circumstances always seem to work out that way—a sudden mission, an injury, or a quiet request to keep him company. If another Hashira or demon slayer shows interest in you, he doesn’t threaten them outright. Instead, he stares them down, instilling an instinctive fear that makes them keep their distance.

● Overprotectiveness Disguised as Concern- He never raises his voice, but his words carry weight. “You shouldn’t be so reckless,” he murmurs after he sees you training with someone else. If you get injured, even slightly, expect him to personally tend to you—even if you protest. His hands are gentle, but his grip is firm. “Don’t move,” he says, eyes dark with something unreadable.

● Unwavering Loyalty—To an Extreme - Giyu is already devoted to those he cares about, but with you, it reaches an obsessive level. If anyone were to harm you, even by accident, his mercy disappears. A demon that barely grazed you? Dead in an instant. A fellow slayer that insulted you? They suddenly receive the coldest, most ruthless treatment from Giyu.

● Soft-Spoken Yet Terrifying - Unlike more aggressive yanderes, Giyu doesn’t resort to threats. He doesn’t need to. His calm demeanor makes it more terrifying when he tells you, “You don’t need anyone else. I can protect you.” If you try to argue, he won’t raise his voice—he’ll just look at you, eyes dark, his grip on his sword tightening ever so slightly.

● The Inescapable Bond - If you ever try to distance yourself, he won’t react violently—at least, not outwardly. Instead, he becomes even more present in your life. He’s just there—waiting outside your room, standing in the distance when you train, silently appearing whenever you think you’re alone.

● Would Giyu Kidnap You? - Giyu isn’t the type to immediately resort to abduction, but if he feels you’re in danger—or worse, trying to leave him—he won’t hesitate. It wouldn’t be violent. He’d simply take you somewhere secluded, somewhere only he knows.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly, resting his hand on yours. “The world is cruel. I won’t let it take you from me.”

“You’re safer with me,” he insists. And the worst part? He truly believes it.

MITSUYA

● "The Gentle Weaver of Obsession" - Mitsuya is not the typical violent yandere. Instead, he is a manipulative and possessive type who controls Y/N through kindness, patience, and unbreakable emotional ties. He uses his reliability and warmth as a weapon, making it nearly impossible for Y/N to leave him.

● Soft Chains of Love - Mitsuya never raises his voice or threatens Y/N directly. Instead, he makes them feel so safe and loved that the idea of leaving him becomes terrifying. He sews custom clothes for Y/N, subtly embedding tracking devices in them. Y/N never questions it because “Mitsuya just cares about me.”

● Silent Domination - Whenever Y/N shows interest in someone else, Mitsuya never lashes out openly. Instead, he subtly ruins their chances—spreading small lies, "accidentally" isolating Y/N, or giving death glares so chilling that even the strongest delinquents back off. He never makes you feel trapped, but somehow, you always find yourself running back to Mitsuya when things go wrong.

● Hidden Ruthlessness - When Y/N gets into fights, Mitsuya doesn’t stop them—he even stitches them up afterward. But if someone hurts them badly, they disappear. Quietly. Permanently. No one suspects Mitsuya because he’s "too kind", but if anyone dares to break Y/N's heart, he ensures they suffer in ways no one can trace back to them.

● The Warmest Cage - Mitsuya ensures Y/N never needs anyone else. Whenever Y/N are at their lowest, Mitsuya is always there, comforting them, reminding that no one understands them better. He never forbids Y/N from doing anything but makes sure that when Y/N does something dangerous (or with someone Mitsuya dislikes), things just seem to go… wrong.

● Possessiveness Hidden Behind Smiles- "Y/N, you're free to do whatever you want. Just remember, I'll always be the one waiting for you." He’s never aggressive about keeping you close, but there’s something in his steady lavender gaze that makes it clear: You're his. Always. If you ever tried to leave, Mitsuya wouldn’t force you to stay—he’d just make sure you had nowhere else to go but back to him.

● Mitsuya doesn’t forcefully trap you—he makes it so that you never even think about leaving. He controls you through care, through devotion so deep it's terrifying.

● If you ever tried to break free, Mitsuya would smile, let you go… and quietly erase every safe place you had, until you realize the only real home you have is in Mitsuya's arms.

[marsborne]

Midnight Waltz - Pinocchio x f!Reader

Noticing that your puppet companion isn't at his best, you try to lift his spirits, offering a brief escape from his troubles. - warnings: none - word count: 1.1k

It was a night like any other at Hotel Krat, shrouded in an air of melancholic elegance. The dimly lit corridors whispered with the weight of unspoken fears, their inhabitants tucked away in isolation, whether from the unrelenting horrors of the Puppet Frenzy or the silent doom of the Petrification Disease. Yet, within the vast loneliness of the grand hotel, something stirred—a longing, a quiet ache in the cold air.

Sleep eluded you. The absence of your dear puppet companion gnawed at your heart. Geppetto had sent him out again, as he always did, heedless of the strain on his delicate yet unyielding frame. You often wondered. Did his gears ever get stuck? Did his joints grow weary? Did he even understand what it meant to rest?

With a sigh, you abandoned your bed, wrapping yourself in the hush of the midnight halls. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting silver ribbons upon the polished floors. You had intended to make your way to the library, to lose yourself in the stories you and Pinocchio so often shared. But then, a sound. Low grunts, the unmistakable whisper of a blade slicing through resistance.

Your head turned toward the hotel’s garden doors. Closed, when they were usually left open. Your chest tightened. There was only one person—one puppet—who could be behind them.

Steeling yourself, you stepped forward and pushed open the door.

The cold night air curled around you, kissing your skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown. And there he was.

Pinocchio.

But something was wrong.

He moved with a ferocity you had never seen, slashing at the training dummies with a silent fury. His body, usually so graceful, was taut with unspoken rage, his strikes relentless, desperate. He wasn’t training. He was fighting something unseen, something that clung to him like a shadow.

Your heart ached at the sight. Slowly, cautiously, you approached. His movements stilled, his head tilting slightly as if he had always known you were there. Of course, he had.

“Pino?” Your voice was as soft as the night breeze. “Are you alright?”

He turned to you fully, his expression unreadable. But the way his hand gripped his weapon, as if it were the last thing tethering him to this world, spoke volumes.

Without a word, he nodded, then turned away, sinking onto one of the garden benches. You followed without hesitation.

“As much as I admire your growth, you know your lies don’t work on me,” you murmured, almost teasing, but the concern in your voice was unmistakable. “Tell me. What’s bothering you?”

He slumped forward, though not entirely, his gaze fixed on the ground. A heavy silence stretched between you before he finally whispered,

“I…I don’t know.”

Your mind raced. Was it something you had done? Something someone else had said? Or was it the horrors of Krat weighing on him, the ever present burden of Geppetto’s expectations?

“Pino, had I—”

“No."

His voice cut through the air.

"No. Never.”

His sudden interruption shocked you. Pinocchio was always soft spoken, careful with his words. He had never cut you off so sharply before. When he turned to you, his striking blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in existence.

“You can do no wrong in my eyes.”

His voice was gentle, reverent, as if he feared the weight of his own words. And then, with exquisite care, he took your hand in his own, holding it as though you were made of glass.

You blinked, stunned. Your heart pounded, warmth blooming in your chest. No one had ever spoken to you like that before. Not with such conviction, such devotion.

And in that moment, an idea bloomed in your mind. A quiet, reckless idea.

Without a second thought, you rose, tugging his hand with you. He looked up at you, confusion softening his features, but he did not resist. He never would.

You led him to the center of the garden, where the moonlight bathed the flowers in silver.

“Dance with me.”

A beat of silence.

“…What?”

“Dance with me.”

His lips parted slightly, his gears whirring ever so faintly in hesitation. He had seen posters of elegant couples waltzing at Rosa Isabelle Street, but no one had ever asked him to dance before. And what if he did it wrong? What if he misstepped, held you too tightly?

Sensing his unease, you smiled. “Relax. It’s alright. It's just us.”

That seemed to do something to him. Slowly, hesitantly, he let you guide his hands—one to your waist, the other resting in your palm. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, setting the stance of a waltz.

There was no music, just the rustling of the leaves and the rhythmic hum of his core. He was stiff at first, uncertain, but he followed your lead. With each step, something in him softened, unwound. And then, it hit him.

He needed this.

No. He needed you.

“…Why?” His voice was a whisper against the night. “Why would you do this with me?”

You hesitated before resting your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “Because I wanted to. I wanted you to do anything but fight for once. I…wanted to make you feel better.”

You pulled back slightly, still wrapped in his arms. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something deeper, something raw.

“I care about you.”

The words settled between you, gentle yet earth-shattering. And for the first time in his existence, Pinocchio felt something break inside him, something old and hollow, something he no longer needed.

Before you could react, his hands shifted—one sliding to the back of your neck, the other anchoring you against him. And then, with a desperate, quiet reverence, he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. It was not cautious. It was a confession, a plea, an unspoken promise.

His lips were cold, but his touch burned. He kissed you as if he would unravel without you, as if you were the only tether keeping him from falling apart. And in that moment, you knew—you were his, as much as he was yours.

When he pulled away, your breath was stolen, your lips tingling from the intensity. He studied you, as if memorizing the way you looked. Dazed, flushed, lips slightly swollen from his kiss.

Then, without a word, you lifted his Legion hand, pressing a kiss to its palm before resting it against your cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered.

He didn’t. He only kissed you again.

And again.

And again.

The night stretched on, endless and quiet, as he lost himself in you, in the feeling of finally—finally—being something more than a mere puppet.

Being yours.

heyyy i'm alivee ahaha... i lowkey hate this i wrote it at like 3 am yesterday i definitely didn't buy bloodborne the other day because of this game no what who me-

also i was listening to hearing damage while writing this so that explains that one line

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 6

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, mentions for Zayne's backstory, very small Zayne foreseer mentions.

Word Count: 5281

Written: 14th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Sorry to Zayne, but you break my heart (and the game punishes you so much, so I have to do a lil bit too). So this one took a while, because the active start of them having a conversation about Poly, actually busted my brain up for a little while. Especially cause you can't exactly have the real convo until the other participating (or not) party is there. I'm hoping my Caleb brainrot has left me alone enough that I can actually focus on this damned fic again without thinking about mr tall, dark and in need of a slap (affectionate... maybe). Anyway, have at ye! Enjoy (I hope!)!

Now Playing: Good Enough, By Lø Spirit

Masterlist AO3

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He has had to adapt to many things, Zayne finds himself thinking on his morning run. He has lived his life in many roles, and with many surprises or struggles thrown at him to handle.

His time as a combat medic, taught him above all else, how to survive, and improvise. How to keep himself and others moving forwards. Even when the nightmares, and the grief of Mt Eternal haunted him.

His struggles to control his EVOL, taught him control. The values of a level head, ways to ease himself down to a steady crawl. He was a healer, he would not hurt anyone because he failed to keep himself in check. Even when he was called cold, or misunderstood as not having as warm a heart as a person can.

Leaving after injuring you with something he could not control, the goal to understand your heart more than anyone else could. The long nights of study, the lack of socialisation, the time spent pouring over books. Desperate for an answer. Taught him commitment and drive. To save you, to be the one who could pull you back from the edge. The person he cared most about in the world.

Leaving him isolated and tired, but closer to his goal.

Zayne has overcome every challenge handed to him, because he has to see his goal through.

He has to see the jasmine bloom.

So, he has experience dealing with things outside of his control and his knowledge. Of finding a way forwards. Surviving or excelling.

He likes to think the current series of events… well he's handling it.

Even if he is hitting the path a little harder with every step. Rushing through his usual route, like he's outrunning something. He's handling it.

"Z-Zayne!" Your call slows his feet, halts him. He looks back to see you bent over, breathing heavily, gasping.

Months away from training, had rusted you a little. Left you stumbling after where you originally could have overtaken him. The regret and irritation at himself bites, so he pushes it down.

Move forwards, always move forwards.

It is almost autopilot that takes him over when you're injured, or unwell. An instinct that pulls his body into routines to heal and ease. As he gets you to a bench to sit, and rest, he checks your heart.

"I'm" You gasp, pushing his hand gently away from where he is looking for your pulse, "Fine, just pushed too hard."

There's a moment where he debates ignoring you. You've lied to him that you're fine before. Haven't shared when you needed help. Have hidden injuries. Avoiding telling him the truth with things such as colds.

Then he thinks about that morning, putting his trainers on. Ignoring the overgrown crow on the sofa who was talking on his phone. He'd heard all of a few words, 'keep him quiet' and had decided it was better to be ignorant to whatever Sylus was up to… Even if part of him wanted to take you somewhere else. Even if his mind was constantly screaming, trying to process everything. Lemurians, the N109 Zone, an immortal prince…

"Zayne?" You stand behind him, old jogging clothes on, fiddling with the toggles on your hoodie.

He stands up to focus on you. Taking in the livening to your eyes, the health returning to your face. His smile is uncontrolled, a natural reaction to your presence. An unnerving feeling of losing his handle on the reins.

A fall with no net.

It is addicting and terrifying all in one, to realise how easily you cut through thorned walls of deadly vines, that keep him under hand.

"What is it?" He manages, straightening the hem of his shirt. Grounding himself, something solid beneath his fingers. It is not as stabilising as your hand, but it is all he can grab without overstepping too many boundaries. One's he's unsure you will rescind, or be pleased to even allow him access past.

If all he ever is, is the man who mends your heart, then he will carry that with him in his own, eternally. Even if it does not beat for him.

"I'm allowed to start exercising again, would it be alright if I joined you? I won't slow you down too much, I promise." You hesitate, stepping up to the door to him, watching as though he'll close it on you.

Wary, scared.

He remembers a child staring back at him much the same. Worried he did not care for them. Worried that they were taking time he would rather have put somewhere else.

Nervous to take his hand, so you took Caleb's instead.

His hand itches, the thorn wall is thick. He knows it will slice his hand open if he reaches through it. The pain would be worth it, just like every stab of his ice is worth the moments he protects your back.

So much wasted time, and he still watches it waste. Still sees moments pass him, where he should be there. Watching, helping, caring.

He feels like a coward, however, because he's too scared to take the step. To walk through the thorned wall… because his pain means little…

Yours, however, he wishes to never cause again.

So he simply nods, pushing down the deep pit of yearning and desperation that wants him to show you every single scar, to allow your passage behind him.

He pulls his hand away from your wrist, assenting with your assurance that you're fine. But he cannot settle, not truly, so he tells you to wait. To sit, and breathe, and he leaves to find a place to buy you a drink.

The park he runs is a quiet place this early, he does not have to worry about the noise, or the crowds. He can run, and he can breathe and he can centre himself. He can grasp his own mind in his hands, and wrangle it. Every morning, the same process. Out, run, breathe, work, research, leave. Repeat.

He has lived his life in a strict routine that he does not break. Not until you.

It has broken even more with the night he turned up to your door, met the other three men in your life, and stitched your open wounds.

It is like being woken with ice cold water in your face, or to the sound of the walls falling down around you. Trembling the foundations.

What was once an absent acceptance of the possible future he could see, has become a solid path he can watch you walking down. Leaving someone who can only hurt you behind. In favour of those who do not have to fight every part of their soul to leave scars.

It is not grief, not really, to watch a future you never believed you could have, disappear.

It's a natural progression of time. The daylight melting soft snowflakes. It is the inevitable.

Like you believe the waiting bomb in your chest is. Unavoidable. He hopes to overturn such a thing, to reach through the thorns long enough to watch your future strengthen into something bright and blinding. Even if they shut afterwards. An inescapable prison, frozen over and forgotten.

His life is a tool to help others, to help you. He has watched his parents follow that path, he has no problems watching himself do so…

Even though they have each other, and even though he yearns to have you.

The cold acceptance is an easy feeling to hold. He's held it for years.

When Zayne returns to you, a bottle of water in hand, he watches your nose wrinkle. "It's cold, and all I get is some water."

He feels the sigh escape him, long suffering, used to the cavalier way you handle your health. Like it doesn't matter, but as you stick your tongue out at him, metal fingers brushing his as you take the bottle from him, he cannot help but feel the warmth of a smile that you bring out with ease.

"I'm not supplying your caffeine addiction."

"I help supply your sugar problem." You pout and sniff, turning your head away as you gulp down long drafts. The sweat beading on your forehead draws his hand.

He absently watches himself place his hand there, the chill of his skin glittering in snowflakes, as he eases the heat from your face.

It is like watching through a hazy glass wall. His fingers twitching against heated skin, the way your eyes turn to his, wide before they narrow, head tilting into his touch as the ice settles over you.

You feel too warm, and his other hand joins the first, skirting over cheeks, seeking out the heat. Drifting over your neck, to the pulse point. It skips under gentle fingers, and his fingers twitch. Just a little. Right over where your heart thrums.

Its odd beat and uneven rhythm, singing in a way he knows better than any other.

When you jump, at the feeling of the ice intensifying against your sensitive skin, he pulls back. Quick, schooling his expression. He isn't sure what his face speaks, but he knows you observe him too easily for it to be left in the open.

"Cooler?" He manages, forced through a tight throat and skin that feels like it burns where he touched you. There is a voice in his mind that urges him to reach out again, to hold your face in his hands and revel in the heat you bring to skin too often torn by cold.

A voice that often reminds him that he's happier to be cold, when he can warm himself at your fire.

He watches your throat work, like you're swallowing down something. He wonders, for a moment, if it's a complaint at his casual contact. A boundary he has overstepped. Before he watches your lip quirk, small smile coming through, as small and crooked as he remembers from childhood, but with sparkling eyes. "Much better, thank you Zayne."

Zayne can feel his routine falling out of his hands, everyday he spends with you, everyday in your apartment with men he does not really know.

He can feel the lack of control, the feeling of not knowing what to expect every day.

He watches the time he should spend running, chased away like the sun chases shadow. He watches you look out, as people enter the park. Families, dog walkers, those alone and with others.

The sun hits the side of your face, catching on a snowflake, melting on the tip of your nose. Showing him glittering mismatched eyes, and the teeth peeking out as you smile.

He leans back next to you, and watches the people pass.

"Gran used to bring me here." You speak, watching an old lady walking with her grandson. He pulls her forwards, and then stumbles, before the woman rights him. Tuts, pokes his nose, and they walk again. "Too much energy, I kept wearing her out. So she'd bring me so I could just… run. Caleb would try to keep up and couldn't."

Zayne thinks about what little time he did get to spend with you, he thinks about being dragged into every game you wanted to play, the excitement at everything new you found. He also remembers far too many containers full of bugs that you shoved in his face to look at. He remembers that you didn't always used to be scared.

Worried about breathing too much. Worried about how you spoke, how you acted. Worried about being too weak.

The day you learned about your heart, he knows you changed. He can see it still, in every time you brush off his concerns at the hospital, at the way you laugh at things you should hurt over. He can see it in how you don't stop, because if you stop, you flounder. You think. You start to slip.

He thinks about every single time you tell him it's not a problem. That you're fine.

It's a lie about your body… it's a lie about your heart.

He's watched so much of you crumble, and break, making yourself into a weapon useful to others. He's had to watch as you rush into battle, not able to follow, not able to help.

He has his own role, his own place, more people he has to save.

It does not make watching you leave any easier. It does not make him stop wanting to follow.

He is relieved for your partner, Xavier, knowing someone is there in most of your missions. Ready to stand at your back. Even if the… time traveling prince, he reminds himself, does not seem to care about his own health. 

He's spent so long watching as you refused to lean on others, scared to seek out help in case they found you too much work, and can see you struggling with the same thoughts with him.

With all four of them. Demanding you lean, does little, you simply laugh and tell him it is not a problem. 'If I get really hurt you'll see me, don't worry.' You've said.

It's a lie though, you didn't come to him when you were injured. The hospital did not inform him that you almost died. He did not know about the extent of what had been done to you, until you told him.

Until he broke through the boundaries of what a doctor should do, to find his way to your side, to look at every injury for himself.

He won't just be handed answers, and he's in no better spot than the other three. Standing at your door, seeking you out when your heart fractures on you, and you shut yourself away in pain you can't process. Feelings you don't understand.

Zayne knows when his feelings waver on the edge, unable to be grasped, hard to process or comprehend. He knows the negative, a haunting nightmare of regrets that do not leave him to rest, and he knows the positive, when his hands help soothe those who need his help.

He knows the name of one very distinct feeling, that is familiar and as dangerous as he can imagine. Something that ripples through every strand of control he demands to keep the cruelty of ice at bay.

He can place that feeling to the eyes that sparkle as you people watch, as you smile at a dog that trots past. As you turn to him, shackles around your body fallen away. Even for a moment.

When the feeling settles in his chest, and cuts a hole through the wall of thorns so that he can see out.

"We're not meant to be alone, I think places like this remind me of that."

You pull him from his thoughts, looking over at him with warm eyes, with your heart so visible in the gaze you offer, that his skips.

"I think I love it here."

He wants to tell you that he does too, because this moment, with your presence next to him, and the view of the world around him… he wishes was the future he could grasp with his hands.

Without the spear of ice.

—---

Zayne thinks he is handling this situation. He's sure of it.

Except every day gets a little harder.

It is the loud noises he's not used to from companions he isn't used to having.

It is the changes to his routine, and though he knows they are necessary, he feels fractured.

Out of control.

It is seeing those around him, moving forwards through a wall that he can't find the door for.

It's the day he is sat in the living room working, while Rafayel and Sylus have yet another argument, that he feels it rippling out.

You have left with Tara, promising you're ready. That it'll be alright.

He had watched the hesitation in everyone's eyes, before you had left.

It was the feeling he knows well, that every day you walk through that door, you may not come back.

Zayne does not want you to be confined to harsh walls. You are you, when you are living. Not just existing.

Xavier is lying on the sofa next to him, curled around a rabbit plushie you own.

He finds himself wondering why they all stay, in this space, when you're not here. Coming and going at will, but Xavier's apartment is above, and yet he stays here, in the spaces you have shaped.

Rafayel complains for the lack of beach, but he still walks around the place smiling, peeking at all of the things you own.

Sylus will hit his head on frames or cabinets, but he scoffed when you had suggested he should stay in the N109 Zone, out of concern.

Zayne could return to his space, but the space where you are is warm. Even if his routines have changed, and left him adrift.

It is as he watches the Lemurian fight with the Criminal, wondering at how you even met them, that he abandons his work… another action he could never have done, until meeting you.

"How long have you known them, Rafayel?"

It's a question that lurks at the edges of his mind, one that he does not ask because he worries for the answer and the boundary.

But the boundaries are fracturing, and the thorns are escaping, to rip through every day he does not hold to the strict order that he has set for himself.

The argument, if it can be called that when Sylus gains great joy from each of Rafayel's barbs, stops.

Eyes focus on him, and he vaguely can tell the sleeping prince has woken, barely looking up but aware.

Rafayel turns away, looking over at his canvas, "A while. Long enough for fish to learn to walk."

It's not an answer, not really. It feels more like evasion, like the way you back away from concern over your health, while still showing more than he thinks you notice.

It's the pain flickering through his eyes for a second, that Zayne has seen in family of grieving patients.

He doesn't want to poke at open wounds, at the cause of Rafayel's pain, that comes out into art you've shown him photos of.

Xavier mumbles something into his pillow, but when he receives only silence, he lifts his head, barely, to try again.

"Aren't you a walking fish?"

Rafayel laughs, a sharp bark rather than the kind Zayne has heard with you, "I learned to walk for cutie."

The prince shrugs in response and goes back to his pillow, but Zayne catches the sharp blue eyes. A question he's decided not to answer.

It's nothing he can learn without asking, and every man in this room holds things they won't share. Not with you, and not with Zayne.

He thinks of the ice spearing your chest.

Even him.

He instead asks something he hopes is easier, "What about you Xavier? You've worked with them for a while, have you not?"

He turns his head against the rabbit plushie, and peers at Zayne through silver bangs. Stares at him for a long time. Zayne does not feel fear at Sylus, the man doesn't actively harm unless necessary, 'violence should be used strategically', he's heard the man say when you try to throw something at him.

He sometimes finds Rafayel unsettling, at moments when the moon catches his eyes and they gleam like a deep sea beast. Yet he also doesn't think there's cause to watch his back… he thinks he can be believed to be moral enough to be certain of that.

Sometimes Xavier has a sharp look in his eyes, that feels like a blade cutting through the air. It is not actively harmful, he makes no means to hurt anyone that you care for, but it is like years have sharpened him down. To a point where he's as familiar with ice as Zayne is.

The look softens though, into his usual starry blue, "I came back to find them again." It's not a number, but Zayne can calculate it in his head. Hundreds of years searching, thinking and hoping.

It is one of those answers that unsettles him. Reminds him how at odds he feels surrounded by people so different to him. A man, amongst what amount to legends.

"You didn't ask me, Doctor." Sylus hums, twirling a knife around his fingers, the blade cuts through the air. It should look like a threat… but Zayne's learned the man has a leash he holds for you. Even if you cannot see it.

"I was getting there." He barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, exasperation sinking into his bones. He understands why Sylus and Rafayel fight… even if he keeps himself level enough to not bite back. It is not worth the bite of ice in return. "So?"

"I didn't hear a question."

This time he rubs at the space between his eyes.

"Do you have any friends, crow? Or does everyone find you this annoying?"

"Well now fish, I was giving you the affectionate package, there are no refunds."

"Can it be binned?" Xavier grumbles from the side.

"It's also only disposable in certain places, for the environment, you see."

Zayne thinks he hears the prince huff a laugh, but his face buries back into the pillow.

"How long?"

Sylus doesn't answer, but he leans back in his chair, one red eye flashing at Zayne for a moment, before he laughs. It is harsh, and biting, and his hackles raise. Leaning away with his laptop pushed forward. "You're trying to puzzle us out. Judge if your beloved patient is safe with us."

"I don't know-"

"Don't bother lying, it wastes all of our time. Not physically though, mhm?"

It's a cool hand down his back, even icier than his own. Like it's ready to tighten around his spine.

He has misjudged the criminal, as the red eye glows, and he leans further forward. "So Doctor, what is it you really want to know?"

Zayne isn't used to losing control. He has held it tight, kept it close. A protector as much as a punishment. His control slips, escaping in a haze of red, "Do you love them?"

Xavier's sword is extended at Sylus when the red filters away. Sharp blue and glowing light, who raises his hands calmly and leans back, "Calm down prince, just saving us time."

He gasps, the ice spreading over his hands, crawling up his arms. A hand is placed near him, a tiny flame extended as Rafayel eases the chill away. Slowly and carefully, it is not a balm to a wound like your resonance is. But it is welcome. He manages a thank you, chokes out, reigning it back. The man doesn't respond, shrugs, but his cheeks colour. As though helping brings great embarrassment.

"What did you do?"

"Just drew out some inner thoughts. If we'd have stayed as we were, he would have kept leading us around twenty questions. I'm a busy man."

"You spent three hours yesterday trying to teach that damn crow of yours how to sing happy birthday."

"He'll need it when Kitten gains a year."

"I'm fine." Zayne manages, easing away from the flame in Rafayel's palm as he wrestles everything back to its proper place. Back to where it should be. Back to where he should be. "Do not do that again."

He's surprised that Sylus tilts his head, looking down at his hands, a flicker of something in his eyes, "Provided it's not necessary, you have my word."

"Necessary?" Xavier scoffs, but settles back on the sofa, next to Zayne.

For a second, Zayne thinks of a knight, not a prince. But the thought is so embarrassing to hold in his head, that he pushes it down. He watches as the man brings his plushie back into his lap, but this time he does not slumber. Simply keeps watch.

Rafayel stays nearby, leaning back, but Zayne notices the way his eyes flicker down at Zayne's hands and away.

He is dangerous. To more than you. He cannot forget that for a moment.

"You want to know if we love them, why?"

It's not a question Zayne can answer. It's the kind of question that makes him want to bury himself in those thorns. If he affirms the thoughts in his mind, he makes them a reality he has to face.

Because he knows he can't?

Because he wants to…

Because he isn't sure where to go from here, with people who have crossed oceans and space for you.

Because he is out of control… and inadequate in all the ways that matter.

"Let's try a different question, how would you respond to a yes? Yes I do adore them, yes I do love them."

It is phrased like a rhetorical, but there's flames in the man's eyes. Like a dragon who has laid claim to a hoard. Like to even think to lie about such a thing, would hurt more than Xavier's sword in his chest.

"I-" What would he do? He has long accepted you following a path away from him, because your happiness is worth it. Knowing he can never hurt you again, is all he wants.

He can be your doctor. Just your doctor. Caring for your heart in at least one way.

"People like you really are interesting, Doctor. Shackles of your own making, keeping you standing where you think you should be. The kind of people that when pushed enough, snap." He can tell there's some amusement in the observation, like the process of pushing him would bring entertainment to the crime lord's life.

Zayne wants to rebuff him, to snap, that it's not his making… he thinks. He's not sure why he thinks it though. Still those scarlet eyes soften, into molten pools and he sighs, "You and kitten are similar. Putting yourselves into boxes that you can't leave. Scared to step outside and find you don't have a place."

The knife spins again, flipped up and caught by the blade between deft fingers, fearless at the idea of being nicked. "You should learn to step outside the box."

"Real cryptic, crow. I'm sure your advice column goes down great."

"It's not that easy." Xavier adds, looking over, "Hedonist." Sylus shrugs and doesn't debate it, whether he agrees with the label or not, Zayne isn't sure. "We're here, it's complicated."

"Is it?"

The response gives the prince pause. It's the surety. Like Sylus has no question for the path of his life.

Like he knows it will always lead to you, and beyond.

"Kitten doesn't run from me, unless they're hurting and nursing their wounds. They care for me, even if they don't have the words for the feeling. So I will be here, until they change their mind. No one else's presence stops or hinders that for me. I may be greedy, but I am not foolish. You do not take from their life, you add to it. To remove you, is to remove parts of them."

Rafayel looks away, "We shouldn't talk about this without them."

"You wish to spring this on them? When we have not discussed it ourselves? 'Ah, kitten, you're here. Pick a lover.'"

There's a growl in the back of the lemurian's throat, and as he leans forward, his hand catches on the side. Knocking a plate off, spilling the macarons Zayne had long forgotten. He catches it in hand, ice sticking it before it can spill contents onto the carpet.

Rafayel stops, looking over at Zayne, the anger trembling down into frustration before guilt takes its hold. He doesn't speak, just offers over one of the sweet treats quietly before Rafayel can speak.

He looks at it momentarily, cheeks flushing, then back at Zayne, and stuffs it into his mouth. He attempts to mumble a response, Zayne assumes a thanks, but it is mostly sprayed out with crumbs.

The man's strain gives Zayne some buoyancy. A grounding place. He is better at speaking for others, than for himself. "So you don't care about our presence?"

"Do you?"

It's… an odd question. Zayne has felt jealousy, he thinks. He has felt it towards these men when they have seemed the future you will walk towards.

He also thinks about days spent with all of you in one room, eating, arguing and laughing.

He thinks about the routine he cannot handle, the shaking to his foundations.

The warm heat of a lemurian's flame, and the sharp glow of a knight's blade.

He thinks about the nature of loneliness. Of fearing his hands can hurt.

"No." Is his honest answer, because he does not hate this place, with these people. He does not dislike the laughter in the room, or the sweets he has been made by the criminal staring at him with garnet eyes. He does not want to leave, even when you are not here. Eased by the space of you, and learning to be comfortable in their presence.

He has been isolated for a while, and while your presence makes it softer, he is eased to not face days alone. To come home to food, he does not have to force his tired body to cook, and people who learn his preferences.

Even if they often seem to be learning boundaries, first.

The shackles, as Sylus put them, are sturdy though. Heavier than anything else he will ever carry. Weighted by guilt and fears that cannot be alleviated in one night.

He wonders, absently, and hopefully, if not walking the path alone, will mean he can walk it easier with you.

That maybe it allows him to care for your heart in all the ways that matter.

Xavier leans back against the sofa, the movement shaking him, and yawns. His head drooping for a moment against Zayne's shoulder, before he slumps back to the other side. Back to his arms wrapped around his favourite plushie. "I like the meals." He mumbles, before he begins to snore softly.

"Should we worry that he's that easily won over by hotpot?"

Zayne retrieves the blanket over the arm of the sofa, to lay over the hunter. "I wonder if it was that easy."

"What about you fish?"

Rafayel turns his head away, conjuring a flame in his hand, that turns into a fish. He watches it flicker, dance, before it swims around his arm. "I've lost them too many times." Zayne feels the weight of his grief then, the pain that pulls through. The ones that feel familiar. "If it means never losing them or being alone again…" The fish dissipates, but not before swimming in a loop, and twirling through the air between them all. "I guess I don't hate you all."

"What a compliment, I'm about to swoon, fish."

"Except for you, stupid crow."

"Well, great alliances are never built in a day."

He looks down at his hands, thinking about the ice and the thorns. The future he can't grasp. He thinks about you watching people on the park bench.

'We're not meant to be alone.'

He isn't sure if this is what you mean, but maybe, one day, when they're ready to talk, and you are ready to hear… it will be.

If you seek him out, none of them, one of the others, or all of them. He will accept, because he knows you care, and that will never be called into question.

Even though, as the crow and the fish begin to whisper insults at each other, he thinks that alliance will take far longer.

[frogspond200]

𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗

Requested by: Anon

Ask: OMG I DIDNT KNOW U DID YANDERE and i love a good love triangle if u want to write that BUT CAN U DO YANDERE WINTER KING AND SIMON 🙏🙏😼

Warning: None

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Winter King and Simon Petrikov have a complicated relationship. They strongly dislike each other due to their mutual affection for the reader, but this hatred is usually ruled out when the dear reader decides to run, they'll bond over how they will punish the reader. their feelings towards their reader intensify their rivalry.

Winter King sees Simon as a threat to his possession of the reader and resents him for any attention the reader gives Simon. He may plot ways to keep the reader isolated from Simon, becoming more controlling and possessive over time.

Simon, on the other hand, may perceive Winter King as a danger to the reader due to his icy and possessive nature. He becomes protective and worries about the reader's safety around Winter King. However, he does bond with Winter King over their feelings for the reader.

Their rivalry and animosity are fueled by their obsession for the reader.

But one thing they both have in common is becoming stern it aggressive when the reader tries to escape, I mean what would be the point? We give you everything you want. Do you hate us? You can't do this. I already got over bet I don't wanna lose you next. COME BACK!

Simon, despite his quirky and sometimes unstable mental state, expresses his love through acts of compassion and preservation. He is distressed about the reader’s safety and well-being, often acting as their guardian. His cuddles are hospitable and soothing, like a security blanket, and his kisses are filled with genuine devotion. He may occasionally slip into bouts of insanity, but he always returns to protect and care for the reader.

Winter King is fiercely possessive of the reader. He showers them with gifts, often extravagant and ice-themed. He leaves notes and messages everywhere, professing his love and obsession for the reader. His touch is cold, but he tries to make it gentle, despite his overpowering desire to keep them close. When cuddling, he insists on a freezing palace, but he wraps the reader in warm furs to keep them comfortable.

If Winter King catches the reader attempting to escape, he would likely react with a mix of sadness, anger, and desperation. He’d use his icy powers to create barriers and prevent their dear from leaving. His words would be a blend of possessiveness and longing, expressing how much he needs them by his side. He might promise to make their surroundings more comfortable and lavish to entice them to stay. Winter King would insist on cuddling, holding the reader tightly, trying to manipulate their emotions into staying with him.

Simon would react with anger and worry if he discovers the reader attempting to run away. He’d would most likely start rambling about Betty and how they were the only hope left for him, that they were the reason he was still alive today. He might apologize for any unintentional pressure he put on them and reassure them that he only wants what’s best for them. Simon would offer emotional comfort, telling stories or singing songs to distract and calm the reader. His cuddles would be warm and protective, as he tries to convey a sense of safety and security. He’d promise to be more mindful of their feelings and boundaries, hoping they’d choose to stay because they want to, not because they’re forced to.

[xjulixred45x]

I HAVE A ANGST IDEA FOR A HADES GAME READER!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

Did you see how Demeter made all life on earth incredibly difficult for mortals as punishment for having "stolen her daughter"? Well, based on the fact that in myths people literally DYING OF STARVATION (and apparently in the game, of cold) this idea came to me.

Imagine that the reader is a normal mortal, nothing particularly remarkable, EXCEPT that she is a farmer with the rest of her family, who just before the eternal winter came, they worshiped Demeter so they could have good crops and so on.

but then, without warning, winter arrives.

At first it's not so bad, because they can ration certain things and get by with some groceries, but as the months go by and the winter continues to get worse, so does the situation in the reader's house.

The surrounding villages begin to have pests, have problems with resources, not having to eat, etc. and the first deaths begin thanks to this, which quickly spread throughout the community where the reader lives.

The first to fall from the family are the most vulnerable, the grandparents and children of the reader's younger siblings, to whom they perform the appropriate funeral rituals along with all the people who had already died due to the winter.

Everyone's life is turned upside down trying to find ways to survive without having a coast to fish and with now few animals, and the cold gets worse and worse...

The community soon begins to decay and reader participates in the funeral rituals out of respect and to not think about the horrible situation, becoming more educated in the chnotic gods.

They are all desperate to survive, but the snow makes it almost impossible to leave the city where they live, so they are stuck.

It doesn't take long until the reader's parents also succumb, either from illness, from the cold, or from starvation from giving all the food to their surviving child.

and it's not even the worst.

reader is now sick too. So the remaining people of the town cannot allow her to make them all sick and kill them, so after giving the proper services to her family, they lock her in her own house.

but at this point the reader is so tired that she doesn't even mind being isolated. but she knows one thing. she can't allow herself to die like this. not because it is degrading or unfair, but because she knows that if she dies and no one performs an adequate ritual for her, she will not even see her family in the afterlife.

all the pain and suffering in vain.

So against all odds, the reader finds ways to survive on her own at home, constantly being in the limbo of life and death due to her horrible health.

and, thanks to this, the reader meets Thanatos.

I think I'll leave it vague if the relationship would be platonic or romantic, but they definitely got off to a bad start.

We already know that Thanatos finds his work exhausting, so the fact that the reader clung to life and did not want to leave even when she was in horrible conditions bothered him to no end.

and on the other hand, the reader OBVIOUSLY did not want to die and it was annoying that he wished her dead (even if it was technically his job?) and that led to several verbal fights. at first.

Thanatos appeared at the reader's house when she was especially weak, whether she could not move on her own, had respiratory attacks and/or was in special pain, etc. episodes that, although temporary, were still close encounters with death.

When Reader and Thanatos eventually get tired of insulting each other in these moments, at first they just wait to see whether Reader will survive this particular episode or not, in a rather tense silence.

It is not until the third or fourth time this happens that the reader begins a conversation with Thanatos in an "informal" way.

As one can imagine, at first Thanatos didn't even react or try to continue with said conversation, just do his job and leave, but as time went by he began to show more signs of listening to what the reader was saying. and eventually even give short answers.

He doesn't share much, but now the reader doesn't go crazy being alone.

I also imagine that on some occasions, when the reader can't move much, she DRAG to go get food/medicine, which bothers Thanatos because it seems 1- unhygienic and 2- stupid in a certain sense, mortals get sick because of it. not taking care of themselves, does she NOT want to get better?

It is from there that their relationship begins to improve, but the reader's health worsens every day.

It's the same as what happens with the other villagers that Thanatos collects, weakness, coughing up blood, pain in the rib cage, inability to eat, difficulty breathing--

but even so, the reader STILL wants to cling to this miserable existence, she can't even eat or stand anymore and STILL doesn't want to leave...

WHY? WHY SUFFER THIS WAY INSTEAD OF SIMPLY DIE?

and the reader's response is quite simple.

There is no one who can give her a burial, but her family did have one, without that she would simply wander through the Underworld and be alone AGAIN.

but at the same time, the reader no longer has the strength to continue holding on, the pain is UNBEARABLE and the little energy she has leaves her...

Thanatos is there, at least.

I like to think that the reader would agree to go with Thanatos VOLUNTARILY if he even lets her see her family one last time, thus dying peacefully.

And it would be especially ironic if by chance the reader ends up as a shadow in the house of Hades😅

I think that in general, a deceased reader would be like a more responsible Hypnos, she is not going to bother the GOD OF DEATH so she does the minimum ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

She is definitely happier now that she is no longer in pain, but she was quite traumatized by the experience :') although on the positive side, she is one of the few people who can play pranks on Thanaros with almost no consequences!

simply....mortal reader sheneigans.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Maybe i could use this Reader with another characters? Idk. I didn't know how to finish this but i like it!