#sleepless in snowy night

[pupkashi]

satoru loves yapping [to you]

satoru was always chatty, shoko could definitely attest to that statement, subjected to too many conversations she definitely did not care about.

“isn’t it hotter than usual? i swear last year it was colder around this time of year-” he began, continuing to talk as shoko tried to focus instead on healing an injured itadori in front of her.

it seemed that his chatty characteristic only amplified when you were around, his eyes would visibly brighten, practically gleaming when you appeared in his eyesight.

“sweetheart! how are you? staying cold in this heat?” you can help but smile at him, walking straight into his already outstretched arms and squeezing his waist a bit, pressing a soft peck to his cheek before pulling away.

“heat? it feels so good out today!” you sigh happily, waving yellow to shoko and itadori, “it is hotter than last year though I’ll tell you that,” satoru grins at your words, turning to shoko with a flint in his eyes before turning back to you.

“that’s what I said! global warming is getting too severe-” the two of you walking out hand in hand, the taller man still talking as you listened intently.

satoru never felt the need to be quiet around you, always finding things to talk about no matter the task or the hour.

“and so you would think that since they were doing so bad they would think of making changes right?” you nod along, humming so he knows you’re listening, “but no! they keep going with same stupid strategy and it’s so frustrating as a fan to see, i just want him to achieve his dreams,” he sighs sadly.

“can you pass the salt?” you ask, taking it from his much larger hand, thanking him before speaking up again, “why does he keep resigning if they always treat him so poorly?” you ask, satoru smiles, heart warming at the fact that you really do pay attention to him.

“he’s always wanted to win with Ferrari- let me take you back to the beginning” he begins, giving you a summary of charles leclerc’s life as you finish cooking dinner.

you could always tell when he got a bit insecure of how talkative he was, but you’d always smile at him, urging him to go on. “and then what? why’d you stop talking?” you’d say, making him smile widely before quietly starting again.

“I’m listening, angel boy,” you mumble in between dreams, listening to him talk about how orange juice isn’t the same as it was when he was growing up and how the new game he downloaded was more complicated than it seems.

it could be nearing 2 in the morning but you wouldn’t mind, satoru would be discussing how and why wombats have cube shaped poops and how koalas eat eucalyptus and pandas have half a brain cell they don’t bother to use.

“it has no real nutritional value and that’s why they have to eat so much of it,” he mumbles, eyes drooping as he cuddles closer to you.

“aren’t they made to digest meat?” you whisper, head tucked into the crook of his neck, your breath running a chill down his spine.

“think so, dunno” he mumbles back, breathing evening out before he’s fully asleep.

your eyes open slowly as you crane your neck, his pink lips slightly parted as he takes soft breaths, snowy hair pointing every which way.

you can’t help but smile at your lover.

“goodnight pretty boy” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “my little yapper,” you chuckle to yourself, already looking forward to what he’d talk about tomorrow.

masterlist

a/n: hi friends ! just a quick little something i put together bc i miss satoru so bad lately </3 he’s def a yapper and i want to hear him talk all day and night

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[harryssyndrome]

Snow on the Beach | h.s

summery: the day Harry found the inspiration for his debut album.

Word count: 1.1k || Masterlist 🌊❄️🩵

Posted on: November 16th, 2024

A small cutesy one-shot with pre-hs1 era from my draft🤭 so many more are coming out soon! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The beach stretched out before Harry Styles, quiet and blanketed in snow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this kind of stillness, this freedom. For years, his life had been a whirlwind of cities, stages, and sleepless nights. The demands of One Direction had consumed every moment, leaving little room for simple pleasures—like a walk on a winter beach.

But now, with the band on hiatus and the relentless pace of tours and interviews behind him, Harry had finally allowed himself to breathe. He had driven for hours, away from the chaos of the city, to find this hidden stretch of coastline. Snow on the beach was a rare sight, and something about it felt like poetry waiting to be written.

Clutching a cookie in one hand, Harry wandered along the shore, his boots crunching against the icy sand. He needed this—needed the quiet, the solitude, and maybe, just maybe, a spark of inspiration. His debut album was looming, the weight of it pressing on his chest. It was meant to set the tone for his solo career, the foundation for who he would become beyond the boy band. And yet, the words and melodies refused to come.

Harry trudged along the beach, his coat buttoned up tight, the cold biting at his cheeks. In his hand, he held a half-eaten cookie, savoring its sweetness as he gazed out at the frozen horizon.

He didn’t see the seagull coming.

With a flurry of wings and an indignant squawk, the bird swooped down, snatching the cookie right out of his hand. Harry jumped back with a startled yelp, the audacity of the bird leaving him wide-eyed and breathless.

“Oi!” he shouted, stepping back in surprise as the bird soared off with its prize. He stood there for a moment, wide-eyed and a little shaken, before a burst of laughter reached his ears.

Not far away, a girl sat on a rock, bundled in a scarf and hat. Her laughter rang out, light and melodic, the kind that warmed the coldest winter air. Harry turned to her, his initial indignation fading into something softer as he took her in. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and he couldn’t help but feel a pull in his chest.

She tried to stifle it, raising a gloved hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she called out, her voice still tinged with amusement. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but that was—” She broke off, laughing again.

Harry couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, laugh it up,” he called back, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Clearly, the seagulls here have impeccable taste.”

She tilted her head, feigning seriousness. “You think they prefer cookies to chips?”

“Apparently,” Harry said, walking toward her. “And they have no concept of personal boundaries.”

He reached the rock and hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her. The cold surface seeped through his coat, but he didn’t mind. Up close, he noticed her cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes bright and curious.

“I’m Harry,” he offered, holding out his hand.

“YN,” she replied, shaking it. Her gloves were thick, but her grip was firm.

“So, YN,” Harry began, tilting his head with a smirk. “Do you always make a habit of laughing at strangers, or was I just particularly entertaining today?”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. “It’s not every day you see a man lose a cookie to a seagull. You’ve got to admit, it was kind of funny.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back on his hands. “I suppose it’s one of those ‘laugh so you don’t cry’ moments.”

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the waves lapping softly against the shore. Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noting the way she seemed perfectly at ease, as if she belonged here.

“What brings you to a snowy beach?” she asked suddenly, her voice curious but gentle.

Harry hesitated, unsure how much to say. “I haven’t been to a beach like this in years,” he admitted. “Life’s been… busy. But now I’ve got some time off, and I figured I’d see what I’ve been missing.”

YN nodded, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “And? What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said simply, his gaze drifting to the horizon. “Kind of surreal, though. Snow on the beach—it’s not something you see every day.��

“No, it’s not,” she agreed, her voice soft. “It’s like the world is trying to remind us that even the unexpected can be beautiful.”

Her words struck a chord, and Harry found himself wondering if this moment, this chance encounter, was the kind of inspiration he’d been searching for.

“What about you?” he asked. “What brings you here?”

YN shrugged. “I come here when I need to think. Something about the snow and the sea—it clears my head.”

Harry nodded, understanding more than he could say.

They talked for hours, their conversation flowing effortlessly. They joked about seagulls, shared stories of places they’d been, and speculated on what kind of music snow would make if it could sing. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the beach in hues of gold and pink, Harry felt lighter, as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had lifted.

As the first stars blinked into the evening sky, YN pulled out her phone, glancing at the time. “I should probably head back,” she said reluctantly, standing and brushing the snow from her coat.

Harry stood too, not quite ready to let the moment end. “Wait—let’s exchange numbers,” he said, pulling out his own phone. “You still owe me a cookie, remember?”

YN grinned. “I did say I’d consider it, didn’t I?” But she handed him her number anyway.

He typed it in, then held his phone up. “I’ll text you, just to make sure you didn’t give me a fake one.”

She laughed. “And I’ll respond, just to make sure you’re not a seagull in disguise.”

As they said their goodbyes, Harry felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

“Promise me we’ll see each other again?” he asked, his voice softer now.

YN smiled, her gaze steady. “I promise.”

And as she walked away, her figure disappearing into the snowy twilight, Harry knew this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross.

Sometimes, inspiration came from the most unexpected places. And sometimes, it came with a seagull, a stolen cookie, and a girl named YN.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"DARYL DIXON - MASTERLIST."

Hi! This is my masterlist of all the imagines I wrote here. Thank you so, so much for the love my stories are getting♥ I'll do my best to keep writting good stories for you. - Vi. (They are posted from the last to the first) Hope you like them!

Series:

"Like there was no tomorrow�� Daryl Dixon promised himself, the night he let you go, that he would always love you, like there was no tomorrow. But when you come back into his life, you’re sure you won't fall for him again. However, even against your wishes, he will stay close to you, protecting you from getting hurt or worse, because a life without you is unimaginable. Now, like a roller coaster of emotions, you have to face your confusing feelings in an apocalyptic world, until you finally decide what the hell you expect from life, besides the chance to live one more day: because you two deserve to live as if there was no tomorrow.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

One shots:

“When you finally came back.” After escaping from the saviors, Daryl and you finally meet again to stay together this time. And there, alone, your husband gives you a letter that perhaps expresses a little of what you mean to him. (light smut)

"On a snowy day." On a snowy day, Daryl's daughter tells him about an interesting conversation between you and Aunt Maggie, but Marley ends up spilling the beans to Carol too about her daddy's worst fear.

"Make you happy." Daryl reminisces about the day you two got married, when you found out you were pregnant, and when Marley was born.

"Like gravity." A recap from when you and Daryl met until he said he loved you.

"Karma butterfly." The actions we take produce their corresponding results, good or bad. And that's what happens with Spencer when he decides to play the bad guy against you and Daryl after you two decide to move in together in a house like the married couple you were before the apocalypse.

"A whole new world." For Daryl, it still feels like living in a whole new world with his daughter by his side, but in the hour that he is left alone with Marley, Daryl proves he is the best dad ever.

"The way to heal a heart." When his heart can’t stand the pain of a loss, you discover why Daryl ignored you all those days. But there, you tell your husband the way his heart can heal.

“Russian roulette.” The game of killing or dying was too much for you after Richard was about to use you as bait, so you left to not be part of that life. However, it happens that you have a husband who is an excellent hunter, and who swears to you that he would burn everything in his path until he finds you. (light smut)

"Catching the fox." Jesus only caused problems since you, Daryl and Rick met him during a run, but that doesn’t prevent you all from having a little fun. (Even if you come home empty-handed)

"The truth - Part 1." For the first time in his life, Daryl tells Carol the story of how you two met. "The truth - Part 2." Alone in the place she always loved, Daryl finally tells her the words he always wanted to say to her. Will he finally be able to propose to her?

"For life." Daryl tells his daughter about the day she was born (And she asks him an awkward question)

"My everything." A sleepless night after your and Daryl's baby was born.

"Like a roller coaster.” Marriages always have their ups and downs like a roller coaster. Even in the midst of an apocalypse, Daryl and you play a game until the situation gets a little out of control, but in the end, the only thing you two are sure about is that you have each other to keep living.

"The little spoon." During a night of drinking, you let Maggie, Glenn and Carol know that Daryl likes to be the little spoon.

“In your eyes.” The truth can easily be seen in the eyes of the person you love. That night, Daryl saw in your eyes how much you love him. But the next day after Aiden tried to attack you, Daryl knew who was responsible for the cut on your lip without you saying his name.

“Scars i would live with.” Daryl wonders why you don’t touch his back when you two make love.

[peachiejeongin]

Sleepless Storytimes | Jeongin

Day 5 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: Jeongin cannot sleep on Christmas Eve, so you read him a bedtime story to help him doze off.

Pairing: bf!Jeongin x reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: None!

Notice: Hello, darlings! Welcome to day 5! Enjoy this cozy story, and make sure to go check out the other fictions!

Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the darkened world in a layer of stillness that could have lulled anyone to sleep. Yet, Jeongin was not just anyone - not tonight, at least. He sat curled up against the headboard, his legs tucked under the red-and-white plaid blanket. He had a faint pout plastered upon his lips, which was illuminated by the overhead light of the ceiling-fan.

He traced patterns onto his pajama pants absentmindedly, his fingers moving as if they had no other place to reside. The weariness in his eyes contrasted the playful grin he had beamed all day as he helped decorate the Christmass tree, snuck cookies from the kitchen, and hummed Christmas carols under his breath.

You stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment. He did not notice you; he was too caught up in his silent battle against insomnia.

"Innie?" you called softly, breaking the silence. His head snapped up, his dark, tired eyes meeting yours.

"Oh," he replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Hey." You stepped inside of the room, the wooden floor chilled under your socks; you gently glided to the bed.

"Still can't sleep?"

Jeongin shook his head, his hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked almost younger like this, as if he was a vulnerable, innocent child.

"I don't know why," he admitted, the pout in his voice matching the output of his lips.

"Well, you'll never fall asleep just sitting there," you teased, perching on the edge of the bed. "Scoot over."

"What are you-"

"Just scoot!" you insisted, grabbing a book from the nearby shelf as Jeongin reluctantly made room for you. You slid under the blanket beside him, the warmth immediately seeping into your skin. The two of you fit snugly together, and the faint scent of Jeongin's shampoo drifted towards you; it was fresh and soft, like pine needles dusted with snow.

"What are you doing?" He looked at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"Hopping into bed with you," you responded innocently, cracking open the book. The cover gleamed faintly in the fluorescence: 'The Night Before Christmas.'

"You think a story will help?" Jeongin quirked an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," you retaliated, settling into the covers. "Now, hush. I'm doing this for your sake."

Jeongin huffed, but leaned against you nevertheless, his head resting on your shoulder. As you began to read, your voice soft and steady, his body relaxed bit by bit. The story wove a cozy spell around you both, every word painting vivid pictures of sleigh bells, snowy rooftops, and a quiet household.

At some point, Jeongin had shifted, draping an arm lazily across your lap.

"You're warm," he mumbled, his tone heavy with drowsiness.

"You're clingy," you teased playfully, though you did not pull away. His cheek pressed against your chest as he turned, and your heart stuttered at the feeling of his breath ghosting over your collarbone.

"Not like you care," he murmured, a faint smile washing over his lips.

You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair without thinking. It was softer than it looked, and you could feel the tension melting out of him with every pass. The weight of him against you was comforting, grounding, as if he was anchoring you in this silent moment.

The story continued, your voice filling the silence, but you were not sure he was even listening anymore. His breaths were slower now, his body was slack against yours, and his lashes were resting against his cheeks. His expression was so peaceful, and it made your heart speed up.

"Baby?" you whispered, not wanting to wake him but feeling an urge to check. He hummed in response, his arms tightening slightly around your waist.

"Don't stop reading," he uttered, half-asleep.

"You're already asleep." A soft laugh escaped you.

"Mm-mm," he protested weakly, nuzzling impossibly closer to you. "Almost, though."

It was impossible not to smile as you fixed the comforter overtop the both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. The lights cast a halo around his face, highlighting the soft curve of his lips and the faint flush on his cheeks. You traced an imaginary pattern along his back, marveling at how perfectly he fit there, curled up against you like a missing puzzle piece.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, muffling the world in a peaceful hush. It felt like nothing else mattered - not time, not the place - just the two of you cocooned together in warmth and solitude.

As Jeongin's breathing finally evened out, you leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to his temple.

"Merry Christmas, Innie," you whispered gently, caressing his cheek softly.

His lips curled into the faintest smile, and though he did not reply, the way he held onto you said everything he could not.

You stayed like that for the rest of the night as the comfort of darkness wrapped you both in its embrace. You glanced down at Jeongin once more before you yourself fell into dreamland.

He was silent, perfect, and entirely yours.

[riririnnnn]

I wonder if Rin gets nightmares about that snowy night.

I wonder if he wakes up in the middle of the night all out of breath, sweating, anxious and scared. Does his chest feel tight, almost as if something was crushing it? Does he get afraid to fall asleep again? If yes, then how many sleepless nights he has been through?

What he does in his dream anyway? Does he fights again in hopes of fixing everything again? Or he simple relives everything everytime?

Underneath all those layers, he is just a little kid after all.

He is too young for the kind of pain he is carrying, you know.

It's pretty heavy.

And that's just sad.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 5: Touch-Starved

A Gentleman and A Scholar | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,963 Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Soft Castiel/Dean Winchester, Needy Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Silver Fox Castiel, References to childhood trauma, References to past abuse, Praise Kink, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Smut, Comfort Sex, Comfort No Hurt, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Age Difference, bottom Dean Winchester/top Castiel Summary: As you approach your fifties you expect life to slow down, worries and concerns ebbing as you set out on the next stage of your life. Not for Castiel though. Oh he's settled down for sure, married to a hot twenty-seven-year-old that certainly keeps him young at heart, financially stable and well-respected amongst his peers. However, his husband led a turbulent life before Castiel rescued him, the scars of it showing through in private moments and snowy days. When it comes to Dean Winchester there is nothing Castiel won't do, no thought of flight when it's Dean he's being called to fight for. Not that violence is on the cards today, no. Today Dean doesn't need Castiel to be his knight in shining armour, he needs him to be his lover, his attentive, affectionate, softly dommy husband that enjoys nothing better than having Dean curled up in his lap. Castiel would argue this is how anyone should hope to spend their life, regardless of age.

The Liminal Moment | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,552 Main Tags/Warnings: alternate universe, massage, meet-cute Summary: After he throws out his back, Dean gets sent to a mysterious location...

An Angel Is Passing By | @melancholictearz Rating: General Word Count: 3,412 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Castiel Meets Faith!Dean, Selectively Mute Dean, Deaf Castiel, Guardian Angel Castiel, Comfort, No Angst, Sign Language, Holding Hands, Cuddle for Warmth, Fluff Summary: SILENCE WAS HIS WORLD. THEN CASTIEL REVEALED A NEW ONE. In French, "an angel is passing by" is the literal translation of a saying used as silence sets in after a conversation. The kind of awkward seconds hanging in the air whenever someone speaks to Dean and the words won’t come out of his throat despite how much he wants to be heard. Meeting the angel Castiel doesn’t give him much more faith nor resolve the curse of his mutism either. But for an entire night, locked in a church and on the edge of death, Castiel’s tender eyes make Dean feel like he is listened to. Between them, the world goes quiet in a way Dean never experienced.

The First Language We Speak | @blessyourhondahurley Rating: General Word Count: 4,955 Main Tags/Warnings: alternate universe, autistic castiel, massage, touch-starved castiel, fluff, cheeseburgers Summary: A news article about the importance of touch leads Castiel to realize some uncomfortable things about himself and his life. These realizations lead him to Dean, a masseur, who becomes his friend and then more.

One Light In One Room | @notastupidbird Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,926 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 05, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song (Supernatural), Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Porn with Feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sleep Deprivation, Insomnia, Pining, POV Castiel (Supernatural) Summary: After losing his brother in the showdown at Stull Cemetery, Dean has gone into self-imposed exile. He's plagued by insomnia, and the only way he seems to get any sleep at all is when Castiel puts him out with a single touch. When this still doesn't prove enough to bring Dean any real relief from his grief and sleeplessness, Castiel wonders if what Dean really needs is another type of comfort altogether.

Asterism of an F-Series Ford Pick Up | @disabled-dean Rating: Mature Word Count: 17,408 Main Tags/Warnings: Road trip, case fic, ambiguously set in season 12, ptsd, recovery, hell trauma, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension, touch starved Dean Winchester, touch adverse Dean Winchester, Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is incredibly horny about it, only one truck bed, stargazing, sex dreams, nightmares, mild body horror, implied top!castiel, implied bottom!dean winchester, the truck is a metaphor, Dear God Is The Truck A Metaphor Summary: When you've been to hell, desire is isolating and ugly. Or: Cas drives his truck for a case and Dean is exceptionally horny about it. “Once on a hunt when he was a teenager, Dean had been caught too close to an explosive when it had gone off. There had been the moment when the projectile hit, and the moment when it had detonated. And just before it had, there had also been a moment when he had believed that maybe it wouldn’t. He had thought about that moment for years, over and over again, until something else had taken its place. And the way that that moment was quiet, the way it was still- that is how this feels. To lie beside Cas in the bed of his truck, their shoulders barely touching.”

Profound Kisses | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,729 Main Tags/Warnings: Pining, slow burn, top!Dean/bottom!Castiel, firsts, Destiel kisses, canonverse Summary: Dean knows he's screwed. He discovers he is in love with Castiel in Purgatory, and now he can't even have the angel in front of him, because he knows it's a one sided love. It’s Valentine's day and Dean tries very hard to hook up as always, but he can't get Cas out of his mind. So he drives back to the motel, drunk, and he finds Castiel trying to help him. Then, when Dean asks Castiel for some experimental kisses and the angel accepts, Dean starts a very dangerous game… finding in Castiel's kisses the most delicious experiences, but also, his own perdition. Will Castiel fall in love with him? Or will he stay emotionless as always?

[slowstorms]

the moon had made her journey through the sky with her lover hours before, leaving you to rely on the stars and dim street lamps filtering through your bedroom window to memorize satoru’s sleeping form next to you.

as rare as it is for gojo satoru to sleep much at all, it’s rarer for you to look at him the way you are right now. you’re over half a year into your relationship with him at the present, but he still manages to reduce you to a shy puddle without much effort.

so, your hope this sleepless night is to learn by heart every minuscule yet beautiful detail he’s comprised of.

from his soft, snowy hair to his flawless skin; his pretty eyelashes to the rosy apples of his cheeks. the slight rise and fall of his chest, plush lips slightly parted; the way he falls asleep holding you, but withdraws in his unconscious state.

(you gather that, deep down, satoru does this because he’s still not used to intimate touch – it’s never been something you fault him for, and you’re proud of his progress. still, you can’t help but feel sad that this is something permanently etched into his soul, though it’s nothing you and satoru can’t endure together).

you think of the endearing bedhead he wakes up with, flecks of gold from the early morning sun spattered across his white tufts. you think of how his eyes are the first to greet you when you wake. though the glances he gives you are always matching his outwardly lighthearted personality, there’s an exhaustion that’s hidden deep beneath it all.

seeing how soundly he rests, you send up a prayer hoping that, come morning, at least some of that exhaustion will lift.

the serene look on satoru’s face makes your heart twist in your chest, leaving you almost breathless. you wonder how someone as perfect as him could even exist.

he always looks as if he was created by god’s most talented angels, an aura of elegance and splendor surrounding him even in his not-so-elegant moments, which you believe to be few and far between. even when that look of craze takes over him during a fight; even when he returns home from a gruesome battle, covered in blood and guts; even when he breaks down, letting out feelings and emotions he has to bury in order to carry out his duty effectively – his head pressed to your chest as he cries and cries and cries. even then.

your thoughts wander off now into questions of how it was destined that satoru would end up with you. to touch him, to hold him, to care for him, to worry for him, to give him love, to give him patience, to give him understanding. to simply know him – it’s all nothing short of the most honorable blessing the universe could present you with.

while lost in your reverie, you fail to notice satoru stirring beside you. his sleepy daze and the near complete darkness of the bedroom doesn’t stop his six eyes from honing in on you, a habit of his to do the second he wakes up, to make sure you’re still next to him. to make sure you’re still safe.

and there you are, propped up on your elbow, facing him as your mind floats away, miles and miles up into the atmosphere.

a bleary whisper of your name pulls you back down to earth. “what are you doing up, hm?”

“did i wake you?” concern laces your voice, and you reach out to hold satoru’s cheek. your thumb grazes his skin gently, an unspoken apology.

“you didn’t, don’t worry,” he grabs your hand from where it rests, holding it in his own as he turns on his side to face you. “what’s got you thinking so hard this late at night, sweetheart?”

in a moment of bravery, you answer simply and without thought. “you,” your voice is strained slightly, like you may crumble from all the love you feel if you’re not careful as you speak. “just, everything about you.”

“is that so?” in the darkness, you make out the tired yet amused smile on satoru’s face. “like what?”

your moment of bravery proves to be just that – a very fleeting moment. heat rises in your cheeks as your mind races at a mile a minute trying to find the right words to give him an answer without turning into a mumbling mess.

what am i even supposed to say to you? you think. that i think you’re the most ethereal person i’ve ever seen, inside and out? that you’re my first thought the second i wake up, that you’re my last thought before i fall asleep? that when i can’t fall asleep, i’m helpless as i drown in thoughts of nothing but you?

a beat passes. then another. you hear a soft chuckle in front of you, the sound of it full of adoration. “that’s okay, baby,” satoru says, running his thumb along your knuckles. “you can tell me in the morning, how about that?”

you nod wordlessly as you both settle back into bed. he pulls you close again, and you melt into his arms. with your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat is the only thing to finally lull you to sleep, to pull you into dreamland – where all you see is satoru, satoru, satoru.

[see-arcane]

“You know,” Dracula hums by the fireplace, the flames a shade dimmer than his own eyes. “I do believe I am becoming paranoid in my old age. Yet I keep my things in such precarious order, all things where they must be.” A log pops. His eyes flash. “Where they should be. And so I have noticed that my own bedroom was disturbed during the day.”

“Oh?” Voice level, Jonathan. Voice steady, Jonathan. Surprise. Concern. “How so? I was under the impression the door was locked.”

“So it was. And yet, I can tell something was...” His nails drum on the mantel, the click of claws, “...different. Meddled with somehow.”

Something between foolishness, sleeplessness, and a smoldering kernel of ire sparks in Jonathan’s chest. Its embers travel up to his tongue.

“Nothing was stolen, I hope. I admit I had a mild scare some time ago, when I realized I couldn’t find certain things in my luggage. Only it occurred to me that your servants must have already taken them away to clean and hold aside for my departure.” A smile so easy it borders on suicidal curls on his face. It feels like a rictus. Maybe it will see him dead right then. “The people here are the most discreet I’ve ever encountered.”

Dracula raises a snowy brow.

“That they are. As discreet as spiders minding their web.” Then, a sudden swerve out of the growing cloud. He oozes mirth. “Have you seen any here, my friend? Spiders?”

“None.” He hadn’t. Dust, motheaten holes, but no spiders.

“That is because of my people as well. More, it is the work of local aid.” His grin has too many teeth. “The bats quite love them. Whenever I or my servants come across a spider indoors, we save it for them. All those that would dare to come crawling along the outer walls?” He snaps his fingers. “They are eaten before they can spin their first thread. It is a most lucrative exchange.”

Jonathan fights not to swallow, not to acknowledge the cold twisting in his stomach.

“I’m certain.”

“A hypothetical question for you. Which would you rather be, my friend? Of the two, I mean.” Dracula’s hand is on him again, itself a titanic white spider. Cold and immovable from his shoulder. It squeezes just short of bruising. “A spider or a bat?”

“I wouldn’t know, Count. Neither is the best choice."

“No?”

The hand is tighter.

“No.” Under the table, Jonathan crosses his fingers. “The best choice is a cat.”

The grip lightens and amusement sketches a change in the Count’s expression.

“Why a cat?”

“They can get away with much more,” Jonathan’s traitor tongue flies. He bites it. “If only for the fact of their comparative harmlessness as they serve their masters as they entertain and accompany. This, while it provides a more handy service in hunting pests of all sorts, be it spider and bat or beetle and rat. In exchange for doing the dual work of tending to the home and being pleasant and defenseless, the more powerful keeper ensures they’re housed and,” he gulps down glass, hot coals, acid, “and loved. A cat can only do so much, but it does just enough.”

Dracula shakes his head.

“Enough to get themselves in trouble, perhaps. No, my friend, if we must leave the smaller creatures behind, I must say a wolf is the better choice. He eats all in his path and has no master at all.” The cold hand gives another squeeze, the nails dimpling cloth and skin...then relaxes. Strokes. “But cats have their place as well. If kept in their proper place...”

The night goes on in this way for endless hours. And still Jonathan’s fingers are crossed out of sight. He has a fondness for cats. Even for spiders. He appreciates all creatures who take it upon themselves to hunt and cull those things that infest or take lives by little bites. But more than either, he has always had a fondness and fealty to dogs.

As the moon drags itself slowly across the sky, he imagines he hears their barking and baying meeting the wild cry of the wolves, and shepherd teeth sinking deep into bloodthirsty throats.

[glimmeringtwilight]

Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in. 

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it. 

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough. 

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside. 

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls. 

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room. 

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep. 

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun. 

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough. 

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad. 

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days. 

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there. 

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned. 

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes. 

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage. 

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone. 

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it. 

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake. 

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains. 

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope. 

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes. 

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror. 

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound  is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down. 

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway. 

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up. 

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you. 

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor. 

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him. 

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you. 

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch. 

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that. 

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you. 

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No- 

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again. 

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell. 

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known. 

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both. 

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest. 

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to. 

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

[lovekia]

[pupkashi]

satoru sees two cats cuddling on a windowsill as the two of you walk hand in hand and he smiles, nudging you slightly and pointing at the window, “that’s us in another life,” there’s a giddy smile on his lips and his blue eyes sparkle behind his sunglasses.

you smile and nod, pressing yourself against his side a bit more, “we’d definitely hold tails when we walk around.”

you see two butterflies fluttering in the wind, the spring breeze brining a freshness and liveliness that both satoru and you indulge in, laughter filling the air as you toss grapes into each others mouths.

“‘toru look!” you smile, pointing at the butterflies with a giddy look on your face, “me and you as butterflies!” you can see the smile form on his face almost immediately, tackling you to the ground in the tightest hug he’d ever given you.

there’s two birds singing outside the window as the two of you wake up, golden rays sneaking in through the cracks of the curtains, landing almost perfectly on your lovers relaxed face. his snowy hair is sticking in every direction, lips slightly parted as the softest snores leave him.

you can help but stare, in your half asleep state you only think of how angelic he looks, how the birds must be singing for him and the sun overjoyed to be able to touch his all too perfect skin.

he twitches a bit, waking up slowly. satoru furrows his brows, feeling for you besides him, i furrowing his brows when he pulls you closer, yawning as he open his eyes to meet yours. “morning sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice raspy and deep.

“g’morning angel boy,” you whisper, the birds continue to sing, and you smile as he hears their melody.

“me and you as birds if we were early birds,” the chuckle that leaves his lips has you blushing, shaking your head and laughing as you cuddle closer to him.

the two of you find each other in everything; two gummy bears stuck together, the only clouds in the sky, the first two stars at night, dogs licking each other, swans swimming side by side, penguins waddling together, bees flying with each other, flowers growing together.

“me and you,” the two of you would say, giggles following immediately after, gentle kisses or a squeeze of the hand as you both continue on with whatever you were doing.

it was simple, maybe it was silly. but the two of you loved it, knowing you were always thinking of each other. knowing your love transcended matter and form.

it was always him and you, you and him. it always would be.

a/n: this is just a cute thought i had if this is all over the place and messy and doesn’t make sense I’m sorry I’m drunk please forgive

masterlist

taglist (send and ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[velvateen]

snow and mistletoe - zoro x reader fluff!

gn reader, no pronouns!!

literally just a fluffy little thing i wrote before work bc i kept reading mistletoe prompts and i had to hop tf on that train. enjoy!!!

no warnings for this one, happy holidays everyone!!

You groaned as you rolled out of bed, the cool winter air hitting your feet as they landed on the wooden floor of your bedroom. another sleepless starless night, the gentle rock of the ship failing to lull you back to sleep. you ran a careless hand over your face as you opened the door and made the short yet cold trek to the ships kitchen.

You’d gotten into the habit of trying to move around on nights when you couldn’t sleep, and the kitchen was ripe with peace and warmth. so you pulled the door open and promptly shut it to prevent any more cold air from seeping into the room.

The kitchen was decorated in holiday lights, a small Christmas tree settled in the corner with a few small gifts laying under it. You smiled as you walked to set a kettle to boil, the notion of hot chocolate sounding especially appealing considering the mood.

You stirred the coco mixture into the warm milk and poured it into a mug. Digging in the fridge for the can of whipped cream, you almost missed the sound of the kitchen door opening and being pushed shut. It must’ve started snowing since you’d entered the kitchen, because Zoro nearly didn’t notice you either , too distracted by ruffling the snowflakes out of his hair.

His footsteps alerted you to his presence as he sat down heavily at the table. You turned around, having finally found the whipped cream.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t know you were still up,” you said.

He let out a small huff, stretching his neck so slightly.

“Just got done training. Didn’t know anyone else was awake.” You hummed, turning to the cupboard to grab another mug.

“You’re lucky I measure with my heart.” You poured the remainder of the hot chocolate into the mug and pushed it his way. Zoro opened his closed eyes and hooked a finger around the handle.

“Why are you even up anyways? Got night watch or something?” he inquired.

“Nah, just couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come here and soak up some Christmas cheer while I still can.” You picked up your mug, noting the way the steam felt on your cold nose. You took a sip, unaware of the careful eyes watching as your tongue peeked out between your lips to wipe away any remaining whipped cream.

“I don’t think I’ll stick around though, I can already feel this putting me back to sleep,” you spoke through a yawn, heading towards the door.

“I like the way you think,” Zoro spoke, and you two made your way to the door.

He pushed it open, and you started to walk through before something above you caught your eye.

“Oh,” you pointed upwards. Zoro followed your gaze.

“Oh, oh yeah.”

You’d forgotten all about that mistletoe that Sanji had no doubt hung in the doorway.

“Well, no one’s here to enforce it and it’s just a stupid tradition anyways so who says we really have t—“ Before you could finish your sentiment Zoro had promptly cut you off.

The cold from the snowy weather outside was hardly a match for the warmth that bubbled up from your chest as Zoro gave you the briefest of kisses, just long enough to feel the heat of his chapped lips and the touch of his nose against your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he mumbled as he walked towards his room, still shakily holding the mug of hot chocolate.

Maybe that was why the kiss was so sweet.

*.• merry christmas and happy holidays everyone i’m so sorry ive been actually MIA that’s my b lol 😖 hope you enjoyed this !!!!! meow meow

[rose-lunaire]

nbc hannibal masterlist

my take on the curious world of the murder husbands. will you become the ruthless predator or the lavishly presented prey?

headcanons:

first kiss (feat. hannibal lecter, will graham, bedelia du maurier)

sleeping habits (feat. hannibal lecter, will graham, bedelia du maurier) how do they sleep at night after witnessing most extravagant and artistic crimes ever committed? what demons haunt them at night?

summer season ( feat. hannibal lecter, will graham, bedelia du maurier) yachting on the west coast or sightseeing in vienna? hiking’s my idea of fun, what’s yours?

bedelia du mariel sfw alphabet every tiny bit of your and bedelia’s love story! from the origin of your nicknames to sleepless nights and breathless kisses and so much more!

cozy winter (feat. hannibal lecter, will graham, bedelia du maurier) snowy scenarios, full of heat during the coldest months of the year!

music box (feat. hannibal lecter) oh rising star of music, be careful not to fall into his trap

scenarios:

drunken fantasies (feat. hannibal lecter, bedelia du maurier) alcohol brings out the truest confessions, quiet nights make everyday masks fall down, what can go wrong?

angel of death (feat. hannibal lecter, will graham) near-death experience brings them to heaven, which is seeing you

secret(ary) (feat. hannibal lecter, will graham) classic love story with a twist! become the star in this love triangle and celebrate 500 likes milestone with me!

little crow (feat. hannibal lecter) all his crimes are almost too perfect in execution and police long have been suspecting someone’s been helping him all along. turns out hannibal was the last one to find out about his secret assistant

[altocat]

‘Ello!! Hope it’s been a lovely weekend!! 💕

I don’t know if I’ve ever asked you this before but shshhshshshhs Can we get some Zack & Seph bonding over Angeal angst/comfort plz?? :3ccc

Yesssssssss of course !

Sephiroth and Zack don't really talk much after the incident in Modeoheim. There's a lot of bitter feelings there. Zack blames Sephiroth for making him have to deal with that heartache. It should have been Sephiroth, not him. Sephiroth could have stopped it. It's not fair! Angeal would still be alive!

Sephiroth is aware of Zack's ill feelings, mostly mourning quietly alone, his nightmares getting worse than ever, barely eating or sleeping. Most of the time, he's mindlessly performing tasks thanks to the cocktail of drugs Hojo is pumping into him.

Despite this, thanks to the dwindling ranks in SOLDIER, both are assigned a mission together investigating some rogue rebel activity in the mountains. It's cold and rainy and miserable. And Sephiroth and Zack can't even bear to look at each other.

They tail the rebels all the way to the peaks, cornering them on the fragile remains of a bridge, now halfway frozen over from the chill.

Zack moodily thinks that now's the part where Sephiroth coldly murders everyone. That's what soldiers do, right? That's what HE had to do to Angeal. Just mindless killing. Callous slaying of anyone who doesn't fit. Ruining lives. Just like Angeal.

Zack isn't paying attention, too agitated to notice the enemy creeping up from behind. He has mere seconds to react before the gunshot rings out, followed by the frantic rush of air as Sephiroth shoves him out of the way to take the hit.

He watched in horror as Sephiroth falls nearly twenty feet, crashing hard into a jutting snowy cliff side below.

He's an absolute mess when the helicopter comes in to retrieve them, Sephiroth's battered body being taken away to Medical the second they land.

Zack's a shaking, helpless wreck, reliving Angeal's death over and over. Oh gods it's happening again. And it's all his fault. And now he's going to lose someone else too. And he was so cold to Seph beforehand. He blamed him for everything when really it was NO ONE'S fault. And now Sephiroth is going to die and he's going to have to bury another friend and and and...

Days pass. Zack endures sleepless nights letting his inner demons eat at him. He is a trembling mess by the time he's finally able to step out onto the main SOLDIER floor again, freezing at the sight of Sephiroth standing near the doorway, alive and well, his arm carefully wrapped up in a sling.

"You're... you're okay."

"Mm? Oh. Yes. It was a bad fall. But my healing capabilities proved to be amply useful for such an occasion. I received clearance this morning to return to my duties, though I've been instructed not to strain myself."

Zack miserably hangs his head, relief and guilt intermingling in his belly, his face hot, eyes red and watery.

"Listen, Sephiroth? I... about earlier..."

Sephiroth tilts his head, seemingly confused, watching as the young First dithers and balks.

"I...you saved me."

"Think nothing of it. It was instinct. A team leader's responsibility is to protect his men."

"I thought you'd died. I mean...gods, this is such a mess. I was so mad at you. I shouldn't have been. But I was. I blamed you for Angeal when I should've just talked it out. I just let it get to me. And... and... and you still..."

He forces himself not to cry, not even when Sephiroth's free hand gently, if not awkwardly, reaches over to pat his shoulder.

"...I was not keen on losing you as well."

And the tears are coming now, his efforts fruitless. He feels like a child, pawing at his eyes, shaky laugh as he shakes his head. "G-guess we have that feeling in common, huh?" He just wishes he understood it sooner.

He spends the rest of the afternoon at Sephiroth's side, holding his tablet up for him to make it easier for him to write. They don't speak much. But it feels different this time, awkward smiles exchanged, a kind of fragile reluctance when it's finally time to part ways for the evening.

But afterwards, Zack makes it mandatory to keep in contact at all times, sending Sephiroth text reminders so they can meet up to unwind together after a long hard day.

This goes on for a long while, an unspoken trust building, both parties emotionally relying on each other without ever saying a word. A pure bond; burgeoning, unexpected, but genuine. Real.

Until Nibelheim.

[kanerallels]

The Christmas song for the Ghost Crew please if you've got some time

ON IT BOSS:

Ezra used to hate winter. The snowy, ice cold season only meant it would be harder to survive on the streets than it usually was. On top of the ever present need to find food was added a need for warmth and proper shelter, and his tower only really provided the shelter part. There had been more than one sleepless night as Ezra had desperately waited for the sun to rise, terrified that if he fell asleep, he’d never wake up again.

But now…he had a home. He had food and warmth and an actual bed where he could sleep without fear, strange though it felt. And, when he stumbled out of his room one morning to Kanan and Zeb installing a fake Life Day tree with muttered curses, he discovered something else to love.

He’d never really celebrated Life Day. Ezra vaguely remembered some kind of celebration—with candles and chocolate and his mother making a thousand different kinds of food—but it had been years since that. Now, he was discovering the traditions and joys the rest of the crew had built together. The Lasat tradition of roasting chestnuts—surprisingly tasty—and the Mandalorian’s favorite pastime of intense snowball fights followed up by hot tea, cider, or cocoa.

And when Life Day came and he found a stocking of his own hanging up with the others, and even a few presents under the tree, he thought his heart might burst. Kanan seemed to understand as he stood next to him—putting a hand on his shoulder, he said quietly, “Merry Life Day, kid.”

“Thanks, Kanan,” Ezra said, and hoped he knew just how much he meant it.

[dwindlinghaze]

evermore

(remus lupin x reader)

a/n: this is my favourite evermore song aaah <333 and also remus is just :(

summary: a winter date blurb with rem

contents: fluff that's it,,, lmk if there's more!

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

it's the month of december, the month of endings and beginnings. outside, the scape was filled with knee-deep snow capturing a scene of the wildest winter.

your neck was wrapped in your boyfriend's scarf with his scent filling your nostrils. the cafe was warm and cozy, the smell of burnt cinnamon and hot chocolate lingering in the air.

you tugged your coat tighter to yourself, keeping the warmth in. "rem where are we going next?"

he looked up at you, placing the cup of hot cocoa down on the wooden table. "we can go to the library, or do christmas shopping, or we can skate, anything you want."

when he smiles, you have a feeling so peculiar. it's like no pain would be forevermore.

remus draped his arm around you as you walked down the snowy path. white flakes on your lashes; he wants to kiss them away.

"you're warm," you said, snuggling further to his embrace.

"i know," he kissed the crown of your head as he spoke. "let's go inside the clothing store, you're freezing."

"aren't we going to the library? i know you want to buy that book you told me about yesterday," you questioned.

"oh but you're cold. let me buy you a coat first then we'll go."

"rem, i already am wearing a coat. i don't need a second one!"

"but you are cold, lovely. let me just buy you a coat then we'll go to the library then maybe we can skate around too."

"you're very considerate."

"yes i am. especially when it's about you," he opened the door of the shop to let you in first. "you like this one?" he held up a brown coloured coat with

"it looks good, plus it's very warm and fuzzy," you giggled.

you two walked hand in hand to the library after. finding books in which you can read to each other during sleepless nights.

"hey look isn't this the one?" you peered up at him. as you took in his appearance, you found yourself lost in adoration.

his eyes were crinkling on the side as he scrunched his face from the dusty shelf; his hair was a ruffled mess in the most perfect shade of sandy blond; his lips curving in a lopsided smile when he catches you staring.

you blushed and looked away in embarrassment. "i'm nervous under your stare," he joked to make you feel less shy.

"you're just pretty," you said.

"coming from you!"

"i love you, thanks for today."

"i love you too, and anytime lovely."