#look if Soul has to lose his Heart & Mind when splitting then he should at least get some extra arms in payment

[sneeb-canons]

Soul has a second pair of arms that they can pull out whenever they need them like Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel

Headcanon #394

[novaursa]

The Crown of Winter Roses

- Summary: Rhaegar starts the Rebellion by stealing his sister, you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 18+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Rhaegar sat alone in his chambers. The silence of the Red Keep was stifling, yet he welcomed it, for it was in these moments of solitude that he could allow himself to be truly vulnerable, to grapple with the emotions that he kept so tightly locked away.

He thought of you, his sister, Y/N. The memory of your face haunted him, a ghost that lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He could still recall the first time he had held you, a small babe with a crown of silver hair and eyes that mirrored his own. He had been only a boy then, but even at that tender age, he had felt an overwhelming protectiveness. You were more than just his sister; you were a part of him, as if the gods had split his soul and given half of it to you.

He had watched you grow, seen the child you were slowly transform into the woman you would become. The court whispered of your beauty, the poets sang of it. “The Jewel of Westeros,” they called you, and not without reason. But it was not just your beauty that captivated him. It was your spirit, the fire in your eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence beyond your years. You were the only one who could calm the storm within him, the only one who could make him forget, even for a moment, the heavy weight of prophecy and destiny that lay upon his shoulders.

But then, the gods – or perhaps it was his father’s madness – had intervened. Aerys had refused to wait, refused to allow you to come of age. Instead, he had bound Rhaegar to Elia Martell, a match that, while strategic, felt like a betrayal. The memory of that day still burned in his mind. He had stood before the Great Hall, the words of his vows leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Elia had been kind, gentle even, but she was not you. The thought had shamed him then, and it shamed him still.

His father had sent you away not long after, to Storm’s End, to serve as Lady Cassana’s ward. It was a cruel twist of fate, separating the two of you when he needed you most. He had protested, of course, but Aerys had been adamant. He had raved about alliances and security, about keeping you safe from those who would use you against him. But Rhaegar knew the truth. His father had seen the way he looked at you, had seen the way you looked at him. And Aerys, mad as he was, could not abide the thought of losing control, not over his son, and certainly not over you.

He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking in the quiet. He had tried to be a good husband to Elia, tried to fulfill his duties as prince and father. But there was always that emptiness, that hollow space where you should have been. He had convinced himself, for a time, that it was for the best, that you were safer far from the intrigues of King’s Landing, away from the poisonous whispers and plotting eyes. But in his heart, he knew that he was lying to himself. You were his other half, the light to his shadow, the calm to his storm. Without you, he was incomplete.

And then there was the prophecy, the haunting words that had plagued him since he was a boy. “The dragon has three heads.” He had believed, with all his heart, that you were meant to be by his side, that you were the key to unlocking the secrets of the past, to ensuring the future of their House. But instead, you were betrothed to Brandon Stark, a match that made him seethe with a jealousy he could not control. Stark was a brute, a man of the North, with no understanding of the fire that burned within you, the dragon’s blood that coursed through your veins.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the small table where his harp lay. The strings were cool beneath his fingers, and he plucked at them absently, a soft, mournful melody filling the air. He had written this song for you, though he had never played it where others could hear. It spoke of loss and longing, of a love that could never be. His voice, when he sang, was low and rough, each word a plea to the gods who had denied him what he desired most.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he whispered, the words breaking like waves against the shores of his despair. “And now you are lost to me.”

He thought of you in Storm’s End, surrounded by strangers, your laughter no longer echoing through the halls of the Red Keep. Did you miss him as he missed you? Did you think of him in the quiet moments, as he thought of you? He did not know, and that uncertainty was a blade that twisted in his chest.

He set the harp down and turned away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. Duty and destiny, love and loss – they were chains that bound him, unbreakable and cruel. He had tried to be strong, to be the prince his people needed, but he was only a man, and men were weak, fallible. They loved, they lost, they yearned for things they could never have.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw your face, your smile, heard your voice like a whisper on the wind. “Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Forgive me for not being strong enough, for not being able to fight for you.”

But it was too late for forgiveness, too late for regrets. The path had been set, and he was bound to it, as surely as he was bound to Elia. All he could do now was move forward, step by painful step, and hope that, in the end, the gods would grant him some measure of peace.

But deep in his heart, he knew that peace would never come. Not without you.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was filled with the roar of voices, the excitement of the crowd palpable as the knights readied themselves for the next tilt. Yet, amidst the clamor and the spectacle, Rhaegar Targaryen found himself strangely detached, his thoughts drifting far from the tourney field.

It had been years since he had last seen you, years spent trying to bury the longing that never truly left him. He had told himself, time and again, that it was for the best, that you were safer away from him, from the web of power and madness that ensnared their family. But the distance had done nothing to quell the ache. If anything, it had only deepened it, the emptiness in his heart growing more profound with each passing day.

The knights before him clashed, steel against steel, but Rhaegar’s eyes were drawn inexorably upward, to the royal stands. There, amidst the fluttering banners and the noble lords and ladies, he saw you.

The sight of you struck him like a blade, sharp and sudden. You had changed, as all must with the passage of time, but the essence of you remained the same. Your beauty, once remarked upon by the poets and whispered about in the courts, had only grown, maturing into something almost otherworldly. You were resplendent, a beacon of silver and violet, your hair catching the sunlight as it streamed through the high windows, your gown a cascade of pale blue and gold.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to still, the noise of the tourney fading to a distant murmur. It was as if time itself had paused, granting him this fleeting, stolen moment to simply look at you. He drank in every detail, the curve of your lips, the grace with which you moved, the way your eyes sparkled with a light he had not seen in so long.

He could see the way others watched you, their admiration barely concealed, but none dared approach. There was something untouchable about you, something that set you apart from the rest. You were a Targaryen, with all the fire and blood that name carried, and you wore it like a mantle, like a crown.

It was then that his gaze met yours. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away. He saw the recognition in your eyes, the soft widening as you realized who was staring back at you. In that brief exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between you. There was shock, yes, but also something deeper, something that stirred the embers of hope he had long thought extinguished.

He could not look away, even as his heart hammered in his chest. The years apart had not dimmed his feelings; if anything, they had only grown stronger, more desperate. You were not just his sister; you were his other half, the missing piece that made him whole. Seeing you now, after so long, was like stepping out of a darkened room and into the light. And he knew, in that instant, that he would do anything, anything, to have you by his side once more.

But then the world rushed back in, the cheers of the crowd, the calls of the heralds, the thunder of hooves as the next pair of knights charged. Rhaegar tore his gaze from you, the loss of your eyes on his a physical pain. He tried to focus on the match before him, but his mind was a tumult of emotions, his heart warring with itself.

He had a wife, children. His duty lay with them, with his family, with the kingdom. But the gods were cruel, and they had given him a glimpse of what he could never have. It was a torment, one that he bore with quiet anguish.

When his turn came to ride, he moved almost on instinct, his mind still consumed by thoughts of you. The lance felt heavy in his hand, the armor a suffocating weight. As he rode onto the field, he felt the eyes of the crowd upon him, but there was only one pair that mattered.

He did not know what possessed him in that moment. Perhaps it was the need to show you, to prove that he had not forgotten, that you were still, and always would be, the center of his world. Or perhaps it was something deeper, something primal that he could not control.

When he unhorsed his opponent, the cheers of the crowd were distant, hollow in his ears. His gaze sought you out again, and when he found you, he saw something in your expression that made his heart clench. There was pride there, yes, but also something softer, something that spoke of shared pain and longing.

Without thinking, he dismounted and approached the stands, his steps slow and deliberate. The murmurs rose around him, whispers spreading like wildfire as the crowd sensed something unprecedented was about to happen. His heart pounded, each beat a drum in his ears, but he did not falter.

He stopped before you, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. He could see Brandon Stark’s eyes burning with anger, Robert Baratheon’s face twisting with something darker, but they were of no consequence. Not now. Not in this moment.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the crown of blue winter roses, the flowers fresh and vibrant against the silver circlet. He could feel the tension in the air, the breathless anticipation of the crowd, but he did not care. This was for you, for you alone.

When he placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushed your hair, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. He held your gaze, his voice a low murmur that only you could hear. “For the queen of love and beauty,” he said, the words heavy with a meaning that went far beyond the ritual they were meant to serve.

For a moment, he allowed himself to hope, to dream of a world where you could be his, where you could stand beside him as you were always meant to. But the dream was fleeting, shattered by the reality that loomed just beyond this fragile bubble of time.

He saw the fury in Brandon’s eyes, the confusion and hurt in Robert’s. He knew what they would say, what they would think, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with you looking at him the way you were, as if you, too, felt the same unbearable pull that had haunted him for so long.

He wanted to speak, to say something, anything that could convey the depth of what he felt. But the words would not come. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, of devotion, and then turned away.

As he walked back to his horse, he felt the weight of what he had done settle upon him. He had defied convention, defied expectation, and in doing so, he had set events in motion that he could not control. But for that single, shining moment, he had been true to himself, to what he felt. And as he rode away, the image of you crowned with winter roses burned bright in his mind, a beacon of hope in the gathering storm.

For good or ill, he had made his choice. And whatever came next, whatever price he would have to pay, he knew it would be worth it, if it meant having you, even for just a moment, in his life once more.

Rhaegar’s pulse thundered in his ears as he waited in the shadows of the godswood, his hands trembling beneath his gloves. The cool air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by what he was about to do, the irrevocable act that would change the course of their lives forever. He could hear the distant sound of laughter, of celebration, the wedding feast in full swing. Lyanna Stark, the Wolf Maid, would be wed to Robert Baratheon tonight, and the halls of Storm’s End would echo with the revelry of that union.

But Rhaegar had no place among the revelers. His heart, his soul, his very being was elsewhere—focused solely on you. The thought of you, promised to another, made his blood boil. The pain of it was unbearable, a gnawing, relentless ache that had driven him to the brink of madness.

It was madness, he knew that. To steal you away on such a night, under the very roof of the man who would wed Lyanna, under the watchful eye of your betrothed, Brandon Stark. But he had no choice. He had tried to resist, had tried to stay away, to let you go, but the gods—those cruel, capricious beings—had bound his heart to yours, and no force in the world could sever that bond.

He had watched you from afar, seen the way you carried yourself, poised and proud, even as you stood beside the Stark boy, your future husband. It had taken every ounce of his will not to storm the hall then and there, to tear you away from the one who claimed you. But he had waited, biding his time, knowing that this was his last chance to act.

He thought of the prophecy again, of the words that haunted his every waking moment: “The dragon has three heads.” He needed you, not just as a man craves a woman, but as a king needs his queen, as a dreamer needs his vision. You were part of his destiny, the key to everything. And if he let you slip away now, if he let you be bound to another, all would be lost.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred him from his thoughts, and he tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. But then he saw you, slipping quietly through the trees, your face pale in the moonlight, your eyes wide and searching. You had come. He had not been sure that you would, had not been sure that you would heed the message he had sent. But you had come.

“Y/N,” he breathed, your name a prayer on his lips as you drew closer. You looked at him, and in that moment, he saw everything—fear, hope, confusion, love. The conflicting emotions in your eyes mirrored his own, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated. What right did he have to do this, to tear you away from the life you knew, from the family who loved you?

But then he thought of Brandon Stark, of the vows you would be forced to speak, the life you would be forced to live. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on madness, that he could not let that happen.

“Rhaegar, what are you doing?” your voice trembled, a note of desperation creeping in. You had always been strong, unyielding, but now, faced with the enormity of what he was about to do, he saw the cracks in your armor. “This is insane. If they find us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm, resolute. “We will be gone before they know it. I’ve made arrangements, planned everything. We can be across the border of Stormlands by dawn.”

You shook your head, taking a step back, and his heart lurched in his chest. “And then what? We run? We hide for the rest of our lives? What about the realm, Rhaegar? What about your children? What about—”

“I love you.” The words burst from him, raw and unguarded, and he saw the shock in your eyes. He had never said it before, never dared to, but now, standing here in the dark, with everything on the line, he could hold it back no longer. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t let you go. I can’t let you marry him.”

Your eyes softened, the fire in them dimming for just a moment. He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed your cheek, and you did not pull away. “Please, come with me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t be who I’m meant to be without you.”

He saw the conflict in your eyes, the war between duty and desire, and he held his breath, waiting. For a long, agonizing moment, you said nothing, your gaze locked on his. And then, slowly, you nodded.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Alright, Rhaegar. I’ll go with you.”

Relief, so intense it was almost painful, flooded through him. He took your hand, gripping it tightly, and together you turned toward the waiting horse, your steps quick and silent. He glanced back only once, at the great, shadowed bulk of Storm’s End, at the hall where Lyanna Stark would be married to Robert Baratheon, where Brandon Stark would soon discover that his bride had vanished into the night.

He knew what would come next. Knew that Robert would not let this insult stand, that Brandon would be furious, that Aerys, his father, would react with the same madness and cruelty that had come to define him. He knew that blood would be spilled, that the realm would be torn apart, that everything he had tried to build would come crashing down around him. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not with you beside him.

He mounted his horse and reached down to help you up, his hands steady now, his heart calm. This was right. This was what was meant to be. You fit against him perfectly, your body warm against his, your arms wrapped around his waist as the horse moved beneath you.

He glanced back once more, a final farewell to the life he was leaving behind, and then turned his gaze forward.

He knew, deep down, that there would be no forgiveness, no redemption for what he had done. He had stolen you, taken you from those who cared for you, had set a flame to the tinder that would ignite the realm. But he could not bring himself to care. The thought of you with Brandon, with anyone but him, was a torment he could not bear.

And so he rode on, his arms tight around you, his mind a storm of guilt and desire, fear and hope. The rebellion would come, and with it, death and destruction. But for now, in this moment, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

The journey south had been a blur, days and nights merging into one endless ride. He had spoken little, lost in his own thoughts, his guilt and desire warring within him. He knew what they would say, what they would think: that he was mad, that he was his father’s son. But this was not madness, not truly. It was something else, something far more terrible. He could not live without you, could not let you be bound to another when you were meant to be his. The gods themselves had decreed it, and who was he to deny their will?

The feeling of you now, riding with him, was both a comfort and a torment. Your face was pale, drawn, but there was a strength in your eyes that had always been there, a fire that burned even in the darkest of times. He wanted to speak, to tell you that he was sorry, that he knew what he had done was unforgivable. But the words would not come. How could he explain what he barely understood himself? How could he make you see that this was the only way, the only path left to him?

He glanced down at you, his heart aching with a pain that was almost physical. You were staring straight ahead, your posture rigid, your hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of your dress. He could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way you held yourself as if preparing for some unseen blow. You were afraid, and that knowledge cut him deeper than any blade.

He had sworn to protect you, to keep you safe from harm. And now he had become the very thing you needed protection from. It was a bitter irony, one that left a foul taste in his mouth. But he could not, would not, let you go. Not now. Not when he had come so close to losing you forever.

The inn where they would rest for the night loomed ahead, a small, nondescript building nestled among the trees. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, turning to help you down. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something there, something that gave him hope.

“We will rest here,” he said softly, his voice rough with fatigue and emotion. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. No one will find us.”

You nodded, saying nothing, and he felt his heart twist in his chest. He had expected anger, rage even. But this silence, this quiet acceptance, was worse. It felt like a condemnation, like you had already resigned yourself to whatever fate he had chosen for you.

Inside, the inn was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a soft, golden light across the room. Rhaegar watched as you moved to sit by the fire, your gaze distant, unfocused. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything would be alright. But he knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever be alright again.

He turned away, his hands trembling as he poured a cup of wine. He needed to think, to clear his head. But his thoughts were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of guilt and desire, fear and hope. He had done this, had set this course, and now he must see it through. But the cost, gods, the cost was more than he had ever imagined.

He thought of his children, of Elia, of the family he had left behind. What would they say when they learned of what he had done? What would they think of him, the man who had torn his family apart for the sake of a love that could never be? The thought made him sick, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. But even that was not enough to change his mind.

He took a long drink of the wine, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to be strong, had to see this through. For you. For the prophecy. For the future that only the two of you could create. He would be remembered as a villain, a madman, but if it meant having you, if it meant fulfilling the destiny that had been written in the stars, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

The door to your chamber stood open, a dark, yawning void that seemed to beckon him. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to make you understand. But he knew that he could not. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he turned and made his way outside, the cool night air washing over him like a balm. He stood there, staring up at the sky, the stars bright and cold above him. He had read once that the stars were the tears of the gods, weeping for the fates of men. He wondered if they were weeping for him now, for what he had done, for the path he had chosen.

He thought of you, lying alone in the dark, and his heart ached with a pain that was almost unbearable. He had wanted to save you, to protect you from the cruelty of the world. But now, he was the one who had brought you pain, who had torn your life apart. And for what? For a dream, a prophecy, a destiny that he could not even begin to understand?

He sank to his knees, the cold earth hard beneath him. He had made his choice, and now he must live with it. But gods, it was hard. Harder than he had ever imagined. He had thought that love would be enough, that it would carry him through the darkness. But now, he was not so sure. Now, he wondered if he had been wrong, if he had been a fool.

He looked up at the sky, at the cold, distant stars, and he felt a despair so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. He had done this for love, for a dream of a future that only the two of you could create. But now, standing here, alone in the darkness, he wondered if he had not, in truth, destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. “Gods forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

But there would be no forgiveness, no absolution. Only the long, dark road ahead, and the terrible, inexorable march of fate. He would be remembered as the prince who loved too much, the man who brought the realm to ruin for the sake of a woman he could never truly have.

And yet, despite it all, despite the guilt and the pain and the fear, he knew that he would do it all again. Because you were his, and he was yours. And in this world of fire and blood, that was all that truly mattered.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.4k | cw: blood, the aftermath of a beating | tags: hurt!eddie and protective!steve, running away | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is letting him pick the music by @sparklyslug | @steddiesongfics Tracy Chapman "Fast Car" | AO3)

Someone's banging on his door, the noise so loud that it drowns out Queen blasting from his speakers. His first thought is, "It's back," quickly followed by panic that grips his heart, squeezing it tight as he thinks, "Someone's hurt".

Steve runs to the front door and flings it open before the second thought fully registers, his fears seemingly confirmed when he finds Eddie standing on his porch, fist raised to knock again. The adrenaline pumping through his veins makes everything laser sharp, his mind running a mile a minute as he takes in the man in front of him.

The man who owns his heart and who looks seconds away from collapsing. The dark bruises on his face are a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, and Steve's stomach drops at the sight of one of those beloved eyes swollen shut. There is blood on Eddie's face, dripping from his nose, which also looks swollen and slightly crooked, and from his mouth, where his lip is split open. He's hunched over, his other arm wrapped around his own middle in a protective grip. 'Please don't let him be hurt any more than this, I can't lose him,' he pleads to a god he doesn't even believe in.

He would beg any deity and any demon for Eddie. His life, his soul, they could have it all if it meant Eddie would be okay.

It's not healthy or well-adjusted or whatever psych-speak there is to say that what Steve feels for Eddie might be fucked up in its intensity. It's not like Steve gives a fuck. He has more important things on his mind.

"Eddie." He wants to say it in a calm and soothing voice, knows that's what Eddie needs to feel safe, but all he manages is a broken whisper, his fear ringing in every syllable.

"Hi baby," his boyfriend says with a smile that turns into a pained grimace before it's fully formed, "sorry for barging in on you like this but I didn't know where else to go."

It breaks Steve's heart to see Eddie like this. The man he knows, the man he loves, is larger than life, with a big grin and an even bigger heart. He shouldn't look like this, so small and still trying to make himself even smaller, and the only thing Steve can do right now is open his arms and let him sink into his body so Steve can hide him away from a world that doesn't deserve someone like Eddie.

Eddie falls right into him, and Steve wraps him in a careful hug until Eddie pushes even closer, obviously needing to be held tight enough that he can fall apart without losing a piece of himself.

They're still on Steve's doorstep, out in the open for anyone to see, but he doesn't care. Steve has a feeling that he won't be in this shithole of a town much longer anyway.

"Oh baby, it's okay, I got you, you're safe here," he coos into Eddie's ear. He wants to ask what happened. He wants to ask what (who) did this and rush upstairs to grab his bat and bash in the skull of whatever (whoever) did this to him.

A pained whimper is all the warning he gets before the weight in his arms grows heavier as Eddie lets himself crumble and break, trusting Steve to hold him through it.

Steve does, almost carrying Eddie to the couch and pulling him onto his lap once they're there, never letting go of him, not even for a second. Once they're both settled, Steve continues to just hold Eddie as he continues to tremble in Steve's arms, silent sobs tearing through his body.

It takes a long time before Eddie slowly lifts his head from where it's nestled against Steve's neck. "I'm sorry," he says again, as if it was ever a hardship for Steve to have Eddie in his arms. As if it's his fault that they live in a world with sharp teeth that likes to sink them into anything soft.

"Don't be, none of this is your fault. Whoever did this to you should be sorry." He doesn't add that they'll be sorry if he has anything to say about it, because he knows that would upset Eddie. That's why Steve keeps those ugly things away from him.

Eddie laughs humorlessly. "I'm pretty sure the only thing they're sorry for is not finishing the job. Some days I think the next time will be the last. That this time they will finish it, finish me. I'm pretty sure that if I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to die here, Steve."

And that's... Steve knows deep down that that's the truth. It's not Eddie being dramatic, like the time he fell to the floor as if Steve had mortally wounded him by refusing to watch the thing with him for the tenth time. It's Eddie speaking a truth that Steve has been trying to hide from them both for months.

Steve knows it's time to make a choice. For himself and for Eddie. For them. Either they leave this town, tonight, or they may never leave it again. Not alive. Because where one goes, the other follows, and Steve knows he can't protect Eddie forever from the hate and violence that bled into the heart of this town long before either of them were born.

"If we leave now, we can be in Indiana before midnight," Steve hears himself say, the decision already made, because the alternative is blood and pain and sorrow.

The kids graduated a few months ago and are about to leave for college. Robin, Nancy and Jonathan are long gone, many miles and just a phone call away. It doesn't matter where they go, any place would be better than here. They have nothing to lose but each other.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"What I'm saying," Steve replies, "is that we can pack up my car right now and be on the highway in about an hour. It's not far to Indy from there. Or Chicago. Hell, if you still wanna go to California, we can do that. I don't care, Eddie. As long as it's with you, we could go to the moon and I'd be happy."

Dark brown eyes search his, one still so swollen Steve wonders if Eddie can see anything with it, the other bloodshot but still beautiful.

"You would do that? Just up and leave everything behind. For me?"

Steve wonders how someone as bright as Eddie (because grades don't make you smart, they both know that) could sometimes be so dense.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." It's not a grand declaration of his undying love, no poetic words as Eddie would find them. Just the simple truth of his irrevocable devotion.

Another searching look before Eddie climbs off his lap and back to his feet. He holds out his hand for Steve to take, and when he does, Eddie pulls him to his feet to kiss him. It's hard, a desperate, hungry edge to it, raw like the blood Steve tastes from the cut in Eddie's lip.

Eddie's lips are red when he pulls away, blood staining them like lipstick. "You even let me pick the music while we drive?"

Wondering if his grin looks as bloodstained and wild as Eddie's, Steve teases, "I wouldn't go that far."

Eddie's eyes (at least the one Steve can see) finally sparkle again, and his grin softens to a gentle smile as he cups Steve's cheek and wipes the blood from his lips. "I love you, Steve Harrington."

"I love you too. You have no idea how much."

"I think I'm starting to."

It's Steve's turn to smile softly at Eddie, pressing a kiss into his palm. "Believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg."

Eddie's grin turns wolfish at Steve's words, breaking the solemn mood. "Just the tip? I think I heard that one before, big boy."

"You're a menace."

Another kiss, another promise ("I'm your menace"), and then they're almost running to Steve's room, hastily packing only what they consider absolutely necessary. After that, they go to Eddie's new trailer to do the same and leave a message for Wayne, explaining what happened and promising to call as soon as possible.

Then they're off, flying down the highway in Steve's car, and when Eddie reaches for the radio, Steve lets him. As if there had ever been any doubt that Steve was going to let Eddie choose the music for every single day of their life together.

With one hand on the wheel and the other arm wrapped around Eddie's shoulder, Steve feels like he's right where he belongs.

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's A Real Fucking Legacy: All of You, All of Me

Word Count: 968 Warnings: Uh.... death talk? Author's Note: SHE'S BACK ON HER BULLSHIT, BESTIES.

TARFL Masterlist | Author Blog

It’s been years in the making at this point.

You, Joel. Baby. Except her name isn’t Baby anymore and it’s not Thomasin either.

There was a lot of discussion, a lot of broken hearts and tears from all parties involved. Tommy was touched but he ached. Even when he got over it, found somebody else, he ached so deep in his being that there were nights he thought he’d split himself in two.

Because at the end of the day, he still believes—with all his heart—that your little girl should be his, too. He believes that when you took the last name Miller, it should’ve been gifted over from him.

“I’ll hold onto this hurt for the rest of my life, sweetheart,” he’d said.

Said he’d accepted that he’d caused it but that didn’t make the pain go away. Didn’t soothe that raw, bruised part of his heart—his soul.

There was no begging, Joel was on board from the beginning. Joel was on board before anybody else. Change her name, something more appropriate for who she is to you and Joel and this world. A gift.

A second chance.

Or third. Fourth. Fifth.

One hundredth and many more than you deserve after years and year over this life; this way of living. 

Especially for Joel, your strong, broad mountain of a man who believed himself irredeemable in the eyes of everybody but especially yours. He cradled her with such gentleness, even as she grew, that it was hard to believe he was capable of any kind of violence.

So, after a year of late night and early morning talks whispered across the pillows, decisions had been made. A lot of them, actually.

Joel admitted that he felt his humanity pouring back into him with every breath he took beside you; every moment he held your daughter in his arms. He bloomed as father, color darkening his cheeks with emotion every time he looked at her. He felt like before in some sense of the word, like he was being given the gift of fulfilling the only thing he ever felt he was good at. 

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, you know where that thought would often go. Silent promises to himself that he wouldn’t fail this time. Or, God help him, he hoped his failure was no longer being in this world to protect her when it came down to it.

In the registry office of town, where all the records of who was who and where they were were kept, you both signed as a new birth certificate was made. 

Clara Miriam Miller. No Thomasin, no Baby. No placeholder for who she was or name to carry as if she were some memorial, just Clara. 

It means bright. Clear. Joel joked that she was the only light in the darkness he’d ever seen or needed.

It was good, beautiful even. As you finished your signature on the page detailing everything you could remember about her birth—bloody, loud, an early morning surprise that still exhausted you to this day—Joel cleared his throat.

Trying his best to tuck an unruly piece of hair behind your ear and failing, he took a deep breath and finally said, “will you marry me while we’re here?”

That’s the last piece to his puzzle, always has been. The thing he always wanted before—-companionship. Love in such an intimate way. Not that your relationship lacks that as it is but there’s something about being official.

There’s possession to it and there’s this bit of submission as you vow to give all your life and love and hurt and pain and, even, your death to one person. 

No. No doubts in your minds about this one either. He loved so fiercely, so deeply, and he’d whispered all his insecurities and broken parts in all the nights you’ve lived together. He didn’t have it before, not when it happened. Selfishly, you’re glad that he didn’t, that his wife had walked away from him years and years before that. If he’d lost her the way he’d lost the others, the way he fears losing you or losing Clara…

But if that had been the case, there would be no you. Not for him. There wouldn’t even be a Clara, there would be somebody else with somebody else.

Or maybe nobody at all. 

Your vows are even more selfish as you tell him how grateful you are that you found one another through all this and the more that life tried to throw at you; that you went to him the way Tommy had said to when there was trouble even though it scared you so much to knock on his door.

It scared you to tell him the things you told him, to make the decisions for yourself and decide you were tired of pretending it wasn’t love that you felt for him. 

In the end, with Clara’s small face tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, he took your hand, looked at his brother and apologized with gratitude tacked onto the end. 

Looking back at you, he smiles and you reach out to touch your thumb into the hidden dimple as it wells deep into his cheek.

“When I go, I hope it’s peaceful,” he says. “I hope it’s beside you, Mrs. Miller, and I hope it’s only after years. And, selfishly, I hope it’s not a pain or absence you have to feel for long because I am going to be mighty pissed off if you make me wait for as long as I did to have you in my bed in the first place.” 

Going back to your signature on Clara’s paperwork, you pick up the pen and add -Miller to the end of your name. 

[phoenixyfriend]

Shadow and Mirror

Read on AO3, written for this prompt

Cody has a new crush.

Well, a “crush” implies something much more childish than the point he’s reached in his life.

Cody has… felt a connection and really hit it off with someone he finds reasonably attractive.

His brothers are being less than supportive.

“He is my Jedi and one of my best friends,” Rex says, “but I just… for both your sakes, life will be so much easier if you don’t go for it.”

Cody is unfazed. “You do remember he was my Jedi Commander before he got promoted and took you with him, right? I know what he’s like, and I’m into it.”

Rex makes a face. “Uh, all due respect, Cody—”

Oh, this bitch.

“—but he’s changed in some pretty big ways since he split from Kenobi.”

“So’ve I.”

This earns him an eyeroll. “Yes, yes, you’ve discovered your romantic charisma and started charming the pants off of any sentient you encounter on leave. You do realize that’s part of the problem?”

“That I have game?”

“Skywalker doesn’t do casual,” Rex insists. “Open, maybe, if you talk about it, but he doesn’t do casual.”

After a moment of consideration, Cody shrugs. “I can work with that.”

“Can you?” Rex challenges. “Can you really deal with the full force of Anakin’s attention? With him losing his entire mind if you get hurt, and calling you up at three in the morning to chat, and promising you the galaxy in a bunch of flowery words that should be hyperbole, but really, really worryingly sounds literal and sincere?”

“…did you try dating him?”

“No, but I was there basically every time he hung with Amidala, and that shit continued past the point where he gave up on romantic seduction and settled into friendship,” Rex says, more of a grumpy complaint than anything, “and she’s just as weird as he is when it comes to all that, so it’s no skin off her back to match his energy, but you are not on their level.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying,” Rex grits out from between clenched teeth, “that you like to have fun, and Anakin likes to dedicate every morsel of crazy knocking around his brain to whichever poor soul ended up in his affections.”

“I feel like insulting your CO that much is grounds for a court martial.”

“Echo told him, to his face, that he occasionally seemed crazy as a bag of tooka kits and about as hinged as a sliding door. General Skywalker took a second to process, and then laughed. He doesn’t care, not if it’s from a friend.”

Cody hums. “Which you are.”

“Yes.”

“Enough to warn me away before I break his heart?” Cody asks. Rex looks away, and Cody can only chuckle. “You’re not that subtle, Rex.”

“I’m trying to make sure you do what’s best for both of you,” Rex insists, glancing at Cody for only a moment before breaking eye contact again, “so Anakin doesn’t get disappointed, and so you’re not walking in blind when it comes to him being… the most.”

Cody snorts. “I can handle Skywalker, Rex. I may not be a Jedi or a Senator, but I can handle one brat with a smart mouth, a bad attitude, and a couple of super-powers.”

Rex grimaces. “I mean… it’s not really… that simple. The Force stuff, I mean.”

There’s something a little odd to Rex’s voice with that one, more than just the weird pauses. Cody doesn’t dismiss it quite as easily as he might have. Instead, he carefully asks, “the whole ‘Chosen’ thing some of the Shinies were gossiping about? Kenobi said it was an old superstition more than anything, a metaphor taken too literally, and that even the Jedi argue about it.”

“When?”

Cody’s expression must speak for him, because Rex clarifies without prompting.

“When did Kenobi say that?”

Cody looks past him at the wall, frowning as he thinks. Rex waits, and doesn’t take it too personally; they know each other too well for that. Finally, Cody shrugs. “A couple months in. Skywalker was still a Jedi Commander with the 212th.”

“So, before Mortis.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “This has to do with that shitshow?”

Rex looks uncomfortable. “You… aren’t 501st.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well… Kenobi didn’t get possessed. Or channel a god. He just used an extra weird lightsaber for a bit.”

Cody gives it a few moments, and then finally says, “Rex.”

His brother continues to look uncomfortable.

“What did that place do to Skywalker and Tano?”

(Continue on AO3)

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

hiii, I was wondering if you could write something with Enoch? Maybe angst to fluff? If not that’s okie!! I hope you’re well <3

Twines Of Fire Ignite Us. Lover, Our Love’s Immortal

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!reader.

Summary: Your mates heart belongs to her… right?

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n. Soulmate!au. Reader has the ability to see souls and entwine them in harmful ways, this has nothing to do with soulmates. Ankh: Ancient Egyptian symbol representing internal life (according to google); also a subtle representation of Enoch’s peculiarity. Twine of Fire: A symbol representing a subtle indication of the readers infernal rage and peculiarity.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Note: I hope you’re well too, lovely!

| mother m-list

The ankh branding your wrist burns when he looks at her.

You’ve scratched it red raw under your scrutiny and marred it with the lashes of your jealousy over the months. Your family would have forever become victims to a social massacre if anyone ever caught glimpse of the monstrosity it had become; you count yourself lucky to be in a loop, where the day resets and things don’t matter.

Her red hair flows down her back in a river of ocherous that catches the sunlight just right and your eyes are drawn to his, watching her as though she’d made the world good again.

All of you screams he’s yours. That your souls are tied eternally. That his mark is embedded in your very skin; that yours is embedded in his.

You turn away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

••

They sit together at supper, as it’s always been. His seat is closer to hers than you’d be comfortable with but your opinion in the matter runs naught.

Your seat is opposite to his, directly facing everything they do. So much for out of sight.

Enoch’s as stoned faced as ever to her bright eyes and it’s not something that should strike envy green through you but it paints there anyway.

Olive will forever be the soothe after his burn, a soft to his unsated harshness. You will always be the gasoline to the bitter fire roaring in him. You will always be an angry soul, charged with bonfires of stubbornness.

He reaches for the bread roll too far for her to get herself and places it on the edge of her plate without her asking. The cuff of his shirt shifts and reveals the violet flamed twine bracketing his skin, unique and bold as the glow orbing in your abdomen. It disappears under his sleeve as quick as it peeked.

You don’t lose track of their interaction, storing it in the mental box of all the reasons it’ll always be Enoch and Olive and never Enoch and Y/n. They knew each other senseless.

Your mark twinges.

••

It’s been four weeks when he approaches you.

The days in the loop blend into a flurry indecipherable, slowing them and flying them through somehow at once. You’ve taken to tracking the days on an old calendar kept in the children’s home since you joined Loop Peregrine, a tally mark on each day despite the dates not matching up.

You’ve been here for two months now. You’ve talked to Enoch twice.

Three if you count now.

He can’t feel the spidery tingle beneath his skin that you can in his presence, the one that webs you to him in more ways than it should. Girls have always been more sensitive to soulmate related symptoms, blessed (cursed) with more instinctual insight.

You hate the way his soul flares an iridescent outline of blue hues around you, serving another reminder he’ll never be yours that only you can see. Another taunt from fates cruel truths.

The curve of his accent is something you didn’t realise you missed until he opened his mouth. “You're awful at being discreet, you know that?”

“Sorry?” It’s the most you can force yourself to say.

Enoch approaches at a different angle. “You stare. Why?”

Faking nonchalance, you shrug. “I don't stare.”

It only takes a raise of a brow to crumble a large enough portion of your facade. Stone faced or not, you would always be able to read him like a book split open — perks of peculiarities.

“You do.” He bites. “And not just at anything, at anytime. Always at me, always with Olive. Is there an issue you have with us?”

The question hits too close to home. Your reaction spiels out of you quicker than you can cage it, curling at your lip and snarling out of you. “Is there an issue I have with my mate breathing down the neck of another woman? No, of course not, O’Connor. Who could ever find an issue with that?”

Enoch’s face drops.

Realisation hits you like a freight train. You feel the colour drain from you, leaving you unsteady where you stand.

“You’re not my mate.” He strains. “You can’t be. I would’ve known, I would've known from the second I saw you.” There’s a desperation caving his expression, a plea to his eyes that pierces you.

A part of you aches at that, the part that understands lost time and blind eyes, the part that pieces together that you’ve deceived him but it’s overridden by stubborn fear. A mate so infatuated with another he couldn’t see the signs isn’t a mate that could ever love you whole.

“Well, you didn’t.” You can’t stop the bite of your voice.

He pauses, staring into you. It’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him and it sets you alight in all the wrong ways. Despair replaces desperation, written in the way he stumbles a step back from you.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough for the almighty hollow survivor?” You watch a bridled rage harden him.

You and him are one split in two, anger lies in the cores of all you are and seeps its way into everything. Now is no exception.

You can’t help but scoff. “I’m not the one in love with someone else.”

Enoch sneers. “Who’s in love with someone else?”

“Are you joking?” A sick lick of humour curls at you. “You can’t be that much of an asshole that you’d lead Olive on.”

“Olive?” Your fingers twitch to gnaw at the ankh, raging infernal at the thought of him thinking of her. The disconcertment in his eyes stops you.

You look at him, really look at him. Really listen to him, really think things through.

“Me and Olive are nothing that you think we are.”

The brief touches that seemed so intimate, the knowing what the other wanted before they had the chance to say, all the time spent together, day in and day out.

“When you’re stuck living the copy of the day before you learn to know who you’re stuck with.”

You’d never thought about it past your mark and his, past soulmates. You’d never had to, flitting between lives and loops too often to make connections.

“But me and Olive are friends. We’ve never been more than that and we never would be more than that.”

You almost feel stupid for making assumptions but the image they create is too entwined for you to have seen through.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” It’s your way of offering an apology.

Enoch pursues his lips. “We’re mates.” Cold fingers circle your wrist, pressed light against his symbol. He doesn’t look away as you shiver and gasp. You watch the navy of his soul quiver. “You could never intrude.”

You take his words for what they are, an acceptance of peace.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my works to be translated or reposted on this site or otherwise!

[earlymorningfoxhunt]

Hello, we're a system/collective who started listening to Malevolent on June 7th, 2024, and boy did it hit close to home! not only because of the jarthur body sharing blues, but also johns individual experience with his identity made us feel seen in a way we haven't felt before.

the way john has to figure out what differentiates himself from both arthur and hastur, despite feeling trapped behind arthurs eyes and chained to hastur heart, aligns with our experiences... a lot. so we've been making a compilation for the past month that includes all of the moments that made us go OOORRG as well as different folks commentaries (mostly consisting of us going OOORRG). this is going to be long as shit because this entire show is this.

also if your a system/collective who likes malevolent: PLEASE put ur favorite moments/ur thoughts

and if you haven't listened to malevolent: hey, you should give it a try and then come cry to me about it :D

A Compilation Of Malevolent Moments That Hit Differently As A System:

The Caves: (34:59-35:20)

during their argument john laughs while arthur trips over things

hehehe ya

The Path: (43:06-44:05)

johns questioning if he's feeding off of arthurs emotions or if hes learning them for himself, new split type beat, trying to figure out where each other start and end.

"we are of two minds, and more and more im realizing two souls as well. there's a bleed over effect but you are something entirely your own, john."

The Fall:

oh my god this episode. this man got so fucking pissed, not at john for rubbing the death of arthurs child in his face, but at arthur pulling host rank???? i was like ya buddy you can rot in a pit for a few months, mf you cant do that!! we we're listening to this at work and we were so pissed

The King: (35:00-36:25)(45:18-48:57)

its the first time arthur talks for him and its the first time he feels johns tears.

arthurs confrontation with the king and the feeling of no matter how much you hate each other, you're going to have each others back. for us personally it feels like a sucker punch to the gut every time he says "because i cant lose another person!"

The Unconquerable:

when we wrote down the title we didnt know why the episode resonated with us, but now I come back to it a month later as a yellow introject. we have horrid memory issues on top of memory issues, so it hurts something familiar to see the state yellow is in when he gets thrown into arthur. not knowing who or where he is but still trying to hold the cards, arthurs disappointment that hes not who he wanted him to be. its a new kind of painful. its the odd solace that comes from a shattered mirror.

we see arthurs frustration but its almost nice to be able to hate him for not giving yellow more grace.

The Train: (4:19-8:10)

I have literally told this guy he looks 80lbs sopping wet before, this entire episode is perfect. the bickering, the team work, the having to navigate socializing, it feels so nice

The Tear: (12:14-22:48)

ya...

The Detective: [(3:50-7:05) (10:40-14:58)] (28:09-28:18)

we made the mistake of listening to this on the way to getting tacos and we just had to sit in the parking lot, crying as john got to be seen for the first time by an ally. I've never had the experience myself(others in our system are out tho) but seeing it go well for him sparked something in me, enough that it pulled us to front for the past few weeks. that, w. it was a very important moment to us

and on a completely different vibe, "have you ever... before?" fuckin "well with out my excellent call outs" silly guy

The Order II: (23:26-24:00)

huh? oh hes not talking to us

The Witch: [(16:11-17:24) (25:30-26:56) (29:00-33:17)]

the whole episode honestly, start to finish.

no, im not including the ending speech it makes me physically ill

WITCH: This woman cared for you?

JOHN: Yes. 

WITCH: Lies! She cared for your mortal!

JOHN: He couldn’t hear her! I was the one who received her care, her kindness, her –

WITCH: Intended for another!

JOHN: What does that matter!? She knew no difference between me or him! She knew nothing of the soul that heard her, whether it was… (He sighs in frustration.) It was the same care. The same… compassion. 

UUUUUUUUUGGGGG

Honorary Mentions:

all of johns memory issues in season 4:

how every time he came back he would be defensive saying "right, i knew that!" even when he didn't remember, that's a classic.

Intermezzo: (5:00-5:46)

kayne and his many many voices/me not me/ its not about the names were given its about the names we choose

every time jarthur says we/our

The King:

"well at least thats what the loudest voice in my head says" ya? and how many voices are in there?

[bonnie-toyour-clyde]

Just got to s13 in my rewatch and i never noticed before that when Sam’s alone in the bunker w Jack watching him try to use his magic (i think 13x3) he’s reading The Drama Of The Gifted Child which is book about discovering your true self after childhood trauma and repressed anger and the knee jerk instinct to become numb to cope with abuse etc and like…. I love that.

I love that he’s aware that he needs to heal his inner child if he’s going to raise this kid who everyone in the world will hate (especially his own brother, who Jack already looks up to and tries to mimic). And its beautiful seeing him confront Dean for telling Jack he would be the one to kill him when the time came (and it’s heart wrenching to watch Jack sitting on the floor behind the corner like a kid trying to listen to his parents in a screaming match while also staying out of sight to keep himself safe). But…

I also hate that we only see a glimpse of the book’s cover. Like I had to pause in order to read the title. And that’s ALL they give him in the later seasons to show that he’s struggling with all of this. With Lucifer being out, with trying to raise the antichrist to not be the antichrist (which feels strangely displacing, like Jack’s himself from 9 years ago and he’s in the role of Dean but trying desperately to do a better job of making sure the kid knows he’s loved), and losing all of the same people that Dean lost but not being able to grieve for them quite yet. He has soooo much on his plate (as per ush) and the writers refuse to give him any depth about it. Any trauma response other than a clenched jaw and scared eyes. They’re just like Look! He’s reading a book about childhood trauma! Can’t you see he’s traumatized?! and then only show it for a split second.

This is not to say that that’s a bad way to cope at all, again I think it’s amazing that he is reading this book and you can see that it IS helping him - but only if you squint. Its very subtle. Like he isn’t allowed to have upsetting trauma responses anymore, he’s too old for that, he isn’t the baby anymore, Jack is. And that’s really what breaks my heart - it’s the treatment of the (100+ years of) trauma from the cage and from the wall in his mind and from losing his soul as something he should be over by them. He’s a big boy. He can read a book about it, he’ll be okay.

Anyway I’m frustrated by the lack of care for Sam’s healing throughout but especially s12 forward

[disruptivevoib]

I’m not good with questions but

Could you possibly talk about Viscera? I don’t have anything specific but I love the concept that he’s a Whole in a Soul’s place

-🛩️

VISCERA.

Very long ramble under the cut

He is really my most under-spoken-on character here...which is odd because he is by far one of my favorite / more complex ones!

Vis is in his concept, Whole in Soul's place. I think in the album now, he reflects Soul very well in the idea of being the shell. Though this is mainly because Whole isn't really a character and Soul is the implied shell of what we think of as Whole in concept.. The casing, the iron maiden for Mind and Heart to be held within!!! (there is a reason his name was almost Body ig.. thank god CJ reconsidered tho. Body is kinda an awkward name/title.)

Anyways.

Vis is a hollowed out husk of what is supposed to be somebody. Soul is some form of throughline to Mind and Heart. A connector, an adaptor. Viscera is simply not this. He is a vacancy because he is fundamentally nothing. Meant to be someone, torn from his purpose and placed promptly in the spot of what would typically be his identity.

Sooo Viscera struggles to be much of anybody. In this, and through the hundreds of loops he endures due to Astray (Soul as Whole) and his inability to really, of course, be a person when he is meant to just be one facet of someone, Vis remembers everything.

It was a commonly shared idea that Soul is able to choose to remember or forget during loops. Swap Au explores this concept in that Astray explicitly is the reason Judge (Heart as Mind) and Ennui (Mind as Heart) forget alongside himself. Vis, as Whole yet not knowing it, remembers all of this context (though from his own point of view. So he does not know Astray /well/ really. But he feels for him in terms of knowing the panic that comes with having split down to three again.)

Vis is kind and gentle and cares very very much for his thirds, or rather his ids and his Whole as he sees them. He reminds Ennui and Judge of their names and his own every loop, and though things change during loops, and no timeline is entirely consistent, there are throughlines and thus predictability. So he can navigate it just as well.

Viscera is interesting in juxtaposition to Eleutheromania Soul who remembers his loops though Mind and Heart forget just the same. Yet their reactions and handling of the situations are fundamentally different. Though this is due to their roles and the treatment they get in their respective Psyche and by their respective versions of a Whole or Soul.

... But yes. Vis is. deeply longing to be complete in some way. He is unsure always of his emptiness and what might fill it, but never loses this inkling that being Whole is.. what he needs. And in some way, it is and is not that!

He also speaks in intense amounts of prose and roundabout allegories, symbolism, and metaphors. It was more a quirk of his character to make him distinct from how my other's spoke, but I think it also calls to the deeper idea of the way fragmented thoughts put together can be a little outlandish and nonsensical but.. make perfect sense to you in some way. Or something like that.

He also, moves very slowly and takes a lot of time to do things. Like an old window's computer. He needs time to process information!! And I attribute this also to his emptiness and lack of anything but memory as it is all he has in the moment to base what should be his feelings and thoughts on.

^ Though despite that sounding like he cannot feel or think or anything, it is more like trying to make sure he feels like himself? even though realistically Viscera very deeply struggles with that idea. Not that he'd say it ever. Vis is incredibly genuine, though. He does what he can to ensure the safety of others including his ids and they in turn do the same to him.

The Swap Au really makes for a VERY interesting person to look at due to characterization. Someone who is unstable but trying, and through all their struggles remains loving and warm. That is who Astray could be, who Vis essentially is and what Judge and Ennui contribute too.

Also he smells perpetually like citrus. I do not know why but I made it canonical that all four of them have distinct smells to them and the things they summon. Perhaps they are all just very scent oriented.

Also-Also in terms of my other Aus and Sources as a concept for HMS. Of which I can elaborate on ig? if need be! Viscera has no source...................... it is a black voided little pit or hole there instead.

If Soul's source is a star, then Viscera's became a sort of blackhole. I suppose.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Truthfully, he should have seen it coming.

He’d anticipated the pain and loneliness for the first week. No signal, Keith had said, but it won’t last too long. Lance had hung onto those words like they were the only thing holding him up from a chasm of frustration. Every longing look at his laptop came with a reminder that he could talk to Keith soon.

And then the second week passed. And the third.

Lance had rationalized it to himself. Keith has a very hectic schedule, after all. It’s not too unusual for him to miss a call, for him to be unavailable. It’s not like he has a set schedule. He gets missions and then he has to go — Lance would rather him be focused, honestly, even if it means he misses his boyfriend worse.

He’s in a weird state of limbo, then, when the call from Kolivan comes. Part of Lance felt dread from the moment the Blade pushed through the call. Another part begged any god who would listen that he was wrong. There had been so much panic and uncertainty swirling through thin, then, that he’d hardly even heard the Galran’s words, hardly heard him confirm Lance’s worst fear: Keith had gone missing. He was assumed dead.

Something cracked in Lance, then. Something wide and sharp and gaping, splitting all the way up from the base of his tailbone to the tip of his head. Something fragmented, as every part of him imploded.

Before he felt the pain, though, before his heart cracked fully in half, his brain went foggy, like he was a panicking horse with a blanket thrown over its head.

This is for your own good, murmured a voice in his head, gentle and cool as a river, and then Lance went blank. He heard his teammates’ outcries, heard the demand for answers and details that Kolivan did not have, saw the confusion and fear and panic in everyone’s expression.

But he was blank. He felt nothing. Red had dragged Blue to him, and had her blanket his mind and soul, protect him from his own destruction.

He spent the next two months increasingly numb. He felt things happening, logged them in his brain, interacted as normally as he could, but it almost felt like he was tethered on a string a few feet away from his body, like he was watching himself live from behind.

It was nauseating.

Watching the team fall apart, struggle to even interact as a group; watching everyone branch off and grow more irritable, watching Shiro crack under his own pressure and turn into someone Lance couldn’t recognise…it was difficult to watch. It felt like watching two trains approach each other at full speed only for you it was in slow motion; you knew it was coming, could see all the damage it was doing, but you were powerless to stop it.

I can’t do this anymore, he begged his lions. He felt both of their apprehension in his mind, their fear; of him splintering where he stands. He’s never been very good at handling heartbreak. He can barely handle the pain of being so far away from home, from what he knows. Losing people haunts him in ways that never leave. He knows that.

But he also knows that he is capable. He has made it this far. Grief is all-encompassing, it always is, but he has grown around the pain every time, and he will again.

This time, also, he has no choice. He is the Red Paladin of Voltron. Whether Shiro wants him or not, he is the right hand. He has a responsibility, and he can hide from it no longer.

It will hurt, Blue warns softly.

Lance closes his eyes, shuddering. His hands clutch tighter on the shirt he has of Keith’s, soft with use, no longer smelling of him but comforting anyway.

“I know,” he whispers.

Hesitation blooms from both lions, but Lance’s resolve is stronger. Nothing happens for a moment, the anticipation of the pain worse than any muted emotion he’s felt in weeks. Then, suddenly, like the blanket was ripped off his mind, he lights up with pain.

He gasps out in the shock of it — it’s more than he expected, everywhere, like months of grief is hitting him at once. Sobs bubble up his throat and explode out of him, violent in how they tear out of his throat, his mouth, and the heaving turns his stomach so greatly that he barely makes it to the bathroom before throwing up. He clutches the icy porcelain of the toilet seat, like the grip can help the splitting ache in his head, the burning of his eyes, the bitter taste overflowing his mouth.

“God, no,” he moans, and he’s not sure if he’s protesting the pain of a trillion suppressed neutrons firing at once or the abstract pain of knowing he will feel this ache every day for the rest of his life. “God, please, no.”

He’s not sure how long he sits like that. How long he suffers. Long enough that he runs out of tears, long enough that his voice grows hoarse. Both Blue and Red howl in pain inside his mind, frantic to watch him but unable to intervene. He mourns until he physically cannot mourn any longer, and falls asleep crumpled where he sits, clutching himself tightly to try and hold his pieces together.

He wakes suddenly to the castle’s blaring morning alarm, muscles cramped from their night-long tense positions and eyes burning. He straightens as carefully as he can, rising to wash his face and dress as quickly as he can manage. He’s going to be late regardless. And Shiro is going to be angry with him, and this time he’s just going to have to deal with it. The ache in him has not lessened. He just no longer has time to cater it.

He is the Paladin of the Red and Blue Lions, the Right Hand of Voltron.

He has a job to do.

———

fics in the same universe: before after

[daisiescomelate]

my favorite au in fanfics it's soulmates au, and i couldn't help to noticed that sukuna's true form has two faces, two arms, and two legs (according to the nihongi, a very very old japanese history book where we can find the first mention of the figure of sukuna in folklore), and that description matches with the theory of soulmates given by aristophanes in the symposium by plato.

the story is told by aristophanes during a discussion this character had with other philosophers about what love is. it tells the tell of people originally being these creatures with two faces, to arms, to legs, to sets of genitals, etc, that got punished by the gods and got separated.

all quotes are fragment of symposium from here: the internet archive classics

why they were a threat ergo they got punished:

"Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained."

so zeus split them in half

"At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said: "Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg." He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility."

and they are cursed to need each other, look for each other

"And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment."

so i keep thinking about a story where sukuna is defeated and sealed, losing his true form because a part of his soul dispersed and escaped somewhere as the other half of him was being fragmented and put into fingers. if i don't remember wrong, according to folklore sukuna didn't obediently follow the commands of an emperor and tended to cause ruckus and because of that said emperor send someone to execute him, so it'll add up with the idea of infuriating a god because they consider him a threat because of his strength.

then a thousand years later he strangely fits perfectly inside this boy, making him the perfect vessel for some unknwon reason, a boy that looks almost exactly like him for some other strange reason.

one day, bored out of his mind, sukuna is walking around yuuji's mind and stumbles across images, memories, more than a thousand years old that look so familiar to him. he realizes that yuuji is the part of his soul he lost back then, understanding that they are both the same but also very distinct individuals since this fragment of his soul had being apart from him for so long and had grown and develop on its own.

this idea also comes from some other thing i read about the original sukuna that said that maybe he came to be a symbol of twins or brothers from ancient history, and the theory that maybe sukuna represented actually two brothers (kagosaka no miko and oshikuma no miko) that were sons of an emperor, which would go pretty well with a platonic soulmates au.

ps. the way aristophanes describes one of this types of creatures (because there were three types: woman+woman, man+man, and then this third one) that looks like two people into one is like a third genre he called "androgynous" (i don't think it's necesserily woman+man but something different that doesn't exist anymore according to him, idk), that has both female and male characteristics, and in the lights that we found out sukuna lactates and he might be pregnant now, i think it fits perfectly to what his true form shows to be now in the manga.

ps2. i'm not a philosopher, i actually don't know what i'm talking about, just very passionate about the topic of soulmates in general.

[chonnyjashh]

DARK LORE WARNING! CHONNY JASH AU.

This will be a post regarding what caused their split... AKA, the childhood abuse.

As Good Day is the song that best explains it, I will mostly be using it to explain.

Its name I hate to call it

None of them like referring to their father as "dad" or "father." They instead simply refer to him with an emphasized "him".

It's something. I'm suffering.

Pretty self explanatory.

Instead it creeps at night and sneaks on in and festers while you sleep.

This... Is where shit gets dark. Their father was an addict- A severely sick, perverted one. While Addie (The child) slept, he would sneak into the room and try to abuse them in secret. They would pretend to sleep, as the first time it happened, and they tried to scramble away and scream for help, it led to them being beaten badly- Before the same thing that would have happened if they stayed quiet was done.

But you know this song is not about a no or yes or why

Addie was not given a choice in what their father did to them, no matter the reason they gave him— Though they shouldn't have had to give a reason to begin with, as he should have kept his hands off of them.

What's really what I say is that about a resignated sigh.

... Once again, pretty self explanitory. They would just stay put, resigning themselves to what was happening— Accepting it as fate, and unavoidable pain.

So come along, I think I'm done, I think we're done, yes this is done- The only question's whether it will be with pills or with a gun.

At the age of 10, Addie first considered suicide— However, they could not decide on a method, and spent so long deciding that the urge passed. They did not, in fact, attempt to take their own life in that moment.

You want me to sing? Fine.

Once again, they were simply accepting it— But at this point, they stopped pretending to sleep— Hoping that if they put up an indifferent, if disgusted appearance, he would lose interest. This backfired, leading to more physical abuse.

Looking through glazed eyes helps you to realize nothing's gone right in your life. The meds aren't that helpful, it's hard to feel half full, when all you feel's anger and spite.

At the age of 15, Addie first tries some of their father's drugs- He told them it'd make them numb, and they wanted nothing more than to feel empty for once, instead of the constant waves of far too much emotion they had been plagued with due to him. It backfires horribly, and they simply end up thinking unendingly about how horrifically wrong their life has gone. This leads to an uncontrollable rage, in which they physically attack their father for lying to them about the drugs- Which only made it all worse.

I thought you knew I knew 'bout why I want to die and say goodbye- I wanted you to know, I thought you knew but why, and by, and why

This line is Mind and Soul, telling Heart, as he starts to realize just why their father was banned from their life- That they had lashed out because they thought he knew. In their strange, messed up way, this was an apology.

Fine, I'll play us the happy version.

This is Heart, finally explaining what he THOUGHT their father had done to get barred.

Free from sadness and perversion.

Heart did not know of the sadness and perversion- Only of the alcohol and drug use. He thought their father was banned for being an addict. In this line, he is beginning to have flashbacks of the truth.

Eyes be blocked from devastation

This line references the fact that, whilst the abuse was happening, Heart was always sheltered. He was barred from being in control in these moments due to an instinctual knowledge he would be unable to keep still and cope with it, which would get them severely beaten and possibly killed.

All to see is self-elation

This is a flashback of one of the things Mind accused Heart of during the big fight— Of being prideful, and thinking he knew better, to go against them to see their father.

Birds and bees and television

Another deeply dark thing. They were forced, by their father, to watch NSFW content from a very young age- Content they were too young to even recognize.

Cardboard boxes, x-ray vision

Sometimes, Addie would hide in boxes or furniture when their father would come home drunk and angrily. X-Ray vision, is unfortunately referring to the way he would stare at them in a perverted way— As if trying to see through their clothes.

You don't want to see the truth, what's convenient will do

Another flashback to things Mind screamed at Heart, thinking he was just in denial/justifying things to himself.

Telephones and silly games

Mind's view of what Heart was doing, being on the phone with their father- As their conversations were extremely lighthearted and chill.

Periods and lots and lots of question marks

... A lot of things regarding their body were NOT explained— The abuse stopped around the time they first started getting periods.

So..... Yeah. That's the end of the explination.

KEEP IN MIND— This is an AU, and the character themselves is a person with DID. Extreme childhood abuse is kind of required to have said disorder- I say that as someone who went through ritualistic CSA abuse, which led to me being a system myself. This is not a glorification, making light, or joking around about these issues—

Jokes actually should not be made regarding this section of the backstory. It's most likely the most serious post I'll ever make. But, as I play these characters frequently online... It is a necessary backstory post. Here's to hoping I don't get banned for fictional writing about a topic I myself have dealt with!

[sukirichi]

— falling out of love with gojo satoru

warnings: angst, mentions of sexual content, cursing

masterlist !

when you fell in love with gojo satoru, your heart exploded like a firework.

you still remember that moment very vividly at the back of your head. it was new year’s, and you two were drunk on both liquor and the feeling of having the other by your side. it was a tough year – as the norm was for jujutsu sorcerers – but you both made it out alive.

alive couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt that day.

satoru has always been the person who stuck by your side through thick and thin like how you were the one who always went against the higher-ups when they tried to limit his capabilities. you should’ve known then, that the higher ups were just the beginning. that when once you thought their oppression for satoru’s plans were nothing but microscopical compared to the barrier his family had placed between the both of you.

they didn’t like you.

he was a gojo, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, while you were...well, you.

you weren’t really anyone special or better than anyone. your technique was decent and had a lot more drawbacks than advantages that you had to improve your physical abilities instead to not be deemed a total useless tool.

satoru never saw you that way. to him, he admired you almost as equally as he cherished his best friend, suguru, so much so that the three of you become the best of friends in the blink of an eye. the more time you spent together, whether alone or with others, it felt like your world just hyper focused or snapped into tunnel vision, zeroing on no one else but the white-haired man whose smile was brighter than any other in the sky.

when he told you he loved you, you couldn’t distinguish which ones were the exploding new year fireworks or the drumming of your heart. you stared up at him then, lips falling open as you released a tiny breath of air, and satoru laughed. he actually laughed.

you wanted to tease him, to punch him even though you couldn’t really ever touch him just to get over the fact he had you losing your composure with eyes glossing over. “well,” he taunted then, one shoulder lifting up lazily. “aren’t you gonna say anything? if you feel the same way, now’s the best time to tell me. we can end the year as friends and start another one as-”

satoru never got to finish his sentence. you had jumped into his arms faster than the speed of light, hands yanking down his yukata to pull him towards you, your lips slamming on his almost greedily.

he didn’t mind. he never did.

for once, it felt as if his infinity never existed. you had both spent the night tangled under the sheets, your name rasped from his lips like a prayer. the way you kneeled for him just moments later with your eyes fervently closed made him feel like he’s the one being worshipped instead, and in a way, it was. you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt the day after when he never gave you a break and kept you pulled closer to him.

you loved him – way too much that you no longer cared how much it would hurt if ever the time came that you no longer felt the same.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly. your shared apartment would still be filled with his annoying mannerism of dragging his feet over the floor as he walked, always groaning and complaining that he was hungry but never really bothered to cook anything for himself.

it felt a lot like living with a child where you were his mother, but in that sense, satoru hated it whenever you worried for him.

“you’re not my mother, stop telling me what to do!”

“stop being so arrogant, satoru!” you pointed to the barely conscious child in his arms, the first year student still barely breathing because satoru had gone out of his way again and brought yuuji while he fought a special grade curse. “you may be strong, but not everyone around you is capable of handling what you can! stop dragging people into your mess and start using your goddamn brain for once!”

“you don’t know anything, so shut the hell up.”

you scoffed, hands placed on your hip while you blinked back the angry tears that threatened to fell. you worried for yuuji, you really did, but in reality, you just couldn’t handle seeing gojo pushing himself to his limits and coming back home more wounded than the night before.

“i’m just worried for you, satoru. i don’t want you getting hurt.”

“i’m the strongest,” was all he said – was what he always kept saying. “i’m not going to get hurt.”

“you may not,” you reply stiffly, “but what about me? don’t you think about me? don’t you think about how much it hurts me to see you this way?”

you told yourself you hated him. you hated how arrogant he got. it was good he was confident of his abilities and prided himself of such an honourable title, but satoru was human. he was bound to fall at some point.

eventually, you got too tired.

it was too tiring to keep waiting for him to come home unscathed. you were assigned different missions all the time. satoru would always be working overseas while you mostly helped train the kids and exorcised curses from time to time; no missions that were as dangerous as his.

in the dead of the night, when you were turned away from him in your bed that had already gotten so cold from his usual absence, satoru would slip beside you as silently as he could. the morning afterwards would always be the same: good morning, did you sleep well? he knew the answer. he knew you never slept well without him, but he’d ask just to be nice, and it wouldn’t take too long before you’re both late to work because he missed you too much from being away all the time that he wanted to feel you clamp around him one more time.

it was tiring. too tiring.

that heavy weight never left your shoulders. you cried yourself to sleep far too much that you’d lost count – until you reached a point you just felt nothing. the bed no longer felt cold – just empty. his side always remained untouched, his chair in the dining table barely used, and you’ve gotten so used of washing only your plate and utensils that you wondered if satoru had ever been there.

you wondered if it was a coping mechanism; that maybe you could just no longer handle the pain of having to worry about him every damn night and he’d never care enough to at least be a little more careful, and this was why you just stopped missing him, which was why you just started enjoying the silence in your apartment a little bit more than you should.

but if it was a coping mechanism...why did you feel a lot freer and happier in his absence? instead of it feeling like you were supposed to be distracted, you felt awakened. alive.

alive in the same way he told you he loved you while the skies painted different hues of red, blue, green, and yellow in the darkness that bore witness to your souls connecting that night – the same sky that was now patiently watching as your souls split in half and formed itself whole all over again.

contrary to how you fell for him, you fell out of love with your best friend quietly.

there was no longer someone singing made up songs in the shower. there would no longer be that sound of an annoying loud kiss down the bride of your neck or the smacking of his palm on your ass when he wanted to piss you off.

you fell out of love him so silently that when he crawled next to you that night, you didn’t even hear him. and for the first time in a long time, you slept well the moment he left before the sun stretched its wings across the horizon. when you were greeted by nothing but your own pair of slippers outside your bedroom and not even a post it note to tell you he’d already left for work, a smile tugged on your face.

you made your breakfast in peace. satoru no longer dared to come back home if he was injured because he knew you wouldn’t care enough to fix him up.

although of course you would, but nothing ever beats in your heart for him anymore when you dab the disinfectant across his cut lips. satoru would catch your wrist then to tug you to him slowly, empty eyes staring back at his sky blue ones.

“thank you. for patching me up.”

“you’re welcome,” you’d smile, climbing off his lap while closing the first aid-kit. “go get changed. i’ll cook something up for you.”

it was a silent, empty routine. satoru would thank you for fixing him up because he was never every sorry for worrying you. he’d keep being reckless again and again until he reached a point you no longer cared for him enough to say goodbye to him with a kiss and the slow, tender promise of be safe – i’ll wait for you to come home.

you still kiss him – more out of habit than anything – but you’ve changed.

i’ll see you tonight.

it was empty, silent, completely different from the fireworks he’d ignited within you when he told you he loved you. satoru wasn’t dumb, and he didn’t need his six eyes to see that you’ve grown too comfortable over the large space between you and him between the sofa, almost as if him being away was what felt home for you.

he was never a confrontational man; he hated each waking moment that lead to this, but he had to do it. he needed to do it – to set you both free.

when the commercials started playing, satoru lowered the volume down, voice low and serious as he turned to you. you easily picked up on the sudden tension in the room – the first thing you’ve felt ever since you’ve fallen out of love with him – yet nothing changed. when satoru sighed, your heart didn’t ache.

“well,” he chuckled nervously as he leant back to his side, “things have changed, don’t you think?”

“yes.” there was no point denying it. you knew it – he felt it.

“what do we do now?”

you had no answer to his question. despite the fact you no longer looked at him the same way, not once had it crossed your mind to leave your apartment. not because you wanted to hold on as much as possible to whatever memories you shared under this roof, but simply because you didn’t know where else to go.

it wasn’t like it made a difference anyway. satoru barely came home, and when he did, he made his presence as scarce as possible that you could no longer tell what difference it would make if he was here or not.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, knees hugged to your chest. “what do you want to do?”

his answer came in the form of opened doors. you leant against the doorframe, watching as nanami and even yuuji came to help satoru move his stuff out of the apartment. he found a better place somewhere in the upstate, somewhere much closer to bars and clubs – which you know he thoroughly enjoyed it prior to meeting you – and your mind immediately went back to the time you and satoru first moved in.

it proved to be a difficult task. you both wanted to move in and finish unpacking as soon as possible, but satoru was too eager to christen each part and corner of the house that you both ended up making more mess.

nights spent tucked into each other because the heater was broken and you were both too tired to sleep anywhere except the uncomfortable mattress played like a broken record in your mind. satoru’s laughter echoed when nanami complained that he should stop spending money on souvenirs so he could’ve hired professionals to help him move out instead, your head snapping up at the source of that carefree, sweet laugher that always had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

as if feeling your gaze on him, satoru’s eyes flitted to where you stood. when he smiled, you could tell each genuine apology rang behind it – all the words he never got to say staying like a broken glass that kept cutting him over and over again.

he loved you. he still loves you.

and maybe, tucked away in the deepest parts of your heart that no longer felt fond of him the same way it did before, still held a little compassion enough for this man you once wanted to spend your life with.

you weren’t unkind. you didn’t need to love someone to know when to forgive them, but just for this moment, just for him, you could pretend to for one last time.

smiling up at him with your eyes crinkled and the last bits of adoration for everything about him gleamed through your lashes just before it slipped away into nothingness. it was enough. it was enough for satoru to know he’d been forgiven, and it was enough for him to finally set you free.

the next time you saw him at school, there were no longer fireworks.

your heart was at peace.

[prelovednikaidou]

corrupt; draken, ken ryuguji [01]

Summary:

In which you met the man of your past, but he didn't come back to remind you of the bitter break-up. Draken had one thing in mind and it was to never let you leave his side ever again. Distance made the heart grow fonder but he'd rather let you spend the rest of your life hating him if it meant you'd never leave his sight.

"I don't wish you well when you ain't with me, I want you crying."

Warning:

mention of suicide, oral receiving (reader),

a/n: taglist are open up to 10 users! comment '☁️'

Word count: 2.1k

series masterlist

[01: jealousy]

Draken wanted to take you away.

The curves of your spine, flowing down to the slope of your well-rounded bottom flesh, he watched the symmetrical dimple right above your butt - mocking him that those precious intimate spots were no longer his possession to own.

It wasn't only him who shared the same thought; everyone in this crowded room had their eyes glued on you. As if you were holding those guests captive, you felt immense pressure on your feet and thighs, quivered before you wrapped your leg around the shining pole.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Those blinding lights showered your sweating figure in all fairness, the sound of Abel's voice had long dimmed down, it meant that your show was done. It was silent in a minute,

lifting your face - your lips curled into a hunting smile and the room soared with cheers, crumpled money tossed across the stage, but your sense of content was suppressed by the overwhelming tension.

A pair of black pupils were starring at you - pinning you to where you stood. He was among the crowd, all in his glory without care but you. You felt something burst inside your chest, unable to tear your focus from him.

This longing for him is toxic.

Flashes of memories where those sober eyes bore into yours when he pumped his fat cock into your tight cunt until his thick cum over spilled, the same eyes that once shone with so much love but turned cold.

"Dollface!"

A shout from backstage startled you from your daze, another coworker came up and escorted you down, assisting you to take off the painful high heels.

"What's with you?" She threw a curious stare your way.

You still couldn't wrap your mind. He was there. Flesh and soul, presented in front of you. It was a brief eye contact but it was enough. Enough to tell you that he was coming back for you.

It had been years since the two of you chose to split up, making your paths without each other's companion.

"I, I've got to go. I forgot that I locked the windows, my cat's probably waiting for me. He's been out for 3 days so he's starving I think. Y'all can continue without me,"

You stood but your knees turned weak at the sudden arrival of him, standing by the door. A few steps taken back, you lost all rationality to stay calm because your heart thumped loudly.

Standing tall on his 6' ft, athletic and young Draken was nowhere to be seen but replaced - with a mature adult man that induced everything he carried into lust.

The robust body looked incredibly fit, lean, and you could see the strong outlines of his defined chest and abdominal muscles from the black shirt. If it was years ago, those leather jackets wouldn't suit him - he'd look like those up-start wannabe gangsters.

But it was different now. It clung to his broad shoulders perfectly, he wasn't as cheap as those local pranksters. The dark jeans also did little job in hiding his long legs. He was indeed a member of a gang; eerie and cruel - but he had never look this good that you want to fuck.

Draken's presence was enough to brush away every man in the room that you belonged to him. Your little admirers couldn't even look at him in the eyes, let alone make up a fight.

They left with a strong sense of defeat; no wonder you never once accept any confessions, turned out you have such a man waiting.

"Why is he here? This area is off-limits. Only staff is allowed. Naoki, guide him out." You forced yourself to mutter those words, uncaring to look at him with your back facing him.

Naoki sighed, this man literally slipped $750 under the table just to meet you. Those incompetent flies who claimed to love you didn't even spare this much effort. She only signaled him to step in before she whispered to you,

"Remember the guy I told you? The one that booked a whole session for your private room? He's that guy. It's just that he arrived a little early than the arranged meeting but it'll be great if you can build a connection with him."

You glared back, "Then send him back. We still have a week before that, right? I'm tired. I can't keep up with this," You pushed off her hand from your shoulder, began to take off your wig. His eyes were still the same; always undressing you naked.

Naoki could only grit her teeth, the money already landed in her pocket. What if he asked it back? She can't let such a great deal slip so she greeted him,

"She's a bit tired from the recent show. How about we push this to tomorrow? She's got free time on her hand to rest too." At least, this would do, right?

"If I have so much time on my hands, I wouldn't have come a week early. So you guess it yourself." His voice has changed too. It was an octave lower, you immediately rubbed your thighs together before you waved a hand.

"Haaa... leave us, Naoki. But I need you to go to my house. I wasn't joking about what I said earlier."

Naoki hurriedly nodded, clutching to her pocket before her eyes warily darted from Draken to you. Is this a couple feud? She noted in her head that she'd help this guy soon in the future - who doesn't want easy money?

"Okay, I will. Sir...? Err.. hope you have a pleasant chat with Dollface. I will excuse myself then ." The hindrance in Draken's eyes finally left the room, the door closed in a thump and the subtle tension thickened.

He didn't say anything, only leaned his body by the door as he watched you wiped off your makeup. This was his morning view back when you were still wet behind ears about pole dancing. You'd come back at the crack of drawn and he'd already been out to his workshop.

"Dollface."

Stubborn like a little cat, your doe eyes didn't look up from your make-up bag and he could see through your act to be so busy. He loved how feisty you've become after years. It eased his heart that you could chase off those little shit.

"It suits you, [Y/N]. Face so pretty like a doll. Make one's heart itch to keep around. But I wonder why the name sounds so familiar."

"State your business. I'm heading home straight after this so don't expect a lap dance or something."

"Then that's the plan. I'll drive you home, eh?"

That damn 'eh'. He picked up your habit too well that the time he spent with you shaped him into copying your habit. It sounded cute but your heart still couldn't forgive him. Let him suffer a little.

"Don't need to. My boyfriend is great at doing his job. So do me a favor and let me rest quickly, how about that?"

Now, you were looking at him through the mirror. It was just too hard for you to muster yourself to face him directly. Draken didn't seem shaken. He stood straightly, you clenched your thighs tighter.

"Have I ever been quick in everything when I'm with you, [Y/N]?" His towering figure gawked over your smaller frame - casting his shadow over you as his sharp facial features caught your attention.

"Can't remember. Maybe? Because I said it just now almost like a reflex." You replied, not backing down but instead, squaring up to him that your ample breasts brushed against his torso.

His cologne didn't smell like the tacky, cheap body spray he used to own. This one smelled so expensive, alienated your memory of his familiar scent.

"Now you're getting older, your memory is getting rusty, dollface. Should I put on a play and see if you can call anything in mind?" You felt your breath became heavier but he didn't let you lose your focus yet.

Your chin was tugged upwards, the shadow of his cap cast upon his face and you remembered now; it was his eyes. Because he wasn't vocal about his feelings, you could understand everything from his eyes.

"You've grown softer, Draken. I almost threw up listening to you talk like this. What, are you changing jobs now? Don't tell me you went from a gangster to a con artist."

No, you were lying to yourself. Draken didn't change but improved. Change can be something bad but he never did anything that would bring him down. He just got better.

And it was true when the velvety touch on your beating pulse suddenly moved to your lips before he squished your cheeks in his hand.

"Fucking hot as hell but so damn annoying." He laughed, the light from his eyes never return, only replaced by a wicked glint.

He wanted to take you to his place, fuck you in his bed until you couldn't walk properly so he'd have more reasons to keep you at his place. He wanted to swallow you whole and he barely even started but why was it so damn hard to have you?

"Don't dare to think of anything nasty. You might not care about commitment in a relationship, but I do. So take your hands off me, Draken."

"Kenie. It's Kenie for you."

Your lips were so plump and wet, his other arm wrapped around your waist - hoisting you up to his body before he leaned by the dresser.

You shrieked when his scalding hot palm touched your naked back and as he untied the strings of your bra, he smiled at your face as he said,

"Do you think I'm going to believe that, dollface? Do you really think I don't know that this pussy hasn't been fucked well for months? I have eyes across this ward. You don't get to fool me."

Heat rose to your face, your small hands pushed on his shoulders, "You're still up in my business? Sounds like someone can't fucking move on."

He nodded, ripping off your lacey bralette and his big hands began to palm your heavy breast - carelessly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. You fought the urge to moan, you hold onto his shoulder for dear strength.

"You're right. I can't move on." Your breath hitched, he nuzzled his face to the column of your neck, inhaling so deep, and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. He missed you so much. So much that if you ran away again, he'd just kill himself.

"I fucked my fist thinking of you. I got this hard just by thinking of you. I'm not ashamed of it."

"That's your problem, Draken. I'm not you. I'm living my best life right now, and sorry that I can still cum just with my fingers."

"That's my girl," He pushed you until your back met the concrete wall, your eyes widened when he took off his cap and put it on you before he dropped to his knees.

"I am aware of your appetite, [Y/N]. You won't be happy with such a small meal. You always keep coming back to have your tight pussy stuffed. Even when we were living together, you couldn't stop begging my dick every night."

"What the hell are you talking about-" You pushed his forehead away from your private part, one hand covering your pussy but he gripped the side of your hips - bringing you straight to his mouth.

"I don't care if you use me as your favorite Cherry Twins. But don't deny that I made you cummed the hardest when I was in your life, dollface."

Your eyes became misty, his words just flew through your head - empty when his mouth latched on your clothed crotch, lapping on the small fabric that the nudge of his tongue probed on your budding clit.

Cherry Twins were the name he gave to your vibrators. Since he was always out when you were at home, he'd make you use them to your greedy cunt - even made a video call so he could jerk off in the public restroom.

You were wild, but he taught you to live even wilder.

Next page: chapter [02] →

a/n : next chapter is full smut bcs thats the only thing my brain's capable of. Taglist are open up to 10 users! Comment '☁️’.

Taglist: @hanmascult @q-the-rockaholic @hikkarins

[simpforhoon]

just you. (p.js) *ೃ༄

pairing: soft dom! jay × female reader

genre: smut, fluff, soulmate au! kind of angsty it has a happy ending I swear (praise, making out, protected sex, oral (f-receiving)).

summary: in a world where everyone gets the name of their soulmate tattooed on their wrists when they turn 18, finding out your best friend is your soulmate was not how you planned your 18th birthday to go. now, what’s so bad about that you might ask? you see, jay despises the thought of soulmates. but maybe he doesn’t despise them so much when it comes to you.

please note, this work is purely that of fiction. and not meant to represent what the enhypen members are like in real life.

A/N: guys no why am I so soft,, anyway I’ve been wanting to write this for a while now, so I hope you enjoy!! and I'm reposting this now, as this didnt get a lot of notes on my old account cause of all the reporting and stuff!

word count: 3.4k

warnings: mentions of heartbreak, crying, mentions of food.

1 week ago

you bit your nails as you paced up and down your room, a nervous habit you’d picked up in your junior year of high school whilst dealing with the tremendous stress and pressure school put on you. well lucky for you, you had graduated now and your 18th birthday was just around the corner. specifically, exactly a week from now.

your best friend jay sat on your bed staring at you with amusement written all over his face as he quietly observed you, before moving up to stop you and pull your hands away from your face. “you’re going to wear yourself out” he mumbled softly, pulling you to sit next to him and rubbing your shoulder in a comforting manner.

“I know I know, I’m just nervous, what if they’re all the way on the other side of the world? or even worse, what if they’re someone I know??” the panicked expression on your face was seemingly too much for jay to handle as before you knew it, he had almost rolled off your bed, laughing his ass off at you.

you see, your “dearest” best friend jay never believed in soulmates. he himself never actually got a name on his wrist, a sign that his soulmate had not reached the age to get theirs. to say he was ecstatic would be an understatement as he was at a party that very night, hooking up with a random girl before going over to your house the next morning with a massive hangover and a sullen expression.

it hurt you to see him that way, hooking up with random people, praying that he wouldnt run into his soulmate. and it hurt even more when you thought of how his soulmate was probably so excited to meet him even if they didn’t know him yet.

if only you knew where you would be a week later, wishing it was you who never met him.

present day

the time on your phone read 11:57, and jay had shown up to your house at exactly 11:30, punctual as always, giving up his usual saturday night parties to spend the night before your special day with you instead. he held your hand in his, one thumb running up and down the expanse of your knuckles soothingly, the only thing grounding you in the tense moments before what was basically the biggest moment of your life. your eyes never met his once, only flickering from the clock to your wrist every few seconds, almost as if it would appear before time if you stared long enough.

12:00 a.m.

it was almost as if everything stopped in that moment as the words appeared on your skin. the crickets stopped chirping, that one car alarm outsode your house stopped beeping and both you and Jay stopped breathing, even if it was just for a few seconds. one by one, letter by letter, black ink slowly trailed up the soft skin on your clean wrist, marking your skin for the rest of eternity. you watched with bated breath as tbe letters curved their way into your skin, into your soul.

“P-A-R-K” looks like your soulmate would have the same last name as your best friend. “J-O-N-” that was when the realisation of what was about to happen dawned upon you. “no, no, no, no” was all you could think. “this wasn’t supposed to happen”

meeting jay’s eyes for a split second, you could see the shock on his face, the same shock you knew was written all over your face at that very moment. yanking your hand out of his warmer one, you stared at the 2 words displayed on your wrist. “park jongseong” you whispered as a one lone tear ran down your cheek, falling to you chin before disappearing into the soft material of your sweater.

this prompted jay to push up his own sleeve, the words that seem to have appeared on his wrist confirmed what you both already knew by that point. jay park, your best friend since you were 5, your rock, your everything, was your soulmate. if the situation were anything but this, you would have been jumping for joy, ecstatic that your soulmate was the man you’d grown up with your whole life. but unfortunately, that was not the case.

“_______” he whispered, voice hoarse as he held your hand in his again. gripping it tightly this time so you wouldn’t be able to let go this time. not that you wanted to anyway. “jay” you whispered back, attempting to smile at him, despite the tears that were threatening to overflow at any moment. “I-I need time to think” he said, so softly, his eyes full of nothing but remorse. “I understand jay, take your time, don’t rush okay?” you replied, squeezing his hand in reassurance. he wistfully smiled at you one last time as he pushed himself off your bed and walked out of your bedroom, closing the door with a small ‘click’, leaving you alone in the darkness of your room, mind racing and wondering what were you were going to do with this newfound information.

you fell asleep after much tossing and turning, your mind full of nothing but jay and his name that was now tattooed into the inside of your wrist. you were woken up by the bright smile of your parents, you mother holding a plate of pancakes and wishing you a happy birthday. the sight alone was enough to make you burst into tears as you wrapped your arms around her, seeking her familiar scent and comfort after the rough night you had. your parents seemed shocked, but did not press you to open up, wrapping their arms around you as they attempted to comfort you.

your mom was no foolish woman, as she seems to have caught on to what was bothering you on your special day. “its about your soulmate isn’t it?” she asked as she placed a glass of your favourite chocolate smoothie in front of you, wiping her hands on her apron. you looked up at her, disbelief written all over your face as she chuckled at you. “how did you know?” you asked as she smiled slyly at you. “I have my ways, and besides, I’m your mother” she replied with a wink. you groaned, dramatically resting your head on the counter as she laughed and gave in. “I saw jay walk out of your room last night with tears streaming down his face, and considering you woke up crying too, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what went down there”.

“you should talk it out with him sweetie, he’s not just your soulmate, he’s your best friend. despite how he feels about this whole fate thing, I’m sure the both of you will be okay.” her words reassured you as you grabbed your backpack, and walked through your front door. not even 2 minutes later you heard the biggest scream and you were tackled into a hug. giggling, you wrapped your arms around the taller boy as he squeezed you tightly. “happy birthday ______!” he said as he let go of you and continued your walk to school. “thanks sunoo” you said, smiling at the younger boy who had the biggest grin on his face.

“soooooo” he began, looking at you with an expectant expression on his face. you pursed your lips, already predicting the question that was due to escape his mouth any second from now. “jay” you said, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth. “JAY?!?!!?” he said, a little too loudly, mouth agape as he processed the information. you shrugged as he linked his arm with yours, understanding that you didnt want to talk about it.

luckily, no one pressed you about your soulmate for the rest of the day, warded off by sunoo’s glare the moment they looked like they were going to ask. you sat next to jay in all your classes, the atmosphere tense and awkward between the two of you. everyone seemed to have figured our what happened by that alone, your normally boisterous voices muted and soft. you went out after school with sunoo and riki, your mood heightened by the laughs and jokes of the two bickering boys.

when you got home, the house was eerily quiet, your parents nowhere in sight, all the lights turned off save the one in your living room. and there on the sleek grey sofa sat Jay, looking down at his hands as he anxiously played around with the rings he always wore. your footsteps alerted him of your presence, as he shot up off your sofa to greet you with a crooked smile on his face, black hair sticking up in every direction.

you smiled at him, already preparing yourself for the worst, as he walked towards you. “your parents have gone out, they handed me the keys and told me to come and talk to you if I wanted, and-” he cut himself off in the middle of his sentence, taking a deep breath and holding your hand. here goes nothing he thought. “I want to try. this whole soulmate thing I mean. maybe i wouldnt be this way if it was anyone else, but it’s you, my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.” he mumbled out the last part, but it was still clear enough for you to hear. you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face at his words, his own face breaking out into a grin at your expression. you reached up on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands went around your waist.

he buried his face in your hair, your soft vanilla scent calming his racing heart, and that was when he realised how much you really meant to him. he loved when you would always being him snacks after soccer practice, he loved when you let him lay his head on your lap and you ran your hands through his hair, he loved seeing the expressions you made when you ate his food, he loved you.

“I made something for you” he said, pulling away from your embrace, leading you to your kitchen and making you sit down on the counter. he grabbed a plate of your favourite pasta and a fork before lifting up a mouthful and holding it out to feed it to you. you smiled, wrapping your lips around the fork as the flavours exploded in your mouth. “oh my gosh, this is good, you’ve really outdone yourself.” he smiled at the complement before pressing a kiss to your cheek and muttering a little “happy birthday love”, leaving your face feeling hot and an uncontrollable smile on your face.

the rest of the evening went by in hin feeding you food and taking a few notes of it himself, lots of little cheek kisses, before the two of you settled down on the couch to watch a movie. it seemed like jay had gotten over his awkwardness as he pulled you to sit between his legs the moment the movie started. you looked back at him in shock, wondering when he got so bold before he pressed a kiss to your lips and told you to focus on the screen.

it might not have been the perfect first kiss, but it was with jay and that was enough. he played with your hair throughout the movie, and moved it aside at one point, pressing little kisses along the expanse of your neck. it was when he landed his lips on one particular spot that you let out a little noise, one you never even knew you could make that made him sit up a little straighter.

it was almost as if a switch flipped within him as he tightened his grip around your waist, one hand slipping up your hoodie to caress the skin near your waist. “I didn’t know you could make such pretty noises baby” he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “well i didn’t know i could either” you whispered back, the realisation of what was about to happen making your body feel like it was on fire.

“are you sure you want this? we don’t have to do anything you dont want to sweetheart” he said, pulling away with a kiss to your cheek. you shifted so that you were facing him, legs wrapped around his waist and you reached your hands up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure jay, theres no one I’d rather do this with than you.” that was all the affirmation he needed, as within seconds you were being dragged to your bedroom by an overexcited jay.

he pressed you up against your room door, hands coming up to lift your thighs and wrap them around his waist, your core meeting his very obvious bulge. taking advantage of the gasp that left you, he allowed his tongue to skip into your mouth, taking control of every aspect of the kiss. pulling away, he brought you to your bed, gently letting you down onto the mattress, and reaching up to pull your hoodie off you.

“so beautiful” he whispered as he reached behind you to pull your bra off, before lifting his own arms to pull his own shirt off, leaving his body on display for you. just for you. he reached down to tug one of your nipples into his mouth, gently sucking and wrapping his tongue around the sensitive bud, his actions leaving your mouth open in a silent moan.

within minutes, both of you were left completely naked as jay continued to trail his lips down your body, pressing little kisses to your inner thigh before his mouth finally met your core, the smallest motion of his lips leaving you breathless and squirming. “stay still sweetheart, good girls don’t move around so much”. his words sent vibrations spreading throughout your body, not doing anything to help with the heat that was coursing through your veins.

his tongue delved in and out of your dripping hole, one of his hands rubbing your clit while the other held your legs open for him. “jay- i- I’m gonna-” but he was gone the moment the words fell from your mouth. and he was a sight to see. your juices mixed with his, drool and spit dripped down his chin, as he ran his tongue over his lips with a smirk on his face.

“oh so the baby wants to cum? don’t worry love, I’m going to make you feel so good”. he reached into his jacket and pulled out a condom before rolling it on and lining himself I with your entrance. he grasped your chin gently, pulling you up to look at him and planting a loving kiss on your lips. “I love you so much sweetheart, so so much” he whispered, pulling away from your lips. “I love you too jay” you said back, watching as he smiled once, before intertwining your hands and then, pushing himself into you.

nothing had ever felt as good in that moment as he gently, softly pushed himself inside. the feeling was euphoric, having your soulmate inside you in such an intimate manner. your bodies moulding together perfectly, bursts of colour lighting up the back of your eyelids as your eyes closed at the feeling of him in you. he began thrusting in and out of you slowly, not wanting to hurt you. but at your signal, he began moving faster, groans and moans escaping both your lips, finding pleasure and love in each other.

it didn’t take long for you to reach your high at all, his length hitting you in all the right places, leading you to ride out your high much faster than you expected, jay following soon after. he finished inside the condom, reaching out to pull it off and throw it away, before walking to your bathroom and grabbing a wet cloth to clean you up with.

he was greeted with the sight of your tired smile as he returned, gently cleaning you before tossing the rag and gathering you up in his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “does this mean you’re mine now?” he asked, reaching down to bury his head in your hair, his hands absent-mindedly tracing shapes and figures on your bare shoulder. “it does if it means you’re mine too”. he smiled at your response, pulling the blanket over the two of you as you drifted off to sleep in the arms of the one person who would stay with you forever.

thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed and I hope you drank enough water today! ♡♡♡

[aressss1]

I’m Yours

(Technoblade x Reader)

Request:  Alright I have a request, so like monarch techno is pretty cool but what if he had a royal guard and asked them to taste test the food and it practically turned into a date because he just keeps feeding them.

A/N: I had a hard time writing this one, but I hope you like it all the same!

~~~~~~

You did your duty, protecting your lord, the King of the Nether… The one and only Blood God. He didn’t need you by a long shot, he could protect himself, but he chose you as his head knight, his bodyguard. You had come to accept that you would probably just serve as a meat shield to him when the time came and nothing more. This was one of his sleepless nights, and you had to stay by his side. Being head knight meant more responsibilities… And very little sleep.

 You stood by the door of the dining hall, as your king waited for his food. Parts of the blackstone floor were shining red from the light the windows let in. That light shone over the king, as he seemed to be in thought. He held his chin in his hand as he stared off into space. Nights like these weren’t too bad, the King was always quiet… Always in his own head… He intrigued you.

Well… He did more than intrigue you… You spent many overworld moons pining after the hybrid King. He treated you like a dear friend, speaking to you as an ally not as a servant. But that could always be your mind playing tricks on you. So… You settled for servant, ready to lay your life down for him always.

 You tensed, your hand on the hilt of your sword as the doors opened revealing a maid with a silver platter in her hands. Her heels clacked on the blackstone, as she made her way over to the king. Setting the platter in front of him. She curtsied, a blush forming on her face. She was one of the new maids of the castle. His bored eyes settled on her as he waved her off, dismissing her.

 You kept your eyes forward as she left. The sound of her heels receding into the depths of the castle. The king looked at the dome that covered the food on the platter and he removed it, revealing his steaming hot supper. Your body straightened as he called your name.

 “Will you please test this for me?” His golden eyes sought you out and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. “You never know when someone… wants to poison the king.” So… you were now… a taste tester?

 “My lord?” You were confused. “Isn’t that the chef’s job?” You questioned. Oh, to be reduced to nothing more than a… poison detector…

 “I don’t see him out here.” The king kept his eyes on you, as he waved you over.

 “At your command… Sire.” Your words were almost bitter. You wanted to lay your life down for him but dying to poison was not an honorable way to die for your king… Making your way to the table he motions for you to sit down, and you do. He sat at the head of the long dining room table and you sat at his right side. You lean forward, grabbing his utensils, you start carving off a piece of the steak that lay on the platter. You take your bite of his steak, feeling his eyes watching you. You swallow, enjoying the taste. Nothing seemed amiss, so you put his utensils down next to the plate.

 “What about the rest of the meal?” His words were soft, as he motioned toward the bread, the potatoes, and the carrots on his plate. “Can’t afford to have the King die now, can we?” You deadpanned, was he… taunting you? You weren’t sure you appreciated that… You looked down at the seemingly harmless food in front of the both of you.

 “No, my lord…” You grumbled taking his fork in hand once again. Stabbing the fork into the carrot, the king’s eyes stayed on you as you raised the carrot to your mouth, you were starting to feel self-conscious… But this was for the safety of the king, it was your duty to protect him. When you had tasted everything that was left on his plate you pushed the plate back to him, standing up from your chair.

 “Did I dismiss you?” Your king's voice rang out in the dining hall and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You had heard that tone of voice from him before and while you were glad it was never directed at you, well… before now… Why in the hell were you so aroused when it was??? You shook your head sitting back down in your chair slowly. He rang a bell signaling the maid from before, asking her to bring another platter of food. He watches her leave before his eyes slide over to you.

 “Now…” His eyes settled on you, almost in a demanding way. “Since it seems that you do not like the food that I have to offer you… I’ll let you off easy. Your punishment shall be you finishing that plate of food since you don’t seem to like it.” You looked up at him quizzically, questioning him. His cheeks burned a deep red, and you let out a laugh, falling back in your chair.

 “Forgive me my lord but… Did you plan this?” The way the King looked away told you, yes… This was exactly what he was trying for. He was silent for a few seconds, his eyes eventually meeting yours.

 “…It’s been on my mind for a while… I just… couldn’t find the time to ask you. I couldn’t get you alone to ask you…” The king looked away, embarrassed. “Being king is busy enough, but you’re always workin’ on ways to protect the castle, I chose you for that reason… You are an amazin’ fighter, fightin’ by your side has and always will be a pleasure.” Your heart pounded, and butterflies made their rounds in your stomach.

 “You couldn’t have just requested an audience with me?” Techno shook his head, as he leaned up onto the table, his eyes leveling with yours.

 “Too many pryin’ eyes.” He looked down at his hands. “The… voices quiet down when I’m with you…” His cheeks burned as he took to studying his hands too closely, long nails tapping at the mahogany table. “I feel at peace with you.” The voices… He told you about his voices, made you swore not to tell anyone, for only you and Phil knew about them. It could be used as a weakness against the Nether King. You felt honored that he would even tell you.

 “My lord?” You bent forward trying to catch his eyes.

 “It is a knight’s duty to die for their king…” He didn’t meet your gaze, “I don’t want that for you.” Heartrate rising, you grip the arms of the chair you sat in. “The king isn’t supposed to want to die for the knight should the time ever rise...” It seemed like Techno had a lot of inner turmoil he was working through. “I don’t want to lose you.”

 With that, Techno stood abruptly, the chair letting out a groan against the blackstone flooring as he stands, he quickly kneels in front of you, just like you knelt in front of him when you were knighted. His pink hair and red cape pooling around him as he bows his head to you. You… were stunned. How were you supposed to react to this? Gods forbid anyone see this right now.

 “I may be a king, but that doesn’t mean anythin’, not when it comes to provin’ my worth to you.” Techno let out a shaky breath. “I pledge myself to you, mind, body and soul… If you’ll have me?” His eyes flit to your sword that hung on your hip. “Strike me down if I am unworthy.” You swore you could melt at this scene.

 “Techno…” The word felt strange on your tongue, you had never called him by his name before, well, not to his face anyway. Your hands slowly make their way to his face, the pads of your fingers swiping over his scarred face, as you lift his chin to look in his eyes. Without a word, you lean forward in your chair, the creak of the wood echoing out through the room as you did so. You pressed your lips to his, letting out a soft groan. This felt amazing, like the two of you were made for each other.

 You went forward off of the chair, your knees hitting the floor as you pressed yourself deeper into him and his kiss, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, the size of his body enveloping you. Tangling your fingers into his hair you felt tears springing forth. This man, who had pulled you out of battles to heal you with the finest potions, who treated you as an equal rather than a peasant, really thought he was unworthy of you. Your head spun at the thought.

 You pulled back for air, leaning your forehead against his. Eyes locked as the two of you regained your breath, your fingers still entangled in his locks. You loved the way his hands felt as they glided over your form. You were sure it would feel better once your armor was off, but for now this would have to do.

 “Be mine?” Techno looked for confirmation, and when you nodded his grip tightened on you. “Even with a whole kingdom to take care of?”

 “I’m yours,” You whispered it in his ear as you rested your head on his chest, taking in his scent. He was everything you wanted and more. The door of the dining hall opened once more and that was when the two of you split from each other standing from your position on the floor. The maid from before, taking note of both your hands intertwined in the others. The both of you were nothing but shy smiles as you moved your seat closer to his and you both ate the meal in front of you. Random conversation playing in the wind.

 There were preparations to be made. Changes to be had, but that was fine, just as long as you stood by your king… Technoblade.