#the yams are writing

[fallingyams]

Just had some thoughts on a sherliam post-fall role reversal AU

Didn't Sherlock cradle William's head as they fell from the bridge?

So imagine that because of this, Sherlock ends up taking the brunt of the fall instead of William.

William wakes up first. Sherlock does not.

William wakes up half blind in an unfamiliar room, with the unmoving body of Sherlock in an adjacent bed. He's disoriented and panicked and the only thing that stops him from full-blown hysteria is Billy, who assures him that Sherlock is alive, just unconscious.

He spends the next few weeks attempting to take care of Sherlock and nursing him back to health, even though the other doesn't wake. William's no stranger to this, he had helped to raise Louis, after all. (He tries to ignore the fact that his heart clenches at the reminder of the brother he left behind, whom he might never see again.)

However, most of that time ends up being spent relearning how to do basic tasks with his sight halved. Figuring out how to navigate around his blind spot so that he stops clumsily knocking things over on his left.

After the third time he's upended the basin of water he prepared to wash Sherlock with, William has quite had enough of it all. He despises himself, really, because he can't seem to do anything right.

Feelings of helplessness and anger creep up on him in the silence of the night, without a teasing jibe or an overexcited comment or even just the call of "Liam!" to break it.

But most of all, there is guilt and despair. There was one man who had believed in him throughout all of this. One detective who understood him down to his very core. One friend who had reached his hand out and offered forgiveness where he deserved none.

One Sherlock whom he had almost doomed with his selfishness.

His fascination with the other man’s brilliance had made William drag Sherlock into his damned role in their plan.

He had pulled and teased and tugged, leading this merry chase until Sherlock had followed him to the end. And now, the detective was paying penance for William's actions.

Collapsing into a chair next to the still-unconscious detective, William lets out a cry of bone-deep sorrow.

Sherlock had told him to repent; told him to atone for his sins with the rest of his life.

But how could William bring himself to do that, if the only person who mattered might never wake up again?

What use was living the rest of his life, if Sherlock wouldn't be there to live it with?

Tears slowly trickle down from a single scarlet eye as William bows his head and begs any divine power there is for a miracle.

--

Just as William is about to be consumed by his despairing thoughts, however, a finger twitches and a rasping voice whispers,

"Oi, why are ya crying, Liam?"

(Okay I need to get rid of the angst hi here's a bonus happy end so I can sleep peacefully it's like 2am)

[crybaby-bkg]

I loveee the concept of reincarnation bc it’s just so comforting!!!

oh to be reincarnated lovers with Bakugou where you find each other every life time and leave a memory of the other to find in the next lifetime. You see each other in a new lifetime, drawn to each other, swearing familiarity even though your minds disagree. But it’s something deeper within you that knows each other, misses the others embrace, and you can’t figure out why.

There’s a famous painting of someone who looks suspiciously like you made in the 1600s by some tortured artist, the muse a lover he had lost years before. There’s a statue that looks just like Bakugou from the 1800s, who everyone thought to be created after Apollo, but you beg to differ. There are letters found between two lovers, one gone off to war and the other at home, their exchange of love something poets discuss in contemporary times. Theres even skeletons found embracing each other, with one’s head tucked into the others neck.

And for some reason, every time, these figments of love appeal to you deeper than anyone else around you. They’re so familiar, and you think you might be going crazy when flashes of memories start to plague you.

Sitting in a darkly lit room, a slate of white marble in front of you, a point chisel in hand. There’s a blond man sitting behind the marble, with a sly grin, as your hands raise to start chipping away at its flawless perfection.

Sitting at home, writing away with a quilled pen to a lover you miss. Kissing the edge of the paper and pulling away to find it stained with red from your lips.

Laying in the soft grass, your face hidden in a strong neck as heavy winds start to take over you. Your arms entangled in another’s, tilting your face up to kiss a blond, stubbled jaw.

When Bakugou tells you he remembers the same things, you wonder if you’re both just on a bad trip from a drug you don’t remember taking. But you carve your names in tree trunks and wonder if you’ll find find it again hundreds of years later, if you’ll see him again, if you’ll create another piece of your unyielding love on every crevice of the earth.

[rowenas-megacoven]

I LOVE Onyankopon. He is FEARLESS. Everyone on that plane is either a survey corps member very much accustomed to taking on Titans or they ARE a Titan or BOTH. Onyankopon is just a dude with giant balls very skilfully flying a plane that’s clearly over the weight limit bc of his giant balls. He might as well be flying that plane over an active volcano, if the turbulence don’t take them out, the heat or Zeke’s rock throwing might do it but that ain’t a problem for him. I swear if he doesn’t survive this to spend his final years on little old man tea dates with Levi reminiscing about the time Hange nearly yeeted them all to their collective deaths when Onyan let her drive their hire car in Marley bc she yanked so hard on the handbrake she pulled it out then I am DONE

[fwoglett]

🌿 Peace at last 🌿

Yamato truly deserves a good, long, comfy nap. He's put up with so much hassle his entire life- he deserves some time to relax~

[sunriseabram]

Summary: Every single time Neil goes to sleep, he watches Andrew die a brutal death. No matter how hard he tries, he is powerless to save him.

Or 5 times Neil deals with his nightmares alone, and the 1 time he leans on Andrew for help.

Inspired by this animatic by @wuzeio

[t-lostinworlds]

You Are My Sunshine | Steve Harrington

》 PAIRING: steve harrington x female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: childhood best friends to lovers; fluff; angst

》  SUMMARY: You always found comfort whenever Steve would sing, especially when it’s that song. He was always willing to do it for you, even if in the end, his heart would break in two.

》 WARNINGS: canon divergence (eddie is alive bc i said so, reader gets cursed instead of nancy, and i know the final battle happened at night but let’s pretend it didn’t for the sake of the sunset lol it’s symbolism i promise), a very sweet & soft steve, pet names (angel, my love, pretty girl), mentions of toxic parents, implied sex & nakedness (like one (1) paragraph), blood, injuries, major angst, character death, sad ending (...sorry.)

》 WORD COUNT: 5.4k+

A/N: hiiii, haven’t posted a fic in a while so i’m nervous. and this is my first ever steve fic so i’m extra fucking nervous so pls be nice sklsksks. i’m keeping my first-fic-should-be-angst tradition going so yeah, this is pretty sad. BUT that will also vary per person lol. hope you still enjoy it tho?? AND ALSO, the song i followed was mostly christina perri’s version instead of the original one but yeah it’s more lullaby than anything else.

++ big, big shoutout to @selfcarecap​​​ for proof reading this for me and for screaming at me (affectionately and supportively) on discord even if you had no idea who this man is 😭 ilysm <3

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩  

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Steve Harrington never sang in front of anyone.

Well, unless you count the times when he had one too many drinks at some party where he'd belt out a song or two along with the crowd then, okay—

Steve Harrington never sang in front of anyone, willingly.

Nor will he ever if he had any choice over it.

He wasn't terribly bad at it, but he wasn't ridiculously good, either. He was, more or less, somewhere in the middle, a person who could at least carry a tune without sounding like a dying muppet.

Still, if he wasn't inebriated, he would never be caught singing in front of anyone, even if they'd beg him to.

With only one exception.

You.

His best friend, his soulmate, his other half, and later on—after so much pining, denials, failed dates, heartbreaks, and a hard shove from Robin—the absolute love of his life.

To be honest, you were an exception to so many things in Steve's life. And when he'd known you for as long as he could remember, that was saying something.

So it shouldn't have come off as a surprise that you would be the only person he would willingly sing to. All you needed to do was ask and he'd ignore the deepening blush on his cheeks, take a deep breath, and start singing that song.

The song.

Well, frankly, you didn't even need to ask if he truly thought about it. Because Steve always knew when to sing to you, especially when he would catch on that it was what would help you at the moment.

The first time he ever did it was when you'd fallen off your bike when you were seven. The scrapes on your palms and knees weren't deep. But as a child who was newly introduced into one of the many cruelties of this world, of course, they still stung.

A young and confused Steve was left to comfort a crying you on the sidewalk. He'd tried to help you up since you were only just a couple blocks from home, but you were too scared, knowing that once your parents would see you in that state, you'd only get a scolding. Steve figured out as much when you cried even harder when he told you he'd get them for help.

There was nobody in his house, his parents were out for a couple of days, something to do with work. It was why Steve was left with your folks in the first place. They were good, old friends, which was how he met you.

So taking you into an empty space with Steve having no clue where they even kept the first aid kit, it wasn't the best idea, not even near good.

Then he remembered that one time he woke up from a nightmare when he was very much younger. His nanny had tried to soothe him with a soft hum of a song. The melody and lyrics were still so vivid in his memory since it did calm him, lulled him back to sleep so quickly he couldn't even remember what happened in his dream.

So, with no other option left in his eight-year-old brain, Steve gently took your hand in his, and sang,

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…"

You'd look at him funny at first, but hey, you stopped crying, so Steve took that as a win. But then a moment later, you leaned into him, wrapped your tiny arms around his torso in a hug, softly sniffling as you buried your face in his chest. With a proud smile, he kept going, humming against your hair as he smoothed your back. Your breathing grew steadier the more he did so.

Steve had managed to calm you down enough to be able to help walk you home, bargaining that he would tell your parents it was his fault so you wouldn't get shouted at. And if that didn't work, he vowed to never leave your side when it happens.

As expected, you both got a scolding from your parents. But, as promised, Steve held your hand through it all.

From then on, it simply became your thing.

You always found some sort of comfort whenever he sang to you, specifically with that song. It seemed to ground you somewhat. Steve had grown accustomed to the steadying of your heart whenever he continued to hum the melody, your body melting in his hold when he'd murmur the lyrics against the skin of your crown. And it wouldn't take long for sleep to take over you afterwards.

Other times, he would sing to you if you needed a momentary escape, or even just a quick distraction from the horrors that unsettlingly lived in the walls of your broken home.

Like that one night during the last year of middle school. You'd called him up on his own telephone in his room, something that he never thought would become very useful, especially at times like this.

"S-Steve?"

You didn't even need to tell him more, Steve already knew what was going on. It pained him that he did, because it only served as proof as to how many times it's already happened before. If not for the faint shouting he could hear in the background, your barely contained sniffles were enough to have him jumping out of bed, no matter how late it was.

"Just sit tight. I'm on my way."

Steve was thankful your house was only a few minutes down the road from his. The trek from his backyard to yours was muscle memory at this point. Hell, he'd become an expert at scaling a tree all thanks to that big oak that was perfectly situated near your window.

After a few taps on the glass, it was quick to open.

Steve's heart could only ache at the sight of your tear-stained face, his chest squeezing when he saw you flinch at the sudden crash of plates just downstairs.

He didn't waste another second as he climbed into your room, guiding you back to bed before pulling you into his arms. You both curled under the blankets, Steve putting a pillow over your head just to block out any of those harsh noises.

"Want me to sing the song?"

You nodded.

Steve never hesitated.

"...you make me happy, when skies are gray."

Then you both got roped into the whole Upside Down ordeal.

The nightmares were always relentless for the first couple of weeks. Terrifying creatures from another dimension, a monster made of burnt flesh and crushed bones that controlled minds, Russians with a thirst for torture, deaths, far too many deaths. It would be concerning if all of you came out on the other side unscarred and—well, perfectly fine.

It reached a point where neither of you could truly be alone in the dark anymore, senses stuck on high alert that even the faintest rustle of leaves would have you jolting awake.

Steve had been singing you to sleep more times than he had ever done in his life combined.

He wasn't complaining, though. He could never. Because as much as his singing put you at ease, having you curled up in his arms while he hummed the tune brought Steve so much warmth and comfort that the constant beat of your untroubled heart, the peace painted on your beautiful features, it was enough to lull him into a deep slumber.

And still, there were even occasions where you would be the one who'd sing him to sleep, where you would be the one holding him in your arms.

Those nights Steve will forever cherish, where he could freely let his guard down, no more putting up a front as he let himself be vulnerable in your embrace. It was nights when he'd go from the protector to the protected. Even if only briefly, he will always be grateful for that moment of reprieve only you can give him.

Perhaps that was the silver lining to all this chaos you'd been thrown into. Because you and Steve had never been closer. And when you'd been inseparable for all your life, it was one hell of a statement to make.

But it was like reaching a new level of depth in your already strong bond. There were no more secrets, no more putting on a brave face, just you and him, raw and real, flaws, scars, and demons alike but still being able to look at the other with an immeasurable amount of love.

With all that said, it wasn't only when something terrible had happened that Steve would sing you that song.

Like that night when he finally grew the balls to tell you how in love he was with you, the night when Steve finally got to call you his.

You probably wouldn't be able to recall this because you'd been long asleep in his arms while Steve was still buzzing from the euphoria. Your early slumber was his fault, he will wholeheartedly admit.

Okay, fine, he's humbly bragging here, but he'd managed to tire you out after hours—you both were making up for lost time so what—taken by the throes of passion, of making love, as cheesy as that sounds.

And as Steve felt the gentle rise and fall of your bare chest against his own, the song just simply bubbled in him that he couldn't stop it from coming out. A sweet tune, a soft hum, as he sang the words that will forever be tied to all things you.

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you—" he paused with a lovesick chuckle, pulling you closer in his embrace as if you weren't already laying right on top of him. And as he pressed his lips against your forehead, he fell asleep with a bright smile on his face, right after a soft murmur of:

"I love you, so so so much."

Steve had hoped that from then on, the song would be tied to more happy memories than bad ones.

But then Vecna came into the picture.

He thought it was the truest form of fear seeping in his bones when that vine had dragged him down Lover's Lake, the realization that your scream and the look of horror on your face would be his last memory of you as he was pulled into the Upside Down. He thought those goddamn bats choking him to death and gnawing at his flesh was what finally made him understand the true meaning of being so helpless and scared.

But no.

It wasn't until he saw your eyes roll back as you stood still by the makeshift rope—so close to escaping, but not close enough—did Steve ever know true fear. It was bitingly bitter, the feeling of hopelessness as he desperately called out for you, clawing at your shoulders, shaking, begging for you to just wake up.

The gang was taking too fucking long to find any song, much less your favorite one. And with each second of him watching your barely conscious state, the air in his lungs was growing acidic that his eyes had started to water.

So he turned to the next best thing he could think of.

He didn't even know if it would work, if his singing would surpass the control Vecna had over your mind, if his voice alone would be enough to break through the barrier and have you running back to him.

But fuck it, he was growing desperate.

So as Steve held your face in his trembling hands and pressed his forehead against yours, he sang. He didn't care that his throat was dry and rough, he didn't care if his voice was shaky, he didn't fucking care if he was skimming across being in tune and not.

Steve was singing for you to come back to him.

He was faintly aware that the gang had gone quiet for a moment once he did. Looking back on it, he couldn't blame their shocked faces. After all, most of them never heard him sing before, especially not so desperately.

Yet his focus was solely on you, repeating the song over and over and over, nonstop even if he was out of breath, burning lungs be damned. Because hell, if he was going to die, it might as well be while trying to save you.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

Steve finally breathed when you gasped awake.

He wasn't sure if Vecna willingly let you go, or if Steve singing to you actually worked. But whichever it was, it didn't matter. You were okay. You were here, you came back, albeit shaking in his arms, but well and alive.

And as he helped you climb back out of the gate on the roof, he thanked whatever otherworldly being that heard him and brought you back. But at the same time, Steve begged for it to never, ever happen again. He didn't think he could take it if that were to happen again.

But the thing with the universe, it never shied away from being so cruel.

•••

Steve hated that he was splitting up with you, especially in a place that had Death written all over it. But he figured you'd be safer back in Eddie's trailer where the means to escape were much, much more tangible. He didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if he brought you with him into the demon's layer only to have you get badly hurt then.

He just hoped that for once you would actually listen to him and abort the mission the second the whole thing goes sideways. He desperately wished you'd bring yourself to safety rather than run after him. But God you were never one to be told what to do. So he bestowed a little faith in Eddie that hopefully, the metalhead would drag you back if it truly came down to it.

It was what he kept repeating in his head, when the first earthquake hit, when the vines took Robin, then him, then Nancy. 

You escaped. You're safe.

It was like a mantra, it was what kept him going, to keep fighting just to be extra sure that you were truly safe.

And when he threw that Molotov cocktail at Vecna, you bet it was fucking personal.

For hurting his town, for hurting his friends, for hurting you.

As the turn of events unfolded, Steve thought they might actually have done it, they won. But the moment he felt that smallest semblance of victory, it swiftly deflated when he heard the chimes of the clock, snatched away when the ground began to shake.

You had time to get out. You're okay.

Steve didn't even know if could convince himself at that point, because the second the earthquake stopped, he'd never run so fast in his life.

When he reached the trailer and saw you sitting on the ground with Dustin and Eddie kneeling on either side of you, he immediately thought the worst.

Bile climbed up his throat, stemming from the harsh claws that started to dig into his heart. He felt like he was about to pass out when he caught sight of the blood that seeped through your shirt, covering your torso with dark crimson. It wasn't the most pleasant sight, especially when it matched the red, thundering skies.

"Y/N!"

The relief Steve felt when your eyes snapped up to meet his was immeasurable.

"Hey," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside you as he took your face in his hands.

The ache in his chest eased up a little when you leaned into his touch, wearing that saccharine sweet smile that never failed to make his day brighter.

"I'm okay," you hummed, covering his hands with yours, squeezing lightly. "We're okay."

"What happened?" Steve asked.

Eddie cleared his throat, his guilt noticeable as he hung his head low. "They filled the trailer and guarded the gate. We had to get out before they could trap us inside but—"

"There were too many of them," Dustin finished with a sniffle, eyes a little teary but Steve didn't miss the silent apology.

"You did what you had to do." Steve nodded at them both with a small smile, patting their shoulders in reassurance. 

"Let me see." He turned back to you, frowning as he carefully lifted your shirt to assess your wounds.

Steve grimaced at the state of your stomach, torn up flesh, your blood covering your once untainted skin. He hovered his fingers over it gently, frown deepening, heart aching at the cause of your pain, his own wounds tingling as if it sympathized with yours.

"We're matching," you joked.

Steve shot you a scolding look.

He knew you were only trying to ease up his worry, to make light of the situation. But for him, the joke simply didn't land. To be honest, no joke ever would when your safety was a concern.

"I'm fine, Steve," you sighed, flashing him a reassuring smile. "I just needed to catch my breath."

He wasn't having it, though. "Can you sit up for me?"

You let out another sigh but did so, anyway. Steve hastily took his jacket off to wrap it around your torso as a makeshift bandage, whispering apologies every time you winced. After checking the tightness of it twice, he grabbed your arms and wrapped them around his shoulders.

"Up on three?"

You nodded.

"One, two, three."

You hissed as you got your feet under you, a slight wobble in your movement that did absolutely nothing to ease out his worries.

"Come here, I got you," he murmured, wrapping a gentle arm on your back for support. Steve hastily cupped your cheek with his other hand when your head lolled back, your eyes screwed shut with your brows furrowed. It took a moment for you to open them again, another second until your gaze focused. He caressed your skin with his thumb. "Good?"

You hummed, "I think I can still walk on my own."

"Right," he said, nodding slowly. "Let's assume you actually can, what made you think I'll let you do that after what's happened?"

You rolled your eyes, a teasing scoff, but then a sweet smile.

But when your hand found his cheek, he stilled, brows furrowed as he held your gaze.

There was something in your irises, a knowing glint, and perhaps even a tightness on the curve of your lips. A beat of silence, a shadow crossed your face. But Steve didn't get the chance to figure it out when you pulled him in for a kiss.

Steve's whole body melted with a sigh, his free hand resting on the back of your head to pull you a little closer.

The kiss was languid yet sweet, nothing too rushed, but God did it make him feel better. It was like a momentary breath of fresh air after the toxicity in the atmosphere only this dimension can bring.

But then Steve caught your shaky sigh, a faint, barely there sniffle as you pressed onto him a little bit more. Your grip on his shoulder tightened, free hand moving from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his hair.

It made his heart thump a little faster, both in a good way, but—surprisingly, worriedly—in a bad way, too.

Steve pulled away, the crease on his forehead deepening at the sight of your glossy eyes.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, cupping your cheek. "Is the bandage too tight? Did you pull your wound? Do you feel a little dizzy—"

You smiled.

"You're such a mom."

Steve stared at you.

And then, it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"You meant protective and caring boyfriend," he corrected.

You giggled, a rush of warmth coating Steve's body at the sweet, tender sound, one he needed to hear so badly. If he could put it on tape and play it on repeat, he would. But no high-definition speakers would be able to do the sound justice.

"Come on then, sassy pants," he chuckled, pecking your lips before guiding you towards the trailer—well, what's left of it, anyway. "Let's get you out of here."

•••

"The gate got bigger," Robin said, grimacing at the curling vines that covered the glowing, red hole on the wall of the trailer.

"I think we can just walk through," Nancy hummed, picking up the homemade spear, slime bursting everywhere as she stabbed it, just enough to pry it open.

Nobody really found the new fact an advantage. Everything was far too bleak that even the smallest of victories didn't feel right to be appreciated.

Dustin was ushered out first, swiftly followed by Robin who helped Nancy out.

"Go first. Help grab her from the other side." Steve nodded at Eddie before turning to you, sighing, "Quit pouting. Just let us help you."

"Wasn't pouting," you muttered, somewhat out of breath as you took Eddie's outstretched hands that protruded out the wall.

"Careful." He pressed his hands against your back, gently pushing you forward until you were able to break through the other side. "There you go."

He heard you suddenly yelp.

"You okay?!" 

"Yeah! Got caught on a vine."

Steve hurriedly followed you out not long after.

The sun was already starting to set when he got back to Hawkins, an orangey glow covering the horizon. And if it weren't for the current situation, he would've stopped and admired the beauty of it.

"Here, back to your lover boy," Eddie chuckled, gently guiding you back into Steve's arms. "I'll go start the Winnebago."

Your grip on his shoulders was tight as you all but wobbled to him. Steve immediately secured an arm around you, planting a warm kiss on your forehead before helping you walk back to where the rest of the gang was huddled.

Steve couldn't wait to go home once you've gotten the treatment needed for your wounds. He was looking forward to having a long, nice, hot shower with you, to cover you in his clothes and tuck you under the warm blankets with him. He always longed for your cuddles after such a long, long, day, to hold you in his arms, start singing and—

"Steve?"

The blood on Steve's face drained when he saw you cough out yours.

He hurriedly dropped to his knees to catch your frail body, movements riddled with panic as he shifted on the ground. He was sitting at an awkward angle but his comfort was the last of his worries. Not when you continued to choke on blood. He gently pulled you upright, your torso now carefully settled on his lap.

Supporting an arm behind your head, Steve checked your wounds with the other.

His heart stopped, beating again but twice the pace at the sight of your blood on his hands.

The jacket tied around your wound was completely soaked through, the knot slackened so slightly yet dangerously as if something had purposely pulled it loose.

Got caught on a vine.

"Somebody call an ambulance!"

He only caught a glimpse of Robin running towards one of the nearby houses in the trailer park before he turned his attention back to you.

"Angel, I'm going to try and carry you, okay?"

"H-Hurts," you whimpered, shaking your head in protest when he tried to move you even slightly.

"I know, I know," he murmured, brushing away the speckles of dirt that littered your crown, chest tightening when he only managed to infect your skin from the crimson red that coated his fingers. "But I need to get you back to the car so we can take you to the hospital."

"No t-time," you breathed out.

Steve bit his lip and shook his head frantically. "We've got plenty of time."

"Need to—" You cut yourself off with an agonized cough, a sound that brought Steve so much pain he'd sacrifice anything to never hear it again.

"Ssh, it's o-okay, c'mere," he said, tender yet broken, taking the edge of his shirt as he tried to wipe away the blood that trickled down your lips. "You're okay."

You faintly nodded. "N-Need tell you, b-before—"

"Don't say anything," he reprimanded. "You need to save your energy. You're going to be okay."

"N-No, listen—" You shook your head, your trembling hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "I want you to p-promise me some t-things."

God, you were so stubborn. Not that Steve ever had any strength to say no to you, either. So as he covered your hand with his own and pressed it harder against his skin, he nodded.

"Anything, my love."

"This–not your f-fault, promise me you'll r-remember that," you struggled, but the determination was there, powerful and commanding in his hopes that your words would stick to him. But he could only press your palm over his lips and stayed quiet. You weren't taking that as an answer. "Steve."

"Okay, okay, I—" He shook his head, swallowing back a sob. "I promise."

"A-And I want you t-to be happy, okay?"

"I will be happy with you," he said through gritted teeth. "Because you're going to be fine."

"Promise me y-you will find a way to be h-happy," you whispered, tears welling up in your own eyes but a ghost of a smile touched your lips. "Even if–not with m-me."

You might as well have ripped his heart out his chest, stabbed it with a knife, thrown it on the ground, stepped on it and burned it to a crisp, the pain would've been much, much less.

Steve couldn't breathe, even just from letting the thought fleetingly cross his mind. You were it for him. It was you, or no one. His future was darker than the unknown abyss if you weren't going to be in it.

But despite the word tasting so bitter and vile against his tongue, despite him being unsure as to how on earth he would even manage to do it, if he would be able to fulfill his vow at all, for the sake of easing out even a fraction of your worry and pain, Steve nodded.

"I promise."

"I love you," you breathed. "S-So much."

He whimpered, biting his lip as he tried to hold himself together, trying to stay strong for both of you.

"I love you." Steve turned his head to kiss your palm but not once did he take his eyes off of yours. "So, so, so much more."

"I-Impossible," you teased, that sweet smile appearing on your lips. They didn't reach your eyes, not because it wasn't a true smile, but because—

Steve shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Stop arguing with me," he chuckled, the sadness curling around his voice as he blinked back his unshed tears just so he could see you clearly. "Just stay with me, okay?"

You nodded with a hum, a sharp intake of breath before your eyelids fluttered.

"H-Hey, no, keep those eyes open, come on, pretty girl," he begged, cupping your cheek, touch frantic, soft, desperate. Once he saw your gaze focus on him again, he quickly turned to his friends. "Guys! Please!"

"S-Steve."

"I'm here, I'm here," he whispered as he hastily turned to you, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm right here, you're okay."

"Can you—" You coughed, the sound clawing at his heart, sharp nails digging deeper when you asked, "Sing for m-me?"

"No," he sobbed, shaking his head frantically.

He knew why you were asking.

Comfort in midst of the unease.

He knew that once he did as much as start the first note, it would start to calm you, it would lull you into a comforting space where you'd slowly let yourself go.

But he wasn't as strong as you. Fuck no, not even close because he couldn't. He couldn't let you slip through his fingers.

Steve couldn't let you go.

Yet being the stubborn woman that you are, you'd managed to give him a tender, and oh so lovely pout, the very one he could never, ever say no to.

"Why n-not?"

"How about this," he started, taking a deep, shaky breath as he offered you a small smile. "I will sing to you as many times as you want once we get you to the hospital a-and then, many more times after that."

Your fingers reached up to push his hair away, slowly trailing down the side of his face before you pressed them over his lips.

"Wanna hear y-your voice, Stevie."

He choked back a sob, gently curling his hand around your wrist, kissing each of your fingers before he placed them back on his cheek. "I'm going to keep talking, don't worry." 

"P-Please?" you whispered, wiping away his tears with your thumb. He didn't even realize that they were already streaming down his face, too caught up in the silent way your eyes spoke to him, telling him that everything was going to be okay.

Steve wasn't cruel and selfish enough to not give you what you want.

"Y-You are my sunshine," he started shakily, clearing his throat. Your sweet smile urged him to keep going. "My only sunshine."

"You make me happy, when skies are gray."

"You'll never know, dear, how much I-I," Steve choked, pressing his forehead against yours, never once breaking away from your gaze as he breathed, "I love you."

Your smile grew a little brighter, a concoction of pure beauty and grace as your features glowed golden, the last beams of light caressing your skin. Steve watched your eyes shine, glimmering under the sunset as you tilted your head up, lovingly brushing your nose with his, your warm breath ghosting over his lips as he whispered,

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

Then, everything was still, peaceful.

The trees rustled farther into the distance, the chirping of birds grew quieter, the wind had gone colder as the last rays of the sun slowly sunk and disappeared into the horizon.

"Y/N?" he called gently, eyes blinking rapidly, desperately waiting for yours to open, to give him anything. "S-Stop, this isn't f-funny."

Steve's heart dropped as your fingers slipped from his face.

"No, no, no," he choked, hastily grasping your hand as he pressed it back on his cheek. "H-Hey, stay with me, come on."

He shook his head frantically when he still didn't get a response from you. He looked at his friends, standing by the sidelines, gloom hovering over them as the dark clouds now started to cover the skies.

"Robin," Steve begged.

For what? He didn't know.

But Robin only shook her head with a silent sob, tears streaming down her face. Steve tried Nancy then, she'll know what to do, she always knew what to do. But even she was rendered speechless, staring with unshed tears, lips pressed tightly together to stop them from trembling. Then Steve saw Dustin bury his face into Eddie's shirt, the young kid's body shaking as he cried, the metalhead doing his best to comfort him as he too tried to keep his tears at bay.

It was then.

"N-No please," he sobbed, cupping your face, gently shaking your body. "Wake up, c-come on, my love, you need to wake up."

Nothing.

"Don't do this to me. You can't leave me. It was supposed to be me and you till the end, r-remember?" he continued, hoping his voice will bring you back to him again, just like the last time. "I can't do this without you, p-please, come back."

Steve never knew that silence could be this fucking deafening.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He cradled your head as he pulled you closer into his chest, rocking you back and forth like he always did when you turned to him for comfort, hoping it would do the same for him.

But it didn't.

Steve balled his fists, the gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was growing unforgiving as his body trembled. He placed one last kiss on your forehead, his tears landing on your cold skin as he screwed his eyes shut. And with a deep, intake of breath,

Steve screamed.

In agony, in pain, in grief, in anger.

Anger at the world, anger at the universe, anger at everything.

Because they did it.

They took his sunshine away.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated!

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary​​​​​​​​ and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2022 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

[datingdonovan]

a/n: wake up. food's ready. just sat here for a few minutes and rehabbed an old draft that was probably based on this fabulous onceler drabble, I think? also VERY pg13... not really any explicit sex but. it's a lot about sex. my blog and my writing used to be so sfw but cece is back after her most recent troubling sexual relationship and is probably sexier than ever. he he ha ha help me. I hope you enjoy. also reader is gn but does get called beautiful so if that feels gendered or triggering to you please be aware! also mentions of tipsy/inebriated sex!!!! so dubcon in that way? I tried to make everyone not drunk drunk but if tipsy sex is slimy for you watch out for that too

10:45AM

Yamaguchi wakes up slowly, eyes halfway open, naked body warm. And then he remembers what happened. The muscles in his body all tense at once, and it takes every fiber of his being to stay still. No no no no no. That hadn't happened. Shit. That hadn't happened, right?

But it had. His palm is resting on the soft skin of your hip and despite his best efforts he's squeezing lightly, so fucking nervous, and you're squirming toward him, still asleep, smiling softly, and it had, it had happened, oh god, it had.

Fuck. His ears are ringing with anxiety. What had happened? What had happened? He hadn't drank nearly enough last night for this to possibly have fucking happened.

And the information floods his mind as you nuzzle closer to his chest, your skin flush against his, a soft kiss where your mouth meets his shoulder. You, Tsukki, Tsukki breaking up with you — meanly, meaner than was necessary. You, Yamaguchi, and Tsukki, best friends, best friends since freshman year and Tsukki dating you and Yamaguchi shutting up and enduring it and you feeling tired of Tsukki's pretentiousness and his mean jokes and you telling Yamaguchi about it and Yamaguchi telling Tsukki about it and instead of fixing it making it worse and then you. You. YOU.

You with no more Tsukki, crying into his shoulder, and saying you just want to fuck someone. You're not even angry, you knew this was coming, you just want to fuck someone to forget. And Yamaguchi, the ever-loving asshole that he is, saying yes, yes, that makes sense, instead of saying, no, it's a bad idea. And then your dorm room, and then your sheets, and then your skin, god, your fucking skin. And now probably a hundred missed calls from Tsukki when Yamaguchi can chance a look at his phone, and the swirling feeling of bile coming up his throat, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? Wouldn't anyone have done the same?

He'd been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you, and in better, kinder ways than Tsukki, he knew. You were so beautiful, a ray of sunshine, someone who deserved the world, and to be treated with tenderness, and care. Tsukki just treated you like he did any other adoring idiot who was obsessed with him. Yamaguchi knew you deserved someone who was obsessed with you, and he knew he could be that. He knew he could love you. He had to constantly fucking remind Tsukki how you took your coffee in the morning, and what your favorite flavor of ice cream was, and that it did in fact matter when he got home if you were waiting up for him, and that you actually cared about him more than he knew and he shouldn't be wasting this opportunity treating you like an annoyance, like you didn't deserve his attention. Hell, with everything Yamaguchi tried to do to make sure you were treated right, you might as well have been dating him the whole time.

And he hated how his heart twinged with jealousy every time you chose his best friend over him, but he let it happen, because he loved you, even though he just fucking knew that wasn't how it was supposed to be. And then last night, everyone was tipsy, and you were crying, and he saw the chance to show you what really being loved could look like, and he took it. Fuck.

You mumble something soft and sweet against his shoulder and he remembers what he said last night with you on top of him, the only thing he could find the words to say, in every cadence he could think of, even after you laughed and told him to stop:

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you."

Yamaguchi swallows hard.

It hadn't been sex. It had been love. And that was so, so much worse.

[mumuqings]

adding to all the parallels in this episode, I’m just thinking about ekubo’s “it’s not like I changed any of their personalities” + this being the first time they’ve drawn teru with sharper features since s1… this is so fucked up

[fallingyams]

Inspired by the people who catch me when I fall and whom I want to catch in return. 🫂

A short little Sherliam thing about William falling asleep in places after overexerting his brilliant mind.

Enjoy :)

---

Quite frankly, William had forgotten about it until it was too late. He'd been put on bed rest for weeks after waking up, and then gradually allowed only some activities that limited his exertion for so long that it simply had slipped his mind to inform Sherlock about his long-standing… condition.

It was only when he felt the onset of dizziness after finally cracking the mysterious profile of the criminal who'd been eluding them for months and saw Sherlock's sudden look of alarm that William realised he probably should have made mention of this earlier.

As things were, he only managed to mumble out a cryptic, "Sherly…usual…" before falling unconscious on the spot.

Concerns were waved away with a brief explanation of his condition the following day once he woke. The rest of the time was filled with embarrassment for him and Sherlock both as a particularly excitable Billy regaled him with the story of how Ponytail-senpai had immediately lunged to catch him before he could touch the ground like a knight swooping in to save a distressed damsel.

---

Embarrassment, however, was not enough to stop Sherlock from acting.

Exertion was unavoidable in their line of work. Even more so for Liam who possessed a nearly unmatched brilliance and foresight, and was often relied on to predict the target's next course of action. (Sherlock was willing to concede that while he was the best at deducing motives and culprits, Liam had the uncanny ability to predict and manipulate things in his favour.)

If Liam's fainting spells couldn't be avoided completely, then Sherlock simply made sure that there would always be a safe place for him. 

He would be there by Liam's side at a moment's notice, arms ready to catch him when he fell. He would gently lift the other in a secure hold (and oh, at the back of his mind he might register that Liam was still far too skinny, barely weighing more than a cat.)

Tucked safely against Sherlock's chest, the dozing blond might turn to nuzzle his face into that comforting scent before being lowered onto a comfortable surface. Whether it was a proper bed, or a makeshift sofa with soft blankets, William would have somewhere to just rest while Sherlock watched over him.

Liam's fainting spells would probably never disappear. But that hardly mattered.

Sherlock would always catch him, after all.

[cryptic-symbols]

If there are 10,000 “Yam, The King of Crops” by the Mountain Goats fans, I am one.

If there are 1,000 “Yam, The King of Crops” by the Mountain Goats fans, I am one.

If there are 10 [actual realistic number] “Yam, The King of Crops” by the Mountain Goats fans, I am one.

If there are no “Yam, The King of Crops” by the Mountain Goats fans, then I felt sick, felt good, the heat burns, old wood, muscles in my arms pump like machines, the jericho palm tree is plush and green, bright sun, the new day, I felt sick in a good way, felt the fever climb when you came down, all the way across town, and you brought me a plate of sweet potatoes; sun fading overheard, the sunset, bright red, your green eyes, your smooth walk, fresh tomato, celery stalk, you cook: pot of pari basmati rice, I felt good, you looked nice, you stood like galatea, over me, fried garlic, kimchi, and you brought me a plate of sweet potatoes.

[crybaby-bkg]

drunk Bakugou that keeps blinking big wet eyes up at you while you help him get undressed and brush his teeth and wash his face. he’s slurring the whole time about how much he loves you and how pretty you are and how you’re the better part of him and how he’s gonna marry you and give you two and a half kids and a dog and a cat. muffles half of his confessions into your stomach where he keeps resting his heavy head, and doesn’t care about the tears and and toothpaste he’s getting on you in the process. no, he doesn’t remember everything when he wakes up, but he has an idea of what he’s said when you wake up with a grin, ready and armed to tease him.

[hannah-heartstrings]

Sweet Surprise

During a trip to Skingrad, Lecrinn and Garrus decide to surprise each other. Early in the timeline, though I'm not actually sure how canon it is.

The lost sweetroll prompt fic. I spent half a month writing this, finished it, and went "meh." By then I'd worked on it to the point of not being able to tell if it was good or not, and I still can't tell.

So I'll just release it into the wild and you can tell me. (I do know some things I do and don't like but I decided to keep them to the tags.) From October 2022 but I'm still accepting concrit on it.

@druidx @babyblueetbaemonster @inkysqueed

---------

            Cradling two sweet rolls in one hand Lecrinn held them close as she pushed the heavy door with the other. She opened it just enough to slip out, leaving the chatter and warmth of the busy inn for the street outside. It was also busy and warm but more tolerably so.

            She squinted against the afternoon sun. Now that she had the sweet rolls it was time to find Garrus, after she dragged him all the way from Cheydinhal to Skingrad it was only right he get something out of it.

            The roads were narrow between the tall stone buildings that arched above them. She weaved through their hustle and bustle. The street widened out into a fork, forward continued to more buildings and to the left, a statue of a horseman. There gazing up at the statue she found Garrus.

            Catching her from the corner of his eye he turned and beamed at her.

            She couldn’t help but smile back.

            “I have a surprise for you,” he said as she walked up.

            “So do I!” She stopped, both their smiles falling at the sweet rolls in the other’s hands. Looking back up at the other’s face they gave laughing smiles.

            “I suppose we had the same idea,” he shifted.

            She shrugged. “It’s a good idea.” His smile looked forced, he seemed to feel awkward, she didn’t know why and it was making her feel awkward too. “Well… this one’s yours,” she held one out and they swapped, both laughing a little. She noticed he only held one. “Did you already eat yours?”

            “I uh,” he glanced down, “I don’t know how much money this trip will end up costing so I only bought one for you.”

            “Oh…” she looked to her second one.

            “You can keep it.”

            “Nah, lets split it later.”

            “No, you bought it for yourself, you can have it.”

            She walked passed him. “One and a half sweet rolls is still more than I planned on getting.”

            He tilted his head, he supposed that was true. Turning he saw her sitting on the round base of the statue. He looked startled. “Are you allowed to sit there?”

            “I don’t see anyone guarding it.” Pulling the pack off her shoulders and beside her she rifled through it.

            “What if you get in trouble?”

            “Then you can just arrest me.”

            He looked around before going over to sit beside her.

            Finding a small cloth she wrapped up one of the rolls and put it in her pack. She then turned all her attention to the one in her hand, closing her eyes as she took a bite, savoring its sweet spice.

            “Mmm!”

            She looked to Garrus who was looking at his sweet roll surprised.

            “They really are better in Skingrad.”

            “Salmo’s sweet rolls are famous for a reason.”

            “Perhaps we should get more of these before we leave.”

            Her smile widened. “Does Cheydinhal have its own desserts?” She took another bite.

            “There’s the thirty layer cake.”

            She had to quickly swallow the bite. “Thirty layers?”

            “They’re thin.”

            “Why would you ever need thirty layers?!”

            “No, they’re very thin, it isn’t much taller than a regular cake.”

            “Oh… I’m having a hard time picturing it,” she gave a smirk, “I think I’ll have to see it for myself.” The smile turned more genuine. “Is it good?” She took a smaller bite.

            “I haven’t got to try one, they’re expensive.”

            The smile fell. “Oh.”

            “I like the spiced root cake the Dunmer make, and there’s one made from something called marshmerrow, it’s a little too sweet for me but I think you’d like it.”

            “I’ll have to try them next time I’m in town.”

            “I’m also quite fond of the bread they make out of yams, though,” he lowered his voice, “I’ve been afraid to try it with scrib jelly.”

            “What’s that?”

            “…Maybe when you’re done with your sweet roll.”

            Her brows rose.

            As they continued eating she looked around, gaze catching on the red leaves of a nearby tree, its branches bobbing slightly.

            He stared out at the street. “I have been trying to learn more about Dunmer culture, and not judge things that are different too quickly.”

            She smirked to him. “Except for scrib jelly?”

            “Well some things are easier to respect from afar.”

            “Ah.”

            “It is admirable though, because not much grows in the ashlands they have to find food elsewhere and they managed to get multiple food types out of something others wouldn’t see as such, they’re survivors, no matter the situation you put them in.”

            She furrowed her brows. “I really don’t want to know what a scrib is, do I?”

            “No.” Tearing a piece off his sweet roll he rolled it between his fingers. “I hope that learning more about them will help me be a better guard to them, like you said, at the very least, perhaps I’ll be a better man.”

            Her smile lessened but turned more genuine. “You are a good guard.”

            “I hope so, protecting everyone is why I became a guard in the first place.” Eating the bite his eyes lit up. He turned to her. “Does the Merchant Inn still make those blackberry tarts?”

            “What?” She blinked, brain taking a second to keep up with the sudden topic change.

            “I use to get them sometimes when I was training in the Imperial City.”

            “Um…” she glanced off, thinking, before turning back to him. “I don’t know, I’ll check. If they do I’ll bring you some, unless they wouldn’t stay good… Maybe I’ll just have to bring you there,” she smirked.

            “Hopefully that can be soon,” he turned back to his sweet roll.

            She looked surprised. Did he mean he wanted the tarts soon or did he like her dragging him places? She looked away as she couldn’t contain the grin spreading across her face.

            Turning back to him she saw he was staring at his dessert, the same awkward look as when she gave it to him. Seemed whatever had been bothering him never really went away. “What’s wrong?”

            “I am grateful, truly, but since I wanted to surprise you didn’t know what I was doing and bought some too.”

            “So now we have three sweet rolls,” she was confused as to how this was a problem.

            “I just feel bad you had to pay for two.”

            “Oh…” she glanced off with a smirk, “don’t worry about that.”

[bumblingbabooshka]

Vulcan Dumb & Dumber

[oxygenbefore1775]

probs a strange thought but I've always liked that Jean has small eyes

[theogonies]

All Yours

prompt | yamato x f!reader + snow day

summary | yamato shows you a slice of life outside the walls of the flower capital.

word count | 2k

content warnings | reader is implied to be a geisha in orochi's court, some slightly suggestive conversation but nothing explicit

winter holiday event masterpost

You carry the note close to your chest all morning.

A thin slip of parchment tucked beneath the neckline of your hikizuri: meet me in the gardens this afternoon? I’ll make it worth your time.

It bore no signature, but it’s not hard for you to know who the sender was. Yamato’s hand, so careful and delicate, an endearing contrast to his sometimes-brutish appearance and temperament. He’s written you letters before, during periods when the shogun kept you too busy to slip away; always extensively wordy, his written language so much more refined and florid than when he speaks.

And yet, this little note is so short that it’s almost curt–a small mystery that’s left your heart thrumming with anticipation from the moment you found it, slipped beneath your door in the early hours of morning, to now.

The winter months always leave you hard at work, as the shogun buries himself in the warmth of sake and women. Yamato knows this, and you know that he would be understanding if you didn’t make it to your rendezvous. But as you can feel the paper, pressed warm against your bare skin as if it were Yamato’s own hand, you can hear the shogun’s lecherous laughter down the hall, and you know that whatever risks you may have to take to make it to the garden are worth it.

Thankfully, with the shogun already waist-deep in sake by noon, it isn’t difficult for you to excuse yourself under the pretense of fetching another bottle and slip away.

Your skirts trail through the snow as you pass down the twining paths of the garden, taking a bridge across the frozen creek to your usual meeting place: a bench beside the property’s walls, tucked safely out of view from the rest of the gardens. It’s surrounded by cherry trees, their branches now bare with winter but still enough to provide shelter from the snow.

Yamato is waiting for you there, hands fidgeting with a bundle of fabric on his lap.

“(Y/N)! You came!” he calls out as soon as he sees you.

Used to his unguarded enthusiasm and energy by now, you lift a finger to your lips, reminding him that you’re still supposed to be working, and he nods, flushing a little with embarrassment.

“Put these on,” he says, voice softening a bit as he holds the bundle out to you.

“What is it?” you ask as you inspect the fabric: quilted cotton, printed in a rippling pattern of pale blue and white.

Yamato’s fangs peek out from behind his lips when he smiles at you, his expression one of utter excitement. “You’ll be too cold, dressed like that.”

You hesitate, considering the potential repercussions of disappearing in the middle of the day like this, but Yamato’s enthusiasm is so irresistible, and you know that if worse came to worst, he could pull the strings to keep you safe.

“Don’t look,” you instruct him as you place yourself between him and the wall.

Obediently, Yamato fixes his gaze straight ahead, broad back shielding you from view of the rest of the garden as you unfold the bundle to find a shirt, trousers, and hanten. A less trained eye than yours would only see simple garments, made to withstand the cold and not much else, but you can tell by the weight of the fabric and the fine stitching that Yamato must have spent a fortune on these–possibly even had them made specially for you.

It’s not the cost that surprises you–he is Kaido’s son, after all, he could likely buy you a whole new wardrobe if you asked–as it is the care evident in the fact that he put so much thought into something as simple as keeping you warm.

Once you’ve changed, folded your court clothes, and stashed them safely in an alcove on the wall, you wrap your arms around Yamato’s neck, snuggling up to his warm body.

“Ready?” he asks, nervous energy clearly apparent in his voice.

“Ready,” you nod.

You keep your arms wrapped tightly around him as you feel his weight begin to shift beneath you, shoulders and back expanding as white fur sprouts from his arms and the nape of his neck to tickle your nose. While it’s not the first time you’ve seen his Zoan form, you’re still unsure whether you’re ever going to get used to the feeling of his muscles shifting and contorting until all that you can recognize is his eyes: beyond his innocent demeanor, they're so wise beyond their years, and so headstrong.

He waits for you to securely wrap your legs around his waist before he gathers his weight on his back haunches and leaps, clearing the wall in one easy stride. And then you’re bounding down the path that leads from the palace, through the streets of the Flower Capital, the whole world flying past you with a kind of confidence and ease that you can’t help but envy.

When he finally stops moving, far from the city, you find yourselves in a snowy grove hemmed by cypress trees and dusted in powdered white snow. Across the clearing is a small wood cottage, soft light flickering behind the paper windows.

Yamato waits for you to slip from his back before he returns to his human form, unbothered by the way you stare as he stretches and rolls his shoulders like he’s settling back into his human skin.

“What do you think?” he asks, tipping his head to the side curiously.

“It’s beautiful,” you answer, not bothering to hide the awe in your voice.

It’s like he knew exactly what you needed: picturesque and wild, nothing like the neatly trimmed gardens of the shogun’s palace. And even better, completely closed off from the rest of the world, like it was made just for the two of you.

“Come on,” he says, waving to you over his shoulder as he turns toward the cottage. “I want to show you something.”

You’re not entirely listening, though; he’s already set your mind wandering back to the days before you became a kamuro, when dignity and elegance were the last things on your mind. Memories of your childhood, playing with your friends in forests not unlike this one, and Yamato’s back turned to you as he walks away give you an idea.

Before you’re entirely sure what you’re doing or why, you’ve begun rolling a small ball of snow between your hands, pressing it together until it holds.

And then it’s sailing through the air until it lands in the middle of Yamato’s back with a satisfying smack.

For a moment, he just stops moving and stands completely still, leaving you worried that you’ve somehow offended him even though that seems near-impossible. But then you see him bend over, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

In one movement so fluid that it doesn’t leave you time to react, he swoops low, pivoting on one foot as he gathers a ball of snow in his own hands and slings it in your direction. The snowball bursts against your shoulder in a puff of white.

“Revenge!” Yamato crows, raising his fists to the sky as he grins at you.

“You know what they say about an eye for an eye, right?” you giggle, dodging to the side as you duck down to roll another snowball and toss it at Yamato.

The moment the words leave your mouth, it’s all out war. For once, your smaller frame gives you the advantage; while he may have better aim than you thanks to all his time spent training, his broad frame and towering height mean that Yamato is practically a walking target. Still, he manages to land a couple good hits of his own until you’re both panting, the fronts of your hanten flecked with snow.

“Are you ready to surrender yet?” you say, placing your hands on your hips and smugly puffing out your chest.

“Never!” Yamato proclaims, rolling a fresh snowball between his palms in preparation for the end of your ceasefire.

Knowing Yamato well enough to know that he’d never give up so easily, you’ve got another trick up your sleeve. Before he can react, you’re barreling forward, leaping toward him as soon as you’re close enough to tackle him.

Yamato playfully stumbles back, clasping a hand to his chest as if he’s been stabbed, and collapses back onto a snowbank, your legs straddling his waist.

You lean in close to Yamato’s ear, relishing how easily he flushes as you whisper, “what about now?”

His voice has gone uncharacteristically shy when he concedes, “I’m all yours.”

“And how should I use my spoils of war?” you ask, leaning forward to rest your head on your arms, folded over his chest.

Yamato blinks and glances away as he thinks, cheeks flaring even brighter against the white snow. “However you’d have me.”

Ever since you first met Yamato, you’ve been charmed by how delicately he tries to treat you, even when it’s so clear that he’s naturally much more physical and uninhibited. It was a welcome reprieve from men like the shogun, with their entitlement and possessiveness. But sometimes, you wish that Yamato was more willing to take what he wanted from you.

So you take what you want instead: a kiss.

His lips part so easily for you, as if he’d been waiting for this moment since you first met. Then again, you muse, perhaps he has. The soft groan he releases when you place your hand on his chin, tug of his fingers running through your once-carefully arranged hair as it tumbles around your shoulders, the fervor of his gentle nips at your lower lip; all charged with the hunger of a starving man.

Unfortunately, even with Yamato’s warm body as a barrier between yourself and the snowy earth, it’s too cold for the two of you to stay that way forever. Eventually, you have to pull back, running your hand along Yamato’s jaw as you ask, “you wanted to show me inside?”

He has to take a moment to collect himself, lucidity returning to his eyes, before he nods wordlessly. As he stands, he scoops you up in one arm as if you weigh nothing and carries you through the snow, past the sliding doors of the cottage, to find a small room, cushioned with pillows and blankets and warmed by a fire in the hearth.

“Whose–” you begin to say, but Yamato cuts you off.

“I had it built.” Then, shyly avoiding your gaze, “for you. If you ever need–a break. To get away.”

“It’s–” Your voice cracks, forcing you to take a brief pause before you’re able to finish the thought. “Yamato, this is too much.”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head obstinately. “If I must live with my father’s wealth, I may as well use it for the ones I care about.”

And it’s true, Yamato has been generous with his wealth for as long as you’ve known him–not just with you, either, but with all the people of Wano, whenever he’s able. So you pause, biting back further protests, before pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“It’s nothing,” he repeats, cheeks reddening as he carefully sets you on the ground. “You must be cold.”

Eventually, you find yourselves nestled before the fire, dressed in fresh, dry clothes and mugs of tea cupped between your hands.

“Someday I’ll liberate this land from my father,” Yamato promises, absentmindedly curling your unbound hair around one of his fingers. “And then we’ll both be free.”

“What then?” you ask, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll take you there,” Yamato answers, the simplicity of his promise and the sincerity of his tone yet another reminder of why you’ve chosen him, why you’d choose him again and again if given the chance.

You think for a little while, watching the steam rise from your teacups.

“I want to see the world outside Wano. Want to travel by your side. That’s enough to make me happy.”

He presses an affectionate kiss to your temple. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’m all yours.”

[veggiecorner]

See I didn’t lie about writing a fanfic...

~~

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf (mentioned), Sonia (mentioned), Rauru (Mentioned), Various Legend of Zelda Characters Additional Tags: In which I make the Blonde Boy Insecure, Relationship Study, Post-TotK, Scenes from pre-totk/post-botw, scenes from various zelda games, this is totk zelink but i can't shut up about ocarina of time zelink, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), something something soulmates something, Discussions of death, totk spoilers, love letter to the idea of heroism, Learning to be selfish, how many times can i get away with referencing oot, lets find out Summary:

“Are you mad at me?”

Link looks up from his half-empty mug. The drink has long gone cold, he doesn’t even remember what sort of tea he’s brewed. Across from him, Zelda studies his expression. She looks at him like she’s scared.

At no response, she repeats, “Are you mad at me…or what I did..?”

“I,” he thinks about his words carefully, “why should I be mad?”

Zelda stares at him, the layer of fear in her brows replaced with confusion, then uneasiness. He doesn’t like that he’s done this to her.

“It’s just…” She sits down across from him, playing with her hands. “We promised not to leave each other.” She says, “I left you.”

----

Maybe the first step in a truly happy ending for heroes is learning how to be selfish with the things you want.

A look into heroes, learning to be courageous, and simply telling the girl you love to stay with you for the rest of your life.