#bluebell it’s time to sleep

[bluebelledmoon]

EXCUSE ME WHAT THE FUCK I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING ABOUT MIDNA

as you’re trying to get the second fused shadow as a wolf in kakariko and you blow up the bomb shed trying to get out the dark insects, Midna will leave you in the fire to find a way out on your own.

but in the journey to Lanayru when you make your way across the Bridge of Hylia only to become trapped in the fire and the only thing you can do is jump off, Midna stays with you. She stays on your back with you when she could just fly away and instead makes the jump with you all the way into lake hylia.

the tiny details of her growing attached to Link are actually insane. in all of the times in the past 6 years of playing through and watching playthroughs again and again i only now notice these. the subtlety is blowing my mind

[moondirti]

141 x f! READER. [3k] — AO3 dub/noncon. age gaps. pregnancy. toxic price. implied kidnapping. daddy kink. uncle kink (?). gangbang. lactation. voyeurism. oral (f! receiving). feet stuff.

The captain does not keep his spoils to himself.

He's always been that way, Kyle thinks. Even before he bound them with gossamer strings, webbing his prodigal boys together under a three digit moniker — he'd feed a little bit of his pride into every conversation. Easy to spot in hindsight, the golden broach of morning illuminating spun beginnings, dew dotted on translucent lines. He heard of Johnny before he knew him. Simon, too.

It simply isn’t like him.

But you, on the other hand—

Now he's never heard of you.

And he's sure it isn't a lapse of memory. Kyle would be hard-pressed to forget a conversation of that ilk, or the mental image of his captain with someone so fresh. Skin still downy-feather soft, the whites of your eyes bright and wet, hands unsure as the porcelain bones within them. Nescient of strife, death. The metallic aftertaste of gunpowder, or the way a scar will adopt a gnarled edge. It astounds him for a moment, to think that someone could go their whole life unburdened by these things — but then again, your neck seems accustomed to the possessive curl of Price's fingers. The bullish way he urges you forward, polished feet stumbling over each other to greet the overgrown men at the door.

Fawn-like, he resolves, as you suppress your fear with practised blinks, a grimace breaking your face when Johnny wraps a rough palm around yours, shaking too forcefully to be considered polite, jostling the cleavage barely concealed by a low-cut babydoll dress. It's a combined appraisal of your attire, the late hour, your squinted eyes — still sleep drenched — that tells him you didn't know they were coming.

Funny, seeing as they received the invite a fortnight ago.

(got something t'show you. been meaning to for a while.)

It's more than something, he'd say. Caught off guard, you cling to Price, sticky demurral ensnared by the hair of his forearm, a pace behind while he leads his men to the parlour. The light is low throughout the halls — which, if he were being honest, are cosier than anticipated. It would've been anyone's guess that the captain retreated to a house of concrete during his time off, utilitarian as he is — and Kyle feels as though he's intruding upon a dream. A surreal approximation of reality, where harsher lines blur into curves and calluses are softened like under the run of hot water.

His tongue is heavy when he swallows. Behind him, Johnny whispers something to Simon, who does not reply and has yet to speak.

No reason to. You don't ask for their poison once they're settled. Conditioned, you uncap what he recognises as Price's favourite single malt and pour three fingers worth (your closest measure to two of their own) for everyone. It gains you an appreciative pat from Simon, palm heavy on the back of your leg. A rush of noise in the unsteady silence. Too sudden, he thinks — for you jump and scamper, tucking, shaken, into an armchair's side.

Kyle feels his lungs squeeze when you pass by him, the air cradling a waft of cashmere musk and bluebell. It announces something he'd rather not voice. Something they all must be thinking. A question of pause, hesitancy, in face of the way your perfumed curves dangle blatantly before them. They're strangers to holding back. Nothing's demanded deference before — this quelling of predatory instinct. Johnny's smile gleams, his shark teeth struggling to stay clenched. Simon's eyes dry out the longer he stares, red fissures spelling out want so clearly it makes him reconsider his own.

His drink carves a path through the doubt in his throat. Flitting over to the captain, he watches for a reaction to Simon's transgression.

None comes.

So the man on trial sinks into his seat, exonerated. His mask has since been tucked beneath his chin, lips, more scar tissue than anything, contorting with amusement.

"Y'have to excuse me, lads." Price says, tugging you across the safe distance you've made and into his arms. It's even more startling a sight now, your body pinned to the canvas of his larger one. This Eleusinian contrast; Persephone, pomegranate carnage smeared over her mouth, impelled to spend her days with a force that means death to so many. Kyle wonders just which meadow he managed to pluck you from, what flowers you'd been weaving when it happened.

"Been keepin' this one from you," He walks you forward another step. "was building something... delicate, see. Had to wait until th' timing was right."

"Wuid nae blame ye, Cap." Johnny licks his lips, drying sweaty palms on denim, fingers curling in and out to work through the fervour.

"Jumpy lil thing, i'n't she?" Simon returns. "Would'a made like a rabbit in shock."

"Needed to be broken in first, naturally." Kyle breathes, stomach cramping with the enormity of his desire. His ears ring with a feverish pitch. Every time he blinks, it's a few seconds before his vision comes back to him.

Your nose turns away, lashes stitching together to keep the tears at bay. He can almost feel the mortification spilling hotly off your flesh, pooling, sappy thick, to glue itself wantonly on their boots. In his periphery, Johnny lurches forward, fondling the lace edge of your night dress as if to console you.

"Mm. Still a ways to go, but–" Price cups your wrists in one hand, tightening only to guide them well above your midriff. "now tha' I know she won't run off, she can finally meet her uncles."

And it's that resolve, the flag bearing that has led them to bloodshed countless times, that preludes this next march. All of a sudden, what was off limits is thrust into their reach — on stumbling, wary legs, heels digging grudgingly into the dirt, but still there, for the taking.

(Jowls aching, salivate blooming heavily beneath a writhing tongue. It's like he's been clipped off the dog house. Unleashed. And no matter how hard he tries to find it — desperately, his hindbrain sifting through layers of depravity for the righteous man he once was — he cannot muster much concern for your say in it all.)

"Ye sure aboot that?" Johnny's eyes are as wide as saucers. Having since slipped off his seat, kneeled as he is, he's borderline reverent in this light. Looking above for security, for assent, crux immissa a dull gold between his pecs. Your diaphanous dress grows opaque where his fist curls through it, shivering with every tremble of flesh. It is not your permission he is asking for, of course.

Price nods.

"Take a look yourself, son. Go on." He says, hooking an ankle to keep you rooted in place. The scot lifts the fabric so quick it tears, coming apart in tatters. If he'd been more deliberate with it, Kyle would have taken the time to appreciate the reveal—

The rounded brackets of your thighs. Their fattened inner lines. How your panties barely fit over your hips, folded over so that your mons peaks over the trim. Tufts of pubic hair, not as neatly defined as the rest of your appearance but laying flat, as though they were brushed. Groomed.

They all take a backseat to your stomach.

Swollen, belly button protruding, darker line down the middle. Not nearly full term, but perhaps well into your second trimester, the baby just small enough to be hidden by loose garments. Your lips screw into a pout, wet shame slipping down your cheeks as the heart of their invite comes to light. Kyle wonders, almost angrily, what there is to be ashamed of.

(Nothing. Nothing. Not when the captain beams as he does, crows feet making a brief and rare emergence. If he could, he'd pay ten times your dues to see it up just a moment longer.)

Simon squeezes the bulge in his trousers, jaw ticking with perversion. While adjusting himself, he's honed in on Johnny, who trails open-mouthed kisses up the underside of your belly. You flail a little at the hot press of his tongue, wiggling into Price for salvation that does not come. He holds you still for the ravaging, fingers clamping around your wrists, and Kyle delights in your expression. Slow acquiescence, dawning on the realisation that there is no backing away from this.

"It's been hard so far, but would you look at what's come of it." He hums, nosing your temple until you bend. Behind the coarse thicket of his moustache, his teeth briefly gleam. Then, Kyle watches with rapt fascination as Price latches onto your earlobe. "Giving me what I've always asked for. Now, I needed to reward her somehow."

Simon barks a laugh, the jagged edge of it razing up your legs. "Congratulations." He derides. Your toes curl into the carpeted floor; finding purchase, or comfort, in the plush fibres. Used to being the end of a joke.

Price joins in, too. Just for a brief moment, something warm and all-knowing crackling from his chest, before he turns to Kyle, expectant. "Garrick?"

Only as he clears the fog in his larynx does he realise how quiet he's been throughout this ordeal.

"Congrats."

The captain does not comment on the grit in his tone.

"Isn't tha' nice?" He whispers to you instead, undoing the ribbon keeping your décolletage together. It's a wonder your breasts haven't burst from it already, tender and heavy, visibly relieved once the straps slip off your shoulders. You match their intrigue with equal parts dread, damp lashes downcast, lips a small O — unable to do anything but watch as your tits spill out into the open air.

"Gettin' harder tae forgive ye fur holdin' oot on us." Johnny groans, sitting back on his haunches to admire the view himself. His mohawk skims a nipple in the motions, scouring the flushed tissue, and you squeal. It's just the unseemly match to throw you further off kilter; Johnny's intensity is scalding, an attention so zealous it forces you to regress into prey. If Kyle focuses, he can see the quick-tick pulse drumming in your neck.

"Doesn’ matter no more, does it?" Simon says, patting his lap. "Why don't you c'mere, bird, show us your thanks. Don't tell me daddy didn' train you proper."

The last dregs of scepticism drain from his pores when Price nudges you forward, tumbling over, straight seated onto his lieutenant's lap. With all the composure of a fisherman feeding bait onto a hook, casting it out to the sharks, he finds his seat again as Simon seizes you under his limbs, adding to his drink to watch you be pried apart for the evening.

His paws look huge against your torso, stationed there to haul you by the chest so your back conforms to his front. Scarred knuckles ripple, thick fingers kneading into fat, disfiguring your tits to mirror the ugly skin stretched over his fists. Beyond saving after countless burns and cuts, cursed to a lifetime of spoiling everything he touches, too.

It's intentional, though. Cruel, but subdued. Simon does not use his strength when he catches your nipples between rough forefinger and thumb. Your breasts are already sore, raw and tender with the changes your body's going through. He only exploits that, fondling the swollen masses like toys, shoving his tongue down your mouth when you pitch your complaints. Plucks them, rolling the knotted peaks so that it gets too much by ways of overstimulation.

"I know they 'urt. Yeah, fat fuckin' jugs like these need to be milked, else it gets too much. Poor pet. Daddy's a selfish man, huh? Keepin' you from the attention you need." He huffs, nipping the thin skin over your jugular. If the degradation isn't enough to keep up with — which it is, your little legs kicking to combat the humiliation churning your stomach — Johnny's hunger etches itself plainly upon his face. Pupils the size of the sun, drool slicking the cracks of his chapped lips.

Kyle spoors his interest to the space between your legs.

(A competitive flame lights in him, kindled by the knowledge of what Johnny wants. It sears him out of the voyeuristic stupor he's kept so far. All too suddenly, his teeth ache with the same violent desire, the sight of your pussy trapped behind soaked cotton the only meal he can ever imagine wanting.)

Johnny pounces.

Blinded by his holy grail, he does not dodge your foot when it aims for his head. You — trapped, dazed, in the process of being devoured by their lieutenant — only catch him from the corner of your eye, tongue sucked over your shoulder, eyes incessantly teary. Kyle knows you do not mean to hit him, only to ward him off with your flailing limbs. But your vision is impaired, and your heel makes contact with his chin, anyway.

It's about the worst thing you can do for yourself.

The scot moans, hips bucking into nothing. Like a dog, his impulses easily deflect, new sights set on the foot you so graciously offered him. His mouth unhinges, tongue extending as far as it can to lave over the sole, nipping around its pillowy edge. Your toes, perfectly manicured, attempt to flick him away, sternum caving as you hold back desperate little laughs at the sensation. It draws his attention upward, eyes flitting maniacally to and from your face, lips popping around your innermost toe and assessing the way you react. Sucking it into his mouth when you're not as enthusiastic, one hand cradled around your twisting ankle, the other palming clumsily at his crotch, growing more and more erratic the shorter your breaths get.

Kyle takes his chance. Folds his collar, and unfastens the first few buttons of his dress shirt. No one pays much heed to him — not Simon, whose hands remain fixed on your heaving tits (leakin' like a bloody cow, pet. look'it it, drenchin' my palms); Johnny, seemingly endlessly enthused by your feet; or you, your work cut out between the two of them, back arched, round stomach thrust up. Skin glossy no matter where he looks; heels covered in spit, legs in sweat, tits and stomach in breastmilk.

He faces Price.

The captain has not faded from the foreground. Though he sits, perched in an armchair across the parlour, Kyle still feels him weaving iron filigrees of influence around their every limb. Like he's standing above them, puppeteering — or, rather, making good of the years of practised obedience, their bodies whittled into vessels for his will. The cool pour of it fuels this system, lends them strength to do what they've never trusted themselves to do. It is just as good as his hands groping your chest, his mouth at your feet. His passion they lay onto your poor flesh.

And they are just as good as his, in turn.

His shoulders stretch wider when he turns back to you. His voice a little clearer. "Thanks for the opening, mate." He taunts Johnny, snickering at the defiant twitch of his brow, before sinking to his knees.

The gusset of your panties is near translucent, drenched with arousal. Kyle takes a moment to admire how your pussy twitches, clit pulsing, white cotton slipping over it in concert with every spasming muscle. He can see it all like this — the oil-spill slick webbing your inner thighs, the swollen lips slowly engulfing the fabric on either side, the gentle flutter of your vulva. Pure hunger compels him forward, lips pressing over the sloppy mess, nose crushing into your mons and taking a lung-mangling whiff.

Tangy. Underpinned by a certain earthiness, like molasses but bittersweet. Your scent darts through his cerebral cortex, bridging synapses together until everything is that much clearer. Tunnel visioned, dead set on lapping it until your taste becomes a tangible weight in his stomach. Kyle's cock, already hard and leaking, jumps suddenly against the constricting button of his trousers, balls aching, looking to release the pleasure ballooning in his pelvis.

He nips, pulls your panties away with his teeth, sucking the spoiled cotton into his mouth to make the most of the slick you wasted on it. It isn't nearly enough, not as tart as it would be undiluted by his spit, so he snaps it to the side only moments later to dive face first into your cunt.

And it's a warm welcome. Balmy heat glides over his nose, spilling into his mouth like manna out of heaven. It's a feverish kiss, akin only to the throb of a wound about to fester, heartbeat about to erupt out the surface of your skin. Kyle would be concerned if not for the folds he had to explore, the dip before your insides pulse open for him, the tributaries drawn from your centre. His tongue twists your clit, grinds it under pressure, lifts the hood and targets a point that feels like too much. Your moans grow into whines that grow into sobs, air clotting with a symphony of lewd sounds. Tacky schlicks, slobbering, panting. The clink of ice in Price's glass. Simon's ceaseless insult to injury, degradation a molten river out his mouth.

"Crying, an' we 'aven' started on ya yet. Poor baby. Isn' a slut s'posed to be good a' this? Jus' gonna sit 'ere and wail for yer daddy, all while we do the heavy lifting." From his vantage point, peeking beneath his brows, your tits seem to have grown used to the lieutenant's abuse. A little less swollen, doughy in his big, nasty hands — though what they now lack in ripeness, they make up for in a hundred little bruises, already purpling. Dark and vibrant, the milk still trickling from your puffy areolas borderline pearlescent in contrast. "Look'it them."

He grabs your cheeks, forcing you to peer down at the men stationed below. Kyle, though occupied, does his best to smile. He feels Johnny puff up behind him — when he worked his way up your leg, he doesn't know.

"Nnnghhh."

"Say it." His nose crooks where he thrusts it against your temple, lip curling cruelly over your ear. A vein splits the planes of his jaw, arm bulging to reach up for your neck. Your face turns a shade darker, mouth puckering the deeper his tongue thrusts up your pussy. The words lodge in your throat, teeth chattering uselessly around unshaped air. Johnny hovers behind him. Price burns approving holes onto his back.

He doesn't expect it to happen as it does.

Your ass tenses, suddenly firm, lifting you off of Simon's lap. Kyle's hands smooth up his erection, his fingers digging into the plush crests of your pussy. Spreads them apart to be able to drive his maw further in, searching for just the right spot inside you.

But in the end, what does it is the accidental graze of his incisors over your clit. You burst, floodgates dissolving straight into his mouth — soaking the entire lower half of his face, the buttons he undid serving no other purpose than having exposed his chest to your mess, matting the dusting of hair over his pecs.

You don't look at any of them as you come down. Instead, your eyes prune shut, crusted in tears yet still snivelling wretchedly, trying to sniff and take back all that unfolded. Something buried in his heart twinges; resonant but stifled under layers of arousal. His cock spits pre-spend over his boxers, too heavy now to stand upright.

Simon does not take pity on you, flicking an oversensitive nipple.

"Still waiting." He says.

Your voice is barely legible. Raspy and whistle-toned. It occurs to him, as you sit there and muster enough energy to voice what's expected of you, that Kyle has yet to hear you speak.

"Thank you."

"Na fair." Johnny huffs against your cunt, eyes rolled to the back of his head, scleras foggy with desire. He's since shouldered his way beside him — the two sergeants sat between your spread legs —hopelessly chasing the climax Kyle managed to syphon out of you, mouth opened just in case you squirt again.

"You won't get very far with that, mate." His ego feels imperishable, amassing like a star before death. It cramps his ribs, makes him feel like nothing will ever amount to the way it crowds his chest. A smug smile stitching his lips. They both know that the half-dazed efforts won't amount to much. "Jus' focus on what you're good at, yeah?"

Not ones’ for subtly with each other, he guides Johnny hand to wrap around his width. The scot perks up, looking at Kyle's hard-on, then you, then his hard-on, then you.

"Dinnae want tae save your energy for the lass?"

But Simon's already unleashed his own cock — ruddy, angry, monstrous — lining it up to your exhausted hole. The head alone spans the space between your thighs, and judging by the panicked look wringing your little face, he shrugs.

"Think it'll be a while before he stretches her out."

[tateshifts]

MATTHEO RIDDLE moodboard & dr headcanons!

1 • he loves hot showers, so hot to the point he feels like his skin is melting off. they relieve all the pressure and stress he felt that day.

2 • very obvious but he is a heavy drinker- it just makes everything in his head quiet which is why he abuses alcohol.

3 • ANGER ISSUES!!! this man has no self control when he’s in a heated moment. he just lashes out and releases all his pent up anger on someone or something whether it’s physical or verbal, he has no shame. UNTIL the aftermath when he’s drinking away the pain.

4 • concerts are HIS THING. he lovesss being in the pit with a crowd just screaming songs for hours, just dancing under the lights and dancing around. he’s reallyyy in his element here. concert basher 4L

5 • the smiths, the 1975, chase atlantic, the evermore album by TS, sleeping at last, post malone, cold play, TV girl, arctic monkeys, the neighbourhood, frank ocean, brent faiyaz… are all part of his go to playlist.

6 • he’s allergic to cats but he loves them so much, always friendly with the cats around school and pets them in secret. he really wants a black cat named auggie but he’s having trouble finding a black hypoallergenic cat :/

7 • theo is his ride or die. he loves that man more than anything in the world. (apart from me…)

8 • this man can draw??? he draws things he finds beautiful, his journal is full of his thoughts that surround his drawings, kind of like captions but it’s what he felt at the time. hyacinths and bluebells, british shorthair and ragdoll cats, oak and spruce trees, and outlines of students in the hall that pass him just fill the pages of his journal.

[the-laughing-lunatic]

All 9 mercs w/ a reader who got them flowers! (PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC)

(I recently got to 20 followers on this blog! :D I wanted to do a little something to celebrate that, so I grinded and wrote headcanons for all nine of the mercs. It, uh, took a while so I hope you enjoy!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

☆Scout - Daisies☆

Legitimately starts tearing up

Tries to blame it on the flowers

“I ain’t cryin’ I- I’m just allergic to flowers.”

“Oh, sorry, I could just return them then—”

“What? You’d hafta take ‘em out of my dead hands, I’m keepin’ em.”

Isn’t a huge flower guy but the fact you went out of your way to get them for him makes him feel all warm inside

Reminds him of when his mom would pick flowers to give to him after his Little League games

☆Soldier - Poppies☆

Would aggressively compliment you

“THESE ARE DAMN BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS MAGGOT!! I FEEL IMMENSELY LOVED AND APPRECIATED!!!”

Seriously though, he does

Since he was never allowed in the military he always felt jealous of the soldiers who got special flowers

But he wasn’t now, because you respected him

And if you did, that was enough

☆Pyro - Sunflowers☆

ABSOLUTELY LOVES THEM

Well, you can’t hear what they’re saying but the flappy hands and excited noises give you a decent idea

Will just spend hours holding them in their hands and looking at the flowers like they’re the most beautiful thing in the world

Draws sunflowers in all their drawings now

If they accidentally burned them they would get so sad and give you flowers back as a form of apology

Make flower crowns with them. Do it. 

☆Demoman - Bluebells☆

Like most of the mercs, he’s never gotten flowers before 

And he has no clue how to take care of them

“Thank ye, but, would ye consider showin’ me how to take care of them?”

Help this man out

Please

He would probably put them just on a table with no vase or water without you

Y’all would put the flowers in an empty bottle of scrumpy <3

☆Heavy - Violas☆

“Little merc has present for Heavy?” 

Surprised, but not so much as Sniper

Honestly the most chill about it out of all the mercs

He has sisters so he knows how to take care of flowers but he’s never been the one to receive them

Would press the flowers once the start to wilt and make bookmarks so he can keep them forever (sap)

And if he’s more protective of you during matches, who's to say the reason why?

☆Engineer - Bluebonnets☆

He sticks to the practical side of things, so when you give him a bouquet of flowers he’s utterly perplexed

He’s flattered of course, and thanks you greatly for the gift because he’s a Texas boy raised with manners

But he’s not used to pretty things and…doesn’t quite know what to do with them

He puts them in a vase with water but he finds himself stopping his work to look at them

They didn’t solve a problem, they didn’t hold a purpose yet people–including him now–seemed to love them

Eventually gives up trying to find a reason for it and just accepts it as they’re just pretty

Even though solving questions like “what is beauty” was never his forte, he’d somehow found an answer for it

And it was…well, you.

(He’d also 100% make you a flower out of scrap metal for you bc he’s a gentleman)

☆Medic - Cornflowers/Drosera Spatulata Sundew☆

There’s two flowers that he’d like

Cornflowers are one of his favorites, specifically the white ones (they remind him of Archimedes)

Not just because they are national flowers of Germany, but he also appreciates their medicinal properties

But if you somehow got your hands on a Drosera Spatulata Sundew he’d be pocketing you for months afterwards

Is absolutely fascinated with carnivorous plants and you get him carnivorous flowers???

The most romantic (or just super cool if platonic) thing in the world to him

Isn’t a botanist but he’ll be in the medbay all the time now just observing it and its reactions

He’s not sleeping for a while

He’d try to create a serum for whatever flowers you got him so they’d stay as beautiful as they are forever :)

☆Sniper - Wildflowers☆

No one has ever gotten him flowers before so when you show up at his camper van with hand picked flowers wrapped in twine he’s surprised, to say the least

Finds it interesting how he walked past those same flowers everyday and never cared

But when you gave them to him they felt…special.

Awkwardly mumbles a ‘thanks mate’ to you

Keeps them in an (UNUSED I REPEAT UNUSED) jar in his van

Smiles everytime he sees them

☆Spy - Roses☆

We all know this man is an old-fashioned lover boy so ofc he loves roses

But he’s never on the receiving end of them

So none are ever good enough for his high standards

“Eugh, where did you buy these, the gas station?”

Similar to Scout that if you say you could return them he’d absolutely refuse

Secretly thinks it’s really sweet 

Doesn’t act any differently towards you afterwards when he’s with you

But you find multiple bouquets of roses in your room and a note that says “if you ever consider buying me flowers again, buy roses from these boutiques instead of the trash you had before.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

(Putting in all the tags is another reason why I don't normally do all nine of them holy shit)

[harunayuuka2060]

Jamil and Ace: *watching Yuurin play basketball*

Ace: I— WHY IS HE SO TALENTED?!

Jamil: He's got good defense and he's quick to analyze the movement of his opponent.

Jamil: ...

Jamil: Ace, make sure he joins the Basketball Club.

Ace: ...

Ace: Can one student have two clubs?

Jamil: What do you mean?

Ace: Equestrian Club, Track and Field, and Majift Club are after him.

Jamil: Are you saying... that other clubs want him too?!

Ace: Y-Yeah...

Jamil: *sigh* Well, I hope he plays for us if ever we need an extra player.

Ace: He's quite cool... You just need to convince him a lot...

Ace: We're classmates! And best buddies! Are you really going to do this to me?!

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: We barely socialize.

Ace: I'm friends with Jack, and you're his friend too! So technically, we're friends!

Yuurin: ...

Ace: Please, Yuurin! Just this once! Okay?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *a bit annoyed* Fine.

Ace: Thank you, bestfriend!

Leona: Have you chosen on a club?

Yuurin: I want to join the Majift Club.

Leona: Heh. Why? Is it because we're there?

Yuurin: *nods*

Leona: Well, sure. Though have you tried the Film Studies Club?

Yuurin: Film Studies Club?

Leona: Yeah. You can learn a lot of things there.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I see. I'll try it then.

Vil: This is a surprise, Leona.

Leona: Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Do you accept new members?

Vil: As of now, yes. We're looking for new actors that can play feminine roles.

Leona: Do they get to wear feminine clothes?

Vil: Of course. That's why it's called feminine roles, Leona.

Leona: Great. Yuurin wants to join.

Yuurin: *looking at Leona*

Vil: ...

Vil: Are you serious?

Leona: What?

Vil: He doesn't look— *looking at Yuurin*

Vil: ...

Vil: On a second thought, why not?

Yuurin: ...

Vil: *to his students* Someone bring me a makeup kit!

Yuurin: ...

Vil: What do you think?

Leona: ...

Leona: How do you feel about it, Yuurin?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: It's nice. *feels good about it*

Vil: My, you have quite an adorable student, Leona.

Yuurin: ...

Leona: ...

Leona: We're going back to our dorm.

Leona: Yuurin, let's go.

Yuurin: Yes, Leona-senpai.

The other Film Studies members: ...

The other Film Studies members: Yuurin looks nice, doesn't he?

Vil: ...

Vil: Yuurin, huh? *smirks*

Savanaclaw students: ...

Ruggie: Hey, Yuurin. Are you wearing a makeup?

Yuurin: *nods*

Jack: ...

Jack: *gives her a thumbs up and grins* You look great!

Savanaclaw students: ...

Savanaclaw student A: Yo! Get the wig!

Savanaclaw student B: On it!

Yuurin: Huh?

Ruggie: We were in the middle of designing your dorm uniform when they decided to buy wigs and makeup.

Yuurin: ...

Other Savanaclaw students: *fighting on what wig should Yuurin use*

Savanaclaw student C: Long hair, motherfucker!

Savanaclaw student D: With highlights, you uncultured swine!

Yuurin: ...

Jack: ...

Jack: I bought you a cute nail polish.

Akihiro: *chuckles softly* I'm glad you're being pampered, Yuurin.

Yuurin: *is on a phone call with him* Hm.

Yuurin: It's my second time wearing anything feminine.

Akihiro: You should do it on a daily basis.

Yuurin: You're a bad influence sometimes, Aki.

Akihiro: *chuckles then coughs*

Yuurin: Aki?

Akihiko: I'm fine... *clears his throat* *then chuckles again*

Yuurin: ...

Akihiko: Yuurin, you have the freedom. I hope you enjoy yourself to the fullest, not thinking the responsibilities everyone forced on you here.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *smiles sadly* It would be nice if you have that freedom too.

Akihiro: I might be able to leave this place soon.

Yuurin: Huh?

Akihiro: *chuckles* But that's a secret for now.

Akihiro: You'll see me visiting Night Raven College one day.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I hope you come here during a school holiday.

Akihiro: Don't worry. I'm checking my calendar. *chuckles* Bye, Yuurin. I have to sleep now.

Yuurin: Hm. Good night, Aki.

Akihiro: Sweet dreams, bluebell.

Yuurin: Aki... That nickname doesn't suit me.

Akihiro: It does. *chuckles* Bye for real. *hangs up*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *smiles* I don't know what you're up to.

Yuurin: But as long as you're fine. *gazes at the moon*

Akihiro: *also gazing at the moon*

Their mother: I have chosen the perfect partner for you, Akane.

Akihiro: *smiles* Thank you, mother.

Their mother: *smiles* You'll be the most beautiful bride.

Akihiro: But I won't ever be as beautiful as mother.

Their mother: Don't say that. *chuckles*

Their mother: *then smiles at him*

Their mother: I'm glad you have finally accepted your fate, Akane.

Their mother: It makes me proud as a mother.

Akihiko: *continues to smile at her*

[daenysthedreamersblog]

STRANGERS II - HIS DARLING BLUEBELL

I tried to be good. Am I no good? Am I no good? Am I no good?

If I'm turning in your stomach and I'm making you feel sick

part one here

summary: your victory tour has ended, and snow throws a party for you to let the bidding war over you begin. but as the time for the final deal draws closer, can president snow truly part with his favorite little victor?

pairings: president!snow x district6! reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, heavy drinking, non/dub-con touching / kissing, choking, dub-con, fingering, oral sex, power imbalance, slapping, spitting, me trying to describe hair styles, let me know if i forgot anything!

notes: hope you enjoy part two! tysm for reading 🤍

You couldn't sleep without two bottles of wine at least while also baring the train car door with a chair to keep him out. He never came or else you would have heard the banging. He would have tried and most likely succeeded breaking down the door and once again violating your space. You knew it would only enrage him more, locking him out, but it gave you some sense of peace. Allowed you to find sleep underneath piles of blankets surrounded by empty cups.

You also knew if he asked you nicely you would open the door in an instant, and you hated that part of yourself the most.

The train had stopped a long while ago and you waited for someone to retrieve you. You had removed the chair and sat there peacefully until the Avox came within the room beckoning to follow. You did, you followed them off the train and onto the concrete platform. Taking a deep breath, the smoke from the train blowing off into the winds; you found strength in the scent, found yourself wishing that puff of smoke was blowing you away with it.

President Snow was gone leaving you in worried silence wondering what corner he would be lurking around.

The tribute center hadn't changed in the months you had been gone and the ride up the elevator was actually nostalgic. How different life had been back then, how afraid you were for different things. It dinged on the sixth floor allowing you off and your feet gravitated to your old room. You peered to the right, to the door that would never open again revealing the freckle faced boy you had come here with. He had died in the first five minutes of the games and you never knew his name too caught up in your own woes about dying.

"Good afternoon miss." A bright smile greeted you. "President Snow sent me." She was flanked by two others opening kits of instruments and fabric and colored makeup. She had her hand around your back ushering you to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up for him hmm?”

The chill went through you; for him. It might be a figure of speech since he was the President and everything was always inherently his. You lived in his districts, you won his games, you would always be his property, and maybe that’s why he felt a right to your body too. You let them strip you, let them wax and pluck and shave down every part of you until your skin was raw.

They sat you down and styled your hair into elegant waves down your back slicking your bangs against your head and behind your ears to let your hair hang permanently over your shoulders and down your back. They airbrushed makeup onto your face covering your lids in gentle colors, putting a soft pink gloss on your lips. And finally when that was done, when they had rubbed your body down with sweet smelling lotions and perfumes, did they slip on the dress.

It was white, a slight sparkle to it when the light hit it, off the shoulder sleeves hanging against your biceps a slight cowl neckline and bodice that hugged your waist, cinching it in tight. The skirt stopped at your feet the two stylist sliding you into white heels.

"You look absolutely ethereal." The stylist mused running fingers along your hair to get it perfect, smoothing down any stray pieces. "An image of innocence." Your eyes flashed to her, pride gleaming in her face, but the others. They seemed sad, almost ashamed as they turned away from you. "Final touches." She slipped the red rose corsage along your wrist the disgusting smell wafting up to your face. "Perfect. Now wait here until he comes to fetch you."

They left like they came, quickly and without many words leaving you in a heart drumming silence. The room felt like it was caving in and suddenly your breaths were hard to find as panic choked you, the bodice of the dress squeezing your lungs. You spun, gripping the back of the chair to walk, soon grappling for the armchair wanting to rip this dress off so you could breath. You forced an exhale out wrapping your arms around the back trying to rip it off. You couldn't do this, couldn't go out there and let him sell you, let him sell your body. You could hear your heart beat throbbing in your throat as you stumbled over to the small cart holding liquor white knuckles holding onto it to stay standing. You snatched the cap off, throwing it across the room and chugged the burning white liquid down until your insides felt on fire, until most of it was gone.

You threw it at the window, watching it shatter to pieces, but the window never broke trapping you in with light reflected shards of glass. You grabbed a bottle of wine off the cart, fell to the floor with a sob, dizzy and heavy with grief. Maybe you deserved all of this after everything, after killing that boy, after surviving, after some elder family member had rebelled. You ripped the top off the wine and drank deep wallowing in self-pity until your doom came for you.

The door open and closed without protest, no chair would keep him out anyways. You listened to the short clips of his shoes as he came around and stood behind you like a shadow, like a guardian angel. He tsked, squatting down, turning your face towards him. He looked immaculate in a white suit, a single red rose pinned to his chest; a perfect opposite to your ensemble.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you stared up at him with scared eyes, "Please." You whimpered. “Don’t make me go out there.”

He raised his eyebrow, an amused look on his face, "Oh my darling bluebell." His hold on your face tightened as he yanked you forward forcing you to throw your hands out to brace the floor, "My good little bluebell." His eyes flickered around your face, a cold rage settling in and then his hand was around your neck stealing the breath out of you. You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing trying to force the words out, trying to claw up his arm to pull him off, but he only yanked you closer, bodies flush as your vision split and blurred. "As it is given...it can be taken away." He hissed pressing a bruising kiss to your lips, his hand loosing, the gasp opening up your mouth for him to slip inside.

His tongue was dominating, shoving down your throat as he attempted to devour you whole. It was a mesh of teeth and tongue; his kiss starving, hungry, like the Capitol never gave him enough food and he was planning to eat you. Fingers were digging in, carving out a place for him to control, breath by breath he took out of your chest until finally he pulled back, a string of spit trailing between the two of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him why he was doing all of this, but the words failed as your wide eyes flickered around his face.

He stood up and went to the door leaving you waiting in a pile of tears and broken glass. He opened the door, "Call Tigris." He instructed to someone outside of the door. Then it closed again, and he took a deep breath, your eyes flashed up to him as he readjusted his pants, the hard bulge in them prominent. He clicked his tongue hands resting on his hips as he stared at the ground, and then down at you still shaking on the floor.

Then he threw off his suit jacket. "Fuck it."

He came striding forward once more with purpose, lust blowing his pupils wide. "No!" You cried out falling back on your butt, crawling backwards until your leg snagged on the dress and you went tumbling to the ground. You rolled trying to scramble to your feet, but his hand had wrapped around your calf where the old scar still sometimes hurt. You clawed and kicked at him, "Please!" The sob broke out, feeling him pushing the pretty white dress up, the unbuckling sound ringing in your ears too loudly. "I've been good! I've been so good." You shook your head as he pinned your legs down with his hips. "Please Mr. President sir," Tears rolls down your cheeks. "Haven't I been good? Your good girl, please don't do this." You tried to fake tenderness by running your fingers down his arm, but nothing stopped him. It all fell on deaf ears as his hands found the hem of your underwear and he began to pull down. You thrashed more, cried and clawed at him, but he seemed content to ravage you.

"Coriolanus." A woman's voice shot through the room and he stilled atop of you hands slowly leaving from under the dress.

He sighed, his forehead pressing into yours as if it had been such a ruined intimate moment. He began to climb off, straightening himself up again. "Tigris." He said smoothing down his hair. "Get her cleaned up I'll be back in a half-hour."

You laid there in silence listening to him leave, listening to the door close with his exit the sound throbbing in your head. She finally came around staring at you disheveled on the floor. "Come on." She grabbed your hand helping you up, and back into the chair in front of the vanity. It wasn't horrible considering all that had happened. Your lipstick was smudged with small marks of mascara tracks down your face, which she solved in a matter of minutes. Your hair had only needed a quick brush and more spray to fix. Then you were perfect again; like he had never touched you. The feeling remained; his hungry lips on yours, his devouring hands. Your lip began to wobble as water welled, "Don't cry." You blinked up at her, "Please." She whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corner of your eye to prevent the liquid from spilling over. "Are you alright?"

You only stared at her with furrowed brows at the dumbest question she could have asked. You pushed her away gathering shaking breaths as you turned from her.

"He..." She sighed still looking at you. "He is...he just..." You glared at her over your shoulder and she dropped her voice, "I'm sorry he is doing this you."

"If you were sorry," You seethed letting your anger show. It was rare. "You wouldn't fix me up so he can sell me like a prized mare!"

Tigris frowned truly saddened by the words taking a step back like you had slapped her. "I'm sorry." She said again grabbing her things and beginning to retreat. "I'm sorry." She went to the door opening it, "Coriolanus." She said staring up at him. "Can I speak w-!"

"Go." He gritted out as she stumbled out of the door and into the hall. He slammed the door behind her. He stared at the closed door for a second, took a deep breath, then turned to take you in once again, "Perfection." He smiled as you slowly turned to fully look at him. He came forward and your foot slid back, "Oh my little bluebell." He mused continually moving for you. "I didn't mean to mess up your makeup." He took your hands in his not really offering anymore of an explanation. "Can you forgive me?" He kissed your knuckles staring at you expectingly from under his lashes.

What were you to say to the president of Panem? No?

"I forgive you, Mr. President, sir."

He beamed, hands coming around your face, "That's my good girl." His thumb caressed your cheek, "Now give me a kiss." You sucked in a breath and let him guide you to his mouth pressing your lips to his own. He hummed gently against you, tongue sweeping along your bottom lip, but he pulled back your gloss shining on his plush mouth. "Don't want to make us late." He pushed stray pieces of hair off your neck and tucked your arm in his elbow to lead you out of the room. "I have a few people I want you to meet..." He kept talking but you drowned him out as he walked you down the hallway his grip borderline painful.

He ushered you out into the hall with ohs-awes echoing around everyone straining to get a look at the Capitol's pet until the next games rolled around. Snow was speaking motioning to you and once everyone had toasted to him, the Capitol, the games did he begin to pull you around the room; a pretty accessory on his arm.

"Isn't she lovely." He said introducing you to a herd of men staring greedily. You stared ahead, far away as you heard him whisper about you, something about being well behaved, a few chuckles followed and pocket books opened, "Come," He opened his arm wide for you to walk forward. "Introduce yourself."

Your name sounded foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore as you shook their hands. "Nice to meet you sir," With each pleasantry and curtsy. It went around and around until you felt dizzy with each turn you made to meet someone new, someone who wanted to buy a body because 23 others had died. For some reason it made you curl against your fearsome President more as if he would stop these vultures from descending upon you; how ironic. You tugged on his hand to make him look. How dark his blue eyes seemed to get seeing you clinging to him like a savior.

"What is it?" He dropped his voice his hand patting yours.

You gazed up with pleading eyes, "I need a drink."

"Yes, of course." He leaned lower stroking your chin, "Not too much remember?" You nodded as he straightened up and smiled.

"Will you excuse me gentlemen?" You peered at the circle of buyers.

One had his arm wrapped around your bicep and your eyes flared up as he yanked you, "I can walk you over there."

No, no, no. You wildly searched for Snow behind his tall frame, and didn't have to look for long as a hand appeared on the man's chest, "Get your hands off her before I have them removed from your body." His voice was low. The man scoffed. This is what they were there for; me, and their president was stopping their grubby, money stained hands. Snow stepped closer, "Did I not make myself clear."

The hand fell off you and you rubbed the redness, "You promised that we-!"

"I didn't promise anything." Snow stood tall staring down his nose at the man. "Especially not to you." He waved a hand and you heard peacekeepers moving in, his eyes met yours, "Go."

"Mr. President, sir." You hid the shake in your voice as you slipped away hearing the whispers of praise about the view walking away was giving them. You didn't look back as you charged to the refreshments table grabbing the expecting flute from the servant's hand. You chugged it swiftly before anyone could notice and then forced them to refill. This time you drank it slower, body still lagging from the liquor you had drowned in earlier. If you kept in a constant daze everything felt a little more distant, like your drunk mind had made it up, fabricated the story.

"He sure does seem to like playing with you." Your head snapped to the young woman, the victor from District 4. "Mags," She smiled. She slid up besides you, nursing her own flute of champagne, "It gets easier."

"When?"

She chuckled, "When they get bored, when other victors emerge. You got bad luck, you're the first female victor since my games." Which was four games ago, "They're salivating simply to smell you." She took a sip from her flute, "You should have never told him you were a virgin."

Your eyes were wild. "H-How?" Don't stutter darling, your mother's voice, It isn't proper.

"You think he wouldn't 'leak' that to the posse he sells us all to?" Mags shook her head, "It's made mutts of them all."

"It was an accident." You took a shaky breath remembering that day on the train. "I thought something was going to happen and I wanted him to st-!"

Her hand grabbed your arm, "He's touching you?" Her grip grew firm, "Isn't he?"

You drained the flute to avoid her seeing your horridly confused face, "Did he not..."

"No, never." Her face held genuine concern. "Some minor comments, but no he never. Didn't parade me around on his arm, didn't coordinate outfits," Mags scoffed, "He made me wear this ugly teal thing as homage to my district." You couldn't speak, couldn't seem to settle yourself. "Maybe because of the whole new victory tour he felt he could get away with more. He does like his power-trips, and you're such a obedient little thing. His cock probably is straining in his pants just looking at you all pouty." You set the flute down holding your hand to your head to stop the thoughts from pouring out, dizzy with her words. They felt so brutal like the blows were hitting you in the heart. "Oh dear. I'm sorry I really never know when to shut-up." She turned you to face her, "It's alright. Here." She grabbed a fresh flute of champagne and forced it into your hands, "The first time is the hardest, after that it gets easier and once they get bored it will stop. You need to be strong okay?" Her hands ran down the skin of your arms as if trying to warm your soul. "It will be over soon. I'm here. I understand, all the victors do."

You drained your flute like it was the air you needed. "Why is he doing this to me?"

Mags only frowned sadly, "I don't know. I used to hear stories about him, before he was President. Rumors says during the 10th Hunger Games he was a mentor, but theres no proof, everything got wiped. Afterwards, he got shipped to District 12 for some rules he broke during school. When he came back he was different; he came back that man." Your eyes landed on him across the room, and he was watching you over the rim of his glass. "Something changed in him out there, and ever since he's been working his way to the top, keeping the Games, making them more brutal and publicized each year."

"What do I do?" You pleaded with her.

She tried to smile taking your hand, but it never reached her eyes, "Be careful. He's dangerous, and let's just say, I'm surprised anyone is going to bid for you seeing the way he keeps you so close." She had this look indicating she wasn't sure what was worse; the leeching men or Snow's protection. It wasn't sound advice, but you tucked it close because what else were you supposed to do; burn the Capitol down.

No one person couldn't do that.

You glanced back at him, anger laced in his stare as men talked at him.

You knew which was worse.

It was midnight by the time you stumbled into your room kicking your shoes off towards the far end of the wall and grabbing the brown liquor you had left from earlier. Your stomach garbled with hunger, but you just tossed the glass decanter cap away hearing it shatter behind you and pushed the bathroom door open. You turned the faucet on setting the glass container down to attempt to undo the bodice of the dress. You got half way down before you gave up unable to reach, too tired, too drunk, too ogled at to care. You climbed into the tub, decanter in hand, the water soaking into the fabric weighing you down as you slid into it. How pathetic. How was this the epitome of desire, a drunken, wet, sad little girl.

Maybe that was how they liked them.

You turned the water off with your foot as it sat just under your chin, wet hair floating around you. You took another long drink eyes heavy, brain swirling with everything Mags had told you tonight. You couldn't make sense of it all, not now, a part of you didn’t ever want to figure it out, it was simply too much to dissect and what good would it do. He was still going to sell you off to whoever he wanted until your name was a joke they spoke over whiskey.

Ugly red rose petals floated around you from the ruined corsage around your wrist. Your ears were underwater, the idea of drowning yourself more appealing the more sleep pulled you under. The water dulled the sound of the bathroom door closing, but there he was staring down at you in the bath. He was dressed down, his suit jacket gone, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, his perfect hair slightly curled in some parts. He almost looked normal, handsome even if you allowed yourself to admire it. You picked your head up as he knelt beside the tub, "You could have called for help to take the dress off."

"I was impatient." You took a swig from the bottle a glare in your eyes.

"I can tell." He chuckled, his fingers dancing on the edge of the water, playing with soaked rose petals, urging you to disagree with the movement. "I saw you speaking to Ms. Flanagan.”

You glanced over at him. He was expecting an answer and you couldn't tell him the true meaning of the conversation or else Mags could get in trouble. "That it must be nice to be President Snow's favorite victor." You took another drink, "I told her that isn't true, it would be wrong of you to pick favorites."

He smiled to himself, "It isn't wrong; I do have a favorite."

“Did he not…"

“No, never.”

You knew he wasn't lying, knew in the way his eyes drank you in he wasn't lying. He took a deep breath, folding up his sleeves, coming around the back of the tub, "I did a lot of thinking." His hand came up to your neck, running down the wet flesh, fanning your hair out of the way. "And you were right." His lips were pressing against your jugular kissing down and across your shoulders his hands following the same trail.

"About what?" Your chest was rising and falling too fast vision blurring, brain clouded.

His mouth was against your ear, "You have been so good to me." He bit down on your ear. His hand was dipping further into the water until it was fighting your heavy skirt to get underneath, "And I've been so selfish."

You froze as you watched in horror as his hand disappeared underneath the skirts of the dress. He shifted his other hand coming around to float down your chest. He was under the hem of your underwear as your lips parted in a gasp feeling the slide of his fingers against your folds. Your hands were coming up to stop him, "Mr. President plea-!"

Two fingers sunk into you. You cried out, hips bucking at the contact, but his other arm slammed you back into the tub, "Shh, shh, it's okay." He whispered into your ear. "It will feel good." He kissed your neck, his other hands slipping under the neckline to grip your breast. You had your claws in his arm as he slowly moved his fingers inside of you.

Conflicting feelings began to arise within you, you felt fear at the intrusion, but your face burned as pleasure shot through your body. It shouldn't feel good, but he said it would, and so it did. Him touching you this way shouldn't bring a blush to your cheeks, an aching throb to your core. He was curling his fingers inside of you stroking a deep sweet spot you could never reach on the nights you had tried to explore your own body. At the same time his thumb brushed over your nipple kneading your breast into his hand.

You felt your hands slipping off of him.

"Let me make you feel good. I know you want to, can feel your pussy sucking me in." You chewed on your lip turning your face from him as your knees involuntarily curled up, spreading you open more for him, "There you go," his husky voice said in your ear as he once again shifted to push his hand inside further, the other squeezing your breast. You bit back the noise gurgling in your throat; no your body had betrayed you enough, you would not let him hear it too. "I saw you," He panted nearly engulfing you with his chest. "I saw you looking at me, clinging to me, begging me to save you from those men who want to take you from me." His thumb swirled around the sensitive bud between your legs and your hand shot up twisting into his shirt, toes curling, "I wanted to fuck you in front of them all, watch them drool as I take what is mine and not theirs." His thrust were vicious, his thumb pressing down, the other hand pinching and rolling your nipple. "Mine." He hissed against your hot skin.

You threw your head back against his chest the moan breaking from the confines of your throat. His eyes were there to greet you, his hand pulling off your breast to wrap into your hair forcing you to stay put, to keep staring at him. Because he wanted to see your face as he made you come undone, as he burned through you like wildfire. Yours eyes screwed up, fast pants leaving your agape mouth, and all you could do was keep his gaze as he brought you to the peak of ecstasy.

"Cum for me," He growled, "Be my good girl and cum right now." Maybe it was the trained etiquette built in, maybe it was him, but your body clamped down on his hand stars spilling into your vision as you came. It felt like betrayal; it felt wrong to let the pleasure leak out of your body as his hand stayed rooted within you. His mouth was on yours stealing breath from your lungs as he shoved his tongue between your teeth. It was possession and ownership and it was all his to command. His bit down on your bottom lip tugging until his teeth broke skin, and then he was kissing you again the taste of rust filling your mouth, brain unsure what to feel but the pain oozing from the open wound and the delicious pulsing between your legs.

You couldn't kiss him back. Couldn't do anything but lay limp in the water for him. You came down from the high he had given you confused as the bliss danced down your spine. Until finally his hand slipped out of you, the emptiness tugging in a weird place and you stared at him blankly. He kissed your lips again, gently like it would break you. Your bottom lip was trembling as he pushed you forwards undoing the rest of the dress. It felt so wrong, everything, he had violated you in a such a way and you had let him because your body couldn't avoid the pleasure he had made you feel

He pulled you out of the soaking dress, and picked you up from the bath, head lolling against his chest. You were naked and dripping when he placed you on the bed not caring enough to even dry you off as stray red petals clung to your skin. He was still pawing at you as you stared up at the ceiling, hands on your naked flesh, nails digging in where he wanted to grab. "So soft," You heard him mutter his mouth tasting along your body, drinking in your moisture.

Your head was somewhere else, the alcohol, the orgasm, the exhaustion was dragging you under. You couldn't quite see him anymore, "Please," You mumbled his tongue circling your nipple, fingers inside your sopping cunt once more. "I'm so tired." Tears were rolling down your cheeks, or was that simply water from the bath? Why were you crying if it felt good? He hadn't forced himself inside your mouth, inside you, he was rewarding you for your good behavior.

"Shh." He only hushed you. "Close your eyes." You did close your eyes unable to keep them open, a soft whine leaving your throat as he pushed your legs apart, "Look at you," His voice sounded underwater he was still speaking, but you couldn't hear him anymore his hand viciously thrusting inside of you. "Do you like that?"

You were whispering something, but couldn't feel the words your head being pulled into the pillow fingers clawing at him, for him.

"You do." You felt warmth between your legs and soon his head was there, his tongue licking up the center of you a smile beneath it all.

You orgasmed one more time before blackness pulled you under.

You awoke to an empty bed. You groaned barely able to open your eyes the air hitting your bare chest. He had left you here, alone and drenched in your own arousal. Your thighs were soaked and sticky his own pleasure splattered across your breast. You wanted to sob, each shaky breath hurt your ribs, but the tears never came. Because as you stroked your fingers through everything he had pulled out of you, you knew you had let this happen, you had let him do this to you. Your body had given itself over willingly to him as you rubbed the proof between your fingers. You wanted to feel shame; you wanted to feel broken, but all you felt was left over euphoria from what he had given you.

He had never fucked you; you would have known. You would feel the pain of something like that, see the blood as he broke through your maidenhead. No, he had just feasted on your flesh, drained every drop he could and abandoned you here. You rolled over, body sore from what he had done and slowly rose from the bed.

Then you padded to the bathroom, reran the bath, and soaked his touch off.

The stylist team came again, Tigris came again. Curling your hair, pinning it half up-half down, smearing on more makeup, and sliding you into a chiffon lavender dress. Another image of innocence; a sweet girl pliant for men.

"How are you?" She asked placing more foundation in a mark he had pressed into the flesh on your neck. He had tried to be careful, biting and bruising what no one could see loosing control most of the time, but you saw it. Saw the outline of every half moon cut he had made, the teeth indents of his mouth, the deep blues and purples littering your skin. He fashioned himself an artist; your naked body was his masterpiece signing his name is white pleasure.

You blinked up at her, "Why me?" You didn't think you could trust her with the knowledge Mags had told you; that he had never touched her, and instead singled you out.

Her brush slowed, "I don't know."

"I'm no one, just a girl from District 6." You glanced down as she pulled her hand back. "I'm nobody."

"You're not." She whispered. "You're a-you won." Her back was to you as she set down her things, "He..."

You waited until she turned back around to look into her eyes, "He's a monster." She saw some goodness in him that wasn't there and you had no idea why.

Tigris was abhorred. "I don't know why he's doing this. He's possessive and his obsession drives him mad sometimes. I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She packed her things quickly leaving the room in a panicked rush as you sat in silence.

An Avox came by an hour later leading you down the elevator and out where a sleek black car waited on the curb. Your heart stuttered as the door was held open for you a hand outstretched to help you inside. He was sitting within, red leather seats sinking you in. "How did you sleep?" He brushed a knuckle over his lips to hide the smirk as the door closed behind you.

"Good." You lied. It was deep, but waking up was jarring. You still felt the ache of his touch inside of you, the feel of his mouth wrapped around your clit. "Thank you Mr. President, sir."

His hand fell on your thigh. "I'm having you moved to the mansion." He told you, "I don't like you being so far away where I can't protect you." You swallowed the look in your eyes asking him, from what? "These men are desperate for you," He stroked your leg an attempt at a reassuring look in his eyes. "I'm afraid at what they might do before a deal is set. I want you close, where I know where you are all the time."

He wanted you in his cage, but he did have a point. "Thank you Mr. President, sir." Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. You didn't want a deal set, you didn't want other men hunting you down and taking more pieces of you. "Are we..." You gazed out the window. Are we going to one of them now, you wanted to ask.

"Yes and no; he'll come by the house later. I think you'll like him." He turned towards the window. "I want to show you something first." The drive was quiet. You were too afraid to ask anymore question in fear it would break your resolve further. He kept his hand on your leg and when the car stopped he held onto you tightly leading you away from the road towards his home. "You showed me yours; I think it only fitting I show you mine." He whispered close to your ear gripping around your waist as he led you down a side path towards what seemed to be a large greenhouse.

"Oh." You said staring up at it. It was a formidable beast defiantly more kept than your lousy garden at home. Was it even home anymore? You weren't quite sure of anything anymore. He had given you no inclination on when he would let you return. Perhaps when the 'deal' was set you would be allowed to leave until a new victor emerged. He opened the door for you leading you inside letting it click close. The room was covered in roses, just roses. "It's beautiful," You lied taking it all in. He had every color, but white roses took up most of the space, like they were beginning to dominate every root in the soil. It was too pristine, too clean to be anything but frighteningly horrid.

The greenhouse door locked into place, and your breath halted with it. You focused on a blooming white rose running your fingers along the soft petals. You don't know why the idea of being alone with him still scared you when he had seen you at your most vulnerable. "Did you enjoy last night?"

"The party was wonderful." You absentmindedly said; it wasn't what he was inquiring about.

He chuckled his footsteps slow coming closer, "Yes it was a nice party for you," He was standing behind you now. "Everyone was enchanted by you," He trailed his fingers down your skin. "They wouldn't stop talking about all the different ways they wanted to fuck you," His chest was pressing into your back as his hand slithered around your body coming up to your neck to grip your jaw, "But I got to taste your pleasure first, got to feel the softness of your tongue around my cock, got to hear all the pretty noises you make." Your throat bobbed feeling the hardness press into your backside as his thumb pressed into your bruised lip. "I know you enjoyed last night, my darling bluebell, by how drenched my face was buried in your sweet cunt for hours."

Hours. He had been there for hours between your legs, touching you, stealing from you, feasting on you while you were blacked out. You couldn't speak, couldn't move as the vision choked the air from you, his mouth dragging along the tense muscle in your neck.

"Do you still feel me down there?" He was bunching up the skirts of your dress. And maybe deep inside your brain it remembered him drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you because your body heated, your core grew slick. Treachery coursed through you at your body, at the fact it was less weary of him than you were. "You're fucking wet." He laughed as if he too was astounded by the moistness gathering in your panties as he rubbed his hands along the front of them. He became ravenous after then shoving his hand inside of you with such a force you fell forward. Potted plants clattered to the ground in a pile of dirt and glass, but he didn't care. He only shoved his hand deeper his body curling around you, enveloping you, "You're so fucking soft; like fucking rose petals." He pressed a third finger inside of you and you bit down on the scream, a small whine floating through the quiet air as he stretched you open. "You want my cock inside of you don't you?" He bit down on your neck, "You want me to fill you so badly, you want me to be the one to do it."

"No!" You cried out as he slammed your chest to the table the plants once sat on. The room was filled with the squelching sounds his hand made every brutal thrust into you, your arousal dripping down your legs. You gripped the table feeling him pulling your skirts up around your back, ripping off your underwear leaving you bare for him. You knew deep down your body would take him, suck him in greedily, allowing him to live there while you writhed in agony and embarrassment. Maybe it had something to do with the small power you felt that he was unable to control his desire for you, or maybe it was simple need. Wicked, cruel thing human nature seemed to be, she laughed at you while allowing him to take more, more, more.

You kicked your leg out trying to buck him off, but he slammed your head back down slapping your backside harshly, "Behave." He growled. You yelped as he slapped you once more his hand pulling out of you. He held you down by a large hand on your head as you squirmed, listening to him unsheathe himself.

"Please," You whimpered. "Please you don't want to do this. You-you said...you'll ruin me for your deal and-and-!”

He spit in your face the warmth of it landing along the corner of your lips and cheek. It trickled into your mouth and your tongue darted out for more. "Don't stutter." He yanked your hips back, "And be my good girl and fucking take it." You were crying now, crying as more wetness slipped out of you, crying as he ran his cock along your folds, crying as the tip of him lined up with your entrance, crying as you wanted him inside you so badly it burned.

A knock on the glass door stilled him before he could push inside of you and you nearly passed out from relief. "Sir?" Someone called inside, "Your guest has arrived."

You were taking large gulps of air every shake of your body rocking against the tip of him. "I'll be right there." He shouted back angrily. He was motionless behind you a deep frustrated sigh the only reminder he was there, a few moments from taking what he so desperately wanted it seemed. "Get on your knees." He pulled your body up and forced you to the ground, bare knees scraping in the broken glass. "Open your mouth." Your body relaxed as you took him; you knew this, you had been through this, you could take it, mouth moist from his spit. He wasn't as kind as before, if you could even call that kind. Forcing his cock to the back of your mouth, snapping his hips against your face as he yanked your hair around to move your head, "So good. So," Snap. "Fucking," Snap. "Good." He had your face buried within his skin as your tongue involuntarily swiped around him feeling his movements stutter at the unwarranted sensation. "You fucking like my cock inside your mouth." You weren't sure, but it was becoming familiar and the safer option, and you didn’t mind the taste of him. He reached down grabbing your hand pulling it to the shaft swirling around it with your palm, "Do it yourself sweet girl, do what I tell you."

So you did. You did what he wanted you to do, swirling your hand around the shaft, took his cock deeper until you gagged letting the spit spill out of the corners of your mouth. Your tongue ran along the head until his movements grew erratic and his thigh became taut hot ropes of cum spilling down your throat.

"Swallow it." He commanded snapping your jaw shut after he pulled out. "All of it." His breaths were heavy. You gazed up at him feeling the remnants trickle down your throat. His eyes were dark, demanding, obsessive. "I want you to kiss his cheek with my cum still on your breath." He left you on the ground as he went to the door. "Clean her up, get her ready for lunch." He called to some servant.

You glanced down at the dirt staining your chest from where he slammed you, the blood blooming on the dress from your scraped knees, your smeared makeup no doubt. You let them help you up and cart you back to the house.

An hour later, and now a pink dress covering your skin, you sat down at the table. It was a small thing, set to fit only six people in a small room cascaded in sunlight. The windows were open letting in warm air and a breeze that ruffled the curtains. He sat to the chair next to you cutting into his food while he spoke to you...buyer. The highest bidder.

The man was handsome, maybe a tad older than the darling President, but not by much. He had dark hair and darker eyes a slight shadow of a beard gracing his features. He wore a light blue suit that was almost tacky compared to Snow's deep green. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of comparing the two, comparing the buyer to the seller.

And yet, President Snow's presence comforted you, which in turn disgusted you. It gave you a headache and you drank dainty sips from your cup of sparkling wine hoping to avoid the feelings this afternoon was invoking from you. A mere hour ago he was shoving his cock down your throat, and you had savored the flavor of him. Now he was wanting money for your virtue. You glanced across the table once more.

You had won the games, and this was your peace they had promised.

There was no winning. Only surviving.

He left after an hour long lunch barely speaking to you at all, but when he left he grabbed you. He pulled you in close hand blatantly spread across your back side as he forced you to kiss his cheek. Could he smell it? Could he smell his President's cum stuck between your teeth?

When he left Snow had an anger to him which surprised you given the fact he was the one pawning you off, he should be happy.

Your eyes met, sunlight heating your back from the window as you watch his teeth grind together never looking away from you. Then your face began to fall, knees wobbling, at the realization of the reason behind his anger.

He forced you away without another word.

PART THREE HERE!

( its disgustingly smutty so bring holy water )

notes: this had WAY too much plot sorry lmao

tags: @astarborntowrite , @genderfluid-anime-goth , @merlieve , @darktrashsoulbear

[sspextkr]

man...coryo never admitting his favorite flower until you're sleeping togethe, tracing shapes across his chest. he tells people roses, but in the quiet of the night he admits that they're bluebells :(

FUCK this is so cute. also sorry I'm making this angsty i can write something fluffier if you'd like

i can see it i can see it. you're laying on his chest in your pajamas while he's just in a pair of sweatpants, fingers lazily trailing up and down your arm while you trace shapes on his chest. neither of you have said anything since you laid down and coriolanus is the one to break the silence with a shy "can i tell you something?"

you nod and after a moment he'd continue with a shy smile on his face. "roses were never my favorite flower.. they're too painful for me."

"why's that?" you'd ask, sitting up. coriolanus would roll over onto his side, the roles now reversed with his head resting against your chest. he wanted your affection tonight.

".. they remind me of my mother. they've always been our family's symbol, a source of pride, but every time i see one, i think of my mother and it.. it hurts." he'd admit quietly, voice strained with pain. you wouldn't say anything for a while, letting him continue with his confession. ".. i miss my mother. i miss when she'd hold me like you're doing now. i miss.. i miss everything about her. she was the only one who saw me for who i am, and not what i could be."

you'd kiss the top of his head. ".. what is your favorite flower, then?"

"bluebells," coriolanus would mutter against your chest. "their shade of blue calms me.. and i like what they stand for- everlasting love, kindness.." he'd kiss the hollow of your throat.

"i'll have to get you some then." you'd reply, dragging your fingers through his curls. silence fell back over the both of you, and you drifted off into a light sleep.

from then on, the vase in the center of his dining table would no longer be filled with his grandma'am's roses, but bluebells, a gift from you.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Hi, I saw your "y/n's fur changes color based on the moon phase" and I was wondering if you could do a extension of that, like, y/n's fur turns red when there's a red moon out and blue when there's a blue moon out, and it's sudden too, like, the Wukong's will sleep with y/n for the night, and they originally had white fur, but when they wake up, she suddenly has red/blue fur.

Part 2 of the Moon Fur 🌙

(Lmk Wukong) it's really interesting to him. It's one thing for you to change from full moon to dark moon. Then he goes and learns that you can change into other colors too, he woke up one morning to find your fur was red because of the red moon that was coming out. Then a few years later the blue moon came and your fur matched the moon color, now he wonders what other color you'll be His eyes sparkle in astonishment.

(NR Wukong) It doesn't normally matter what color You are to him, but as long as you remain fluffy and cute. Wukong was amazed by how you can match the moon, when the red moon was our he called you bloody Mary because of your fur , and when the blue moon came out he called you bluebell. You were always so beautiful and fluffy and he's always interested in what color You would be and how you would match the moon.

(HIB Wukong) He and the children were getting ready for bed, when the notice immediately that your fur was blue. Luier head exploded with all the questions he had, and Silly girl was playing with your blue fur in joy. You remind him of a beautiful jewel like a diamond, and then they saw your fur turn red reminded him of a blood diamond. In other words you were even more beautiful with you color changing moon fur.

(MKR Wukong) His mind was blown by this discovery, along with fruity. You had caught him of guard when your fur color changed, to the phases of the moon. Then when he was asleep and got up along with the pilgrims everyone was surprised to see your Blue fur, which surprised Wukong and Fruity had noticed and flew and admire your new look. Then a few years later he finds that your fur is now red along with the moon. Wukong was very curious and secretly Amazed from this Anomaly.

(Netflix Wukong) HE wants to know everything. He Admittedly have so many questions for you and how your fur seriously work. Like you match the full moon one time for goodness sake, then he finds You can at one point match both the red and the blue moon. This is so cool to him and would try to study it so he would collect stray fur from you and He finds that even when it's not on your body anymore they would change along with you. He finds you so amazing and Mysterious.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🌕

[autisticlancemcclain]

The door creaks open, and Keith is three-quarters asleep and his limbs are heavy. But he manages anyway to lift the corner of the blankets, inviting, and smiles as Lance rushes to curl up under them without bothering to take off anything more than his armour.

“W’lcm back,” Keith murmurs, tongue thick in his mouth and head heavy on the pillow. Despite the sleepiness pulling at his limbs he manages to wrap himself tightly around his Lance, arm under his neck and around his waist like he likes it, pulling him close to his chest and under his chin. He presses his nose to Lance’s hair and breathes deeply, relishing in the smell of flowers and sunshine, feeling it settle in his lungs sweeter than any air. “Missed you.”

“Good,” Lance responds, somehow energetic enough to be cheeky, and Keith manages an amused huff. “I’m glad you were miserable too.”

Keith traces mindless spirals on the taut skin of Lance’s belly, relishing in his tiny shiver. His shoulders relax. His eyes droop shut without his permission.

“Mm. Miserable is a big word. I was fine, actually.”

“Liar,” Lance whispers, breath puffing hot against Keith’s neck. The arm he has wrapped around Keith’s back tightens, and he presses a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of Keith’s throat. Keith is too tired for it to go anywhere, but it’s — nice.

“Yeah.”

“You tired?”

“‘M barely awake, sweetheart.”

He can feel the curve of Lance’s grin. “Stayed up to see me, though.”

Keith’s own lips quirk up to match. “‘Course.”

Lance’s breathing starts to even, matching Keith’s, and Keith starts to drift, able finally for the first time in days to sleep with the weight of Lance pressed against his body and the feel of his heart beating chest-to-chest with his.

“Love you, Red.”

Keith breathes out, slowly, hands going slack, mind getting dark. The last thing he registers is Lance’s hair tickling his neck.

“Love you too, Bluebell.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Yeah throw it back As you push into the pleasure

For Walker (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet@hal3ynicol3  @racerchix21  @soultrysworld

One Punch - Walker returns to the bunkhouse to find you waiting for him.

Just Like The First Time (NSFW) - Walker and you send the night together for the first time in 7 years.

Tattoo - You take a moment to admire Walker as he sleeps.

The Only One - You've always been the only girl for Walker.

Candlelight - Walker discovers you've been keeping up a birthday tradition.

Bluebelle - Walker sings you a very important song.

There is nothing more beautiful than the sight of you in rapture. Your head thrown back as Walker thrusts deep inside of you, your tight pussy gripping him. His hips snap against you, cock raking over that sweet spot over and over again as your synapses light up with the ecstasy.

“That’s it sugar.” He whispers, his eyes locked on your face. “That’s it, come for me baby, I wanna feel it all over my cock.”

Your thighs tighten around his waist, his name on your lips as the euphoria crashes into you, consuming you completely. You clench around his dick and it sends Walker hurtling straight through the stratosphere, his fingertips dig into your waist, hard enough to leave bruises as he spills his release inside you. You collapse against him in the aftermath, your forehead coming to rest upon his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. His palm comes to rest on the nape of your neck, cradling you close as his lips brush over your temple.

“You ruin me, you know that?” He whispers into your hair. “I spent so long thinking about you in prison, imagining being with you again.”

“Is it everything you dreamed?” You ask him, your mouth leaving a trail of fiery kisses up along the curve of his throat.

“No honey.” He sighs contently. “It’s better.”

Love Walker? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[leezlelatch]

With the Morning Dew

18+ MDNI. Primo x GN! Reader. Fluff, teasing, soft penis play, old men with old bodies.

You wake slowly. The sunlight of the morning curtains you with warmth, and you stretch your body in that pleasant way that relaxes your muscles nearly back into sleep. But the smell of a freshly brewed cup of tea lures you from the sheets, and you open your eyes as the sweet humming of your Papa gradually blesses your ears, growing closer until the cracked bedroom door opens and reveals your lover.

“Ah! Buongiorno, my petal!” Primo rasps, smiling widely at the sight of his sleep mussed love. He holds a cup of tea in his aged hands, settled carefully on the saucer with the bluebell design. “How were your dreams?”

“Full of you,” you answer, smiling sweetly as you take the warm cup from his hands. Primo’s eyes sparkle, and he leans down to drop a kiss to your forehead.

“You seek to tempt me so early?” He gently teases, fingers sliding down your cheek to tap your chin. “Drink your tea.”

You smile, satisfied with yourself, and take a sip, citrus bursting across your tongue. Primo moves around the bed and settles in beside you, sliding across the sheets with a soft grunt. He breathes out a sigh and adjusts his robe, and you lean into the warmth of his body. Primo’s arm wraps around your waist, a large hand splayed across your belly.

“I intended to wake with you, petal, but these old joints protested rather painfully,” he sighs, eyes watching you tenderly as you enjoy your tea. “They argue when I lay down, and they kick up such a fight when I stand up!”

“We could stay in bed today,” you suggest, setting your cup aside on the bedside table. You shift to rest against his side, pressing your face into his robe to calmly breathe in his scent. “I could get that lovely herbal cream, and show your joints who this body really belongs to.”

Primo laughs, carefree and happy, and he squeezes you to him, placing a kiss in your hair. “Amore mio, my silly one. I shan’t argue with that, although I must request a…a…,” he snaps his fingers in thought. “Ah, sì, rain check.”

“Something going on today?”

“I agreed to speak with a few initiates on the significance of the unholy trinity - the Almighty, the Antichrist, and the Ghost.”

“Oh, Professor Primo,” you giggle, your cheeks pink with mirth. He shoots you a look and pinches your nose, giving it a little wiggle.

“I see you forget you are in the presence of the Unholy Father Papa Emeritus I,” he growls.

“On the contrary,” you press your lips to the hollow of his neck. “You remind me quite often.”

His growl settles into a low purr, and Primo’s grip on you tightens. He tilts your head up with a finger and claims your lips. Well-practiced and thorough, the man plunders your mouth with lips and tongue, effectively silencing you under the power and sensual grace of the first Papa.

You part for a breath, and manage to speak even as he draws you back for more. “Maybe if we don’t have time for a massage, I could help you relax in another way,” you whisper, fingers pulling at his robe.

Primo’s hand finds your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands as he settles further into the pillows and watches you with darkened eyes as you untie his robe and part it. He’s completely nude underneath, a reflection of many years of life and good Italian food.

His cock lies soft against his thigh, and you press little kisses from his belly downward, his hand gentle, yet guiding on the top of your head. You nuzzle against his softness, sliding your tongue along the length of him. His cock twitches with interest, perhaps swells a little, but ultimately remains as is, and you find your Primo to be so incredibly perfect. Just the way he is.

Soft play has become one of your favorite things, something you’ve learned in your time with your Papa. And the way he sighs, his jaw falling slack, as your fingers explore him is enough to make you pant in need, your thighs rubbing together, desperate for some kind of friction.

Primo’s fingers tighten in your hair and he pins you with a look of promise. “Amore, you will be hoarse from the cry of my name before I leave this room.”

Your cheeks flush and you moan around him, his hips jumping, and he smiles at you predatorily. “Good Petal,” he murmurs.

Your fingers massage his balls, ensuring that every inch of him is attended to, and when he climaxes, it isn’t messy, isn’t intense. It’s a breath of relief, a relaxation of his muscles, and the gentle trembling of his thighs. Primo looks nearly in a daze when you come back up his body to kiss his lips, and he smiles so dreamily at you.

“How did I find you?” He whispers, rubbing his nose lovingly against yours. “What did I do? My precious. Amore mio.”

You cradle his face in your hands and smile. “You were just…Primo, and that makes all the difference.”

[bluebelledmoon]

anyone else ever see a character design that’s so good that you wish you made it first. but you know you never could’ve

[etherealphosphor]

Bluebell

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Sfw, Angst to set the scene, Fluff otherwise, Dottore has amnesia, Reader is married to Dottore

You and Dottore had always been the envy of Snezhnaya, your relationship being quite the popular topic among its citizens. Everyone in the Fatui, from Cicin Mages to the Harbingers themselves, knew about your marriage. It was impossible to be out of the loop, as gossip spread like wildfire in the headquarters. Even if one were to live under a rock, the way Dottore looked at you with pure and unmistakable adoration was a dead giveaway.

For approximately a year, things were peaceful. You spent every day by Dottore’s side, and every night in his embrace. Until one fateful day, when one of Dottore’s experiments failed, and awfully so. The explosion could even be heard from the offices on the upper levels. You also worked in the headquarters, and your heart lurched in fear when you heard the loud bang.

Running down the stairs leading towards his lab, you could feel the panic setting in. There was nothing you could do to help, as Dottore never let you into his lab in fear of something happening to you. Your eyes began tearing up as you saw the walls of his lab completely collapsed, and your blue-haired husband trapped under the rubble. In the past, Dottore had made it very clear to his assistants that, in case of an emergency, they were to hold you back. They honored his request, and you could only watch in horror as the medical staff rushed in to save him, struggling against the arms keeping you from your beloved husband.

In the aftermath of the explosion, Dottore was rushed to the nearby hospital. You sat anxiously in the waiting room, tears streaming down your face. Your heart was beating faster than ever before as you silently prayed to the Tsaritsa to spare his life. Eventually, after what felt like hours, you were given permission to visit Dottore.

When you walked into Dottore’s hospital room, he was asleep on the bed, his chest and the top of his head mostly bandaged up. It pained you to see your husband like that, and as you sat down next to him, he began to slowly open his eyes.

"Darling?" You asked tentatively before reaching out and stroking his cheek.

Dottore looked up at you, his red eyes filled with confusion. "Sorry, who are you?"

Your worst nightmare had come true.

The months following the incident had been difficult; however, you were relieved to find that Dottore’s affection for you hadn’t disappeared. The hospital staff had informed you that there was indeed a small chance for him to regain some—if not all—of his memories. That possibility was like the light at the end of the tunnel for you, and no matter how long it would take, you vowed to help Dottore remember your past together. You swore to stay by him in sickness and in health, after all.

One night, as you lay in bed together, Dottore turned over to face you. "Love?"

"Yes darling? What is it?" You asked, a little worried that something might be wrong.

"I’m sorry that I can’t remember anything right now; it must really hurt you. My memories—they’re all so hazy. But I do recall how I felt, and I want you to understand that my feelings haven’t changed a bit." Dottore said, a comforting look in his eyes.

You smiled at him. "Dottore, you’ve reminded me of that nearly every night since you got back from the hospital. Don’t worry; I know you still love me, and I’m very glad to have you in my life."

"I know I’ve told you many times, but I feel like I need to assure you, or else you may fret about it." Dottore spoke softly, reaching out to stroke your hair.

"Love, I won’t. What’s most important right now is that you get a good night’s sleep. Tell you what, I’ll take you to where we first met tomorrow morning; maybe it’ll help your memory a little."

Dottore smiled at your words and nodded. "That’d be great." He paused for a second before hesitantly asking, ".. may I hold you?"

Something about his strangely shy tone evoked an odd feeling in your chest. Even after all the years you spent together with him, he still found new ways to stir the butterflies in your stomach. Without even answering his question, you wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Dottore gently put a hand on the top of your head, calmly stroking your hair. The warmth of your husband’s skin and the rhythm of his heart made you slowly drift off to sleep. No matter how difficult things got, you’d always have him.

When you woke up in the morning, Dottore was still sleeping soundly next to you, a peaceful look on his face. Your eyes fell to the scars on his chest left by the accident, a constant reminder of the time you nearly lost him. Despite all of Dottore’s strength as the Second of the Fatui Harbingers, one mistake could have ended his life.

Your mind began to race at the possibilities of what could have happened if even one little factor had been changed. Would he not be lying next to you right now if he’d been even a foot closer to the explosion?

Unconsciously, you reached out to touch those rough patches on his skin, accidentally rousing him from his sleep. Your breathing was a little shallow as your brain spiraled. Despite just waking up, Dottore instantly recognized your distress and pulled you into his arms.

"Darling, can you breathe deeply for me? Hyperventilating will only make you feel worse." Dottore said softly as he stroked your back, trying to soothe your anxiety.

After about a minute, your breathing slowed down with much encouragement from Dottore. His gentle words and touch grounded you; he was here, not back in the accident. And he never would be, because things were okay now.

"I’m sorry for waking you, Love. I was just overthinking again; that’s all." You spoke quietly, with a tinge of guilt in your voice.

Picking up on it, Dottore began to reassure you. "It’s not your fault for being anxious, [Name]. What happened back then was very traumatic for you; it’d leave a lasting impact on anyone. So don’t apologize to me for anything; you don’t need to. Plus, I don’t need to sleep in any longer than I did; if you’re feeling that way again, please don’t hesitate to ask me for help, even if I’m asleep."

Dottore knew exactly what to say to calm your mind; he always had. Cuddling up next to him once more, you breathed in his scent as he brushed through your hair with his fingers.

"We should get ready soon, darling. I promised to take you to where we first met, after all."

"Don’t feel obligated to; if you’d prefer to stay at home today, that’s fine." Dottore said as he continued to run his fingers through your hair.

"I want to go as well, Dottore. My offer to take you still stands." You assured him as you began to get out of bed.

Once you two had gotten ready, you led Dottore out of the house. Due to losing his memories, Dottore was unfamiliar with the streets he once knew so well, so you had to show him the way.

After a short stroll through the main city of Snezhnaya, you stopped at a large building made from grey stone bricks of varying lengths and shades.

Reading the sign on the front of it, Dottore asked, "We met at the library?"

"Yeah, we did. It was by pure coincidence that I even talked to you in the first place." You replied with a soft smile on your face. It had been so long since that day, and oh, how things had changed.

Hand in hand, you brought Dottore into the library and up the stairs to the second floor. You led him over to a small reading corner surrounded by large windows, which contained a singular round wooden table with two plush chairs on either side. A strong sense of deja vu washed over Dottore as he walked closer to the room.

You motioned for him to sit down, then took your own place next to the table. You gazed fondly around the room for a brief moment, before resting your eyes on your husband, who sat in front of you.

"I was sitting in this very chair when we had our first conversation." You paused, thinking back on that day. "You know, I was scared of you at first."

"You were... scared of me? Why?" Dottore asked with a confused look on his face.

You chuckled. "Darling, have you forgotten you’re ranked second out of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers? Of course I was terrified."

"[Name], I’ve been reminded of what my title entails, but nothing of the reputation it holds." Dottore explained. "What exactly do you mean?"

"Let’s just say... You were a very intimidating man back then. Everyone who didn’t know you properly fled in terror when they saw you."

"Really? Have people changed how they view me since the accident?"

"Not exactly; you’ve kept your status and title, after all. That’s what people are afraid of."

Dottore thought that over for a minute, then hesitantly asked, "Love, was I wrong to you in the past?"

Surprised by his words, you responded, "Archons no, what would make you think that?"

"You kept saying how frightening I was back then—and how I apparently still am. I can’t help but worry that I did something awful to you."

You reached out to gently stroke Dottore’s cheek, assuring him. "Oh, darling, I’m sorry I didn’t make it more clear. I don’t think you’re any of those things. Sure, back when we first met, I was scared by your title like everyone else. But as we got acquainted, I saw a different side of you, one which was nothing like the man the public viewed you as."

"I’m glad." Dottore paused, before asking, "Could you possibly tell me about the day we met, since we’re here?"

"Of course, I’d be happy to." You continued, "It was a particularly gloomy day, and a heavy blanket of snow covered the ground—the amount being more than it usually was. Despite all of that, I couldn’t stand being inside; I instead decided to go out into the storm. Many of the buildings and stores in the city were closed, but the library wasn’t."

"Oh dear, I hope you didn’t freeze to death; Snezhnaya is already a harsh place as it is." Dottore said softly.

"You worry too much, my love. I was perfectly fine." You replied, assuring him.

"Alright, I’m simply making sure. Isn’t that what a husband ought to do?"

"Darling, that happened six years ago." You chuckled, but you could feel your heart fluttering at his concern.

"Well, I’m still going to express my worry regardless of how much time has passed, and that’s final." Dottore smiled at you, before saying, "anyway, please go on. I’d love to hear the rest of the story."

That smile of his only made your heart beat faster. "As I said, the library wasn’t closed, so I decided to head over to warm up inside. After all, I went there a lot back then to relax. Coincidentally, when I climbed up the stairs, you were there, sitting in my usual spot.

"When I saw the Second Harbinger himself seated in that chair, I really did consider turning around and walking all the way back to my apartment through the deep snow. However, hearing my footsteps, you looked up from your book towards me. Once you’d sensed my presence, I figured there was no turning back. After all, it would’ve been highly disrespectful to run the opposite way when you looked at me.

"So, despite my shaking legs, I made my way over and sat down across from you. Despite having your mask on, I knew you were looking directly at me. Though terrified, I attempted to make small talk to fill the silence. That small talk turned into a full conversation, and then another, and another; we barely realized how late it was, and we were only alerted to the time when it had gotten quite dark outside. You gently took my hand in yours and walked me home to make sure I was safe, only bidding me farewell when I was at my door."

Dottore silently listened to your story, smiling softly as you finished telling it. "I wish I could remember that day; it sounded like it was a truly lovely one."

Noticing the slight falter in Dottore’s smile as he said that, you gave him a quick kiss. "It’s okay, darling. Don’t fret; we’ll make many more beautiful memories together in the future. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you."

Without another word, Dottore stood up and pulled you into his arms, fully picking you up off the ground.

"I—wha—what are you doing?" You stuttered, quite flustered as well as a little confused.

"Taking you home, like I did back then." He simply said.

"Darling, you held my hand to lead me back to my apartment. You didn’t carry me!" You replied, chuckling.

Dottore continued walking, his grip on you firm yet comfortable. "Hm, well, I prefer it this way. So I will have it this way."

You sighed, nuzzling closer to him. "You’ve always been like this, and I love you for it."

That night, you couldn’t bear to leave Dottore’s embrace for even a second. Comforted by his scent and the warmth of his skin, you drifted off peacefully. For a moment, it was easy to forget that the accident had ever happened. He still held you the exact same way as he used to, after all. Some things truly never change.

When Dottore woke up the next morning, he noticed that you weren’t cuddled up next to him as you usually were. "[Name]..? Where—"

"I’m right here, darling. Don’t worry." Just then, you walked into the room, holding a mug in both hands.

Dottore looked at you as you sat down on the bed next to him, his tone still a little sleepy. "What’s in the mug?"

"It’s coffee; you’ll like it. I swear." You said, offering it to him.

Dottore hesitated, unsure. "I don’t want to take something you made for yourself."

"No, no. Darling, I made it for you." You chuckled, smiling at him.

"You did?" Dottore looked a little surprised. "You’re too sweet, darling. Are you suggesting I drink it because I liked it back then?" Dottore took the cup, staring at its contents.

"You’re right, my love. It used to be your favorite."

The drink was as dark as the abyss, and smelled quite strongly. Dottore put the mug to his lips, and tentatively took a sip. Instantly, his eyes lit up, and he drank nearly half the cup.

Dottore’s expression made your heart skip a beat. He looked so happy to be experiencing his drink of choice for the first time again.

Dottore then downed the rest of the cup, and looked up at you with a sparkle in his deep red eyes. "Darling, could you make me another? Or, even better, teach me how to make such a lovely drink?"

"Love, if I teach you, you’ll make yourself crazy. Too much caffeine can give you anxiety. However, I'm sure another cup won’t hurt you." You smiled at him, and then walked out of the room to brew him another drink.

Day after day, Dottore woke up with you in his arms, and each morning, you made him coffee for him to have with breakfast. Life had been very lovely, but there had been little to no progress in recovering any of Dottore’s memories.

Even so, you refused to give up.

One evening, when Dottore had gotten back from work, you seemed quite eager to show him something.

"Darling, quick, follow me!" You said, grabbing his hand and pulling him upstairs.

Although Dottore was a little dazed at your enthusiasm, he followed you to the second floor of the house. "What is it, my love? Do you have something to show me?"

You dragged him over to a window in the bedroom and began to unlock it. Once you were done, you pushed it open and began to climb out onto the roof, leading Dottore along with you.

"[Name], are you sure this is safe? I wouldn’t want you to get hurt." Dottore said as he carefully stepped out, holding onto you tightly.

"Actually, coming up here was your idea in the first place. Back then, at least." You replied, sitting down on the roof, dangling your legs over the edge.

Dottore sat down next to you. "Even so, you need to be careful, darling."

Ignoring his words, you nudged him and pointed up at the sky. "Look."

As the sun began to set, the clouds were dusted with a beautiful pink color, painting a stunning picture. Dottore was not particularly intrigued by beautiful landscapes, but even he was enamored by such a scene. Especially if his beloved was watching it with him.

While Dottore was gazing at the sky, you pulled a small bunch of bluebell flowers out of a pocket in your coat, and extended your arm to offer the gift to him.

Noticing the sweet smell, he looked down and saw the pretty blue blossoms in your hand.

"..Are these for me..?" Dottore spoke, a blush rising in his cheeks.

You nodded, smiling gently. "They are. Back then, you loved to give me bluebells on any occasion you could."

Dottore closed his eyes and put the flowers to his nose, breathing in the scent. Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he turned to face you. "Darling? Did I.. did I ask you to marry me up here?"

You looked at him in surprise. "Y—you remember?"

Dottore’s deep red eyes were shining with happy tears. "I do! I remember!"

Dottore wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you deeply. Draping your arms around his neck, you reciprocated his passion, letting yourself melt into his embrace.

Unexpectedly, Dottore pinned you down, and pushed your head to one side. Softly, he began to bite your neck all over, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. Oh Archons, he knew how to drive you crazy.

"Darling, didn’t you say to be careful? Aren’t you afraid we might fall?" You teased, a little out of breath.

Pausing for a moment, Dottore replied, "I would never allow you to fall."

Dottore moved his face away from your neck, instead pressing his lips to yours once more. He tilted your chin up as he fervently kissed you over and over, pouring all his love into the act.

The sun had long ago set when you two finally climbed back through the window.

In bed, Dottore pulled you into his arms, and whispered in your ear, "Sweet dreams, my lovely Bluebell."

"Found a new petname for me, huh?"

"Indeed, it suits you. You’re sweet-smelling, pretty, and you help me get my memories back." Dottore said softly.

You chuckled. "Where in the world did you ever learn to be this charming?"

Yet again, you spent the rest of the night cuddled up next to him, sleeping soundly. His body next to yours was something you were forever grateful for, and you hoped you’d never have to sleep alone again, like you did when he was being treated all those months ago.

You slept, knowing there was hope. Maybe, one day in the future, Dottore would truly recall all those years you spent together. But for now, one memory is enough.

[purplesharks]

Plagued Dreams [Ticci Toby x Reader]

Chapter 1: Bluebell

AO3

First chapter is a bit more fast paced than I'd like but it'll improve :)

Every damn night Toby would see the same girl. Never once before had he seen this woman, but everytime he shut his eyes and entered the dream world she’d appear before him.

Sometimes the dreams would even be super detailed... he’d feel things. He felt her soft skin against his, the wind flowing through his messy hair. Everything felt so damn real.

He would wake up with this strange feeling. A sense of yearning, longing to know who this woman was. He almost wanted to hold her soft face in his hands, to feel her gaze on him.

In those dreams she never once spoke to him. But the way she looked at him, the way she tightly held his hand spoke so many words to him. Who even is she? He wanted to know so many things about her, to look into the crevices and see within. Just make her aware of him too.

Hell, maybe she’s not even real… maybe she’s just some delusion his desperate brain conjured up. He sure hopes that she is real, that one day they can meet each other. There’s no way she isn’t out there somewhere!

Toby honestly felt grateful for this dream woman. His sleep used to be plagued by haunting nightmares that made him wake up in a cold sweat. Now they were filled with her instead.

Most of the dreams were seemingly random. Toby would simply be spending time with her, like going on walks and such. He’d never really had this type of bond with anyone. Her treatment was so so different from what he’d received his entire life. She never judged him, or even ridiculed him for anything unusual he did. Growing up Toby failed to connect with those around him… but everything about him seemed to just click with her.

He doesn’t even know anything about her, not even her name. None of that mattered in the end though. Even if she’s just some dream girl (at least he hopes she’s real), he’s never felt so at peace with someone before.

On rare occasions though, those blissful dreams would involve things he despised to even think about.

There was one dream where it seemed to take place in his late teenage years… the years where everything truly went downhill for Toby.

It was a bad night. Toby and his father had a big screaming match and Toby fled the house. His father said something that seemed to hit a specific nerve within him. It affected him so badly he just needed to get out.

So he went to the forest.

Toby liked the forest, no one was there to bother him, to ridicule him. It made him feel so, so peaceful.

He sat against a tree and let out frustrated tears. The reason behind these tears wasn’t even clear to him at this point. His father had upset him, sure… but he wasn’t usually one to cry about any of that.

Toby began to think about how he basically had nobody. He had his sister and mother… but other than that no one really gave a shit. He couldn’t even make friends and his father hated his guts.

It’s nice to be alone but not feel alone. It’s a cruel and isolating feeling that suffocates you.

In his fit of emotions, Toby failed to notice the concerned girl staring at him.

“H-hey… are you alright?” The girl timidly asked, trying to get his attention.

Toby choked on his own spit at the sudden sound. It was a voice he didn’t recognize, in a place where he usually called his own.

He sees an all too familiar face staring down at him. She’s holding a basket in her hands, it contains different flowers that she must have picked in it.

Toby does nothing but stare. He doesn’t even know what to say. Not like he could even get the words past his throat.

He doesn’t even know this is a dream so he doesn’t exactly recognize the girl… but she’s so painfully familiar to him.

The girl stares back at him, feeling rather awkward under his intense gaze.

Suddenly, she clears her throat and speaks.

“S-sorry- I was picking some flowers and.. I saw you crying and got worried,” the girl shyly murmurs before taking one of the flowers out of the basket. “Here.. take this, it’s a gift from me to you, maybe that’ll cheer you up a bit at least.”

The girl smiles warmly at him and puts the flower in his hand.

It’s a heliotrope, a flower that symbolizes devotion and eternal love.

Toby stares at the flower in his hand, then the girl before him. She’s the first person outside of his family to make him feel some sense of peace, hope even. He doesn’t even know why but this simple action of hers makes him want to hug her and never let go.

Almost like something took over his body, he stands up and wraps his arms around her. He’s shocked by his own actions, but she doesn’t pull away. At first she seems taken aback but gently leans into the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

It’s almost like they’ve known each other for years. He wishes that hug would never end, that he could be wrapped in her warm embrace forever. Of course all dreams come to an end though.

To Toby’s dismay, he wakes up. He’s quickly faced with his harsh reality. No one cares about him here, no one comes looking. His only hope is finding that woman, he needs to meet her.

That was the first time he ever actually heard her voice. He wishes he could just hear it again, for that beautiful sound to grace his ears once more.

Did she have these dreams as well? Maybe she also wanted to see him. Or he was probably just alone in this and she was living her life without even being aware of him.

That thought felt like a punch in the stomach. His dreams were plagued with her and yet she was probably dreaming of other things, other people even. Hell… she might even have some boyfriend.

Toby almost feels jealous at the thought of that. What the woman he’d seemingly (despite him not even realizing it) fallen in love with was waking up next to the love of her life meanwhile he was losing his shit wondering who she even is? Life really isn’t fair is it. Not to Toby at least.

What if he did end up meeting her and she just laughed at him? Who would want to devote themselves to someone like him anyways? She’s probably got a whole life ahead of her unlike Toby. Toby has absolutely nothing ahead of him and he is to blame for that.

Is it really though? The blame should be put on his deadbeat father. Toby was a bright child with a promising future, he just struggled in life and people took that fact and shoved it in his face. Look where that got him. He’s laying in his bed thinking about some girl who might not even exist.

This is the harsh reality of Toby Rogers.

Nothing seems to go his way.

The sun beams down at Toby’s pale face as he walks along the sidewalk. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, nor where he’s going. It’s just one of those walks you take to get some thoughts out of your head.

The birds are chirping happily, the grass is a lovely green. Everything around him is so happy and lively, it almost feels like a mockery to Toby’s current state.

Toby passes an elderly woman who is tending to her flowers and she looks over to him as he’s passing by. There’s a pitiful look in her eyes almost as if she can feel the misery radiating off of him.

The sweet woman casts him a warm smile before waving at him. A simple action that makes him smile back, a smile that’s almost not forced, as he waves back.

Such a small act of kindness goes a long way for Toby. It feels good to know not everyone is shallow, that there’s people who have an ounce of consideration for others.

He hopes that one day he can be the light in someone's darkness, to be the person that shines hope to others.

Toby continues on his walk feeling a tiny more hopeful. He even stops at a bakery on the way back home and picks up a nice pastry. Even Toby likes to treat himself sometimes.

He arrives home and feels a bit more relieved after his walk. Nature has always been a soothing thing for him. Nature doesn’t judge you like people do. It’s beautiful yet unforgiving to those who deserve it. That is a fact Toby knows very well. As a man who has written novels on known murderers, he’s seen how nature punishes those who have slain the weak.

His house feels lonely and quiet. He’s been meaning to add onto his decor to give it a more homey feel. The decor isn’t bad, just lacking personality.

‘I bet her house is decorated nicely.’ Toby thinks to himself. He wonders what you’re doing right now. Are you asleep? Maybe you’re off on a nice trip somewhere far from here.

He thinks about you more than he’d like to admit. Wonders what you’re doing constantly. What do you even do for a living?

Maybe you’ve got some hot boyfriend who’s got his life together, so together you don’t even need to have a job. More put together than Toby has ever been.

He hates when these thoughts come into his head. They’re bitter, jealous, and immature. Part of him hopes you’re with someone who’s treating you right. You deserve someone who treats him as softly as you’ve treated him in his dreams. Your touch is forgiving and kind, he just wants to give you the world.

You just need to come into his world so he can give you that.

The image of your face is burned into his mind. The way your eyes look as they gaze into his, the curve of your lips as you shoot him those smiles he wishes were reserved for him. How your face felt in his hands, so delicate he felt that you could shatter if he weren’t careful.

He wants to take you to nice places. To take you to nice restaurants and sit under the stars with you.

It’s unrealistic and cheesy but he can’t help but hope for such a future.

Toby vigorously shakes his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts. He often finds himself zoning out for long periods of time, just thinking deeper than he should.

It’s still the middle of the day. He feels like it should be night by now. Suppose it’s just one of those days where each passing hour feels like lightyears.

Toby gets up and heads to the bathroom. Seeing himself in the mirror he takes in his tired appearance. Even though he’s been sleeping better recently he looks more tired than ever. There’s a tiny bit of stubble lining his jawline and heavy eye bags gracing his dark brown eyes. Toby lets out a sigh and rubs his tired eyes, as if that will change something.

He opens his cabinet beside the mirror and pulls out his shaving cream and razor. He then gets to work at shaving the bit of facial hair he has. Despite the fact that he doesn’t really have anyone to look good for, he at least likes to feel presentable.

There’s not really much of a solution about the eye bags though. He’s sleeping just fine so how is he supposed to fix a problem he doesn’t know the cause of? Maybe it’s his diet? Can a diet even affect such a thing, sounds strange, no?

With another sigh he exits his bathroom and heads to the living room. Maybe some TV can cheer him up further.

He turns on the TV and flips through the channels before something catches his eye.

The news channel is broadcasting something about a new flower shop? Something so insignificant yet it catches his eye. He stops onto that channel, not feeling too interested but wondering what caught his attention in the first place.

His tired eyes bore into the screen as he watches the news reporter blabber into the large microphone.

“Just last month a flower shop began its business, since its opening the business has soared in popularity!” The reporter states, then gestures over to a small building.

Then a woman appears in the frame. She appears to be in her early 20’s or so. Just by the look of her you can tell she doesn’t wanna be broadcasted on live TV.

“And here is the talented woman behind it! Tell us, what inspired you to start such a place?” The nosy reporter quizzes the uncomfortable woman beside him.

He passes her the overly large microphone and the woman’s gaze subtly shifts towards the camera.

Wait a minute…..

No… there’s no way.

Is that her?

Toby almost dies from choking on his spit at the sight of the woman’s face on the screen. It’s too good to be true. No, it must be a doppelganger…. Some people just look alike! There’s no way that someone like Toby got lucky enough that you would just appear on his screen.

It was like an answer to his prayers.

“Well- uh, since I was a kid I was just fascinated by flowers. Y’know flowers have individual meanings, they used to be used in romantic gestures a lot… I also have the meanings on a piece of paper attached to each bouquet I sell.” Despite the amount of information you disclosed, anyone could tell you were trying your best not to stumble over every other word.

“What a heartfelt inspiration! I might have to give it a look!”

Toby zoned out staring at you. Nothing anyone was saying was of any matter anymore. He just couldn’t believe it. There you were in all your beautiful glory, on his television screen.

He even knew your name as well. It really suits you too, and he liked how it felt to say.

Toby recalls the flowers you gave him in his dream. Did those have a meaning? He can’t seem to remember what flowers they were, no matter how hard he thinks. Maybe one day he could give you flowers. He’d give you every flower in the world if he could.

The news broadcast is over and it’s back to discussing things that Toby would never care about.

He still can’t believe it. Now he might have a chance. You’d just have to give him it. What if you were having those dreams as well? He truly hopes so.

Only one way to find out.

He has to go to that flower shop!

[mylove-iv]

❝the one that got away.❞

ʚ aged up, oot! link x fairy navi, fem! reader ɞ

synopsis: a fairy and a hero who were everything to each other—knowing what they are and what they are not—ignorant of the longing clouding their eyes when looking at the other until it was too late.

genres: angst, romance.

content warnings: mentions of impending death (you shouldn’t be surprised >:D), mentions of blood and wounds, and major spoilers of ocarina of time.

word count: 1.3k words.

author’s note: inspired by katy perry’s ‘the one that got away.’

―originally posted on @mydarling-iv, jan. 17, 2023

ʚ masterlist ɞ

The battle against Ganondorf has long been won, you and your hero claimed victory with one final swipe of the Goddess Blade.

Now camping in the woods, a serene silence enveloped you and your peacefully sleeping partner as you made the trek back home.

Home. The word makes you feel giddy and warm inside.

Taking a good look at Link’s sleeping face, the blue glow of your wings casted a blanket of a baby blue hue on the hero’s face which accentuated his pretty features.

You smile softly, recalling of your various adventures around Hyrule but your solace is short lived.

In another life.

Pain wracks your body and you bite your lip to prevent a cry to leave your lips, a soft plink that would wake up your beloved hero.

So, you twist away, fluttering to a nearby lake you and Link had stumbled upon before you set up camp.

Pain flares up and a scorching heat spreads atop your skin before a garbled scream leaves your lips unwillingly.

You force yourself to shed your miniature form before reverting to your true form, limbs and body growing to that of a grown hylian woman’s but with delicate, baby blue lace-like wings adorning your back.

You feel warmth run down your limbs and a grimace etches its way to your face at your realization, it was the blood seeping from your wounds warming your skin.

You wanted to laugh at your pathetic chances, even the goddesses above won’t grant you a small bit of time to tell him before you’re tittering on the edge of life and death.

I would be your girl.

Stumbling into the lake’s clear waters, you see your blood mingling with the water, creating ribbons of red that made you feel sick, your body screaming in warning at its incoming collapse

Your fixation on the water keeps you distracted and before you know it your knees start of buckle.

Yet, strong and familiar arms circle your body, preventing you from collapsing into the water.

Through your blurry vision, you meet sky blue eyes that remind you of a stunning, cloudless sky and the familiar blue orbs somehow eases the pain you feel.

“Navi?” Link croaks.

His scent of sweet pine and roasted chestnuts engulf your nose, hugging you in an embrace that brought thoughts of home and nostalgia.

You smile softly, bringing your hand to cup his cheek before your thumb caresses his cheekbone. “Y/n.” You hum weakly.

You see confusion flooding his bluebell orbs, “Navi is my fae name, we fae never give away our true names, dummy.” You breathe out and Link’s heart drops.

Eyes following his, you see his eyes surveying your wounds. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You don’t know if his question is directed to your wounds or your true name, “I was planning to, but I was too late.”

Smiling painfully, a bitter ache makes a home within your heart. “I had so much to tell you, Link.” You laugh softly and you know he can pick up on the anguish within your tone.

We’d keep all our promises.

Link falls silent, tears collecting behind his lashes. “Why must it be you?” He croaks, his sturdy arms hugging you tighter and you relish being in his embrace.

A comforting warmth embraces you and you're reminded of home once more.

Link—He is your home.

The realization makes your heart flutter as it also intensifies the ache you feel.

“The three goddesses will it, my beloved.” You hum, laying your head against his sturdy chest, listening to the strong beats his heart gives against his chest and you find yourself wishing it’d beat for you too.

Be us against the world.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Link thought he was going insane.

Through bouts of fever and illness, he’d catch glimpses of a woman with soft blue wings and a stunning smile adorning her face, an aura of familiarity blanketing the air around her.

But now, he sees the very woman in his arms, fully lucid enough to soak in the entirety of her.

She turned out to be you, his fairy companion he’d call ‘Navi’ on his shared journeys with you.

Y/n. Your true name rolls smoothly off his tongue like honey, just like the sweet scent you radiated.

In another life.

Your e/c eyes meet his and he feels his heart skip a beat, pulse skyrocketing.

You’re as beautiful as the first time Link had caught fragmented glimpses of you when he first fell ill early on into your shared journey, too sick to be fully lucid.

Yet those shattered pieces of the remnants of you seemed to have been burned into his mind and Link doesn’t know if it was by his will or something else.

A painful melancholy digs into his heart before making a permanent home there. He had just gotten to know you, the true you, the you who constantly plagued his mind.

You’d appear within his mind during the moon’s reign and you’d whisk through his thoughts when the sun rose, leaving him fumbling like a fool.

But yet, you’re starting to drift from his reach once more; a dream he could only yearn for, always out of reach.

“The three goddesses will it, my beloved.” His heart aches and flutters in an agonizing mix of forlorn hope and pain.

I would make you stay.

“I love you, you know.” Link’s heart drops at your admission, the words heavier than anything else he’d had to bear the burden of.

He doesn’t know whether to embrace the happiness or the pain dancing within his heart.

He cups your face tenderly, as if any drastic movement would break you, before bringing you to face him, his grip on your jaw gentle enough for you to pull away if you so desire to.

You nuzzle into his palm before a weak yet pretty smile adorns your face, the very face that invaded countless of his dreams that would leave his heart hammering with a simple smile that was oh so sweet whenever he awoke.

So I don’t have to say,

Link feels his heart become heavy, being tugged painfully with your incoming demise.

Goddesses, he wants all the time in the world with you.

He so desperately wished that the time would travel back to a period where he can undo your wounds and wrap his arms tightly around your figure with the intent of never letting you go.

And yet, here you are, slipping through his fingertips like fine sand that’d ultimately determine that time would be up.

You were the one that got away.

Tears freely roll down the Hero of Time’s cheeks because of the overwhelming melancholy that wound so tightly around his heart.

His life had been full of countless losses, everything ripped away from his rightful hand in devastating waves.

He had never asked for anything else from everyone surrounding him, not one thing from the Kokiri, from Saria, from Zelda, or even from the Goddess Hylia.

And when he did realize that he wanted one thing, you and your safety, even that one simple request seemed to be a greedy wish of his that the Goddesses could not fulfill.

Link wanted to scream at the absurdity of it all.

He was destined to be a hero.

He is a one.

Yet he couldn’t even save you.

So why does he feel like a fraud?

Feelings of helplessness and hopelessness make a home in his heart at your incoming absence and it utterly kills him inside.

So now, he holds you for the first and last time, basking in the comforting warmth you radiated and the sweet scent of nectar and honey emanating from you.

Link’s thumb traces the edge of your lips, oh so soft and delicate, causing your eyes to flutter softly to a close.

Hand moving from your jaw to the small of your back, he provides support to your head as he brings you closer.

Link’s hand gently cradles the base of your head and he presses a saccharine kiss to your temple before tenderly confessing, “I grew to love you too.”

The one that got away.

© 2024 𝐌𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐈𝐕. do not copy, repost, share, or translate any of my works to tumblr, social media, and any other websites/platforms.

[harunayuuka2060]

Leal and his sister: ...

Leal's sister: Brother, will they be okay?

Leal: Yes. Master Akihiko can handle this on his own.

Leal's sister: Hm. But... Isn't he afraid that his father will try to sabotage his plan?

Leal: I'll prevent that from happening.

Leal's sister: ...

Akihiko: What do you think, father? *smiling*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: The people here are welcoming.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Right?

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Son, are you truly going to proceed with the plan?

Akihiko: Yes. I had planned it since I was young.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: You have hidden your true feelings well.

Yuurin's father: Your mother and I believed you were okay with everything happening.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Well, what could I say?

Akihiko: I'm a man who's been taught the virtues of a woman.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *smiles* I know I have no right to say this.

Yuurin's father: But I am proud of you, son.

Akihiko: ...

Yuurin's father: Anyway, here you go. I've signed everything. *He hands him the documents regarding the transfer of wealth to Yuurin.

Akihiko: Thank you, father.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Akihiko, when your time comes, will you promise to give me one final call?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *smiles* If it crosses my mind, I will.

Akihiko: Huh? You want me to get a haircut?

Yuurin: Yes. It's fair, don't you think?

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: *chuckles* Hm. What kind of haircut do you want me to get?

Yuurin: I think any haircut will suit you.

Akihiko: Bald?

Yuurin: ...

Akihiko: *laughs*

Akihiko: I'm just kidding, bluebell.

Yuurin: *sigh* We should go together with Leona-senpai.

Akihiko: Okay~. I think we should do it on your weekend off.

Yuurin: Sounds good.

Akihiko: Alright. I'll talk to you again, bluebell.

Yuurin: Take care, Aki.

Akihiko: You too, bluebell~. *hangs up*

Leona: *sitting next to her and listening to their conversation* Why the hell would he suggest bald?

Yuurin: I'm not sure...

Leona: ...

Leona: I think Leal's a bad influence.

Yuurin: Huh?

Leona: Just think about it, did he use to have a broken sense of humor?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin's mother: Welcome home, dear. How was your trip to Sunset Savannah?

Yuurin's father: *smiles* It was great.

Yuurin's mother: That's good to know. Oh, by the way, do you want to see my journal? I had so much fun writing on it that I failed to realize that I've written on all its pages.

Yuurin's mother: All I have to do now is pray to Goddess Mnemosyne to watch over our son Yuurin and grant my wishes.

Yuurin's father: *nods*

Yuurin's father: *has waited for his wife to sleep* *holding the journal in his hand*

The servants serving Yuurin: Master? Are you sure about this?

Yuurin's father: Yes. Light up the fire.

The servants: *do as told*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: Burn everything from Yuurin's childhood. Nothing shall remain.

The servants: Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's father: *watches as everything that can remind his wife about Yuurin burns*

Yuurin's father: ...

Yuurin's mother: Men who show weakness will face discrimination, while strong women will be torn down. We cannot allow such injustice to befall our children.

Yuurin's father: What do you mean by that, dear?

*Akihiko was already born around that time.*

Yuurin's mother: We will raise this child as a girl.

Yuurin's father: ...

The servants: Master, this is all.

Yuurin's father: ...

Akihiko: Destroy the journal. By the next morning, Mother will have no recollection of Yuurin.

Akihiko: She will only remember having a daughter, who is me.

Yuurin's father: *to the servants* From tomorrow onwards, no one should utter a word about your Master Yuurin, especially not to your Madame.

Yuurin's father: Do you understand?

The servants: *bows* Yes, master.

Yuurin's father: *throws the journal to the fire*

*A figure resembling smoke emerges from it, fixing its gaze directly on him.*

Yuurin's father: *bows to it respectfully*

*The figure then heads to where his wife is.*

The servants: *looks at each other; understanding the situation*

Akihiko: ...

*The figure shows itself to him.*

Akihiko: *smiles* Thank you. Thank you so much.

*The figure nods then disappears.*

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I hope this will bring you joy, bluebell.

Leal: ...

Leal: Master Akihiko.

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: I can enjoy my remaining years with Yuurin now. *chuckles*

Leal: ...