#and I think I might stick around with it a bit longer

[palephilosopherautomaton]

The war is over. You can still hear its echoes—steel clashing, thunder crackling from your fingertips, screams swallowed by smoke—but they no longer deafen you. You return not to a kingdom, nor a fortress, but to a modest village nestled at the edge of the Eltari Woods. Your name is known, whispered with awe: Seren Valemir, the Flame-Warden of the Southern Front, breaker of siege-lines, the last to stand at Durn Hollow.

You expected a quiet life. Solitude. Rest.

Instead, you get children on your porch each morning, dragging sticks like swords and begging for tales.

“Tell us about the Battle of the Iron Sky again, Master Valemir!” “Did you really set a whole hill on fire?” “Is it true you killed a blood-drake with your bare hands?”

Their eyes are wide. So young. You look into their faces and wonder how many times you fought to keep eyes like those safe.

The villagers, too, seem to think your return is a public service.

“Old Hartha’s sheep are missing again—could be trolls.”

“The well’s gone dry. We think there’s a curse.”

“Little Maela’s got fever. Can you charm it away?”

You never intended to become the town’s resident spellwright, healer, protector, and storyteller. But it happens. Bit by bit. A hexed field here, a haunted grove there. The mage who once leveled enemy camps now uses the same spells to mend broken fences and soothe colicky infants.

Then come the monsters.

They don’t respect peace treaties.

The woods spit out ghouls on moonless nights. Shadowbeasts stalk livestock. Something ancient stirs in the old mines—a whispering hunger, old as the land. You find yourself reaching for your staff more often than you hoped.

But something strange happens.

You heal.

Not quickly. Not cleanly. But undeniably.

Where once you were haunted by screams, now you’re lulled by lullabies sung in the tavern.

Where once your hand trembled with fire, now it calms to braid a child’s hair or guide an apprentice’s hand through their first spark-rune.

And the townsfolk—so utterly mortal—begin to call you not Battlemage, but simply Seren.

One night, long after a storm has passed, you sit by the fire with old bones aching and a mug of honeyed mead in hand. The wind hums outside. A knock comes at the door.

Not a monster.

Just a child. The smallest one. Rain in her hair, blanket clutched around her shoulders.

“I had a nightmare,” she says. “Can you make it go away?”

You beckon her close, draw the warmth of the hearth around her like a spell. You begin to speak—not of war, but of a bright place beyond the mountains, where dragons sleep and dream of better worlds.

And as her breathing slows, curling into slumber, you realize—

This, somehow, is your greatest spell.

And it might just save you yet.

After the long war, you return home, as a famed battlemage, hoping for peace and time to heal your bruised soul. But quiet life escapes you: children beg for stories, villagers need magic, and monsters keep intruding. Yet somehow, this chaotic little town is exactly what heals you.

[one-sunny]

Wrong Time | Angry

14: When you move to a new town, you don’t expect to run into your high school sweetheart. Old feelings begin to arise and you are suddenly faced with the complexity of relationships, communication, and the struggle for true connection.

Warning: 18+ only. contains sexual themes and content, toxic relationships, toxic behaviors, destructive behaviors, complex feelings, anxiety, reader x other characters mention, slow burn, angst, cheating

You were freezing. And you were angry.

Lucci had been such a sweetheart on your first date to the cafe. Quiet, a bit shy, and an absolute pleasure to be around. You found it absolutely endearing when he ordered an extra bagel and proceeded to stop in the park on your walk home to feed the pigeons. When he asked you on a second date, you were eager to jump at the chance.

But now you were angry.

You had taken the bus to meet him at the little theater, a conflict of your schedules that would make you miss the movie if he picked you up. And now here you were.

You waited. And waited. And waited. And now you were angry.

Stupid was an understatement. You agreed to a midnight showing of a movie you truly didn’t care about. As such, the bus had stopped running. He would drive you home so it was all okay, right? You were mentally kicking yourself.

“Pick up, pick up.” You grumble, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder so your hands were free to warm your arms. The line connects. “Hello?” You impatiently utter.

“Hey! What’s up girl, how did your date go?” A giggle bubbles through the phone. Right. Nami was drunk. You were almost certain the others were too. Her Sangria was strong.

“He stood me up.” You speak through grit teeth.

“What?” She’s drunkenly shouting down the line. “You gotta be kidding me, i’ll kill that guy!”

“The bus isn’t running and, ugh!”

“Awh, now I feel bad.” She whines down the line. “None of us are good to drive. Maybe try calling Luffy? I think he’s with Ace and Sabo. One of them should be able to come pick you up.”

You would rather die than let them know you were in this situation. It was bad enough that she would likely drunkenly spill to Robin, Ussop, and Franky about this whole thing. “Yeah, maybe.” You grumble. “I might just walk it. It’s really not that far.”

“No way! It’s a bad neighborhood.”

Casting a look around, you understood what she meant. Everything felt off. You didn’t exactly feel safe. But that meant that you probably shouldn’t stick around making calls much longer. “Exactly. That means I should start walking now before the movie ends and people come out.”

“Stay on the phone with me then.”

You huff, feeling even more stupid. “I can’t. I’m on ten percent and I need a gps.”

“No!” She whines. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Absolutely not. If you’re as drunk as you sound, we’ll both be killed.” You shake your head dejectedly. “I’ll text when I get home, okay? I’ll be safe.”

The phone hangs up before she can protest. Your eyes turn in the direction you came, sucking in a deep breath, and taking off in that direction. Walking fast. Trying to get out as soon as possible from the concern in her voice. Gps guiding your way and draining your battery even faster.

It’s a long, long walk. Worse than you expected. Liberty Street seemed to stretch on as long as possible. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up when you pass by two men sharing a joint. Their eyes track you for a long moment but they make no move to follow.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

That’s when you notice a dark blue car approaching, driving uncomfortably slow. They pass into the empty lane of oncoming traffic to be close to the sidewalk. Tires rolling at the speed of your movements. Your heart is in your throat.

Then the window rolls down. “Get in.” The voice makes you tense for a whole different reason. Blue eyes stare back at you from the drivers seat. You stand in place, gaping at him. “Now.”

“Sanji? What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t die.” His hands grip tighter to the wheel. “Now get in.”

“I’m fine, but thanks. I’m not that far-“

“I’m not going to say it again.” Sanji snaps, voice raised at you. You can count on one hand the times that you have heard this directed at you in all your years of knowing him. “Get in.”

With a glance around the sketchy neighborhood, you finally step around the car to climb into the passenger seat. Heat instantly envelops you, tinged with tabasco and spice. Sanji says nothing as you buckle in. His jaw is clenched tight and his eyes focused on the road.

You tug out your phone. Two percent. Did you send him???

Sorry. Nami doesn’t take long to reply.

You could cut the tension with a knife. You had every right to be angry, yet it couldn’t combat the anger coming off of him in waves. Silence. There’s nothing you can do or say. It drones on.

All the way to your apartment building. He pulls into a parking spot and throws the car in park. Then, you hear the click of his seatbelt. Brows pulled together, you look over to him, he still avoids your eyes. “I’m capable of getting inside by myself.” But he opens the car door anyways.

The tension carries inside and onto the elevator. A bright ding at each floor. Then Sanji follows you down the hallway and to your door.

“So,” You break the silence as you shove the key into the lock. “Do you want to come in and tell me why you’re so mad at me, or are you just gonna fume in the hallway?” A look is thrown his way but Sanji remains silent. However, he follows right behind as you finally open the door.

And the tension grows even heavier.

You stop in the kitchen for a glass of water and Sanji simply stands in the doorway, watching you. Something flares up inside of you. Wanting to break the silence while also being too stubborn for it.

You stare back at each other for a long, long time.

Sanji swallows hard, arms crossing over his chest and his jaw set. “Do you even realize how dangerous that neighborhood is?” His voice is surprisingly soft. “How stupid it was for you to try and walk home.”

“Well, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“You should have never even put yourself into that situation-“

“Putting myself in the situation?” You laugh incredulously and Sanji bristles. “Sanji, are you joking?”

A hand raises to pinch at the bridge of his nose and he intakes a sharp breath. “You can’t be so reckless. I know I have no control over your life but maybe you should try to make better choices about the guys you date and things won’t end up like this.” His words are sharp, striking you in all the wrong ways.

“Oh. Oh no.” You quickly shake your head with a humorless laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m one to talk?” He snaps back.

“Yeah, Sanji. You’re one to talk.” You offer the energy back on a silver platter and the man doesn’t seem too happy for it. “Maybe you should take your own advice here. Sure, I got stood up, but at least i’m not dating the devil herself.”

“Leave Vera out of this-“

“No! Because if you get to be all judgmental about my dating life, then I get to comment on yours too!” Anger bubbles up inside of you as you stare back at the blonde.

“No because this isn’t about me!” His voice is rising just as steadily as yours. “You didn’t have to pick me up in the middle of the night in a literal gang neighborhood! My decisions don’t matter to you.”

“And mine matter to you?” You’re shouting at him now, matching the energy tenfold. “You do remember how you’ve been ghosting all of us, right? You’re not even you anymore. I’m shocked you even cared enough to pick up Nami’s call.”

“You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Throw my decisions in my face. Like i’m the stupid one here-“

“You’re calling me stupid? When you’re pushing away everyone that cares about you for some manipulative piece of-“

“Leave her out of this!” Sanji is quick to cut you off. “You could have been hurt! You’re so stupid for even stepping foot in that neighborhood, okay? It’s way too dangerous for you to be there.”

“I genuinely don’t understand why you’re so mad at me!” Hands thrown up in the air as you’re both absolutely fuming. “You don’t have a right to be so protective of me. In case you haven’t noticed, things changed between us over the years.”

“Maybe they have! But guess what?” Sanji shouts at you. “The one thing that hasn’t changed is how easy it is to love you.” The words rush out of him and you’re struck with such a mix of emotions it is impossible to pin even one down. “And that’s driving me crazy.”

That statement allows one thing to push to the surface, one that could be mistaken for anger. “Oh, you have no right to talk to me like that.” You grit out. “You have a girlfriend!” Heat blooms inside of your chest and tensions continue to build inside the room, threatening to blow up. “Why are you with her if you’re still so in love with me?”

“I’m with her because I can’t have you!”

You’re not even sure if the man is aware of his words, or if it is simply the heat of the moment. How freely he admits that he was settling for the woman that seemed to loathe you so much. You suppose now it all makes sense but that’s not the thought you are dwelling on.

“Says who!” You watch as Sanji’s curly brows pull together in confusion with head tipped to the side. He looks adorable but you were too caught up to allow that thought to linger. “I never rejected you, Sanji. You’re the one who counted yourself out by getting back with her.”

“Because you were seeing that jerk with the red hair.”

That strikes a nerve in you, “I was just sleeping with him!” The words burst out of you in such a way that Sanji recoils, his face conveying his every emotion. For some reason, that angers you further. “And I stopped for you because i’m still in love with you!” The words make you halt. Something that you hadn’t even admitted to yourself finally surfacing. In front of Sanji, nonetheless.

“What?” His voice is shaky, disbelieving.

You grit your teeth, “You heard me.”

And that’s when Sanji takes a bold step forwards, “Say it again.” And then another step closer. And another. You watch his every move with bated breath. In fact, you’re both breathing shaky from a mix of your yelling and the tense air.

“No.”

He moves even closer, until he is standing right before you. “Say it,” He leans in until you’re face to face. “Say it. Again.” Puff of his air fills your space, panted breaths.

You curse yourself for allowing your eyes to meet his, because your resolve effectively crumbles. Because this is Sanji. Your Sanji. “I’m still in love-“

He abruptly pushes forwards to cut you off, lips crashing together. You hesitate for only a moment as your brain processes the sudden intrusion. Then, your arms move to loop around his neck in an instant and he pulls you in by your hips.

It’s needy.

Desperate.

Full of so much pent up longing,

You’re not even sure when you started moving, but your feet are stumbling until you hit the counter. Being caged in against his body, feeling his hands gripping your hips in desperation, and the taste of his tongue all seems to overwhelm your senses at once.

The buzzing in the air doesn’t even process in your mind until Sanji is finally pulling away from your lips. He places a searing kiss to your jaw and the buzzing halts. As teeth delicately nip at the underside of your jaw, the buzzing fills the air again. His lips are on your throat when you finally recognize what that insistent buzzing was.

Phone lit up from the table beside of his keys, your hazy mind finally catches on.

“Sanji.” You call to him, but that only makes his body push closer to yours. “Wait, stop.” Weakly pushing at his shoulder, Sanji jerks his head away from your neck. “You’re still with her.” Your breaths are shaky and you really wish you didn’t have to stop him. But this wasn’t Sanji.

His forehead leans against yours as you both try to catch your breath. “I’m breaking up with her.” He declares as he squeezes your hip. “I only want you.” Lips brush over yours and it takes all of your will power to nudge him away again. “Always been you.”

“This is...” You shake your head, balling his hoodie up in your hands as you remain close. “You haven’t broken up with her yet. You’re gonna regret it if we go any further than this.”

“I’ll never regret you.”

Then your lips are clashing together again, teeth knocking with the urgency. A deep groan vibrates from within his chest, easily popping you up onto the counter and stepping between your legs. His tongue parts your lips and you’re suddenly flooded with the taste of him. Its overwhelming. It begs for more. It satiates everything that you had been searching for through the hook ups you found yourself in.

Sanji is sucking on your tongue and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up without combusting. Heat floods into your stomach. A moan pulls from your lips and Sanji is pulling you in ever closer, gripping tight to your waist. If his nails were any longer, they certainly would have pierced your skin, though you didn’t mind a few marks left behind by him.

Then he’s pulling away to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your perfume. Savoring the moment. As if you would so easily slip through his fingers. “So pretty.” His voice is muffled against your skin.

His lips are back on your throat soon after and you don’t have any time for clarity before he is nipping at the sensitive skin. He explores until you gasp at a certain spot, his teeth sinking in to pull an even more desperate noise that goes straight through him, tongue soothing the spot after.

Then the buzzing comes back and you can feel it all over you. Confused, you shift, only to realize the weight in your pocket. Huh. You assumed your phone had already died.

And you’re aware of so much more. Of the buzzing of Sanji’s phone for the nth time. Vera was probably fuming.

Your brain goes back into a loop of the conversation you just had with the man still attacking your skin with his lips. You wanted him. Needed him. But this wasn’t truly him. This was the desperate version that Vera reduced him to. Sanji wasn’t a cheat.

“Sanj, honey, wait.” You breathe harshly. He pulls back to look at you with blown out eyes, lips swollen and wet with his spit. So tempting. “You- We can’t keep-“ His cheeks are flushed and your will power is dwindling. “Not until you break up with her.”

Sanji’s cheeks flush an even deeper red at this and he drops his forehead to lean against your chest. Crumbling into your arms. Where he belongs. A shaky breath fans your wet skin, “I- I’m sorry, I-“

“I know.” You shift to allow your hands to rest on either side of his cheeks, pulling him up to press a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Sanji sighs and melts into the embrace. It’s far calmer than the very intense moment you had, but it still floods your body with thick emotion. “And I’ll be right here when it’s done, okay?” Your thumb brushes over his cheek. “And we can pick this back up tomorrow after you talk to her, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Series Masterlist | Chapter 15

Taglist: @thekatisspooky @teacarby @zoecelestine @vespidphoenix @mere-mortifer @sagyunaro @dailybrekker @meow-0x0

[arabela25]

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Ok so I’ve found a Diavolo fic I started writing last year and I STILL haven’t gotten to the main part I wanted to write for it lol, gonna try to finish that up, I’m quite proud of it so far honestly~

[milasreyes]

camila didn’t interrupt—just watched him, quietly, the edges of her lollipop tapping once against her teeth before she pulled it out and set it on the table like it needed a break from her chewing through it. she didn’t laugh right away like she usually did when kiernan launched into one of his rants or rewrote history in the image of his own chaos. this time, she listened—really listened. because buried under all the noise was that soft center he only showed in flashes, when he wasn’t looking straight at her. he didn’t say it, not directly, but camila could hear the question anyway: what the hell did i do now? the thing was, she’d heard that question in her own voice a few too many times, too. “you don’t have to make sense,” she said finally, her voice easy but clear. “you just gotta make space.” her gaze lingered for a second longer, as if daring him to scoff at that—at being given room, not rules. “and i don’t know about ghandi or the pope, but i’m pretty sure neither of them ever ate churro fries high behind a burger king. so you might be on to something with the buccal fat thing.” then her mouth twisted into a grin again, tone shifting back to something familiar, sharp but warm. “and for the record? you would be a terrible lawyer. but the kind people watch on reality tv and end up rooting for anyway. you’d show up late to court with a slurpee and still win the case.” she didn’t miss the way he softened when he mentioned the marriage-that-wasn’t. there was a flicker there—pain, probably, or some memory he didn’t want to name. camila didn’t pry. she’d been through her own heartbreaks, quiet ones no one saw. just nodded once like she’d heard him, like it mattered but didn’t need to be dissected. “you’re still on the boat,” she said, softer this time. “it’s just a weird little pirate ship now. bit of a mess, smells like seaweed and regret, but hey, we’re sailing.” and then—forrest gump. she pointed a finger, challenging. “alright. three sentences. no actors. you ready?” she cleared her throat. “it’s about a guy who doesn’t always get things right, but he shows up every time. it’s about loving people even when you don’t understand them. and it’s about running—not away, but toward the stuff that matters, even if it breaks your heart a little.” there. three. her mouth quirked like she was proud of it. then she leaned in again, arms crossed over the table. “how do you know when your moment is?” she echoed. “you don’t. you just pick it. and if it blows up in your face? so what. at least you moved.” a beat. “anyway, i’ll run. you tackle. sounds like a plan with just enough room for disaster.” he called her “kid,” and she didn’t bother correcting him. the smirk she gave him was answer enough. “i like you too, nfl-flunked, churro-fry visionary,” she said, pretending to toast him with the stick of her lollipop. “even if your teacher quotes sucked.” when he teased her again, asking if she was going to call him stupid, she rolled her eyes and kicked lightly at his shin under the table. “nah. stupid people don’t know they’re stupid. you just have selective intelligence.” then, leaning back, she considered his churro fry renaming idea. “kiernan krunch. or the goldstein glaze. i’ll workshop it.” but when he turned it back on her—asked what she’d be a legend for—camila went quiet for half a beat, her expression less performative this time, a little more thoughtful. “i dunno,” she said finally. “maybe being the one who stuck around. i think... that’d be legendary enough.” a pause, then her grin returned, brighter. “that, or sword fighting a PTA mom with a glow stick.”

sometimes he feels like he's on mars. there's always an issue with people — he's too much energy, he's too loud, he's too rough and tumble. something is always wrong with him, and there isn't much he can do to fix it without wanting to change his entire personality. someone's always upset with him for a variety of reasons, usually mouth and reasoning based – life is a constant question of what the hell did i do now?  camila doesn't seem to find the frayed edges, the surgent beneath the supposed tough - guy - ish - not - really exterior. if anything, she sees a bit past it. not just face value stuff. “see? now you're gettin' it – i'm, like, i dunno. who's inspirational? ghandi? the pope? except, i'm, like, way younger and ten times cuter and have buccal fat still.” not that he knows much of whatever that is, beyond the weird plastic surgery tiktok land he found himself in the other night. “if i made sense, i'd be dangerous. i'd proper be a lawyer or something. they don't want that.” he'd be a terrible one in his current state, but if they're talking alternative timeline? kiernan followed the family road, finding himself mouthing off to a jury and winning cases left and right. that sounds about right. “okay, then sell me on it. what makes the movie so great that i should be ashamed as fuck for not seeing it? you got three sentences and no actor name dropping. i don't know shit about them.” it's true – he only learned who was who from his friends, and even then, it feels like it wasn't enough. he can't tell deniro from .. well, anyone else. “yeah. don't be like me — you'll have a pre - divorce. shit ain't pretty and hurts like a bitch.” it hurts every time he goes into sunrise diner now, not that camila needs to know that. the way his features soften even as the blows of his past relationship with bella hits, he's still fond of her. of course he is – they spent years together, and he had to fuck it all up, just like everything else. what the hell did i do now? he's forgotten all about the bucket and candy now. “well can we bring the boat back? jeez, everybody's leavin' without me these days.” his graduating class is slim to none, even though it's not even been ten years. “and how do i know when my moment is? coach always said i thought too far ahead, but not with much stealth to it. never really know when the right time to dash and tackle is, really, though i suppose you would just be running. i can handle the tackling.” corners, in football, are a mix of football intelligence, skill, focus and intuition — the last part was what he lacked most. “exactly. there's a reason i like you, kid,” she's literally older than you? “that's the spirit. like, what's the saying? you don't know if you don't do? whatever my fifth grade teacher made on some construction paper and hung on the board.” he remembers it specifically: the quotes wrong, he knows, her handwriting was terrible and it was black on red paper. he pointedly avoids talking about the family name: it's like an omen of some sort. who's the girl, if you say her name in the mirror enough, she appears? kiernan is convinced if he said his last name enough times, his great - great grandfather would appear and bang a gavel or something scary. “what're you gonna do – call me stupid, now?” his eyes roll, playful and little bite to it. a nod of his head. “you see, it's only legendary if i actually, you know, do something cool with it — they would rename the churro fries to be named after me in some capacity. like the wednesday chocolate sauce they had.” he doesn't remember what they called them then, just that it was a weird collab. “oh, a sequel! well. only if it becomes a box office hit, you know? or else it'll go straight to dvd. a total flop, if you will.” a shrug. “you never told me what you're gonna be a legend for, though.”

[beefjumper]

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin (sarcastic). Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem (there isn't) and I have decided to contribute to that (because there's no such thing as too many elf Gems).

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

[copperbadge]

You know, ten years ago I might have looked at what working remotely has done to my daily routine and said it's really fucked me, but this morning I was thinking about it and I think I'm much closer to my natural inclinations than I could have been before.

I woke up around 2am today (after going to bed at 8ish), ate half a hamburger, and made a batch of meringues. I'd planned to make meringues and macaroons this morning before making haroset for the Passover dinner I'm going to, and meringues basically look after themselves -- after 90 minutes in a 200F oven they'll be fine if they stay in the cooling oven a bit, and my oven has a timed-shutoff function, so if I go back to sleep it'll be okay. And now the mixing bowl has time to dry after being washed before I make macaroons.

So you know, yes I'm up at 2am eating breakfast and doing tasks, but I ate breakfast because I was hungry and I got something checked off my to-do list. I got six hours of sleep and could get a few more if I want. ADHD has a known association with sleep dysfunction but usually that means "night owl"; I had to be different so for me that manifests as being an extreme morning person. Ordinarily that would be more of a hindrance than you think, except now nobody is seeing my schedule on the daily.

There's no real problem with being up for the day at 2am if you don't have to pretend to be alert and productive from 8 to 4:30 later that same day. I get more done at work because I can square it all away early and then just babysit email the rest of the day. If you don't have to commute, you don't have to avoid the hell of being 15 hours awake while on the bus home - for perspective, if you normally get up at 7 like a normal person, my 5pm is your 10pm.

When breakfast is at 3am, lunch comes around 10:30 -- which is good if you're supposed to take a dose of meds at 1pm on an empty stomach. I no longer have to take my lunch break all in a chunk either; I can eat lunch at a leisurely pace and still only take 20 minutes, and use the rest of my break time to cook or clean in short increments, or just spend a few minutes playing with the cats.

And my ability to stick to a schedule is better, because I have to enforce it myself...but I also can. No need to mess with alarms I'll likely ignore if I can set my work lamp to turn itself off when it's lunch time. If I have to get up to turn it back on, I might as well fix lunch, after all. No need to worry about finishing early and not being able to go home -- I can just walk away and keep email alerts going on my phone until official quitting time.

If I had to go back to in person office work, I could; I knew how to cope before. But I have to admit I'd be really bitter about it.

[unnameablethings]

concept:

supervillain × henchman with the twist that the supervillain is a sort of cartoon foppish dramatic gay villain with gonzo schemes and no bodycount. and the henchman is secretly a grimdark ultrapowerful Apex Predator supervilllain who came to Stake Out the competition. got mistaken for a henchman and found this so fucking funny hes just 100% committed to the bit.

hes carrying around boxes of fucking Acme Corporation sticks of dynamite. hes dressing in the matching stylish outfit. hes managing the other henchmen to execute gonzo schemes flawlessly. genuinely the most fun hes ever had in his life

his dumbass gay boss has literally no idea the lengths he is going to behind the scenes to make sure nobody interferes with any of this shit.

(apex supervillain, in his Supervillain Disguise. homoerotically and terrifyingly flirt/threatens flamboyant supervillain. smash cut to this poor man lying face down on a couch unpacking this with the very attentive henchman)

("hes going to eat me maybe????? but GOD that was the HOTTEST fucking thing thats ever happened to me. but i might DIE?? do u think he LIKES me...."

henchman: i think he does :3)

the ruse comes out when someone who the apex supervillain didnt catch comes to ACTUALLY challenge/harm his gay boss in public and apex supervillain is like. yeah no we're not doing this. time for the power of unfathomable violence.

gay supervillain promptly has a FULL MELTDOWN. oh my god the blood. and also. "you LIED TO ME???"

apex supervillain, apologetically: "I was waiting to see if you'd ever figure it out yourself. And the longer it went the funnier it got."

gay supervillain: "I TRUSTED you!! you were my BEST HENCHMAN"

apex supervillain: aw. past tense?

[chahnniesroom]

the way home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & female reader)

summary: a peaceful walk home takes a turn for the worst when you notice you're being followed.

word count: 0.8k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, sasaeng/creepy fan

a/n: i am currently working on a longer fic for this collection, but i wrote this super quickly over the weekend inspired by this clip that i randomly saw on ig.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

You notice the person about halfway between the company and home. You'd decided to walk back since the weather was nice, but now regret your decision.

In general, you try not to be too paranoid when you’re out in public, after all, Seoul is a big city and there are a lot of people going to a lot of places. It's a humbling experience to worry about being spotted by a fan and then realise they just happened to be heading to the same area as you.

You walk past the man first, then notice he's behind you a couple streets later when you happen to turn around. You make a few strategic turns, bringing you back into the direction of the company, alternating between more popular streets and quieter ones. Each time you look back, he's still training behind you and you know it's no coincidence.

His pace isn't particularly fast, he's stayed about half a block behind you this whole time, and his gait is casual. Large but even steps, you would think that he's just taking an evening stroll if he didn't match you every time that you deliberately sped up or slowed down.

You feel hunted.

You call the guys immediately, blindly hitting the call button for your group chat.

“I think I'm being followed,” you say, the second the call connects. You don't even know which of the members picked up.

“Where are you?” Chan replies back, his tone urgent.

“I was walking home, but now I'm heading back to the company. I'll send my location now.”

“Do you have any details?”

“I think he's a fan. He looks young, early 20s and it seemed like he recognised me. I didn't realise until later that he had turned around and was still behind me.”

“Try to stick to a busy street,” Chan urges you. “Y/n-ah, do you think he's dangerous?”

“He doesn't seem dangerous, per se,” you say slowly. Your voice barely comes out as a whisper. “But I’m scared, oppa. I don't feel safe.”

“We're on our way,” Minho replies. You have no idea when he joined the call or who else is listening in, but you already feel a bit better knowing that they're there. “We'll be there soon and security is sending a team too.”

“Can you stay on the call until then?” you ask with a tremulous voice. “I don't want to be alone.”

“Of course.” It's Chan again. “I promise, we won't hang up until you're in our arms.”

“I'm close to the cafe we went to last week,” you tell them. “The one with the green grape ade and the sweet potato cake that I liked. I think they're still open. I'm going to go in."

“Got it,” Han confirms. “I know the place, we'll send everyone that way.”

You don't want to run or do anything that might set off the person following you. It feels like forever until you finally reach the cafe's entrance and make it in. The jingle of the bell has never seemed so welcoming.

You nod to the worker at the counter and head to a table further into the cafe. You’ve visited enough times that they don't question you since you sometimes meet up with the boys and wait until they arrive before ordering.

“I'm inside,” you update the boys. “Sitting at a table. He’s out there just- he's just standing there. Why won't he leave me alone?!”

Even though you feel significantly safer now that you're inside with other people, your heart is still racing and adrenaline has filled your body. The hand that's not holding your phone is shaking.

“It's okay if you feel scared,” Seungmin soothes you. “We're almost there. He won't bother you again.”

“Okay,” you say shakily, trying to compose yourself.

“Security is close,” Chan says. “What does this person look like? What are they wearing?”

“He's average height, slim. Wearing a baseball cap, big black jacket, baggy jeans. He's right at the window beside the door.”

“Got it,” Chan replies.

You watch, moments later as a couple of men approach the guy. They talk to him for a second before they lead him away with a firm grip on each shoulder.

The second after he disappears from your view, the members burst into the cafe, frantically scanning the room.

You stand up and meet them in the middle.

“Thank you.” Is all you can say, before you burst into tears of relief. The boys waste no time surrounding you and wrapping you in their arms murmuring reassurances, uncaring of how it must look to the cafe patrons.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[rotapathetic]

𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎 .ᐟ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ﹏

cute creepy behavior ready to do anything for you himbo introduction

rafe threw the plastic football back to topper. “alright, need a break. .” he quickly dodged the item coming right back at him. he looked back to where it landed behind him, then back to topper who looked to be holding in a laugh. “i’m not playing with you anymore,” rafe shook his head solemnly, walking away towards where you were lying on the blanket.

he was ready to complain to you about how topper basically almost took his head off when he got a good look at you. stomach down, book in hand, shades on, legs kicking back and forth in the air. and oh, wow. sunscreen does wonders on the skin, rafe noticed. you were shiny. rafe’s eyes almost glossed over at the sight.

“so pretty,” he mumbled, eyes grazing you from head to toe. why didn’t he learn about sunscreen sooner? why hadn’t he applied it on you today? could he still apply some? too much sunscreen doesn’t hurt, he learned. plus, it’ll make your skin look more like. . that. yeah, that.

you raised your head, hearing the mumble from rafe and also noticing the tall shadow in front of you that stood there longer than you anticipated. “huh?” you asked him.

rafe stilled, thinking of what to say. should he ask how you’re his girl while looking like that? should he start rambling compliments that were close to spilling off his tongue? because he couldn’t think fast enough, he continued standing there, staring. your little giggle broke him out of the trance.

“do you want more sunscreen?” his voice slightly cracked in the beginning. totally cool. you shook your head in amusement. “i think i’m good,” you nodded. rafe whispered “dang it,” snapping his head to the side. should he find another way to touch you? yeah, sure.

“want a shoulder massage?” he’s never given one before and would probably push too hard and dislocate something, but it would be worth the try. you smiled at his efforts. “’m fine, rafe. i’ll just stick to reading. you can keep playing with topper, if you want,” you shrugged.

rafe scrunched his face in disdain, raising the corner of his upper lip. “no,” he responded without needing to think. he quickly thought of an idea, glancing at his bag on the sand behind you. “i’ll just sit real quick,” he practically sprinted over to the bag, plopping down on the sand.

he pulled out his digital camera, turning it on. angling it on you, he snapped away, leaning to the side to capture your side profile, then raising his arms and squinting to get an overhead shot. bridging his arms back down, he swiped through the photos, content on what he got. now he’ll have this sight to look at whenever. score. he quickly stashed the camera away, scared you might turn around and ask what he was up to.

he sprung up, heading over to topper, telling you, “i’ll go play now,” as he walked away.

you bit down a smile, aware of what rafe was doing behind you. “be careful,” you shouted after him. you wouldn’t bring it up that you knew.

[dismalflo]

touch

poly!moonwater x reader who doesn't know how to ask for what they need ✩ 911 words

summary: Being comfortable in a new relationship is hard, especially when your unsure of how to ask for what you crave - touch.

cw: fluff, comfort, newly established relationship, touch starved reader

an: first poly!moonwater work because i love them ahh

You’re tucked into the corner of the sofa, a blanket draped over your legs, eyes aimed at the TV—but you’re not really watching. Not properly. Your mind keeps drifting, snagging on the narrow space between your foot and Regulus’ thigh. The few inches might as well be miles.

They’ve been together far longer than you’ve been in the picture. There’s a rhythm to the way they move around each other, a seamless, quiet understanding you haven’t quite caught up to. It’s not that they’re always physical with each other—they're both careful with touch—but when one of them reaches out, the other always seems to know how to meet them halfway. It's natural. Intuitive. And you can't help but feel a step behind.

You know it’ll come with time. That closeness. That ease. But right now, you’re stuck in your own head. You don’t know how to ask for what you need without sounding needy. You’re scared that wanting something so gentle—so simple—might come across as selfish. And worse: you’re terrified of how much it would hurt if they pulled away.

A soft shuffle pulls you from your thoughts. Remus enters the room carrying a plate of snacks, setting them on the table. If only he could hear the noise inside your head. But you don’t say anything. Can’t.

“Are you okay, dove?” Remus asks, voice low and gentle as his eyes land on you. They soften immediately. He sees you. “You look a bit pale.”

You nod automatically, not trusting your voice, and Regulus hums inquisitively before moving. His hand reaches for your forehead without hesitation, fingers cool against your skin. You freeze—not because you don’t want it, but because you want it too much. Your body stiffens, like you’re afraid any movement might scare him off.

He won’t pull away, you remind yourself. He’s your boyfriend. He loves you. They both do. But the fear still lingers, soft and persistent.

When his touch finally lands, it’s grounding. Your shoulders sag under the weight of relief, tension uncoiling from your spine. Regulus’ brows draw together, concern written across his sharp features as he glances toward Remus, silently asking is something wrong?

Remus catches your eye again, and you flush under the attention. Your face burns, caught in that spotlight of care.

“Come here, lovely,” Remus says gently, rising from the chair he’d just settled into. The offer is quiet, but it opens a door.

You don’t think—you just go.

He gathers you into his arms the second you reach him, pulling you in without question. His embrace is warm and steady, and the moment your body touches his, something inside you clicks into place. You hold on tight, fingers curling into the back of his jumper like you might fall apart if you don’t.

“Hmm,” Remus hums, mostly to himself. “Thought so.” He kisses your forehead softly, his lips lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

Regulus, watching from the couch, tilts his head. He’s catching on too. “Have we not been giving you enough attention, amour?” he asks, voice laced with both concern and a teasing edge. Not mocking—never mocking—just wanting to make it easier to answer.

You shake your head too quickly. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” The words stick in your throat, fragile and knotted.

Remus gently tilts your chin up, coaxing your gaze to his. “Just what, darling?”

You exhale, shaky and small. “I know you don’t always want touch. And I don’t want to ask if it’s not… something you want.”

Regulus doesn’t hesitate. “We like it when it’s with you.” His voice is firm, steady—like it’s the most obvious truth in the world. “You don’t have to question that.”

Your breath catches at the certainty in his voice. You glance between them, finding nothing but softness and love in their expressions.

“You never have to be afraid to ask for affection,” Remus says, brushing your hair gently from your face. “We want to know what you need, so we can give it to you.”

His hands cup your face then, holding you like you’re precious. Like you’re theirs.

“We want to love you the way you need to be loved,” he adds, and the words settle into the quiet places of your heart, chasing away the doubt that had nested there.

You nod slowly, your body growing heavier with the kind of relief that makes you feel lighter all at once.

Without needing to speak, Remus guides you back toward the sofa where Regulus waits, arms already open. You sink between them easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Remus presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm and reassuring, while Regulus rests his chin on your head, one hand stroking your arm in gentle, soothing passes.

“Is this alright?” Remus murmurs, voice barely audible.

You nod, voice catching with emotion. “Yeah… it’s perfect.”

Regulus smiles against your hair. “Good,” he whispers, and you can feel the truth in it

The TV hums in the background, but none of you are really watching. You’re wrapped in their arms, surrounded by warmth and steady breaths and the kind of love that asks nothing but gives everything.

And when Regulus leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, and Remus rests his hand on your thigh in quiet comfort, it’s not about proving anything—it’s just them loving you, completely and deliberately, the way you never have to ask for again.

masterlist <3

[syluses]

panty-thieving caleb

do we need to discuss this? caleb truly does this. nobody’s undergarments safe from this man. does homeboy feel guilty? yes. will he do it again? u can bet ur ass on it

It’s… fine.

I mean, you’re gone for a few days, your little hunter’s gig requiring your presence elsewhere, and the apartment is quiet- almost uncomfortably quiet- for a short while; he has some room to wriggle. Be bad. He could throw a house party in your absence and you would never know. He’s good at keeping secrets, and he’s a masterclass in those pitiful puppy dog eyes that catch you for hook, line, and sinker. If he said he didn’t, then you’d believe him, ‘cause you’re a good girl.

(His good girl. Whether or not you’re aware of that has no effect on its truth.)

It’s not like the walls have eyes, that you’re watching, when he leans against the washing machine, his own dirty clothes swirling in a heap behind the clear window, and spots your hamper propped behind the door, a glint of interest in his eye- shameful as it may come.

You’re far from stupid. But you are naive, down to a fault- and Caleb thinks, flipping the lid of it and stooping over to rifle through your laundry, that it’s for the better.

It’s just marginally easier on his conscience if you’re unaware of what he’s about to do.

Look- to clear the air, he isn’t proud of it, alright? But fuck if he doesn’t need it. You’ve left him high and dry one too many times to count, and he doesn’t blame you for that, pipsqueak, he gets that your relationship had established boundaries from early on- too early to really even remember- and that you couldn’t begin to understand the depths of what he feels for you. He gets that. It’s only festering in the forefront of his brain on most days, squeezing in his chest in a way that reads longing just as much as it does guilt.

The knowing doesn’t stop him though, or the disgrace.

Might even drive him a little bit further, if he’s being honest.

He digs out a frilly pink article, pointedly ignoring all other clothes save for the few oversized shirts of his you must’ve snagged earlier this week- regarding them with a passive but somewhat smug smile- and pulls it taut between his fingers, marvelling a little at the intricate gusset.

Fuck.

And you know, the remnant of his guilt fades the longer he stares. Perverted or not, his imagination runs at a mile a minute and there’s a certain thrill he obtains in envisaging you wearing it. So, so beautiful, he’s sure, and how could you not be? A pretty nymphet strewn in blushing pink. He barely has the self restraint to pass up on finding the matching bra, but it’s a near thing.

He doesn’t think he really cares about how horrified you’d be, how much faith you’d lose in him- your precious Caleb- not as his cock stirs in his briefs and he pictures you wearing the underwear, sticking your ass out for him on full display. He’d touch it and grope it and guide you down onto his aching length- but not before getting your pretty pussy (well, he’s never seen it before, no, but he’s willing to bet his whole piggy bank that it’s as gorgeous as the rest of you) all primed and ready for him.

He’d worship you. Really, he’s just waiting on your green light.

In his dreams he kneels on the ground before you and laps at your folds ‘til you’re screaming and pulling his hair- but he doesn’t let up until he knows for sure you’ve nothing left to give him. When you’re wholly satisfied, then, and only then, does he hike his pants down his thighs and sink into your sopping heat.

The smell of you— “mmnh.”

Oh pretty girl, nothin’ compares.

Caleb lets out a little groan as he fists your dirty panties tight and thrusts it in his face, inhaling your scent- faded detergent mixed with an undeniably feminine musk- in lungfuls. He thumbs over the fabric with appreciation and gives it an oddly chaste kiss before getting to swift work on his growing problem.

This won’t happen again. He promises. If you were around for it, you’d hear him spew out his apologies and proffer out his little finger for a pinky swear. He never breaks a pinky swear, too. It’s sacrilegious in your household.

He’s half tempted to wrap your pretty panties around his cock and rub it that way, but he quickly thinks better of it, surprisingly clear-headed in his conviction to keep it untainted. Your underwear having been thrown in your dirty hamper or not- Caleb doesn’t want to mar them with his own release if he comes hard into the lacy folds of it- and no doubt he would. He respects you a little too much to tarnish your precious belonging, and while he knows his actions are disparaging in and of themselves, this is a front he’ll remain staunch on: your undies are valuable, not some material to use for jerking off before curtly disposing of.

He’ll be careful, he’ll be good to them. Okay?

Evidently, that respect he has for you isn’t quite enough to stop him from nabbing your dirty laundry and huffing it in like paint— but it’s the little things that count, right? The thought.

A rasping whine punches out from his chest, his eyes clamped shut as he strokes himself with long, slim fingers, desperately wishing them to be yours instead. Yours would be softer, more uncertain and unexperienced as they trail over his dick but fuck they’d feel so good, he knows this like he’s never known anything before. Just pines for it to become reality.

Of course, he’d start with something smaller to ease you in; he wants it to be romantic, your first time, full of sloppy, but meaningful kisses as confession and hands cupping your face as he vows to keep you happy forever.

But what he gets up to- you’d be so mad if you knew— He wants to save himself from the mortifying prospect of you ever unearthing his sordid inner world, but it’s a little too late to backtrack. He can’t reverse what he feels for you, in any case.

Shit. It sounds so bad- the dregs of his rationale rebuking him somewhere in the back of his head- but thinking about you frustrated just gets him riled up even more. ‘Cause you’re so cute like that... Furrowed brow and flushed cheeks, lips that pout and arms that cross over your breast and unwittingly press them up and present them to him before you either frown or inevitably turn your back on him.

He could die in peace to your catty moans and whines. And then he’d revive himself just to pull a few more out of you.

Hey, look, pipsqueak, he knows he’s a big meaniehead sometimes, but—

Pre dribbles from the tip and he smears it down the long column of his cock, sucking in a shaky breath as the washing machine drums out a steady tune. He could fuck you on it. It’d probably feel so good that way. Or he could drag you to the couch and eat you out for hours on end until his knees bruise on the carpet and you constrict your thighs around his head. Sounds like a dream. Like his dreams.

—but he just loves you so damn much.

And can you really fault him if he gets a little worked up over how you behave? I mean, yeah, he’s supposed to be your ‘gege’ and all, but c’mon... He’s still a man at the end of the day. You’re kind of setting a high bar for him, don’t you think? He’s only human. He’s fallen victim to love, and if you were experiencing even half of what he’s been for seeming eons now, then you’d understand it too.

It flourishes in his belly fast- the want to taste and take and consummate with you- pleasure reaching its peak as he keenly pumps his fist. He knows this is screwed up, he knows, but it feels so good and he just—

“Oh, ungh- pipsqueak-!” with a few sputtering gasps, he ruts his hips into his hand one more time before everything existing inside him erupts. He hurtles himself at the washing machine as it thumps, hugging your panties to his nose like it’s the one thing keeping him rooted in place right now and from buckling to the floor, dousing himself in the scent of you as his eyes flutter back. When he comes, he wants it to be to the essence of you and nothing else.

White gushes over the backs of his fingers; he rides himself through it, broad chest heaving as he talks himself down from his own high.

His inner dialogue is starker now as he settles and the desire searing his critical thinking abates. It’ll never happen again, he’s adamant on that. Because he’s more or less just betrayed your trust, to put it lightly, and it’s not right.

Guilt warms his heart to an unpleasant degree.

I-It’s fine.

When he’s done, he’s not quite comfortable with himself and the knowledge of what he’s just done- see? he’s not a completely depraved bastard, haha. He tucks himself in the waistband of his sweats with an almost rueful glance towards your hamper, grinding his jaw as post-nut clarity sinks its teeth into him— and pockets your panties.

It’ll make a nice triad to the other two he’s got stowed in his dresser.

You don’t need to know about any of this, though- you shouldn’t. Caleb’s the one who’ll shoulder this for the both of you. And if you come asking, he’ll just tell you the washer’s been eating up his laundry, too. No biggie.

It’s fine. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

can you PLEASEEEE do something with the idea of reader stealing/wearing katsukis clothes?? you’re the only one who i think will fully do this idea justice xx

pure fluff, reader is a thief, reader likes the way katsuki smells, roughhousing lol kinda ?? katsuki sorta tackles you, katsuki is a meanie, tickling, no pronouns mentioned in this one I don’t think ! lemme know if i missed sum else !!

a/n : hey so this has been sittin in my drafts for literal decades omg IM SO SORRY🙁🙁🙁🙁ALSO BTW TYSM FOR THINKIN I COULD DO UR ASK JUSTICE I WAS SO FLATTERED WHEN I READ THIS I WAS GIGGLING N SHIT🤭🤭i was always so excited for this ask but I literally never got around to doing it after my break n stuff, im slowly (and that’s suuuuper slowly im so sorry yall i suck) getting to all of your asks one at a time and im so grateful yall r still givin me the time of day honestly , so please be patient with me🤧💗💗💍 ! But anway enough dumping ! Anon if you’re still sticking around, i truly hope u enjoy this ! And ofc all of yall too ! much luv xxx!!

"you fuckin' thief.."

shit. you thought he'd be gone for longer.

lately, you’d been routinely sneaking into katsuki’s dorm room and nabbing some of his clothes. sweaters, hoodies, t-shirts : as long as they were in your reach, you’d grab them.

it's not your fault, really ! katsuki's clothes are so cosy and warm and they smell just like him. plus, they're perfect to snuggle in when he's busy, how could you not borrow them for a little while ?!

..except you can admit that you’ve been stalling..and a lot of his clothes were still in your room, but you still planned on giving them back..soon !

and you can’t even pretend, because you’re wearing on of his hoodies that had been missing for a good week now.

"katsuki, baby." you slowly lean away from his clothes drawer, your hand ready to snag a black hoodie of his slowly trailing towards the floor "i can explain."

"all my damn sweaters, my fuckin' hoodies. they all just vanished without a trace.." he starts, slowly stalking over to you. you squeak, slowing getting on your knees to prepare yourself should you have to break his ankles and sprint out of the room. he's fuming, eyebrows twitching "thought i was goin' crazy.."

"and all this time.."

"suki.." you try, voice wobbly as your knees shake with each step closer he gets.

"it's been fucking YOU ?!"

and he pounces.

with a squeal, you scramble and dash away just as he leaps for you and narrowly misses, he's got you cornered as you're on opossite sides of his bed while you beg for mercy and he keeps yelling at you to 'come here'. in a panick you grab one of his pillows and fling it at him.

it feels like the pillow slides down his face in slow motion to reveal a look so vile a demon appearing in front of you right now would scare you less

“you’re. so. dead.”

there’s really nowhere else for you to go. you’re truly cornered, you might as well just be buried right now. you think about the leftovers waiting for you in the fridge and how sero still hadn’t returned the manga he’d leant from you, but you’ve lived a pretty good life.

before your body can decide to move, katsuki leaps over to you tackling you and having you land straight onto his bed with a loud shriek.

frantically, you wave your hands around “wait, wait pleasepleasepleasepleasepleas-” but your begs of mercy are cut off when katsuki jams a finger into your side, causing you to yelp. he hovers over you with a mean smirk. and you know what’s coming.

“katsu—”

you don’t even get to finish before he jams his hands into your sides and mercilessly tickles you.

from an outsiders point of view? this is harmless. but your boyfriend is mean and the biggest asshole in the world because he knows all of your weak spots and the places he knows will have you shaking and gasping for breath. it felt like actually torture, really.

“thought you could get away with it, huh ?” he sneers, leaning down a bit more so he’s eye level with you “thought you could keep taking my shit and i’d just neeever find out, hm ? yeah ?”

“b-but i—ah ! didn’t—!” you gasp and squeal, choking on the sentences you can’t manage to push out of your throat as your eyes squeeze closed. you don’t have to see his face to know he’s enjoying this.

“you’re a fuckin’ thief.” he spits, backing up from you so you don’t headbutt him square in the nose from your thrashing. you’re response is nothing but a harsh gasp and he smirks wider.

you think he’s finally, finally taken pity on you when his fingers slow to a stop, but he glares down at you, hands still on either sides of you “say it.”

you can’t even catch your breath before he hurriedly pressed closer to your sides to scare you, you shriek “stop ! m’sorry !”

“not what i wanted you to say, try again.”

“you’re—” you take a breath “sucha”

his fingers graze your shirt and his eyes are wide, daring you to finish your sentence, you bring your hands up to try to hide his field of vision.

“OKAY ! okay, okay…” you slowly lower your hands away, finally dropping them at your sides with a sigh “m’ a thief…” you mumble in defeat, embarrassment creeping up on you not only from the fact that you got caught but that the blond above you clearly enjoyed your torture if the evil snickers you heard we’re any sign of that.

he hums in satisfaction “mhm, no good fuckin’ thief. should lock you up and throw away the key on your ass.” you hate how handsome he looks when he’s playful like this with you. your sides still hurt and your voice is croaky from how out of breath you were and for a moment you seriously thought you saw the pearly gates.

you pout, and all it does is make him smile wider.

your boyfriend is mean. and the biggest asshole in the entire fucking world.

“s’not my fault..your clothes are comfy.” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “and they smell good.”

he scoffs, leaning down closer towards you “that’s cus i fuckin’ wash them. and i haven’t been able to lately cus someone’s been stealing my entire closet.”

“i didn’t !”

“was boutta make me walk around naked, ya moron. all my clothes are gone.” you roll your eyes, he never lacked in the dramatics department.

“you’re such a drama queen.” you whine, sinking into his comforter. he ignores you and he presses your cheeks together with one hand, chuckling at your smooched cheeks and furrowed brows.

“stop stealing my stuff.” he announces slowly. he’s clear, no way you could’ve misunderstood him anyway. he sighs and presses a quick peck to your lips still pressed together

“if you want one of my sweaters r’something, jus’ come ask me. can give you one..or whatever.” he finishes, voice slightly muffled in embarrassment as he shoves his mouth against yours again and again making wet kissing sounds and you manage a giggle. he rolls his eyes, but a smile slowly crawls up his face anyway as he releases your cheeks. you let out a happy sigh, opening and closing your mouth to get rid of the slight soreness.

“take this shit off though.” he tugs at the hoodie you’re wearing “stinks. need to put it in the wash.”

“no it doesn’t !” you protest, pressing the color against your nose in an attempt to keep it close to you “it smells like you!” you pout. he doesn’t respond for a bit, opting to squint at you while the tips of his ears turned pink. and in a second his snatched the bottom of it and ripped it off of you, ripping a pathetic scream from you.

he examined his hoodie with an unreadable expression before his eyes land back on you for a second, then he slowly starts folding up his sweater “you trynna say i stink ?” he says lowly.

“no. i wouldn’t wear your clothes if they were nasty” you scrunch up your nose “you can take back the sweater in my room, though. the smell is starting to wear off.”

“gee, thanks for offering to give me my sweater back. weirdo” he glares, spitting his words out sarcastically and you giggle at his extra emphasis on his ownership of the hoodie which earns you a huff.

“ i’m grabbing all the shit you took from me, and they stay with me.” he starts warningly ��but you can keep this, i guess..” he adds, patting on his now folded hoodie ready for a cleaning. you smile happily, running your socked feet into his blankets.

“ oh, but don’t forget to wear it first after you washed it, want it to smell like you. otherwise there’s no point.”

“you really are a fucking weirdo.” he spits, but the way his cheeks burn bright red say he’s not truly mad about it. you laugh, and katsuki grumbles. “hope you learned your lesson, freak.” he taunts. you hum in fake thought, then release a sigh.

“yeah, i guess i did.” you concede, and he nods proudly.

and sure, yeah, you’re boyfriend’s a big meanie. but you do a great job at riling him up.

“for now.”

[ventique18]

~ Happiness shared is happiness doubled (🐉🌸♀️ family) ~

Ever since he met her, he learned to find tables insufferably suffocating. She who hated homework, she who would rather do her projects sprawled on the carpet than hunched on a dimly lit desk.

So it wasn't terribly surprising when, years later, Malleus started doing paperwork on the country's affairs; while sitting cross-legged on a grassy meadow, by the lake. Incredibly unergonomic and grass would stick to his pants, but he was young and she was there to smoothen out his stiff muscles when he pretended to be sore.

And, most of all, their son loved playing outside more than anything.

"Papa! Turtle!"

He stopped with his scribbling and turned his attention towards the little boy. Whatever his son was up to was far more interesting than his bored comments to some noble's nonsensical ideas, anyhow.

He smiled wide at the boy, "Indeed, that is a turtle. You remember your lessons well."

"Turtle!"

"Indeed. A turtle."

He was waiting for the child to waddle back to whatever he was doing before he could return to his scribbling. Which didn't happen. So when a few awkward seconds passed with only the boy grinning silly at him and him staring back in confusion, he knew this scenario was outside of his expertise.

"Yuu," He called her, without taking his eyes off the child. The her in question, his wife, was preoccupied with a business plan she had in mind for their potential export. Nonetheless, she scooted towards them.

"What is he doing?" He asked in her mother tongue. He didn't want their child to understand. "Is he giving the turtle to me? Is he asking me to make an entertaining trick out of it?"

She giggled. What an utterly hopeless husband she had.

"I think," She answered as she leaned closer to his ear, "He has no particular goal in mind. He just wants to share his happiness with you."

"Share... nothing in particular?"

"Yes. For the recipient it might just seem like a bit of an amusing distraction, but for the sender, happiness shared is happiness doubled. He wants you to share this moment with him."

With wide eyes, it finally clicked. His paperwork scattered, her skirts flew in the wind, and the grass still clung to his pants even when he breezed past his son with a light tap on his little head.

"Wait a moment." He said before rushing towards the lake.

... And returned with a bigger turtle in his hold.

"My turtle is larger. I wonder which one Mama likes better?"

The boy gasped upon seeing his father's prize. Crinkling his nose, he turned the turtle around for anything, and came up with something. "This is longer tail." He said, with broken grammar, as he turned the turtle to its rear and thrusted it to his papa's face.

"Oh? Phenomenal." The dad grinned, then pointed to a spot on his turtle's shell, "But look closely at mine. It has an interesting mark. See? It has a heart-shaped spot. This must mean I love Mama more."

The boy peered at the spot before turning to his papa's mischievous smile, looking offended with his mouth agape. All too suddenly, the boy's turtle turned pink. He ran to his mama's embrace to give it to her. "Mama likes pink!"

His laughter boomed loudly without him meaning to. A pink turtle? When did his boy learn magic to change colors? Children truly do grow up fast.

"Is it pink? Look closer, boy! Yours is blue. Mine is pink."

"No!! Papa! Cheater!"

When he stood up on his wobbly legs to tackle his dad, said dad grabbed him and lifted him into his huge, warm hug full of melodious laughter. As if tickled by his dad's sturdy chest buzzing with incessant giggles, all the fury in his little body dissipated. Replaced with only an indescribable warm that permeated his chest.

The mother, all along just silently watching them, finally released her hearty laughter. "My goodness, there are no pink nor blue turtles. Both of you cheated! Now, pick those poor things back up and let them have their lunch in peace!"

As a child growing up, nonsense was something his tutors warned him to avoid as much as he could. After all, nonsense had no value; an utter waste of time for someone as important as he was.

But how wrong they were. Because this nonsense, this time spent with no goal in particular, was a moment that he was sure his boy would remember forever. That he would remember for the remainder of his life. Because this was a moment that he chose for himself, with no concern for value in exchange, with no concern for whatever came next.

Just a couple of happy people who wanted to share their happiness, in hopes of doubling it. Of tripling it, in their case.

"... Yuu, if we had eight children, do you think we would have ten times the happiness between all of us?"

"Oh go away, you."

[earthtooz]

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.  

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc. 

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.” 

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.  

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you. 

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you. 

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion. 

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them. 

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.” 

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now. 

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much. 

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?” 

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure. 

“Love you,” you murmur when parting. 

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun. 

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.  

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away. 

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him. 

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum. 

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks. 

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips. 

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?” 

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response. 

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office. 

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step. 

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.  

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs. 

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building. 

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.” 

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives? 

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy. 

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.” 

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs. 

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning. 

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity. 

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you. 

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out. 

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress. 

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give. 

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first. 

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze. 

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.” 

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food. 

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day. 

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved. 

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day. 

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles. 

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end. 

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted. 

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek. 

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.” 

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”  

“Which was?” 

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.” 

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye. 

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you. 

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night. 

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.” 

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.” 

“I love you, Wriothesley.” 

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again. 

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[gatorbites-imagines]

logan who is always keeping track of reader's location, emotion, etc by scent. but also he gets irrationally horny when reader is even a little bit sweaty bc he loves the smell so much

Logan Howlett x Male reader 

Headcanons 

Rubbing my hands together like a fly seeing this request. I see the word scent and sweat in a request and I become giddy. I couldn't google my way to where the scent on humans is strongest, so I just made it up. 

I can only assume you are a mutant and part of the X-men if you are dating Logan for a longer period of time. Seeing as Logan is the communal bike of the X-men, and all that. 

This is also where I think Logan would stick around long enough to really add his and your scent to things. Hes always paying attention to you, but the mansion is somewhere Logan can rub up against stuff to scent it. 

You would end up picking up some of his habits too without realizing. Like scratching your back on a doorway, or rubbing your wrists on stuff. To you it's just a comfort thing, to Logan its actual scenting. 

Logan has your scent locked in his memory, and he could find you anywhere in new york, even if you actively tried to hide, that's how much he keeps your scent in mind. 

Normally he wouldn't think too much about it. He keeps a check on every member of the team or the students, but he always pays a little more attention to you. 

Logan would keep an eye and his nose on wherever you just happen to wander, and if he walks past somewhere you've been, he would even know when you were there and how you were feeling. 

I like to imagine he can notice changes in how you smell when you experience strong emotions. It's not like omegaverse where you scent changes drastically, but he could notice the ripeness or the influx of sweat. 

Keeping track of your scent also means Logan is seen prowling around you on the regular. Everyone knows if they can't find Logan, then chances are he's with you, or just in the same room as you. 

When you guys are alone, I imagine Logan likes to rub his mutton chops/beard against you, to get his own scent on you but also to get yours on him. Logan wouldn't purr or anything, but I think he does do that groan some men do when they get really comfortable. 

Sweat is different from an everyday scent. And yeah, we all sweat throughout the day, but if we let it stick for a while it gets kinda ripe and sour, and I think that has Logan huffing a bit more than normal. 

I don't think Logan would do something every single time he smells sweat on you, but he might just start prowling a bit more around you, like a tiger in a cage. 

And yeah, I think it's obvious to anyone who's been on the receiving end of Logan, that he's started to get heated up. To anyone else, it just seems like Logan is being overprotective today. 

But those that know him? They know to stay away from your and Logans rooms when you guys have to go “talk in private” 

Logan is a shameless laundry thief as well. Especially if you have been working out or training. His favorite is when you have worked out alone though, as it means there are no other scents on it but yours and your sweat. 

Armpit huffer Logan :/. Like you guys can be cuddling, and he just starts snuffling down your face, maybe nipping at your chin and neck, huffing your chest before just kinda. Wedging himself up under your arm to stuff his face into your pits. 

Even better if you start running your other hand through his mutton chops, and let him just indulge himself. Rubs his face all over your pits, gets his face all covered in your sweat and scent. Even better if it gets into his beard. 

If the sweat is really concentrated, like if you've been on a longer mission with the others, Logan might even start drooling. 

Thats when he shuffles down under the blanket and shoves his face as deep between your legs as he can. Just, plants his nose in the crevice between your thigh and crotch. 

If you pet his hair when he does this, he starts groaning to himself. It's not outright purring, but it's as close as you are gonna get from Logan. You'll always catch him grinding against the bed too, but he's not gonna come up for air for a while. 

The biggest struggle is getting him to wash afterwards, because there's no way you are letting him walk around reeking like ball sweat and armpits, even if he really wants too.  

You already feel bad enough when some of the other x-men with sensitive noses give you a knowing look. No need to make it worse by letting literally everyone know when gets your man off.