#pls request more

[t0rturedangel]

can i have some yandere!Vox using his mind control powers on the reader??

╭ . . . 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 ੭

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄-𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 ! 𝐕𝐎𝐗 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♰ ৎ﹕𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦

WOOO VOX STUFF, ngl vox is my favorite out of the three vees (idk much abt velvette and i fucking HATE valentino)

✧⠀⨾ the only way he'd ever hypnotize you was if you dared to leave him- i mean who would leave him HIM?? the cool, chill guy Vox, the guy who anyone can trust with their stuff? How could you, in the name of lucifer himself, dare to leave just like that?

✧⠀⨾ you used some lame excuses too, "oh you're scaring me!" "This isnt healthy or alright in the slightest" like seriously? that's not even that serious! all he wants is for you to stay with him. BY HIM. that's all he's asking, is it too much?

✧⠀⨾ fuckin must be, since now you're sobbing and grabbing bunches of clothes- throwing them into a small, very pathetic suitcase so you'd have something when you ran away.

✧⠀⨾ you see, now, now you've went too far- now vox has to step in, which will not be good for anyone.

Through tears in your eyes you grabbed even more clothes, stuffing them all into your [ favorite coloured ] suitcase, occasionally blinking tears away or rubbing them off of your face. Vox went mad, he was always weird to you during the later period of your relationship- always too touchy and manic, too close to you. Yes, the two of you were dating, and everyone thought it was fine- you and vox were happy together. That was true, at least at the start of this twisted relationship, Vox genuinely seemed to care, to love you and would never dare to hurt you, he said so himself.

Yet, recently he's been acting so off- so wrong. Before he was kind, gentle, never forced you to do anything you didn't want to, but now? Lucifer, what happened to him? What happened to that man that you cared and loved so much, what infected his mind? You ,it seemed, were the answer- he changed because of you of how much he "loves" you. he hates seeing other sinners get too close to you- his precious angel- one who should be untouched by the filth of imps and lower sinners, he even went as far as to ban you from seeing the other vees (who you grew decently close to, earning their respect), he seemed to adore the fact that he controlled every aspect of your life and that you failed to notice it at first, too blinded by your love for him, for everything he did for you before the relationship became official- it was so foreign to see him like that now that you knew, that you've opened your eyes and saw the true intent of his actions, now you're scared, horrified.

Through your hysterics, as Vox labeled them when you first began to cry over all of this, you failed to notice that very same 'boyfriend' (you cringed at calling him that, that thing was not your boyfriend- was it ever your boyfriend?) standing in the door frame, his screen glitching with annoyance and screeching out quiet static noises that seemed for familiar yet so eerie, and his eye wider than the other- a beautiful black swirl dancing around on a red background, such an entrancing sight ❝ babe. ❞ you heard his voice, so distorted and full of displeasure making you shrieked out of almost pure instinct and turned your body so fast you almost has whiplash- eyes wide at the sight of Vox, a horror engraved into your [eye colour] irises . Your body began to tremble it felt almost natural to fear Vox, of what he'd do- he want others to imagine him as this stupid cool guy, who has not a care in the world but you knew what he was truly like. you knew what he was, what he said, what he felt about the other desperate sinners.

❝ go away vox- im not your 'babe' im leaving❞ it was barely above a whisper but sounded so loud in your head, so very loud. That one sentence could have leaft you deaf, you wish it did- wishing it left you deaf and blind so you didnt have to hear his voice, coated in an artificial love, dripping with his real poisonous intent, or see his face- that face you loved to see plastered around the pride ring, the face that now glared at you. ❝ Dont be like that [name]- you know you're my [girlfriend/boyfriend/lover] you cant leave me ❞ his voice, still laced with that distortion didn't register in your head, it's like you didn't even hear it- like you really went deaf.

you could hear his steps echo through the room and that confidences you held a meer second ago- drained from your stature immediately. A fear washed over you, overwhelming your body... Millions of questions raced through your tormented mind all desperate to be your sole focul. „ what will he do? ” „will he kill me? Torture me? Sell me off to some beggar?”

Those questions, such meaningless questions you thought, will never be answered. Though do not fear, Vox cherishes you too much to allow you to be in harm's way of anyone else- he just loves you so much, so much so that he'll forgive this silly little attitude of yours just this once: next time he won't be as forgiving. Though, in all his honesty there won't ever be a 'next time' and all he needed to prevent this was for you to look at his eyes, to just give him one glimpse, it's like deja vu for you ist it? What were you thinking? Those fears, those worries and silly little thoughts of leaving him should have never been thought in the first place, oh how could you be so horrible to think that your loving boyfriend Vox would EVER be so controlling and terrible? My dear, Vox only wants what's best for you, and whats best for you if to stay with him! That's all you need to do, he'll do all the hard work, he'll get his hands dirty, he'll protect you. No one else can do what he does, no other overlord, no other vee, no sinner, not even Lucifer himself can keep you safe like how he can.

after all, he just loves you too much to let you leave, and why would you? being with him had never been better. Though now Vox re-thinks letting you think for yourself again, after all last time he did you wanted to leave.

That cannot happen again. NEVER again.

[spheixrie]

100% Off

Lock Rock x M!Reader oneshot

This one was requested by @princeasimdiya12 thank u for being the first to request! i am very new to this posting thing but i will gladly give you request a try!

‼️MILD NSFW UP AHEAD‼️

"Come on babe!" You say cheerfully as you drag your hero boyfriend into the male section. "I dunno why you dragged me to this, we have perfectly good underwear at home" He grumbled as you make you way to one of the aisles. You look at a wide variety of boxers to underwear and start giggling as you swipe through them. "These would look great on you" You stifle a laugh as you hold up a pair of underwear with little yellow ducks imprinted on it. Your boyfriend just rolls his eyes with an annoyed smile on his lips. "OH HEY GET A LOAD OF THIS" You exclaim as you reach for a pair of boxers and show it to him, all on it was an All Might themed design. He groans in annoyance as you laugh. "Why do they even have that" He mutters. "I dunno but I'm definitely getting these" You say as you put them in your basket and merrily skips to the next aisle as your boyfriend sighs in annoyance and follows right behind you.

You weave in and out of the aisles trying to find underwear that'll fit you (and some tacky and funny underwear to mess with your boyfriend too). You were walking to the counter with your boyfriend in tow, when you suddenly spot something that caught your eye. "Be back in a sec" You say as you walk into another aisle. "Just hurry up" Rock Lock said while checking his watch "I still have to make dinner when we get back" "Yeah yeah sure" You call back.

Your boyfriend was getting bored until you emerged from the aisle you came from and his face was painted with a shocked one. "Oh you'd look good in this" You chuckle as you hold up a pair of Rock Lock themed boxers. "Okay the All Might boxers were understandable, but do they even have those" He grumbles as he looks away from you. "I dunno, but I'm still getting them, they're only 30% off anyways" You smirk smugly and walk away, heading for the counter. Rock Lock knows there isnt any sense in arguing so he just follows.

T I M E S K I P

Both of you got home about 5 hours ago, already ate, and you were reading a book in bed while waiting for your boyfriend to finish his bath. You hear the bathroom door open and you look up from your book. You stifle a laugh as your lover emerges from the bathroom in the Rock Lock themed boxers you bought for him.

"Already like them i see?" You laugh as he climbs into bed with you. "Shut up" He grumbles.

"Did you even wash those?"

"Yeah i put them in the washer when we got home and put them in the dryer afterwards"

"So you like them?"

"I guess"

"Do i get a 'thank you?'"

"No"

"Mean" You roll your eyes and was about to punch his arm when you suddenly felt his hand trail up your thigh. You shiver as he leaned in and whispered into your ear.

"The thanks you're gonna get is when these things are a 100% off"

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HOLY SHITITITITITIT

Thank you again @princeasimdiya12 HWHDHWGDHWHEHHE

This was hard to write since Rock Lock has a wife and son so i had trouble imagining him without them. But i hope you like this! This is one of my first X Reader oneshots so keep those oneshot requests coming!

[kitocrystal]

can you draw selly from crazy raccoon? thank you! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (included his character so you wouldn't have to look for it)

AHHHH! I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT ANSWERING SOONER!! I completely forgot to check my inbox and the notification for your ask got jumbled up with the others, I am so sorry for this. Anyway, I have never heard or seen this character before but the design looks really cool! Hopefully I've done the character justice :)

[lcvejoy]

angsty sentences from my notes app that i want to include in a fic (but you can request me to write it if it sticks out to you)

“this is healing (but why does it hurt?)”

“tell me you love me. i need you to love me. please just love me.”

“there is nothing left of my body. i do not exist”

“maybe if i say it poetically you won’t realize”

“will anyone ever love me enough to cross galaxies and oceans just to come home?”

“i have never known love that runs so deep, you don’t have to lose yourself to feel it”

“i want you to stop living in my nightmares. i would rather you live peacefully in my dreams”

“here i am, living. and yet, you mourn me”

“i think my problems have legs and they’re faster than me”

“i love people as if not loving them will make them disappear”

“you didn’t have to talk about our future as if you were going to stick around to see it”

“i would give all i am just to be the reason he smiles, even if only for one second”

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[guhbwuh]

Seal Soap chibi, is that a thing? Please?

seal delivery!!!!!

it is a thing indeed!!! one of my first drawings of soap actually hehe

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

[clanborn]

song number 10 :)

I left my soul exposed

To frail hands who hold

My fate up in the air

And through their fingers fall

The meaning of it all

Down to the floor it goes

Is There Anybody Here? - The Dear Hunter

[n0tamused]

Your dragon lover who comes home to you after a long time spent apart and goes to immediately hug you from behind, his arms locking you in his loving embrace and you can feel his heartbeat against your back. He is nosing at the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent that lingers with the smell of spices and herbs from the meal you're preparing. He loves you so much, and he tells you so. Not only through words but the way he holds you as if you're the sole provider of oxygen. The way his teeth lightly nip at your supple skin, leaving behind little faint marks of his love, all over your shoulders and on your nape. He is pawing at your hips, begging you to just come to the couch, to bed, hold him or let him hold you, just allow him the time to be close to you. Allow him the time to show the parts of his love that his words fail to describe. And when you give in you find yourself below him, his head on your chest listening to the drumming of your heart that he couldn't directly kiss. Your fingers are combined through his hair, creating separations in his locks before messing it up gently once more and starting over. His low, quiet sounds of pleasure tell you all you need to know about how he's enjoying this, low and soft grumbles urging you to keep going. Any more of this and he'll start purring on your chest like an oversized cat, but neither of you would mind. Not when he's holding you like his most precious treasure, wrapped around you like a rope, and not when you hold him so tenderly.

Characters: Zhongli, Neuvillette, Jiyan, Mortefi + any of your faves as dragons

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[staud]

ARMITAGE: We can beat the thaw and get across the ice back to the ships, Solomon. We can make it— TOZER: We’ll do what we have to do, Tommy. But we’ll do it tomorrow.

-> 27/∞ CHARACTER DYNAMICS in THE TERROR — for anon

[myadagoat22]

Since yall love the last one here is part 2

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

It cut through the music like a blade.

Three knocks.

Not at the front where all the party was, but at the back door. The one no one used. The one that should’ve been locked.

Smoke’s whole posture changed. His shoulders tensed. The glass in his hand paused halfway to the shelf.

You looked at him, brows drawn. “Who’s knockin’ like that?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

Because whatever was on the other side of that door?

It wasn’t part of the party.

When Smoke opened the door, there were three white folks. They looked clean but there was something about them that you didn’t like. One of them stood in front and center—Remmick, that’s what he said his name was, with a smile so wide it almost looked painful.  The other two behind him were also smiling.

You weren’t listening to the conversation all you remember was they wanted to come in so badly.

Then they started singing "Pick poor Robin clean. Pick poor Robin clean. I picked his head, I picked his feet. I would have picked his body, but he wasn't fit to eat."

You knew the song but how they sang it felt like they had a deeper meaning, you didn’t like them, and you could tell Smoke didn’t like them either, they finally took a hint and left when smoke closed the door you knew he needed a dance… maybe more.

When he closed the door you took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor the music swallowed you both. You pulled him in close, just enough space between you to keep it polite—but not too polite.

Smoke didn’t talk. Just moved with you, hands low on your waist, head bowed like he was trying to forget the door even existed.

“You don’t gotta tell me what that was about,” you said, “but I know you need a distraction.”

His lips quirked up just slightly. “You always were good at readin’ me.”

Your fingers slid up the back of his neck, soft. “Still am.”

He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Come upstairs with me.”

Your breath caught. But you nodded.

You followed him past the dancers, past the bar, up the old staircase to the manager’s office—still smelling faintly of cigar smoke and record sleeves. The door clicked shut behind you.

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t rushed or hungry.

It was needed.

Like maybe the world really was ending, and he just wanted to remember what it felt like to be held.

Smoke picked you up with those big arms and put you on the desk "Fuck, you're such a tease," he chided, nipping sharply at her pulse point. "Gonna make me lose my mind."

"Good," Y/N gasped, hands all over his shoulders. "Then fuck me until I can't walk straight. Show me who I belong to."

With a quickness smoke unbuttoned his pants then He shoved her skirt up around her waist and pushed her panties aside, rubbing her pussy first.

"Don’t be so loud," he warned, lining himself up with her dripping entrance. "I don’t want everyone to hear us ."

Y/N bit her lip hard, nodding mutely as she felt him pressing against her. Elijah gripped her hips tightly and pushed forward, stretching her open around his impressive girth.

"Oh god," she whimpered, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the polished wood. Elijah waited until she'd adjusted before starting to move, setting a steady rhythm that had them both panting with pleasure.

They lost themselves in the carnal dance, hands and mouths roaming greedily as they chased their release. Y/N locked her ankles around Elijah's waist, urging him deeper as she rocked against him.

"Gonna fill this sweet warm pussy up," Elijah grunted, snapping his hips sharply. "Pump you so full of cum you'll be dripping for days."

"Yes," Y/N gasped, clenching around him rhythmically. "Please, I need it. Need your cum inside me."

Smoke fucking into her harder and faster until they were both about to cum.  With a mutual cry, they came together, bodies shuddering as ecstasy overwhelmed them.

They stayed locked together as the aftershocks faded, limbs entwined and hearts pounding in unison. Finally, Smoke lifted his head from Y/N's shoulder to gaze down at her with a satisfied smirk.

"I love you," he said, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Y/N never heard him say that before, it made her almost cry then she kissed him and said “I love you too Elijah”    

Smoke kissed her again and said c’mon let's go back downstairs. Y/n smiling replied “Okay Daddy” earning a smack to that big ass from Smoke. They walked downstairs together holding hands.

Not knowing this would be their last time of happiness.

[cosmofag]

more pathetic loid forger. please and thank you

[itji]

YEJI x RUN AWAY — third fan meeting solo steal

[edenfire]

✨️💎 my one and only wish 💎✨️

so i was STILL thinking about shuake in the p5r opening and crying and managed to produce this🥰🤲💗🌸💞

please never let me wake up from this dream🥺💘💞

I really like how this one turned out and im thinking about making it into an 8x10 print🤔 what do you think? would y'all want this one?☺️🌸

[hatethysinner]

Saw you were taking requests and I’ve been thinking about what would happen if one of your OCs gave Remmick a gift. You know this pathetic wet man would not have a normal reaction

ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ɢᴏᴅ

I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS REQUEST! i think it'd be so fun to return to my previous fics and do requested add-ons! no warnings for this, just pure unadulterated pathetic!remmick fluff. this will be a an add-on to the weary blues, but there's no need to read it before this one (though i do highly recommend it).

The hour was late. Not just late in the way clocks measured it, but in that shapeless, misty sort of late that made time feel slippery. The bookstore breathed around you, shelves and walls wrapped in deep shadow, the kind that folded itself politely out of the way so nothing would feel truly alone. No people passed outside. No wind stirred. Even the moths had given up circling the single lamp hanging on the other side of the tinted glass.

Remmick was here, of course.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, spine curved against a low shelf, thumbing absently through a forgotten paperback whose cover had long since faded. His coat was off, neatly folded over the back of your favorite armchair. His sleeves were rolled past the elbows, exposing pale forearms marked with the soft dents of old scars. Every few minutes, he glanced up. Not like he was expecting anything, just to check that you were still there.

That you hadn’t disappeared.

You were at the counter. Pretending to tidy something. A stack of journals, maybe, or that tin of bookmarks that no one ever bought but he always seemed to mess with. Your fingers moved in idle little patterns, but your mind wasn’t on the task.

It was on the box in your pocket.

Small. Softly wrapped. The kind of thing that would disappear in someone else’s hands, but felt almost too large here, in this strange, suspended pocket of midnight and quiet.

You hadn’t meant to give it to him tonight.

It hadn’t felt like the right time. Then again, you weren’t sure what the right time looked like. There were no birthdays tonight. No holidays. No calendar hanging by the register to count down days or circle occasions. There was only now. The dark, and the dust, and the low crackling of the candle you'd light when the chill tried to settle too deep into the floorboards.

But tonight had been soft. That rare kind of soft, the one that didn’t ask for anything but gave something anyway. You’d spent most of the evening in shared silence, passing dog-eared books back and forth, occasionally reading aloud when the words called for it. Remmick had listened like it meant something, like your voice could reshape the air around him if he let it. He hadn’t said much. He didn’t need to.

His presence was enough.

His quiet was never empty.

You watched him now as he flicked through another page, mouth twitching faintly at some line that landed just right. There was a smudge of ink on his finger, probably from that pen he kept tucked behind his ear. His hair had dried funny after his earlier shower, curling up at the ends like it had forgotten how to behave.

He looked good.

Not polished. Not composed. But full.

Alive in the way that only people who have been half-dead know how to be.

Your fingers brushed the edge of the box in your pocket again.

You weren’t sure what he’d do when he saw it. If he’d laugh. Or cry. Or try to give it back. He wasn’t used to gifts. He’d said that once. Quietly, like it wasn’t important, like it hadn’t gutted you on the spot.

He’d never had a proper gift before.

Not one that wasn’t transactional. Not one that wasn’t a favor owed or a mistake forgiven. Just… something someone saw and thought, this is his. Just because.

And yet you’d bought the cufflinks anyway.

Found them in a little antique shop two towns over, tucked away in a velvet-lined tray between cracked lockets and pins with missing stones. They weren’t flashy. Weren’t modern. Just a pair of old silver squares with the faintest etching at the edges.

You’d known they were his the second you saw them.

You weren’t sure why. Just that they were. Like they’d been waiting. Like he’d left them behind in some past life and they’d been clawing their way back to him ever since.

He shifted, drawing your attention back. His foot knocked against a stack of books, and he winced like he thought you might scold him.

You didn’t.

You just looked at him.

Really looked.

At the sharp angles that softened when he was tired. At the curl of his lashes, too long for someone who hated being seen. At the way he held the book like it was breakable, even though his own hands bore proof that he rarely was.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter what the right time was.

You just wanted him to know.

That he was thought of.

That he was wanted.

That something in this world had been chosen for him. Not because he earned it, not because he begged for it, but because someone looked at it and thought, yes, this belongs to you.

You closed the distance slowly.

Not rushed.

Not dramatic.

Just real.

And the box in your pocket felt heavier with each step.

“Hi,” he said, like he hadn’t already been in the same room with you for hours. His voice was soft, a little warm burst in the cold bookstore air, and when you looked at him fully, his whole face lit up. Like you were the one thing in the world he’d been waiting for all night, even though he’d never left your side. “Ya looked busy. Didn’t wanna bother ya.”

His thumb held his place in the book, but the rest of him leaned in your direction. Eager. Not in a loud, desperate way. Not like the first night, when he clung to your presence like it was the last lifeline he’d ever have. This was smaller. Gentler. The kind of eagerness that didn’t ask anything, only bloomed quiet and patient in your light.

You felt the box again, the corners pressing faintly into your palm where you'd slipped it free from your skirt. For a second, you hesitated. Not out of doubt, but because something about this felt so sacred, it needed to be right.

“You weren’t botherin’ me,” you said. Your voice was low, meant just for him. “I was just… thinkin’.”

He tilted his head, that little inquisitive tilt he always did when he sensed something beneath the surface. But he didn’t press. Not yet. He gave you the space, like always, but you could feel his attention. Sharp as a blade, soft as a breath.

You took the few remaining steps that brought you close, until you were standing in front of him. You didn’t sit down yet. You just watched him for a moment, memorizing the way he looked like this. Curled up and content, but always on the edge of some deeper ache.

“I have somethin’ for you.”

That got him. He blinked up at you, startled. His fingers fumbled slightly over the spine of the book, and he sat up straighter, gaze flicking between your face and your hands. “For me?” His voice cracked a little on the second word, like he didn’t quite believe it. “Why?”

You held out the small box. It wasn’t wrapped extravagantly, just enough to protect it, just enough to keep it a secret until now. He didn’t take it right away. He looked at it like it might vanish if he moved too fast.

“Because I saw it,” you said, your voice steady, “and I thought of you.”

That did it.

He reached out slowly, reverently, and took the box with both hands. His fingers hovered over the lid like he didn’t want to ruin whatever magic kept it sealed. For a second, he just stared. Then he glanced up at you again, like asking for permission. When you nodded, he opened it.

The cufflinks caught the faintest sliver of light from the lamp above. Silver. Old, quiet silver. The kind that never shouted for attention but demanded it anyway. Etched at the corners with delicate, almost-forgotten lines. Not a pattern, exactly. More like a memory.

Remmick went still.

Completely still.

Like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“...What are they?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, though he already knew. He just needed to hear it. Needed to make it real.

“Cufflinks,” you answered softly. “For when you want to feel like yourself. Or someone you used to be. Or someone you might become.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on them, wide and dark and glassy. His hands trembled a little. Just enough that you saw it. Just enough that he knew you saw it, too.

“I’ve never had…” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “Not like this. Not somethin’ just mine.”

You sat down next to him, close enough that your knees brushed. His shoulder leaned into yours automatically, seeking warmth, steadiness, anything to anchor himself in the moment.

“They’re yours,”

He exhaled, a long, shaky breath that sounded like it’d been trapped in his chest for years.

“Thank you,” he said, so quietly you barely caught it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

He said it like a prayer.

Like the world was about to crack open under his feet and this was the only thing that might hold it together.

And he hadn’t even tried them on yet.

He kept staring at them like they might disappear if he blinked. Still cupped in his palms, the cufflinks looked small. Delicate, even. A stark contrast to the calloused stretch of his fingers. The silver caught the lamplight again, this time bending it into something gentler, something more secret. Like moonlight in a locked room.

“Do you wanna try them on?” you asked.

He startled, just a little, blinking up at you like he’d forgotten where he was. “Now?”

You nodded. “Unless you’d rather wait.”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. His thumb brushed one of the cufflinks again, like he was reassuring himself they were real. “No, I-I wanna.”

You smiled. He looked like a man asked to wear something sacred, too stunned to argue but too enthralled to rush. You let the silence linger, soft as silk, while he reached slowly for the buttons at his wrist.

He worked them loose with unhurried hands, his sleeves coming undone without fanfare. You could see how he rolled his cuffs neatly back each time. Habit more than style, probably. He always looked like he was halfway between rest and running, like he never knew which the night, or you, would ask of him.

“Here,” you said, holding your hand out gently. “Let me.”

He hesitated for a breath, then gave you his left wrist.

His skin was warm. A little clammy, a little shaky, but he didn’t pull away. He let you unroll the cuff and align the holes, his knuckles twitching every time your fingers brushed bone. You took one cufflink, turned it just so, and slid it through with ease. It clicked softly, the metal cool against his pulse.

He stared at you the whole time.

Not intensely. Not like he did when he first met you, all nerves and hunger and that shaky, desperate pull. This was quieter. Like he couldn’t believe you were here, doing this. Like you were something delicate he was afraid to breathe too hard on.

You moved to his other wrist. He offered it just as easily.

The second cufflink slid in just as smooth. When it clicked into place, his breath caught.

Not loud. Not sharp.

And then you looked up, and the light hit his face differently.

It wasn’t dramatic, not really. The lamp on the shelf behind you didn’t flicker. The air didn’t shift. But something in his expression sharpened, just for a heartbeat. His lips parted slightly, and the faintest glint of teeth showed. Not sharp enough to be a threat, but too pointed to be forgotten. His canines always gleamed, small and precise and not quite right.

And his eyes. His eyes, already so deep and unreadable, caught a color you hadn’t noticed before. In the heart of that ancient blue, there was red. Not bright. Not fire. Just a thread of it, like old embers buried under ash. Watching. Waiting.

He didn’t blink.

You didn’t look away.

You liked his canines. You liked the strange glow in his eyes. The way it made him look like he belonged to something older than night. You didn’t flinch. You never had. Even when part of you knew, knew he wasn’t just some poor soul from the road. Even when nothing about him quite added up, you’d let him in anyway.

You smoothed down his cuff with your thumb.

“They suit you,” you said.

He blinked like he’d forgotten how to.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He looked down at his wrists, then turned them gently in the low light, watching the silver catch. His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More of a stunned, breathless awe. Like you’d handed him a second name.

“Do I look,” he said, hesitating, “like I belong to somethin’?”

You paused. Then leaned in, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You look like you finally believe you do.”

He let out a small, helpless sound. Not a laugh. Not a sob. Just something deep and quiet that lived in his chest and finally found a way out. He pressed his cheek into your temple, breathing you in like he didn’t need air, just this.

His arms came around you, hesitant at first. Still so careful, like you might vanish. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, solid and real and warm, and he sank into it like it was the first real place he’d ever been allowed to rest.

For a long time, you didn’t speak. You just stayed like that, curled together on the floor between bookshelves and forgotten time. The town beyond the window didn’t exist. The cold couldn’t reach you here.

Eventually, he whispered, “Nobody’s ever given me anythin’ like this.”

You drew slow patterns on his sleeve. “You deserve things like this.”

He kissed your head. Not urgently. Not hungrily. Just once. Just thank you.

Then: “You’re not scared of me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” you said, eyes closed.

Even when you should be. Even when something old stirred just beneath his skin. Even when the shadows moved different around him than they did around anyone else.

“No,” you said again.

He was quiet after that. His breath slowed. His shoulders eased. You stayed tucked into him, cufflinks catching the glow of your little lamp. He held you like a promise, soft and otherworldly, and you let him.

This was your secret, after all.

Yours and Remmick’s.

And out in the world, maybe that wouldn’t mean anything. Maybe they'd hate it if they knew.

But here, here in this forgotten bookstore, in the hush between hours where nothing else dared to breathe, it meant everything.

[guhbwuh]

Can I request Chibi Nikolai? Pretty please 🥺👉👈

because u asked so nicely...