#the glasses both are and aren’t prescription

[the-homestuck-side-blog]

A wild crocodile troll approaches!

“Hey, welcoome too the funky glasses club, haven’t seen yoou aroound here befoore! I like yoour sweater”

🍄 Morana Judgements 🍄

Come see what this little mushroom cutie thinks of you!

[moonstruckme]

Ayyy I'm back with another request

No hurry on this, though, because you wrote me an amazing one not long ago and I want you to have some well-earned rest.

Anyway, can I please request a poly!marauders where the r has glasses and they see her without her glasses for the first time. I wear glasses and am mildly insecure about wearing them and taking them off. It's a vicious cycle😭 I'd adore having some lovey-dovey boys fawning over me regardless of my eyewear

Thanks a million

-🔮

Here you go my love! Thanks for requesting <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 925 words

You touch your middle finger to the bridge of your nose, pushing up frames that aren’t there. You feel immediately silly. How long will it take to kick that habit?

You have to admit, it’s nice to not have to worry about your lenses fogging as you stir the boiling water, or your glasses slipping off when you peer into the pot to check on the pasta. Still, this new freedom feels oddly like it’s come at a cost. It seems a bit ridiculous to miss your glasses, but it’s been years since you’ve been without them, and you feel sort of naked. Your face looks different in the reflection of the microwave, nothing obscuring the area around your eyes. It’s odd to see yourself so clearly without anything in the way. 

The door opens, Sirius’ voice booming. “You’ll never believe what happened on the way home.”

“What?” you call, and you can hear him kick off his shoes in just any direction, the thump thump thump of them bouncing on the floor. Later, Remus will straighten them with a patient sigh. Sirius’ footsteps head for the kitchen.

“This guy stopped me to ask for the time, and I told him, and he said—whoa. Hey baby, what’s new?”

You smile down at the pasta. “He called you baby?”

“I…what? No, you’re baby.” Sirius shakes his head before you look up and he realizes you’re messing with him. Never one to lose the upper hand, he fixes you with one of his suaver looks, eyes narrowing until they’re mostly gray and a smirk twisting his lips. “Don’t play coy with me, pretty thing. You think you can distract me from all this?” Triumph sparks in his eyes as you feel your face warm, and he presses on. “Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

You roll your eyes, opening a cabinet door between you to grab the olive oil. “It’s my Clark Kent plan. You’re not supposed to recognize me, so I guess it’s not working.” 

“Takes more than glasses to fool me, sweetheart.” His voice is silky smooth, but when you close the cabinet, he’s studying you. “It’s a good look. I like you both ways, obviously, but variety is the spice of life or whatever. Maybe we should get James to switch it up every now and then.” 

Remus emerges from down the hall, drawn out by your voices.

“Moons, have you seen this?” Sirius asks. “Someone’s replaced our girl with one who has working eyes.” 

“Not working eyes,” you correct him, self-conscious as Remus comes over, his eyebrows lifting slightly, “an old glasses prescription. I’m switching to contacts until I can get a new pair.” 

“You look nice,” Remus says, that mild, effortless kindness in his tone. “Does it feel different?”

“Weird,” you agree, taking the pot off the stove. Remus anticipates you, bringing the colander to the sink, and you give him a smile of thanks. “I feel like Velma from Scooby Doo, you know? Like my eyes look like tiny little dots without them.” 

Sirius scoffs, and Remus' voice is lightly chiding when he says, “They’re not. You look just as lovely now as you did with them on.” 

You barely have time to blush before Sirius is upon you, stepping into your space. “And,” he says, “let’s try this.” He kisses you, and you can’t claim you weren’t expecting it but you’re far from ready, grateful for the support of his hand at your waist as you feel your knees go a bit wobbly. Sirius presses his mouth into yours heavily, nose pushing at the skin of your cheek. When he pulls back, you feel like you’re reeling. “See? Much easier without those wide frames in the way.”

“You’re the worst,” you say, and Remus chuckles as James steps into the kitchen. You hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“What, without me?” he asks, taking in you and Sirius’ proximity and the wetness of your lips. Then hardly a beat later, “You’re not wearing your glasses.” 

“She needs a new prescription,” Sirius says, stepping away from you to pour the strained pasta back into the pot like nothing’s happened. “She’s wearing contacts for now.” 

“Whoa.” James moves closer, looking at your face like he hasn’t had the chance to really inspect it until now. “So when you get your new glasses, can we help you pick?”

Sirius whips around in his excitement, and Remus moves him aside before the pasta can start to stick, adding olive oil and the herbs you’d cut up to the pot. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” Sirius gawps at you. “We have to, it’ll be so fun.” 

You try to imagine it, your boyfriends focussing intently on your face as they assess which frames suit you best. It’d be the peak of flattery and awkwardness. “Okay,” you say, busying yourself with getting water for everyone. “I could use the extra input.” 

“I’m sure whatever you pick will look great,” James promises, taking a couple of cups from you with a kiss to your cheek. “If you want, you should pick up some more contacts while we’re there, too.”

“Maybe,” you muse. “But which do you like better—with, or without glasses?”

“Either way, dove,” Remus hums, dishing out his helping of pasta. “The differences are tiny, and it’s still you.” 

“Yeah, I can’t pick,” Sirius agrees, getting in line behind Remus. “You can do your Clark Kent bit all you want, but you’re gonna look like our gorgeous girl both ways.” 

[borathae]

↳ Index [Snippet #46 - Affection]

"When Jungkook wants some affection."

Genre: married life!AU, domestic Fluff, a hint of suggestive themes

Warnings: they're in love, snuggles & cuddles in bed, kisses, they also talk about alien dick at one point lmaaoaao, and how Kook would use it on her hahha listen they're both nerds <3, Kookie wants to be praised and kissed!!!, they are the one true couple <3

Wordcount: 2.1k

a/n: they're so important to me :( i love them so fucking much istfg :(

You and Jungkook have a to-do list on your fridge. On there, you write all the things needing to be done this day, which aren’t part of the usual schedule. During the colder months, the list could include things like “make the greenhouse storm proof” while in the warmer months, things like “mow the lawn” finds its way onto the list. You even have the list separated in two sections. One for you and one for Jungkook. Because you hate doing some tasks, while Jungkook loves them and instead he hates other tasks you love. So some tasks will always find their way onto Jungkook’s side while others will be cozy on your side. The list works wonderfully and saved yourselves from many sleepless nights when the sudden realization set in that “oh shoot, you had to do something today but forgot”. It is also a perfect tool to prevent useless bickering about “who does it”, because once it’s on the determined side, it is clear to both who will be responsible for it. 

The day is almost over and you are on your way to the shower when you decide to check the list just one last time. Just in case. Your brain has been awfully scattered throughout the day because of a bad night's sleep, so just to be sure, you want to make sure that the list has actually been worked through. 

You and Jungkook have a pen each to write your lists. Jungkook’s side is written in black ink and his handwriting, while your side is written in blue ink and your handwriting. He had swipe the driveway, clean the bike gear closet on his side today. Both tasks are crossed off. You had water the upstairs plants and wash the upstairs curtains, kiss husband and tell him you are proud of him on your list. Both tasks are crossed off. Your eyes do a double take. 

“Kiss husband and tell him you are proud of him?” you read out loud. You didn’t write that. Your eyes flit down to yet another task you didn’t fulfill, “Pin husband by the wrists and tell him he is yours? I’m sorry? I didn’t write any of this.” 

Wait a minute. This is written in black ink. And it is Jungkook’s handwriting.

“Oh my god, Kook”, you gasp, having to laugh, “you genius doofus.” 

This is such a Jungkook thing to do. It is silly, clever and exactly the kind of flirting that gets your heart racing. You married such a goofy sweetheart.

You abandon the list so you can take the quickest shower in wife history. You have tasks to fulfill, husbands to kiss. You slip into a cute two piece pyjama set once clean and hurry to his room. 

The door is closed and so you knock. 

“Come in”, he answers after the third knock.

You slide into the room, closing the door behind you. In typical Jungkook fashion, he has the big lights off and only his colourful LEDs on. The room is hued into a mixture of red and pink. 

Your husband is sitting by his computer with his knees pulled to his chest. He is dressed in loose boxers and a white oversized shirt. His short hair is silky and on top of his nose, a pair of black framed glasses is perched. He started wearing prescription glasses. Well, in yet another typical Jungkook fashion, he only wears them occasionally because he either forgets or can’t be bothered. Whenever he does wear them however, he looks so handsome in them that it gets hard to function. 

“Hey sweetie”, he greets you, studying you from head to toe, “this is such a cute set. It fits you so well.” 

“Thank you. It’s satin. Touch it”, you hurry to him.

Jungkook touches your upper waist, sliding his hand down to your hip softly. His eyes follow his touch.

“Wow, so soft and silky.”

“Right? It’s so comfy. And? Check this out”, you say and grab the pants at the crotch part to drag it into his vision. You have to do a little bend for it. 

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, having to chuckle at your silly antics.

“No middle seam”, you say, fixing your pants again, “which means no pussy and ass crack discomfort.”

“Ah that’s what you tried to show me. It looks so comfy. Yay to no crack discomfort.” 

“I know. I’m so happy”, you say and turn to look at his screen. 

He has a character creation window open. It seems like a sci-fi shooter game. 

“Am I disturbing you?” 

“No, it’s okay. I’m creating a character for the next round. I wanna be an alien this time.”

“I see. That seems cool”, you say and suddenly you feel so guilty for coming here. This is Jungkook’s recharge time, you shouldn’t ruin this for him. Maybe you can fulfill your tasks later. Once he’s in bed with you.

“What brings you here, sweetie? Fashion show or something else?” Jungkook asks, caressing your lower back as he talks.

“Yeah, no. Fashion show”, you turn to him, giving him a little sway of your shoulders, “I wanted to show you my new set.”

“I love it. You are beautiful in it”, he praises and smiles.

“Thankies”, you murmur shyly and wiggle your shoulders, “do you want any snacks? I’m making tea so I can drink some as I read in bed.” 

“No, thank you. I have my beer and my crisps”, he says and gives your buttock a little squeeze, “you’re my favorite snack anyways.”

You nudge his cheek, “sweet talker.”

He chuckles, shifting his eyes to the screen again. Yes, you will definitely do your tasks later in bed. They will hit so much better this way.

“Okay, I’m in bed then”, you say, leaving his room again.

“Yeah okay. Have fun reading.”

“I will, heh. Have fun being an alien.” 

Jungkook laughs, “I will.”

You already finished the chapters when Jungkook comes to bed. You are on your phone, watching a video, when he enters the bedroom. You pause the video and lock your phone, following your husband with your eyes.

He is walking to his bedside table so he can put his glasses there for the night. He massages the bridge of his nose afterwards, taking on a path to the bathroom.

“It was your turn to put Bam to sleep, right?” he asks.

“It was, yeah. He’s been sleeping for two hours.”

“That’s good. Our son”, he says, disappearing in the bathroom afterwards. Moments later, you can hear him pee.

You shake your head in disbelief, chuckling to yourself. He couldn’t even close the door for that. 

The toilet flushes and moments later, you hear him brush his teeth. He even manages to make himself gag once as he scrapes his tongue, following it up with a “made myself gag” to which you answer him with a chuckled “poor man”.   

Afterwards he finally appears, grinning at you.

“Wah baby, I just pissed so hard”, he says.

“I know. I heard. Couldn’t you have closed the door?”

“I could have. I was lazy”, he says and plops down on bed.

“You’re so weird sometimes.”

“You love me for it.”

“Mhm, yeah I guess I do. I hope you sat down.”

“Wah baby, who do you think I am? A heathen? Of course I sat down.”

You chuckle, “good boy.”

He snuggles into his pillow until he is cozied up on his side and with his big eyes gazing at you. “I was an alien”, he says, reaching out to intertwine his fingers with yours. He caresses your knuckles mindlessly.

“You were?”

“Mhm. It was fun. Hey babe, would you still love me if I was an alien?” 

You laugh, lifting your brow at him in question. He flutters his lashes at you, expecting your answer.

“Obviously”, you say, “I’d call you my little alien and we could go on dates in your UFO.”

“Yeah that sounds romantic. Also, alien dick. Hello? Would you prefer tentacles, an egg laying one or a double trouble deluxe one?” 

“I love that we instantly went from cute UFO dates to alien dick” you say with a chuckle on your lips.

“That’s important miss ma’am, I need to know your preferences.”

“Fine okay”, you give in, “tentacles? Fill me in.”

“Okay so. I would have no dick, you know, like Ken. But then I could grow tentacles and these tentacles produce their own lube so I can fuck you with them. And there’s lots of them so I can fill out whatever you want me to.”

“Alright”, you snort in amusement, “egg laying? What’s that about?”

“I don’t know, I saw it somewhere.”

“You mean porn?”

“Yeah.”

You laugh, “so it’s like a normal dick that lays eggs inside me?”

“Yeah basically, but it’s purple and is thicker at the tip and it also produces its own lube so I can be really wet and nasty with it. And, oh my god, I want it to glow as well so I can see it inside you. Yeah.”

“I feel like that’s your favourite.”

“Maybe, I want a glowing dick”, he says and pouts, making you laugh.

“Yeah it sounds fun. But I gotta carry your eggs inside afterwards?”

“I mean…yeah. You do that normally too, they’re just smaller.”

“You’re gross.”

He grins. You give him a roll of your eyes affectionately, nudging his cheek.

“And the last one? Is the double deluxe one your dick but just twice?” you ask him.

“Yeah, basically. Yup, my dick but twice”, he decides, nodding his head way too proudly. 

“Then I’ll take this one. I like your dick. Having it twice sounds like fun.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a cute bunny smile. He looks way too giddy for the nature of the conversation. 

“Do you really like it?” he asks.

“More than anything.”

“Is it perfect?” 

“The most perfect ever.”

Jungkook giggles, kicking his feet. 

“Thanks, yeah”, he clears his throat to make his voice appear deeper, “thanks babe.”

You laugh because you know he is being goofy again. Your little goofball. You roll onto your tummy and push him to his back. He lets you, looking at your face with sparkly eyes. 

You take his wrists and pin them above his head. The sparkles in his eyes grow, his breathing speeds up just a little.

“You’re a goofball”, you speak softly, gazing at his pretty face.

Jungkook wiggles, grinning goofily. 

“But you’re my goofball. All mine”, you say, giving him a knowing smile, “and I’m proud of you.”

Jungkook squeaks out a little snicker, smiling so brightly his eyes turn into crescent moons. You make it grow with one smooch to his lips and another one to the left side of his neck. He leans into the kisses, wiggling his toes because he is so, so happy to finally receive your affection.

Afterwards you lift your head, raising your right hand to draw invisible checkmarks in the air.

“Check and check”, you say, placing your hand back on his wrist.

Jungkook wiggles his feet. His pulse is racing under your palms. He is so giddy. 

“I was already scared that you didn’t even see it”, he confesses.

“I did. I was so confused at first because I didn’t remember writing it, but then I saw it was in your handwriting and I knew.”

“Heh”, he snickers, scrunching his nose, “it was clever, wasn’t it?” 

“Mhm so clever”, you praise and kiss his lips, “I married a genius.” 

“You really did”, he says and uses his strength to wiggle out of your hold just so he can wrap you in his arms and hug you against him, “my honeyyy.”

You squeak a giggle, accepting your sweet fate gladly. So now you and he are rolling around the sheets as Jungkook cuddles you aggressively. Limbs tangle, sheets get messy and distances erased. It is truly such a delight. He also regularly smooches whatever part of your face he can reach, mumbling giddy words against your skin.

“Wah baby, you saying that you’re proud of me really made me so happy. It felt so good to hear.” 

“I am, you know? I actually meant it, I’m really proud of you.” 

“Thank you, my love”, he nuzzles his face into your neck, giving you little kisses whenever he can, “I’m proud of you too, my love. Wah baby I wanna melt with you, you’re so cute.” 

You smile, closing your eyes to really enjoy his affection.

“You’re cute too”, you mumble into him, pulling him closer.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

King of My Heart | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (I think it's pretty GN, lemme know if it's not!)

Warnings: Curse words, fluff!

Author's note: Remember the 'untitled Spencer fic' in my ideas poll? This is the one! If you have 20/20 vision (fy, honestly), you probably won't relate to this, but indulge me, please? Thank you. Sincerely, a glasses/contact lenses-wearing gal.

Words: 2K

Nursing my cup of coffee in the break room, I read through the case file JJ had given us. We had been working on it for three days straight and were still so far from a solution. It had been hard to think without any sleep for thirty-six hours. And the humid San Francisco air didn’t help me much either. 

My eyes were as dry as a desert, making wearing contact lenses hurt like a bitch. 

I harshly squeezed my eyes as I looked at the file, in hopes to get them some moisture. Of course I had forgotten to pack my glasses. Most of the time, I don’t even need them. Without them, I could just see about enough to stumble from the bathroom to any bed. But I couldn’t take them out while working. 

“Hey,” the familiar voice of Spencer Reid captured my attention. 

Spencer and I had hit it off quite quickly when I joined the BAU one and a half years after he had. Mostly because we were the closest in age and our similar interests had drawn us together as well as the fact I had spilt coffee over him the first time we met. Now, one year later, the two of us were pretty much inseparable. Even our supervisor, Aaron Hotchner, barely dared to split us up. Put the two of us together and we’d come up with the best theory for the case we were working on. 

“Oh, hi, pretty boy,” I greeted back, smiling up at him with narrowed eyes. 

He offered me one of the pastries he and JJ went to get before they came into the precinct. “Here. You need some sugar,” he told me and I gladly accepted the sugary good. Spencer took a seat opposite of me, delving into his own pastry. 

“Oh, King of my heart,” I grumbled, enjoying the food a little too much. 

“Did you find anything in that code yet?” he asked instead, ignoring my food-orgasm. 

Shaking my head, I broke off a piece of the pastry and popped it into my mouth. “I thought it was the Caesar Shift first, but I can’t figure out what the shift would be…” I mumbled, furiously pressing my knuckle underneath my right eye. 

When Spencer didn’t react to my mumblings, I looked up to find him rummaging through his satchel. I furrowed my brows as he procured a rectangle-shaped box and out came his glasses. Confusion rose within me as he offered them to me, which I believed was apparent on my face as he explained himself. 

“Take out your contacts and put my glasses on,” he ordered in that honey-sweet voice he only ever used on me. “You’ve been squinting and blinking for about half an hour while going through that file and your eyes are bright red. So, unless you want to tell me you’re on drugs right now, take out your contacts and put these on.” 

Hesitantly, I reached for the frames. “Spence, do we even have the same prescription?” 

“You’re a -2 on both eyes, aren’t you?”

It surprised me a little that he knew that. More than it surprised me that he knew I was struggling. He was a profiler after all. 

“That’s what I thought,” Spencer said and took another bite of the pastry in his hand, watching me to make sure I’d put the glasses on. 

My eyes skidded from the glasses to Spencer and back. “I don’t have my little contact case with me here. It’s in the hotel.”

I shouldn’t be surprised when Spencer fished out a bottle of lens care solution and an exact replica of my contacts case, but somehow, I was. This guy kept on surprising me, no matter how well I thought I knew him. 

“Now, take out your contacts and put my glasses on.” 

Sometimes, Spencer would do these things, these tiny gestures that had my stomach fluttering in a way that a friend shouldn’t make you. It was often just him getting my coffee in the mornings or handing me a sweater when I shivered. He got me food before I even realized I was hungry or a glass of water before I realized I hadn’t even drank anything that day. 

He was simply marvelous and it was merely impossible not to fall for him. 

Once I had Spencer’s glasses on and looked at the code again, I finally deciphered it. Excitedly, I ran into the briefing room where Derek, Elle, Spencer and Hotch were gathered. I was too focused on explaining them the theory behind the code, that I had missed the exchange of glances between Derek and Elle until they voiced their thoughts.

“Are you wearing Reid’s glasses?” Morgan asked, a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Yes, my contacts were hurting me, but that’s not the point–” I said before lapsing back into my explanation. There was no time to stand still to explain to them why I was wearing Spencer’s glasses nor did we have time for them to tease me about it. 

 Though it wasn’t until two days after the case that Elle eventually spoke to me about it. The team had decided to go for drinks at O’Keefe’s and Spencer had handed me the back-up sweater he kept in his satchel for me. 

“So,” Elle started when she joined me at the bar to grab another drink. “When are you gonna admit you’re in love with him?” 

Though my cheeks felt hot, I scoffed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re wearing his sweater,” she pointed out, bemused that I would even try and lie to her. 

I shook my head. “No, this is my sweater… Which he evidently keeps in his bag for me because he knows I always forget it and I… just… like… how it smells –” I groaned, rolling my eyes while Elle let out a loud cackle. “Fine! Fine. Okay?” I sneered. 

“Admit it.” 

“I admit it, okay? I am… in love with Spencer – But how could I not?” I hissed at her before turning my head to look over at our table where Spencer, Hotch and Derek were laughing at something Penelope had said. “He keeps doing these… gestures… Like, the other day, I was struggling because my eyes were hurting so much and he just handed me his glasses. He remembered my prescription and knew I was struggling before I could even tell him.”��

A smile landed on Elle’s lips as she nodded her head. “And he always brings you your coffee in the mornings.” 

“You noticed that too?” Elle nodded her head in response. “See, I couldn’t not fall in love with him. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose,” I said between gritted teeth as though I was actually mad at Spencer for making me fall for him. 

My coworker scoffed. “Almost like he’s in love with you, or something.” The sarcasm was dripping off her words, but I shook my head at her. 

“No, he’s not. He’s just… nice like that.” 

Glaring at me, Elle conveyed her message of, “Are you kidding me?” before the words actually left her mouth. 

Her words haunted me for a good week before I finally dared to ask Spencer about it. Though it was more snapping at him rather than actually asking him. During one particular case, I was getting frustrated by the way he was treating me and the way it was making me feel, I let those feelings take the better of me. 

For an entire day, I had been crabby and snapping at everyone who even dared to insinuate I was on my period. Of course, I was, inconveniently, on my period, but no man needed to tell me to calm down. Spencer must’ve noticed, because that night, he knocked on my hotel room door. 

“Hi,” he greeted with a soft smile. 

“Are you here to tell me I shouldn’t have been so snappy towards that captain? Because I know,” I told him immediately, not even giving him a ‘hi’ back. 

He shook his head and held up a tub of ice cream and a hot water bottle. “I got these from the reception.” 

Eyeing up the items in his hands, my insides went all mushy. But before I could allow myself to melt into putty, I groaned and turned on my heel, marching into the room and leaving the door open for Spencer to walk in. Confused, he followed behind me and closed the door behind him. 

“Are you okay, y/n?” 

“No! No, I’m not okay, Spencer.” 

He looked at me and seemed so lost. There was no reason for me to snap at him, but I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle this ball of feelings sitting in my chest. It was bound to explode at some point and that point was now. All it took was for him to knock on my door with ice cream and a hot water bottle. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What’d I do?” 

After rubbing my hands across my face, I tangled them into my hair, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. “How do you expect me not to fall in love with you when you keep doing shit like this?!” 

Spencer flinched slightly at the volume of my voice and the harshness of my words. Once it registered in that magnificent brain of his, he let out a chuckle. It surprised me a little that he found this so amusing. My anguish was amusing to him. 

“Do you think it was easy for me to try and not fall in love with you when you spilt coffee on me the first time we met and you were dabbing my chest with napkins?” 

The memory of meeting him in the coffee shop before either of us even knew we were going to be colleagues, flooded into my mind. I was nervous for my first day at the BAU when I smashed into him, coffee flying everywhere. He’d tried to calm me down, spewing facts about coffee and people wanting to outlaw it. 

“Do you think it was easy for me not to fall in love with you when you asked me to go and watch that French film about the choir without subtitles? Or when you call me ‘pretty boy’? Or when you get all clingy when you’re drunk?” he scoffed, his eyes trained on me whilst my insides turned to mush. 

“I’ve been trying to push these feelings away since we met at that coffee shop, y/n, but I realized that I couldn’t turn them off. I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you because you are quite literally the person of my dreams and I wanna continue to take care of you and make sure you feel loved because that’s what you deserve.” 

My eyes watered at his words, my brain registering that everything happening at that time was real and not a dream. As Spencer let out a relieved sigh, I knew that the waterfall of words coming out of him had been building up inside him until the dam finally broke. 

He stood there, a few feet away from me, staring at me with those puppy-dog eyes that I could never really resist. His lips looked so kissable. An urge I had been able to keep at bay for a while, though it became harder and harder the longer I didn’t give in. 

But right then and there, in a hotel room somewhere in Delaware, I had to give in. 

Within three big strides, I was in front of him and grabbed his face, bringing his lips down to mine. The kiss surprised him a little, but he quickly melted into it and melted into me the same way I melted into him. 

“The ice cream is melting,” Spencer mumbled against my lips and pecked a few short kisses to my mouth before grabbing my hand and guiding me towards the bed. 

As he opened the tub of ice cream, I let out a groan. He had picked out my favorite; cookie dough. Though that didn’t surprise me anymore. “Ugh, King of my heart,” I scoffed with a delighted roll of my eyes before digging in with him. 

And all at once, he was the once I had been waiting for. 

King of my heart, body and soul. 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @littlemissaddict @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: @boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer 

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[ladykailitha]

Soft 2 of 2

And finally part 2! I haven't written more on Grief because guess who got an ear infection over the weekend? If you guessed me, you'd be correct! Who knew that symptoms included neck pain, headaches and sore throat...yeah...

Also I should probably warn for smut. Under 18 you've been officially warned.

Part 1

***

Eddie was vibrating out of his skin when his present was finally ready. It had taken a week and his excitement bubbled out all of the place.

He had already preformed his bet pay out. Jeff was positively gleeful about the whole thing.

Jeff and the rest of his band were even more gleeful about Eddie’s surprise for Steve. More than once one or more of them expressed their desire to see the look on Steve’s face when he realized what Eddie had done for them.

They only stopped when Eddie told them that if everything went to plan then they’d probably would be having sex right after.

And since none of them wanted to see that part, they stopped teasing him about seeing the first part.

He walked into the apartment that afternoon like he always did, jaunty and carefree. Jeff had whined several times that Eddie spent more time at Steve and Robin’s place then he did their own.

Robin was bopping to her music in the kitchen and Steve was on the sofa watching a game show of some sort.

“Eddie!” Steve greeted.

Eddie grinned. “Looking good, Stevie. I’m glad you head is feeling better now.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks for stopping by so that Robin wouldn’t worry about me.”

“It was no trouble,” he said. “You needed looking after and I was more than happy to be of service.”

He pulled something out of inner pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to Steve.

“I wanted to get you a little something as thank you for the chain and picks you got me.”

Steve frowned. “You didn’t have to do that, Eds. I like buying things for you.”

He said it so easily, as if that didn’t make Eddie’s heart speed up faster then anything caused by his nervousness.

He opened the box and pulled out a pair of light blue sunglasses, so clear that you could see in and out with a relative ease.

“Oh, Eddie...” Steve murmured. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re your prescription,” Eddie explained. “Which means you can’t wear you contacts when you have them on.” He tapped the space between Steve’s eyes.

“Wait, really?” Steve murmured. “What? How?”

Eddie tapped the side of his nose. “That’s my secret. But I remembered that your senior year of high school you were wearing sunglasses all the time. Everyone thought you were being too cool. But none of the teachers said anything. So it got me thinking...you wore them because you needed to, didn’t you? Too many concussions made you sensitive to light.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit! I didn’t realize anyone noticed.”

“And I bet I know why you stopped wearing them,” Eddie continued. “It’s because Scoops wouldn’t let you and then you would just forget to put them on the rest of the time.”

Robin tapped Steve’s shoulder and pressed something into his hand. He opened it to find his contact case.

“But I–” he protested and she handed him the bottle of solution. He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

He took out his contacts and carefully put them away. He handed them back to Robin.

He pulled the glasses out their case and put them on. They fit perfectly.

“The frames are the same style as your regular glasses,” Eddie said. “You can wear them all the time or just when you know you’re going to be in a situation where there are a lot of lights. Say...a certain band’s metal concert.” He winked at Steve.

Steve let out a giggle. “They’re amazing, Eds. I love them.”

“Looking good, dingus,” Robin said affectionately. She kissed his cheek. “I’m heading out. Please no sex on the sofa. I have to sit there too.”

She waved by to Eddie and then slammed the door behind her.

Steve blushed furiously. “We aren’t even dating…” he pouted.

“Yet.”

Steve’s head shot up. “Wha’?”

“We aren’t dating yet, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. “Robin and my band both think this little trinket,” he plucked at the necklace around his neck, “is a declaration of true love. Are they right?”

Steve ducked his head again, pursing his lips. “Yeah, Eds. Of course it is.”

Eddie tapped the glasses. “Back atcha, big boy.”

Steve raised his head again, this time much slower. “You really mean that?”

Eddie gently pulled Steve closer and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, melting into the kiss. Eddie leaned backward onto the sofa, Steve following to keep pressing their lips together in kiss after kiss.

Eddie tenderly removed the glasses and set them on the table before he resumed kissing Steve. The pace slow and languid. Just the two of them exploring each other’s mouths and bodies. Not really heading toward sex, just feeling the euphoria of finally getting together.

Soon they drifted off to sleep in each others arms.

They woke a couple hours later, to an alarm on Eddie’s watch going off.

Steve looked up at Eddie blearily and still soft from sleep. “Wha’?”

“Hey beautiful,” he cooed. “We have a dinner reservation at seven, it’s now five. Go get yourself a shower and change so we can go, okay?”

Steve smiled. “Okay, baby.” He kissed Eddie and then deftly rolled off the couch onto the floor.

Eddie smacked his ass as he passed. “Show off.”

“For you?” Steve said. “Always.”

Eddie blushed.

*

“Hey, Eddie!” Steve called from his room. “Can you come here a moment?”

Eddie hopped to his feet and was at Steve’s door to his bedroom in a flash. “What’s up, dar–” he stopped when he saw Steve standing in the middle of his room, dripping wet with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

Eddie gulped.

Steve must have realized his state of undress, because he blushed furiously. “I, um... couldn’t remember what you were wearing and didn’t want to be too overdressed for dinner.”

Eddie grinned. “You sure, sweetheart? Because this looks like a ploy to get me into that bed of yours.”

Steve looked up through his eyelashes, coy. “Well...if you’re interested, I could make it about that if you prefer.”

He removed the towel and dried himself off. The towel just barely covered his modesty as he dragged it over his body.

Eddie’s mouth dried with it.

And then towel dropped and Eddie was faced with the reality of a naked Steve Harrington.

He drank in his fill, eyes darting across every line, every plain, every freckle.

“You like what you see, babe?” Steve purred. He took a couple steps back and threw himself on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over at Eddie through half-lidded eyes.

Eddie licked his lips. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I just have to do two things and then I will happily join you in the bed.”

Steve grinned. “Hurry back.”

Eddie nodded and ran out to the front room. He locked the front door, and then quickly called the restaurant to cancel their reservation. Screw dinner, Eddie was going straight for dessert.

He walked back into Steve’s room to find him with hands tucked behind his head, pulling his already taut body longer.

He kicked off his sneakers first and then pulled off his shirt. Steve watched him strip with eyes blown wide and lips slick from licking them.

Eddie grinned. He dragged out pulling down his zipper, nice and slow. He saw Steve’s Adam’s apple bob. He took off his pants and was standing in front of the bed with just his underwear on.

“Babe,” Steve moaned. “Let me see. Please.”

And who was Eddie to deny Steve anything. He pulled off his boxers, dropping them to floor.

Steve reached out and Eddie went willingly into his boyfriend’s arms.

Like with their languid kissing on the couch, this too was slow and tender. Mapping each other’s bodies with their hands, their lips, their tongues.

Soon they were coming and they laid next to each other, covered in cum and giggling like children.

“I can now confirm that the rumors about your prowess in bed is absolutely not a myth but a god damn fucking legend,” Eddie breathed, his hands draped over his belly as his willed his heart rate back to normal.

Steve laughed. “Well, you’re certainly no slouch in the bedroom either, sunshine.”

Eddie sat up and started scanning the room for the towel.

“Where are you going?” Steve whined. “I want to cuddle with my boyfriend.”

Eddie chuckled. “Just grabbing the towel to clean us up, princess.”

Steve hummed and he took that as permission to get the towel. He grabbed it and cleaned himself off first before using it on Steve. He tossed it into the laundry basket.

Steve curled up into his side. “Hey, I thought throwing things into laundry baskets was my job.”

Eddie chuckled. “Oh it is.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Steve said sleepily. “You stick to the guitar playing rocker, and I stick to the throwing things in laundry baskets.”

Eddie laugh out loud. “Yeah, baby. We can do that.”

Steve snuggled closer. “Good.”

Later they would get up and dressed. They would order pizza and watch trash movies on late night TV.

And when Robin came home that night, she found the two of them curled up on the couch, asleep again in each other’s arms.

She grabbed a blanket off the back of the armchair and draped over them.

“I’m happy for you dinguses,” she said softly into the still room and then went to bed, content her soulmate had found his person at last.

***

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[uchihaharlot]

Heyooo, how are you, bro?

I hope your health is better now!

I have one innocent request.

"How would all Uchiha act if they finds out that you are self-harming?" (Mostly Madara pls😏)

I don't know if it's allowed topic... but yeah.

NSFW; TW self harm; minor mentions of injury; small prologue;

Before I go into this hc, I want to expressly tell anyone who reads this; whether we are mutuals or not. Whether you like my writing, like me or don’t or whatever.

My blog is a safe haven. You can openly message me, befriend me on discord (ask for my handle) or interact in the comments. If you feel like there are people who don’t care enough as they should. I just want to say that, I do. I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing. But I love you. Do not think for a single iota that your existence is merely coincidence, I’m not by any means a holier than thou individual and I’ve had my fair share of this isn’t worth living for: but trust me; it is and then some.

Madara:

Madara comes from an era where you put your best fist forward when things aren’t right. His level of resolve is steel cut and unwavering…but seeing you hurt yourself as an outlet, doesn’t sit well with Madara. And he’s into good old fashioned methods of healing…sorta. Expect to be tied up to his bed; not in the way you’d like either. For days he will keep you there, turning your body so you won’t get bed sores. Feeding you and letting you up to the toilet fa few times a day, and once at night if needed. All of this until you finally talk it out with him, and agree to find a better solution to figuring out how to express your feelings/pain. Insists on being around you every second of the day.

Obito:

I won’t lie, seeing you hurt yourself this way; it makes him cry. Do you want Obito to cry!? He’s inconsolable when you won’t even consider him as a vent source. And, while he won’t selfishly make it about him. He will openly admit most (ok all) of his faults in the hopes you would share your own. Whatever it is, Obito is sure that there are far better way to convey the message you want to share. Suffering in silence is only so fool proof.

Shisui:

No. No, no. No. Shisui one hundred percent won’t stand for it, and despite your protests of him almost catapulting himself off a cliff, he will tell you the error of his ways. Undoubtedly will make sure that you understand that even his own potential sacrifice would have been fruitless, and that you shouldn’t compare apples to oranges. And from there, Shisui will spend countless hours, days and nights proving to you just how sacred human life is. He inadvertently blames himself for some of this, you mentioning his almost demise opens old wounds and Shisui takes the opportunity for you both to grow and evolve. He wants to be a role model; not the reason you justify it.

Itachi:

In a way; he’s bereaved. This is highly unusual for you, and Itachi’s keen eyes (and new prescription glasses) catch a glimpse of your fresh wounds as he lightly snatches your arm. ‘Why would you do this?’ and ‘that’s not a logical reason to purposely harm yourself.’ Are a few of his stern words to you. Itachi is a no nonsense man, and he won’t tolerate you hurt yourself. If he was a true jerk, like he tricked many to believe for the longest time; he’d put you in Tsukuyomi and really give you something to think about. But instead, he inundated you day in and day out with his concern. Hoping that if you see one person who cares; you will eventually open up.

Sasuke:

Sasuke, traumatized by his older brother—not once but twice and more, lived in excruciating detail his own parents death, several times over. In the matter of three seconds; he understands your grief. Whatever you might be going through, I think when it comes to seeing other people suffering—especially as adult Sasuke, he can’t cope with it, and rarely did for himself. Which is sort of mkes him the besy person for this. He also doesn’t mince words and tells you straight out that you’re only causing yourself more harm in the long run. His method of cut and dry reality checks come in waves, when you think he’s not watching you, he’s right there. Don’t under estimate his capabilities. You’re on his radar and Sasuke won’t hesitate to use his techniques to get you talking; the sooner you find the root cause of your problems. The better, take it from someone who let their pain fester until it boiled over, it’s not worth it.

[livwritesstuff]

So I’ve made a few references to Steve being an Excel guy as an adult (because someone had to be in charge of Steve and Eddie’s money and it certainly wasn’t going to be Eddie).

He’s got the classic spreadsheets – monthly budget, college savings projections, income tracking because he and Eddie both work jobs with variable incomes (Steve is a counselor and Eddie is an author), the whole nine yards.

Steve also has some “extracurricular” spreadsheets. I’ve talked about how Steve has a spreadsheet tracking the combinations of Mario Kart racers/vehicles he tries out (there’s a ranking system involved, it’s very complex). He’s got one for his fantasy football league, obviously, and he and Moe put money on their March Madness brackets so there’s a spreadsheet for that too.

Eddie’s personal favorite is the one comparing monthly expenses by kid, which isn’t exactly a necessary metric per se, but from it stems a game Steve and Eddie secretly play: who is the most expensive Harrington daughter?

The winner tends to rotate throughout the year, but Hazel is usually their least expensive child in the long run. She does ballet, which isn’t too bad when she’s little but then she graduates to pointe shoes, and Steve had no idea that not only do pointe shoes set you back $100 minimum, they also wear out ridiculously fast, and, as he’s been told many times, you can’t wear the dead ones.

Moe usually takes that top spot in the winter – elite basketball teams aren’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, and then in high school she gets into snowboarding, which is somehow even more expensive. She’s also consistently the reason they hit their health insurance deductible every year. 

Robbie is their overall most expensive kid by a mile. She drove up their car insurance by getting into an accident a month after she got her driver's license, had braces for five years, and the prescription on her glasses has changed every eighteen months since she was seven. She’s notorious for breaking her phone, so she racks up quite a tab in that regard too (the one year they got a protection plan was also the one year she had no phone-related incidents, so they didn’t even bother renewing it – they just make her suffer with a cracked screen for a few months before they finally drag her to the mall to get it fixed). There’s also the year Eddie bought her an electric violin which was, naturally, not cheap (Eddie argues it shouldn’t count because he was the brains behind that operation).

[ariel26c]

I've -6 vision in both of my eyes and absolutely hate wearing glasses . How can i manifest clear vision completely?

By assuming that you have 20/20 vision and that you don’t need glasses. When you wear glasses tell yourself they aren’t prescription glasses.

Persist in this assumption until it manifests into the 3D. Remember that you have your desire the moment you tell yourself you do, you just have to accept it no matter what the 3D shows you. Don’t worry about getting signs or movement.

Just identify as the version of yourself with perfect vision. Do methods if you want to.

Some methods or things you can do if you want:

Subliminals for perfect vision

Scripting (writing about what it’s like having perfect vision)

Visualize what the world looks like with perfect vision

[britcision]

So in an exciting chain of events we have:

1) online contact lens retailer redoes their website and Somehow Breaks The Payment Buttons

Both of ‘em

I physically cannot complete an order because either option just cycle into loading hell and do not throw errors

It has been a month

2) THREE SEQUENTIAL CONTACT LENSES split INSIDE MY FUCKING EYE, cutting the dang ball and getting one half stuck in so good it took 36 hours for me to get it out

It’s the new prescription too so the ones I have the least backups for so yeah definitely ran out early and couldn’t wear lenses for a couple days while the eyeball healed

Wasn’t the cornea that scratched though so that was nice

3) the only other well rated site that delivers in my area has Mysterious Password Rules that are not specified but apparently I cannot use numbers, letters, and basic symbols so FUCKING NO you cannot have my payment information???

4) my physical glasses are 16 years old, a prescription out of date, and cause headaches in a couple hours that become migraines in a couple days cuz the bridge is too small and Satan reigns in eye care

5) my optometrists said they’d order some in for me a week ago. I gotta come in and get breathed on by children to pick them up, they cost extra, and despite me reconfirming my phone number they said they’d be in on Monday and it’s Friday now so they mighta called the Disconnected House Line again

So anyway it’s fucking bullshit that I need to be able to pay exorbitant amounts of money to Use My Fucking Eyes and also that even when I HAVE money to be able to use my eyes I simply cannot give it to anyone

The lenses aren’t even on backorder

Hypothetically they should be easily available

I’m going to bite someone and potentially wear some of my cosplay colour contacts to go pick them up so I’m not stacking sunglasses over my glasses to drive

(Which does work but increases headaches)

[worldsewage]

Waiter, 20 25 and 26 for Buck and Fido please!

A FIDO AND KINGYOTO TRUTHER? IN THE WILD? Smooches your mind.

20. if applicable, can they drive? if they have their own, what color is their vehicle? is the inside neat and tidy, or a mess?

Fido doesn’t have a license or a car, he usually takes a train to work, but as of recently, he carpools with Kingyoto— who owns a shoddy small truck, in my mind it’s a faded blue, it’s very clean save for a few radios in the back, it’s filled with a lot of junk, but no trash, you know? Just stuff that winds up in your car when you use it a lot, shirts, spare parts, work tools, the whole shebang. He takes good care of it, it’s very rickety and for sure has broken down on them on really cold days, much to Fido’s dismay.

25. how good/bad is their hearing? what about their eyesight?

Kingyoto tends to space out, but his senses are a-okay, he can’t feel light touches but that’s less of a Kingyoto thing and more of a “Salmonids” thing. Fido has pretty shitty eye sight and wears contacts, he avoids wearing glasses, and in the house he takes off his contacts, and doesn’t wear glasses, he just goes Bat Mode. (Blind.) He hasn’t worn his glasses in so long, they probably need a new prescription…

26. how do they move? are they clumsy? light on their feet? do they use mobility aids?

They’re both pretty heavy lifters, but despite Kingyoto’s size he’s very aware of the space he takes up, and always winds up standing very small, he’s very controlled. Fido probably isn’t as clean about his movements as Kingyoto, but they’re both physically strong since their work involves a lot of heavy lifting and heaving crap out of the water. Both of them aren’t very quick and will both get winded if they have to go up some stairs, but Fido deals with some pain in his legs below the knee thanks to some water damage, he can’t put a lot of strain on his legs for too long without them giving out. He takes pain meds for it, and doesn’t do much else for it, he insists it’s fine. His balance is also pretty skewed since his feet go numb quick.

[ryker-writes]

I once said that Bobo would enjoy stargazing with Jaxon, but I’ve gotten the idea that most of the people from her kingdom, including her, are near-sighted to some degree. Which means things in the far distance are blurry.

Not sure how sound my logic is, but trying to look up irl cave aquatic life has shown me that quite a bit of them are blind. So perhaps humans that live underground in caves may slowly evolve to a similar blind state? Not purely blind as I recall reading that blind cavefish can still detect light… but if caves are limited in fields of view where the sky could reasonably said they aren’t limited at all… then is far-sight all that needed?

So I wouldn’t say Bobo is as near-sighted as I am, but things do get blurry at a certain distance. I have no idea what distance, I need to figure out how I want to word that into google. I just tested with myself by going outside to look at the stars with and without my glasses on.

The very few stars I could see without my glasses were like shiny smeary dots. Like they produced more light / seemed bigger/wider than with my glasses on. Then the moon seemed like a shiny blurry sequin.

Bobo doesn’t have prescription glasses as I’m thinking if most of her kingdom’s population is near-sighted, they probably don’t think it’s a situation where glasses are needed and/or could help. Heck I already have it that most written/printed text is in braille due to low-lighting.

So instead of Bobo stargazing with Jaxon. I propose the idea of Jaxon watching the stars, refusing to sleep while Bobo stares up at the night sky, wondering if he just really likes the color of dark blue. She does love the day sky for its blue color.

How long do you think it would take Jaxon to realize she can’t see any stars?

:O I love that tho the little details like that about what things are like in her own kingdom are so cool!

I imagine both of them sitting in silence for many nights looking up at the sky for different reasons. Jaxon is admiring the stars and constellations and Bobo is just loving the deep blue color across the sky. It would probably stay like that for a while until one of them says something about it.

I see Jaxon commenting something like "the stars are starting to align" or "hmm a shooting star" and Bobo is SO confused about it. That would probably be how Jaxon finds out, and from then on may even try to briefly describe the sight and constellations to her. His descriptions aren't the greatest and he struggles from time to time, but he's trying his best. Jaxon wishes Bobo could see the stars too. When he had no one, he had the stars over him at all times. They almost became something important to him and he wishes she could see how wonderful they are

but for now he'll settle for describing them

[nocturnalghoul]

Favorite headcanon for every ghoul! Go!

These are all so very random and I was verbose as always but here ya go :)

Rain: got that water ghoul Siren pull and sometimes gets in his head about if it affects how much the rest of the pack loves him. Less sad one: teaches swim lessons sometimes for siblings that never learned how :)

Dew: he truly is happy to have switched elements. I always see him as a hybrid and that essentially he flipped what his dominant element was. He just feels that the Fire better suits him

Swiss: his vision is just bad enough that he wear glasses. He has a thin wireframe pair that he wears around the abbey when not wearing his mask, but also they put special lenses into his Era V helmet that are his prescription :)

Mountain: I have talked before about my love of soft folk music enjoyer Mountain before. Him and Rain have a Chill Vibes playlist that they made together. The other ghouls pretend to not like it but they do have to admit it’s relaxing.

Bonus thought: both him and dew see each other as somebody to let their guard down with and be something that aren’t with the rest of the pack.

Cumulus: normally such a sweetie that when she finally gets truly mad it becomes the scariest thing ever.

Cirrus: listen when she parties she has big frat bro energy, im sorry but I MUST say it. ♡

Girl is out there cracking cans open one handed and then demolishing them and she looks hot doing it :)

Aether: nap king. Man is sleepy and can/will fall asleep anywhere. He also will accidentally lull anybody else sitting with him to sleep as well. He often wakes up and there’s another ghoul asleep curled against him that was not there before

Sunny: despite how chaotic she can seem, she also is amazing at small quiet gestures to make others feel loved

Aurora: ghoul most likely to commit to the bit. So often another ghoul sets up a joke and then she just smashes it out of the park

Phantom: great at guitar but bad at quintessence magic. Conversely (bc I see them as a quin/earth combo) bad at percussion but good at earth magic

Ifrit: known around the abbey for being the most helpful ghoul they ever summoned. He’s just a kind friendly lad and all the older ladies love to tell him such

Zephyr: sharpest tongue and quickest wit in town. Also side note I love that people often use him for chronic pain representation.

Mist: people find her all intimidating at first and then earn their way onto her ride or die list and are like Oh Okay

Alpha: is the reason the ghouls aren’t allowed at the yearly bonfire night o.0. The ghouls have their own anyways but are no longer allowed at the main one ever since The Incident

Omega: the best storyteller of the group. He could be telling you anything and it will be captivating every time

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Sexy Bespectacled

(Dieter x horror loving female reader)

Summary: you find out Dieter’s big secret

Warnings: does bad eyesight count? Dieter gets silly and horny, lots of film directors get mentioned, saucy suggestions, being woken up is always unpleasant

Check out masterlist here

A fact not many people now about Dieter Bravo is that he requires glasses.

He can see fine right in front of him and at a small distance, but any further and he’s squinting to see. He managed to get away with hiding his poor eyesight by wearing his prescription sunglasses, having lost one too many pairs of regular glasses and hating contact lenses.

He never watches any of his films because he could never see the screen at any premiere.

He had to reveal this secret to you early on in the relationship as you wanted to go on dates to the cinema and he wanted to actually see the cinema screen.

You didn’t realise you had a thing for glasses until you saw Dieter wearing his own; he somehow managed to look both adorable, sophisticated and sexy. He needed to be seen out in public, but he seemed reluctant about that.

“I think everyone will really like the glasses look”.

“Nah, big celebrities don’t go out in glasses”.

“Lots of them do”.

“Which ones”

This required some thinking: “John Landis, Guillermo del Toro, Bong Joon-ho, Ari Aster, John Carpenter…”

“Ones that haven’t directed horror films?”

That required more thinking: “George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola…”

“You’re only naming directors, honey cakes”.

“I don’t know much about actors; I don’t have that much interest in them, except you, of course”

“Of course” he nuzzled into your neck.

“I’m sure there’s at least one actor I know who wears glasses” you said, ignoring Dieter’s ministrations “I can’t remember though and it annoys me. I just need to not think about it and I’m sure it’ll pop into my head”

“I can think of a good distraction…” he was curling his arms around you so you could no longer ignore him.

Later that night, you remembered. You almost jumped out of bed, excited that you remembered.

“Stanley Tucci!”

Dieter awoke with a start, mumbling something about evil canaries.

“Stanley Tucci wears glasses!”

“What time is it?”

“And everyone like Stanley Tucci”

“How are you awake?”

“He’s a very likeable man and I don’t know why more people aren’t trying to be like him and wear glasses. You like him, don’t you?”

Dieter just nodded sleepily.

“And you’re just as sexy, so you’ll have that added sophistication. Don’t you agree?”

Dieter just sleepily nodded again.

“So you’ll go out wearing your glasses more?”

“At this point, I’d agree to being tied up naked to a bay hale and being spanked”.

It was only then that you realised how late it was.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry I woke you! The thought just came to my head, and I wanted to get it out of my head in case I forgot it in the morning”

Dieter mumbled something akin to an “it’s okay” as you pulled his head into your chest, kissing the top of his head.

“Honey cakes”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t tie me up naked to a hay bale”.

“Don’t worry I won’t”.

“Feel free to spank me though.”

[hitchell-mope]

Answering an otp meme for karamel. Part 3.

Which one is more open about their love life? Both. To the point that none of their friends own a key to their apartment anymore.

Do they have a similar sense of style? Yes. Except Mon El has a more relaxed style because he works as a bartender at Al’s. But apart from that there’s a lot of sweaters shared between them. And a similar glasses prescription.

Who’s the better singer? Kara.

Do they underestimate/overestimate each other? No.

Who’s more athletic? Kara’s stronger. But Mon El has more endurance.

Who falls asleep during movies? Kara. Mon El makes a very good pillow.

Who is better mannered? Kara.

How do they handle disagreements? Talking it out.

If the ship is queer, who realized they were queer first and who came out of the closet first? It’s an mf pairing. Kara is heterosexual. Mon El is bisexual. Kara already knew that Mon El is bisexual so it’s not applicable.

What are their plans for the future? Take it easy where they can.

Do they want kids? Yes.

Who plans most dates? It’s a 50/50 split.

What is their chore distribution? It’s a 50/50 split.

Who’s more attractive? It’s a 50/50 split. But Kara would say Mon El and Mon El would say Kara. It’s sort of the only thing they fight about.

Who flirted first? Mon El

Are they each other’s first serious relationship? If we’re talking about SERIOUS sexual relationships. Then yes. If we’re not. Then no. Not for Kara. We respect Kenny Li in this house thank you very much. But Kara is Mon El’s first serious relationship. Both sexual and nonsexual.

17. If not, how do things learned from previous relationships affect their current relationship? Let’s just say that Mon El used to very good at what he does and that Kara is exceedingly thankful for it. Even if their beds aren’t. And Kara has learnt not to be such an atlas when it comes to her personal problems because now she has someone who can actually help her emotionally instead of just giving her a pep talk that sounds pretty but ultimately does nothing.

[chiefyakousdilftits]

I don’t think I’ve ever really uploaded the very specific version of Yakou I had in my mind since like July, so, here it goes. ✨

✨ Yakou Furio Headcannons Two ; Electric Boogaloo !! ✨

( This is going to include both the Rain Code era of Yakou, and my little spinoff AUs / Devil’s Deal and Project Ninjin 💕 )

( CW ; Drug Usage !! Mental Health !! Trauma !! )

✨ Rain Code Era !! ✨

✨ Yakou does actually have an apartment in Kanai Ward, but he doesn’t really go back there too often. He and his wife both lived there, so being in a place that has practically been untouched since her death really stirs up a lot of sad feelings, so he avoids it as best as he can. He promises that one day he’ll clean it up and move back, but it never ends well when he’s there by himself for too long.

✨ He’s the youngest of three siblings ( and also the tallest ) !! He’s also the only one that lives in Kanai Ward. His mom moved across the world to her hometown, and his siblings live in various places around the world. He’s always wanted to visit his mom, but given the travel restrictions in Kanai Ward, it’s near to impossible to get out of there.

✨ He owned rabbits growing up !! He has a keepsake of rabbit feet in his desk somewhere, from all the previous rabbits he owned. He would gladly have another pet, but it doesn’t feel right to have a larger animal that needs to go outside on the submarine, and he barely has enough money to take care of himself, much less another living thing.

✨ Literally the worst smoker’s cough, also really bad sleep apnea. No, he’s not going to a doctor for it. Lots of waking up in the middle of the night to cough and clear his throat. Yakou doesn’t really get restful sleep, but he’s kind of used to it at this point. It’s part of the reason why he sleeps in so late.

✨ Has always loved the rain, he’s one of the few people that doesn’t get tired of it raining in Kanai Ward, still jumps in rain puddles when he passes by them. :))

✨ Has super bad eating habits, and rarely ever eats unless he feels like he’s starving.

✨ He’s pretty lanky, tends to trip over his own limbs. His body is soft, and he’s not very toned, especially in his hips and stomach. He definitely has muscle in his arms, chest, and shoulders, but he tends to get sore easily, and doesn’t really want to do lots of heavy lifting. He hasn’t really needs to for years.

✨ He’s probably good enough to protect himself at self defense, he can walk away from a fight, but he does get pretty banged and bruised up.

✨ He does actually need glasses, but the ones he’s wearing aren’t prescription, they’re just his late wife!s regular old sunglasses, so he tends to squint. Don’t call him out on it though, he’ll deny he needs them until the day he dies.

✨ Does not take care of himself medically speaking either, he will avoid going to the doctor at all costs, even if he’s sick. Fortunately for him, he has a rather good immune system, so it’s rare for him to get sick, but he does have unmanaged and overlooked medical conditions.

✨ Has four tattoo pieces, two half sleeves on his upper arms of flowers, his signature chest and stomach tattoo, and one on the back to match the front !!

✨ Main choice in pajamas is his suit pants, he hasn’t gone back to his apartment for any, and doesn’t really set aside money to buy more.

✨ I’ve personally always seen Yakou as cisgender ( though I definitely experiment with Trans! Yakou and love the idea of that ), and he is closeted biromantic / bisexual, disaster bi energy. He definitely tries to be as supportive of queer people as he can, but admittedly, being an older queer person, he’s a bit out of the loop on some things.

✨ I headcannon Yakou being forty - one at the time of Rain Code !! Has grey hairs for sure, though he doesn’t feel like he’s aged much since his late thirties. Doesn’t really have any sort of wrinkles yet.

( Now We’ve Reached Lop AU Territory !! )

✨ Devil’s Deal Era !! ✨

✨ Yakou is so mentally ill and unwell. Much more hardened than Rain Code! Yakou for sure.

✨ The OG! Yakou, human Yakou, non - homunculus Yakou !!

✨ Definitely gotten much better at self defense, though due to untreated trauma among other things, his fuse is much shorter. He’s bordering on paranoid at this point, and knows that people are out to get him, so he’s quick to react when he’s anxious or cornered.

✨ Unfortunately took up a lot of drugs during this era, it really adds to his paranoia and temperament, as well as his overall health. Also does a lot of chain smoking, it’s more of a coping mechanism at this point.

✨ Avoids doctors and hospitals like the plague, he genuinely will do whatever it takes to not have to go to the hospital, and really gets into home remedies and such to try and clear up any sicknesses. Keeps a first aid kit in his car to take care of injuries, and has definitely made splints for his fingers and even his leg at one point.

✨ Gets a few scars, ranging from one across his nose, one on his jawline, a few on his torso, a couple on his arms and legs, and a rune scar on his neck ( due to making a deal with the devil ).

✨ His sunglasses end up getting broken, and he doesn’t stop wearing them. It’s a reminder to keep going in the situation that he’s in, even though the cracks in the lenses obscure his vision, and by the end of Devil’s Deal, he’s just wearing the frames, because the lenses get busted out. It’s a comfort item to him.

✨ One of the few survivors of the Blank Week Mystery, he ended up escaping with a few others, and they live in an apartment complex together for awhile, until he makes a deal with the devil. Admittedly, he wasn’t the most badass survivor, and partially thanks dumb luck for making it out alive. It wasn’t really lots of fighting on his way out, more so just keeping quiet and knowing when to time his movements.

✨ Was a bartender again for awhile, and genuinely enjoyed his job this time around, especially after surviving what he did and going through the things he went through.

✨ Definitely exhibits symptoms of PTSD, depression, anxiety, paranoia, and substance abuse disorder.

✨ He becomes much thinner and definitely more dehydrated after awhile, his skin sticks to his bones and muscle, making him seem a little more toned if you don’t look close enough. Though, upon further examination, you can definitely tell he’s extremely unhealthy, with his hands showing it the most, due to his fingernails being unhealthy and the inability to find the veins in his hands and arms, and his breathing problems being much worse.

✨ Honestly so much more grouchy than the Yakou we know, especially nearing the end of this arc, but he’s just having a tough time in general throughout this entire arc.

✨ Project Ninjin Era !! ✨

✨ He’s now reached the age of 42, yippee !!

✨ Still struggling with mental illness, but has built up a wall, so while he’s definitely still very aloof, he still manages to have somewhat genuine interactions with people, especially Yui, but you can definitely tell that he’s trying to keep himself emotionally distanced from many people.

✨ This is the first time in years he’s had a comfortable home to sleep in, though he finds it almost too comfortable, too girly, too soft. But yeah, the image of Yakou sleeping in Yui’s office / guest bedroom, surrounded by all these frilly throw pillows, heaps of blankets, and stuffed bunnies is hysterical.

✨ Finally gets actual glasses !! He keeps the same frame shape, but he now has glasses that fit his head better and actually feel comfortable to wear, rather than digging into his head and nose. He ends up getting the transitional lenses too, so they get darker in the sunlight, but lighter when not in the light.

✨ Actually gets a lighter wardrobe with more breathable fabrics and such, especially since Ninjin Meadows is much warmer than Kanai Ward, and now has actual pajamas that consists of either old thrifted band tees or regular baggy shirts with flannel pants or his boxers.

✨ Starts going to the doctor at the constant insistence of Yui, eventually gets referred to a therapist for his mental health, as well as a primary care doctor, where he learns that he actually does struggle with sleep apnea, COPD, and one of his knees had healed incorrectly, so now he is encouraged to wear a knee brace / wrap to help support it due to the muscle and bone damage.

✨ Still has a complicated relationship with food, because he didn’t really eat unless he had to before coming to Ninjin Meadows, so his cues on when he’s hungry isn’t something he really picks up on anymore, but Yui definitely makes sure he eats at least two meals a day.

✨ You can definitely tell that he gets healthier during this arc, he’s more capable with helping Yui out with heavy lifting and builds back his upper body muscle ( especially in his arms, shoulders, and chest ). He also mentions that it feels like he’s gaining weight back, and while he’s initially upset about it, he eventually embraces it, getting somewhat of a a dad bod.

✨ Really shows off his skills in taking care of rabbits during this arc !!

✨ Stops smoking cigarettes, but has definitely never given up on smoking weed.

✨ Eventually gets a CPAP machine so he can sleep better.

✨ If anything, living with Yui, he has a more comfortable place to stay and someone actively encouraging him to take better care of himself, and while he’s extremely reluctant to do so, vehemently rejecting any kindness for a little bit; slowly, but surely, Yakou starts to get better again, and learn how to cope with his trauma, as well as take care of himself. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not still a grouch like in Devil’s Deal, since he still very much is much more grumpy than in Rain Code, but now he’s learning how to care for himself in ways he never did before. 💕